RP Canon Divergence


It didn’t take long for the man to get off the couch and approach her. She wanted to pull away from him, protect herself, run.

After a few moments of staring at his shoes he bent over her with a damp cloth, pressing it her face. Beatrice tried to turn her face from it, worried it was chloroform, or poison. Even without moving her eyes were struck with fear.

Then, Beatrice realized she was slowly able to move her fingers, then her arms and legs. The man tactfully grabbed her back and shoulder and helped her into a sitting position.

She took a few ragged breaths, not meeting the man’s eyes, trying to gain her bearings and balance. It took a few more moments for her to find her voice, laced with a cold anger, disguising apprehension, “I can’t do what you’re asking…Just, please…”

Don’t do that again.

Stop.

Leave me alone.

She finally found the strength to meet his eyes, “Don’t draw this out.”
 
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“I already told you,” he said, “That I don’t want to hurt you unless I have to, Ms. Waters.”

She was angry, and rightfully so. But Sulphur had a job to do. He couldn’t leave until he was sure he had succeeded at his mission. At least, normally he couldn’t. A company working on a cure was something to be concerned with, that was true, but it wasn’t even in a testing phase. Was all of this… really necessary? He met her eyes again, those soft grey eyes, and he swallowed slightly, reflexively.

What harm would really come of him letting her live? At least for a little while. It was possible this experience would be enough to convince her that she was in danger and that she needed to stop. It was possible he didn’t actually need to hurt her at all. His eyes softened a touch in the face of her anger. Anger was a usual cover up for fear, in his experience. People would rage, rage against dying, rage against the last light. She was no exception.

He pulled his hands away as soon as she had her balance and leaned back on his heels, contemplative. For a long moment, he was quiet. Quiet, and still. Then he sighed, turning his head slightly to look toward the door. He met her eyes again.

“I’m going to leave now. Please reconsider your choices. I would hate to have to visit you again under these circumstances.”​
 
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Waters Pharmaceuticals announced earlier this week that they plan for their cure to enter beta testing by the end of the month. Head of the Board of Directors, Amos Costa, said “We’re please to say we are making steady and significant progress. We don’t have enough research for live testing yet, but thanks to the many metas out there supporting us, and providing DNA, we are drawing closer to having a cure.”

Several metahuman rights groups were quick to decry the development of a cure, taking to social media to organize protests. So far Waters Pharmaceuticals has made no comment toward their opponents.

CEO Beatrice Waters was present at the Montreal Bioethics Conference to present on the development of the cure, but declined to comment. The young heiress- Story Continued Page 5​
 

Sulphur watched as Obsidian folded the paper up neatly and set it on the desk. He could see the press photo of Beatrice Waters standing at a podium at a conference on the front cover, very much alive. He clenched his teeth, his jaw tight as he waited for the questions he knew were going to come. Sure enough, his older brother looked at him over the edge of his reading glasses.

“So are you going to tell me why Ms. Waters is still alive, or do I need to ask you?” There was something tight in the man’s voice, and the shadows that clung to his skin seemed to darken as he restrained himself. If it had been anyone but him, Sulphur imagined, Obsidian would not be quite as contained.

Sulphur straightened his shoulders out, taking a short breath before responding, “Your instructions were to take care of the problem, not to kill her. I thought I had resolved the issue. I see that’s clearly not the case. I’ll handle it.”

“So I don’t need to send Malachite to do this job? Can you handle it? And next time I see Ms. Waters in the news will be her obituary?” He ran a hand through his red curls, pushing them back away from his face. Sulphur met his golden eyes, matched the intensity behind them.

“Yes. I can handle it.”​
 
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Her school was public knowledge. Her dorm room? That had taken a bit of hacking to find, but find it he had. He sat patiently inside the room on a couch, a book in hand. He was reading one of the Waters Pharma papers that had recently been published about some of their findings on metahuman genetics. It was well written, but he found himself questioning a lot of their testing methods. Better to know the science behind what was happening if he was going to have to do something about the lab in the future.

For now, it just provided a good distraction while he waited for Beatrice to show.​
 
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After the incident in her office, Beatrice had taken to utilizing her chauffer more often, and spent her nights at her penthouse apartment, rather than her dorm. She'd even started skipping most of her classes. Between bring a CEO, and spending more and more time at the labs, getting a degree seemed...pointless.

