Old Scratch drops the bomb

~Scratch~ *The room James enters is, of course, his own. Black, utter darkness, still, just the way he left it, nothing touched. And as he moves into his chamber, nothing stirs… at least, not until he walks in far enough… when that is accomplished, a hand from nowhere, from the inky shadows themselves, lashes out, latches onto his throat, and unbelievable, /inhuman/, force slams him brutally against the far wall, picking up momentum as it goes, landing Blackdagger's body up on the paneling with a sickening thud. Sliding from the darkness, like a wraith of anger, a figure coalesces, attached to that large hand squeezed about James' neck, and connected to that arm, the shoulder, is eventually the head and face of /The/ Commander… Old Scratch. In total counterpoint to the severe force employed, his countenance is calm, stark, emotionless, and all the more intensely eerie for it. Piercing eyes seem to worm their vision through the young man's, nail themselves pupil to pupil. Indeed, the expression is so at odds with the action, that it appears to be almost gentle, despite the horrifying pressure applied by Scratch's digits, which seem to give no indication of lightening up any time soon. The inkiness of the light-lacking room surges around the sharp planes of Scratch's features, covering, hiding, leaving only the impression of a vague outline and two points of bright fury spearing from what passes as those devouring eyes…* I gave you an /order/ son….

** The journey throughout the hall had been without event, and the room at first startled him. But he soon relaxed as he hesitated in the doorframe. And only then did he feel, not hear, or see, a hand encircle his throat. Blinding force, in another heart-beat he was pressed against the far wall. Instinctively he tried to last out, though instead he froze as he saw beyond the arm, and hand. Seeing the eyes, and his turned wide, pupils, despite the pitch, pin-pricks. He tensed his throat and stared in disbelief. He had only heard. . legends, myths of The commander's abilities, but never experienced them first hand. His pulse raced for that same instant, as he thought, a single thought in his mind. . . one he was convinced Scratch's super-hearing could detect. . . -I am going to die. - And soon that passed as he was suspended like a mere rag doll above the ground, and then a voice that cut through the darkness and awkward silence. A throbbing of his pulse, and that silence made him want to scream, though he didn't dare to move a muscle. Only hanging to Scratch's forearm, trying in some futile way to brace his grip. His blue eyes then close as he hears what the words say over the deafening pulse. . . and he remained silent. . for what was he to say? As if the grip could have allowed speech. . . **

*A strange smile on the unnatural's lips, teeth bared to display their feral sharpness, pointed, like fangs. And it seems for a moment, as Scratch leans forward ever so slowly, that he might bring those sharp canines down around the throat of the one he holds captive, but he only moves in, like a living shadow, slinking closer, until his breath can be felt, hot, against the cheek of the other, those eyes like fire-brands, scorching the small space between the two men* You're fortunate I'm in a /good/ mood, /boy/. You know the penalties for disobeying a direct order, don't you. *More a statement than a question, and it's clear the elder of the two is expecting a verbal answer, one James will have to struggle to deliver, for that grasp never abates*

** He simply tries to shut his eyes, as if the descending 'shadow' would go away if he simply hid behind his lids. But he opened them again slowly to notice Scratch hovering ever so closely, seeming like a rabid and feral animal about to strike, but instead that voice strikes through the silence again. Nearly seeming like a douse of cold water on naked flesh. He stiffens as he feels Scratch's breath wash over him, seeming he could almost imagine saliva dripping off those very teeth, near salivating at seeing him as so helpless. His hands then began to quiver ever so lightly, and he struggled to maintain them. Seeming like in a trance-like state, the air slowly being severed from his blood. And finally comprehending the words and the implied meaning of them. He struggled indeed against the grip, seeming like five slender and deadly pythons constricting his every move. He swallowed what he could, and then through grit teeth and dry lips he managed a fairly audible ** Yes Sir. . . ** His words attempted to be as sharp as the would have been if he were merely standing in front of the commander. But instead they choked off near the end. Expecting any moment to hear the sound of his own vertebrae snap, in a sickening crunch, and the darkness that surrounded them to simply envelop him entirely. He then looked back to the eyes of Scratch and a small sense of tunnel vision started, he glanced away, and it remained. . . simply due to the lack of oxygen to his brain. **

