Destrillians: Aftermath Act I

[Sheva Alomar]

Fiona, Nova, Jettison, Kerr, Emma, Terra and Telran - Lakeside, Avidez' Mansion​

A haunting hymn whispered through Fiona's ears as she came to; she groaned, slowly opening her eyes. For a moment she forgot where she was, the evening dew of the ground beneath her giving her an almost immediate reminder. Her vision was a little blurry as she stumbled to her feet. A large boulder sat next to the fire Destrillian, conveniently giving her a surface to lean on as she nearly fell when standing fully upright.

No sooner than as she put her weight on it, it moved, almost throwing her off balance again. A moment of confusion was punctuated by a rough chuckle. "Hey babe. You takin' a time out, huh? Wouldn't wanna give these fuckers out here a powerplay for too long, but man, you look like shit." Nova turned away to face the direction of the noise, of the carnage in the distance, cracking a wide grin as if he had paid Fiona the biggest compliment.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, jackass!" Fiona exclaimed as she rubbed her eyes. "If I look like shit, then don't start coming at me, you freak."

Nova guffawed, seemingly oblivious to her seething. "Then again, you probably look a damn good sight better than that other chick you hang around with. Oooh, man was that a show! Highlight reel stuff, baby. Dunno if she got out of the wet, though. Can't see shit." He fell silent as a quiet mumbling noise caught his attention. He chuckled as he looked down at the body cradled in his arms. "Well, at least this girl ain't dead. Goan' be real sore about all this though." He flicked away a loose strand of hair from Jettison's eyes as she tried to shift position in his arms. She looked like nothing more than a child, mauled and bloody from some vicious animal attack.

"Talking about Thetis?" Fiona's voice was surprisingly soft as she uttered the blunette's name. It took her another moment to process the rest of what the dark shapeshifter had said. Her features tensed. "Where'd she go?"

A glaring void was all that Fiona felt at the base of her head as she came to the realisation that Thetis was gone. All of her senses sobered up and shot to high alert, stretching to their limits to get a fix on where the water Destrillian was. Was she dead? She had to be-- but Thetis wouldn't die so easily. Did their fight carry them even further away? How could she have covered so much distance? Fiona’s mind became congested with all manner of thoughts. The redhead felt dizzy. She gripped her stomach as a heavy wave of nausea washed over her.

The fire Destrillian violently shoved past her company, focusing solely on feeling out for Thetis. Her first few steps were slow, as if each enforced a sense of denial that the water Destrillian was truly gone. Fiona paused several feet away from the others. Her breathing grew heavier. Orange eyes darted in every direction and blood began to boil.

"THETISSSS!" The redhead broke out into a full-on sprint towards the lake. The calm, impressive expanse of water betrayed a typhoon of emotions. She skirted the shoreline of the whole waterfront, looking, feeling, listening for anything like Thetis. The fire user ran about halfway around the lake to see a very wet and still carcass poking out of the water. Without thinking, the fiery redhead dashed toward it, falling to her knees and skidding to a stop. She hastily pulled the body out of the drink a bit more and brought the face into view. The sick feeling in her gut churned and became unbearable. The body she was hovering over was Flutwelle's. "SON OF A BITCH!" Fiona shoved the corpse away and rose to her feet. She stared at the water and wished she had any sort of power to fizzle it all away. Instead, the fire prototype tore off her vest, took a deep breath and dove into the lake.

Frantically did she paddle the depths of the drink, covering as much space as she could before she ran out of strength and oxygen. Nothing. No sign of her. Fiona shouted incoherently, hushed by the large mass of water around her. She clumsily broke the surface, splashing and spluttering as she swam to the shore. Pebbles crunched under the redhead’s boots as she stumbled onto the bank. With a cry of frustration, Fiona punched the ground. In seconds, the fire Destrillian had leapt to her feet and shot straight back into her search.

As Fiona was frantically searching for her blue haired counterpart, Emma was slowly making her way around the edge of the lake. The nature Destrillian's head still throbbed, and her vision kept blurring in and out of focus, but each time it threatened to overtake her she would stop and try her best to shake it off.

"No, I gotta find the others. I need to make sure everyone is still okay."

She continued on in the direction in which she thought the others might be based on what her senses were telling her. Hopefully everyone would be there.

As Fiona rounded a small patch of lesser bodies of water adjoining the lake, she saw a figure slowly treading beside the shoreline. In her panicked search, the redhead had focused all of her energy on finding Thetis and no one else. So in her state, the fire Destrillian quickly knew it wasn't her water counterpart that was headed toward her and tensed up. The person coming toward her seemed to stop for a moment and then slightly picked up their pace. Fiona reasoned the only option now was to rush whoever it was and ask questions later. At full speed, the fire prototype ran toward the stranger and lashed out. Just as she came within reaching distance, Fiona used one hand to grab the person's leg and the other to press against their breastbone as she tripped them up and brought them both to the ground.

