#also second time drawing mortum!!!

[sidesteppostinghours]

posts that took me 6 months to finish making. so anyway,

its too late in the night for me to be coherent about this but

"I don't distrust you," he admits since you've gone silent. "You're allowed to be here." He feels guilty. Guilty over how he's been treating you, but also over how things turned out.

"I take that as you've done some things you regret." "Many." Her brows draw together. "And some I blame myself for, even though I know I shouldn't."

There's more here. You can feel it simmering under the surface. He looked away last time. It couldn't be that bad, could it? He could have, he should have…[i]not this time.[/i]

"I feel like I actually got a chance to move on now that you're back in my life. I don't want to be the marshal that messed up and got half ${his} team killed; I want to change. But it's…hard. Harder than I thought."

"Good." The laughter sounds genuine. "I'd hate it if that part still showed."

thinking about fhr and second chances. about characters that live and make mistakes and regret and have to move on anyway. and maybe they do, or maybe they dont. thinking about how it reflects on sidestep, on all different versions of sidestep, and the ways they can handle their rebirth. thinking about sidesteps that try to fix things with the people theyve hurt, or find new people to help when they cant make it up to the people they need to. about steps that have to bury their regrets to have their new lease on life, and the ones who manage to lock up the skeletons in the closet vs the ones who still have the past hounding at their heels wherever they go.

theres the way it all interacts with eachother too. like, take argent, for example, somebody who cant afford to do anything but move on and hope that she can still be better this time around as a matter of survival. compare that with herald, that lived his life constantly thinking about the needs of others and so has to apologize for every minute problem he might have caused. or chen, who has such an understated self-loathing for the mistakes hes made in one lifetime and yet reaches the same conclusion of pushing aside his guilt so it doesnt crush him, so he can Get Things Done. ortega and mortum are different in the way they approach regrets too, where mortum cynically accepts it as part of life and ortega has to find literally any way they can make it right.

just like. man. fhr is a story about regret, huh.

also have a bonus hg quote from the 4.2 about it because it literally inspired this insanity and itd feel wrong not to include it LMFAO

[i]The arms around you pull you into a hug as you try to think. Smother you in caring and worry. Loss. Fear. Not letting you go. Not this time. Not again.

FUCKED UP SIBLING RELATIONSHIPS YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!! TO ME!!!!!!

[erintoknow]

everything and nothing

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Funding a one-woman revenge mission isn’t cheap. You might work for free but Rosie doesn’t. Or Mortum. Or Marcie. The list goes on. [Feed Me Diamonds]

[Read on AO3]

It was the incident at Joes that gave you the initial idea: you need money to fund your operation. And where is flush with – conveniently untraceable – funds, but Los Diablos’s criminal underground?

Using Jane’s luck to gamble your way through the casino circuit would be suicide. She’d end up in a ditch or worse. But you don’t need to. You’ve got a state-of-the-art power armor suit.

In a way, it’s a return to the old days, to being Sidestep. You could never manage to hold down a job back then, but the guilt over skimming kept you from being able to afford much of anything. So, you know, occasionally when busting a villain’s lair or rounding up drug dealers, maybe some of their funds were… misplaced. It was either that or starve.

Or worse, admit your situation to somebody and ask for help.

But it wasn’t really stealing, was it? The money was probably wrongfully gotten to begin with. And it’s not like the city paid vigilantes.

Whatever. You were stealing the whole time. You can admit it to yourself now. It doesn’t matter who it was from. It was still theft. You’ve always been a liar and a fraud. Those last moments before throwing yourself out a fourth-story window crystalized it for you. People lauding Sidestep as some sort of ‘hero’ when she was barely any better than the people she beat up. She just stuck to the government approved list of acceptable targets.

But if you did it before, you can do it again. You know who the real villains are, and it’s not Larry Ray selling weed at the corner of Market Street.

Once more now, with feeling.

Check the seal on your helmet. The Rat-King curls around you. Paul Howard Koch’s penthouse is in the heart of the city. Technically not inside the bounds of Los Diablos proper itself. More a richie-rich enclave. Great view, above the air pollution, slightly less likely to die in a horrific one-two earthquake/tsunami punch.

To his neighbors on the floors above and below, Mr. Koch is a reclusive retired businessman who made his fortune in the early days of the chaos following the establishment of the Free Economic Zone over southern California. Back when anything really did fly.

And maybe there’s a truth in that.

Or maybe he’s just a self-hyped boost with magnetic powers with the audacity to hide in plain sight who robbed a bunch of banks and also maybe the Rangers HQ one time and okay okay fine, maybe there’s an element of revenge to tonight, so what?

Start with the small ones.

Work your way up.

Getting inside is easy enough. It reminds you of Marconi’s mansion that way. Amazing how much security is just theatre. Wall? Climb over. Guards? Walk between the patrols. CCTV? Oh, what a shame, the woman watching fell asleep at her desk, and oh, the whole system needs to be rebooted now? Technology these days, tsk tsk.

The building doesn’t even have dampeners.

Closing the door to the camera room, you let your hand linger on the doorknob. It takes some finesse to control the Nanovores this tightly but you’re able to collapse the mechanism. They’ll have to break the door down.

You’ve got two targets today. Koch, and his fortune. You know where Koch is. He’s up in his bedroom, half-asleep watching TV. Play the right notes, and he’ll stay that way until you need him.

So, then, where’s the goods?

It’s been, what, a decade since Pennybags was active. Had a big spree robbing banks, culminating in an attack on Rangers HQ. You were – Sidestep was still pretty new to the scene, but even she knew it took some guts to pants the Rangers like that. And then he was never heard from again.

Almost have to admire the restraint of the man. To realize he peaked and it was time to get out. Can’t say it’s an example you intend to follow.

The penthouse is a split-level deal. Whole lot of empty space for a man who lives alone. The second floor and you find his office. Very fancy looking computer. And of course, there’s the password in the middle drawer. Man’s gotten lax. You plug in a USB stick as you log in. Search through the files. Records, transactions. Looks like Mr. Koch has been busy in his ‘retirement.’ Blackmail material? Not the pile of cash you were aiming for but it’s something to start with. Another crack in the city’s shell. Another point of attack.

