Paradoxical (by timydamonkey)
Author's Note: Sorry for the wait! Found my notes for this chapter in the midst of scribbling down bits of research about WWII London for my English writing coursework. I'd been having great trouble writing this chapter, but now I'm going to try again.
Mind you, it's not like I've been left alone by ideas. I added one or two projects that have finally come back out of hiatus as well as the names and fandoms of the new ideas to my progress report on my profile to let you know where things are standing at the moment. Fact is, one-shots never leave me alone…
Also, I fail at writing Lancer. For real. And again, I'm not writing the birds accents, because I fail at that too.
Also, who knew how hard it was to keep so much foreshadowing and room for future events in one story? Still, this is the first time I've tried to keep more than one plotline running at a time, and it's a good writing exercise, especially as they all cross over. Reviews welcome, and thanks all reviewers.
Chapter 11: The Boy and the Puzzle
When Danny awoke, his eyes were wet. He supposed he'd cried – understandable enough really, he'd felt as if he'd been hacked with an axe all over his body. The feeling now felt massively muted, though his body ached irritatingly as if he'd just run a marathon at breakneck speed.
He got up. Everything was eerily silent and, in his experience, that was never good. The office looked as if a tornado had swept through it. He grabbed his bag, saw the hole again, then looked to the floor and picked up some of his belongings. The essays were probably ruined, and mixed up amongst sheets of paper from the office itself.
He wondered if leaving them there would be considered 'incriminating evidence', because he was feeling far too exhausted to sift through the whole floor. He was positive this draining feeling wasn't even as a result of his injuries, but the anger.
He could remember it, now.
What was he? Spectra's question had marked something in his mind, because he really didn't know. He felt like a bit of a freak of nature, actually. Something you look back at later and just say, 'Oops'. One of those things that you really want, and when you get it, it turns out to be a defect, and you've just paid a million dollars, non-refundable.
He supposed he had defective DNA. But how was that even possible? He'd been fine for years. Maybe the machine had just aggravated it? Because, he thought, it couldn't have changed his DNA. No. That was impossible. If researchers could do it, you'd know; they'd be gloating all over the news, and people would be asking for designer DNA, tailor-made to get them what they want. People would be saying, is there a specific form of DNA that gives me a greater probability of being rich? Of not being bald? Or worse. Could you modify my genetic makeup? I'd like to be a cat; I was born to be one really…
It would be a nightmare.
Danny felt like some sort of prototype, cast off into the back of a storeroom. It wasn't only depressing; it made him quite angry – with everything. And then he stopped and breathed, because he remembered what happened the last time he was angry. Maybe it was a one-off… or maybe it was a sign of malevolence, and everybody was right, and he'd only be human in name – and even that was debateable. He'd cease to be him, and end up just as another ghost.
He took a deep breath and started at the ceiling, feeling like he wanted to tear his hair out. Anything that'd just make all of this go away, or at least not matter, even for a minute. Of course, since the accident, nothing had been going right for Danny, and he wondered gloomily if it ever would again.
The door opened. Danny felt caught up in a moment, and that moment seemed to be trying to stretch forever, suspended in time… and then it broke, and it felt like there was an illusion shattering. He knew nothing except that he was in very big trouble.
"Fenton!"
"Hey! I can't talk to you right now, I gotta change the ecto-filtrator-"
"Answer phone?" muttered the voice on the other side, sighing softly. Then, to somebody else, "I thought your parents would be in."
He can't hear the answer. "No, this isn't the answer phone," Jack offers, a little annoyed by the mistake. "But it's of vital importance that I-"
"Then, my apologies, Mr. Fenton, but it is imperative I talk to you about your son."
"What, Danny?" Even Jack knew something had been wrong with him lately, but what exactly… well, he had no idea. Neither did Maddie. They were considering resorting to asking Jazz, but having to ask your child about the psychological welfare of your other child seemed a bit ridiculous. It was beginning to look more and more necessary. "Is he all right?"
"Oh, he looks fine, all things considered," said the other guy. "Mr. Fenton, would you please wait outside?" Jack was confused for a moment, but it dawned on him that the man must be talking to Danny – presumably the person who had answered before. (The only other candidate had been Jazz, and from what was said, it didn't seem as if it was her.) After a small pause, the guy said, "Physically, he's fine, I mean. In his head? Well… you are aware he's been seeing our school counsellor?"
