Eye of the Monster

"Tomorrow you'll still be in this cell, you'll still be a criminal, and you'll always be a murderer, Mister Megiddo. I think it causes me a measure of pain that you have no desire to atone for that."

Julius was unmoved. He seemed no more remorseful now behind bars than the first time she'd ever seen him. "Your pain has no market value, detective. Nor would my contrition, even were it sincere. I have lived my entire life abiding by the rules of the society in which we exist and I have never once broken them. You and your peers are simply victims of a fundamental misunderstanding of what those rules truly are."

Dawson's expression softened. "They were people, Megiddo. They had dreams, and knew love. Their deaths left holes in the world. Why don't you care about that? What's wrong with you?"

The elf inclined his head ever so slightly, the only gesture of sympathy he'd ever shown in all their interactions. "The only life which is priceless to me is my own, detective. Everything else, everyone else, is subject to financial appraisal. If you wish to stop the buying and selling of lives then I suggest you direct your impotent fury not at people like myself but to the people who pay us. Convince the rest of the sixth world to follow along with your whimsical beliefs about the sanctity of life and I will be right there beside you, ready to sell you hugs and handshakes."

Dawson could only shake her head. "I think the real reason I come here, Mister Megiddo, is to remind myself that as bad as I've been I can always try to be better. And I don't need a profit motive to do it."

"What a wonderful sentiment from someone who drives a Pontiac. It truly makes me appreciate the Bentley waiting for me in my garage. Will there be anything else, detective?"

Without another word, Dawson walked away.

= = =

Brandt leafed through the papers that had been contained in the folder. It was only the third time in his life he'd ever handled paper.

"Elazar Havelock," he said, reading it off one of the forms. "How have they been treating you in here?"

Havelock seemed distracted and took a moment to respond. "They leave me alone. It gives me plenty of time to think."

"If I can ask, what have you been thinking about?"

The aging scientist waved a hand dismissively. "Surveillance. Nothing that would make sense to anyone else." With his short, dull-white hair, salt-and-pepper stubble and enormous cloudy lenses Havelock hardly seemed like the supervillain the charges had made him out to be.

"On the contrary," Brandt said charitably, "It seems like plenty of people have paid to hear what you think about. For a fellow with four degrees you're awfully underemployed. Feels like I should be meeting you in a penthouse somewhere."

Elazar smiled briefly. "Didn't do it for money," was all he offered.

"Maybe you'll do it for leniency?" Brandt ventured. "We've been picking over that lab of yours in Seacliff, the one Neon Justice blew up. We've been finding some interesting pieces of tech there. Some of it so exotic that it could only have been stolen, but of course no one will admit to having manufactured it so we can't be sure. Then of course there are... the bodies. The ones that biometric-match a score of missing people."

Asher looked up from the papers to glare at Havelock. "You must understand, that looks a little like murder. But who killed them? Neon Justice?"

Elazar shook his head quickly. "Those people were dead long before they showed up at my lab." This was, of course, not the same thing as I didn't kill them. He had pulled the lever after all. But what were a few deaths in the long run?

Something stuck out to Brandt on the paperwork. "You've got one hell of a work history here, Mister Havelock. Aztechnology, Renraku, Ares and more... Hmm, says here they used to call you 'The Conjurer.' That's quite a name for a scientist."

Havelock seemed distracted again, staring at something behind and above Brandt.

"Why don't you tell us what those machines you had in your lab did," Brandt suggested, "And we'll talk about extenuating circumstances."

It took several moments before the man focused his eyes back on Brandt. He smiled slightly and said, "A magician never reveals his secrets."

Brandt sat back in his chair and set the folder on the table between them. After a long sigh, he tried a different tactic. "I realize a man in your position has little to lose. After your wife passed away you probably..."

"She was poisoned," Havelock corrected, and quickly. Ah, so he did care about something. Brandt sat up and pressed the subject.

"Who poisoned her?"

Havelock pursed his lips and then shrugged. "Doesn't matter. No one poisoned her. The world poisoned her. All my past employers, or maybe just one of them. They're all the same. Someone who didn't like that I left and wanted to punish me, make me suffer. Someone who thought death was too good for me and wanted instead to make me wish I was dead."