One file name catches your attention: Regenerator sale? It’s been awhile since you’ve gotten a lead on that name, and here it is. Just waiting for you. Opening the file and it’s a text document. At first glance there doesn’t seem to be much you don’t already know. PharmaCore, shut down by the government, confiscated, then ‘vanished.’ Oh, here’s something new: an actual description of what it does…

Ugh. There’s no time to stand here and parse all this. You copy everything that looks even remotely promising and move on to the rest of the room.

An oddly spaced bookshelf, by the window, draws your attention. Push the texts away and there’s a safe. Have to smile at that. At least it’s not behind a portrait. The metal melts into dust under the Nanovores and you’re free to reach inside. A gun, some rolled up hundred dollar bills and a collection of black unmarked USB looking bits of plastic and silicon.

Jackpot.

DS Chips. Or ‘Dark Script’ if you want to be wordy. Criminal computer scientists are disappointingly lacking in imagination. Physical bills can be traced by serial number, and digital transactions through bank and credit systems. Cryptocurrencies like these DS chips are the current fashion du jour for avoiding surveillance.

The exchanges aren’t cheap, and Hollow Ground keeps a tight grip on Los Diablos’s little corner. But attach a ‘wallet’ to a specific chip and you carry thousands of dollars in a little box of plastic and silicone smaller than your palm.

That’s business sorted then.

Time for the pleasure half.

When you reach the bedroom, you don’t need to kick the door in. The hinges disintegrate into dust and it falls over, all on it’s own. The crash against the floor breaks Koch out of his stupor. With a cry of alarm he scrambles to his feet, tripping on his own night robe.

“Evening, Pennybags.”

“Who the blazes let you in here?” His heart is pounding. Scenarios running through his mind. Scrambling for an answer. Really? You’d have expected someone a little more paranoid.

You fold your hands behind your back. Nod towards the door. “I did.”

He narrows his eyes, not seeing the humor. Oh well, his loss.

You’re on him before he can even finish his thought about using his power on you. Is enough of the suit metal for it to be a problem? You’re not sure and you’d rather not find out. His head cracks against the wall as you shove him up off the ground with an arm against his neck.

You tap your head. “Don’t even think about it.”

He doesn’t stop struggling. Bare feet kicking against your armor. Up close he doesn’t look as old as you pictured. Bald, sure. But… how old is he? Maybe he just has one of those faces. “You’re–” He wheezes, “you’re going to regret this.”

He’s already plotting your death. Cute. Have to laugh. “I’ll add it to the list.”

...now what are you going to do?

Maybe you should have thought of that before barging in here.

You press against his neck a little harder. Not enough to choke him, but to give you some room to think.

“Alright… Here’s what’s going to happen,” You growl, lacing your words with a telepathic push. An urgency to be followed.

It’s not mind control, not technically.

Just a push.

You’re not even going to make him jump out a window.

–––

You don’t need to hear the stomping of boots in the hallway to know your time is almost up. You drop Koch to the floor. “Consider what we’ve talked about tonight.” Walking over to his desk, you rip off a piece of his day planner and turn it over. Write out the list of instructions.

Three simple suggestions. They’re in his own best interest, really.

You return to him, holding the paper out to take. He hesitates so you reach into his mind and give him a push before stepping away. By the time the riot police show up the scrap paper is gone, inside his pocket. You watch the police fill the other end of the room, shields up and guns drawn. The idiots. They’ll kill Koch if they shoot like this.

You don’t see or sense any of the Rangers.

That’s fine with you, if maybe a little strange. The man in charge steps forward, hand on the trigger finger. “Ghost, you’re under arrest. We have you surrounded.” You don’t need to read his mind to know from the look on his face and the way he’s holding his gun that he’s seriously regretting coming in to work tonight. What does the LDPD think they’re doing? They’re no match for you. Sure, you aren’t immune to bullets, but when has that ever stopped you?

You reach out to the captain’s mind and coax him to lower his gun before he sets off the whole room. “Ghost?” You fake a laugh, the distortion hollowing it out, then say innocently, “Don’t know anyone by that name.”

You crouch down, bracing yourself, placing a hand on the floor. You’ll only have a second before the tension of the situation wakes them up again. “More of a Banshee.” There’s a moment where it seems like nothing is going to happen and then the Nanovores eat a hole in the floor directly beneath you, dropping you down. You grunt, letting the armor absorb most of the shock, though the landing still plays hell on your knees. Going to regret that in the morning.

Above you the room erupts in shouts of alarm and someone fires their gun, setting off another gunshot, then another. You grimace in frustration and, telepathically reach back up to give them a metaphorical shake of the shoulders. You can’t have them killing your new informant.

You break into a run, following your thread to the nearest elevator shaft and breaking the door open with a mixture of force and Nanovores. As you make your escape sliding down the elevator cable you can’t help humming a few bars aloud as you try to steady your nerves.

The chittering of the Rat-King creates an accompaniment in the back of your head.

It’s getting scary just how comfortable with this life you’re starting to get.

Hitting the basement level you barely manage to clear the doors when Lady Argent is on you, all knives and quicksilver. Her claws dig into your arm before you’re able to get her to back off with an uppercut to the head. Argent flexes her jaw and gives you a predatory grin. “I had a feeling I’d find you down here Ghost.”

You study her face, waiting for a sign of any sudden movement. Getting out predicted like this is embarrassing but you need to save the over-analysis for when a woman capable of opening you up like a can-opener isn’t staring you down. You’ve got to reassert control of the situation. You make sure to put an edge to your voice, “It’s Banshee now. If you’re going to play lap dog, at least remember to fill in the incident report form correctly this time.”

Her eyes widen and then Argent leans down, her grin deepening into a scowl. “Ugh. I don’t care,” and she moves in.

Can feel your heart in your throat as the two of you exchange blows. When you try to slide past her, Lady Argent is ready for you, raking claws against the side of your armor, trying to find a point of purchase to pry you apart. Grab her wrist and pull her down on top of you. It’s a stupid move, and you pay for it with razor filings running down your sides but because it’s stupid she doesn’t expect it and you’re able to knee her in the gut and kick her away.

