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edupunkn00b · 7 months

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Meus ex Machina, Chapter 5: Power

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other surrounded by blue and green light.

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Rated: T - WC: - CW: brief descriptions of broken bones and blood While helping the Mad Lads repair HQs solar panel, Logan makes a mistake and someone gets hurt. -

“Hey, Jan?” Virgil poked his hoodie-clad head into Janus’ darkened room and tugged on the drawstrings. His formerly oversized fleece was no match for his last growth spurt and was now just-right-sized. He'd have to ask Papa Bear for a new one soon. “Have you seen Princey? He’s not in his room or out back. I was wondering if he went with Papa Bear and—“

His voice fell away when the light from the hall caught a sparkle of tears in Janus’ eyes.

”Downstairs?” Virgil asked, stepping into the room.

Janus nodded. “Downstairs.” He dried his eyes with one of his ever-present handkerchiefs, the flash of yellow out of place in the gloom. “I was going to give them a few more minutes and then collect him.”

”You want me to go down instead?” Virgil twisted his hoodie strings, voice thickening. There was a warm brush of Janus’ thoughts in his mind, a steady 1-2-3-4 4-3-2-1 pattern and he breathed to the rhythm. After a moment, he spoke again, voice steady and calm. “Princey was pretty mad the last time you…” He shrugged and let their shared memory finish the sentence.

”I’ll bring him up,” Janus said as he rose. He gripped Virgil’s shoulder as he passed, gently steering him toward his own bedroom. “It’s time for you to be heading to bed, as well.”

Virgil didn’t bother to hide his eye roll but still did as he was told, smirking up at him. “One of these days, you’re gonna figure out I’m not a kid anymore, you know.”

“Perhaps…” Janus might have chuckled. “Perhaps when you are actually no longer a child.”

”Oh, ha ha ha,” Virgil deadpanned, blushing when his voice cracked. Janus at least had the grace not to mention it. “Fine.” He started down the hall then looked back over his shoulder. Janus was smoothing his cloak, back straight and face blank. “Call me if you need me.”

“I will,” he nodded. “But only come down if I call for you.”

Ultraviolet’s and The Prince’s low voices carried from the kitchen. The cold, metal echo along with the taps and stirs and scrapes of meal preparation did little to muffle their discussion. “I don’t hate him,” The Prince muttered. Pretending he couldn’t hear them—and further pretending he didn’t know precisely who they were talking about—Logan hunched over the blueprints spread across the common room table. He missed working with his tablet, but it was one of the many items he’d failed to bring from his old lab. Paper and pencil would have to suffice until he came up with another solution.

“I don’t hate anyone,” The Prince continued, almost plaintive. “Not, really.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ultraviolet’s drawl was a sharp contrast to the way he moved. “What about that exec from BeBright?” Laughter buzzed under his words.

“I stand corrected,” he chuckled. “I don’t hate any people. Corporates aren’t people.”

Ultraviolet snorted but sobered quickly. “You gotta get over whatever this is, Princey.” He’d lowered his voice. “He lives here now, and if you think Jan’s gonna let him slip away like—”

“I know, ” The Prince snapped. The sharpness in his voice pulled Logan’s attention back to his sketch. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but… the main room was the only place with both a table set to the right height for his chair and his mech wouldn't…

He sighed. Yet another unsolved problem on his list.

“I know he’s gonna be here for a while,” The Prince continued, softer. “Just… you know why I don’t like him, V.”

“If he’s forgiven him, why haven’t you?”

The Prince’s response was too quiet to hear and Logan was grateful for small miracles. Refocusing on his work, he didn’t hear Ultraviolet's approach until he stood behind him.

“Oh, hey there, Machina,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Have you been, uh… What are you working on?”

“Good afternoon, Ultraviolet. I—”

“Call me V,” he interrupted. “If—if you want.”

“V,” Logan nodded with a little smile, then gestured at the blueprints. “I believe I may be able to create a modified suit with greater dexterity and agility. Something to use to move around the base.” He pointed to his rough sketches. It had been nearly a year since he’d lost his left arm but he still found it difficult to draft with precision using his right. Virgil frowned at the plans and Logan braced himself for a complaint over its sloppiness.

Instead, he nodded. “We have a printer on the third floor,” he said, pointing to the molded leg pieces in his design. “If we can get this into a CAD, I can help you print these up.”