"And do you wish you were dead, Mister Havelock?"

Elazar looked as if he was about to say something but then thought better of it. "No," he admitted. "No, not anymore. No, now I have a better idea."

Brandt narrowed his eyes. "And what idea is that?"

Now it was Havelock's turn to sit back in his chair, crossing his arms. "As I said, detective. A magician never reveals his secrets."

His eyes wandered again. Behind Asher Brandt, something stared at him.

= = =

"Dawson," Sokoth started quietly, sparing a glance over his shoulder to make sure that the warden and her attendants weren't within eavesdropping distance. Brandt, seemingly without intending to, drifted in front of the lieutenant's face so that his head would obscure Sokoth's mouth and preclude any lip-reading.

"You have more combat experience than all the security officers in this prison combined. What's your opinion of Folsom? If there's another riot are they going to be able to contain it?"

Dawson exhaled heavily and put her hands into the pockets of her trench coat. "Difficult to say. There are a lot of orks in here who were busted fighting for Ionfist. You'd think that would make them a little resentful, but the go-gang's culture has been something like a death cult. Well, at least until two weeks ago."

"I'm still not happy about letting the rest of them off the hook," Sokoth said sourly, "But my chat with that black-hearted bastard convinced me it was worth it. What would you recommend?"

At this, Dawson shrugged. "If the corporate court is interested in their interpretation of justice then they should get it over with right now instead of wasting time on a trial. I've never seen a person whose crimes were more evident."

"You know how they are," Brandt muttered beneath his breath. "I'm sure you've seen the reports on what's going on in Denver. There's a lot of tension at the top of the ladder right now. I wouldn't be surprised if someone gets kicked from it soon and there's no telling who they'll take with them when they go."

"They want to make an example," Sokoth clarified.

"You mean they want to make a spectacle of it," Dawson corrected. "Has it ever sat right with you that in California committing murder will get you twenty-five to life but stealing from a corporation will get you the death penalty?"

"It's not supposed to sit right with me," Sokoth replied sternly. "My job, Dawson, is to ask people to abide by the law. I don't make the law. If someone chooses to break it then they're declaring war on our entire way of life. When you're on the street you can look the other way. By the time someone makes it in here, society has no further use for them."

"Except as an example," she recalled.

"Except as an example," Sokoth confirmed sourly. He worked his mouth a moment, carefully choosing his words before continuing. "I know you're thinking about the Molverte siblings."

"Only every day, lieutenant." Them, and everyone else she'd killed one way or another.

"That was a rotten mess and in a better world they'd have gotten a more merciful sentence. But this is the sixth world, and we still have helions like Ionfist to contend with. Surely you can admit that this situation is a far cry from that one."

She sighed. "Yeah. Difficult to dispute the facts of the case."

"So?" Sokoth pressed. "Odds of a riot?

Once more Dawson shrugged. "Longer they wait, the more the pressure will build. Just by bringing him here I expect the inmates are riled up. They probably think he got captured on purpose and is here to lead them to glorious carnage."

The ork swore. "You're right. I'm going to tell the warden she'd better keep a lid on things. And advise the city manager to allocate more personnel to Folsom. Maybe some more guns trained on these thugs will keep them in their cells."

Dawson let out a slow sigh. "In my experience more weapons trained on someone just reminds them of how little they have to lose."

Sokoth grunted in agreement. "You could come with me and tell that to her yourself," he suggested.

"No thanks," Dawson said. "I recognize the man she's talking to. Would rather not get a politician's spit on my coat today. I've got a friend to meet tonight."

= = =

"A terrorist with the mind of a detective," Dawson said, staring across the room at where Instinct was lying on her back atop the press bench, hefting the bar with three weights on each side. Sweat was pouring off of her bare upper body, dripping onto the towel below and making her ink-covered bicep gleam in such a fashion that the angel it depicted appeared to be sweating as well. "Is there anything more dangerous?"

"I don't do anything dangerous," Instinct assured her between slow breaths in and out. "I keep them from doing anything stupid. Keep them from hurting any actual people. It's the best I can do since someone already has my job solving crimes."

