I look at Emma, at Madison, who are unrecognizable... who represent caricatured, grotesque copies of my father. I swallow. I feel conflicted emotions. On one hand, this is—ugliness, a mockery of nature, farce and grotesque, that very line where everything turns into absurdity and revulsion, but on the other—this is my father's face! But... my father's face belongs where it should be—on Danny's shoulders. His face on my classmates' bodies... doesn't look right at all. Bonesaw didn't change anything in Emma's and Madison's bodies... almost nothing. With a merciless hand, she tore away the sheets, and I see everything. Emma's white skin, her body, a model's body. Once she posed for ads at a local agency, and now her body is covered with ugly scars and sparse hair sticking out everywhere. And also... of course Bonesaw sewed male genitalia onto her. Deliberately of a different color, dark skin standing out against the light, almost white. And the face... the sight was horrifying, tugging at some hidden strings in the soul, turning everything inside and causing an immediate desire to turn away, not to see... this.
Madison... almost the same thing was done to Madison, except instead of hair all over her body she had some kind of dark green lichen, swellings oozing pus and ichor. Of course, my father's face and carelessly sewn genitalia, obviously too large for her body. Both could now be preserved in formaldehyde and displayed at a freak show. Cabinet of curiosities. Show of Human Body Catastrophes. And even the still-present and untouched breasts or the general, obviously girlish outlines of their figures—didn't fix the situation, but seemed to make it worse.
If Bonesaw's goal was to cause revulsion, disgust and pity simultaneously with just one look at her creations—she succeeded. Because the first impulse, the first feeling that arose in my chest at first glance was the desire to finish off these unfortunates so they wouldn't suffer. And not just finish them with a shot to the head, but literally burn them with a flamethrower, not leave even a handful of ash.
A thought suddenly flashes through my head that now—I won't be able to look calmly at my dad's face! His face... it will always remind me of this. A panicked thought, and for a second I have to close my eyes, fighting with myself to—not look, to tear my gaze away from this grotesque.
"He's getting into your head, Taylor," the Fifth warns. "And you... can't do anything about it. Resistance is futile. Do you know exactly how they recruited sweet little Bonesaw? No? Riley was a very good girl. Kind and gentle. One day Jack appeared at their country house. And he killed her entire family before her eyes. Slowly. He knows how to do everything slowly, not just swing a knife."
"She... she had a trigger, right?"
"Right. But that's not the whole story, my bespectacled whore. Riley really got her trigger and abilities that allowed her to do anything with the human body. She grabbed a kitchen knife, rubber tourniquets, towels, a bottle of vodka and in a short time—practically brought her mother back to life. What do you think... happened next?"
"Oh, no..." I whispered, opening my eyes and peering into the serene face of the girl named Riley.
"Oh, yes. Jack killed her again. Slowly. Enjoying the process. And again let her—save her mom. And killed her again. He cut out her eyes, and Riley—inserted her father's eyes, her little brother's, even the pet's... a cat's. Surprisingly—her mom came back to life again and again. With a cat's eye. Without arms and legs. With skin removed. With torn intestines. Jack can be quite inventive. And... you know, her mom begged Riley—to give up. To let her go. At some point she stopped being her mother, becoming a bleeding piece of pain and suffering. And then—Riley killed that creature with her own hands. That was the price for Riley joining the Slaughter. That's when she earned her name. Bonesaw. Bone Saw."
"God..." I whisper. "That bastard..."
"Exactly, Taylor. Exactly. Let go of the reins. You—won't manage. Let me talk to him. In return... when it's all over—you'll give me my body. Deal?"
"No. I—will manage," I stubbornly tilt my head. "Who is he? Just another opponent. There are no invulnerables."
At this very moment my Valkyries with new rockets under their wings—enter combat course, banking right. I have sixteen O-bomb warheads in reserve, unexpectedly proving so useful. What Tattletale conceived as indulgence, as mischief, as a possibility to fight off Protectorate and PRT forces without causing lethal damage or maiming anyone—becomes a formidable weapon. Veteran capes—are resistant to pain and damage, they're used to enduring pain. Some have even developed increased tolerance to such sensations, there's protection from nerve ending overload that reduces pain intensity. Armsmaster in his power suit even has an autodoc system that can immediately inject painkillers. But against orgasm no one ever thought to fight. It's like the P-bomb, invented by the same Tattletale, a bomb that makes everyone in the affected radius—immediately empty their bowels. However, the P-bomb doesn't prevent a person from performing conscious actions... they can still fight, even with soiled pants. Such a thing is good for dispersing riots or stopping gang wars, but in cape fights—not so much. I'm sure both Armsmaster and Miss Militia—would continue fighting despite the smell and stained pants. But with the O-bomb... everyone will be lying on the ground here. At least a minute, maybe more... my Taylor-bodies in the parking lot—still can't pull themselves together, drooling and shuddering in sweet convulsions of ecstasy. Truly, make love, not war. It's more effective.
