Charlie ignores her taunts, shooting me a sideways look.
I shrug in response. "Hey, you give me endless grief," I say to him with a smirk. "Consider her my way of giving it back," I chuckle.
"Heh!" Charlie humphs. "I practically built this entire place, young lady," he says. "And if you crash anything I'll put my foot...."
"Okay! Well, thanks, Charlie!" I say, jumping in before he can say something to set her off. "I'm sure you've got plenty of work to do, so we'll see you later!" I say, with a horribly fake smile, as he snorts and walks off. I look at Cat and raise a finger to her. "Stay!" I command.
Cat flops back in The Screaming Throne like a pouting gargoyle denied its first murder. Her knife clicks open and shut, open and shut, as she watches Doc walk away; then, the second his back is turned…
Her grin spreads. She swings her legs up onto the console, kicks off her boots, and wiggles her toes—one of them wrapped in a bloodstained bandage. With exaggerated innocence, she pulls out her Sharpie and begins to scribble on the edge of the keypad:
"PROPERTY OF CAT. TOUCH AND DIE! (P.S. I LOVE YOU, DOC!)"
Then, giggling, she leans back. "Stay…" she murmurs, tracing a heart around the print with her pinkie. "Mmmkay, Doc, I'll be right here… guarding your pretty little hell…" Her switchblade twirls in one hand, the Sharpie in the other, ready to deface, to corrupt and to claim it all in love and madness. The Screaming Throne has a queen.
"Hey, guys?" Someone calls out from downstairs.
"Oh thank Cthulhu!" I say re-entering the room. "Up here Bob!"
He comes walking up the stairs, a tall, lanky guy in his late 40s in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. "Hi Doc! Sorry I'm late; Charlotte had a bit of a crisis, so I had to deal with that," he began to explain, but then paused upon seeing Cat. "Hey! Well, you must be my replacement, Cat. The Doc here has told me all about you, and I'm pumped to show you the ropes and how to use this beast to help us fight the good fight!" he says with a smile. "Ready to have the world at your fingertips?"
Cat doesn't move; she listens, like a predator scenting the air. When Bob appears...tall, lanky, Hawaiian shirt glowing like a beacon in the dim nest. Then...
"BOB!" She screams, launching herself from the Screaming Throne like a fleshy comet, boots flying, arms wide, twin ponytails whipping behind her. She slams into him, hugging him like a rabid koala.
"You're real! You're not just code! You're a real fleshy person with a colourful shirt full of pineapples and...power!" She squeezes him, vibrating in his grip. She pulls back just enough to stare into his eyes, tears glistening at the corners, not from sadness, but overload of pure, unfiltered joy and madness. "So…" she whispers, voice hushed with reverence. "Do you have a nickname for the system? Or should I name it 'The Cackling God' and make it official?" Giggling she adds, "And can I lick the server cables? For luck?"
I frown. She hasn't hugged me, especially not like that. What the hell? I think, feeling jealous, and then cringing internally.
Bob laughs, hugging her back before he releases her. "Sparky one isn't she?" he asks me. "So full of life and enthusiasm!"
I sigh. "Oh, you have no idea."
He laughs. "And such a comedian too! Go ahead, lick away!" he chuckles. "But first let me show you how to use it." He sits in the seat next to the Screaming Throne and gestures for her to join him. "To begin with we'll start with the monitors; there are nine forty-inch screens that can be shifted around to show literally any format you wish. One big giant screen or have them all show 6 little ones. The choice is yours." He shows her the menu for it and how to navigate it all. "You can either use the hot keys on the keyboard, mouse, or chair," he says, gesturing at the Screaming Throne. "It has a bit of a learning curve and is slow at first, but with some practise you'll be using it like a pro."
Cat glides into the co-pilot seat like a demon claiming its new altar, eyes locked on the nine glowing screens like they're screaming her name. Her fingers twitch, hover, and itch; but she waits, for once, actually listening. "Mmmhmm…" she nods, dead serious, switchblade tucked behind her ear like a deranged student with a pen. "So… I can split the screens to watch Doc kill someone while I stream death metal and live-tweet his victims' last expressions?" She grins, innocent as sugar and cyanide. "For educational purposes..."