….Good. *Scratch tightens his grip minutely, allows it to remain as-is for another moment or so, just bringing the young man to the very verge of unconsciousness, when the hearing goes the way of eyesight, dimming, darkening, slipping away…. And then he releases James, simply opens his fingers and drops him unceremoniously. The elder doesn't step back, but towers over the fallen, stands firm, like an unmovable monolith, solid, impassable, somehow /huge/ in the blackness, and that calm, gravelly voice snakes out again, hisses into the silence…* I'd hate to have to remind you. Now get up. *he's allowing for no weaknesses, no disobeying this time, his command more of a challenge than anything else*

** And soon his hearing started fading, and soon the tips of his fingers seeming near numb, wondering if his first instinct was correct, that he would die here this night. Instead he felt himself fall, but not land. Gasping for air, drinking it as if he hadn't had water in weeks. He then tried not to cower, instead, against his instinct to curl up, to pant and breathe, he instead struggled to his feet. His hand running up the wall, regaining his balance, and quickly eyesight and hearing. He heaved a few more breaths and stood, the blood rushing back to his head, making him incredibly light headed, And instead of simply standing there he gathered his courage, and strength and attempted a full salute, even with the heavy breathing. He managed to calm it as he answered back another ** Yes sir, ** His voice this time crisp as he could get it. His stance slowly stiffening as he saluted, until finally he regained everything. Perhaps his UNnatural powers working for him, replacing his body back to optimum performance. He stood until his muscles would simply burst from his skin if it were to be any more taut. He stood there, containing the shiver and the steady tremble that had began. And stood to the best of his ability. . . utterly motionless. **

*It shows in his eyes, just once, in one tiny little glimmer that could be missed by blinking at the wrong time… he's impressed. Or pleased. Or perhaps… /proud/. He nods once, just the slightest inclination of his head, but his eyes don't soften, remaining smoldering flints against the night of his shadow-hung face* I don't like having my orders disobeyed, boy. Remember that for next time, for you'll have no other reminder. *his elocution is perfect, almost cultured despite his stony appearance and unrefined presence. Obviously, he's well-trained in more than just his tasks at hand. His raspy voice, so quiet in the stillness, only accentuates the oddness of the situation, of this man, who seems, at times, to be a walking contradiction of what GUARDians are labeled to be… or have been given the label of. More likely, he is all a GUARDian is supposed to exude… confidence, strength, knowledge, perseverance, adherence to the rules, controlled, disciplined, powerful… and most definitely he is /in charge/. Authority is like an aura about him, but there's something else here, one could /almost/ feel it, like a shimmering of movement just outside the edges of vision… something undefinable… and maybe it exists for James alone. James and one other… and as suddenly as his hand flashed from the dark, his mood seems to alter* You had questions earlier. Restate them now. *an order, succinctly given*

** Black simply stood, unmoving, even through the explanation of not being reminded again. And as for the glimmer of pride, something he would have done anything for, and done anything to see, it was lost in the swirl of thoughts he had in his mind. He simply stayed at full salute and responded again with the same ** Yes Sir, Understood, Sir. ** He then tensed until his muscles gave off that same familiar ache, the burn and scream. That echoed and rippled through his body. And even as the GUARDian's manner shifted he remained unearthly still. More still than he had been in the holding cell area. His eyes fixed on a single point. Unwilling to even blink. He instead said to the new order. ** I am unable to recall the exact wording, sir. . I believe I inquired about your conversation with Venin, sir. But as I recall you clarified it as a family discussion.. .sir.

