RWD: 6.x (Interlude)(Bonesaw)

Bye-bye, Canon. Your guiding hands would be dearly missed.

6.x (Interlude)(Bonesaw)

The needle was a beautiful, delicate thing. Bonesaw held it up to the weak light filtering through the grimy window of their borrowed cabin, admiring the way it caught the grey afternoon. It was one of her special ones, spun from a carbon lattice and coated in a paralytic agent that was both fast-acting and temporary. It wouldn’t do to have the patient thrashing about, but she needed the nerves to be responsive for the next part. Precision was art. Jack had taught her that.

“Hold still now,” she chirped, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet room.

Her newest project, Murder Rat, lay strapped to the metal table. The creature didn’t respond. It couldn’t, not really. Its new brain—one and a half, if you were being technical, floating in a lovely synthetic fluid she’d cooked up herself—was still being calibrated. The patchwork of pale skin and stapled-on ebon swatches twitched occasionally, a sign that the new nervous system was integrating. Progress.

Bonesaw hummed a tune from a morning cartoon, a happy little song about friendly bugs, as she carefully guided the needle into the juncture between two mismatched vertebrae on Murder Rat’s spine. A second set of canine teeth, meant to compensate for the stretched, rat-like jaw, were visible in a permanent, drooling sneer. It was tricky work, weaving the control frame around the skeleton, but so rewarding.

“Oh, bother,” she muttered, pausing. One of the staples holding a patch of skin to Murder Rat’s cheek had come loose. She reached for her kit, pulling out a sterilised staple gun and a fresh strip of metal. It wouldn’t do for her art to look messy.

From the main room of the cabin, she heard the tinny sound of a television, followed by Shatterbird’s bored voice. “Jack. You’ll want to see this.”

Bonesaw’s head perked up. Jack was sitting at the rickety wooden table, methodically sharpening a long, thin blade, the rhythmic shing-shing-shing a familiar and comforting sound. He didn’t look up. “Is it interesting, my dear? Or is it just more screaming?”

“It’s interesting,” Shatterbird said. She was lounging on a threadbare sofa, making a collection of dust motes dance in a sunbeam by vibrating the glass in the window. “They’re fighting Leviathan. In New York.”

That got a reaction. A low, wet rumble came from the corner where Crawler was coiled, a misshapen lump of regenerating flesh and chitin. Burnscar, huddled by the cold hearth, let out a soft hiss, and a single, lazy flame licked up from her fingertips before dying out. The Siberian, who had been standing sentinel by the door, padded silently into the room, her monochrome form seeming to absorb the light. Mannequin remained perfectly still in the shadows, but Bonesaw knew he was listening.

She put down her staple gun, wiping her hands on a rag. This sounded like fun. She skipped out of her makeshift operating theatre and peered at the television as she clambered onto the sofa next to Shatterbird, careful not to sit on any of the sharp glass trinkets the other woman had been making. 

On the screen, the city was in ruins. Flooded streets, shattered buildings… as per the norm with most Endbringer attacks. But that wasn’t what held their attention. A lone figure stood atop a skyscraper, clad in dark, tactical armour. He was giving a speech, his voice ringing with an authority that made Bonesaw’s ears perk up.

“What stands before me isn't a god,” the man declared, his voice cutting through the storm. “Nor is it fate, or some unstoppable force of nature. It is merely a beast. Nothing more… It has never imagined its own end.”

Bonesaw giggled. He was so dramatic.

“Witness me,” the man, Omen, commanded. “I am Omen—and I am all three.”

BANG.

A cannon-like roar echoed from the television’s speakers as Omen fired a massive rifle. The tracer round, a streak of brilliant light, slammed into the frozen Endbringer’s chest. For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. Then, the smoke cleared a perfect, clean hole appeared through Leviathan’s torso.

Crawler made a noise that might have been a chuckle, a gurgling, bubbling sound.

At that moment, a collective, almost imperceptible shift occurred within the Nine. This was new. This was… impressive.

Leviathan moved then, a blur of green fury, ignoring everything else to charge the man on the roof. Another shot missed. The monster zig-zagged through the shattered city, before scrambling up the side of a building, launching itself across the gap—

BANG.

The cape sidestepped the attack with an easy, fluid grace, firing from the hip. The monster crashed onto the roof and then… stopped. It just stopped, completely still. Dead.

The man, Omen, walked over and placed a boot on the Endbringer’s face. With a casual push, he sent the massive corpse tumbling into the flooded streets below.

The room was silent. Even Shatterbird had stopped playing with her glass.

Omen turned to the camera. His face was hidden, but his voice was clear. “Let this be a warning,” he said. “To every monster that preys on the innocent. The Peacekeepers are here. And we will have order.”

The feed cut away to a pair of stunned news anchors.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Jack began to laugh. It wasn’t a loud laugh, but a soft, appreciative chuckle. He stood up and walked over to the television, tapping the screen where Omen’s face had been.

“Well now,” he said, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a familiar light. “That was quite the performance.” He looked around at the assembled killers, his gaze lingering on each of them. “I think we’ve found our next member.”

Shatterbird tilted her head. "For the Nine?"

"Of course, for the Nine," Jack said, spreading his hands wide. "Someone with that level of ambition, that kind of power? He’s one of us. He just doesn't know it yet…"

"Did you see that, Riley?" he asked, finally turning to look at her. His eyes were bright with excitement. "He killed it. An Endbringer. I think he’d make a fine addition to our family. ”

Bonesaw was excited. Oh, a new brother! Ideas exploded in her mind like firecrackers. Oh, the possibilities! She could make him a new body, a better one, with all sorts of fun surprises hidden in it. She wondered what his power was. Could he kill anything? Oh, the things she could learn! The improvements she could make! She could make him stronger, faster! She wondered what was under his mask. She bet she could improve his face, make it more expressive. More artistic…

Ah! Eureka!

“Can I make him a welcome-home present?” she asked, her voice full of breathless excitement.

“Of course, my dear,” Jack said, patting her head as he walked past. “Make him something special.”

She scrambled off the couch and skipped back to her workshop. Murder Rat was still strapped to the table, twitching faintly. Bonesaw picked up her staple gun. She had been inspired.

First, she’d finish her new pet. Then, she’d get started on a proper gift for their newest family member. Something he would never, ever forget.