A Lullaby For Gods Chapter 88

CHAPTER 88: ATOMIC BLUE

DECEMBER 9, 2013

NEW YORK CITY

Angeles ends up asleep on the couch. Since Hal doesn't need to sleep, he just continues hanging out on the balcony, scrolling through newsfeeds and forums until it gets too cold even for him, and he closes the doors before finding a spot at one of the loveseats.

The internet - at this point of this timeline, at least - doesn't shut up even in the late hours of the night, ever active even until the ungodly hours of dawn. There's videos being shared around of the latest attack, photos flooding feeds and being requested by news outlets, theories flying around the forums as to who's behind it and what they're after.

It might be a flagship attack, like Angeles has said. The beginning of a long game played by someone very patient. It could also just be someone wanting to finally strike and make a statement now that the Safehouse is down. Either way, if no one does anything, this city will turn into a massive graveyard, completely overtaken by tragedy.

The thought brings Hal's focus back to his physical surroundings - and it's still so surreal he can do that now, that he has a body, test version as it might be. His eyes slide over to where Angeles is sleeping on their side, half of their face pressed to a couch pillow.

They look so unguarded, that usual flat expression of theirs smoothed out to something softer. With the dim light from the balcony washing out their worryingly sickly pallour, they look dead, almost statue-like, betrayed only by the steady rise and fall of their breathing.

So trusting to sleep in his presence, when even his own creator would deem him too dangerous to exist, only sparing him out of pity, or perhaps decency.

He's a machine, a creature of metal and iron. It would be laughably easy for him to snap their neck right now.

...what the fuck.

Hal turns away, moving so that his legs swing over one armrest and so that he's fully facing away from his sleeping friend. He shouldn't be getting impulses like that, it's ridiculous, it's unbecoming of him. He's better than that, he's not human enough to succumb to intrusive, dangerous thoughts.

He slides down the seat until he can rest his head on one of the arms, staring up at the ceiling. They've got a long day ahead of them, and that's what he should focus on; there is the problem of how to get Angeles back to the bunker they'd hidden with the others in, and a talk to be had on whether he can find a way there to meet with the rest of the remaining Safehouse members as well; he needs a new chassis and he needs to write a whole defense protocol since it wouldn't do for him to only rely on Electric Love for emergencies; Jeremiah, Leon and Eugene have nothing to do with this whole mess, so even if they know what's going on, it would only be right to send them home as well, and effectively lessen the scope of the damage any possible fallout of his plans would inflict.

He has to get to the tower for that software and chassis update.

He checks on his messages from JARVIS. Nothing yet. Miss Potts is likely still asleep.

He should write a stasis mode for himself. Not only would it eliminate boredom for him during slow hours, having a physical body means it would constantly need to cool down and have maintenance checks. A stasis mode would lessen those checks and lessen the chances of his body fucking up during dire situations. It would be a machine’s equivalent to sleep, somewhat.

For now, however, he settles on staring at the ceiling silently, the only sound in the room being the soft, almost inaudible whirring of his own machinery and Angeles' soft breaths on the couch adjacent to him.

Leon is the first one of the others to wake up, padding noiselessly across the living room and towards the kitchen around five in the morning. He sees Hal awake and gives him a wave, but says nothing else as he goes to make himself some coffee with the shit they've stolen yesterday.

Idly, Hal wonders what it would be like to actually consume food. He has Dirk's memories of it, but he himself has never truly experienced food. His body would likely break if he tried, though, so that’s just a lost cause.

Jeremiah, surprisingly, is next to awake - though he's probably summoned by the smell of instant coffee being made. He zips out of his room, blankets wrapped around him, barely giving Hal a look of acknowledgement as he barrels into the kitchen and starts pestering Leon for some of his coffee. Leon tells him to make his fucking own.

Eugene gets up around six thirty. Angeles still remains asleep.

"Ah, they usually have a hard time getting up in the mornings, what with the cold," he says by way of explanation when he catches Hal glancing over to them expectantly as he passes. "Blood condition and all."

"They're like a reptile or something?" Jeremiah asks, plopping himself on the couch opposite to them, a steaming mug of shitty coffee in hand.

"Like a very small lizard," Eugene says, then snickers.

Leon walks into the room then, two mugs in hand. He hands one to Eugene, ignoring his question of whether there's sugar in it or not.

"They got stabbed, let them sleep," he says.

Hal's eyes again glances to the bandages around their arm. He'll have to change those soon.

But Leon does have a point - out of all of them, Angeles is the only one who’s injured, so they all let them be. Jeremiah and Leon return to the kitchen to putter around, heating up old, stolen food and snacking on chips too early in the morning simply because no one can stop them.

