Chapter 19 : Toyman - Part 1
May 2016 — National City Maximum Security Prison — Visiting Area
The prison smelled like industrial cleaner and despair.
I sat in the plastic chair, waiting for the guards to bring him out, studying the room with the detached focus I'd developed over months of training. Concrete walls painted institutional beige. Fluorescent lights that hummed at a frequency my Lightning Logic found irritating. Bulletproof glass partition with speaking holes drilled at mouth height. Everything designed to remind you that this was a place where freedom came to die.
Fitting, for a man who killed seven people with Christmas presents.
The door on the other side of the glass opened. Two guards flanked a figure in orange jumpsuit—thin, graying, moving with the careful precision of someone who'd learned to make every motion count in confined spaces.
Winslow Schott Sr. sat down across from me.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I studied his face—older than the memories suggested, more lines around the eyes, a softness to the jaw that prison food and limited exercise had carved into something almost pathetic. But the eyes themselves were sharp. Calculating. Taking in every detail of my appearance with the focus of an engineer examining a schematic.
"Winn." His voice was softer than I expected. Warmer. "You came."
"You asked."
"I hoped. I didn't expect." He placed his palms flat on the metal counter, a gesture that seemed deliberately unthreatening. "Thank you."
I didn't respond. Let the silence stretch.
"You look good," he continued. "Healthier than the last photos I managed to acquire. You've been working out?"
"Something like that."
His head tilted. That calculating gaze intensified.
"No, it's more than that. Your posture is different. The way you hold yourself—there's confidence there that wasn't present before. Your eyes track the room constantly, cataloging threats. And your hands..." He glanced at my fingers, resting on the counter. "You're ready to move. To react. Like you're expecting an attack at any moment."
He sees too much. Always has.
"Therapy," I said. "And self-defense classes. The world's gotten dangerous."
"Has it?" His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Or have you simply learned to see the dangers that were always there?"
"Both, maybe."
He leaned back, studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Somewhere between pride and suspicion. Between affection and clinical assessment.
"You're different, Winn. Not just physically. The way you speak, the words you choose, even the rhythm of your breathing. You're not my son."
My heart stuttered. "What?"
"Oh, you have his memories. His face. His voice. But the person sitting across from me now..." He shook his head slowly. "He wouldn't have come here. He would have burned my letter and pretended I didn't exist. My Winn was afraid of me. You're not afraid at all."
Careful. Very careful.
"People change."
"Not like this. Not fundamentally." He pressed his palm against the glass, fingers splayed. "Tell me what happened to you. Tell me the truth."
"I grew up. I found friends who believed in me. I stopped letting your shadow define who I am."
"Pretty words." His hand dropped. "But incomplete. I've been watching the news, you know. Limited access, but enough. National City has become quite exciting lately. Supergirl and her mysterious partner. The figure who deflects attacks, redirects energy, moves like he can predict the future."
I kept my face neutral. "What does that have to do with me?"
"Perhaps nothing." He smiled again, and this time it was genuine—the smile of a man who'd solved a particularly elegant puzzle. "Or perhaps everything. The footage is grainy, but I know my own son's body language. The way you shift weight before a pivot. The angle of your shoulders when you're concentrating."
"You're seeing patterns that aren't there."
"Am I?" He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper that the guards couldn't hear. "You've developed abilities, Winn. Somehow, impossibly, you've become something more than human. And you've been using those abilities to play hero alongside an alien."
The accusation hung in the air between us.
"Even if that were true," I said carefully, "what would it matter to you?"
"It matters because you're my legacy." His eyes burned with sudden intensity. "Everything I built, everything I sacrificed, everything I destroyed—it was supposed to mean something. And now you've become something I never imagined possible. My son, with powers beyond mortal comprehension."
"I'm not your son."
The words came out harder than I intended. His expression flickered—hurt, quickly masked.
"Not anymore, perhaps. But the blood is still there. The genius is still there. Whatever you've become, whatever changed you—it built on the foundation I provided." He pressed his palm against the glass again. "We are Schotts. We build things. We create. And I have been building something wonderful during my time here."
"What?"
"A gift. A challenge. A test to see what my son has truly become." His smile turned predatory. "I've been planning it for months. Perfecting every detail. Waiting for the right moment."
"What are you talking about?"
"You'll see soon enough." He glanced toward the guards, then back to me. "Whatever you've become, Winn—whatever powers you've developed—I want to see them. I want to see what the Schott legacy can truly accomplish."
Alarms shattered the air.
Red lights strobed across the visiting room. Guards reached for weapons, shouting commands into radios. On the other side of the glass, Winslow Schott Sr. stood slowly, his expression serene.
"It appears our time is up." He pressed something on his wrist—a modified watch that should have been confiscated, that the security checks should have caught. "Don't worry, son. We'll continue this conversation very soon."
The guards grabbed him. The lights flickered. And somewhere deep in the prison, I heard the first explosion.
Prison Exterior — Three Minutes Later
Kara was waiting by the car when I burst through the doors.
"Winn? What's happening?"
"He's escaping." I grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the building. "The alarms, the explosions—it's him. He planned this. The whole visit was—"
My phone buzzed. DEO priority alert.
PRISON BREACH CONFIRMED. TOYMAN ESCAPED VIA UNDERGROUND TUNNEL. ALL UNITS MOBILIZE.
"He knew," I said. "He wanted me here, watching him get away. He wanted to see my face when I realized—"
"Realized what?"
I looked back at the prison. Smoke was rising from somewhere behind the main building. Guards swarmed like angry ants, too late to stop what had already begun.
"That this was never about reconnecting. It was reconnaissance." My hands were shaking. "He confirmed I have powers. He saw exactly what he needed to see. And now he's loose in National City with god knows what kind of plan."
Kara's expression hardened. "Then we stop him."
"It's not that simple. You didn't hear what he said. He's been building something. Planning something specifically for me." I met her eyes. "This is personal, Kara. He wants to test me. To see what I can do."
"Then he'll find out." She grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to focus. "But you're not doing this alone. Whatever he's planning, we face it together."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to protect her from the twisted carnival my father was about to unleash. But she was right—I couldn't do this alone.
"Together," I agreed.
We ran for the car.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them . No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1