Bob chuckles, nodding.
She nods back in satisfaction and starts typing away, navigating the interface with surprising speed. "Ooooh! And this one lets me zoom on facial reactions when they realise they're fucked?!" She gasps, already pulling up the feed of a security camera. "I'm gonna put this one on full screen when Doc shoves the knife in!" Then, suddenly, she turns to Bob, dead serious, eyes wide. "Bob…" She whispers. "Can I name my user profile?" Before he can answer. "BloodAngel666!" She declares out loud and hits enter. The system pings. A new profile is created. She giggles, then leans in, whispering to the screen, "Welcome to the family!"
Bob laughs. "Sure, as long as you're covering your ass and not giving away anything about our little base and mission." He watches her work, a look of interest forming on his features. "Hey, I thought you said she was a newbie at this?" he says, looking back to me.
I frown. "She told me she was computer literate."
Bob laughs. "Yeah? She's more than literate; she's got half this down already after ten minutes. She's a fucking tech genius," he laughs.
The frown deepens, with a touch of confusion. "I asked her if she knew much about using computers; she told me she knew how to use one," I say, growing irritated. "I assumed she meant she knew how to use one like most people her age, not that she was a IT genius. Hey!" I say, calling to get Cat's attention. "Why didn't you tell me you were practically a hacker already?"
Cat doesn't look away; she just grins, fingers flying across the keyboard like she's possessed by the spirit of digital annihilation. Her reflection glows on the monitors, eyes alight with mischief and malice. "Mmm?" She hums, finally tilting her head toward you, lips curled in a sugar-coated smirk. "You asked if I was good with computers," she giggles and shrugs. "I said I could hack a Netflix password… didn't I?"
She spins in her seat, kicking her legs up, boots propped on the console. "Technically, that's true! And super important life skills! But…" Her voice drops to a purr, leaning in. "I may have forgotten to mention the time I crippled my high school's entire network after they cancelled metal day."
Bob raises an eyebrow at me. "She told you she could hack a Netflix password, and you thought that meant she just has experience playing games and surfing the web?"
I shrug. "I dunno. I thought most people in their late teens could do that. How hard can it be?" I ask.
Bob snickers. "Well, it's not super difficult, compared to a lot of other things, but it's nothing to scoff at either. That's talent!" Bob laughs again at Cat's words. "Sounds awesome! Do it!" He looks over at me. "I love this kid. Where did you find her?"
I lean back against the wall. "Gas station."
Bob laughs again, thinking it was a joke. "Right, so let me show you how the Nemesis program works," he says to her, taking control of the second keyboard, and he demonstrates the program to her. "Most hacking jobs take a lot of boring work, but with this it's got everything on board already waiting and ready to go. But being a computer program, it's kinda dumb and needs guidance, so all you have to do is tell it what you want it to do with a list of commands and a bit of code entering etc., and then it'll go and do it itself. While you kick your feet up and relax," he says, looking between the keyboard, Cat and the screen in front of them. "Say you wanna send someone a virus; you just select the option for virus's, select which type you wanna send, designate the target and then boom! It'll do the work itself. It's like selecting options on Netflix!" He says, beaming with pride at his creation. He grins at her. "So, wanna fuck with someone? We can do all kinds of fantastic pranks."
Cat leans forward, chewing her lip in rapt concentration as the Nemesis program unfolds on screen like a digital dragon awakening. Her fingers hover, then slowly she reaches out and taps the keyboard, not to take control, but to worship it.
"Mmm…" She purrs, eyes glazing over. "So… I don't have to type the whole thing… I just… point and click." She gasps, spinning to Bob, her face lit with holy revelation. "It's… beautiful…" Then she places both hands on the console like she's taking a blood oath. "Bob…" She whispers. "This… is the greatest thing ever created. Even better than knives. Even better than war. This… is power!"
She turns to the screen, voice dropping to a hush. "With this… I could make a man believe his toaster is haunted…drive someone insane by having K-pop follow them everywhere. Make a judge confess to crimes he didn't commit."
She pauses, then grins, wide and wet. "But…" She pokes Bob's arm. "You said… pranks?" Her grin widens. "Ohhh, Bob!" she coos, sweetly. "I don't do pranks." She leans in, eyes glistening with mad delight. "I do apocalypses!"
