RP Canon Divergence

Ban Bean

Ban Bean

Active member
Beatrice had been on the phone with legal all day, leaving her with piles of unfinished work she normally would have completed already. Less than a week after the press conference announcing a meta-human cure and they were already fending off half-baked lawsuits and angry phone calls. It was almost ten at night, and she hadn't left the office, stuck at her desk trying to catch up on her work.

She had already discarded her heels, at least it until it was time to leave, so she walked barefoot across her office to the coffee pot, filling her mug before looking longingly at the couch. Beatrice debated if it worth taking a nap, and then just continuing work into the next day. She didn't have any spare clothes at the office, so she comitted herself to downing her coffee and forging ahead.

Beatrice returned to her files, flipping through expense reports and departmental memos.
 
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Breaking into the building had been far easier than Sulphur felt it should have been. Then again, when you could knock out an entire room of people with a bit of gas, he supposed that made things simpler. As he walked, he pulled his gun from the holster under his shoulder, checking that the Dan Wesson DWX was in working order. It had been a long time since h’d had to do something like this. Malachite had always been the one to handle people who needed to be taken out. Hematite should have been the one sent, but given the nature of the person they were taking care of, Obsidian had asked Sulphur personally to handle it.

It wasn’t very often that they had to take out a woman. And their usual methods were… not pleasant. Obsidian felt that it would be more of a mercy to shoot her than to beat her to death. Sulphur agreed, as he usually did with everything his brother thought. There was a reason they had all chosen to follow him, after all. If he didn’t agree with Obsidian, he wouldn’t be walking down the hall toward the CEO of Waters Pharmaceutical’s office.

As he paused outside the door, he sighed softly. He didn’t like the idea of killing women, but a cure that could be weaponized was a threat they couldn’t leave lying. He stowed his gun back under his jacket for the time being, and opened the door. He didn’t look for her as he walked in, closing the door silently behind him. It wasn’t until he looked up that he saw her– and immediately felt his chest tighten.

She was barely more than eighteen, by the looks of it. Younger than even him. She had straight black hair with the hint of a wave at the ends, and a pair of grey eyes that were stark and light in color. He blinked at her slowly, and his hand flipped the lock on the door as he did so.

It was a shame Beatrice Waters had to die.​
 
Beatrice stiffened as the blonde man locked the door behind him. As a rule, she preferred most doors remain unlocked, especially with people she didn't know. For a moment she might have suspected he was an employee she hadn't met yet but...something about him tightened her stomach.

Beatrice smiled politely nonetheless, and took a sip of her coffee, "Can I help you, Mr....?" She asked.

She forced herself to relax her shoulders and focus, walking casually back to her desk. The security alert button was concealed under the wood ledge, easily accessible once she made it there, if need be. She just couldn't let this man know that. Another sip of coffee, and a few more steps.

"I'm afraid you are too late for office hours, but I can schedule a meeting."
 
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“I wouldn’t bother going for that button, Miss Waters. The security systems are all down and the alarms have been disabled.” He stepped into the room, away from the door. He wasn’t a big person, not like Malachite, but he was tall, and he had a presence about him that made you pay attention to his soft-spoken words and his flashing eyes. He folded his hands behind his back, trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. “You should sit down. Let’s have a little chat.”

He made his way to one of the chairs on the outside of the desk, with slow and even steps. His eyes never left Beatrice’s face, almost softening as he looked at her. She was young, after all. Young enough that he almost felt bad for what he knew he had to do. “Obsidian sends his regards. I’m sure I don’t have to say much more than that to get your cooperation, do I?”

He took a seat, folding his hands over his lap, and crossing his legs at the knees in a way that was almost casual, almost relaxed. But there was a tension to him. He was coiled tight like a viper, clearly waiting to strike. His head tilted toward the chair behind the desk as he watched her. A clear indicator that she should sit, and not make this more difficult than it had to be.​
 
Beatrice froze in her tracks. So much for remaining calm, but she hadn'r expected him to know about the button, or be honest about admitting to it. More concerning, he seemed confident that it would be useless anyway.

It was insulting, to be invited to sit at ones own desk, but Beatrice humored him, smoothing her skirt and taking a seat across from the man. She met the mans eyes, refusing to look cowed or intimidated, no matter how hard her heart was racing. "I've heard of Obsidian, but I've never had the pleasure to meet him...I'm not sure what about a man who hides behind a fake name and his associates would make me complled to cooperate, but sure...We can talk."

Beatrice took another deep breath, and another delicate sip of her coffee.

She wasn't tired anymore.
 
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“You’re aware of who he is, then you should be aware of the power that name carries around these parts.” Sulphur held her eyes, his own barely narrowed in a severe look. His expression was flat, barely on the side of curious. One brow was raised almost unperceivably over his cool hazel eyes.

