Chapter Text
“So…” the kid asked. “How does this work?”
Chosen shrugged, arms crossed, hiding his amusement. “You tell me.”
Second scowled at him. It did not have the desired intimidating effect. Chosen smirked, just a little, to see the kid’s attempt at a glare deepen.
All in all, Chosen had expected a good deal of resistance from the kid at the prospect of training to use his powers. Finding out that he had them in the way he did could do a number on a child, after all. But the promise of seeing his friends again seemed to be motivation enough for Second to be demanding for the teaching to start.
The whole thing about Second’s friends was… not something Chosen knew what to do about, yet. Chosen was not someone who felt guilty about things. He didn’t have the time for pointless baggage like that.
But when Second talked about his friends and his life back on Alan’s PC with such a spark in his eyes, when he spoke of getting ‘home’ like it was some miraculous solution to everything, Chosen certainly felt something.
Oh, of COURSE, said the imaginary Dark that had decided to haunt Chosen since their escape. You feel absolutely nothing about leaving those kids behind, exactly like you feel nothing over how my death was your fault. Is that right?
Chosen would tell him to shut up, but talking to empty air was not something that a perfectly sane person would do, so he didn’t, ignoring the fact that a perfectly sane person wouldn’t be involuntarily imagining his dead best friend in the first place.
Chosen still didn’t like being out in the open in the way they were, but there was no playing with ridiculously powerful forms of energy indoors. At least this field they were in couldn’t be seen from the road. With any luck, whoever owned the land would only find signs of their being here long after they were gone.
“Go on,” Chosen reiterated. “They’re your powers. How have you managed to use them before?”
“You know I don’t know!” Second scoffed, throwing up their hands. “You should be, like- an expert at this powers stuff. How do you make it work?”
Chosen… had a theory. Well- really, it wasn’t his. Dark was the one who liked all the science behind their inexplicable magic abilities. Chosen was happier to live in ignorance, but the way Dark got so excited when he rambled to Chosen about his hypothesis and breakthroughs was worth it for Chosen to indulge him.
“Your powers don’t work, they just are.” Chosen said simply. “They’re a part of your code, just as much as the rest of you is.” He prod Second between the eyes with one finger for emphasis.
Second went cross-eyed trying to track his finger. “That’s not an answer!”
No, it wasn’t, really. Chosen sighed through his nose. “We’re made from code, yes?” A whole lot of zeroes and ones, no different from a human’s existence as a wet bag of chemicals.
“Duh.”
“Then that makes our powers an ‘if; then’ statement, doesn’t it?”
Second scrunched their nose, making them look even more youthful. “I guess.”
Chosen dipped his head in a shrug. “So what’s your ‘if ’ statement? What happened each time that made you use your powers? What did you feel? How can you make it happen again?”
That last part was probably unneeded, if the flash of fear that crossed Second’s face was any indicator. “Um… I- I was scared, I guess? At the bay, and escaping Rocket Corp.” He looked intently up at Chosen, features pained. “It- it’s not fear, is it? I don’t want to be scared like that again.”
Chosen mused. He had a feeling it wasn’t fear. Definitely not fear. “I don’t think so.”
The kid kicked at a clump of grass absently. “Well… what’s your ‘if’ statement?”
Yes. That.
That was the whole problem, now wasn’t it?
Chosen sighed thinly once again. “Desire.”
Second’s eyes were wide. “Huh. That’s…”
“Yeah.” Chosen nodded a shrug. “It’s just a matter of focus, really. Knowing exactly what it is I want. Knowing how I can use my powers to get it. It’s what I was made for, after all.”
Killing the virabot. Escaping the Mercenaries. Stopping Dark. Fighting Noogai, just to stay alive.
Which is why feeling like an utter scatterbrain after getting out of the Box sucked so damn hard.
Run. Stay alive. Hide from Victim. Try to forget- try to not think about Dark. Keep the kid alive. RUN.
It was all too much. There was no focus in… in that. Which, by default, meant no powers.
But the kid didn’t need to know that, right now.
“And …what about the other one? Were they the same?”
It struck Chosen, then- that Second didn’t even know Dark’s name. For some foreign reason, that realisation wrenched at Chosen’s heart more than a lack of powers ever could.
“Yeah,” Chosen managed to say around the lump that formed in his throat. “It was similar, at least. But he- he didn’t fuel himself with the desire for what his powers could get him. His desire was power for power’s sake.”