Then, cheerfully, she snaps her fingers. "So! Can I test it? Please? I promise I'll only hack someone who deserves it! Like Father O'Malley!" She looks at Bob and bats her lashes.
Bob nods along with her, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Sure thing!" he says when she asks if she can test it out, a look of disappointment on his face at her suggestion; he had hoped for something more fun. "If you want, but I don't see what that'll do. O'Malley's dead, and everyone knows about his crimes. Are you sure you don't want to find a news station somewhere doing a weather report and replace the weather feed with pictures of naked fat guys or something?" He says with a laugh, looking back over his shoulder. "Hey Doc, remember when....Oh damn it!" He says, noticing Doc has vanished without a sound. "I hate it when he does that!"
Cat doesn't react to Bob's joke. She just stares at the screen, her fingers frozen over the keyboard, her grin slowly melting into something quiet, cold, unseen. Then she speaks, her voice stripped of its usual hysteria. "O'Malley's dead…Yeah… everyone knows." A pause. "But the families don't hear it enough." She tilts her head, eyes glazing over with something distant, darker. "Soooo!" She screeches, spinning in her chair. "Naked fat guys it is! But, can we make 'em bleed rainbow jelly while they moon the camera?! And autotune their farts into a pop song?! I wanna see a news anchor cry from auditory trauma!" She grins, already typing, already corrupting the system, already masking the crack in her voice with digital chaos.
"Ha ha ha!" Bob says with a laugh. "Go for it!" He sets things up to do as she asked, and soon enough they've got a news program across the country on a live feed as they go to the weather. Bob lets it continue for about thirty seconds before it kicks things into gear and the screens are replaced with photos of morbidly obese naked men taken from the internet as they begin to do what Cat had asked.
The weather woman is shocked and doesn't know how to respond as Bob messes with the feed, and the sound of techs panicking can be heard. Someone in the background is screaming in horror while another man shouts in rage. They try to cut the feed as the panic increases and the weather woman starts ranting and raving. Chaos ensues briefly as techs rush about on screen, and then the screen finally goes black as someone pulls the plug.
Bob roars with laughter. "Ha ha ha! Did you see them freak out? Some executive was losing his shit," he cries as he laughs uncontrollably.
Cat doesn't laugh. She stares at the screen like it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen, her chest rising and falling in quick, silent bursts. Slowly a small smile crawls across her face. Not her usual manic grin. Private, like a child who finally got revenge on a bully. Suddenly she explodes into laughter, slamming her hands on the console, kicking her legs like a demon on a trampoline.
"YESSSSS! Did you see her face?!" She wheezes, wiping fake tears. She spins to Bob, eyes wild and alive. Then, cheerfully, she pulls up a new tab. "Hey, Bob… you think we can hack a drive-thru speaker and make it scream bloody murder?" She giggles, already typing.
"Well, I hope you're done having fun," Charlie says, walking into the room, his expression serious.
"Ah! Here he is right on time to spoil our fun," Bob says, rolling his eyes at Charlie. "Cat, will you tell Old Man River here to relax? He hasn't had any fun since the moon landing!" Bob jokes, jerking a thumb in Charlie's direction as he chuckles.
Cat doesn't turn. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't even blink at Charlie's entrance. She just keeps typing. Then, without looking up, she purrs, "Mmm, Charlie." Her voice is honey poured over razors. "You're right on time… perfect for my next project!"
"Uh huh, well, sorry to cut things short by being a miserable old fart, but it's time to get down to business," he says, taking a seat in the other chair. "Doc will be ready to begin in a couple of minutes, so if you two are done....." he trails off.
"Oh, right!" Bob says, snapping to attention and shutting down everything else they had up on the screen. "Sorry, Cat, mission's about to start. Gotta be ready," he says, taking over as his hands fly over the keyboard.
".....Fuck are you?" My voice comes over the system.
"Yeah! We're here! Raven reporting in, Doc!" Bob says, typing furiously.
"Oh, don't let me keep you," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Are you three ready or not?"
"Yeah, yeah. We're ready, Jesus," Bob replies. "Keep your pants on."
