Summary: Ivan's friend and boss was taken by an unknown entity, forcing Ivan to take on a new identity and go undercover looking for Kolt. When he finds him, Kolt is in rough shape and the escape isn't as clean as either of them could have hoped for. Now, with Kolt free, and Ivan captured, Kolt can only try to recover in time to rescue his friend and keep him from being turned into a living weapon in his place.
Fallen Masterlist - Part 38
Content: Living weapon whumpee, descriptions of a facial wound, facial whump, mentioned whip wounds, multiple whumpees, whumpee on whumpee violence, captured, bound, sedated, creepy whumpers
Three days in the box really did a number on a weapon.
Alpha-2 watched blankly as people moved around him, preparing him and his gear for the next mission. Despite him being let out of the box yesterday, everything was still too overstimulating. The lights too bright, the noise so cacophonous he was afraid he was going to miss an order from one of his superiors, and his back and face still ached.
He saw the way people avoided looking at him. Careful to avert their eyes from his face. It had been stitched back together the day before. While they had hired someone with a healing Power to heal his hands and keep them from becoming useless, his face had not received the same treatment. He was meant to scar and scar badly.
He hadn't seen Dr. LeAnne yet. He didn't know if she knew what Harry had done to him. He didn't know if she would think it bad enough for her to plan Harry's downfall.
He hoped so. He wanted to kill Harry.
But maybe Alpha-2 had deserved that treatment. After all, he had been a disobedient weapon and gone against orders. He had faltered. He had let memories get between him and his task.
He felt so guilty as he continued to cling to those memories.
He had finally connected a name to those screams he sometimes heard in the Jar. The ones that seemed to tear his very soul apart. That was Kolt.
The same Kolt that stood there, not running and not attacking. Begging Alpha-2 to come back with him. To be... to be Gale again. To be protected.
Alpha-2 still couldn't decide if he regretted not going with Kolt. He had regretted even considering the proposition while Dr. LeAnne had been in the room. When she had expressed her disappointment in him, but, after she had left, the regret started to turn. He regretted not going with Kolt to safety. If Harry was going to keep Dr. LeAnne away from him and if Dr. LeAnne wouldn't let him kill Harry, he decided he would leave with Kolt the next time Alpha-2 saw him.
He really, really hoped he would get to see Dr. LeAnne soon.
Almost as though his wish had pulled her into existence, there she was across the room.
He didn't smile, that hurt too much, but he did sit straighter and make himself look as perfect as he could for her.
She barely looked at him at first, talking with someone on the phone and then with the person who was managing the workers preparing the gear. And then she made her way over to him.
He could tell the instant she saw his facial wound. Harry must not have told her about it because the look of absolute devastation vindicated Alpha-2 in a way he would never be able to put words to.
She came to him faster, gently cupping his jaw on the good side of his face.
"What did he do to you?" she seethed, words dripping with venom.
"Kolt Tolket made a comment about this weapon not having facial scars. Harry decided to punish this weapon based on that comment, ma'am."
She crooned softly, leaning over him to place a kiss just above his eyebrow. His eyes fluttered shut as he did so, and he allowed himself to lean into her touch.
"This weapon has missed you," he admitted.
"I know. I've missed you too, but you know why I couldn’t see you, right?"
"This weapon needed to be punished," he murmured. But did he deserve to have his face cut into like that? Did Dr. LeAnne believe that?
When he opened his eyes, he could tell she did not believe it. She would find revenge for him. She would find some way to let him kill Harry.
Relieved, he focused on her.
"Have you been briefed on your mission?" she asked.
"This weapon is to go on a capture mission," he said. "Harry wants more weapons."
"He does. And with the process of Power transmission almost down to a science, he will get what he wants," Dr. LeAnne said in an inscrutable voice.
Alpha-2 felt something jump nervously in his chest. Other weapons. He hadn't even thought about... Dr. LeAnne would be involved in that process. Of course she would, and they would take up more of her time because they would be new and untrained. She would have her attention on other weapons and not on Alpha-2.
Distressed, he swallowed hard, trying to find the right question to ask. One that wouldn't assume anything about his relationship with her, whatever it was, but one that would get him the comfort he needed.
She watched him before she smiled. "I know what you're thinking. Ask it, Alpha-2."
"This... this weapon is afraid that its mistress will like another weapon better," he rasped.
She ran a hand over his head. "Oh, never, Alpha-2. You are going to always be the best. You know what the rules are. You have the practice. The other weapons won't be able to catch up to you."
Which implied that if somehow they did, Alpha-2 would no longer be the favorite.
Still, he nodded and planned to be better than all the rest. He would not let any other weapon win over him.
"Alright, I'll let them finish prepping you for the mission. If you do well, I have permission from Harry to bring you dinner and spend the evening with you."
Alpha-2 nodded eagerly and watched as she straightened, looking at his facial wound for a moment longer before turning and leaving.
Alpha-2 closed his eyes, relaxing slightly. He could do this. He could be good. He could be perfect.
And if he couldn't... it sounded like there was someone who would be able to pull him out of all of this.
Powell skidded on the wet concrete, the sound of running feet right on his heels. He was exhausted. He had been chased for 10 blocks now while maintaining his camouflage and he was running out of steam. He felt like he was going to throw up.