Bea hadn't given up on it completely just yet, forcing her to return to her dorm for her economics textbooks. She scratched her inner elbow mindlessly, where blood had been taken earlier that day. She kept the bandage and bruising covered with a thick sweater that fell a bit over her jeans- a much more casual outfit than she was accustomed to wearing as of late. Bea had even taken to wearing her nose ring again.

She quickly used her card to unlock the door, and stepped into the vacant room, and flipped on the lights, only to find it wasn't so vacant.

Beatrice back away from the blonde man. "How the hell did you get in here?" Stupid question Bea.

"It...it doesn't matter just get out!" She said, raising her voice. There had to be students in the dorm to raise an alarm if she yelled. As she did, the feeling and sensation of immobility- the paralytic feeling from her last encounter with this man, spread through the room.
 

If he hadn't been affected by her powers before, he would have been very concerned about the sudden feeling settling in his skin. Immobility. It wasn't real, he'd learned that in their last encounter. So he took a deep breath in and felt as his chest still moved, as his eyes fluttered shut. Something like this wasn't going to stop him. Something like this would not beat out his self control.

Sulphur sighed and closed the medical journal he had been reading from. He set it down, watching Beatrice as she tried to alert the rest of the dorm hall to her situation. He raised a finger to his lips, silently instructing her to be quiet. “Yelling and telling people I’m here will only get you shot. I’d rather not have to do that.”

He didn’t say that that was why he was there. To put a bullet between her eyes and end this, so that his brother would be at ease. After she was dead, he could activate the virus he’d buried in their systems at the company building he had broken into before. Then, it would be over. That was all that was needed. Sulphur watched Beatrice, to see what she would choose to do.

“Come and sit. Let’s have a conversation.”​
 
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Beatrice knew he had a gun, and was willing to shoot her. More concerningly, was that other people might be put at risk. She shouldn't have yelled, risking their lives. It was selfish. But...she always was a bit of a fuck up. She couldn't even be murdered properly it seemed.

Bea sat down in the desk chair across from him, meeting his eyes. She didn't know it but this time her own weren't grey, but mildly rainbow. Iridescent, almost like bismuth. She steeled herself, glancing down at his waistline, just to double check to see if she could discern the outline of his handgun. Then his eyes again. She remembered the feeling of his hands on her back as he had helped her sit.

"Did you decide to come finish the job. If so, I'd rather not have to endure another conversation." She said bravely. "Just...promise no one else get's hurt."

A worried expression crossed her face. Beatrice hadn't considered they might have gone after her uncle.
 

“I’ve been told to finish the job. But I don’t always do as I’m told.” He smiled slightly. Her eyes caught his and he watched them glitter and swirl with colors, fascinated by their change. “Instead, I’m going to encourage you one more time– stop this. Stop this cure nonsense. I don’t want to see any harm come to you or others over this.”

He broke eye contact to look back down at the medical journal. The hardback version he’d picked up had only recently been published, and contained the interview that Beatrice had done. He sighed under his breath as he looked at it. His gun pressed against his ribs under his arm where it rested in it’s holster. There was a short pause before he looked back up at her and something earnest slipped into his voice.

“Please. Make this easy on both of us. Just stop researching this. It isn’t going to work anyway.”​
 
"Did it ever occur to you that some meta's might want a choice in this? We've only gotten so far in research because of metahumans who want to help develop a cure." Beatrice swallowed comfortably, curling her fingers around the edges of her sleeves, trying to ignore his smile. "...Are you going to kill them too?"

There was something genuine in his tone that gave her pause. Beatrice had only really seen him as a man following orders, someone with no will of his own, but she suspected he might be more persuadable than she initially believed.

"If you want to rid the world of anyone that doesn't fit your perfect idea of what a meta is...I don't think you can claim moral superiority over the people who hate us for not fitting their version of an ideal human."
 

“That’s not the point. The point is to make a world where metas don’t have to be afraid. We don’t think everyone needs to fit a mold. Not like the humans do. We want equality. Humans are allowed to be whatever they want to be, but us? We’re vile things simply for existing. That’s not fair to anyone.”