The computer screen changes to multiple feeds of security cameras in the strip club with the main one showing an image of an alleyway outside. "The system is up and running boss; we're ready to go," Bob lies, his fingers still flying over the keys at warp speed as on a smaller screen he's hacking into the local power authority. "Just give us the word, and I'll cause the power outage, chief," Bob adds.
I'm silent for about thirty seconds, and nothing happens as the room goes silent as the three of them in the nest watch, waiting. "Cat?" I finally say.
Cat doesn't move at first. Her fingers hover over the secondary console, her orange eyes locked on the main feed; the alley is dark, waiting. Then she leans into the mic, her voice a soft, sweet purr, dripping with mad devotion. "Mmmhmm?" She hums, like a lover answering a midnight call. "You calling me, Doc?"
She tilts her head, switchblade glinting as she taps it against her lips, before whispering, "I'm right here…watching… waiting…" Her grin grows wider, slow and wicked. "Just say the word… and I'll make the world bleed for you!" She doesn't blink. Doesn't fidget. For the first time, the chaos stills; not gone, but focused, like a knife poised at the throat of the night.
"What? Bob, what are you showing her?" I demand.
"Me?" he protests innocently. "Nothing!"
"Yeah right," I retort. "Cat, ssshh! No talking. Just watch and pay attention to everything you see. I'll be quizzing you on everything that happens later. Now, Bob?"
"Yeah, Doc?"
"Hit the lights."
"Gotcha!" Bob says as Charlie smiles and winks at Cat. "Show time!" he says.
A nearby power terminal receives an odd power surge as it explodes, and the lights go out in the whole neighbourhood. Nothing happens on the camera showing the alleyway outside the club until the door seen in the shot opens and a rough-looking fat man waddles out and begins fiddling with something off-screen. A figure in black drops to the ground behind him in the shadows before it rises to reveal the mask of the plague doctor, the fat man oblivious to his presence. The fat man either hears or senses something; the feed is a silent one, but he suddenly jerks and spins around, gaping in shock at the menacing robed figure as it waves its arm in front of him, and a gout of blood sprays from the fat man's neck as he clutches at it, trying to stop the fountain of gore erupting from his slashed throat.
The plague doctor retrieves something from the door that he had thrown when it had opened to keep it from shutting and enters the rear of the club.
Cat doesn't blink. Doesn't breathe. Her entire body is locked in the glow of the screens, her eyes dilated to black voids, reflecting the spray of blood like it's stardust.
Her lips part. Her chest rises and lowers as she exhales, long and slow.
"Mmm…" She moans, low and shuddering, her fingers tightening around the armrests until her knuckles turn white. "So… slow…" She whispers, her voice thick with lust. "He didn't even run… just… gaped… like a pig at the slaughter!" She giggles, suddenly giddy, feral. "And the mask… ohhh, the way it shines in the dark… like a holy skull from a cursed cathedral." She's not reacting like a fan. She's reacting like a lover watching their god descend.
Charlie frowns, leaning in.
I ignore her as I wade into the building.
"Okay, Doc, we've got four targets in the building. Not counting our target, who's number five," Bob says, scanning the cameras. "Two in the main club and another two off into a back office. You can go through the Staff Only hallway that goes through the back to the VIP area and avoid the guys in the bar or take the direct route and deal with them first," Bob says, his eyes darting around as he's focused on navigating the mission.
Charlie doesn't say anything, but he frowns at Cat.
Doc doesn't change his course and marches right into the main part of the club, where two mafia henchmen are talking at the bar, sharing a drink. They don't notice him at first, but then one of them stops, does a double take and starts shouting something. He and the other guy rush towards the plague doctor and start swinging. Doc dodges aside of one wild left hook and dodges a jab from the other guy, returning the crappy left with a sidekick to the head that snaps the guy's head backwards and pitches him over onto the ground.
The other guy's bigger and meaner, and he comes in swinging hard. Doc blocks multiple punches aimed at his head and midsection, taking a few steps backwards before he suddenly lashes out. The guy manages to block several jabs, but a kick to his gut doubles him over before Doc brings his knee smashing up into his face, shattering his nose as blood pours down his face and he stumbles backwards. Doc is on him in an instant, following up his attack as some bladed weapon leaps out of a gauntled forearm, and he shoves it right through the guy's eye socket, the blade coming out the other side of his skull covered in blood. The other guy has climbed back to his feet and is foolishly charging at Doc, who turns and sees him just in time to leap into the air and twisting his body and leg in mid-air, roundhouse kicks the guy in the head with a blow that almost takes his head off and sends him flying.