Eugene stays behind, sipping on his coffee and making a face at the taste. Deciding he doesn’t like it too much, he sets it on the coffee table as he finds himself a seat.

“Hal,” he says, though his attention is on Angeles’ sleeping form. “Do you have good impulse control?”

Strange question, but Hal’s asked stranger, so he says, “I’m software, I don’t have impulses. I view things and weigh percentages of possible outcomes based on situations and available choices.”

“So probabilities,” Eugene says, “And you choose the best outcome?”

“As is logical, yes.”

“Good enough,” he says, reaching up to the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, before dropping his hand, and then doing it again.

Hal waits for him to finish deliberating, patient.

“I - none of us have whatever strange abilities you have. I don’t think we even have the possibility of it like Saph here does,” Eugene starts. “So, it’s just common sense for us to be moved out of the way since we’d only slow you down or put ourselves in unnecessary danger, if everything goes to shit.”

“We’re not going to ask you to help us,” Hal says. “I wouldn’t, at least.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying - I’d rather help you, to be honest. I’m saying I’d understand if you want us to get out of the way,” Eugene says. “And knowing Saph, they’d probably want us out of the way too, if they think it’ll be safer for us.”

Hal glances at Saph’s bandages again. On the couch, they stir lightly, but don’t wake up.

“So that means it’ll likely come down to just the both of you,” Eugene says. “And I just...guess I just wanted to, uh.”

“I’ll make sure they’ll come out of this in one piece,” Hal says. He’s already told Angeles’ friends he’d return them in one piece, he can go the extra mile.

“Ah, no, that’s not what I’m saying either - I mean, it’d be nice if you looked after each other, yeah.” Eugene laughs lightly. “But - I meant, look out for them. Um, stop them, if they get a little too much.”

Eugene frowns down at his hands, picking at nonexistent dirt under his nails as he thinks.

“There’s possibly a dead man in a sewer because they were trying to defend you,” Eugene says. “It was a dire situation, yeah, but it’s still something I think we have to keep in mind. Saph is...I like to think they’re a good person.”

“But?”

“But.” Eugene chuckles again, nervously. “They can be violent. I know I joked about it, and we rib them about a few things but, when left unchecked, they can be violent, extremely so. It’s never without reason, but if you do give them a reason, they will go full scorched earth, even if it’s not a situation where they can get away with it.”

They’d shoved him out of the way with zero hesitation, raising an arm to block at the expense of being wounded and the pain hadn’t even stopped them. They weren’t surprised by it, had no instinctive reaction to it.

They were expecting it when they’d moved to protect him. That had been one precisely calculated thought, to sacrifice their arm and then eliminate the threat.

The image of them standing with that bloody knife in their hands comes to Hal’s mind, suddenly; that near-animalistic hyperfocused look in their eyes as they’d looked down the manhole they’d dropped their victim down.

“Usually, when there’s people with them, friends and all, we can keep them in check; and I don’t think they’d do anything to deliberately hurt us,” Eugene says. “But if it’s a dire situation and nobody’s telling them no, it might get out of hand.”

“You want me to pull them back from that edge if it gets to it.”

“I’m just worried. You, um, you’re also kind of cutthroat when it comes to a few things - that’s the impression I get from you, at least.” Eugene scratches his cheek. “You used us to mine for information, right? And if Saph turned out to be an enemy, you were fully ready to get rid of them.”

Ah.

“But if I’m the only one around, since they’re stranded here for the time being, I’m the only one who can tell them no,” Hal says.

Eugene nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I can’t even imagine what they’d do if they went off the deep end.”

“Go around breaking people’s kneecaps,” Hal says.

“Just yours, probably,” Eugene says, laughing. He stands, taking his coffee with him as he heads to the kitchen. “Thanks, Strider.”

Hal nods, taking a moment to glance at the still-sleeping Angeles as Eugene leaves. They stir again, eyelids twitching slightly. They might wake up soon.

Hal checks his inbox as he waits for them to. There's a reply from JARVIS.

Miss Potts says a driver can be arranged, the message reads. We have nondescript cars for sensitive dealings all the time. One can be sent to pick you up.

Good. He just has to see if Angeles can go back to the bunker yet and if the others can go home.

On the couch, as expected, Angeles awakes. They sit up, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes before yawning.

"Can you go back to your bunker yet?" Hal asks, in lieu of a greeting.

"Good morning too, asshole," they croak out, before yawning again. "Give me a few minutes, I'll have something for you when I'm fully awake." They lean back on the couch. "What time is it anyway?"