"Fiona! What are you doing? It's me!" a familiar voice cried out.

The Destrillian of flame released the flattest sound of disgust she could muster as she recognised Emma's voice. Not only was it Emma there on the ground, but her pesky little rodent was also there, resting on the nature Destrillian's shoulder. You gotta be fucking kidding me. "WHY are you out here and what the FUCK were YOU doing out here? If you don't give me a straight answer, Chubbs, I swear I won't make life pleasant for you," Fiona shouted right into Emma's face as she pressed on her sternum.

"I was busy almost getting killed. Don't you see that fire over there?"

"The only fire I give a shit about is the one I'm gonna put you in in a second if you don't tell me where Thetis is!"

"The last time I saw Thetis she was by the lake. Do you mean she's gone missing?"

"Obviously, dumbass! Now, you're gonna help me if you know what's good for you or your little rodent pal may be next to go missing!" Fiona had shoved a finger in Emma's face, going so far as to flick the nature Destrillian's head further into the muck to get her point across.

Emma swatted Fiona's hand out of the way before glowering up at her. "You don't have to threaten me! I care about Thetis, too. Of course I'll look for her. But I also need to check on Terra."

The fire Destrillian had already returned to her feet and was stomping away, effectively disregarding anything else her fellow Destrillian had to say. Fiona left the pair in the mud as she stormed into the surrounding forest, half-tripping on overgrown roots and shrubbery. She nearly ran into a tree or two, more concerned with scanning the area than paying attention to where exactly she was going. The redhead passed the slowly-forming group of comrades without a second look. The fire prototype blazed back up the incline that she, Thetis and the now very dead Flutwelle had fallen down from the mansion. She didn't get too far before her heart stopped cold. Hanging from a stray branch was Thetis' plaid shirt. Slowly, Fiona approached the article of clothing as if it would disappear if she made any sudden movements. Her fingers gently grazed the fabric before she plucked the shirt from the wiry branches. She brought it close to her face and studied the rips and blood stains. It smelt completely of Thetis. A quick glance to the others showed that they were squabbling amongst themselves. In this small, precious moment of isolation, Fiona wrapped her arms around the shirt. In the back of her mind she hoped her counterpart was alive. It was unlikely. With that thought, all of the anger, fury and frustration of before bubbled in the pit of her stomach.

Meanwhile, Emma slowly picked herself up from the mud, cursing under her breath at the, for lack of a better word, cold reception she had just received.

"Well that was completely unnecessary," she said, staring off in the direction the other young woman had gone. There would be no point in trying to follow her when she was like this. Emma turned once more toward the direction where she felt the majority of the group may be and headed off again. Perhaps they would know where Thetis went, and if not, they would need to be told she was missing. But more than that, and Emma did feel a tad bit guilty for the shift from one missing friend to another; she needed to find Terra and make sure she was all right.

It didn't take her long at all to find where her friends were all beginning to gather, though her estimates as to how large the group would be had been a little overzealous. Nova and Jettison, along with Stolz, now. Fiona was still storming around, but she still counted, Emma supposed.

"Hey! I am so glad that you guys are safe," said Emma, bent with her hands on her knees as she smiled through the dizziness she felt.

"Have you guys seen Terra or Thetis anywhere?"

Thetis was long gone, but as if a signal from above, at that very same moment a certain Destrillian heard her name spoken. Terra saw Emma ahead, and her only thought was to keep going until she got to everyone, ignoring how much her arm and leg was hurting. She made it to the group, positively beaming in delight with seeing everyone looking generally in one piece. "Hi ehvehrywon. I brohght Telrahn."

For a moment, there was nothing but the wind in the trees (or what was left of them) as the group stared in shocked silence. Then--

"TERRA!" Emma launched herself at her friend, the first to break from the grip of sudden change. She's alive! She's safe! The redhead wrapped her arms tight around Terra and held her there, shaking with relief. "You're okay! You can-- you just..." She pulled back and stared, wide-eyed, her hands on Terra's shoulders. "You can SPEAK!"

"Yeah," was pretty much all she could say to that. "I goht schocked and then I was ohkay."

"You sound all garbly and stuff!" came Stolz' enthusiastic - if slightly unsavoury - reponse. It was to be taken as a good thing, Terra thought.

"Yo, the doc' ain't lookin' too good," bellowed Nova, the sympathy in his voice not really shining through his large-in-charge demeanor. Jettison, still cradled in his arms, managed a look over at the unconscious Destrillian and grunted her agreement. Telran hung loosely in a rather similar position, though not quite as lively.

"He goht schocked too, I think, maybee," Terra said, not terribly sure of what happened during the fight near the end.