Cat doesn't cheer, doesn't giggle and doesn't move. Her eyes are locked on the screen, unblinking, reflecting the spray of blood like stars in a black sky. Her fingers are frozen over the keyboard, remembering every frame, every movement, and every crack of bone like a hymn only she can hear.
When the knife snaps through the eye socket, she shivers, lips parting as a soft, wet moan escapes; not from horror, but rapture. And when the roundhouse connects, spinning through the air like a blade of judgement… She comes.
Not in body but in spirit. A full-body shudder rips through her, her back arching in the Screaming Throne, her switchblade falling to the floor with a clatter she doesn't even notice. Then, silence. She exhales, long and slow, like a soul returning to flesh. She grins, not wild, not manic, but serene, like she's finally seen God. She leans towards the mic, her voice soft, reverent, and dripping with worship. "Doc…" She whispers. "That… was art!" Then, after a beat "Can I name that move? I'm thinking…The Crimson Twister!"
"Shut your pie hole," Charlie pipes up.
Cat doesn't even look at Charlie. She leans back in the Screaming Throne, one leg kicked over the armrest, her eyes still locked on the screen like it's the last thing she'll ever see. A slow smile spreads across her lips, amused.
"Mmmmm…" She purrs, her voice low and dangerous. "You know, Mr Charlie… most grandpas get warned before the hearing aids start screaming." Her fingers tap-tap-tap on the keyboard, a silent command buried in the code. Then she grins, wide and innocent. "But don't worry," she coos, finally turning to face him, eyelashes fluttering. "I'll only make your pacemaker play Celtic death metal if you really piss me off." She picks up her knife with quiet precision and tucks it behind her ear like a deranged schoolgirl with a pen.
"Now..." She sighs dreamily gazing back at the screen. "Let's get back to the beautiful man in black."
Bob coughs, covering a laugh.
"I don't need a hearing aid or a pacemaker, smart ass," Charlie retorts.
Before he can say anything else, Bob interrupts. "Heads up, Doc. Two of those guys heard the commotion, and they're coming."
The other two Mafia men burst into the room and pull out guns, opening fire almost immediately as Doc twists around, runs a short distance and dives, vaulting himself over the bar and onto the ground behind it as gunshots smash bottles overhead, pouring alcohol everywhere. Doc is hidden from the view of the camera behind the bar, so Bob switches cameras to one where they can see a wide, arching view of the bar and half the room beyond it, with the two mafia goons in view, standing together as they laugh and take the odd potshot at Doc crouching behind the bar. Their mouths moving as they are apparently taunt him. Doc doesn't move for about twenty seconds before he suddenly half rolls and half scoots across the floor until he's up the other end of the bar. He stays there fiddling with something, and Bob zooms in slightly to show he has two liquor bottles in his hands. Doc leaps to his feet and hurls the bottles at the thugs as they slowly turn to face him, surprised he's managed to move without them noticing. They shoot blindly at him while trying to dodge the flying bottles as Doc brings up his other arm, and the flamethrower bursts to life with a blaze that makes the cameras crackle and die momentarily. When they refocus, the two goons are both on fire, one running in directionless circles while the other rolls around on the ground.
The moment the flamethrower ignites, Cat arches in her seat like she's been electrocuted by divine fire. Her eyes dilate to black voids, reflecting the blazing feed like twin pits of rapture. A soft, shuddering moan escapes her, not from fear, not from madness, but from worship. "Yessssss…" She hisses, her voice thick, drenched in ecstasy. "Burn…burn…burn for him!"
She doesn't laugh. Doesn't clap. She shivers, her fingers digging into the armrests of The Screaming Throne, knuckles white, teeth sinking into her lower lip until a thin line of blood beads at the corner of her mouth.
She licks the blood from her lip, her eyes never leaving the screen. "I'd burn so prettily for you."