Dawson tapped the control panel for the display screen on the wall to turn it on, tuning it to one of the newscast frequencies. "And what if I say I think you just spend all your time with your face between Tranqulity's legs?"

"I'd say you're wrong, since I spend some time with my face between her breasts too. And her buttocks."

"You're unholy."

"Absolutely reprehensible. Speaking of which..."

Dawson looked towards her and raised one eyebrow as Instinct set the barbell in place and sat up at the hip. Damn, Impulse thought, she does cut a figure.

"Is Pickers still leaking information to you?"

"Yeah," Dawson said, "He has been." There'd been three busts on Humanis operations in the previous two weeks because of hints he'd dropped. "Whatever you said to him must have really cut deep."

"You know how the song goes," Instinct said, curling one corner of her lip slightly. "I've been wandering in the dark about as long as sin..."

"...but they say it's never too late to start again. Work in progress, I suppose. What about him?"

"I need you to introduce me."

"I think you made your first impression when you took his gun."

Instinct shook her head. "He thought I was you, and so did I. I can't just walk up to him somewhere, he won't believe I'm someone different."

Dawson rubbed the back of her neck, uncertain where this was going. "You know I've only talked to Pickers four times since our contracts expired."

She nodded in response. "And none of those were what you would call 'productive' conversations."

"So why do you want to talk to him?"

"I want to fuck him."

Impulse made a face. "Really? Wouldn't that feel like..."

"...fucking my cousin? Yeah, a little. But he's more like your cousin so I think it'll even out."

"And what makes you think he'll share your enthusiasm?"

At this Instinct grinned in a way that made Impulse feel like she was glancing at a mirror. "You think he won't jump at the chance to have a go at a body like yours, knowing it's not you? It's working on everyone else you know."

"As far as evil plans to replace people go, yours seems a lot more effective than the one you stopped. People can't get enough of you."

Her mirror image stood up and crossed the living room until she was close.

"I can't replace you," she said softly. "You're the one I want most. I'm just going through everyone else to pass time until you give in to temptation." For the final few words she lowered her voice to a melodramatic growl which might have been intimidating were it not for her persistent grin, sharp-edged though her teeth clearly were. Impulse couldn't help but smile back.

"You're a piece of work. Going to fuck the rest of the world death so you're all I've got, that it?"

"Not to death," she replied, shaking her head. "I'll never kill, never take life from this world. No matter what. I want to give the gift you gave to me, Impulse. But I inherited the heart of a wild animal and I want to fuck everyone I see. Especially you."

Dawson lifted a hand to Instinct's face and slowly traced the outline of her jaw. "All the work I've done to be something people want and you just come in and wreck the brand by giving it away for free."

Instinct's hand came up to rest over her own. "You're overflowing with unexpressed love. One day it'll break free and you'll drown the sixth world in it."

"My degree is in criminology," Dawson whispered, "Not poetry. Stick to my strengths."

Instinct leaned towards her, eyes half-shut and mouth open as if for a kiss. Dawson reflexively flinched away. She felt a spike of revulsion at the thought of loving herself, and then a fountain of guilt from the knowledge that the one who wanted her love was not truly her.

"I know it's not easy to look at me and think of anything but.. But--"

"Not out loud," Dawson hissed. "I don't want the girls to hear it. Ever." To even speak it out loud would be like making it real, making it tangible. Elves had such sharp ears...

"They won't have to," Instinct said, "Because you'll never do it. I won't let you. Do you hear me, Impulse? Dawson? You don't get to die anymore... Not like that. People love you, now. They depend on you. And I know that's precious to you."

Dawson's gaze moved up to meet Instinct's eyes. They were almost like a mirror, but lacking that tortured quality she'd learned to conceal. "Your tongue might drive everyone else wild," she said evenly, "But it won't work on me."

Instinct let go of her hand and stepped away. "You're wrong about that. I just need to put it to use in another way."

She was walking across the room again towards the stereo as Dawson asked, "What's that supposed to mean?" Even though she knew--she truly understood--that Instinct had the exact same degree of consideration for her compact disc collection as Impulse herself did there was nevertheless a brief and minute stab of concern to see someone else reach for them.

