Shades of Grey by Pundit | Part Eleven - Catharsis
<clostridia@bigfoot.com>

I acknowledge that there are characters in this story which are the property of either Sega or Archie Comics. The story itself, however, is copyrighted to me, and while it may be distributed in any form, must not be altered under any circumstances. You may not derive any profit from this story. Should you wish to contact me, the above email address will suffice. I accept, and welcome comment, criticism, or flames, should you see the need. Thank you.
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It's not very often that one experiences the perfect pain that accompanies a painstakingly devised torture. Often, the subject usually switches off before the pain peaks.

This torture was different - it was the sort utterly internalised within her. It had to be, since it was of her own making, a sort of malignant ball of thoughts spun from her own suspicions and fears, feeding off them and growing like a cancer, crowding out all rationality. Even though she hadn't been harmed physically.

Well, okay. That was perfectly subjective. It depended on whether you considered four needles in each limb, the whole thing connected to a reservoir of deadly poison. She shuddered, recalling the terror she felt while paralysed from the neck down, while handled by those cold, cruel technicians, absolutely aware of the touch of those needles, all icy metal shards.

And now she was sheathed in a reinforced glass tube barely wide enough for her to turn her head, anchored as she was to the surprisingly comfortable padded wall behind her, waiting for the curtain call for Dimitri's latest depraved performance. There was a small display, set into the side of her face; she could observe it by simply turning her head. It currently glowed a soft green, benignly proclaiming the phrase "Delivery System Unarmed".

She was alone, alone in this miserable Dark Legion facility, without her fiance, without her friends. Waiting to die. She fixed her gaze on that display, wondering when the moment would come, when the screen would turn blood red and announce her death. Then she closed her eyes and hoped.

***

He gripped the red metal handle firmly, twisting it, and it withdrew into the cylinder wall with a pliant hiss.

How obedient.

***

He sprinted up to the entrance on his toes, flinging the door open. The other two were right on his heels.

No one.

He could feel something in the air. It grated on his nerves, telling him, warning him. Something subtly wrong about the whole setup.

***

She heard an angry buzz, and felt an intense constricting pain in her limbs. It firmly seized her, leaving her gasping, too shocked to cry out. And the pain receded, as quickly as it came. To her left, the readout now glowed a more sinister orange.

Armed.

She was dimly aware of her tormentor walking through a reinforced portal, which shut with a firm tone of finality.

***

He leaned just a smidgen further back in the overstuffed leather chair, as it creaked a little under his weight. Perfectly understandable, considering the bulk of metal compared to that of flesh. In his right hand, there was the solid feel of a well crafted heavy weapon. The weapon was called 'Excalibur' for a very good reason.

He took a quick glance at the darkened perimeter of the room, where his captain stood ready, along with about 50 others. Idly, he hefted the gun, pointing it at the ceiling, preparing and composing himself.

Then he waited.

***

He heard a sound, and whirled to see an opening in the far end of the room. Before he could stop them, the other two were through it, rocketing down the brightly lit metal corridor on the other side, with nary a backward glance. He arched an eyebrow, and sped after them, as rows of long fluorescent lights cast snaking white stripes on the floor.

As Locke raised a fist to pound on the door at the end of the corridor, it opened with a metallic whirr, revealing a huge, cavernous room ahead. In the middle of the room, a brilliant shaft of white light threw the reclining figure of Dimitri into sharp relief, the rest of the room shrouded in stygian darkness. Evident was a white ribbon held in one hand, and an almost grotesquely huge weapon in the other.

He could see Knuckles tensing, getting ready to leap towards Dimitri, currently the focus of three hateful stares. With a swift motion, he grabbed Knuckles by the shoulders before he could move.

'That would be very bad.'

And although Knuckles didn't struggle, Kragok could feel the volcanic anger radiating from him, and the coiled power inside, waiting to be released.

The figure ahead gave a bored yawn and stood up, weapon drooping arrogantly at his side.

'Glad you still possess some sense, Kragok. You see, I've already won, more or less.'

Dimitri snapped his metal fingers, producing a harsh, metallic grating. There was a soft, rushing cascade of electrical solenoids, as recessed lights snapped on, illuminating the edges of the room, and the multitude of armed legionnaires standing there.

'Guess you don't believe in a fair fight.'

It was more of a controlled civil growl than actual language.

'Oh, that! I do learn my lessons, you know, and I have learnt this one, after that particular encounter with your son... what... about a year ago?'

And he gave a loud, barking guffaw.

'Besides, the three of you against little old me isn't very fair either. And I do intend to win.'

He began to pace.

'The three of you are so stupid, really, though I can't say I blame you. I can't take all the credit either - quite a lot of this was thanks to Moritori's scheming. He realised that you can't just march in and take power. You must convince the population to make you the leader, which is where the gas comes in. Kragok, you may know it as Gargoyle. It simply makes the recipients a little more receptive to reason.'

There was a theatrical pause.