You hate fighting Argent in enclosed spaces like this. It’ll be a game of attrition as to whether you can get away before she can land a clean hit. The two of you are back to circling each other when you bump up against a support pillar.

Maybe….? You mentally check your map.

You’ll need to stall Argent. “So, what was your plan, if I went a different route?” As you talk you rest your hand on the concrete pillar beside you, coaxing the Nanovores to get to work. “Not a good look, hiding in a basement.”

Lady Argent narrows her eyes, “The Handyman’s watching the front door.”

“He’s out of the hospital now?” You sigh. “Are you really that eager to put him back in there?”

There’s a shark-toothed grin and the distinct feeling that she’s sizing you up. “You’re awfully concerned for being the bastard that put him there.”

“Healthcare’s not cheap in this city. Should we hold a fundraiser for him?” You give a theatrical flip of your free hand. “Any suggestions?” Too flippant? You’re never really sure how to approach Argent.

There’s always the temptation; in the back of your head. Let her know who you are, what you’ve done. See if she’ll kill you. But you always end up holding back. Why is that? You don’t understand yourself.

“My only ‘suggestion’ is bringing you to justice.” She keeps her focus trained on you, ready for the moment you make a move. Part of you is surprised she’s still letting you talk. Is backup on the way? That’s not Argent’s style.

“That’s a good thought about justice.” You rap your armored fingers against the pillar, testing to see if it’s hollowed out yet. “But who gets to decide what justice is?”

Would Argent feel bad, if she did kill you? Or would it just make things worse for her? How do you atone for something like this? Is revenge justice? Is it really enough to just make someone hurt?

You used to be sure.

“I liked you better when you didn’t talk.”

You tsk. “Oh and now you’re hurting my feelings?” You can’t keep operating like this. Need to compartmentalize better. Remember the goal. Remember revenge. The damage to Argent is done. Don’t fuck this up and make it be in vain.

Argent eyes your hand, still pressed to the pillar, and growls. “What are you up to?”

“Are you talking about, in general or just right now?” You smirk under your helmet. “Care to find out?” You push hard against the concert. The stone breaks like glass and the ceiling sags from the sudden lack of support, tiles crashing down around you. You jump backwards as the ceiling starts to give in.

No time for any last-minute taunts. You book it for the sewer entrance before Argent can realize the whole building isn’t going to collapse.

In the back of your head, she's still there, watching through the dust.

Smile like a shark.

Reminding.

---

“So, this isn’t what I had planned on talking about; but you’ll never guess what happened last night.” Ortega looks at you, leaning in, an edge to her smile. The two of you are meeting for an early lunch before heading up to the Children’s Hospital again.

You’d half a mind to order something alcoholic, but resisted. Instead, you’re watching Ortega over the rim of your milkshake, straw in your mouth. “Mm?”

“You remember Pennybags?”

You drum the side of the glass with your fingers, making a show of thinking back. “The magnetic guy?”

Ortega nods. “Yeah. Big bank robber, stole a bunch of things from the old Rangers HQ too, remember?”

You nod, grimacing. “Yeah, that was a mess.” Of course you remember. One of the few times you had actually seen Julia really upset. The first time actually. Didn’t know what to do, how to handle it. Ortega was always so confident, so in control of herself and the situation all the time. And there she was, tears and snot yelling at cardboard boxes about failing and… you did the only thing you could think of to do.

“Well, did you see the news this morning?” Ortega’s excitement pulls you back to the present. She leans in further over the table.

You sit back, shaking your head. “I was a little busy last night.” You wince, “This morning. I mean. Uh.” Shit shit shit. “Well. Both? Long night. Working.” You shrug, try to keep your face blank.

Ortega tilts her head, side-eyeing you. “Yeah, I still need to ask you about that job of yours.” She waves it off with a hand. “Anyway, Banshee made a mess again. North end of Beverly Hills this time.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Was anyone hurt?” You bite your lip, looking away. “Did… um. Did anyone else…?”

You know Banshee didn’t kill anyone last night. But…

Don’t breathe, don’t relax until Ortega shakes her head, “One guy had some minor injuries, but that’s it.”

Oh thank god. “That’s a relief.” You match Ortega’s smile, swipe a fry from the basket in front of her.

“I’m more convinced than ever that Marconi’s murder was something else.”

“That’s…” You look away, watch the window, fingers worrying the fry in your hand. Shit. What do you say to that? Fuck fuck fuck. “If you say so.” You look back at her. Need to push this conversation along before she can think about that response. “So, uh, are you just this excited that no one was hurt or did the Rangers finally bring Banshee in, or – or what?”

“No, they got away. Again.” Ortega gives you a curious look, eyes flickering down to the fry in your hand and then back up to your face. With an air of deliberate purpose, you put the fry in your mouth. She politely doesn’t say anything.

“So then…?”

“You’ll never guess.”

You shrug, steal another fry. “Okay.”

She frowns. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”

You keep your face blank, only raising an eyebrow as you silently eat your ill-gotten prize.

“Fine.” She huffs. “The guy Banshee attacked, the one that had to go to the hospital… It’s Pennybags. Bastard was hiding under our noses the whole time.”

“Money’s a pretty good cover.”

“Believe me, I’m wildly aware.” The tired expression on Ortega’s face is only there for a brief second and then it’s gone. “He practically turned himself in. It was… kind of creepy, actually. Reading the report.”

You swallow, goosebumps on the back of your neck. “Creepy?”

“Like he felt… compelled.” Ortega jabs a fry in your direction. “You’re the expert, what do you think? Can telepathy force a confession like that?”

“Ortega…” You make yourself meet her eyes. “You’re as much of an expert as me, at uh, at this point. M–maybe more.”

“Maybe.” She meets your gaze. “But I want to know what you think.”

Goddamnit, why does she keep doing this?

You focus on the basket of fries instead, it’s safer. “It’s… possible.” You concede. Would it be better to lie? It already feels like you’re lying about so much. It’s better to minimize the amount of bullshit you have to keep track of. “How are you… sure it’s a confession, and not like… uh, a delusion or something? False suggestion?”