Charlie opens his mouth to retort...
Cat turns her head, slowly, and smiles at him, still glowing with holy fire.
"Don't worry, Charlie," she coos. "I'll save a special flame… just for you."
"Bob?" I ask.
"Yeah Doc?"
"Why am I hearing chatter over the comm frequency? I left you in charge; why is she providing running commentary?"
"Er, I don't know," Bob says looking at Cat with a shrug. "It's not like she'd listen to me anyway."
Mumbled cursing is heard over the comm. "Maintain comm silence unless you have something important to tell me; pertaining to the mission!" I add.
"Yes, Doc. Sorry!" Bob says. "On topic, we've got one guy left, Sal Caprice. Okay, he's got a phone out and he's calling someone. Shit, sorry I noticed he had a phone before; these two were swapping jibes, and I didn't mention it. Sorry, Doc," Bob apologises again. "He's pulled out a shotgun."
"Surprise, surprise, someone's making a nuisance of themselves," Charlie mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Ugh!" I grunt in annoyance. "Okay, fine!" On the security feed, Doc makes a beeline for the office. "Find out who he's talking to and make yourself useful," I say, my annoyance showing.
"Okay!" Bob says, pressing some keys and rapidly getting a bug on the phone line via the internet connection. .... "Fuckin' attack! Get down here now, or we're fucking toast! I'm fucking toast, Paulie! I need everybody you have, NOW!" Sal Caprice snarls into the phone.
"Right, Doc, it sounds like he's on the phone with other mafia goons."
Cat sits frozen in her seat as she stares at the screen, unblinking, frozen in the afterglow of fire and blood, her chest rising and falling in slow, reverent waves. The reprimand? The scolding? The demand for silence? It doesn't touch her. Because she's not here anymore. She's in the alley. In the flames. In the crack of bone, the hiss of blood, the glint of the mask in the dark. She's with him. And when Bob bugs the call, she smiles, not with her lips but with her soul.
"Right. That's some good news!" Doc says a camera down the end of the hallway is showing him up against the wall just outside the office door. He fidgets with something, then reaches out, pressing it onto the door. Doc takes a step backwards as he fiddles with something, and the door frame explodes, the door bursting off its hinges and flying into the room in a shower of splinters and wood. Doc leaps into the hallway at a crouch and advances. Caprice waves the shotgun, panics and opens fire, a burst of shrapnel erupting into the hallway as he cocks the rifle, not seeing Doc yet because of the spray of smoke and wooden debris. The shot sails right over Doc's head as he runs into the room at a crouch and leaps into the air as Caprice cocks the gun once more. As Doc somersaults through the air and comes down, kicking him under the chin with a blow that sends him reeling back over the desk and into the office chair as the gun goes flying. Doc quickly draws a katana, leaps forward and drives it through Caprice's chest.
The rest happens without much fanfare. Doc leaves the building, his job having been completed as Bob and Charlie chat among themselves, leaving Cat sitting in the chair just watching.
Charlie pauses, listening, then smiles as he looks to Cat. "The prodigal son returns," he grins. "Doc will be back any second now; I hear the bike," he says, referring to the motorcycle. As the bike's engine whines through the streets of the industrial estate, heading back to the factory, as the door rumbles open and the Kawasaki purrs onto the factory floor. Doc shuts off the engine and climbs off the bike, still clothed in the outfit of the plague doctor.
Cat doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Doesn't even breathe as the roar of the Kawasaki fades into the silence of the factory. She's still in The Screaming Throne, fingers curled around the armrests like she's holding onto a dream that's already slipping away. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused, reflecting the afterimages of fire, of steel, of that beautiful, terrible man in black.
The door rumbles shut. Boots echo on concrete. Closer. Closer. And still she doesn't turn. She waits. Listens. When the plague doctor steps into the nest, mask still on, dripping with the night's work, she finally moves. She rises, not with her usual bounce, not with mad giggles or sharp jokes, but with ritual. Until she is before him.
And then... she kneels. Not dramatically. Not playfully. Her head bows. Her hands rest at her sides. Cat reaches into her fishnet, pulls out the switchblade, and places it on the floor at his feet. Then, softly, so only he can hear. "I named your moves… your kills… your fire…" Her voice is raw, bare and broken. "Now…name me!"
