2 & 6, "Id rather see the world end, in all honesty"
2 is eli and 6 is arvio, and i cannot honestly come up with a way to shove them together in the same place, so i am going to write a quick little thing for each one and just be happy with that (hopefully). we’re gonna start with arvio bc i have a clearer idea for him. @knowledgeispowerandimcorrupt, for this prompt thing.
Arvio’s hands itched to run over the sleek frames of the machines arrayed before him, to pry off their covers and peek inside. He wanted to see if their guts were as well-designed and put together as their outsides, but before he could take more than a few steps forward, he felt a warning squeeze around his ribs.
The mechamancer shot an irritated look over his shoulder. Mock hung between one large man’s thickly-gloved hands, and the only thing that showed the machine was still alive was the occasional, irritated twitch of Mock’s metal tail, like a frustrated feline. Mock was still only about the size of a housecat; six months since its resurrection hadn’t been enough for it to get any larger. Of course, this time, it was for the better - it was impossible for Arvio and Mock to go unremarked, not when one was a mechamancer who should have died decades ago, and the walking, sentient, cat-like machine he called a familiar. The man holding Mock squeezed it again, and Arvio felt a corresponding pressure around his sides.
“Stop that,” he said quietly, stepping back. They couldn’t really hurt Mock just by shaking the little thing around, but Arvio still felt irritated and anxious that they had his familiar, and he did not. “I just wanted a look.”
“We’re not that stupid,” Clara said, and gestured with two of her fingers. Two of her soldiers, a man and a woman, moved up to take Arvio’s arms. For all that he was supposed to be the rebel Straxians’ one last hope at restoring the country to a monarchy, he felt more like a prisoner than the king they decided he had to become.
Arvio didn’t resist, even as the man’s grip on his right arm was tight enough to bruise. Clara stepped past Arvio, her boots clacking against the floor as she looked up at the enormous machines of war ranged around them. “They are beautiful, are they not?”
They were, in a frightening, fascinating way, Arvio agreed. “Who designed them?”
“Lux,” Clara said enviously. “We found these blueprints in his lair, once you had - disposed of him. I couldn’t find a team of engineers up to the task of building them properly… but you can fix any of their mistakes, I’m sure.”
If Lux designed them, then Arvio’s suspicions were confirmed. These were machines of war. He closed his eyes, and Mock gave a low, ear-grating noise that made its holder give it another shake.
“Quit that,” Arvio snapped, trying to pull out of his captors’ hands. He almost freed himself from the woman, but then she kicked the back of his legs and they forced him to kneel.
“It wouldn’t be necessary, if you would just tell me that you’ll join us,” Clara said. Arvio rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue in exasperation. “We know how to destroy a familiar, Arvio, even one so - bizarre as that one. Help us, and you - and Mock - will have your very own throne.”
Clara was wrong. She was that stupid. Arvio could see every one of these machines she wanted so badly for him to bring to life, and that was all he needed. Fine. She’d get her wish.
“In all honesty,” Arvio said, as engines clattered and roared to life all around them, “I’d rather see the world end.”
Playing a game of ‘would you rather’ with a supervillain was not the way Eli thought he’d spend his Friday evening. It had gotten him out of another three hours of listening to Daniel expound on his list of reasons they shouldn’t sever the knot, though, which was a blessing of sorts. Of course, if one of the questions had been ‘would you rather be here, or at home with your daughters and your rabbits,’ Eli would pick the second option.
Instead of asking that, though, the young man wiped his mouth on his sleeve and passed Eli the bottle. It was a little tricky to drink when one arm was in a makeshift sling and the other was handcuffed to a metal staircase railing, but Eli managed. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking on the job, but in this case, Eli felt it was better to just go along with what Spook wanted, which meant sharing a bottle of whiskey and playing the sort of game college-aged Mormons still thought was a fun way to pass the time, instead of clubbing or tagging trains with graffiti or some other properly risque behavior better befitting eighteen-to-twenty-nine-year-old unmarried adults.
(Eli wouldn’t know, but one of his younger siblings had been hanging around with some Mormon YSAs, whatever that meant, and had all sorts of hilarious stories of how they spent their time.)
