Bonesaw had found herself busy enough that the girl could be left here, an IV in her neck, catheter and poop tube inserted. Now that she had free time, she could handle the Winter issue.
She needed a child soldier. This was a way to make one. To insert the wartime memories from Cranial’s database into the girl, let it steep, then harvest the results. The rest could be tweaked, rebalanced, fixed.
And there, again, that unease.
She couldn’t think of her mother’s face, only stitches. Her father she hadn’t even seen. His face was a vague idea in her head, a few isolated features with nothing to bind them together.
Yet when she tried to visualize herself going ahead with it, it was Eli’s face that intruded. Disappointed, confused.
Eli and Mrs. Hemston both, now.
The girl was meat. A tool, a collection of resources to be taken apart and put together in a different configuration, a machine. Any number of things, but not a person.
But the people from the periphery of the girl’s life… they were harder to compartmentalize. Distant. They weren’t at arm’s reach to use as resources.
An emotional factor.
Darn it, she thought. She’d stopped talking to herself, after she’d gotten in the habit and weirded Eli out.
She turned her attention to the computer, crossing the room. Need a distraction.
Except it backfired. She thought of the woman in the suit, and the statement. Breadth and depth.
As things tended to do, a connection drew across her mind’s eye. All of the problems at hand, the challenges, dealing with the clones, figuring out how to program them.
The first batch had failed because they were too young, and the connection with the passenger had become too broad, consuming too much of their personality, leaving room for little growth as a human being. Things were missing, other things bloated or exaggerated as the passenger needed.
Jack had a different kind of connection. A deep connection. He was in alignment with the particular nature of his passenger. The passengers naturally sought conflict, and Jack had fed that need from very early on, and he had sustained it for years. The line between the two was so thin as to be impossible to mark, but Jack’s personality remained his own. Altered, but not subsumed.
And Bonesaw… well, she was talented. There was little doubt her passenger fed her a great amount of detail.
But what kind of connection was it?
Darn mind whammies! Darn it, drat, gosh, golly fuck!
She stared down at her hands, splayed and resting on either side of the keyboard.
What kind of connection was it?
Young age? Check. That had meant breadth for the others.
Fed by conflict? Check. Depth, if the single data point that was Jack was any indication.
How much of me is me?
She stared at the backs of her hands.
What difference does it make? It wasn’t a rhetorical question. There was a difference, it did matter in the grand scheme of things. She just wasn’t sure what that difference was, how it mattered.
She hadn’t had to make many of her own decisions before. Or, it was better to say, she hadn’t had to make important ones. There was a security in being with Jack, because it meant she didn’t have to face this sort of thing. One comment, and the question was decided.
She turned to look at Melanie. The girl was her age.
Odd to think about.
The girl had seen her face. She couldn’t trust her ability to erase memories, not without test subjects, which was a new set of risks, a new set of problems. It would only compound the problem she was trying to solve.
She wasn’t used to thinking like this, considering ways to minimize chaos.
Couldn’t trust that she’d scrub the right memory. It wasn’t her tinker tech.
Couldn’t trust that she could overwrite the memories either. Inserting memories, yes, but the brain was a funny thing. Again, it wasn’t her tinker tech.
Going ahead would be safest.
She thought of Eli. A friend. Not family, like the Nine had become, but a friend.
She thought of the effect of the passenger on her personality. Was the art hers or did it belong to it? Her sense of family among the other Nine, again, who did it belong to?
She bit a thumbnail, cut deep into the material with the special cutting materials she’d laced her incisors with, and then tore the end off in one swift motion. The quick of her nail started bleeding.
The pain gave her clarity.
Maybe the family thing was the passenger’s. Maybe the art was too.
But Eli? It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t normal. But if the passenger had never made contact, and she’d still lived a life a little like the one she lived now, she could see herself being Eli’s friend.
That in mind, she made her decision.
■
November 12th, 2012
She shifted her weight from foot to foot.
A lot of time alone. A lot of time to think.
Every decision now was made on a fulcrum. Was she acting as Riley or as Bonesaw?
This… it wasn’t a hard decision. In a way, she’d imagined she’d always make it. But it, like every other call, had to be carefully measured.
First menstruation, check.
Might as well get it over with. She made notes on the computer.
Auto-hysterectomy.
Auto-masectomy.
Limb shortening.
Bone shaving.
Plastic surgery.
Bonesaw would approve. Maybe it would be better to be taller, to have more room for equipment. Still, she could reverse the procedure. It wouldn’t be her parts, but that wasn’t such a problem.
But for Riley, this was essential. It was a matter of months before Jack woke. She needed time to recover. The clones were in a good state. Only the Bonesaw vats were empty. Each of the others had an adolescent or nearly-adult clone inside. A month or two before the others woke from cryo-stasis, she’d start doing the surgeries, adding the augments, combining a handful of them together.
She laid out everything on the table next to her. Scalpels, blood bags, IV drips, screwdrivers, wire, staple, cauterizing gun, hammer, stapler… a mix and match.