He was curious about the attitude. She was either very brave, or she was very stupid. And being the head of a pharmaceutical company, she could have been either. If she was brave, then she might cause problems for him. He might be forced to use the gun that was tucked in his shoulder holster. That was something that was an unfortunate inevitability, in his line of work, but he was hoping she might be smarter than to make him pull the trigger on her.

“I’ve been sent with a very simple request from him. Stop making a cure.” His voice was smooth as he spoke, with no real inflection to indicate what he was feeling or thinking. It had taken years of practice to learn how to weave emotions into his voice, but in situations like this, he was more at ease being as devoid of them as possible.

There was no use having feelings when you had to kill someone.​
 
Of course that's why he was here. A meta supremacist like Obsidian would find the idea of a cure...distasteful. The only insult on her honor, and it was slight, was that he hadn't come himself. Then, she always imagined him a coward. People will say what they want, and act without consequence when behind a mask. There was no fear of retaliation. Acting as yourself took integrity.

"I can offer a simple answer- no." Beatrice said. She kept her voice level, but there was a hint of fear behind it. "There are people who are asking for my help with this. People who don't want to live as meta's- who are dangerous. They deserve a chance to live normally."
 
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“I thought you might say no. It would be foolish of us to assume you’d just say yes to our request.” His hand slipped into his breast pocket, but as he did, he flashed the handle of his gun to the young woman for just a moment. Just enough to make her aware of the fact he had it. From inside the pocket, he withdrew a thick envelope and set it on the table.

“Consider this a down payment. For your cooperation, if you’re willing to agree to our request.” Inside the envelope, Sulphur knew there were fifty thousand dollars. It was a large sum of cash. Obsidian planned to give her another two hundred thousand if she agreed, but Sulphur wasn’t to say that unless she refused again. He had been given very specific instructions on how to handle this and what to say before he was supposed to fire on her.

“Obsidian is very interested in making sure this never comes to light. As you might know, Slate is an organization specifically devoted to the rights of metas, and your proposed cure, well. It goes against everything that we believe in. Therefore, once more, I must ask that you give up on this endeavor.”​
 
You could tell a lot by the way a person tried to convince another. Obsidian was no exception, and he was a lot more blunt, resorting to the two most obvious forms of cohersion: Bribes and bullets. But Beatrice didn't need the money, not that cash ever meant a lot to her to begin with.

The gun however. Beatrice knew she couldn't ignore the subtle threat as the blonde man removed the envelope. She tried not look startled by its presence, and quickly looked back up at the mans face. But quite unlike Obsidian, the blonde man was unreadable. None of this was his will; he was just the messenger.

"Slate is no charity or legitimate organization," Beatrice said sharply. "And unlike the common thugs you work with, I can't be bought." She slid the envelope back across the table toward him.

She swallowed deeply, trying to keep her focus. Now wasn't the time to get distracted and for her illusions to go awry. However, the faint acrid smell of gunpowder filled the space, brought to life from the few memories she had of trap shooting with her father.
 

Whatever Sulphur was going to reply with, never came out. Instead, he paused, his eyes scanning the room slowly, as the smell of gunpowder filled his nose. He knew that smell. He also knew that no guns had been fired, either near them recently or before he had made it up to her office. He would have heard the sound. And yet, the smell of gunpowder filled the air faintly, distantly. He finished his scan of the room before returning his focus to her.

He caught her eyes again and seemed to pause once more. She was putting on a brave face, a strong front, but he could see the fear growing. He could see it in those grey eyes that looked back at him with equal measure determination. He swallowed softly before closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he went off script.

“Listen. I understand you have the best of intentions with this cure. But it won’t be used the way you want it to. It will be used by powerful people with a fear of anything different than them. It will be used to oppress and eliminate an entire group of people. Regardless of if they are dangerous or not. Do you understand that?” There was a slight urgency to his voice now. And earnestness that seemed to bleed into his expression, just a bit, in the raised brows and softened eyes.

He didn’t want to kill her, if he could avoid it.​
 
Bea was a bit taken back. She hadn't expected this from him. His voice had gone from flat to...something strangely genuine. Beatrice supposed good old convincing might be preferable to Slate to murdering her. She supposed they had a lot of enemies. They might not want to risk making a martyr out of her.

"You're so worried about how a cure will be used against metas, but you seem to have no issue using power against humans" Beatrice said coldly. "I hardly want to debate ethics with a man who came with a gun and a bribe."
 