“You…” Logan looked down at the plans, then back up at V's face. “You would be willing to help me?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I’m not completely unreasonable. You’re not a risk, especially if you’re here and not out drawing attention to yourself and hurting people.”

“That was unin—”

“Yeah, I know,” he huffed. “And your suit… helped. We…” V nodded, still scowling. “We would’ve lost people if you hadn’t stuck around to help get those blast doors off the DC.” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair like it had wronged him. “Look, there’s a lot you don’t understand and I don’t mean the whole Powered vs. Not bullshit or even the fucking secret HQ. I mean…” V leaned closer, eyes darting out to the kitchen before returning to glare at him. “Listen, Jan’s not the only one to sacrifice something to keep you safe here. To…to get you safe here.”

“Jan?” Logan swallowed hard, mouth gone dry.

‘Jannie! Jannie, please! You said you’d come back! Jannie!’

“Fuck, Silvertongue didn’t tell you his real name yet?” Scoffing, V shook his head and handed the plans to Logan. “You didn’t hear it from me, got it?”

“Got it,” Logan whispered, staring down at the plans.

‘Jannie!’

He jumped when V tapped the table in front of him. “Hey, Mac, relax. He’s not gonna smite you or something just because you know his name.” V shrugged. “He knows yours, doesn’t he?”

Shaking off the imagined wail from the basement, Logan shifted in his seat. “It is hardly the same thing. He works in HR at Abracadabra.”

"Fair," V laughed and clapped his shoulder. It… stung but… It felt good. “Let’s go get your new Tin Man suit ready.”

Logan frowned. “Does that make you Dorothy in this metaphor?”

“There’s no place like home, Mac,” he laughed again. “No place like home.”

The Mad Lads’ printer was phenomenally fast.

Logan shook his head, chuckling, as he pulled the latest iteration of his new left shin from the print bed. “This is incredible!” He twisted it around in his hand, admiring the smooth joints up close. “Something like this would’ve taken a week on my old machine at the University.”

“Glad you like it,” V grinned. “It would get real old real fast if we had to wait that long to make parts for the tank.”

“That’s the second time you’ve called it that.” Logan narrowed his eyes, fighting a smile. “You really expect me to believe you drive an actual tank?”

V smirked. “You’ll just have to see it for yourself one of these days.”

“Could it accommodate my suit?”

“Oh yeah,” he laughed.

A modded left knee joint was 63% complete when V's head jerked up, that increasingly familiar faraway look of either Silvertongue or The Prince calling him washing over his face. “Are you okay here?” he asked, already standing and moving to the door.

“Of course,” Logan nodded. “Is everything—”

“Everything’s fine,” he smiled. “Princey needs me on the roof. He’s working on the new solar panels.”

Logan nodded, face frozen in a small smile. They still hadn’t solved the problem of how to make the roof hatch accessible for him, not without V or The Prince flying up there with him in their arms. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” he murmured.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” V’s smile grew just as stiff and he retreated from the room with an awkward wave.

Alone again, Logan watched the last layers of his new knee joint take form. If this actually worked, if he could control the limbs with smaller servos, maybe… just maybe, next time he’d be able to get up there and help maintain the panels with everyone else.

With the help of a pair of vises, he was nearly done soldering the wiring for the left leg when The Prince’s voice flooded his mind. -Machina? Can you hear me?-

He winced, the Powered’s strength nearly overwhelming. “Mm-hm,” he groaned more than said. “Loud and clear.”

-Oh,- Prince replied, quieter, and Logan sagged with relief. -Sorry… Padr—Patton and Silvertongue are out and we need someone to flip the circuits downstairs. There’s an electrical closet—-

“I know where it is!” Logan couldn’t help a bubble of excitement at being actually useful and he hurried to the door. “I’m headed there now!”

A spark of… something other than The Prince’s usual disdain flickered through his mind and Logan sat up a little straighter in his chair as the elevator sped down to the first level. -Yeah, don’t get cocky- Prince’s thoughts poked at him without the usual heat and, for a moment, Logan imagined a little smile behind the message.

Palming open the door, Logan scanned the banks of switches. There were over a dozen labeled ‘Solar.’ “Okay, I’m here, which ones do you need?”

-Alright, flip them all but not the last two, got it? The last two have to stay on,- he sent and Logan started toggling the circuits open. -Right to left,- he added as Logan stared in horror at three open circuits on the left.

“Fuck,” he muttered, just as the lights on the protected red panel faded to darkness and loud, mechanical bells rang throughout HQ.