“Yeah, that’s fair. That was my first assumption but uh…” She lowers her voice. “We uh, we found some stuff when searching the apartment. The signed Marshall Hood figure Pennybags stole actually…”

“Oh.” You say. You hadn’t expected her to actually talk about this.

“I… don’t really have a lot left of him. I thought I’d lost that one for good.”

“I remember.” You remember seeing the front door of its hinges, running through wrecked room after room, finding an alarmingly sobbing Ortega.

The first time you willingly hugged someone.

“There’s maybe five people who know about that figure, Ari, and two of them are dead now.” Ortega’s voice is quiet, her hand on the table balled into a fist.

“Do…” You fish for an idea, “do you think they’re trying to send you a message?”

Ortega looks you straight in the face, half-eaten hamburger now completely forgotten. You wish she wouldn’t. “A message? For what?”

You look back, willing yourself not to look away, not to look guilty. “I don’t know… I mean, it’s no secret you and Hood were close, is it?”

The look on Ortega’s face only intensifies. “You think maybe it was a threat?”

Your face blanches, and you shake your head. This is not at all going how you thought it would. “I’m not in this game anymore, remember?” You shrug your shoulders theatrically, “for all I know it could be a love letter.” You freeze. Face threatening warmth. Oh god. What the fuck, Ariadne?

The absurdity of the idea gets a laugh out of Ortega and you both relax. “Mierda,” she shakes her head. “That’s a hell of a way to send a letter.”

You steal another fry. She lets you.

[depressed-sock]

I finished up my scar refs for Morgan and decided to try to draw their back...and then that led to wanting to write angst... which led to Morgan turning it around near the end to something softer...

Part 1 Morgan and Mortum

A Fallen Hero fanfic

Tw; scars, burns, past-abuse, ask to tag

Spoilers!

 You can feel him hovering behind you, hesitating to reach out. You know what he's looking at. What's causing the sudden spike of worry as he studies your back for the first time. Scars upon scars upon scars. You only ever got a clear look at them as Wade, you know it's not a pretty sight to other people.

 "You can touch...just...be gentle," your voice is soft and your back tenses unintentionally as his fingers ghost over the scarred tissue.

 "How-" the question catches in his throat, mind moving fast connecting the dots at a rate you can't keep up with, "there are many videos of you protecting people… shielding them from attacks…"

 "Someone had too," you shrug, trying not to flinch against his hand as it traces one that sends a wave of pain down your spine. Old scars, old hurts that never seem to go away.

 "And Charge couldn't?" His voice is sharp, hand moving slowly up towards the burn on your shoulder. Pausing when he realizes your body has gone rigid.

 "....She...uhhh...she kinda didn't even know when I would get hurt most of the time…" you didn't exactly keep it from her...you just didn't want to bother her… and you don't think your handler would have approved of you seeking her help.

 "...You never asked for help?" His voice is full of… something. Concern? Pity? Sadness? You can feel his eyes go to the orange markings on your skin, a thought of they couldn't go to anyone.

 "I…" you start to wring your hands together, worry coursing through you. You don't know if you should tell him...tell anyone. You know better now...mostly. "I was taught not too." The words seem so much harder to admit than anything else you've told him.

 You can feel his confusion tinted with the simmerings of anger, "What do you mean?"

 "I didn't learn self-surgery as Sidestep…" your hands have started shaking, you're not supposed to say. Your handler would've been so angry. But they're not here.

 They're gone and never coming back. That is supposedly meant to be a freeing thought. But in truth, you're still so unsure how you're supposed to feel about anything to do with the farm. You spent so long waiting to be recalled, waiting to be brought back ‘home’. It wasn’t until after heartbreak you realized you’d been dreading every second.

 "Morgan," his voice is soft, hands no longer touching your back as he moves so that you can face each other head on, hands offered out for you to hold. You hesitate before taking them in your hands, listening to his voice without looking up, "You don't have to tell me."

 "I think I need too," you can't look him in the eyes, focusing on his hands marked with small scars from his work, "My handler...they didn't like... ummm 'wasting resources' on me," already too broken so why waste the money, "so I.. I learned to take care of myself and if I didn't…" an unexpected sob catches in your throat. You don't know why this is so hard, why this is so different from admitting you used him… that you feel in love with him... that you're a regen, a tool to be used.

 He's trying to reign in his own emotions, trying to keep calm and not put the pressure of his building anger on you. It helps you as well, bring you back from the panic clawing at your throat. Realizing you’re not ready to talk about this.

 "Anyway...it's kind of hard to do self-surgery on your back," switch to something easier, something you can talk about, "That's why it looks like that."

  He switches with you, allowing a thought on his mind as he studies your chest, a question of why you share similar scars, "Morgan… can I ask-"

 "They taught me not to ask for help when I'm injured," you finally give, meeting their gaze with a broken smile, "Never said anything about asking shady doctors to make me feel more like me."

 "So you thought asking a 'Shady Doctor' to perform surgery on you was a good idea?" He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

 "I never said I was good at thinking my decisions through," your laugh feels lighter as you bring one of his hands to your chest. Over your heart. "And to be fair the 'shady doctor' was a friend… I kinda miss her she was nice…"

 "Oh?" His hand moves up resting against your neck, thumb rubbing calming circles.

 "Yeah, she kept giving me medical stuff for free and would give compliments like Julia used too. I actually saved her daughter, it's how we met... She also had this joke where she kept asking me to marry her," a fond smile making its way to your face. You tried checking in on her but from what you could find out she moved to somewhere much safer and her daughter was becoming just as much a genius as she was.

 "...Morgan," Mortum stares at you, trying to contain his amusement before he relents and lets out a loud laugh, "Mon Cheri... I don't think she was joking."

 "But...she said it was a joke?" Multiple times, even though whenever she looked at you she would, "ooooo…. Fuck Mother." That would explain so much. The random spikes of fondness, the disappointment every time she laughed it off like it was a joke. The protectiveness when she realized exactly what the orange markings meant. Oh no.

 His laughter continues, eyes crinkling happily, "I'm beginning to wonder how many other proposals you've gotten that you're not aware of."

 "....let's not wonder that. Please let's not wonder that...oh fuck I think I can already name 3 people…" oh god why do people say misleading things. You may be a mind reader but you don’t like intruding on peoples thoughts, so you just took whatever they told you as the truth.