"Nearly nine."

"Jegus, I'm more exhausted than I thought," they mutter. "Where're the others?"

Hal nods to the kitchen, standing. "Kitchen." He holds a hand out to them since they don't look like they're about to move on their own, and he needs to send a reply back to JARVIS soon. "They've got breakfast."

Angeles takes his hand and lets him pull them up, stumbling slightly. "Have you eaten yet - oh, right. Robot. I forgot."

He raises an eyebrow as they both head for the kitchen, Angeles speeding up a little at the sound of something sizzling.

"You've skipped past the uncanny valley of how I look that fast, huh?"

"Look, it's not my fault humans are hard-wired to pack-bond with anything." They spin on their heel and walk backwards as they cross the doorway, just so they can stick their tongue out at him childishly.

"Nah, he still looks weird as fuck," Jeremiah says as he sees them both come in. "Like those test robots from those videos online."

Leon takes a sip of his coffee as he gets a thoughtful look on his face, turning to study Hal. Angeles makes a beeline for where Eugene is making himself a new mug of coffee, grabbing a cup for themself, along with a plate for food.

"Face definitely looks too symmetrical," Leon says. "Too angular too."

"I'm getting a new chassis as soon as I get back to Stark Tower," Hal says, finding himself a seat at the table. "Which is why I need to know if you - " he looks at Angeles " - can go back to your friends or if you're coming with me."

"Ah, I'll get on that," they say, quickly setting their full plate onto the table before leaving the room to fetch their phone.

"You should let d'Avignon here help with the chassis, he makes dolls for commission," Jeremiah says around a mouthful of food, pointing a fork at Leon. "Angeles too, they know a lot about anatomy."

"Yeah, they harvest people's organs and sell them on the black market," Eugene says gravely, taking his coffee with him to the table. "Very dangerous, that little tater tot."

That’s a joke, hopefully.

"You keep spreading lies about me, I will make it into a reality," Angeles says as they come back to the room. They pass by the back of Hal's chair to say, "Kevin hasn't replied yet," before they go around to sit beside Eugene, who pretends to shudder and lean away from them.

They pinch his cheek harshly. He immediately swats them away.

"We were talking about helping Hal make a new chassis," Leon says.

"Oh, are you helping?" Angeles asks as they dig into their food. "Your first life-sized project?"

"If he wants help on it, sure." Leon shrugs. The table turns to Hal, expectant. He just leans back in his chair.

"If you don't mind going to the tower with me, I could use it, focus on software updates instead," Hal says. "Though you do still have your lives to go back to."

Jeremiah chuckles, wagging a finger. "Nah nah nah, bossman, you two - " he points to Hal and then Angeles " - are in deep shit. Cosmic levels of deep shit, from what you've said. I'm not going anywhere, at least."

"Neither am I," Leon says.

Eugene takes a little while to answer. "I'm coming too," he eventually says, ruffling Angeles' hair. They immediately swat his hand away. "Someone’s gotta look after you idiots."

"We haven't lived in the same town in years, Wilde," they bite out. When he tries to mess their rat's nest of hair again, they attempt to stab his hand with the fork.

Hal eyes them all carefully. This is a problem. Eugene has already given his approval on being asked to step away, but Jeremiah and Leon might have to be convinced.

This is why he hadn't wanted to answer any questions. Humans and their tendency for attachments.

"We're gonna need people on the ground," Angeles mumbles. "SHIELD isn't going to give up people in their custody without good reason to, so we need either enough firepower or enough pressure to make them do so. And then we'll need a safety net."

"You've got an idea?" Hal asks.

"I... " they hesitate, frowning at their plate. After a while, they violently stab at a piece of meat and chew down on it. "Let's drag SHIELD into the light."

Eugene stays silent. Hal raises an eyebrow, tilting his chair back with a foot.

"Oh?"

"You familiar with the concept of an internet mob? Public backlash?" Angeles asks.

"I've heard of it, never really saw anything play out in realtime."

"Let's tell New York the reason the Safehouse is down is because SHIELD took everyone," Angeles says. "Let's tell them the truth."

"You are going to start a riot," Leon says, warningly.

"I know. That's the point," Angeles says. "People are dead. Hundreds are dead. Why wouldn't we start a riot?"

"And right now would be prime time to stir some unrest," Hal says, the pieces already clicking into his mind. He's got access to the hospital footage - even if SHIELD's scrubbed the tapes clean, they've got a copy at the tower. They can release those tapes.

Angeles nods. "If only a few people ask questions, SHIELD can just get rid of them. But if it's a whole city - "

" - they're fucked," Hal finishes.

