Rolandâs body was being moved and Lilith was being escorted out. No one was supposed to be in this room, but those bandits had tainted it.
âDonât worry baby girl. Daddyâs going to clean this mess up for you.â He was sitting on the floor with his daughterâs body laid across his lap, holding her head up gingerly as he stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. âIâve got you now. Your hero is hereâŚthe bad guys are all gone now, you can open your eyes.â
But Angel didnât open her eyes. The manâs teeth ground harshly together and he buried his nose in her hair. He swallowed a gasp, instead breathing in deeply to keep his composure. âItâs okay sweetie I know youâre tired.â The words were barely a whisper, but in the chamber his voice carried, practically echoing back to deafen him.
âJack? Your daughter isnât going toââ
âLook sweetheart. Uncle Timmy is here to help me put you to bed.â The look that was leveled with his body double promised pain if he didnât play along. He saw the fear that chilled the youngerâs blood, but the satisfaction was lost in the intensity of other emotions. âThe door over there Tim. Go open it.â
He didnât need to look up to see if the instructions were followed. Jack went back to petting Angelâs hair, tucking her head under his chin as the next breath he took shook. There was a waver in his resolve, in his composure, but he quickly grabbed that fracture in his mask and covered it. It wasnât time to break, not yet. The story wasnât over.
âIâm going to pick you up now. Weâll get you tucked in properly so you can sleep. Youâve been working so hard for me, youâve done such a good job charging the key for your dad.â Itâs a bit of a struggle to climb up, Jack wanting to make sure he didnât jostle the girl in his arms too much as he rose. âUp we go. I wonât disturb your dreams today.â His eyes focused ahead, to Tim and the dark room beyond the barrier that had been opened. Angelâs form was limp, cradled in the masked-manâs arms like the sleeping child he pretended she was.
The walk was longer than it looked and every step Jack felt the body get heavier. He refused to stumble or change pace, keeping his grip firm and his back straight. Timothy wasnât even granted a glance as he passed by, right into the darkness of the room. The space was clean, sparse of decorations, but as the lights came on the dim atmosphere spoke of comfort. Instead of the cold metal of the nearby chamber this room was painted with blues and purples, even the furniture looking old fashioned and inviting.
There was a decently sized bed pressed against one wall, in which Jack laid his daughter. She was arranged on her back, and he even pulled the covers out and over her to complete the image. He kneeled next to the bed then, holding one of the cold hands between his own. There was shuffling behind him as he fought desperately to hold back the passion boiling inside him. Angerâno, furyâand a deep set sorrow that could do nothing to tame how hot he was running.
âJack?â Fingers touched tentatively at his shoulder. It was Tim of course, no one else was so naive. The kid even sounded scared! âWhat do we do now?â
It would have been insulting if it werenât purely Tim. His poor, empathetic body double. Jack was torn between strangling the kid and ending it there and just holding him. If he believed that was pity in the otherâs tone he might have done the first. Instead he released Angelâs hand and stood up, turning to wrap fingers around a bicep and lead the body double out of the room.
âWe stick to the plan kiddo. Nothingâs changed.â His tone was steeled now, the grin coming over his face downright maniacal. âWhy donât you take yourself back up to Helios. in fact, Iâll give you an escort.â There were loader bots forming around them as he spoke. He heard Timothy whimper and his steps falter, but his grip stayed strong. If the kid fell thatâd be an unfortunate accident when his arm broke. âGet nice and comfortable while I handle this. Iâve got a date with the Warrior to keep, and Lilith just gave me my way in. Youâll get to watch as Pandora is cleansed by its true hero. Finally weâll have the paradise Iâve dreamed of.â
The paradiseâŚjust for her. Just for his baby girl.
âThose murderers sealed their fate. Itâs time to finish this game.â
âSir youâre yelling into your mic--â I am  w e l l aware of that detail Blake! Thank you for your concern. Now everybody get away from my office while I deal with this second rate, two-eyed, TRASH HEAP.
Ok. Backstory for this. Left2Fail, th13teen-gamer, kanetain2, and I (KuroHeta)Â are playing through Borderlands: The PreSequel as Athena, Nisha, Claptrap and me as Jack. I have the Dirk Claymore skin and Hit the Road head. The first time Fail saw it, she dubbed my ensemble âPimp Jackâ. Thus this piece of fandom trash.
There is a brief âtskâ that sounds in the back of her throat. To be honest? She isnât really sure of that kind of informationâ the distance between Helios and Pandora, where there are satellites powerful enough? Yeah. Right. The woman is barely savvy with technological terms as it isâ anything she knows has likely been drilled in her head from listening to Jack prattle on. Not that the woman wants to remember those long nights resting in his arms while he idly tapped away at some project or another while she dozed against his chestâ- Okay, yeah thanks for that unconscious. Didnât hurt one bit. Uh, fuck this ass hole.
