Baxter Peters
Considering Writing Again
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Moderator
Dungeon Master
Inner Sanctum Nobility
- Local time
- Today 4:54 AM
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- 2,810
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The key's scrape in the lock heralded General Watson's return. As the door opened to reveal the general's thick silhouette, backlit by the porch's stark light. His keychain jangled into an old amber-hued, glass ashtray, a memento of the past somehow appropriate for the gray-haired man in a dress uniform. He didn't call out for his wife. At this late hour, she'd already been well in bed. She used to wait up, but they were both older now. He forgave that weakness, if only because her own wrinkled visage reminded him of his own lost youth.
Ritualistically, he hung his jacket and hat on the waiting hooks, then headed into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of vodka from his freezer. He poured a screwdriver with just enough orange juice for plausible deniability, despite almost certainly being flammable. He didn't sip the drink, but rather gulped it down before making another.
"I supposed warning you about your drinking is a bit moot at this point, eh General?"
Blood in his veins abruptly running colder than the bottle in his hand, Watson froze for a moment before turning toward the breakfast nook and the speaker he'd missed in his earlier walkthrough. "T-27? Dare I ask what you're doing here?"
The visitor's feral smile showcased his too white teeth, despite the shadows he sat within. "It's Jacob."
"Jacob?" General Watson's voice made it clear he didn't understand.
"Jacob." The visitor replied simply. "I've decided that's my name. It's not what's tied to whatever files you have on me from... before, but I'm not that child anymore, am I? Even if I knew that name, I can't imagine it would resonate. So... Jacob. I like the sound of it. It rolls off the tongue. Jacob. Good mouth feel, you know?"
"That doesn't explain why you're in my house, or how, for that matter." The older man seemed to be regaining his footing. One could almost feel the gears turning as he considered his situation.
"Oh, come on. You've got to have a pretty good idea why I'm here." Jacob's gaunt frame unfolded from nook as he stood and stretched, the hospital scrubs he wore covered in dark stains. "As to the how, I convinced P-16 to help me remove the block." He tapped the blood caked hair on the right side of his head, "Hurt like a motherfucker. Seriously. You folks really get it in there. Even odds I die from the internal bleeding, but a small price to pay to be a person instead of just a weapon for a little while." Jacob was practically skeletal, his sunken eyes gleaming with madness while his joints bulged under his skin.
"My wife?"
"Sleeping. Don't get me wrong. I was going to kill her and make you watch, but then, as soon as my mind touched hers, I realized she's just another of your victims. While it might have been a mercy to put her down, given my second chance, why not give her one? So, I just put her into a deep sleep so we wouldn't be interrupted and tweaked her a bit. Gave her the courage to find who she is without you. It'll be hard, but with me planting the details of where you hide your banking info, at least she'll be able to put your nest egg to good use."
"Victim? You think you're a victim? Son, I gave you power. Power most people can't even fathom. I made..."
"I AM NOT YOUR SON!" Jacob interrupted with a feral scream, body lunging forward a step toward the general, but no closer. Not within arm's reach. No, he wasn't getting that close, keeping the kitchen island between him and the larger man. "But yeah, I suppose you did make me. I'm your billion dollar boy. P-16 and I, your two success stories. Two invisible weapons and it only took how many human trials to get here? Well, one success story now. I'm afraid that P-16 didn't have as much luck removing his block as he did removing mine." A cluck of his tongue. "Shame. Such a shame."
"How'd you convince him? P-16 was a believer."
"He was. Unlike me, he couldn't see past the bullshit. He just took it at face value, not having that glimpse behind the curtain that I do." Jacob's narrow fingers gesticulated wildly as he spoke, casting spidery shadows across the kitchen. "I just explained how much stronger we'd be without the blockers. How we could prove we could be trusted and how you'd finally be truly proud of him. Dumb bastard couldn't take my advice fast enough after that. Admittedly, I might have directed him a bit awry. Instead of pulling out his blocker, he ripped loose a big chunk of brainstem. I sat with him and held his hand as he died, wondering why his lungs wouldn't work anymore. It was the least I could do."