Power for the fight he was in. The destruction they wrought- semi-senseless terrorism for the sake of it. …killing freaking kids, just because they were in his way.
“We were made for fighting, him and I. It’s entirely instinctual. Destruction- it’s in our nature, it’s who we are.”
‘Destroy: The Chosen One’ was in Dark’s code. They hadn’t realised it, at first- how travelling as allies meant Dark was suppressing his code, constantly. It made his powers weaker, too, towards the end. That was why he figured out the whole ‘if, then’ statement thing in the first place- to figure out what was wrong.
Neither of them had known what to think about what he found.
In that final showdown at the bay, Chosen wondered, how easy had it felt for Dark? When they turned against one another?
Second ran a hand through his hair. “But… I wasn’t made for fighting.”
No. No he wasn’t, and hadn’t that been a surprise to hear; in the past hours of driving, watching Second sketch in his new little notebook. How do you know so much about art? Chosen had asked, perplexed.
Second had held up his drawing- a little stick figure drawn with neat orange pencil. When the kid flicked through the pages, the figure began to run. Because Alan made me this way, too.
“Maybe not,” Chosen said slowly. “But I have seen what you can do. It may not be your nature, but destruction is a part of who you are.”
“By that logic,” Second huffed, “I was made by creation, for creation. Why isn’t that in my powers?”
“Isn’t it?” Chosen asked. “You bring drawings to life. Sounds like creation to me. And you brought your friends back from the dead, too, did you not? That’s not something I could ever do.”
Second blinked, staring into space. “Oh. Yeah. I did do that, didn’t I?”
“It makes sense, too.” Chosen continued. “Creation and destruction.” No wonder the kid was so powerful. “Destruction is a part of who you are. Except, by reason of how you were made, which is not for fighting- you reject it.”
“...What?”
“The amnesia, the passing-out; they’re coping mechanisms. You’re unconsciously suppressing your powers, and using a ton of energy to do so.”
Second gaped. “Are you saying that’s why I’m tired all the time?”
“Creation is obviously the stronger side,” Chosen mused, mostly to himself. “It clearly takes a situation that allows ‘destruction’ to overwhelm ‘creation’- no, it takes a desire for ‘destruction’ to overwhelm ‘creation’. A want to destroy.”
He remembered the sight of the kid moments before Dark was killed. Covered in blood- his own, and of his friends. Floating as if gravity itself didn’t dare contest him, eyes aflame with that electric green like some unholy force of energy. His face; smeared with blood, streaked with tears, contorted with rage.
… oh. So that was the kid’s ‘ if’ statement.
Second frowned. “What are you saying?”
Chosen answered by hitting him square in the chest.
Not enough to push him over- only to send him stumbling backwards a few steps, drawing a small yelp in surprise more than pain.
“What was that for?” Second exclaimed.
“What was what for?”
“You literally just pushed me!” The kid huffed.
“Did I do that?” Chosen smirked, just to add the icing on the metaphorical cake.
“Uh- yes? ” Second huffed, reaching impressive levels of incredulity.
Chosen shoved him again.
“Hey!”
“Sorry,” Chosen drawled. “My hand slipped.” He jostled him once more.
“What the heck is your problem?” Second snapped. He was being forced backwards now, attempting to slap away Chosen's casual attacks with limited success. “What happened to- ow! Stop! - figuring out powers?”
“Wasn’t happening fast enough . ” Another shove, harder this time- Second’s heel catching on the uneven ground almost sending him toppling. Catching himself at the last moment, he tried to push Chosen back. Finally.
“Would you stop? ” Second snarled.
Chosen grinned. “Make me.”
That did it.
A brilliant flash of green burst forth from Second’s hands, blotting out the bright of the sky, flattening the grass, and flinging Chosen backwards through the air.
Stomach-lurching moments of air-time came to a solid end as he impacted with the ground. Re-aggravated injuries screamed their protest as he tucked and rolled, coming to a stop on his back, air thoroughly knocked from his lungs.
The skin on his face felt like he had stood too close to a fire-blast, and he blinked until his whited-out vision returned. Certainly not a way Chosen had ever appreciated success before.
His peripheral vision cleared in enough time to see the kid, several paces away, lose his expression of blank shock as his features went lax and he sank sideways to drop neatly to the ground.
Chosen sighed. They had a long way to go.
x x x
“-ome on kid, that’s it…”
Orange groaned, consciousness returning like he was surfacing from underwater. A familiar voice was coming from somewhere nearby, offering stoic encouragement.