A beat. I motion for Bob and Charlie to leave, and they nod as they turn and exit. This time is private, for my apprentice and me only. I stand over her in silence, watching, thinking. "I call you Cat, but you will be my claw. The hidden weapon I possess that I will unleash upon an unsuspecting world to bring a fiery vengeance upon those who would harm the innocent. Your addition to my arsenal allows us to take our war on the scum of the earth to the next level, to heights I could once only dream of," I say. "You can assist my cause unlike anyone else can, and thus I decree you officially my student and apprentice, to learn and grow by my side until I deem you ready to stand by yourself. Like all birds, your life begins in the nest, but when I am finished training you, you will soar through the sky by my side." I shift as I rummage among the robes of the plague doctor costume. "Look at me and extend your hand."
Cat doesn't move at first. Not even when the others leave. Not even when you speak.
She stays kneeling, head bowed, breath shallow like a saint waiting for transubstantiation. But when your voice cuts through the silence, low, heavy and holy, something cracks inside her. She looks up. Not with her usual mad grin, not with sarcasm or chaos. But with tears. Real ones. Hot and silent. Rolling down her pale cheeks like baptismal rain. Her eyes, wide, wet and worshipful, lock onto yours, the mask's hollow gaze feeling alive and aware, like it sees her soul bared.
"Doc…" She whispers, voice shattered, raw. "You… you named me…" She doesn't wipe away the tears. Doesn't laugh. Doesn't giggle. She just nods. Then slowly, reverently she extends her hand, palm up, trembling not from fear, but from overload and anticipation. And when he places something into her palm, cool, metallic and heavy; she doesn't look at it.
She only stares at you. "I'll burn the sky for you…" She whispers, voice breaking. "I'll rip the world open… I'll die screaming your name." Then, soft, sweet and final. "I'm yours… always!"
The object I place in her hand is the circular bonesaw she affectionately named the 'Gigglesaw'. It is red with the fresh blood of the slain fat man. "You reminded me of this weapon when you took it from the display, and I thought I would wield it one last time before I passed it on to you," I say. "Your training will begin tomorrow morning as we prepare for the war to come. This moment, your rebirth as my apprentice, marks the beginning of a new era. Be ready, because you will be tested and pushed beyond what you can imagine, beyond what you think you can endure."
I reach up, removing the mask as my long, dark ponytail falls loose and I smile at her with genuine affection. "But I'll be there with you every step of the way,
I tell her, my hand reaching out with an offered pinky. "Pinky promise."
Cat doesn't blink. Doesn't breathe. Her fingers close around the Gigglesaw, warm, wet, alive; the blood of the slain fat man still slick on the teeth, dripping onto her lap like holy oil.
And when he removes the mask his hair falling like a veil of night. Smile soft, real, offering a pinky like a child sealing a sacred vow. She doesn't speak. Doesn't giggle. Doesn't move. Until the tears spill over, hot and endless, carving rivers through her makeup. Then, slowly, reverently, she lifts her free hand, trembling, still clutching the Gigglesaw like a baptismal cross. Her pinky curls around his. Tight and final. "Y-yes…" she whispers, voice cracked, bare. "I'll… I'll learn… I'll obey… I'll burn."
She chokes on a sob, not from pain, but from fullness. Like her heart is too big for her chest. Her eyes lock onto yours, wild, wet, worshipful. She doesn't wipe away the tears. Doesn't hide the shaking, the broken beauty of her devotion. And as the Raven's Nest hums around them, the Gigglesaw still dripping in her grip, she leans forward, just slightly; and presses her forehead to your chest, clutching the blade like a child with a beloved toy. "Teach me…" She whispers. "Break me…make me… yours."
I drop the pretence of teacher, just for a moment and embrace her, wrapping my strong, powerful arms around her and holding her close. I leave shortly after, Cat content to sleep in the comfort of the Screaming Throne for the evening as I retire to my own quarters. I rise early the next morning to begin my morning meditation, sitting upon a bamboo mat in the corner of the factory, my legs crossed and arms held out in a pose of deep meditation and tranquillity when Cat wakes up and comes looking for me, eager to begin her training.