The woman narrows her eyes, carefully taking note of the golden dots that popped to life on the scale before her. It wasnât as if she could memorize them all. Maps were the bane of her existence. But she did know where they were, and the relative landmasses of the planet. Her echo is hauled outâ the old badge is rusting around the edges and the shine has long since been worn off it. She doesnât look to see his reaction to itâ of course sheâs kept it. Itâs probably the only useful thing the idiot has ever given her. Itâs been rewired, by the looks of itâ more then likely the Hyperion tracker in it had been ripped out. It wasnât actively connected to their network any more. Sheâs double-checking to see if heâs done as sheâs asked.
There is no comment made on the safe houses at this point. He doesnât need to know how sheâs dealing with getting in. Nisha shoves the echo back into her pocket and removing a rag. The blood on her pistol is being rubbed off as she attempts to keep her tempter in check with the menial task. Unfortunately? He has to give one final jab at the beast and her gaze is lifted upwards to regard him with a feral sneer pulling itself along her lips.
"Remind me to break your face when itâs reconstructed. Fuck you." Is the low hiss of her voice, dangerous as the gleam of her eyes in the light from his image. "Havenât you learned anything yet, Jackie? Even death doesnât want me-- I might as well bring hell to the living to see what Iâm missing out on.â The barrel on her pistol is spun before sheâs holstering it and drawing her weight to one side.
"One last question before I leave. How many do I need to kill, and how long will it take for you to reconstruct?â
The data transfer was as easy as waving a hand through Nishaâs badge. The little bit of tech painted a pathetic sight, but he didnât comment on it. The thing worked and judging from the womanâs rising temper that was about as much of technology as she wanted to deal with. That, and he had the explicit pleasure of knowing there was sentimental value attached to that little star. He made sure to keep the projection of the memory off as he accessed it; Jack with his arm tucked around Nishaâs shoulders, the sheriff badge being slipped over like it was some kind of naughty secret.
What they did after they cleared out Lynchwood certainly wasnât any bit a secret.
Jack knew he was essentially setting himself up to be shot again the moment he was reconstructed, but right then? He didnât care. He needed to see those uncontrolled reactions in the woman and if he were alive you would have heard a low chortle as Nisha lashed at him. Sometimes he was just a glutton for punishment and he didnât even try to protest.
âWell if you want to be certain you should bring about thirty close to this machine before you kill them. Or you could drag them all the way here and we could do a blood sacrifice. Might invent a new religion for the locals if you tie up a few witnesses too.â He shrugged. âI heard the act is therapeutic. As for reconstruction it should be under a minute.â There were a few more comments just waiting to be made about making Nisha wait, but the other looked absolutely done with his sass. He knew there was a fine line that heâd crossed already and one more could drive her to finally pull the plug on the machine for good.
Jack had caught a glimpse of Someoneâs movement over the dark rim of his glasses, but until theyâd drawn level with his desk, he hadnât concerned himself with actually identifying them. The confidence he had in both his officeâs biometric security, as well as his own ability to foretell doom and destruction if it was coming down fast on his ass, left him pretty unconcerned about whoever was coming his way. At least until they were standing right over him. Talking to him. In his voice.
So, for what felt like a very long moment. Jack stops. And stares.
The scrap of metal and wires in his hand is set to one side, although the screwdriver in the other is not. In fact, he subtly shifts the grasp he has on it, in case this is one hilarious fuck up on SOMEONEâS behalf, because even though Tim walked like a duck and quacked like a duck â he wasnât a duck beyond how he acted. And this guy. This guy, was the bona fide thing. Not just a double, nor a paid actor that went through the motions for a paycheck â this was The Guy.
And by The Guy, Jack meant himself.
â â well, wouldâja look, at THAT,â he breathes, nudging his glasses down his face so he can get a good look at himself. Right down to the way he parks his ass on his desk like he owns it ( DOES own it, in another life, he doesnât doubt ) and makes himself right at home. âAs I live and godDAMN, breathe. Is R&D dropping subspace out their ass or something, because there is not a doubt in my mind that I am looking at a frigginâ king among men.â Flirt flirt, gloat gloat. Itâs like autopilot for him.
Given their proximity Jack could see that screwdriverâan effective weapon, but it didnât feel like a threat. He still had scalding hot coffee in a glass mug at his own disposal, but this wasnât about killing. The tension that filled the space between them was more about power, control, and killing one another would be such a waste.
Especially with how nice his other self looked right now. He reached out to push the glasses back up his nose, admiring the image he didnât often get to see. Maybe heâd start wearing his glasses more outside of his officeâŚ
âThe King. Yes. But we can worry about R&D later.â Those fingers trailed down from the frame to a cheek and then the strong jaw line. He could feel the seam of that mask, something he was intimately familiar with and wondered idly if this Jack was just as defensive about. Circumstances, of course, were different. He might have even welcomed another selfâs touch on his real, scarred flesh under the covering. Might. There was still that unpredictable element of being him to remember.
âThe mirror really doesnât do me justice. Do me a favor? Stand up, lets get a look at the back too.â He had every intention of pulling those pretzels and enjoy them while trying to coax a show out of this man.
areudirty
theartofmadeline