Two hands were on his shoulders and back, sitting him up. He figured he should probably offer his attempts to wake up also, and managed to lift his head up from its fight with gravity.
“ Ugh. ” Apparently the most articulate descriptor of his displeasure he could manage.
A snort. “Yeah, I’m sure. Eyes open for me?”
It didn’t usually take this much effort to oblige, Orange was fairly certain. Everything ached and the daylight that assaulted him the moment he managed to open his eyes was certainly enough to make him want to pass back out again.
“There we go,” the voice assured again, and Orange figured he should probably stay awake long enough to figure out who that was.
A dark figure blurred into view, a familiar face- intense maroon eyes, scars cutting neatly through sharp features, long hair all tousled loose from the cord they had tied it back into that morning.
Oh. The Chosen One. That’s right.
Orange stopped himself from wishing it had been any of four other people before he made himself ache emotionally on top of physically.
“Last thing you remember?” Chosen asked curtly, bringing Orange’s focus back to the present.
“Uh-” Orange frowned, blinking hard a few times as if that would clear his memories like it did his sight. “We were talking. About powers? And you figured something out. Then I- I did something? I-” he paused, and frowned at the man in front of him. “Did you push me?”
Chosen chuckled dryly under his breath. “I guess I did.” He took a breath. “Your memories seem to be clearer in comparison to last time, and you woke up much faster, so all good signs that these side-effects can be trained out.”
Orange… mostly followed all of that. He blinked again, thoughts awry. “You made my powers work,” he commented, words only a little slurred. “How’d you do that?”
Chosen smiled, a little smug. “Figured out your ‘if’ statement.”
Orange’s sluggish mind caught up eventually. “You… made me mad? Wait, seriously? I use my powers by being angry? ”
Chosen’s smile widened, pleased. “Gotcha.”
No, no ‘gotcha’. This was awful. “I don’t want to have to be angry to use my powers!”
“Why not? It’s certainly effective.”
“That’s not a good thing!” Orange admonished. “I’ve seen The Empire Strikes Back.”
“You don’t have to lose yourself to your emotions to use your powers, if that’s what you're worried about,” Chosen huffed. “Hell, you don’t even have to be angry at whatever you're fighting. It’s just a trigger, remember. But as we’ve seen, being angry at your target certainly helps.”
He frowned, mulling over that as Chosen relinquished his hold on his shoulders. Orange’s own arms seemed to have transformed back from jelly into flesh, and he leant back on his hands. “I’ve been angry before. I couldn't use my powers then.” Truly, Orange was relieved. If he had accidentally unlocked a lethal magical arsenal at the wrong time…
Like when he fought Red. He had been angry, then. Heck, he killed Green with a sword once, when he had been mad. If he had hurt his friend, irreparably, with powers he had no hope of controlling, he never would have forgiven himself.
“I’m unsurprised you needed some kind of catalyst to get them going,” Chosen commented.
“You think your friend has been the only danger we’ve faced?” Orange scorned, tone hot with venom. How differently would things have gone if he had been able to use his powers against any one of the threats they’d faced in the past? The Lucky Block, the witch? The Mercenaries? Herobrine? The King?
“What, you’ve had your friends killed in front of you often?” Chosen scoffed a laugh.
Orange’s lip curled. “Yes.”
Alan would never do that again. He had changed- he’d never delete Orange’s friends- or anyone - like that again. -Reminders which Orange thankfully didn’t have to repeat to himself often.
That seemed to have caught Chosen off-guard, mouth opening to say something before he shut it again.
Orange took pity on him, tearing his gaze away with a sigh. “No, you’re right. What happened at the bay- that was… that was different. That’s not something that’s ever…”
There were too many ways to end that sentence, so Orange didn’t.
This sucked.
“What now?” Orange said instead.
“Now?” Chosen rose stiffly to his feet, air hissing through his teeth in an almost-disguised wince of pain. He held out one hand.
Standing was probably the last thing that Orange felt like doing, but he wasn’t going to whine about it. Learning how to use his powers meant going home. Standing was step one.
Orange took Chosen’s hand, steadying himself as he was hauled to his feet.
Chosen smiled in approval. “Now, we try again.”
x x x
Incompetence. Absolute utter incompetence.
Victim took another long, long draught of his cigarette, pinching his brow with his other hand. He blew the smoke back out with a hiss through his teeth. “They escaped,” he grit out. “Would someone please tell me why, exactly, they were allowed to escape?”