Emma pulled Terra back into a hug, though slightly less manic this time, and at the same time quietly felt about for Telran's lifeforce. It ebbed and flowed a bit more weakly than she would have liked to feel, but it was in no true danger of flickering out or fading away. "I'm pretty sure he'll be all right," she said, feeling a light flush steal across her face as she said it. Looking at Telran, no one on the face of the planet would assume "he'll be all right" to be the words of choice.

"Where are Eyedriss and Lohkka? Are they ohkay?" Terra inquired, still trying to settle back into her jaw muscles. As glad as she was to see Emma, she remembered what she had told Idris, that she wasn't alone. If someone else knew where she was, they could at least make sure they were okay.

"Nobody fucking CARES ABOUT THEM. Where's THETIS!?" Fiona bellowed from further down the small path. In the commotion caused by Terra and Telran's return, the group had seemed to forget about the group's other notable absence.

"She's been taken."

Kerr's voice sliced through the small group, ending any further celebratory gestures, or medical concerns, or anything. The three words replaced the worrying pit of fear they had all felt for one of their comrades with a new, fresh kind about another. The Destrillian of gravity had emerged from the woodlands to join the group, still soggy from his trip into the lake and dressed in the bloody remnants of his dress shirt and suit pants. His voice was strangely quiet.

"Taken?" asked Stolz before anyone else could. "Popsicle girl? But by who?"

"The other Destrillians." Kerr was forced to raise his monotone to shout over the sudden barrage of questions and cursewords from the group.

"And how do you know all this?" Emma's voice rose above the others.

Kerr shrugged his shoulders, as if how he came to know this information wasn't important.

The flame Destrillian stomped menacingly back over to the group, back slightly slumped, teeth bared and nose flared. A red tint encompassed her vision as she gripped Thetis' shirt firmly in one hand. None of her comrades acknowledged her until she burst through their tight-knit huddle.

"God-fucking-damn you all!"

"Would you give us a moment to think here, Fiona?" Emma asked pointedly, quickly becoming irritated with the fire-weilder's seemingly single-track mind. She had a few choice snide remarks floating around in her brain that she only kept to herself due to the fact that she was also worried about Thetis.

"Where the fuck is she?!"

"She ain't here, girl. She's gone," Nova spoke up, crossing his colossal arms gravely over his chest.

"THEN FUCKING GET HER BACK!" the fire prototype bellowed, chest heaving in anger. She grit her teeth and watched as the group exchanged uncomfortable looks. After a moment's awkward silence, Jettison finally broke her silence, her voice weak and raspy but still clear enough to form her sentence.

"'Destrillians'? As in, plural?"

"Yes," Kerr replied bluntly.

"We know there are other Destrillians from the same facility Lokka and Telran come from," Emma said, frowning in concentration, "but what would they be gaining from taking another one of their kind? Mileina was working for Avidez-- who are these guys working for?"

The brief silence before Kerr's answer came was utterly deafening.

"Jason Spencer."

So much was rushing through the fire Destrillian's head that the name 'Jason Spencer' didn't ring a bell at first. "Who the fu-- No. You ARE NOT telling me that that FUCKING ASSWIPE TOOK THETIS FROM ME! How THE FUCK did he manage THAT?!" She paced around the group, ready to strike at anyone that hinted at conspiring with the loathesome man responsible for so many crimes against their kind.

“Are you sure you didn't have anything to do with this, Kerr?” Emma asked knowingly, crossing her arms as she shot Kerr a look of contempt. “You did try to kill her in Osea—”

“What?” It took Fiona a moment to process the information. Her eyes went wide and wild, zeroing in on the short Destrillian. "Is that true, you soulless piece of shit?"

"Yes," Kerr said with a scowl.

With all of the strength she presently had, the redhead stomped up to the gravity Destrillian, pulled him off his feet and slammed him against the boulder immediately behind him. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Why? WHY DID YOU HAVE TO FUCK EVERYTHING UP?!" Fiona's orange eyes glowed with fury, staring into Kerr's empty orbs.

Kerr had no answer. None that he could easily express in words. It had seemed like years ago since he had launched that attack on Thetis in the ratty Osean motel.

The silence was unbearable. So much so, that the lack of a reply triggered the flame Destrillian to brutally connect her forehead with Kerr's nose. "Answer me or I swear on my own miserable life that I will give you so much more hell than that next time!"

The blow had hurt, that much was immediately apparent. The Destrillian of gravity had been tired when he had rejoined the group, but the force of the headbutt had nearly knocked him from his feet. Kerr was momentarily grateful for the rocky edifice behind him stopping him from stumbling backwards into the lake. He felt the fresh, wet blood spill from his nose.

"What do you want me to say?" The words felt awkward coming out of Kerr's mouth.