"Stiltish slickly newshawks morphine napping." General Watson vomited forth the stream of nonsense with the sort of speedy accuracy that would have sold tiny toy cars in the past. He'd clearly practiced the tongue twister countless times.
And yet, Jacob just rolled his eyes dramatically. "Really? Really? Post hypnotic suggestions on me? Me!?!?!" He shook his head with a sigh, "Wow. That's desperation for you, I guess. Any other straws you want to try clutching at? Notice how you haven't gone for your gun? I mean, you carry it constantly just for this exact sort of scenario, but the thought just hadn't crossed your mind. And now that I put the thought in there, you can't seem to move your hand toward the piece? Weird that. Almost like a telepathic assassin means you harm."
"Jacob. I understand that you're angry. We can work something out, you and I."
"Bargaining already? Shit. I'd owe someone money if I'd have bet on it. I'd thought you'd go straight to threats, but you're self-aware enough to skip right over it. That's wild. Despite rifling through your mind and seeing, in stark detail, all your very, very many flaws; inside of me lives that little boy who still sees you as a dragon. You haunt my nightmares. Truly. Despite how fucking feeble you are, in my heart, you're a larger-than-life demon." Turning away from the general, Jacob fell silent, rubbing his hands together in a self-calming technique.
Despite himself, General Watson couldn't seem to capitalize on the young telepath's distraction. Brain him with the bottle, grab a knife, grab his gun, tackle him, scream for help, run... anything! But no, the general could not seem to command himself to do anything. Men quailed at the sonorous timber of his voice, and yet, he couldn't do a god damn thing in this situation. He felt helpless in a way he'd never experienced. As that realization settled in, he became aware of the warm stream flooding down his pant leg.
"Huh." Jacob turned back to the general, looking down at his crotch. "I... I didn't do that. I probably could, but I've never tried. Wow. How do I feel sorry for you right now?"
Silent tears began rolling down the old man's cheeks, disappearing into his well-groomed beard.
"Even now, you've found a way to suck the fun out of this moment. My personal boogie man, blubbering and pissing himself. I should just leave with this image of you forever burned into my brain." After a long, pregnant pause, Jacob grinned again, the expression snuffing any fleeting glimmer of hope the general might have been clinging to, "But no. No, no, no. That would be silly. You taught me to never leave things half done. And, what sort of tool would I be if I didn't follow that basic operating procedure? So, here's what's going to happen."
"I'm not going to kill you, General. Too easy. Too, too easy. You remember what you had me do to that reporter? Oh yeah, you remember. Aphasia and paralysis. A perfectly function mind inside a sack of unresponsive meat, fully aware of one's surroundings and situation, and yet, not able to do a damn thing. Maybe they'll think it was a stroke, but I bet DARPA will bring you in house and study you, trying to figure out what I did. Maybe even hoping they could reverse it, but more likely, just using you as their latest subject." He waved an errant hand, waving away the general's thoughts like stray cobwebs. "Don't bother. I can hear all your negotiations before you even voice them. You begging, your pleading, your fear, your anger. I feel it all in here." He tapped the side of his own head, finger sinking discomfortingly into the bloodied side of his head.
General Watson felt himself fall to the floor, his entire body going slack. He felt the back of his head bounce painfully against the smooth, cool tile along with the bracing cold of the vodka, bottle shattering beside him in a spray of ice-cold alcohol. He could see Jacob kneeling beside him, staring down into his eyes. "Kathy will find you in the morning. Mixed into the shock will be relief. A wave of relief so large she'll feel guilty. She'll call an ambulance, probably play the dutiful, grieving wife for a while, then my suggestions will begin working their magic, and she'll leave you. People might think poorly of her abandoning her vegetative husband, but fuck those people. She'll take your retirement savings and spend it on things that make her happy, whatever that is. Fuck if I know."