  Your head falls into your hands, “Why don’t people just say things clearly?” 

  He places a hand on your head, fingers brushing through your hair, “Would you like me to say something clearly?”

  You freeze, head peeking up slightly to look at his face, “Ok?” Should you be afraid of what he’s about to say?

  He leans forward, lips brushing against your ear. A heartbeat of silence between each of you.

  I love you.

  You can’t stop the smile that grows on your face. You don’t want to stop it.

[jedimasteramell]

A/N: So Im an absolute mess thanks to the snippits of the post-auction convo. hey @queerspeculativefiction you totally ruined me and Im going to live in the hopeful delusion that everything will work out without hurting everybody. 

Fallen Hero //  Puppet/Mortum // Post-Auction // SFW

With a M!Mortum, and an M!Puppet, using my canon’s names. Spoilers obviously. 

------

This was never going to be easy. But you had to make it harder.

And you're going to pay that higher price.

You invited Dr. Mortum out, not to Joes, but another private (and admittedly quieter) hole-in-the-wall. Besides, there were too many memories at Joes. Too many fond and painful memories.

Maybe it was as security, taking him out to a semi-public space. Maybe it was respect, giving you both the chance to step away without the added bitterness of watching the other leave a trusted place. Maybe… maybe it was to make the distinction, the separation, the truth, unmuddled and new.

You should have never fallen in love with him.

Abel had always been your refuge, but right now you wished more than anything he were also a telepath. Stuck in the quiet claustrophobic space of your own brain, the only voice is your guilt screaming and screaming at you.

Fiddling with the napkin, you brush off the waitress that asks for the 3rd time if you wanted a refill on your drink. You just shake your head, watching the ice slowly melt and wish you could do the same. She hesitates, stuck somewhere between the ingrained training of her job and the human instinct to ask of you’re alright. With no response, she steps away. You're glad, well, thankful at least. You couldn’t take that kind of empathy right now, even head-blind.

The good doctor arrives precisely on time. His sharp eyes narrowing affectionately as he catches sight of you in a shadowed booth. You can’t help the way your heart flutters and the ghost of a smile that breaks your facade at the sight of him. He chose to dress up slightly today, a bright turtleneck instead of a tee shirt, though he’d be wont to leave off his lab coat. You both have joked about that, never shedding the skin of scientist, and the memory forms a lump you can't swallow. The knot in your throat only tightens when he sits, taking your hand in his to kiss your knuckles.

“Ma cherie.” His eyes twinkle in greeting, slowly sobering at the deadened expression you wear. “Not your usual tastes.” He spares a second to study the restaurants pallid interior then shifts back to you, unmasked concern growing in his dark eyes.

You suddenly can't look at them.

“What’s wrong Abel?” His words are a murmur, full of an emotion you never dared give name; your name, your lie, a cold cruel knife to the gut. “Is it your employer?”

How right he is, as always. Your fingers feel heavy as lead, heavy as your heart, still wrapped in his, wrapped up in him.

You were never supposed to fall in love, and especially not with someone at the end of the day you barely know. Not about the important things anyway, not his real name, or his past, or where he studied. Just the soft stuff, like the specific temperature he takes his coffee at, the way his brow knits when he encounters a particularly frustrating problem, where to touch him to elicit a laugh, and how his expression, at once both masked and heart-baringly open, shifts when emotion and clinical logic fight for focus on his face.

Just like he’s looking at you now.

You manage a nod, swallowing down the stone in your throat. “It is.” The weight settles back uncomfortably in your stomach.

He waits for you to continue, always the concerned partner, and you will your voice a semblance of steadiness. “I… I want… no I need, to tell you the truth. About them, about me.”

Concern and curiosity in equal measure knit his brow. “I’m listening ma cherie.”

“Remember, months ago, back at the gala? In the hospital I told you I’d been in a coma? I was in it for a long long time.” You’ve been dropping hints a long while, maybe a part of you wanted him to figure it out before it came to this.

He nods shortly, dark eyes never leaving your face.

“And even before, when I told you I called the Special Directive on Psychopathor and that I wanted the best?”

Another sharp nod.

“Its connected see. My boss. Napoleon. I….. We, we’re the same person.” There, you said it. If truth was supposed to set you free, then why did you feel like you’d be sick? You tried for a smile; it failed miserably. Instead your heart pounds in your ears and you imagine every ounce of despair shows etched on the face that's become more real than your own.

He’s silent for a long time. Then finally, quietly, “You're not a telepath ma cherie.” His fingers twitch around yours.

You swallow. Hard. “No, I'm not.”

You can see all the pieces finally coming together for him, and it's almost worse that you lacked the courage to say it out loud. To admit this body had always been a shell, a pretty puppet, no matter how real you’ve felt in it..

Mortum sets your hand down on the table.

The lack of contact never hurt so much.

He laces his own fingers together resting them against his nose, obscuring half his expression. What is left on display is a conflict behind his eyes that scares you. There is an icy edge to the anger there, the betrayal, and you're instantly reminded the man before you had once been a true villain.

It hurts and it's both raw and new and distant and familiar. That level of disapproval, of distrust and disrespect, it reminds you of the Farm, and it breaks what's left of your heart.

“I’m glad that’s finally out in the open, Napoleon.” The name is laced with venom coming from him, the same viciousness you saw the night of the gala as he carried Abel’s empty form to safety. “Who knows how long I’d have let you continue to use me.”

“Mortum, I-”

“No.” He doesn't have to hold up a finger to shut you down. The withering glare did that by itself. “We’re done, I'm not hearing any more lies.”

“Just let me explain.” You cry, reaching for him before he’s the chance to move beyond the table as he stands. You catch his sleeve in trembling fingers, the speed of reflexes from years in aikido. “Please.”

Maybe it was the sound of your -Abel’s- voice, maybe it was an acknowledgement of all the months you’d shared together, but he stopped. No words came with the frigid look. Out of respect for what you’d had, he was sparing a final moment.

Better make it good.