"There's nothing for you to fucking say. What you're gonna do is FIX. THIS." With her last two words, she shoved the dark-eyed Destrillian into the large rock twice more and let him drop to the ground. She waited for Kerr to rise back to his feet before dealing him a swift uppercut which threw him back to the ground. Fiona knelt down beside Kerr. "Do whatever the hell it was that you did to track Thetis in the first place. GIVE HER BACK TO ME!"

Kerr's vision had disintegrated completely. His world was a confused sea of wavy black lines and a sickening milky red haze. It had been easy to forget over the past few days just what kind of raw physical power Fiona commanded. That last hit had caught him right in the temple and though he could tell that nothing was cracked, it took the Destrillian of gravity what seemed like an eternity to piece his thought process back together into something resembling coherency.

Very slowly, Kerr got to his feet again, barely aware of the complete and total silence that had fallen over the large group as they watched the two Destrillians.

"You'd be smart to come up with something, or I will rip those goddamn marbles you call eyes out of their GODDAMN SOCKETS!"

He rubbed the tender spot on the back of his head where it had connected repeatedly with the large rock, only opening his eyes once more to check his hand for blood. The Destrillian grimaced at the small red stain that sat neatly in the palm of his hand. With a look of disdain fired in the direction of Fiona, Kerr began to speak again.

"I have come up with something," he spat back at her as he wiped away the thick rivulet of blood that had poured from his nose.

Everyone was listening. All eyes were on him.

"I have a plan."

 

[Alex]

10 Years Ago
MALCOLM ABADDON
VIOLA – FACILITY 1 – DR ABADDON’S OFFICE
​

“-hopelessly inept at teamwork, shows little aptitude for using his abilities for any protracted length of time, all of the work we had to do to keep him alive during the muscle atrophy and he’s yet to even show that he can use any beyond the absolute basics! We were clearly wrong about his suitability for this project,”

Dr. Andrew Lennox was frustrated. This much was obvious to Malcolm Abaddon, who had sat behind his desk and endured what was supposed to have been a monthly report but was in fact closer to an hour long rant drenched in personal bias and unprofessional tone of voice. His heavily-lidded brown eyes studied the man before him (by this stage his ears had long since started tuning out what he was saying).

Dr. Andrew Lennox was the personal doctor for the eleventh Destrillian housed here at Facility 1, Kerr Nordstrom. That was a frustrating task in and of itself this much Abaddon had already become aware of. But Andrew Lennox was frustrated for many other reasons in his life too. In his mid-fifties now, the only hair left on his head was the grey bristles of his thick beard and eyebrows, the rest of it having long ago abandoned ship. His cheeks seemed to permanently flushed a ruddy shade of red and his watery grey eyes were frequently speckled red with a spider’s web of pink blood vessels. Signs indicative of half a dozen extra glasses of whiskey before bed for what Abaddon could assume were a good many years beforehand. He was a short man with broad shoulders and a substantial gut which gave him the image of someone who might have at one stage of their life been quite brawny but who had long since gone to seed.

These details weren’t important on their own. But they were essential to Abaddon for understanding why this man was wasting both of their times with this report. Andrew Lennox was clearly frustrated with a lot of things in his life and it was poor scientific form to take those frustrations out on your own work.

“-complete failure to interact with any of his comrades, whatsoever,”

Was he still talking?

“Lennox, shut up,” Abaddon finally snapped, rubbing his eyes with the cuff of his white lab coat. He had suddenly become aware that he had absolutely no idea what time it was.

Immediately, the older scientist stopped talking. Having to take orders from someone at least twenty years his junior was probably a factor in all this latent frustration too, come to think of it.

“Don’t you think I already know everything you’ve just told me? It’s part of my job to process daily reports on every one of our Destrillians from both facilities. You made your thoughts on Number Eleven’s progress quite clear in those,” Lennox opened his mouth to begin speaking again, but Abaddon’s sour voice had already steamrollered on.

“You have already brought to my attention in those reports that his issue with stamina, his inability to work in a team and your fears that his lack of development will leave him outstripped in terms of ability by the other prototypes. Repeating these concepts over and over again to my face cannot be the reason you’re here,”

“They aren’t.” Lennox growled back, defiantly.

“Good. Tell me what the problem is or piss off and leave me to get on with some real work,”

Lennox scowled at the thin, straw-haired man lounging behind the untidy desk who spoke to him with such impertinence. Abaddon had always remained something of a conradiction to him, one who simultaneously highlighted the most and least professional aspects of their profession.

“I’m beginning to think that it’s time that we wrote off this Number Eleven as just another failure,” Lennox admitted through a taut grimace. “I think that his body is beginning to reject his element.”

Lennox was right in his estimation that this would catch Abaddon’s full attention, as the senior doctor did not respond with any retort or criticism. Instead, he sat up alert in his chair, eyebrows raised into the mess of sandy hair in surprise.