She hefted the bonesaw and frowned a little. The word had taken on a different meaning for her, in recent months. It had stopped being her name somewhere along the line, had become her passenger’s.
Anesthetic? No. She needed optimal awareness of her own body. Anything that dulled her senses would spoil that.
She had the ability to switch off pain at will. She wouldn’t use it.
No. She wouldn’t say she felt guilty about the things she’d done, but she recognized that she was broken, now. She recognized that maybe she should.
A part of her wished she could reach inside and find that carefree perspective, the innocence she’d enjoyed. Another part of her was glad. Everything about herself was modifiable, reversible, pliable. Pieces in the machine. But this? She wasn’t sure she could alter it, nor that she wanted to.
This wouldn’t be a penance. That would suggest penitence. But it’d be just, as best as she could figure.
She started cutting.
■
January 24th, 2013
“The sign’s down,” she commented.
“Riley!” Eli looked startled. He glanced back at his dad, who was stocking shelves. “It’s been… a really long time. I was worried I said something.”
“No. Went to live with my dad,” she said. The lie was smooth, effortless. She didn’t even feel bad.
“You’re back?”
“Stopping by, like the first time you saw me.”
He nodded, still a little stunned. “Uh… they found the girl dead in the woods. Some dogs had chewed her up pretty badly.”
“Oh,” she responded. She’d practiced the look of concern in the mirror. Even now, she didn’t really feel guilt, but nothing was reliable, like it once had been. “I stop
ped in to say goodbye, Eli.”
“Goodbye?” He seemed more surprised than disappointed.
Maybe he already said goodbye to me, she thought. She didn’t feel hurt. Growing up with the Slaughterhouse Nine had numbed her in many respects. It made sense, little more.
“I wanted to give you a gift,” she said. “As thanks for the movie advice, and the conversation over the past while. You helped me, gave me a friend when I needed one.”
He frowned. “After your parent’s divorce, you mean.”
“Yes.” Another easy lie.
“I get that,” he said. He looked at the card. “Can I open it?”
“No. There’s a date on it. Wait, then read it on the date in question. Break that rule and I’ll be mad, understand?”
“I understand,” he responded. He looked down at the envelope. “My birthday.”
“Yeah. And I don’t think you do understand,” she said, “But that’s okay. Just don’t break the rule, and don’t lose the letter.”
“Okay,” he said. “Um. I would’ve gotten you something, but… oh.”
He rummaged in his bag, then handed her a video tape.
“I… I rented it, but I’ll pay the fee to replace it. One of my favorites from the last year.”
A horror movie. A child werewolf?
A child monster.
She glanced at him, but there was nothing in his expression. She’d become exceptionally good at reading people, and… no. He had no idea how ironic the gift was.
“Thank you,” she said, holding it to her stomach. “It’s probably okay if we just say hi and bye like usual, isn’t it? Fits?”
“You look different,” he blurted out the words, a non-sequitur.
She’d hoped the winter clothes would hide any of the reversions she’d made.
“You look good,” he added.
“Be fucking good, Eli,” she retorted, staring at him.
Before, he might have protested, feigned confusion. He’d changed, much as she had.
Now, he only nodded a little. “I will.”
■
May 25th, 2013
She sat with her feet propped up on the table, a bowl of Frooty Toots on her stomach, as the alarm went off.
She felt a momentary sadness. She tapped her pinky with her thumb twice, and the embedded magnets noted the signal. She’d recorded her own brain activity and movements when contemplating the Bonesaw clones, and it was this that she drew on, manipulating her own body much as she had manipulated Blasto’s.
Her body language wasn’t her own. Her smile, the way she walked, the gestures, all were fine tuned to match the Bonesaw of before.
Her height, too, had changed. She’d cut her hair to match, had downgraded her body so the last year and a half of development had never happened.
It was the burning of a bridge, in a way. It would retard her growth in the future, and that would arouse suspicion.
In a way, she couldn’t carry on her relationship with the Nine. There would be too many tells, no time to herself to make changes in secret.
The individual cases opened, and slowly but surely, the members of the current Slaughterhouse Nine stepped out. Jack, Hookwolf, Skinslip, Night Hag.
She could see the conscious effort on Jack’s part to maintain his composure. He was barely able to stand.
His eyes fixed on her.
Somehow, she knew. She knew he knew. But that was no surprise.
All she really needed was reasonable doubt. He would harbor suspicions, and he would pull something on her. Later.
In the meantime, she’d have options.
“You’re awake,” he commented.
“And you’re nude,” she said, covering her eyes. “Where are your manners?”
Like riding a bike. Back to her old self. Playing the role.
“I’ll remedy that in an instant. Cereal?”
“Made it myself. Took me a whole three hours to get it right. Felt like keeping busy.”
“And the milk?”
“Made it myself,” she responded. She grinned, and the device took over, gave it that width, that guilelessness she couldn’t manage on her own.
“I won’t ask. My clothes?”
She pointed him in the direction of the closet where she’d placed all of the roughspun uniforms, alongside the clothes Jack and the others had removed before stepping into the cryostasis chambers.
He took a step, then stumbled.