Jacob leaned closer, his intense, unblinking eyes focused on the fallen general for an interminable amount of time, before tapping the old man on the nose with a, "Boop!" Then he rose, turned, and walks away, his footsteps trailing off as General Watson could only look at his kitchen ceiling and the small spider, spinning its web in the corner.
Ritualistically, he hung his jacket and hat on the waiting hooks, then headed into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of vodka from his freezer. He poured a screwdriver with just enough orange juice for plausible deniability, despite almost certainly being flammable. He didn't sip the drink, but rather gulped it down before making another.
"I supposed warning you about your drinking is a bit moot at this point, eh General?"
Blood in his veins abruptly running colder than the bottle in his hand, Watson froze for a moment before turning toward the breakfast nook and the speaker he'd missed in his earlier walkthrough. "T-27? Dare I ask what you're doing here?"
The visitor's feral smile showcased his too white teeth, despite the shadows he sat within. "It's Jacob."
"Jacob?" General Watson's voice made it clear he didn't understand.
"Jacob." The visitor replied simply. "I've decided that's my name. It's not what's tied to whatever files you have on me from... before, but I'm not that child anymore, am I? Even if I knew that name, I can't imagine it would resonate. So... Jacob. I like the sound of it. It rolls off the tongue. Jacob. Good mouth feel, you know?"
"That doesn't explain why you're in my house, or how, for that matter." The older man seemed to be regaining his footing. One could almost feel the gears turning as he considered his situation.
"Oh, come on. You've got to have a pretty good idea why I'm here." Jacob's gaunt frame unfolded from nook as he stood and stretched, the hospital scrubs he wore covered in dark stains. "As to the how, I convinced P-16 to help me remove the block." He tapped the blood caked hair on the right side of his head, "Hurt like a motherfucker. Seriously. You folks really get it in there. Even odds I die from the internal bleeding, but a small price to pay to be a person instead of just a weapon for a little while." Jacob was practically skeletal, his sunken eyes gleaming with madness while his joints bulged under his skin.
"My wife?"
"Sleeping. Don't get me wrong. I was going to kill her and make you watch, but then, as soon as my mind touched hers, I realized she's just another of your victims. While it might have been a mercy to put her down, given my second chance, why not give her one? So, I just put her into a deep sleep so we wouldn't be interrupted and tweaked her a bit. Gave her the courage to find who she is without you. It'll be hard, but with me planting the details of where you hide your banking info, at least she'll be able to put your nest egg to good use."
"Victim? You think you're a victim? Son, I gave you power. Power most people can't even fathom. I made..."
"I AM NOT YOUR SON!" Jacob interrupted with a feral scream, body lunging forward a step toward the general, but no closer. Not within arm's reach. No, he wasn't getting that close, keeping the kitchen island between him and the larger man. "But yeah, I suppose you did make me. I'm your billion dollar boy. P-16 and I, your two success stories. Two invisible weapons and it only took how many human trials to get here? Well, one success story now. I'm afraid that P-16 didn't have as much luck removing his block as he did removing mine." A cluck of his tongue. "Shame. Such a shame."
"How'd you convince him? P-16 was a believer."
"He was. Unlike me, he couldn't see past the bullshit. He just took it at face value, not having that glimpse behind the curtain that I do." Jacob's narrow fingers gesticulated wildly as he spoke, casting spidery shadows across the kitchen. "I just explained how much stronger we'd be without the blockers. How we could prove we could be trusted and how you'd finally be truly proud of him. Dumb bastard couldn't take my advice fast enough after that. Admittedly, I might have directed him a bit awry. Instead of pulling out his blocker, he ripped loose a big chunk of brainstem. I sat with him and held his hand as he died, wondering why his lungs wouldn't work anymore. It was the least I could do."
"Stiltish slickly newshawks morphine napping." General Watson vomited forth the stream of nonsense with the sort of speedy accuracy that would have sold tiny toy cars in the past. He'd clearly practiced the tongue twister countless times.