Lennox had been counting on the promise of any breakthrough in this uncharted area to grab Abaddon’s ear for good reason. It was a bold statement to make and would definitely be the first documented case among those that had survived the Destrillians process. But the idea that a subject’s body could reject the element that had developed within it was not an undocumented hypothesis. After all, it stood to reason that just as a subject’s personality and attributes would be dramatically influenced by the element that they had control over, then a failure of the power to effectively bond with the individual subject would result in a stunted or failed experiment. The exact mechanics of how this would come about remained the subject of lively debate and research but with no concrete findings.

“Go on,” Abaddon urged.

“I’m listening.”

“What we see from Number Eleven is completely at odds with what we understand about the law of gravity. His powers are erratic, his stamina is woeful and he is prideful beyond his abilities,” Lennox carried on. The volume of his voice (as well as the redness in his cheeks) was rising dangerously.

“None of those characteristics are in keeping with what we understand about the nature of gravity,”

Abaddon’s eyes seemed to drift out of focus for a moment as he considered the argument. His rapid-fire mind going over everything that he had ever been told and everything he had ever seen for himself about Subject Eleven as he looked over every fact through the lens of this new information.

“It’s a novel idea,” Abaddon conceded, as his light brown eyes focused once again on Lennox’s face, which was even now contorting in fury at the premise of his argument being called ‘novel’. “But I don’t think it’s quite right,”

“You don’t think-“

“Let me finish!” Abaddon snapped back, cutting off Lennox’s bellow of indignation before it could even get up to speed. “I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit. I’ve seen everything you’ve based your argument on, but come to a different conclusion,”

“You’ve-“

“Shut. Up.” The interruptions were beginning to get annoying. Abaddon pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a headache building up just behind his right eye that had a 90% chance of being sleep deprivation related, though the constant presence of this belligerent idiot was not helping matters.

“Look, Lennox, what defines gravity?”

“It’s consistency, obviously! Gravity is a universal principle, but Number Eleven’s performances in training are anything but consistent!” Lennox continued to bluster.

“That’s because you aren’t paying attention to the right results,” groaned Abaddon. “Look, I have to go over every report that gets sent to me about every one of the prototypes. You’re worried about Number Eleven behaving erratically? Name me a single doctor who doesn’t have to deal with that constant concern.”

Lennox finally didn’t have a response to this. There was no arguing with Abaddon and the superior quality of information he had to draw from here.

“You’re reading into all the wrong things. Number Eleven’s affinity for the element of gravity can’t be found in any of your training room analysis or even in your psych logs. Much like gravity, Number Eleven is more subtle. Consistency in his loyalty to the company and loyalty to himself, these are where your idea falls down. Number Eleven has never doubted us, or himself. His other performances will eventually stabilise, just like all the other prototypes because of that. Just watch.”

====================

The Present
KERR NORDSTROM
THE LAKESIDE, AVIDEZ’ CHATAEU, AUDOULA
​

From her small clearing on the forest floor, Ariel could still see the burnt haze of smoke smeared grey against the perfectly clear night sky. The fire might have long since burnt itself out, but it was likely that the smoke would continue to billow upwards for hours. The sight of it was slightly upsetting, a dark polluting presence poisoning what would have otherwise been a picturesque landscape.

She sat cross-legged on a large flat rock in the centre of the clearing, staring out towards the two moons that dominated the starry heavens. The colossal face of the near moon visible even through the dense cloud of dirty smoke, ominously hanging in the sky and silently judging the events that at transpired in the Audoulan valley.

It would not be long before IRIN or an Artolian military task force showed up here at the Sponsors’ request to investigate the actions of Kerr’s group of Destrillians and renegades. Time was short and Ariel knew that Lorelei would be getting impatient with her waiting around, with her and her team already having collected Thetis and preparing to move out. The thought of Lorelei getting worked up about this was far from a major concern though, that girl had no idea how to take things easy.

Kerr would arrive back here long before any military presence showed its face, the Destrillian of sound was sure of it. It would not have been an unfair estimation that she understood her fellow Destrillian better than any soul alive, more so than any of the doctors from Viola who studied his endless psychology reports. It was one thing to study the way he interacted from afar, but it was completely different to actually talk to him and get to know him, to have a genuine interest in understanding the way that his mind worked for reasons beyond that of just objective study. And she certainly knew him better than any of the current group that he was travelling with, or anyone that he might have encountered in the years that had transpired since the Viola Corporation fell. That was for sure.

Ariel sighed and jumped from her rocky perch. Landing with catlike grace on her pair of worn, denim blue trainers. She could feel the concentration of Destrillians amassing a few hundred metres down the lake’s shoreline. But so many of them were concentrated so close together that it was impossible to discern what any of them were thinking, or even an exact number of how many there were.