-Flip them back, flip them back!- The Prince’s voice roared in his mind. -Machina, you imbecile! Flip them-

Logan’s head slammed back against his chair as a wail ripped through his mind. Wordless screams and sobs sizzled through every brain cell, and his skin burned and froze simultaneously. Stabbing pain ripped through feet he no longer had, his body reporting a dozen conflicting sensations.

He was under attack again, metal tearing his limbs, shoving him into a shipping box. Bones cracked and splintered under his skin and screams and laughter ripped up from his throat. He tasted blood and cotton candy and apples.

Clawing at his skin, he felt the blood and flesh under the nails of both hands, all ten fingers restored and digging into his face, his arms, his neck. He doubled over in his chair, choking on hysterical laughter and sobs. The Prince’s panicked cries were barely audible over the pain of the other voice. -Quickly, Machina! Do it now!- Hand shaking, Logan reached up and slammed the solar panel switches closed before he collapsed in his chair, panting as he stared at the other panel. Agonizingly slowly, one by one, the lights flickered back on.

It wasn’t until the last one turned on that the alarm cut out and the screeching in his head dulled. “They’re on,” he managed before the world around him faded to black.

Blinding bright light bled through Logan’s closed eyes and he tried to shake away the ringing in his ears. But that only made the room spin more and he laid back. Laid back?

With a groan, his eyes snapped open and he pushed to sit up, but the tremor in his arm enough to knock him flat on his back. “Where—” He turned his head, fuzzy glare filling his vision. “My chair?” he whispered, cottony mouth and throat stealing his voice. “Wha—”

“It’s alright, shhh… Relax, Logan…” A voice soothed him, gentle hands at his forehead, then at the back of his neck. “Here, start with this…” The voice was low and hypnotic, more in his mind than his ears, and he complied, letting his eyes fall shut and the mysterious hands ease him up. Something cool and wet was dabbed at his lips and he lapped at the moisture, humming in satisfaction. “Better?”

“Mm…” The hand moved away and he followed. “More… please…”

The low voice chuckled. Silvertongue. “Coming right up,” he murmured in that calm, almost hypnotizing voice. Logan focused on it, the little reverberations at the end that told him it was more than just his audible voice at work. It was a Power, but it gave Logan something else to listen to, something besides the whining buzz in his ears. And the memory of that other voice.

This time Silvertongue brought an actual cup to his mouth and he sipped eagerly. “Slowly, Logan, slowly,” he warned, and Logan nodded. His eyes fluttered open, the earlier glare muted.

He was sitting up, the top half of the med bed tilted at a near 90° angle. They were alone in the med bay. “What…” Silvertongue sat on a stool at his side, still dressed in the natty three piece suit he wore to Abracadabra offices. “What happened? Who…” He squeezed his eyes shut, curling over Silvertongue’s arm and shaking his head as the memory, all that pain shuddered through him again.

“Listen to my voice,” Silvertongue murmured, “Listen to me… You’re safe. Everyone is safe. Everyone.” He continued his quiet mantra until Logan sat back again, head resting against the pillow.

Leaning back, Logan realized he was gripping Silvertongue’s arm, clinging to him. He knew he should let go but he… couldn’t make himself release him. Not yet. Silvertongue stroked the back of his hand, his skin warm and soft. Far more gentle than the physical therapists at the hospital, the last people who’d touched his hand.

It was only then that Logan realized Silvertongue had removed his gloves. The backs of his hands were scarred, thin pale lines webbed across his skin, smooth and flat. Old, old scars.

“You heard him,” Silvertongue said quietly, with only his voice this time. Logan looked up, sharp golden eyes softened with sympathy and… pain.

“Who is he?” Logan whispered, a flash of memory lingering. A menacing Picker Bot as it tore at his limbs, shoving his mangled body into a shipping tote. Blood and bone, not just his own. A runaway car shattering, nails digging into skin. Someone else at the height of passion, head thrown back and mouth open in an ecstatic cry. Another scrabbling for a new hold as they scraped and bounced off a cliffside…

The touch helped keep the pain at bay, grounding Logan with what was really happening around him. But Silvertongue’s eyes told him he had not imagined any of it. All of it had been real. The voice, the hurt, the fear. The loneliness.

Instead of answering, Silvertongue released one hand and lifted the cup to his lips again. He didn’t speak until Logan drained it and he set it back on the little tray.

“You heard The Muse.”

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