And yet, Jacob just rolled his eyes dramatically. "Really? Really? Post hypnotic suggestions on me? Me!?!?!" He shook his head with a sigh, "Wow. That's desperation for you, I guess. Any other straws you want to try clutching at? Notice how you haven't gone for your gun? I mean, you carry it constantly just for this exact sort of scenario, but the thought just hadn't crossed your mind. And now that I put the thought in there, you can't seem to move your hand toward the piece? Weird that. Almost like a telepathic assassin means you harm."
"Jacob. I understand that you're angry. We can work something out, you and I."
"Bargaining already? Shit. I'd owe someone money if I'd have bet on it. I'd thought you'd go straight to threats, but you're self-aware enough to skip right over it. That's wild. Despite rifling through your mind and seeing, in stark detail, all your very, very many flaws; inside of me lives that little boy who still sees you as a dragon. You haunt my nightmares. Truly. Despite how fucking feeble you are, in my heart, you're a larger-than-life demon." Turning away from the general, Jacob fell silent, rubbing his hands together in a self-calming technique.
Despite himself, General Watson couldn't seem to capitalize on the young telepath's distraction. Brain him with the bottle, grab a knife, grab his gun, tackle him, scream for help, run... anything! But no, the general could not seem to command himself to do anything. Men quailed at the sonorous timber of his voice, and yet, he couldn't do a god damn thing in this situation. He felt helpless in a way he'd never experienced. As that realization settled in, he became aware of the warm stream flooding down his pant leg.
"Huh." Jacob turned back to the general, looking down at his crotch. "I... I didn't do that. I probably could, but I've never tried. Wow. How do I feel sorry for you right now?"
Silent tears began rolling down the old man's cheeks, disappearing into his well-groomed beard.
"Even now, you've found a way to suck the fun out of this moment. My personal boogie man, blubbering and pissing himself. I should just leave with this image of you forever burned into my brain." After a long, pregnant pause, Jacob grinned again, the expression snuffing any fleeting glimmer of hope the general might have been clinging to, "But no. No, no, no. That would be silly. You taught me to never leave things half done. And, what sort of tool would I be if I didn't follow that basic operating procedure? So, here's what's going to happen."
"I'm not going to kill you, General. Too easy. Too, too easy. You remember what you had me do to that reporter? Oh yeah, you remember. Aphasia and paralysis. A perfectly function mind inside a sack of unresponsive meat, fully aware of one's surroundings and situation, and yet, not able to do a damn thing. Maybe they'll think it was a stroke, but I bet DARPA will bring you in house and study you, trying to figure out what I did. Maybe even hoping they could reverse it, but more likely, just using you as their latest subject." He waved an errant hand, waving away the general's thoughts like stray cobwebs. "Don't bother. I can hear all your negotiations before you even voice them. You begging, your pleading, your fear, your anger. I feel it all in here." He tapped the side of his own head, finger sinking discomfortingly into the bloodied side of his head.
General Watson felt himself fall to the floor, his entire body going slack. He felt the back of his head bounce painfully against the smooth, cool tile along with the bracing cold of the vodka, bottle shattering beside him in a spray of ice-cold alcohol. He could see Jacob kneeling beside him, staring down into his eyes. "Kathy will find you in the morning. Mixed into the shock will be relief. A wave of relief so large she'll feel guilty. She'll call an ambulance, probably play the dutiful, grieving wife for a while, then my suggestions will begin working their magic, and she'll leave you. People might think poorly of her abandoning her vegetative husband, but fuck those people. She'll take your retirement savings and spend it on things that make her happy, whatever that is. Fuck if I know."
Jacob leaned closer, his intense, unblinking eyes focused on the fallen general for an interminable amount of time, before tapping the old man on the nose with a, "Boop!" Then he rose, turned, and walks away, his footsteps trailing off as General Watson could only look at his kitchen ceiling and the small spider, spinning its web in the corner.