Not that Ariel would pry. The Destrillian of Sound was in good confidence that she could predict exactly how they were going to react and what exactly would be going on over there. The group were worried, confused and exhausted from battle, but they were still Destrillians. She knew how they would react.

The sound of the undergrowth being crushed underfoot caused her to whip her head around in a whirl of black and white hair. She had been so preoccupied with thinking about the others that she had completely missed Kerr’s shaky psychic signature. It was obvious that the Destrillian of Gravity was not in a good way. His dress shirt and pants were liberally splashed with blood and shredded by bullets and broken glass. His narrow face was also bruised and one eye was slightly swollen. If anything he looked to be in an even worse state than when she had seen him half an hour previously. A frown of concern graced her delicate features as her fellow Destrillian stumbled into the clearing, a look of indignation burned onto his face.

“I knew you’d be back,” she attempted to joke, though her voice betrayed her concern at Kerr’s bloodied and battered state.

Kerr said nothing, merely glaring at her and continuing to stagger into the clearing.

“They didn’t take your decision to leave well then?” No reply. Ariel sighed. Kerr definitely hadn’t changed that much. Sometimes it was less as though Kerr chose not to waste his words and more like Kerr chose not to use the formality of words at all.

“What changed your mind?” she asked in a softer voice, the question was rather more personal after all.

Kerr sighed and came to a rest at the large rock in the clearing’s centre, holding out an arm to the rocky edifice in order to steady himself and breaking his stare to blink rapidly several times. It was hard to tell with Kerr’s jet black eyes, though she suspected that if they looked normal then they would look bloodshot and out of focus. The large wound at the back of Kerr’s head had not escaped her notice.
"So what now?" he asked, choosing not to look at her. Business as usual. Kerr didn't seem to care an inkling for the fact that he had just left the other Destrillians. Ariel breathed a private sigh of relief at the fact that her old friend had remained as easy to read as ever.

"You don't want to talk about leaving them behind?" Ariel pressed, just to make doubly sure.

The look of disgust that Kerr threw her in response was enough for her and she gave him a small grin.

"Now we meet up with Lorelei and the rest of the team that were sent here. There's a medic there who can patch up your head too. Come on!" she kept her voice cheery as she stalked off through the shrubbery, away from the lake. There was no need to look back, she knew that Kerr was following.

"Is Lorelei a Destrillian?"

"Yeah, she is. One of the Facility 2 lot. I know you're familiar with a few of those guys already,"

Kerr grunted in response. Maybe she shouldn't have confirmed for him that they had been keeping an eye on his group in this much detail. Then again, it was Kerr, he probably had already worked that out by now.

"How's your head?" she said again, as the rocky ground beneath their feet began to slope upwards and the trees surrounding them began to increase in density.
"How far until we reach your men?" Kerr responded. Completely ignoring Ariel's questions.

"Not far now, Kerr," she didn't take offence. This was just how Kerr was. Though she did feel slightly guilty about rushing him off his feet and out of the relative comfort of the clearing so quickly, especially when he was in such a bad state. The two continued on in silence for a matter of minutes, Ariel navigating the rocky hillside with deft ease and Kerr labouring several paces behind her in stubborn silence.

"Where are we going?" he spoke up at last, curiosity having gotten the better of him.

"Spencer has a compound in Audoula. We'll be driving there," Ariel responded chirpily. "Almost there," she called back to him, almost cutting herself off in mid-sentence as she climbed over the rocky lip of the hillside. Bringing a dark river of tarmac into view that cut a flat, black ribbon across the scenic hillside.

"Sorry I'm so late!" Ariel called cheerfully to the girl with long, wild blue hair that sat looking disapprovingly at the two Destrillians from the roof of one of the two black military vehicles parked here. They were high up enough now to see the smouldering ruin of the chateau.

"Lorelei, this is Kerr, Kerr, Lorelei," Ariel got the introductions over with quickly. No doubt the two would have more than enough time to get acquianted on the upcoming long, silent and thoroughly uncomfortable car drive that was to come.

Lorelei said nothing, but continued to look unimpressed at Kerr's bedraggled form.
"The team have the prisoner in the van," she nodded to the larger of the two military vehicles. It was big enough to house a hospital gurney and half a dozen human occupants. "We'll be riding in this one," without another word or glance at the pair, she stalked into the driver's seat.

"She'll warm to you, I'm sure," Ariel said cheerfully. In spite of the events of tonight, she found herself in quite good spirits and opened the back door of the car for Kerr to clamber in. The look of disinterest on his face made it plain that having Lorelei warm to his presence was one of the last things on his mind. She let a small laugh escape her lips in spite of herself.

"What's so funny?" Kerr grunted from the backseat of the car.