*Something flares a moment in those fire-chip eyes, embers leaping back to life, heated and bright, and that set face sets harder… an unconscious warning, a subtle display of disapproval, of anger* Is that what I just asked, boy? *His great arms fold over his barreled chest, his feet planted firmly apart, almost a battle-stance, ready for something, though even now, his intentions are slightly ambiguous* Is that /what I just asked/?? *His voice lowers into a graveled hiss, a rumble of thunder, brows furrowing slightly*

** He then was honestly scared. It was not so much of a shock that he changed the first time, but he changed his attitude again. He simply stood, in the same statuesque manner and said, the same crisp ** No sir, ** Not adding anything but that. He tried to keep his heart from bursting forth from his chest at that moment and simply tried to prevent his knees from buckling. Thinking then perhaps it was a mind game. He then said ** I had a question earlier, about what really happened to your wife, Yvette's mother, sir. ** Taking that chance, and not so much in hopes to please Scratch, but in hopes to subside his own raking fears. **

*Scratch calms again, and nods slowly, once, his burrowing eyes never leaving Black's face, nor blinking, seeming so in his element here, this darkness… and one must wonder if he hasn't lived his whole life in concealment, one way or another…* Yes. *Scratch had commanded for Black to re-utter the /question/, not simplify it into a broad statement of an over-all view. He's already ordered twice, he will not do so again, and Black is innocently risking the elder's wrath once more, but when this GUARDian gives a command, he expects it to be fulfilled to the very letter…*

** His muscles sting, understanding now what Scratch would have him do. His muscles throughout his chest rippled as he inhaled ever so slowly, allowing the breath to draw inwards, over his lips, a steady stream. His throat seemed dry, and his lips chapped. His hands were near numb again as well from the fear and adrenaline he felt pulse throughout his veins. He took some comfort that bruise would surround his neck, where he had been choked, his body simply didn't allow that. The bruises that would have been so evident on a normal mad weren't there. The broken capillaries were repaired instantly. . . but through that same throat and wind-pipe he uttered, the words stumbling out. Near the exact verbatim of what he asked in the holding cells. **What the hell was going on down there sir. . what really happened. Because I highly doubted Venin was confabulating the story. . . entirely. . . sir ** the last part seemed to fade, in a set of pauses. He then slowly allows his eyes wander over towards Scratch instead of focusing, or rather trying to focus on the far wall. Instead they focus on the GUARDian's eyes. He again has a dry swallow and clenches his teeth even tighter. His jaw then begins to ache, a dull throb, and finally he can not prevent his hands from trembling. After all his efforts, he still kept his head perfectly still, the tendons and muscles in his neck prominent. His chin delicately raised, and his chest out, his posture. . . perfect. Through all of this his hands would not stop trembling. The numb shaking that even clenched fists, as so tightly they drew small springs of blood could not prevent. **

What was going on down there? *Scratch smiles faintly, an action only hinted to by the way the shadows moves across his lips. His arms lower until he clasps his hands behind his back, but this is all the altering in posture he makes. His piercing orbs never change, and he very seldom blinks, if he does at all. Simply a solid block of man, swathed in darkness, like some silent sentinel who haunts the fringes of nightmare, and he remains that way for some time after repeating the question, tall and quiet, though he's not so tall as the younger man before him… he just has that /presence/ about him which seems to make him huge, filling up the vision, the room, immense* That's a family affair. And no, she didn't make up the story, she simply remembers it wrong. *for a split second his mien softens, even his eyes, and his voice drops a touch, in a strangely inviting manner* You wish to hear the truth?