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Stubborn. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. Why did she have to be so stubborn? But Sulphur wasn’t resorting to the gun quite yet. He had one more trick up his sleeve. Silently, Sulphur allowed the vents beneath his skin to open. The colorless, scentless, invisible gas that he produced began to seep from his skin and fill the air of the office as he stared at the envelope of money. He picked it up and tucked it back into his suit. Then he smiled, a barely there upturning at the corners of his lips.

“I’m not debating ethics with you, Ms. Waters. I’m curious, though. Tell me, why are you making a cure?” The air was thick with his truth gas, swirling between them. He could only tell by the way the air seemed richer as he breathed it in. To all other people, it was imperceptible.

Maybe if he understood the why, he could convince her of why it wouldn’t do what she wanted it to do. Anything was better than having to end her life, he decided. She was young, obviously intelligent, and stupidly brave in the face of what he was sure she realized was a genuine threat to her life. Something inside him was resonating with the look in those pretty eyes. Something that wanted to keep her safe. That didn’t want to hurt her.

His instructions had been to get her to stop making a cure by any means necessary. Convincing her was under that umbrella.​
 
Beatrice smiled dryly, as he put the envelope back into his suit. For a moment, she worried he would withdraw the gun, but he didn't He simply asked her again why she was making a cure. She rested her hands in her lap, and met his face. She would not give him the satisfaction of being cowed.

There were a million reasons why she was making a cure. For public health, and the well being of meta's who didn't want powers. So that law enforcement would have practical measures of stopping metahumans. For scientific advancement and research, for which her parents' company was revered. Her own arrogance.

Beatrice could have responded with hours of prepared speeches, comments, and research statistics. The increasing crime rates and inefficiency of law enforcement. Lord knows she had practiced enough for the press. Instead something else came out entirely.

"Because of people like us."
 
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“Because of people like us.”

Ah. There it was. A secret metahuman trying to masquerade as a human then, who thought herself so reviled that she needed to erase what made her special. Something in Sulphur’s face softened when she said that, into an almost sad look. He nodded.

“People like us, huh? Why don’t you tell me about people like us? Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with us?”

There was no threat in his voice. Only a kind of sad understanding. The way he saw it, something had happened in her life, or someone had told her from a young age that she was wrong. Or maybe it was both. She’d had the experience that so many metas had. The same experiences that made so many of them hate themselves or hate everyone else. That was tragic, in his opinion.​
 
. She didn't know what he was doing to her, but...she had never meant to say that. She had never admitted to being a meta, save for the few lab workers who were aware, and of course her Uncle. She certainly wouldn't have been honest with this stranger. Beatrice tensed. If Amos found out about this things could get...complicated.

She opened her mouth to refute her previous statement, and once again, the words in her head didn't match the ones she spoke- as if she was being forced to speak, "We only hurt people...that's why you brought a gun right? So someone ends up dead, like they usually do."

Beatrice sat back weakly, stunned. She exhaled shakily, blinking tears from her eyes, "What did you do to me?" She demanded.
 
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“I did very little. Just a bit of gas to loosen up your tongue. Nothing harmful, really. You might have a bit of a headache after it wears off, but that’s rare. Most people see no side effects.” He sighed and scratched behind his ear, lost in thought. Then he shook his head, some of his gelled back strands breaking free and flipping out across his head.

“I brought a gun in case you couldn’t be reasoned with, yes. I hope I don’t have to use it. But you’re a threat to metahumans, despite being one. Why do you hate yourself so much that you would want to destroy the gifts you were born with?” Sulphur leaned back in the chair, relaxing his body, though he never seemed to lose that tension that indicated he could move at the drop of a pin.

Maybe if he figured this out, he could convince her she was wrong. Maybe he could change her stance, and then be on his way. Then no one would have to die that day. That would be the preferred outcome of all parties involved, he thought.

It was all up to her, in the end, though. He met those grey eyes again, seeing the shine that seemed ready to spill over her thick lashes. A twinge in his chest struck him painfully. He didn’t react outwardly to it, but inside he examined that feeling with a bit of surprise. Did he… feel bad about this? Was he feeling guilty?​
 
Beatrice blinked. Had he said he gassed her? It seemed....intrusive. Violating. The anger, luckily, seemed to keep her from breaking down. A few more blinks of her eyes, and the tears that threatened to fall disappeared.

The man kept asking her questions, but Beatrice noticed she wasn't compelled to answer. She had a sneaking suspicion that whatever gas he was using only worked once she was already talking. However, her options were limited. He wasn't afraid to shoot her if she didn't comply, but she also had no desire to answer his questions. Her history was none of his business.

Beatrice's eyes flickered to the door. Running wasn't an appealing option either. The man looked fast, and that wasn't even accounting for how fast a bullet could travel.

She was loath to use her powers, but he wasn't leaving her much choice.

So she told the mans eyes to go blind.
 
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