"Nothing you need to worry about!" she called happily back to him, shutting the door and locking the beaten, confused, scowling Destrillian in the back of the car. It was difficult to put into words why Ariel felt so happy all of a sudden. The sudden rush of nostalgia that came from having her perpetually grumpy friend back after so many years. With a wide grin, she clambered into the car's passenger seat. It was time to finally get out of here.

He hadn't changed at all.

 

[Bex]

Destrillians: Aftermath Act II

SIX HOURS LATER
MALCOLM ABADDON AND ALISON PERKINS
THE SPENCER MANSION - INFIRMARY​

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"Given how bad your girl got roughed up, I'm surprised how well she seems to be holding together," Dr. Malcolm Abaddon spoke softly to his companion, who shot him a dark scowl. He paid no attention and fetched the chrome plated dictaphone from the depths of his lab coat.

"Subject 006 appears to have considerable bruising to her chest and periorbital hematoma to the left eye socket. Concern is negligible, estimated healing time: three days." Abaddon furrowed his eyebrows and continued examining the lithe, pale figure who lay on the transparent plastic of the examination table.

"Superficial injuries are of no concern, Malcolm," Alison Perkins interrupted her colleague's report. Ever so gently, the doctor prised open one of the prototype's eyelids to reveal the dulled saffron orbs beneath. With a look of satisfaction as the pupil dilated, Dr. Perkins took a step away from the table and folded her arms. She grimaced. Number Six had changed. Skinny, malnourished and covered in old scars and bruises; the last four years had been unkind to the water prototype.

"Superficial injuries indicate she was sloppy, Alison," he made a slight motion towards the puffy bruised skin around the Destrillian's closed eye. Doctor Perkins let the slightest hint of a smile play across her lips. Sloppy or not; Six had won. Though the Destrillian's discipline had taken a turn for the worse, she was stronger than before. The doctor had heard the ways the other scientists and doctors were talking, the bets they were making on the outcome, how they had scoffed when a junior doctor backed Six to win. They underestimated one thing; Number Six was not just any prototype. Number Six was the prototype of one Alison Perkins.

"Who knows what happened beneath the surface, Malcolm."

Abaddon made no comment, though his watchful eyes noted the thin limbs and ashen skin. Number six looked unhealthier than when he had last seen her. His vision was drawn to the ring of angry purple and crimson bruises that enveloped the entire left shoulder of the Destrillian.

"Dislocated shoulder," he noted, bending over to examine the swollen, haemorrhaged skin. "It'll be painful, but I expect a fast recovery time. Four days, maximum. Six days if there has been any additional nerve or tissue damage," he cast a glance back to one of the junior doctors in the crowded room and lowered the small, silver dictaphone, "Make sure we run some tests for that."

"Yes sir," the doctor spoke quickly, scribbling notes furiously onto his clipboard.

"Of slightly greater concern is the slight skull fracture, located just above the left ear," he spoke once again into the dictaphone and nodding towards the blood stained hair around the ear of the Destrillian. "Whilst our field medics stitched the wound to stop the bleeding, it is my recommendation we hand her over to Gudjonssen and his medical unit tomorrow for a more permanent fix. Whilst she's there I also want an MRI and a PET scan. I want to know whether her brush with Derinium has caused any significant neurological damage."

There was an audible snort from the other side of the table. "Neurological damage?" Alison Perkins scoffed as she paced across the laboratory. "If the surveillance reports you gave me are anything to go by, Malcolm, that is the least of our concerns."

"We need to make sure no permanent damage was done, Alison," Abaddon snapped back at her. "She's going to be no use if she wakes up with brain damage. And for that matter," he turned back to the dictaphone "When she wakes up, make sure she receives a thorough psychological evaluation and have the reports forwarded immediately to the Boss."

"No evidence of muscle tissue loss through Derinium," Alison Perkins gingerly placed two fingers on the prototype's wrist and held the arm aloft. "Slight degeneration in triceps and bicep muscle mass since--"

"Wait," Abaddon interrupted her. "We can't be sure that there has been no muscle degeneration yet. When she wakes up, I want her to be put through an eye exam, make sure that the optic nerve hasn't decayed and that this subject can still make use of her scotopic vision."

"Give the project the credit it is due, Malcolm," Alison's let her touch graze Number Six's hand. Callouses hardened each pad of the prototype's fingers, yet the skin elsewhere was soft, almost untouched by the hardships of her life. Slender, yet still strong and unfaltering enough to throttle the life from Twenty-Five. No scars, scratches, swellings, bruises, burns or bumps; they were almost perfect. No.

Six was perfect.

