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The wind whispers through what little broken glass remains in the window frames of Thorney Towers' highest tower. Inside, metal clicks against metal as Doctor Loboto arranges, then rearranges, then re-rearranges his tools on the metal tray.
First he thinks in order of most to least rusty is right. Then backwards. Then by alphabetical names of the tools. Then by their size.
He's got another brain coming in. Something angry. Something perfect.
After the ninth time rearranging the tools—this time in order of operation as opposed to size or amount of rust—he gives up and taps his metal claw against the tray. He won’t really be needing them, not with the new tools he’s been delighted to show the general.
Maybe he should put them away. Some of those campers he’s been getting have been horrible squirmers.
The door creaks open and Loboto hisses, "Sheegor. I am waiting for—"
"For a new brain," the little army man answers.
The sound of Coach Oleander’s voice splits Doctor Loboto’s face into a wide grin. He can always count on the little army man to understand the frustration of working with such inept staff.
Doctor Loboto turns and the grin drops off his face.
Coach Oleander has one of the campers held in a telekinetic hand. That's nothing new. But it's Bobby Zilch held in that psychic grip, fighting back as much as he can. Doctor Loboto's blood freezes in his veins.
"Don't look so down, Doc." Coach Oleander places Bobby in the dental chair, tightens the restraints. "I brought you the angriest brain of them all. Personally."
"General..."
"No need to thank me." Coach Oleander turns his back on Bobby, giving Doctor Loboto a wide grin. "I figured this would be easier."
With Oleander's back turned, Bobby begins to undo the restraints. Doctor Loboto tries to find the right words to say—something not too conspicuous but enough of an explanation to keep Bobby safe—but nothing comes out of his mouth.
"Doctor—”
"It's perfect!" Doctor Loboto forces a grin so wide it hurts. "Surely, an angry brain like this would...would be perfect for our plans! Better than perfect!"
Bobby stops fighting and looks at Doctor Loboto. He is betrayed. And then anger burns in Bobby’s eyes.
Doctor Loboto’s heart aches to see such anger from his own flesh and blood. But if he can keep Coach Oleander from turning around, it might give Bobby a chance to escape. To undo the restraints and leap out of the window. Bobby’s psychic. He’ll be okay.
He has to be okay.
Doctor Loboto wrings his hands and glances at the plans on his desk. "And, of course, why don't we take a look at the plans—"
"Doctor, did you forget our plans?" Coach Oleander seems amused. And then he begins to turn around. "I guess I'll—"
"No!" Doctor Loboto places himself between Bobby and Coach Oleander. "General, please, leave it to me, won't you?"
"You're being awful cagey, Doc."
"Just not used to having such quality materials to work with!"
Doctor Loboto can feel that mental prodding at his mind. Before, these proddings were a welcome intrusion, something streamlined. But now he is helpless to resist it. And there, laid out for Coach Oleander to see, is everything Doctor Loboto's tried to hide.
There’s the memory of Doctor Loboto drafting the plans for the cloning tank. The creation of a clone. The decision to raise Bobby as a normal boy. The discovery of Bobby's powers and the fear. Doctor Loboto was always so afraid.
Across this telepathic link there is a brief moment of reluctance and Doctor Loboto tries to cling to it. He tries to, without saying a word, convince Coach Oleander not this one, not Bobby. As suddenly as it started, the link snaps closed.
Doctor Loboto reels. And then his hands are not being controlled by him.
"Please," is the only thing he manages before his throat closes up.
A dirty trick, Doctor Loboto thinks, by a dirty psychic.
Every motion Loboto makes is robotic, controlled by Oleander. Loboto's body is not his own.
Bobby's eyes are wide with fear.
And then Doctor Loboto closes his eyes until it's all over.
The wind howls through shards of broken glass as if wronged.
Doctor Loboto wakes, the sleep heavy like water. As it rolls off him, he feels sick. His muscles ache where he fought back.
He fought back.
It comes back with a startling clarity. He tried to fight and he lost. Weak. Bent like a spoon under Coach Oleander’s will.
Loboto fears looking up. But he has to.
Bobby is gone. The dental chair sits empty, the restraints loose and swaying. Coach Oleander took Bobby.
On Loboto's desk is another brain in a jar. He doesn't need to read the label. He knows whose it is.
And the sickness within him twists painfully. A wound. He swallows once, twice, and exhales. It all hurts so much. Bobby was so scared and Loboto made him afraid.
As he gets to his feet, the room sways. But Doctor Loboto grips the edge of his desk and a note greets his claw. On it are four words, written fast and messily.
Cal.
I'm sorry.
Morry.
“Cal” is written in ink that fades in and out, from a pen that hasn’t been used in a long time. The word “Morry” is splattered like blood. Too much force.
Doctor Loboto reads it over and over, committing it to memory. This is not something that can be apologized for. He shreds the note.
His rage is not so easily put aside. He grabs for something, anything, and finds himself throwing jars, tools, anything and everything. Some of these items were decidedly not within arm's reach.
He cries out, just once, and cradles the jar holding the newest brain in the collection.
“Not this one,” Doctor Loboto states firmly. Maybe to himself. Maybe hoping Oleander can hear. It doesn’t matter. “Not this one.”
Adjusting the weight of the jar in one arm and cradling it close to his chest, Loboto stares at the blueprints on his desk.
The wind continues to howl onward.