He watched her face, his own expression just slightly softer than neutral. He wasn’t sure what it was about her that made him want to be gentle. That made him want to try and help her. Well, maybe that was a bit far. He couldn’t help her if she kept this up. At some point, Obsidian would send someone else to take care of her, and he couldn’t stop them. He sighed and looked away from her.

“We aren’t going to kill any metahumans if we can avoid it. They’re our people. They shouldn’t have to suffer more than they already do. And for those who don’t want to be gifted… they’re allowed to just exist.”​
 
"If you can avoid it," Beatrice repeated, exhaling heavily.

She couldn't deny that trying to prevent suffering was a noble goal. Wasn't that her end too? The only flaw in Franklin's reasoning was that sometimes metas couldn't just exist. Sometimes the nature of one's powers was harmful, even if unintentional. Not everyone had such precise control over their powers like he did. "Just existing" was a pipedream. A fantasy.

"I...I don't think anything is evil just for existing." She said. "I've never thought that."

"But just because something isn't evil doesnt mean its not capable of harm. A gun is just a gun, until the wrong person is holding it."
 


“I could say the same thing about your cure. It’s benevolent until it gets into the wrong hands. And trust me, it will get into the wrong hands. You can’t contain something like that for very long, Ms. Waters.” Sulphur shook his head slightly, looking at her. He searched her face, his eyes gradually softening to the point of the sharpness fading. For a moment, he looked his age, not much older than Beatrice. He looked soft.

“Your cure will be weaponized against the masses. It will be used against vigilantes and heroes, against villains and gangsters-- against everyone, equally. There’s nothing you could do to change that. It will be used against protesters, no matter how peaceful. It will be used in riot control. It will be used in police home invasions. They’ll use it however they feel like it and justify it the way they justify everything.”

He leaned forward, straightening his shoulders. The softness sank down into his skin, and his posture loosened. He was genuine. As genuine as he could be. The emotionless facade had peeled back, and for a moment, Beatrice was able to see the real man that laid underneath.​
 
"Like how you justify using your powers to terrorize people." Beatrice retorted, her tone softening, but her body tensing- like she was trying to remain calm."...Or how you justify killing me."

Humans and metahumans alike had a knack for using anything to justify about everything. People told themselves whatever they needed so they didn't feel guilty taking or doing what they wanted. What she couldn't figure out was why Mr. Richmond was procrastinating killing her. Especially after leaving her alive last time.

Maybe he hadn't been able to convince himself yet.

Beatrice stood from her chair, "Would you like some water? Coffee?...Tea?"
 
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Sulphur paused as she offered him a drink. He thought for a moment, his eyes tracking her moves. That was… odd. That was an odd response. But he supposed everything about this had been odd. He took a breath in. “Coffee. I’ll take coffee, black. Maybe a single spoon of sugar, if you have any. If not, don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t move as she did. He didn’t want her to feel threatened. Not then. Not when she seemed to be tensing up, yet softening at the same time. Something was… he didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know how to respond to her change of pace. He let his shoulders ease, releasing some of his usual tension as he thought.

It would show in his hazel eyes, outlined as they were in thick black tattoos. There was uncertainty. There was conflict. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d started to hold. Then, he settled, watching her move. If she wanted to speak, she would.​
 
Beatrice walked to the small kitchenette and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet, pouring coffee from the pot. It was still warm from this morning, but not as hot as she might have liked. She didn't know why she offered a drink. Maybe cause it was usually the polite thing to do? Maybe she just needed to do something so she didn't freak out and lose control.

She returned to her seat and slid a mug over to Franklin. In her nervousness she had entirely forgotten about the sugar he had requested.

"So what? I promise to stop researching a cure and you stop stalking me?" Beatrice asked. There was no such thing as a free lunch, and if running a business had taught her anything it was that anything that seemed too good to be true usually was just that. "You've already proven you can find me, break through my security, and kill me whenever you feel like it..."

There was no guarantee for her safety. There was no promise that even if she stopped the cure she wouldn't be beholden to these terrorists as long as they felt like it.

Beatrice took a long sip of coffee, "...I've already said my goodbyes-the ones that matter at least. I meant what I said last time, don't... don't draw this out." Maybe she'd even see her parent's again.
 
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