Therefore, despite everything happening here—I'm confident. My Taylors now—stand behind the wall, ready to storm, around the Plant a ring of units is tightening, cutting off all approaches and routes, evacuating civilians in case the fight drags on and we have to resort to the ultimate measure—the "Baby" bomb. I need Bonesaw... even if I have to shoot her in the head with a Zero Time bullet now, and then—level the entire Plant, along with a dozen of my own bodies, with Jack and Siberian's host cape—turn everything here into a single glassy mass, and then—dig out Bonesaw's head from there, remaining unharmed in a Zero Time bubble. That's one option. But I'm not ready yet, need to evacuate everyone from nearby houses... otherwise civilian casualties would be unacceptable.
For now... I'm talking to Jack and it doesn't matter what exactly he says—during this time my Valkyries have mounted new rockets under their wings and entered combat course. The Plant territory is divided into squares, Tattletale indicated on maps the points where O-warheads should be placed, minutes until firing. I don't want to turn the Plant into a melted mass of fused glass and metal... and not just because of civilians.
Emma and Madison. No, I shouldn't save them. After everything between us—I could calmly walk along the edge of a skyscraper where they hang, clinging to the edge—and crush their fingers. After all, these two made their own bed, let them sleep in it. Yes, I perfectly understand that getting torture from Bonesaw for school bullying—is too much. Overkill.
They don't deserve this and even I—wouldn't torture them. Though—I could. I could kidnap them and do such things to them that even Bonesaw would nervously smoke on the sidelines. Could make them permanent feed for my Swarm... simultaneously feed and at the same time—devour them with insects, eat out their eyes and liver, like that eagle did to Prometheus. I could do much... but here's the paradox—when you can do it, you no longer want to. All I really wanted—was for these two to never appear in my life again. I don't care if they realized their mistakes, repent their actions or not. These two didn't deserve my attention. Sophia "Shadow Stalker" Hess—she took a step toward redemption. And it's not at all the fact that she stuck her tongue between my legs, no. I may not love Sophia, but I can't deny that she's—brave. Bitch, cunt, creature... but brave. She—participated in the Battle with Leviathan, though she could have refused, she's just a Ward. And... as far as I saw after the Battle—she got it bad. She lived with her mother in a tent camp and neither the Battle nor subsequent events—broke her. I can't say I forgave her, it won't be that simple... but at least Sophia did everything so I—acknowledged her existence. And these two... if they die during the assault—so be it. Especially since they're experiencing constant pain now and death would be more of a relief for them... so...
"I made it so you now have two more new dads!" Bonesaw smiles and tilts her head sideways. "Look how beautiful they are! They have both boy parts and girl parts, isn't that great?! They can be both dads and moms! But that's not all!"
"That's not all? You sick bastard, Jack," I say. "You know, people often tell me that for an ordinary person I enjoy killing too much. Didn't realize it... until now. Killing you—will give me genuine pleasure."
"There!" Jack exclaims, clapping his hands and rising from his chair. "There! That's the spirit I need! Yes! Yes! Let's kill each other! The Queen-Administrator of Brockton Bay and me! In such moments I feel that—I'm alive! Excellent! Well then..."
"You two just won't let me speak, will you? You two..." Bonesaw folds her arms across her chest. "Jack! Taylor! Let me speak!"
"Oh... sorry. Taylor—we'll definitely kill each other now. Just let's allow Riley to give you your present properly. She has some surprises there." He leans forward slightly, lowers his voice and puts his palm to his mouth, telling me in a conspiratorial whisper: "I don't even know what she came up with. She's—a creative girl. Very creative."
"Oh yes," I look at the gurneys with bodies. "Really a creative girl. Very... creative."
"Sorry, Riley..." Jack sits back down in the chair and crosses his legs. "So what do you have there? I hope Taylor will like your surprise."