“I’ve always been honest with you.” Not that that has much credibility now. “And Abel- I-” You shiver, there's another secret that you've never shared, not even to Ortega, but you know he’ll understand. “I’ve always been more me in this body,” Your whisper shakes along with your shoulders, the only thing holding back inevitable tears the impossible sound of your admittance. You became Cain, you christened yourself as you should have been, but there was always more than just your tattoos that made you feel wrong. “How I’m supposed to be. How I'm not in Napoleon’s. This body is right.” You stress the last word, hoping, praying.

You can’t breathe.

Something imperceptible shifts in his face. The anger is still there, the hurt, but there’s also an understanding, one deep and visceral, and impossibly close to home for him as well. A fragment of tension leaves his shoulders as he extracts the cuff of his coat from your grasp. You feel the cloying still weight of the confrontation drop into unease and anxiety. The good doctor draws several steadying breaths. But when he opens his eyes, it's not acceptance you see, instead the anger has tempered into dark mistrust, edged with something reminiscent of sympathy.

“Just because I understand does not negate the truth.” His voice is far more even than yours, low and brittle. “I can’t see you now.” He doesn't specify if its in this moment or for the rest of your shared time in Los Diablos. “Good night…” There a lingering, a goodbye unfinished in the wake of not knowing how to address you. He doesn’t wait for you to reply. Not that you deserve him to.

You’re alone at the table. Just as you always have been. Just as you deserve for daring, for breaking his heart.

The ice in your glass is long turned to water when the waitress returns. She says nothing, you share nothing. You're just left with a devastating emptiness,

and the bill.

[chaniters]

RETRIBUTION VS. LOS DIABLOS

Betraying everyone he ever knew, Cyrus visits Regina one last time, and then steals the rebel’s airship, as he sets up the final stage of his masterplan. Charge rushes in an attempt to stop him before the countdown ends. 

Warning, major character death!

(Post Retribution AU chapter 7)

_____________________________________________

You bark orders at the soldiers.

It's hard to tell if you're speaking or using telepathy. It all seems the same right now.

You have them take the Hourglass to Mortum's lab, and then you walk in there as well.

Mind-controlling him was never something you wanted to do before. It would kill his creativity.

But you don't care anymore. You just push him into setting up the device. You're not kind. You hurt him. A lot.

The intercom beeps. Cellex and Cestus want to see you.

You ignore them. You can't afford to have them see you in this condition.

The door into Regina's lab opens.

"I'm ready," you say. "I'm ready to go all the way"

"Well aren't you eager?" she says.

"I have very little time. Let's get started. Right now" You’ll need even more power for the final stage of your plan. She can grant you that. Also, it doesn’t bother you that this is the last painful experiment she’ll ever get the chance to do on anyone else.

She will have outlived her usefulness after this.  

------------------------------------------------

Charge materializes once more. Confused. Exhausted.  Eden puts the teleporter gun back in his pocket.

He’s lying on the floor. And Eden is all over him… messing with his mods.

"What... is going on?" he struggles.

"No time to explain," Eden says. "I'm reactivating your mods, Mortum told me how. Behind you is an access point that will take you inside the airship. Go on, and hide until it's in the air. And then, you have to stop Retribution!"

"W... how?"

"I don't know, you're the hero. Figure something out. He's activating the Hourglass tech, and Mortum says that thing is unstable It will cause a paradox and destroy us all."

"What?"

"No time! GO NOW!"

He's not kidding. The whole place seems to start vibrating. Ortega and runs forward. He'll have to make sense of it all later.

-------------------------------------------------------

"CYRUS! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" Cellex is furious in the monitor. "TURN THE SHIP AROUND NOW!"

"I'm sorry Cellex," You say. "But I won't do that"

"You're heading into Los Diablos! WHY?"

"Because that's where I need to be. I have to go home"

"THIS IS YOUR FUCKING HOME! YOU STARTED THIS REBELLION FOR ALL OF US!"

"It worked quite fine for me up to now. I've got everything I need out of it" you smile drowsily. The meds are still in your system. As is Regina’s blood on your hands. It felt good. Choking her.  

"NO. RETURN RIGHT NOW!"

"I don't need you Cellex. I don't need any of you… There is nothing for me back there.”

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO CYBRA? WHY DID YOU KILL EVERYONE AT THE LABS?"

"I did nothing to Cybra... she wants to come along. She is the one who suffered the most after all. And those scientists really had it coming. Wasn't it what you wanted, Cellex?." you say. ARe you meaning everything you say ? It's hard to tell right now. Your mind isn't in the right place at this moment.

Cybra is running the ship by herself. She's the only one who could do it. She figured out your plan and wants to be part of it.

"Make some fucking sense for once! What do you think you'll achieve?"

"I'm going to use the Hourglass to make everything right"

"Fuck that piece of crap. We're going to follow you!"

"Try to chase me, and I'll fry you alive Cellex. I control the lasers after all." you laugh heartily. He looks so stupid right now.  

"You fucking double-crossing piece of ..."

"Tell Cestus I'm sorry? I know he didn't deserve this. So naive… Guess he never really knew me at all" you say with a sardonic grin. Cestus. Should you feel bad? It's hard to feel anything right now. You know you should feel sorry about this. But you don’t. None of them truly matters in the end.

Cellex keeps cursing at you.

You cut off the link. You're not a good team-player after all. Better break off and go solo.  

--------------------------------------------------------

Helios seemed to materialize out of thin air atop the city skyline.

The cloaking device deactivated rapidly, the ship casting an ominous shadow.

People gazed upwards, as it passed above the buildings.

And then straight lines of turquoise light came down from it, in all directions, extending towards the buildings.

For a few seconds, nothing happens.

And then all hell broke loose.

Shockwaves and explosion as the buildings caught fire, a torrent of shattered glass falling onto the pedestrians below.

The ambulance sirens are silenced by the next salvo, as Helios begins setting the whole city ablaze.

..........................................................

"SHUT UP!" you yell as you stumble "KEEP FIRING! SHUT THEM ALL UP!"

You can't help it. Their thoughts are so fucking loud. And you need to be in the immediate vicinity for your plan to work.

Cybra remains hooked to the controller, activating the lasers again, and again, and again. The solar panels all over Helios turn towards the Sun, attempting to squeeze even more energy into the lasers.