'He also came up with the idea that good secrecy should involve only the top leaders knowing the entire plan. In point of fact, we were about to bring you in, but that inexplicable run from the conference room tipped us off. So we didn't. And now, you're probably cursing fate for not realising all this sooner. You see - I simply need to send a little signal out, and clouds of gas will blanket the city. It doesn't matter whether the EST wins a few more buildings, or how many Legion bases you take out, because the people will demand that we rule them.'

His voice took on a louder, more strident tone.

'From the ashes of the old government, I will raise up a new society - one that worships technology and champions advancement. And the three of you, along with your Haven and whatever supporters that remain, will be consigned to the dustbin of history. All of you. By the way, I won't bother to laugh maniacally at this point.'

'This is a madman's dream.'

Locke.

Dimitri raised a peremptory hand.

'Don't interrupt. Of course, the three of you won't have the pleasure of seeing that society, since you'll be smears on the floor before this day is out. Count on it.'

'I don't think so.'

A deep voice behind him, as he half-turned in genuine shock.

'You never bothered with the details, did you?'

Four shadows.

Then pandemonium.

***

Locke, of course, was rather glad at the unexpected appearance of the four of them, although he had to admit that he had no idea just how or why they got here. Regardless, because all members of the good side must obey certain conditions, he dove into the chaotic conflagaration that currently ringed the room.

***

No time to think.

Dodge, counter, duck.

Kick, turn, elbow.

Jab. Hook. Dodge.

It was a lot more serious than an aerobics class, although he wished it was as simple and harmless as that. But then, the music was blaster fire and shouts, and the root of all the activity was a highly sinister looking cyborg grasping a huge gun, which he could use rather well.

Someone must have hit him on the head, because his vision blurred red for an instant, as blood ran down his right eye.

He didn't care, since he was inflicting rather worse injuries on the other people in the room. A number of them wouldn't get up for a few weeks after this, of that much he as sure. After all, he had the past 6 years to practice.

Around him, the other six were doing quite well too. Slowly, he was making his way towards Dimitri, wading among the bodies across the room.

Just like a computer game.

***

Although he didn't like to admit it, even to himself, he was beginning to sweat a little bit. Figurative sweat, since metal body parts prefer heatsinks, but uncomfortable nonetheless.

Why?

Because he hadn't planned for more than double the number of guests, an error exacerbated by their access to the powers of the emerald.

So even as he carefully aimed his shots and directed himself towards the business of staying alive in this fight, he was thinking about his insurance, which he might have to use pretty soon.

He stole a glance at the keypad next to the door - it would take but a moment for him to input the access code, metallic fingers dancing on the buttons, and then the doors would open, and he would be safe, or at least safer.

He relaxed a little, letting the tide of the battle take him towards the edge of the room, towards that door.

***

He looked up in surprise at the familiar sound. A metal barrier in the side of the room was operating, creating a gaping hole in the wall, the halves pushed by powerful pneumatic cylinders.

His great grandfather was already leaping into the opening, surrounded by a phalanx of guards who were covering his retreat, providing maximum resistance. Just six feet away. How typical of him to run away.

And he knew that he couldn't let that happen; that he was not going to.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, as he prepared himself to jump. His entire awareness was focused on a particular spot through an opening evident in the phlanx, where a closing gap could be seen.

Then he was flying through the air, propelled by the conviction that Dimitri would have to be stopped. It was time to end it.

He found himself punching through the tight group of guards, describing a very graceful arc through the barrier into the next room. Next to him, he could see Knuckles pulling off a similar move, dreadlocks splaying out. Then they both landed.

Behind him, there was a yell, and he turned to observe the charging figure of Locke, scrambling through the now almost shut barrier. He was quite a sight, bloodstained and torn robes flapping. Knuckles had a few cuts over his eye, and plenty of bruises, and he was sure the gash over his own cheek had reopened sometime in the last few minutes. Well, actually all of them were quite a sight.

Then the robotic voice.

'Observe, the three of you.'

***

The lights clicked on at the sides of the room, revealing a most horrid sight. He saw a huge glass cylinder suspended from the room, containing the indistinct, but devastatingly clear form of Lara, his former wife. Wires wreathed her body like blue ivy, falling in deadly coils around her limbs. He looked into her eyes, and saw pure terror.

And he gasped, the air rushing from his lungs like he'd been hit by a sledgehammer.

'You're mad.'

'Tut tut. That's what they all say. I find that, in my experience, that no sane person argues with a primed container of PX-5. You should know, I mean, you used it on both yourself and your genetic freak of a son. And now, it's going into the veins of your ex-wife, in the guise of a fatal megadose. Kind of trite, I know.'

'How did you...'

'Oh, I have my ways. Did you really think violence is the only path we pursue? That yellow button you see off to my side is going to kill her.'

'Damn you.'

He spoke with feeling, even as Dimitri turned slightly to check a monitor.