“It wasn’t our fault, boss!” Ballista piped up, wheezing a little through the smoke that hung heavy through the air. This was not Victim’s first cigarette. “We weren’t here! If you hadn’t sent us away to search Data Bay, then- ow! ”
Behind him, Primal drove the toe of her boot into Ballista’s ankle, effectively shutting him up. A wise decision.
“If I may speak freely, sir?” Agent asked simply from the front of the group.
“Certainly. Considering it is your technology that you assured me was foolproof.”
“It is. My tech never failed. Your employees, however, are complete fools.” Agent watched Victim coolly from beneath his shades.
Bold. Victim could appreciate that. He appraised the suited figure on the other side of his desk idly, musing. “That is true.”
It was truly a mercy that the Chosen One had killed the worker that had messed up enough to ruin this whole operation. Victim couldn’t actually get away with killing any of his legal employees, but in economies like this, there were fates worse than death.
The files would have to be searched to find the worker’s file- the body needed to be colour-dropped back to its original before they contacted the family. Was ‘liability for injury or death by a terrorist due to violation of basic safety protocol’ excluded from his employees’ contracts? He’d have to check.
“Whaddya want us to do then, Boss? We can-” Ballista stopped to cough again. “We can find ‘em!”
“Sure,” Victim drawled, leaning back in his desk chair. “Finding the Chosen One from scratch, once again. I’m sure you can get that done just as fast as last time.” Two damn years between their solid lead on Noogai at the altercation that killed the Dark Lord- the Chosen One’s partner in terrorism- and now. “I am not waiting another two years.” Not when he was this close.
The Chosen One was going to be far more cautious, this time, too. Running away with his tail tucked between his legs, weak and defenceless, dragging a child behind him. Finding him would not be easy.
But maybe they didn’t need to find him. They just needed to be led there by someone who can do the finding for them.
Four someone-s, to be exact.
Victim took another draught of his cigarette, savouring the sensation. This was… likely a very stupid idea. But he’d taken bigger risks to get where he was.
“The website children,” he spoke up, breath thick with smoke. “I want you to let them escape.”
All four mercenaries reacted in kind- from Ballista’s “ Huh? ” to Hazard’s exclamation. Primal crossed her arms, regarding him with narrow, predatory eyes. Agent’s brow simply twitched, the barest demonstration of scepticism. Victim smirked.
“The children’s loyalty to one another is the only absolute in this situation,” he enunciated slowly. “If they believe they have escaped, there are two ultimate outcomes. One; they find a way back to their PC, and lead us straight to Noogai. He is the endgame, after all. Not the Chosen One and little Second.” As much as Victim enjoyed having a plaything, and would have loved to destroy Noogai’s orange favorite child as the human did to him, in front of the animator no less, they were no longer his priority.
“ Two, the more likely option; the four of them will go looking for their missing friend, with a far higher chance of finding him than we have. Then we capture all of them, and start from the top again.”
“They will suspect.” Primal’s thick accent coloured her words.
“Not if this is done right. ” Victim needed a new cigarette again. “They are, after all- children.”
“I thought the plan to summon Noogai hinged on one of the kids being a genius,” Ballista scoffed.
Victim mused again. “As I said; the children’s loyalty is our only absolute. For some obscene reason, that loyalty extends to Noogai.” He sighed. Yellow’s latest bluff was how she needed technology belonging to the late Dark Lord to summon the cursor at all, which Victim doubted. It had already been near a week with no progress from the child to show for it. This strategy was getting nowhere. “Second’s absence will only make them more desperate. We need to act now. ”
“What’s the plan then, sir?”
Finally, some loyalty. Thank-you, Agent. Victim steepled his hands on the desk, ignoring the heat radiating from the hot ash spilling across his fingers. “Give them a little longer to stew. They must assume their escape is entirely of their own volition. Slowly drop the security measures on Yellow’s computer, until she has enough access to hack herself out of her room. She’ll do the rest after that. No tracking devices, nothing they can detect when they’ve left. I trust in all your… skills enough to not lose track of a couple of runaway children.”
To this, Ballista smirked. “Yes boss. ”
“Wonderful. You’re dismissed.”
As the mercenaries filed out of his office, Victim pressed the cigarette stub onto the surface of his ashtray, watching it smolder in its last attempts to stay alight.
Not long now, he promised himself. He wouldn’t be stopped, not now. He had made it this far.