He glanced over his shoulder to see the man chasing him. More of a predator than a man. He never missed a step, his eyes hidden behind tactical gear that likely made it easy to keep track of Powell, and a single mindedness to his every moment. He cared about nothing except capturing Powell and the vigilante knew it.
Powell skidded off down an alley, finding a fire escape to get up to the roof of a building. He was good at roof running and his camouflage worked really well against the night sky. He could get out of here. As long as he could get to one of the vigilante union buildings he’d be safe. He just had to make it.
Something sang through the air and pain zinged through his ankles as a bolus wrapped tripped him up.
He caught himself hard on his hands, landing on his hip and skillfully kicked the boluses off before getting back on his bruised feet, running as fast as he could, zigzagging so his pursuer couldn’t get another bolus around his ankles. He was so close. He was so close!
He leapt off the edge of a building, heading for the next roof, only for a sharp bang to sound in the alley. A net wrapped around him just before he reached the next building, shot from the darkness below. Powell landed heavily in the gravel that coated the roof, screaming in frustration that briefly overpowered his fear.
He fought to get the net off, gasping for air. It was a trap. He was chased right into a trap! Powell was better than that and he knew it!
He writhed, turning onto his back to kick at his assailant, who had followed him onto the roof with a graceful ease that said he was a roof runner as well.
"Get back," Powell rasped, dropping his camouflage in favor of conserving energy to fight his way out of this.
The operative, for lack of a better term, moved quickly, grabbing the net and rolling Powell back onto his stomach, dropping a knee on the small of Powell's back and pinning his head down against the gravel.
Powell tried to reach for the small knife he kept in his sleeve, only to have his wrist grabbed and twisted hard.
He gasped for air as the pain spun off down his arm. He swore and spat as the operative bound him as though Powell was a newborn fawn before picking him up by the back of his jacket.
The operative hauled him to the edge of the building where he casually tossed Powell over the edge.
Powell screamed as he fell before the wind was knocked out of him when he hit a rescue trampoline. Someone grabbed him, hauling him off just as the operative jumped down.
"That was a good run, Kamo," someone laughed. "You might have actually slipped us if we hadn't brought our weapon here. Alpha-2, heel."
Powell sorted himself out, looking around at the men that crowded him, hauling him to his feet. The man in charge had teeth that were too straight and too white. His hair was styled for the office and he wore a suit with an unlabeled Kevlar vest over the top of it.
The operative stalked over and knelt at the man's feet, hands folded behind his back.
The man reached down and pulled the operative's helmet off, revealing a man with dark skin and closely shaved hair. When he turned his face, Powell could see the recently stitched cut running from the corner of his mouth up his cheek.
Powell struggled against his bindings, the net, and the men who held him. "You're one of those sick corporate freaks! Suns irradiate you!! I'm with the Eastern Vigilante Union! Do you even know who you're messing with!?"
"Yes, yes I do, Kamo. Or should I say Powell Kendrick? Not that you'll keep either name for much longer. You're going to be my pet project from here on out, and this weapon here-" the man put his hand on the operative's head. The operative gave him a distasteful glance, but visibly leaned into the touch- "He will be your brother at arms and your enemy should the time come. Perhaps you will even become his replacement."
The operative twitched, glancing at Powell resentfully now.
Powell snarled. "Likely story. If you think I'll do anything for you-"
The man gave a signal and someone slammed something into the back of his skull, dazing him badly.
"Pack him up. We have a lot of work to do."
Powell was blindfolded by a strangely complex fabric and plastic contraption and all he knew were hands and some sort of harness that tucked his limbs out of the way firmly and gently.
He snarled and swore at every chance he got as he was divested of his weapons and tools and bound so he was practically hanging in the harness from something, only just stabilized by his knees.
There was more movement nearby, during which Powell screamed and called for help until someone placed a mask over his face that hissed ominously.
His last memory was of a car door slamming shut and the world moving and shifting around him.
Dr. LeAnne slowly sipped at her coffee, watching patiently as the vans drove into the warehouse and started to unpack their precious cargo.
Her weapon was pulled out of the van and marched into the debriefing room. She hadn't been allowed to listen in on this mission, but she knew it had gone well.
Sure enough, another man in a similar harness and bindings was pulled from the van. He was sluggish and groggy, clearly from being sedated, but he was fit and looked fairly uninjured. She wondered if he had it in him to become a weapon like her Alpha-2, or if he would just break.
She thought she had broke Kolt, but he had pretended. He had just pretended and it irked her that she had been so easily misled by a man whose very life she had held in her hands.
She shook off the anger and finished the rest of her coffee, leaving the cup on the ground for someone else to take care of while she went to comfort and praise her lovely, wonderful weapon. She could play with the new toy later. Hopefully Harry wouldn't feel the need to be too in the way while she worked her magic.
Part 40
A.N. - WAHOO MULTIPLE WHUMPEES LETS GO!!! Will they become friends or will they make both of their situations worse? We shall see >:)
Playing Dark Heresy last night and Sophia had a bomb go off nearby and got peppered with shrapnel. The pen rating chewed thru her helmet. Did a quick doodle of her messed up face while we were working thru the session.
men with healed facial injuries from World War One
these men look as good as they do after their devastating wounds due to careful work by plastic surgeons working with the new technology of skin grafts and other tissue restoration techniques
it’s possible these men underwent further work and these are progress photos taken by surgeons to educate others about plastic surgery