** His hands and the crescent moon shaped holes where his nails tore at his flesh soon healed. The he released then just enough as to not puncture his flesh again . Allowing his lips to part in a ragged exhale. The truth. . . it was being offered. He regretted at that moment, that very moment for ever going to visit Venin, for ever asking such a question. How could he have been so utterly naive, so incredibly stupid? The words were very inviting, seeming to lull through the darkness. He then said a simply ** Yes sir. ** his eyes wide wondering in that instant as well, why he hadn't simply said -No-, perhaps then this ordeal would have been long finished, and he could retire to lick his wounds. Through the pitch he kept his eyes set on Scratch's. Like two reluctant spheres of ice, gazing towards their demise. A steady blaze that seemed to emit from the circles he could distinguish on Scratch's face. He closed his lips and shut his eyes for a moment, half heartedly hoping when he re-opened them, Scratch would simply. . . vanish. But instead as he reopened them ever so carefully, the man still loomed there. Watching him like an eagle. Feeling incredibly small, and insignificant beneath that very gaze. **

*Simply enough put… /Yes, sir/…. And it was done. Scratch takes an almost frightening change in countenance, as his vision seems to recede, inside himself, and the sparks held there dim in remembrance, as if he was looking not at James, not seeing him at all, but into the past…. Into an old, unhealed pain…* Yvette's mother was a doctor for GEMlabs, and I was considered sterile, as most unnaturals were learned to be. But we wanted a child very badly and so she tried many ways, many times, to make it work. My daughter was begun outside the body and later transferred into her mother's womb, when it was sure the zygote would survive. But, as most times happen, our union was hardly encouraged, the ones above me started pressuring us to separate, for our own goods of course, and the baby…. *Scratch shakes his head minutely, still distant, and his voice so terribly low its strained in its attempt to be even a whisper, but not even the most sensitive microphone would pick this up, and he's still so close to Black…* Yvette's mother and I took a leave at one point, and we rumoured the child was adopted. Back then, things were easier and we both had a great deal of pull in the world. We planned everything very carefully so that it wasn't known, for some time at least, the true nature of Yvette's heritage. When they began to suspect, her mother fled with her and I turned a blind eye, I knew nothing of it, of course. Maybe I didn't. Naturally I was sent with the squads to hunt her back down… she'd had very high clearance and knew far too much. Seven years we tracked her, tracked /them/…. Seven years of near-finds, and just-missed-thems, or lost trails, and retraced paths. *the smile he offers is one for himself, and speaks volumes, a kind of rueful pride* They finally caught up to her, having sent me on another possible route…. I arrived late, the information of the split search team, which I didn't order, got to me eventually. But she was already down, and suffering greatly. They were toying with her, and Yvette was there, watching, crying… I ended it. *here, his focus sharpens, the story done, the truth, so simple yet so dangerous, exposed to one alone… Blackdagger. The eyes harden into shining flints again, perhaps even glimmer too wetly in the darlness of the room, hard to tell… but his jaw tightens slightly and there can be no mistake of the verity, the passion of the last of his whispered, rasped words… this is fact, undeniable, true as any truth ever uttered…* I loved my wife.

** He watched, in silence as the story began to unravel itself. slowly layers of both sides seemed to fall away and there between the two stories lied the truth. He narrowed his eyes slightly as Scratch spoke, and then focused on a distant object, instead allowing just Scratch's words to wander towards his ears. He felt a mild wave of nausea, as he spoke, several questions racing through his mind, though he refused to speak a single one. He listened, a pause, and then the final blow. Making James feel even less significant, and so petty for even asking. Even daring. Knowing If either story were true, Yvette's or Ian's, Venin would never hear the GUARDian's explanation. . . Near disgusted at the conduct, that was over 15 years ago. Though he had nothing to do with G.U.A.R.D. at that time, it sickened him so. Rolling his eyes back towards his superior, and watching for a long moment. Perhaps he was mistaken, but he swore they were softer just moments ago. The raw emotion still hung in the blackness around then from the last spoken word. It simply seemed to make him want to shudder, to cower. But instead he did the only thing that could come to mind. He narrowed his eyes further, and then offered a single phrase to the silence. ** I am sorry I doubted that then sir. ** His words no where near as clear as they had been, but more instead a sympathetic tone. . . all but the -sir- which was naturally hard. Cold. ((Like Hubba Bubba Bubble gum that was left on your bedpost over night. . .)) And nothing from that truth then demanded more honor, and more undeniable and sheer respect for Scratch than any order, or any words he had ever said to James in his entire duration at G.U.A.R.D. His mind then bent slowly in a single contemplation of a thought. . . What had made Scratch even bother to disclose such … obviously painful memories, with a petty officer? Was it that Black demanded that trust, or was it simply he was the unfortunate person of circumstance and timing, and now damned to bear that burden of a secret to his grave? He didn't even part his lips to ask this question, though allowing his brows to furrow just ever so slightly, convinced that Scratch could still see his features clearly through the darkness. His eyes still a touch sympathetic, though now more riddled with that same insatiable curiousity. Asking the question that he didn't dare speak to break the growing silence. Simple, and very clear. . .-Why?- Simple. . thought the question could have been taken many ways. Why did you kill her, Why do you treat Yvette as you do, Why not try to spare her, why had a million suffixes, A million facets of meaning. . .but no this question was meant specifically for -Why Me- **