Like ants burning under a looking glass.

Two of the main guns fire off onto a large tower, drawing an X on its center. It explodes violently, fire coming out, as it fragments and falls down in pieces, generating a gigantic dust ball.

The Hourglass armor is lying all over the floor of the bridge. You don't need it anymore.

Mortum's device is now in front of you, charging up.

Mortum himself is on the chair to your left, unconscious.

IT's only a matter of time before it activates.

You swipe sweat from your forehead.

The humans below and their panicked thoughts are everywhere. Finally, they start start fleeing.

You manage to recover some of your calm, as many voices go silent in the distance.

"Start a countdown" you order Cybra.

The screens are replaced with the actual time left for activation. 7 minutes.

Your radar shows up a massive number of jet fighters. The air force's arrival time ETA is about 15 minutes.

They'll be too late. Nothing will matter by the time they destroy Helios.

You won.

You're finally going to set things right.

You...

The bridge’s door explodes in electrical sparks, and flies over the room, bouncing and cracking one of the panels of the large glass viewing glass. You can feel the chilling wind outside coming trough.

A figure stands on the other side. Covered in electrical arches.

"Ricardo?" You smile. "I did not expect you here after your escape! Come in!" You invite him as if he were your dear friend once more.

He walks slowly towards you, glaring intensely.

"You must stop. Right now. Open communications and surrender"

"Surrender?" You ask amused "Why would I do that?"

"THe airforce is on its way. You're going to die, and so is everyone below this ship when it falls. This is pointless. Stop now" he says giving another step.

"You don't get it," You say amused "It doesn't matter! Nothing matters! I will set things right Ricardo. We'll get a second chance! Everyone will get a second chance. You'll be fine! I'm going to fix your entire life! You should be fucking thanking me!"

"You are insane!. Step away from the controls. Slowly."

"I can't do that! Not when I'm about to beat fate itself! This is how it's supposed to be. It's inevitable! I'm the one responsible for this, so I'll set it right!"

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN?! STEP OFF THE CHAIR!"

"I forgot you're such an idiot! Let me rephrase... This is a FUCKING TIME MACHINE Ricardo. I'm going to go back. I'm going to fix it all!"

"WHAT?!!

"That's what I wanted the Hourglass for. IT never worked for anything else than stopping time, because you can't move matter through a time portal. But with Mortum's teleportation gun technology, I don't need to! I can turn into energy and go back on the other side once it opens! It's going to work!"

"You're fucking kidding"

"I'm not. We already tested it. He *you point at Mortum* installed his device on the Hourglass. But it's unstable. So he built a better one. It's amazing how fast he can work if forced to use two-thirds of his brain at once... he's having a short nap now I think I overloaded him...  It's about to activate, and then ALL will be restored. You needn't do anything, Ricardo. Just sit down, enjoy the fire, and let me go back, and put an end to it all"

And right then, the device comes life, shinning in bright purple light. Still, 5 minutes to go, but it's already forming a portal.

The distortion begins to open in front of you.

"CAN YOU SEE? IT'S WORKING!! This is so fucking exciting!!!" you say in amazement

"I can't let you do this. That thing's going to kill everyone. Eden told me how risky this tech is"

"Oh please! Since when are you concerned about risks?"

"I'm not going to let you do this," He says taking another step.

"You… “ your fist trembles in fury. “ You are PATHETIC Ricardo! You know this is what we need! THe whole world has FUCKED US. It’s time to get back at it!”

“THat’s not how I play”

“Oh. Well... I should have known. But it doesn’t matter. I'm not going to give you a choice"

"Stand down. You don't have your suit and you're in no condition to fight!"

"Maybe I'm not. But she is" You say letting out more laughter. For a brief moment, you realize your emotions are all over the place… before going back into the whirlwind of it all.

"Wh..." Charge can't finish the sentence, as Aegis sucker-punches him, her fist covered with green energy. The strike is enough to send him down.

"As you can see I'm not the only one who wants to change the past" you laugh.

You’ve never felt like this. You know Regina’s chemicals and Catastrofiends insanity are probably at work. But it’s a strange form of relief. You feel no more guilt. You are doing what you’re supposed to. Revealing your true nature.

"Why?" Ortega asks, spitting blood as he stands up.

"Those 8 years I spent at the farm? I want them back!" Aegis snarls. "And he'll deliver once that device activates! I'll be a fucking queen once more"

"He's not going to..." he blocks her fist, sending her flying onto a console with one fluid motion "... follow through. He'll betray you like everyone else!"

Aegis stands up quickly, removing a glass shard from her hand. "You keep saying that, but I trust him.  And I'm going to crush you, Charge. You're nothing to me"

"Do you really trust him? You are just another puppet!" He’s definitely right. You have been manipulating Aegis's brain pretty strongly as of late.

Her body blurs, and she connects a kick on Charge's torso, and energy blast detonating, sending him on his knees.

You giggle uncontrollably. You just can't help it.

"Stay down Ricardo! Let me take care of it all for you!" You ask of him.

"Listen to him!" She yells.

Only 2 minutes left...

And then you notice the static... the energy arcs.

Ricardo stands up again, engulfed in electrical energy.

Fuck...

"Oh that's a bad choice sugar-plum," Aegis says, preparing to activate her ultra-speed mods...

"Wait Aegis don’t ..." you try to warn her.

Too late.

Her fist fails to connect, as Charge has activated his mods own speed mods to full power.

He simple dodges to the left. You can see her energy shield coming up to protect her...

But it's too slow.

Charge explodes in an electrical nova, blasting her. You cover your eyes, to block the bright light.

She stumbles backward yelling in pain, her mods malfunctioning.

"Fuck... you... Charge" she says, falling down, a smoking mess.

And then he turns to you.

Charging. At full speed.

You close your eyes

You have to stop him right now.

Focus. Control. Brute strength. Subtle manipulation.

All of them go into one as you open your eyelids once more.

He is motionless, next to you.

You can feel the static of his mind. And using all of your power, you quiet it down. Make it into a serene ocean.

His fist is right next to your face...

But he can't move.

You've managed to breach his mind.