"Obviously, they're not gonna give everyone up easily," Angeles continues. "Which is why we need to gather firepower. But after we break people out, we need public support, so…" They motion their fork to the other three. "People on the ground."

"You want us to stir the internet up," Leon says.

"Someone's gotta start something, and if SHIELD's already looking for Safehouse survivors, it might be better to have people they wouldn't think are involved," they say. “The news cycle is vicious, so we have to operate on the assumption that every piece of information we put out will only last for twelve hours. Which means we need to space out information over the course of several weeks. Randomize times so they don’t know when the next bit is going to drop; randomize the days in between releases.”

"We can do that easily," Jeremiah says. "A reddit burner account here, a 4chan post there - we can use TOR too... "

Angeles' phone buzzes. They duck and mumble an excuse, rising from their seat as Jeremiah and Leon begin to throw suggestions at each other. They gently put a hand on Hal's shoulder as they pass by him, a signal to talk to him. He stands and leaves the room with them.

There's no message on their phone when they pretend to show it to him. They just set off a vibration.

"Keeping them out of the way while letting them think they’re involved?" Hal asks, keeping his voice low since they're both still in the others' line of sight by the doorway.

"You didn't want them involved with this any more than they already were, right?" Angeles asks.

"It would have been messier to look out for them if something happened. I need to have less variables to watch out for in the event of a fallout," he says.

They chuckle. "Then be glad I'm not above steering conversations."

He snorts. "So how many people hate you?"

"A shitton," they say. "If Kevin can't answer until later, what's your plan?"

"We're going to the tower. I said I'd return you to your friends in one piece, I'm not failing in that," he says. "But there's a possibility SHIELD might show up to see if anyone else is hiding at the tower, so after we get my body, we're leaving right away."

"If we can get to the bunker, we can hide out there," Angeles says. "With the others too, just for their safety." They frown. "If I can find any indication of Loki's other bunkers, we can hide them separately from our group."

"Loki?"

"Luke Winters?"

Hal gives them a confused look. "Is that a nickname or does he have anything to do with the Avenger Thor?"

"I - I'm not privvy that, actually," they say. "But he's got bunkers all over the place. We're hiding in one."

"Convenient. Look for them when you have the chance," Hal says, straightening to glance back at the others. "We need to give the others footage to work with first, so the tower’s our first stop"

"How long does it usually take for a body to be built?" Angeles asks.

"Several hours. If you make it too detailed, maybe half a day or so," Hal says.

"Let's get moving then, you want us to help, right?"

"Since you know more about what fits in the uncanny valley and what passes for human, sure."

Angeles snickers, turning to head back for the kitchen. "Don't worry about it, Hallmark, we'll have you doing stealth missions in no time."

He raises an eyebrow. “Hallmark?”

“I’m gonna make that your contact name if you get a phone - or, huh, maybe you can get a SIM card installed with your new chassis,,” they say. “Wait - god, we have got to watch at least one Hallmark Christmas movie soon; they are the funniest, you’re gonna love them.”

“You want me to watch cheesy shit with you, you know how that sounds, right?” he says, letting them take the conversation somewhere lighter. There’s nothing else to plan for now, anyway. All he can do is wait. “Is this about you liking Electric Love?”

Angeles lands a punch on his arm for that. “Shut the fuck up, Halexander.”

“Are you embarrassed about having a crush - “

There’s a sudden flash of white-gold light beside them. Angeles turns, surprised, backing up slightly at the disturbance.

And then freezes as they’re suddenly face to face with a young boy with grey skin, curving horns and violet irises.

A young boy Hal knows.

Eridan reaches forward. “You - “

Pink electricity ricochets all over the room before Hal even knows what’s happening. It’s not something that even registers in his system, the command is just executed on its own.

In a split second, Electric Love is in front of Angeles, one hand raising his sword and the other pushing them back, knocking them into Hal. Eridan - or something, at least - is just as quick to react as Electric Love, a dome of translucent white-gold light forming over Eridan before Electric Love’s blade crashes down on it, gold and pink lightning exploding upon contact.

Behind Eridan is a troll, one who looks just like him save for the hairstyle and the fact that this one is clearly an adult, one arm wrapped around Eridan’s midriff to pick him up, the other reaching back towards something. Eridan himself is still staring at Angeles, hand outstretched as if trying to reach for them.

A magic circle of white gold light appears by the adult troll’s outstretched hand, the insignia for Hope with it. “Anshu, bring us back!”

“Wait - Nereus - “

Another flash of white gold light. When the brightness dies down, there is no one there, just Hal, Angeles and Electric Love.