He’d stumbled on the idea that Spook might have been raised Mormon quite by accident, but Eli couldn’t be sure; his sister might’ve converted, but Eli still knew very little about that church. On the other hand, Spook was engaging in underage drinking, which was definitely not a very Mormon activity, as well as supervillainy (which might very well be a very Mormon activity. Eli didn’t want to make assumptions about someone’s religion.)
“Would you rather,” Spook asked finally, his words slurring only a tiny bit even though they had already gone through one bottle, “set a bomb where no one would die, or go to prison for twenty years?”
This whole conversation had gone in a similar fashion. Eli considered Spook a little sadly. It was obvious something was wrong with the poor kid’s head, but it was also obvious that he had picked the bomb option. He had very nearly crushed half of Eli’s team last week, when they were all supposed to be working for Spook.
Javed had pulled them off the contract the second it became clear the kid was going off the rails, but it hadn’t been in time for Eli to get out. He had been stuck here for five days, now, wondering what was going on up above them. Spook had finally shown up a couple hours ago, miserable and bleeding from a cut on the side of his face, and for all that he’d nearly died because of the would-be villain, Eli couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“Depends,” Eli said, settling back as easily as he could. “Would anyone still get hurt by the bomb?” He didn’t hand the bottle back, because he still felt vaguely responsible for making sure Spook drank as little as possible. The kid was only taller than him at the moment because he slumped over his knees several steps above him; Eli was on the landing. His shoulder and arm ached terribly from the awkward position of being cuffed to the wall, his other arm had a sharp pain that flared whenever he moved, and he seriously needed to use the restroom.
Spook wrapped his skinny arms around his equally skinny legs and rocked back and forth, shoulders hunched. Throughout the game, Eli had teased out what had happened - not only to the city above them, but in Spook’s private life. People didn’t just wake up and decide to terrorize a city with bombs and arson and weird riddles. Something had pointed Spook in that direction.
“Ten people would end up in the hospital,” Spook mumbled into his knees, “maybe - maybe including some friends.”
Eli closed his eyes. Dammit. Spook would be lucky if he ended up with just twenty years in prison, and not have Mercury Independent baying for blood. “Prison,” he said heavily, and watched Spook cringe, as if Eli had condemned him.
It was his turn. Eli took another drink when he noticed Spook reaching for the bottle. A little disappointed, Spook sat back. Eli tipped his head against the cold concrete wall and thought. “Would you rather apologize for hurting someone, or put more people in danger?”
It was as close as he could come to asking Spook what he was going to do - or what he had already done. Eli kept the alcohol close to his chest so that Spook wouldn’t try for it again. The kid let out a sudden wail and buried his face in his knees.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, “I’m so, so sorry, I can’t - I can’t stop now, they’ll - they’ll kill me -”
Eli stared, then sighed. Enough was enough. His arm changed from flesh to the same metal that the stair railing was composed of. When Eli broke the handcuffs with a sharp jerk, Spook barely twitched from his fetal position.
The change swept over the rest of Eli’s body; he already knew better than to come at Spook when he was merely skin and bone. Spook flinched when Eli touched him, and Eli tensed in turn - but instead of hurting him, Spook relaxed as Eli gathered him into a hug, ignoring the stab of pain in his broken arm when Spook jostled it.
“It’s too late,” Spook mumbled, letting Eli cradle him like a child. “It’s too late - I-I’m so sorry, I ruined everything, and - and now they’re gonna kill me if I stop now.”
“It’s not too late,” Eli said soothingly, and hoped desperately that he wasn’t lying. “It never is, Alma.”
Spook flinched at his real name, and Eli just held him a little tighter. After a long, long moment of Alma sobbing into Eli’s chest, he pushed the bigger man away, and then fumbled something out of his jacket, and into Eli’s hand.
A chill ran down Eli’s spine as he saw what it was.
“Would,” Alma started, choking down a sob and staring at the floor. “Would you rather - would you rather kill one person and save the world, or - or watch it all end?”
Alma still held the barrel of the handgun, keeping it pointed at his chest as he forced out the words. Eli stared, cold down to his very core. Flinching the entire time, he brought his other, broken arm out of its sling, and forced Alma to let go of the gun he’d shoved into Eli’s hand.
It took a moment, but Eli finally unchambered the pistol, gritting the teeth against the pain, and threw the now unloaded gun behind him, further down the stairs.
“I’d rather watch the world end, in all honesty.”