“I’m… not as coordinated as I should be,” he said.
“Seems there’s trouble with the recovery phase,” Riley said. “Be a month or two before you’re on your feet.”
“We have a schedule.”
“I know. But I can’t fix this. Not my stuff.”
He stared at her, brushed ice-crusted hair away from his face.
But she wasn’t lying. There was no falsehood to pick out.
“You could have woken us sooner.”
“Nope, nope,” she said. “Would’ve mucked up the scheduling.”
Still, that penetrating stare. This was the make or break moment.
“Well,” Jack said, smiling, “Unavoidable. We’ll have to make it extra special.”
“Triple special,” she answered. “Things have been interesting while we’ve been gone.”
“Interesting?”
“I’ll show you later.”
“And the clones?”
“I was waiting for you to wake up before we greeted them.”
“Good,” Jack said. “Excellent.”
She smiled wide as he turned, covering his bare rear end on his way to the closet, even as she felt coldness in her heart.
Hookwolf, for his part, only drew blades around his body, forming into a giant metal form. She wondered if he looked a little introspective, before his head was covered in the mass of shifting, skirring hooks and needles.
She chewed on her cereal, and watched more of her movie.
She did like it, after all. Eli had been right.
She smiled, hiding the sense of loss as she deleted it from the system and cleaned up the evidence.
One by one, the recently unfrozen members of the Nine rejoined them, dressed in their outfits and costumes.
Jack gestured, and she hit the key on the keyboard. Lights.
Spotlights went on beneath each of the glass chambers.
Drain.
The fluids poured out, draining into the openings in the floor. Blurry figures became more distinct, marred only by the residual droplets clinging to the interior of each chamber.
“You didn’t do yours,” Jack commented.
“Didn’t work out.”
“I see,” he said.
Every line of dialogue felt like a nail in the coffin.
But that coffin wasn’t a concern today, or even tomorrow.
For now, Jack needed her. For now, she had options.
She smiled, wide, with a glee she didn’t feel.
The woman in the suit had options. She would come to Riley and claim the remote.
Countless enemies would be mustering their forces, ready to deal with this.
Eli had the letter. He’d find a plane ticket inside, along with an urging to leave and stay gone. To drive the point home, she’d revealed her identity.
Yet Riley still felt a moment’s doubt.
Some rose from their knees. Others had managed to remain standing from the moments the fluid left the chambers. As they roused, powers flickered into action.
Siberians flickered into being near the Mantons. Six like the daughter, three more like Manton himself, all in black and white.
Chuckles, tall, fat, with arms that zig-zagged, her own addition. Thirty-one elbows, and arms that dragged behind them as they moved. Here and there, one of them would twitch, a tic. The clown makeup was a series of scars, tattooed on. One activated his speedster abilities experimentally, crossing the room in a flash.
Nostalgic, in a way. Chuckles had been around when she’d joined.
Murder Rat. Not stapled together as the original had been. She’d taken the time to do it well. When membership had been down, Bonesaw had made Murder Rat as a created addition to the Slaughterhouse Nine. She’d passed the tests, but degradation in mental and physical faculties over time had seen to her demotion.
Winter, white-haired, with white irises edged in black, nude, her eyes peering. Madeline’s eyes, Riley thought. Winter would need guns, of course.
Crimson, Winter’s brief-lived lover. Riley had taken the time to program their relationship into them. Crimson had been one of the first members in the group, Winter one of the more recent ones to die. Winter had been followed by Hatchet Face -there he was, over there, nine of them- and Hatchet Face had been followed by Cherish.
Nine Cherishes, gathering in a huddle. She’d forgotten to give them the tattoos. It didn’t matter. A glance suggested they were discussing different ways to do their hair.
The smile on her own face was so wide it hurt, but it wasn’t her smile.
King, tall and blond, unabashed in his nudity. All nine Kings were broad-shouldered, each half a foot taller than Jack.
Their interaction would be an interesting one. She’d wondered if she should program King with the knowledge that Jack had been the one to kill him, reconsidered.
Oh, and there were others. Some were harder to recognize. Nine Alan Grammes, who lacked his armor. Nine Neds, narrow shouldered and only five and a half feet tall. When the others had done some damage and given him a chance to regenerate, he’d resemble his true self a little better. He’d be Crawler.
“And the last one?” Jack pointed at the remaining chamber.
She hit a button, and for a moment, her expression slipped. She closed her eyes, a brief moment too long, as nutrient soup drained out of the chamber and the glass lowered.
But nobody was looking at her.
The boy stepped out, and there was no sign of any difficulty. He didn’t struggle as others had, nor have trouble finding his feet. He was prepubescent, to look at him, older than ten but younger than fourteen. His hair was neatly parted, and he wore a private school uniform, complete with glossy black shoes. Dry.
Even though he was naked in the tube.
Then again, that was sort of his thing. One of them, anyways.
Visually, the most notable part of him was the effect that surrounded him. He was monochrome, all grays and whites and blacks, with spots of light and shadow flickering around him. Here and there, he flickered, a double image momentarily overlapping him, ghostly, looking in a different direction.
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