"H... how" he gasps. Even moving his lips is hard now.

"You know, you thought you couldn’t be affected by telepathy. That’s not true. I just wasn’t skilled enough. " you say smiling. Taunting him.

"Now your mind is as open to me, as anyone else's"

"Gg... that can't..."

You send a forceful wave of pressure into his mind as if to prove a point. He screams in pain... and then fall down.

The countdown ends, and the portal widens, large enough for you to pass.

"Goodbye Charge. You'll be thanking me very, very soon"

"And Cyrbra… I'll miss you, Sister" you say as you go past her. You push her mind, ordering her to keep fighting until the ship goes down. Better that than be captured. Teach those humans a lesson they won’t forget.

And then you activate the tech box and aim it at the portal.

Pain. Unbearable pain, as your own body is turned to energy... and fired as a beam from the box and into the distortion.

And then nothingness envelopes you.

...................................

Voices. An alert sound. Red lights.

"CHARGE! WAKE UP!"

Ortega opens his eyes. A black man is shaking his shoulders.

"STAND UP," he asks.

He slowly manages to do so. Is this becoming a habit?

"We have minutes! Listen to me!"

"He left... he..."

"You can still stop him! You must before he causes a paradox and destroys everything!"

"How.."

"The Hourglass! I made a test device in it. I told him it was unstable but it isn't. IF you use it, you can follow him!"

And then it makes sense. He starts bringing pieces of the armor, putting it on Ortega.

Red alert sounds fire off everywhere. Jets fighters approaching. The Regene Cybra is deploying counter-measures.

Are there.. tears on her eyes?

Shit.

The chest piece connects and lights up, and then Mortum slides the helm over Charge's head.

A hud controller comes over his sight. Temporal matrix... coordinates... dates. He understands none of it.

"What how do I turn this on?"

"You don't need to fidget with time variables since he used his own device. The portal's still open. You just need to activate the matter-energy conversion and fire up into the portal" He says instructing him on the proper commands.

"I didn't have time to add proper energy batteries.. but you won't have that problem. Just activate your own mods and fire Charge. That'll power up the device"

"But how do I..."

"No time! Activate now!" he says, aiming Charge towards the distortion. It seems to be loosing in size.

No other choice.

HIs mods light up, as he set off a discharge.

The hud comes really alive, a message saying it's charged and ready to fire.

"Let's do it"  

Pain. So much pain.

What a fucking day he’s having.

And then blackness and nothingness.

---------------------------------------------

Mortum stares at the portal as Charge banishes. The alarms become more and more urgent.

Screens show a swarm of rockets being fired.

Cybra activates the point defenses...

But They simply can't Stop all the missiles

Several of them hit, and the Helios shakes violently as it's hull is ripped apart.

He tries to hold onto his chair, as the ship angles sharply towards the ground and begins losing altitude...

"You better fix this Charge" he smiles, as Helios makes an impact with a tall tower, and detonates.

______________________________

My Fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero    DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

[heronimusink]

“Aureus – or simply, “Aury” - is perhaps the most fantastical element of my Dungeons & Dragons Group, playing in the campaign “When Ravens Descend”:

Like Eder Altermann and Rozemarjin Hartley (see at the bottom), she too is a native in the Queendom of Lakania. She and Eder Altermann go back as compatriots, having suffered the same persecution for their particular nature – a persecution put in order by the local campaigns Inquisition, a zealous group of religious fanatics with great political sway convinced that all non-divine magic is heretical in nature.

She is also the second-to-newest character to join, having only been with the group for a months time. That's not to say she hasn't already made a remarkable impression: As an Aasimar, she has strong divine blood coursing through her veins, relating her to the local god of Pleasure and Debauchery, Sanguenar. She treats this divine fact with something akin to non-plussed indifference, however, being so used to it that it doesn't connote anything particularly special in her world.

Understandably, her compatriots disagree – particularly Reidoth, my PC, still has to come to terms with the fact that he's partying up with quasi-divinity (the dragonborn having a deep reverence for the divine and the natural world), which means he's somewhat awkward around this lady.

As a Fae Blade Pact Warlock, she's a bit of a wildcard; occasionally, she joins the tank of the group (the druid, natch) on the front lines, and occasionally she stays on distance, raining down her Eldritch Blasts and spells on unsuspecting foes. But her combat prowess isn't everything she brings to the table – her ineffable charm and somewhat hedonistic slant has allowed the group to pull off some magnificent seductions, often to the surprise of everyone around her. She is also the only character who goes out of her way to remind people to relax and have some fun; considering that she represents the God of Hedonism, you can probably guess that a not inconsequential amount of those suggestions involve someone getting undressed. For this, she remains the singularly brightest person in our otherwise somber group and good god, it's needed! This is D&D, not Game of Thrones, dammit!

A few things should be mentioned right off the bat:

The angel wings are not permanent; I've decided to depict her when she uses the flight ability as a Protector Aasimar – that also explains why her eyes are all shiny and spooky. In general, I've taken a few more artistic freedoms in her depictions compared to the former three drawings, because – well, OKAY, I thought it'd be -totally cool- with those sorts of eyes, get off my back D:

Oh, and the blue sword? It's Fey Glass. Don't ask me how that works, I just think it's hella' awesome.

As mentioned, this drawing has been inspired by the style that the artist “Abaddon” uses for their comic, “Kill Six Billion Demons”; while I like the outcome, this drawing was-.. hard. For a great variety of reasons, and there are elements I'm not perfectly satisfied with. But oh well, that's the process of improvement!"

▬

As always, you can find the rest of my work here: https://heronimusink.deviantart.com

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Eder Altermann, another PC of our group:https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/7m3u8b/art_eder_altermann_a_pc_from_my_roll20_group_when/

Rozemarjin “Doe” Hartley, another PC of our group:https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/7kwypu/art_rozemarjin_doe_hartley_a_pc_from_my_roll20/

My own PC, Reidoth Axhria:https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/76qg76/art_reidoth_axhria_my_pc_adopted_from_an_npc_in/

We very irregularly stream our sessions at: https://www.twitch.tv/mortume

..with twitter updates about our next sessions going out on: https://twitter.com/Heronimus_Ink