*Scratch merely nods to the offered sympathy, just once, and his eyes have found their place again, nailed to Black's face, and the man is fairly sure the youth understands the implication, the weight of his words, the burden. Scratch always pleased, or in agreement with everything the GUARD does? Hardly… he disagrees often, he's his own person, but orders are orders, even though, at times, even /he/ bends them… slightly. Just as he would never tell another he's actually aided RUNners on his days off, so he never thought he'd have revealed this… but he has his reasons, he simply isn't sure Black wants to hear them, not really, even as James /asks/ "why"… "why me", "why tell /me/ this?" Oh, Ian understands the question, understands the confusion. Of all the people he could tell, why /did/ he tell Black? The reply is simple, but perhaps the very worst thing he could say, so again, Scratch murmurs an answer, a question, so softly in the dark room* Do you want the truth, James?

** He listened to the very soft words in the room. Nodding then as he said ** Yes sir. ** The question was unspoken, but obviously the meaning was not lost in the darkness, something else that startled him. Scratch was simply as great as they had said, his powers that apt. And it wasn't now a matter of James casually wanting to know why, but perhaps a searching to understand what he had done to gain such great trust. The ramblings of a woman in a jail-cell would amount to nothing but the words confirming them from a great leader meant more than gold. This trust he swore to himself silently he would not betray, as he disobeyed orders, and occasionally disregarded rank. He was not pleased with all G.U.A.R.D. did as well. At times perhaps an ego interfering, wanting to be a hero in respects. Trying to save the day with his own creative thinking, though that had ended now several times in simple disaster. His thoughts still pinpointed on the question as he muttered just as quietly, near just to himself.** The truth.

The truth is…. *Here, Ian pauses, maybe uncertain as to whether he should continue, maybe giving James a chance to renege on his claim for the truth, maybe for several reasons… emotion, whatever, or to stress that the answer is of the greatest import. Either way, Scratch moves in, closer… almost impossibly so, so that the pitch of his voice is meant for James alone, and only if he strains hard enough to hear it. The intense gaze of the commander is piercing, spearing, a physical weight…. And the reply itself is slightly hidden in meaning, but after all that's been said, how its been said, and Scratch's proximity, it wouldn't take a covert-ops linguist to figure out the meaning of the veiled words…* The matter is as I said. Strictly for family discussion only… son.

** He paused as Scratch neared and he hesitates, near tempted to back away. Instead he holds his ground. His muscles then relaxing just a bit, his eyes closed and ears strained. The words just the lightest to be whispered, and hardest to hear were near lost even in the short distance between them. He almost leaned forward in the attempt to make them seem more clear. Finally he stands leaning back from his superior and blinking in question, in silence, until a dull realisation began at the tips of his fingers. And soon swept through his large frame. He simply blinked startled, looking, snapping his gaze and head towards Scratch to see as if he heard correctly. The tightness in his stomach churning suddenly, simply registering in his mind. . . you misheard. You /misheard/ . And he backed then just a fraction of an inch, as he continued to glare. Then saying. . aloud, as if it would be able to clarify things. ** Excuse me? ** The words said not in anger, but more in disbelief. His face flushed completely, though cloaked in the darkness. His thoughts then raced to The General, no. his father. His thoughts falling to several /years/ of trying to impress him. The efforts couldn't have simply been directed towards the wrong man. . .and again he thought the single line several time in succession. . . - You misheard.- **