"I tried so hard!" Bonesaw beams with a smile and this smile—is sincere. As if she believes that by mutilating my classmates she—gave me a gift. I feel mixed emotions. On one hand, this is Bonesaw, a cape who has caused so much death and pain that even I am like a dwarf before her... and she did it just like this—with this same smile and sincere joy. But on the other... Jack broke her. First broke her, then—made her what he wanted. I'm beginning to understand what exactly Jack's main strength is—he knows how to control people. Heartbreaker's power? Jack Slash—Master. But exactly how does he manage to get into heads, how did he make Riley-Bonesaw smile so sincerely? For any person in her place, after all the psychological trauma... she should have caught such PTSD that either completely renounce the world and lie in depression all day, or conversely—constantly fall into hysteria. Jack... power of gentle persuasion?
Meanwhile the Valkyries are already beginning descent, having acquired targets. A little more and the entire Plant territory will fall under the effect of sixteen O-warheads. This should be enough... I don't know if the effect will reach through walls and partitions, but Siberian's host cape was affected, and there was no one in the parking lot. Most likely he was somewhere nearby, but... where?
If the O-bombs affect me-Taylor, Jack and Bonesaw, everyone in this room—goes down, then two new bodies of mine will immediately teleport into the room, capture Bonesaw and cut off Jack's head along with his long tongue. Yes, the blast wave from Butcher's teleportation will damage and probably concuss everyone present, but I'm not in the mood for gentleness now. Whoever survives—I'll heal later. Well... or not heal.
"Well then, show your surprise, Riley..." I fold my arms across my chest. I have no desire to fall under my own O-bombs, already felt the effect, damn Tattletale and damn Tomoko's mischievous hands... but at the moment this is the best plan.
"Come on! Get up!" Bonesaw cheerfully commands and the two lying on gurneys—jerk and fussily begin to stand. Their hands shake, they look at the floor, legs buckle, but they—get up from the gurneys. I involuntarily swallow. I notice that neither one nor the other—even tries to cover their nakedness. I understand what this means. They're—already broken. They don't care anymore. Shame—is one of the basic emotions, feeling shame—is natural, especially if you have such a body. Deliberately mutilated. Made to cause mockery, pity and revulsion. But neither Emma nor Madison... their hands didn't even twitch to cover themselves. They obediently got up from the gurneys. Barefoot on the dirty concrete floor. Stood up, heads down, looking at the floor. I clench my teeth, looking at them.
"So," Bonesaw continues. "Now, girls, tell Taylor what you wanted to say. You surely wanted to tell her something, right? I can't hear you!"
"Forgive us, Taylor," Emma says quietly. "We... I—was wrong. Now... I can repay my debt to you by taking care of you every day."
"Forgive me, Taylor," Madison echoes her, not raising her eyes. "I was wrong. You can do with me as you wish. I'm ready to atone for my guilt with my life."
"That's all?" I fold my arms and look at Bonesaw. Anger gradually begins to cloud my eyes with a red veil. I'm no fan of Emma and Madison, but they're—my tormentors, damn it. No one dares interfere in my affairs... like this.
"That's not all!" Bonesaw exclaims and claps her hands. "I know your birthday is coming soon! Yes! That's wonderful. It's not customary to give gifts early, but I don't know if you'll survive this day or not... it would be sad if you die without getting your gift. Yes, I have a cake, but we'll eat it a bit later. And a party... but that's a secret! For now..." She turns to Emma and Madison and these two—flinch and straighten up, shifting their bare feet on the cold concrete floor.
"Come on, like we rehearsed!" she waves her arms and these two—open their mouths and begin to sing!
"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, Taylor..." they sing out in trembling voices, emptiness in their eyes. Before there was fear, there was pain, suffering, despair... but now—only emptiness. I've seen the same eyes in corpses. Empty and cloudy glass beads.
The absurdity, unreality, absurdness of this picture—hits my head like a hammer. Empty windowless room, Jack Slash tossing his knife on his palm, Bonesaw glowing with pride in her gothic Lolita dress. Two with my father's faces and schoolgirls' bodies, distorted by Bonesaw's "modifications," shamelessly displayed, standing with hands "at their sides" and singing that familiar birthday song...
"Fire," I move my parched lips and eight of my deadly Valkyries—fall from the heavens, turning belly up and for a second—flashing rocket surfaces in the sun. Rockets tear from pylons and rush down, in swift flight directing their predatory points toward the target. If it were my will—right now I'd burn everything here to hell...