It was all he needed, and then he was charging madly towards Dimitri, arms poised, teeth firmly set. Behind him, he could hear the two of them follow suit.

And in an instant the three of them were on Dimitri, swarming like vengeance-seeking ants. He collided with Dimitri, elbow first, trying to drive him away from the cylinder, and there was an jarring crash of bone and flesh on metal as the shock ran through his body, creating a starburst of pain, even as the impact drove Dimitri from the cylinder.

***

He saw his father crash into Dimitri, and wasted no time latching onto one of Dimitri's robotic arms. It was like trying to hold on to a slippery, metallic, and very upset octupus. To his left, Kragok was doing the same thing to the other arm, barely able to keep Dimitri still.

And yet he held on like a leech, firmly and assuredly gripping like a terrier. He knew it meant life and death.

Then he heard an almighty grunt, as Dimitri broke free from Kragok's hold.

***

He was gritting his teeth, doing his damndest to hold on tight because you don't let a madman loose in a room with a hostage and several deadly weapons, and live to talk about it afterwards. Through the haze of the pain, he could feel his fingers slipping, slowly and surely, sliding off the smooth metal.

And then Dimitri was free, bringing the gun up and across to fire. His arm shot out, striking Dimitri's, hoping against all possible hope that it would deflect the barrel. It seemed to him that Dimitri's arm yielded an infinitesimal amount, and then the thin cylindrical projectile was arcing towards Locke, as swiftly and silently as a striking cobra.

The round left an angry red furrow on Locke's shoulder as it grazed him inches away from the heart. It spun him around, sending him sprawling onto the floor with a resounding impact, drops of blood splashing on the floor in a red cone.

Drops of blood.

In the next moment, a fist shot out like a piston, and Knuckles went flying, barely able to prevent himself from colliding with the wall behind.

'Did you really think i'd let you win?'

Shouted at Knuckles. By Dimitri.

'Grab him!'

Shouted at Knuckles. By Kragok.

And he grabbed Dimitri's head with both arms, letting the electricity flow, pouring out in a torrential, unstoppable rush, trying to fry his brain. And as Dimitri twitched uncontrollably, he was borne to the ground by Knuckles, doing his best to hold a few hundred pounds of angry cyborg down, as Locke rushed to help

'Let's do some good.'

He started pulling out wires.

***

Not good.

He was lying on his back, as alerts flashed past his vision, which he ignored. And despite his thrashing and flailing, he was being disassembled by that...

Disassembled.

>Internal comm efficiency 43%
>LArm48 Servo Overload
>LArm11 Servo Overload
>Internal comm efficiency 41%
>LArm12 Servo Overload
>Torso3 Servo Overload
>***System Fault***

Yellow button.

If he could reach it.

He stretched, left arm reaching out, straining with the focused might of his being, concentrating on impacting the button.

>LArm Stress Critical
>Comm Failure [RArm Unreachable]
>Internal comm efficiency 36%

So close, yet so far.

>***Critical Exception***

He spasmed, jerking uncontrollably, screaming as his tortured body fought to regain some semblance of control.

>CmdGlobalPwrReroute LArm -PriorityAlpha

He closed the distance.

***

The screen turned blood red.

And the beginnings of the tubes turned flat black, creeping up towards her, towards the openings into her bloodstream. Slow at first, then faster and faster, a black reaper coming for her, coming for her life.

It entered her legs, an insidiously slow pain, building and building, heat on top of heat, a stream of fire pouring into her. She stretched against those horrid restraints, willing them to let her go, leaving red, raw marks along her wrists.

She felt herself writhe in agony, as wretched and helpless as a worm on a hook.

Then she screamed.

***

He saw Dimitri touch the button, saw the poison.

In an instant he stood up, pushing Knuckles aside.

'Cover your ears.'

And then he picked up Dimitri's body, as it jerked uncontrollably, damaged beyond repair, wires and circuits dangling ignominously. With a scream, he swung it, hurling it into the reinforced glass, which gave an almighty crash as it shattered, now stained with oil and blood.

Dimitri's body was dumped on the floor, and then he was reaching into the cylinder, yanking the needles free of his ex-wife, seeing them spout their deadly black fountains.

She was unconscious, but breathing.

***

It was quite a pleasant little rest area, bordered as it was by lengths of sterile corridor.

Days ago, he was a fugitive running through this building, running for his life.

Days ago, his twin sister died.

Days ago, he switched sides in this bloody little war.

Now, he was with the only member of his family he didn't mind. She was standing out of the window, overlooking the ravaged city. He was sitting down, trying to hide the persistant feelings of uncertainty.

'Takes some getting used to, doesn't it?'

He nodded, stood up and sighed, walking to her side.

'I'm sorry for what I did to you, and what I did in the Legion.'

For a moment, she hesitated a little, tensing imperceptibly. And then, she turned around to face him fully, eying his face.

Her features softened.

'I think your heart's in the right place.'

They hugged each other, as the morning sun streamed through the window, casting warm rays over the both of them.