You heard me… *he whispers it in some kind of odd satisfaction, or maybe relief, and leans back a bit, almost smug. The smile he wears is a half-tug of thin lips, and he finally blinks, once, then continues in that damnably soft, hoarse voice* You heard me. *his arms fold again, tight against his chest, and he watches Black's face very carefully, studying, intent* She wanted another, a natural. She tried, and didn't get one. Things became far too dangerous, and the second was… given to others who could provide a better home. A safer one. I've been watching you…. *the impact of the words if immense, enormous, he knows. A heavy, leaden burden, but no less so for Scratch himself who would never willingly, or at least, without damn good cause, allow a child of his to be separated from him. Watch was all he could do, and he did not, in any way, manipulate things so James would be with the GUARD, he'd have preferred the boy not be caught up in it at all, but taking so inactive a roll as Ian did, he had to let things simply… follow their course*

** His face still flushed as he then physically backs away. Unsure of what to think or feel at that very instant. He simply turned his back on Scratch, and pressed a hand to his forehead pulling his fingers back through his hair. The old man must have had a demented sense of humor, to simply watch his heart fall, and to know in a single instant, everything he believed was an utter lie. He then turned his head craning his neck to look over his shoulder to his superior, his eyes narrowed in near hatred for an instant. Everything. . he had ever /done/ for The General had been . . .for -nothing-. He thought he understood the General's position before, perhaps it was simply too painful to feel pride or care about him since his mother was dead. . .but no he was ignorant, and hadn't understood a single thing. Fully understanding now though. Understanding why the General said - No you could /never/ understand. - With his lips drawn in slightly, and his cheeks a burning red, and finally in the confusion and cacophony of emotions he became weak. Leaning against the near wall, his back still turned to Scratch, his arm pressed roughing against the cold surface. Having nothing to say then except a simple. ** Leave.

*But Scratch doesn't leave… he doesn't move… and where James can't see it, his face darkens, shadows slithering over it, until it would seem only his eyes shine out like twin cold fires, ablaze, clouds eclipsing the moon* You selfish, self pitying, pathetic, /weak/ bastard. *he says it in his soft tone, the lightest murmur, sandpaper against wood. But oh, the words hold so much passion, so much depth* I thought you better, /stronger/ than this. You're nothing but a whimpering little /boy/. You want me to leave? *here, the timbre changes to a vicious snarl, a direct challenge* /Make me/.

** He turned then, each and every word could have been a steady blow and hurt less. Instead lowered his chin and then turned, his eyes watching him. If it were true Scratch already was willing to abandon him once, what was to say there was anything that would prevent him from doing worse. Then suddenly a streak of jealousy, perhaps towards Venin, obviously the favored of the two in his eyes. He breathed ever so slowly watching his superior loom, like a impending cloud ready to strike and unleash everything it had. Saying then every so lightly. ** You would expect me to welcome a notion with open arms? I thought you were /wiser/ than that, I thought you were somehow. . /better/ than that. No I was wrong, you are simply an insane bitter old man. . . ** His tone increasing as he then with ease accepted the challenge, knowing full and well he would lose. . . He drew whatever power he had deep within him and mustered it into a single movement, reaching for his superior's throat, His teeth bared, just hoping, praying by some miracle he would simply contact his skin, and drain that smiling expression off his face. His temper flared, his aggression no longer at bay. The very thing that had endangered lives before, the very thing that could have saved lives, now was simply endangering his own. He moved, with UNnatural speed, a whip of his arm and the extending of his wrist. Knowing though he would not hit his target. **