Eyes casually skimmed over the awkward jutt of ribs travelled to the still trim pectoral muscles on the prototype's lower abdomen, down to the sharp black bars on her hipbones. As she read the number, Alison Perkins felt an alien sense of loss. Was it pity? No, no; not pity. For she never pitied Destrillians. Humans, always, as if they lacked something. Destrillians, never, for they had everything. She had everything. It was Alison Perkins who had lost something. To follow her prototype for those lost years had been impossible, yet her departure had inflicted such a chill on the Doctor, created such a hollow that had never been filled. It was all she could do to read over those records, again and again, as if watching Six's shadow fade beyond the horizon. It mattered not.

Now they had all the time in the world.

"You were wrong to doubt her, Malcolm."

Brushing a thatch of shaggy straw coloured hair out of his eyes, Abaddon shot Perkins a wearied look. "I don't deal in doubts, Alison. I deal with facts. Number Six needs to be operating at optimum capacity. Anything else will be a liability.” He paused. "I don't want her waking up before we can evaluate the damage."

Though he had spoken to the room of scientists, his words had been directed at Dr. Perkins, as though expecting her to insist upon bringing the subject out of her unconscious state right this second. The emphasis on ‘damage’ had not been lost on her.

"I think we're done here. Unless there's anything you would like to add, Dr. Perkins?"

The doctor's eyes narrowed. "Nothing."

Fringe burst through the double doors "I would like to add that you brought the wrong prototype back to this facility!" The small doctor's face was more beet-coloured than usual. Abaddon and Perkins simply stared at the flustered man. Fringe reddened further as he leafed through one of the medical reports handed to him by a junior doctor.

“And I suppose you’re referring to Number Four?” Alison Perkins scoffed. "I don’t suppose you’ve read the paragraph in the report regarding Six's--" the doctor chose her words carefully as she became increasing aware of the taste of bile in her throat, "--compromising scar tissue?”

Finley breezed clear over the remark and carried on with his own train of thought as he brought the clipboard away from his eyes, "Number Six is in terrible condition. Whyever would you bother dragging that one back here when there are others far more fit for evaluation?"

"Number Four?" Perkins didn't even attempt to restrain the wry chuckle that fell from her lips. "Oh please."

"And just what are you trying to say, Doctor Perkins? If you even have a doctorate, that is."

"Actually, Finley," the doctor folded her arms as a smug smile curled her lips. "I was told that Jason asked only to retrieve a selection. Number Four didn't quite make the cut."

"Do not insult me with your pathetic lies! Even if it were true, I'm sure Jason Spencer has far better uses for my superior prototype."

Abaddon made an exaggerated coughing sound from the opposite side of the operating table as he watched his colleagues bickering with raised eyebrows.

"Ladies," he took small pleasure in the flash of irritation that crossed Dr. Fringe's face, "It isn't a competition. Alison, you're here to do a job, keep yourself focused." His narrow eyes swivelled as he rounded on Dr. Fringe, his voice was high and cold, indicating a deep displeasure at the short scientist's unprofessional intrusion. "Finley, I'm neither in charge of which prototypes are being brought back to the mansion and nor am I privy to the way in which Mr. Spencer makes his decisions. If you have an issue with it, might I suggest that you go take it up with him,"

"Perhaps. I. Will."

"Go ahead. If you have nothing else to say, then get out." He doubted whether or not he could have made his dislike for the situation any plainer. It was not regarded as sound practice to question the decision making process of Jason Spencer. With a self-satisfied smirk, Alison Perkins rounded on the unfortunately short statured man and gestured to the door.

"As a matter of fact, Malcolm, there is something I would like to add. Adam's vitals have elevated," Dr. Fringe mused as he mockingly stroked his chin. "I assumed this would be pertinent to your interests."

With an unpleasant scowl in the direction of Dr. Fringe, Abaddon tossed the clipboard into the fumbling hands of one of the junior scientists that had been watching the scene unfold.

"Finish up here, Finley. Alison, come with me." Without another word, the long-haired scientist marched from the room, hands stuffed into the pockets of his lab coat and his face taut with concentration. After a smug smile at Dr. Fringe, Alison Perkins let her gaze linger on the unconscious prototype. Something caught her eye. With a disapproving frown, Alison Perkins plucked Number Six's braid from beneath her shoulder. The doctor gingerly rolled it between her thumb and forefinger.

Disgusting, Perkins thought to herself as she dug her finger between the ratty strands of hair and loosened the band which bound them. Slipping off the tie, the doctor carefully brushed the hair free of its plait. A slight smile crossed her face as deep blue cascaded over the Destrillian's shoulder.

"Perhaps we should run some psychological tests on you before your precious prototype, eh Perkins?" Finley Fringe sneered, and a flash of anger cut across Alison Perkin’s face. It only took a split second for her features to settle back into the picture of self-assured professionalism.

“Pot, kettle, black,”

"Alison," Fringe spoke up with a voice drenched with disdain, "Could you stop your whining for five minutes so that we can take her blood sample?

"We have work to do after all."