"Yes," said Jack, who thought he vaguely recalled Jazz mentioning it at some time or another.
"Well, I found him in her office, with everything ransacked. I see no feasible reason to believe anybody else had anything to do with it, and with him standing quite happily in the middle of the room, I fear he's the culprit. He looked perhaps a little dazed, but fine – and the counsellors are missing." There was a pause, and when the voice returned, it seemed to be rambling to itself rather than being used for the benefit of Jack. "And if they're buried under all that junk in there, who knows what will happen? There's so much of it you can't even see the floor!"
"So… you think Danny vandalised a room?" Jack asked, just to make sure he was clear on the facts.
"Vandalised is the word," said the man. "And if you take a look at that room, you can't tell me there was no malicious intent involved. Nobody could do so much damage with no intentions!"
A pause. "Maddie?" Jack called. "Can you change the ecto-filtrator please?" A slightly longer pause. "And maybe fetch me the ham? This seems like an emergency, and that is under the domain of Jack Fenton!"
From the other end of the phone, the confusion started to be overwhelmed and he sighed. Both Jack and his caller knew it was going to be a long day.
The boy was different. Something was clearly wrong, but he couldn't quite pinpoint when he'd noticed it. It'd started with bags under his eyes, before his behaviour had become slightly more… erratic. But only slightly.
And now… for once, he found himself at a loss for words. Was erratic the right word for completely destroying a room for no apparent reason? Chicken soup for the soul, the boy seemed to be going mad!
He'd been watching the boy when he'd noticed how tired he was. Being a teacher, there was only so much he could do. He was sure Danny wouldn't respond favourably to his teacher's concern… he'd even seemed to be brushing off his friends for a while, but they seemed to have fallen back in with each other. He was somewhat relieved.
He'd been wondering what to do. Then Jasmine – lovely girl, very intelligent – had come to him, also concerned about her brother, and asked what could be done. They both hit the same idea – the school psychologist.
The problem being, they were still looking for a school psychologist. They hadn't had one for quite a while, so he'd pulled some strings – he could at least do that – and hired a lovely lady called Penelope Spectra. She had quite the reputation, but just before she was due to be hired, she went missing – and re-emerged at Amity Park, cheerfully greeting him and asking when she could see her patients. Her bubbly, overenthusiastic attitude was a refreshing change, and there were students he thought it could help – including Danny.
After the boy's little incident, this would be the prime time to send him right back to the psychologist. There were two problems however; the office was wrecked, and Spectra had disappeared. Was this related to Danny's apparent fit? He didn't know. But Lancer had a very bad feeling about it all…
He picked up the phone. He'd already spoken to the Fentons, but he had another call to make. After all, it seemed he needed to enquire for a new psychologist more than ever before.
Vlad's vultures were tired and they were bored. They'd been hanging around Amity Park for ages on Vlad's orders. Stay away from the boy, he'd said. No reason why, and the kid was the only interesting thing around, anyway.
Watch from a distance, and find out why that invitation was declined. Not that the man and woman had been any help, avoiding talking about the subject like the plague. So they'd finally decided to disobey Vlad's orders – but only slightly, they weren't going to talk to the boy, just investigate him and the people around him.
Which was how they were watching Lancer as he made his phone call. Still intangible, they flew through the wall, and one announced, "Need a psychologist, eh? Plasmius could use this!" Finally, they could return.
They flew straight at the roof, and if they were detected by anything – or anyone – they never knew it; just that they were finally going back to Wisconsin.
Great. This place was a dump.
It was ready. Everything was ready.
The computer jerked into life, and the boy threw his schoolbag on the floor, pulling a PDA out of his pocket to stare at the screen for a moment, before nodding and putting it back there.
Technus knew that everything could come to life now. He'd had time to explore the computer and he knew exactly what he was going to do. Why, it was like the computer was built specifically for this purpose! For plotting, for training – for practical usage.
Who knew what sort of use certain computer applications could be? Games. People looked at them as useless, harmless pass-times, for the most part. Oh, how he laughed!
The boy leaned back on the chair in front of the screen, then double clicked an application.
It was time.
Technus stepped forward, through the screen – the boys' eyes widened comically – and then he pounced.