"I'm based on a woman of many talents," Instinct said, "Though she'll admit to few of them." She selected a disc and reverently put it into the stereo's slot. With one button press the speakers on either side began humming a heavy, oscillating tune soon punctuated by the screech of a guitar.

As the singing started, Instinct picked up the words right away, pointing at Dawson and beginning to walk towards the open area of the living room.

"You tell yourself you're not the one! You won't get hurt when the damage is done! You tell yourself it won't happen to you... It's the same old story, there's nothing new!"

On the way she took one of Dawson's hands and pulled her along, lifting it and moving her arm to make the identical woman mirror her motions. She smiled and sang, encouraging Impulse to do the same.

"Can't be the one! The one to lose! You won't be wearin' someone else's shoes! Can't you read it, it's up on the wall! How can someone so big, be so small?!"

Dredged up by the music, memories were recalled to Dawson's mind. An overturned troop carrier. Vayger's Desert Strike lodged in the side of a building two stories up, the barrel of the rifle pointing towards the sunset. Gaines holding his head with one hand and his crotch with the other, cursing Vic for insisting on a manual transmission. Pickers laughing in spite of his broken leg, audible over the music spilling out of the open door of the vehicle.

Instinct cupped her chin with one hand. She knew what Dawson was thinking, what she was feeling. Nothing needed to be said and so she was free to sing.

"You're nothin' without your friends! They'll be with you to the bitter end! You're nothin' and you'll find out... What this world is all about!!"

All at once the dam broke and both of them were singing. "Standing in the strike zone!! Runnin' with the pack! Standing in the strike zone!! Ain't no use in turnin' back!"

One arm wrapped around Dawson's waist and she was being held close to a body every bit as broad and hard as her own, if not moreso. They took turns with the lines, their identical voices meaning that one could breathe while the other sang and there was no damage to the atmosphere of the song.

"You walk on water it's the chance you take!"

"Against the odds that the ice won't break!"

"When the sun comes up in the dead of night..."

"You won't escape from the blinding light!"

Rather than continue the next bridge, Instinct kissed Dawson as soon as she opened her mouth. She leveraged her arm around her waist to tip the other woman back so that her weight was in Instinct's limb and she had no way to escape the embrace without drastic action.

Within a single second of their lips being joined, that long, thick tongue pushed into Dawson's mouth, sliding over her own and into her throat. She coughed once, not from revulsion but merely the suddenness of the sensation. The way it pulsed and constricted, muscle with so much strength and such reach... Invasive, intimate, strangely fulfilling. What could it do to other parts of her? What havoc could it wreak? If she had something like this she would use it on other people at every opportunity. It would be almost too easy to make them want her.

It was in that moment with the creature's tongue enshrined in her neck that Dawson started to fully understand Instinct's divergent behavior. She had the freedom of knowing that the destructive past she recalled with perfect clarity was not truly her own, while keeping the benefit of the lessons learned... And she had a body even better suited to overwhelming and ravaging other people, attained without the use of compromising cybernetics that would damage her essence and lessen her well earned self-hatred. All the good parts, none of the bad. Yes, she was Dawson perfected. She could be anything she wanted, and enjoy it. She didn't have to compromise. She didn't deserve to suffer. Instinct understood her nature perfectly. She knew how lucky she was, and she loved Dawson for it.

Instinct's free hand slipped beneath Dawson's shirt. The need for air felt distant and unimportant in this moment as calloused fingertips coursed over the muscles of her abdomen on the trip to her breasts.

Two fingers were squeezing around her left nipple when the doorbell chimed. Both of them turned their heads to face it as much as they could with Instinct's meat-tentacle married to her esophagus. Then they looked back at each other and, with obvious reluctance, the tongue began to retract.

Impulse felt her mouth retain an almost perfect 'O' shape for a few trembling seconds after Instinct's tongue left her. Her lips felt cold, her throat empty with the absence of the gently pulsing invader. The girls begged to suck on it like it was a pacifier and she could now see why. It was addictive, the ultimate appeasement of one's oral fixation. Too easy to get accustomed to.

Instinct released her gently and went to the stereo to turn the music down to a tolerable level. Dawson wiped her mouth and chin while she moved to the door to let the girls in. When she opened it up, Alenia slipped in through the doorway and attached to Dawson's hip.