And their very concerned friends by the kitchen doorway.

“What...what the fuck happened?” Eugene asks.

Electric Love straightens, sheathing his sword back into place. He turns, scanning Angeles for injuries without even waiting for Hal’s instructions.

Hal frowns. His Stand’s strangely hyperfixating on them. In fact, Hal hadn’t even been thinking about attacking Eridan, he knows Eridan, and though Angeles had gotten slightly spooked from someone suddenly showing up, Eridan hadn’t looked threatening at all, at least to him. Electric Love had no reason to manifest, and still, he’d simply sprung out.

[You’re alright?] Electric Love asks.

Angeles nods, still staring at the spot Eridan had been in. “What - what was that?”

Someone Hal knows - and thus someone Electric Love should know.

But he’d attacked anyway, with intent to harm.

Hal eyes his Stand dubiously. From the additional visual feed he has, he knows the Stand looks back at him through its visor.

“Someone who wasn’t a danger to us, that much I know,” Hal says, still looking at his Stand.

Angeles frowns. Before they can say anything, Hal snaps his fingers, and Electric Love disperses. He leans down slightly to whisper, “Later,” as he brushes past them.

They nod.

Something is wrong.

-

One moment, Eridan’s underwater and then the next, he’s standing in some room above ground, far away from the island.

The one consolation he has is that, being some form of bodiless consciousness (a brain ghost then too, perhaps?), he’s not tracking water everywhere and isn’t cold with the air, so he’s thankfully spared from the experience of having to be uncomfortable from his sudden removal from the sea.

It’s bright, wherever he is; it’s much further into the day here, it seems. The room he’s in looks like a more lavish version of Rogers’ cheap little hive, the space of it much wider, though the colors are a little more stale, in whites and greys. There’s several seats arranged a few feet away, the floor is covered in carpet, and there’s just so much space around him that the place feels temporary and impersonal.

But that space is why he’s quick to notice that he’s not alone. There’s some blond cartoony-looking asshole a few paces away from him, staring at him in rightful surprise.

Directly in front of him, though, is a much shorter human who actually looks human, with sickly skin that reminds him too much of his problems right now and -

Wait a fucking minute.

He’s seen those eyes before.

If someone were to ask him to describe the Heir of Doom, he wouldn’t have been able to say shit. But if someone were to present him with a selection of people and ask him to pick out the Heir of Doom from them, he would be able to recognize them. Whatever forgetting thing they had going on, it happened when he was looking away, not when he was looking at them.

And there’s some differences, like the skin color, the angles of their face and the softness to their jawline, but this kid looks familiar.

He’s seen those eyes before, he knows he has. One right gunmetal grey iris, paired with one of the same gunmetal grey on the left, but with a ring of atomic blue in the middle.

Eridan staring at the Heir of Doom’s eyes

But it’s not the Heir of Doom. It can’t be them - their hair is too dark; not only that, they’re too young. The Heir of Doom was a full grown adult.

Still, Eridan finds himself suddenly reaching forward, wanting to say, “You look like the Heir.”

And then there’s a burst of pink electricity from the blond asshole and Nereus is dragging him back, throwing up a shield for his protection.

“Anshu, bring us back!”

Eridan reaches for the kid; that’s his link, that’s who he’s looking for. Even if it’s not the Heir, they have a connection, clearly, especially if they have the Heir’s eyes. “Nereus - wait - “

Another flash of light.

There is no one in front of Eridan, just a vast expanse of blue water.

I’m sorry! Anshu says. I’m sorry, I can’t control it yet, I -

It’s okay, Anshu, Nereus reassures them. That’s what we’re going to practice for, okay? Eri here’s going to need…

Eridan tunes them out, mind running miles a second as he tries to recall the kid’s face. To his surprise, he can; he still can’t remember the Heir of Doom’s face, but for this child, he actually can. He can remember their surprise, their alarm, that familiar ring of atomic blue in their left iris that the Heir of Doom similarly shared.

He can imagine it now, with sharper angles and an even sharper grin, how they resembled the Heir of Doom. They were a dead ringer, almost, except for the lack of snow white hair - though their eyelashes had been white too - poliosis, perhaps? He’d read about it once on a very bored trawl through the internet and Hal had shown him random shit he’d found interesting, as apparently the whole Strider-Lalonde clan had a mutation called albinism.

Eridan turns back to where Nereus is, trying to console a panicking Anshu.

“Nereus,” Eridan says, eyeing Nereus’ shock of very, very dark hair.

Nereus turns to him, expectant.

“I think I just met your kid.”