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Merc's Metamorphs

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Chapter 33: Checkmate

Ngalyod continued 'speaking' to him in his mind as Frank gathered up belongings and headed for the door. "You did nothing wrong.

A part of him wanted to believe the disembodied voice but, he reminded himself, he had killed someone. Someone who deserved it, the glove reminded him, which he was willing to admit, yes, but Merc's Metamorphs didn't kill. HE didn't kill.

"But you did." Ngalyod pointed out. "You killed General Glory. You eliminated him and, in so doing, you cured a sickness that has plagued society."

Frank couldn't argue the end result, but he didn't like the idea of what it took to achieve it. There were other, more important things for him to consider, like getting out off campus and planning his next step. Ngalyod agreed. "You need to look forward, Frank. You have already accomplished so much and stumbling now because of a perceived complication would be a waste of your potential."

Pausing, he very nearly opened his mouth to object, but he was in the middle of campus, which meant that 'talking to himself' would not have been a good idea. Focusing internally instead, he declared that killing someone wasn't 'stumbling'-- it was killing someone and, even if General Glory really deserved it, he'd taken a life, and that wasn't something he could NOT think about.

A calming warmth flowed through Frank, seemingly originating from the glove on his hand; it almost felt like a hug from his mom, or sitting in front of the heater with a cup of coffee after a long day out in the cold. Nglayod's mental communication was calming. "What's done is done Frank. I know you do not appreciate the totality of the good you have done, but, if you wish to set it out of your mind I am happy to help distract you."

Frank let out a breath, grinding his teeth as he made his way past the lecture halls, eyes on the distant gate leading out into the city. He reminded the glove that he needed to pay attention to what was going on arond him and a distraction would not be helpful.

It clarified. "I misstated my purpose. My goal is to give you clarity of thought. Thinking of the past is inhibiting your actions in the now. Think BEYOND General Glory. Do not consider him as an obstacle you overcame, or a man who deserved what he got, or a plague on society who used his position of power to--"

"ENOUGH." The single word escaped him aloud but, as he glanced around him, he saw that he hadn't gained anyone's attention. Hiking his bags higher up on his shoulders he stuffed his hands into his pockets and increased his pace.

Ngalyod wasn't done. "Let me put it a different way, Frank. You have been considering General Glory in this case primarially as the case of Rook's-- of CHRISTOPHER's death."

Frank had no argument there. Mumbling under his breath he stated simply "That's because that's what he was."

The glove countered his statement. "He was the DELIVERER of your lover's death, but not the actual CAUSE."

The warmth still flowing from the glove was doing little to ease his mind as Ngalyod forced the discussion on him; it was speaking in his mind so it wasn't like he could just ignore it. Instead, he poked away at its meaning, stating that there wasn't much difference since the end result was that Cy was dead.

Ngalyod objected. "You are thinking of end results, Frank... not cause and effect-- the big picture. General Glory was the tool-- you broke the hammer, not the wielder. The key to understanding fault, if that is your concern, is to first consider why it was you were there in the first place."

More than 2/3 of the way to the gate, Frank was alone on the main walking path. Something about speaking aloud gave him some comfort in the disussion so he spoke under his breath, trying to reason out what it was the glove was suggesting to him. "You're saying the cause of Cy's death is Reed? You think, because he hired us that it's his fault? Are you saying that it was a set-up?"

Its response wasn't quite chiding, but it also wasn't particularly patient. "That would be too simple an answer, and I know you want to believe in Reed's well-meaning offer. Reed was a bystander; there is more to it than Legendary's CEO. Keep thinking about how you ended up there in the first place."

Grinding his teeth, Frank growled "Can you maybe stop beating around the fucking bush and just tell me?"

Ngalyod continued the warm flow of reassurance, but it denied his request. "If I gave you the answers then you would never learn for yourself, Frank. Now, think: what got you involved in the scheme that started as a government contract and ultimately led you to being in the stadium working for Reed in the first place? If you find the starting point then you're half way to your answer."

Frank chose not to engage with Ngalyod for a few minutes as he approached the campus gate, working the obtuse hints around over and over in his mind. It wasn't going to offer him any assistance-- until it did. Just as he was about to pass through the gate, the glove spoke up in his mind. "You are going further away from the answer if you leave the university, Frank. Do you want to do that?"

Pausing, he considered what it was saying, mumbling under his breath. "Going away from the campus means leaving the dorm. Leaving Juan and Chance. I'm leaving my classes, and my teachers--"

The glove seemed almost mirthful. "You are indeed."

That simple statement immediately helped things fall into place. "Chrstopher was the one who blackmailed us into the Santagua job."

"Yes he was."

Frank continued down that line of thinking, stepping away from the gate. "And he was sent by the Chess Master."

"Correct."

The young man tightened his hand around the glove, the leather creaking slightly in his grip. "Professor Monrow... you're saying HE'S to blame?"

Ngalyod didn't answer right away, letting the silence hang undisturbed for many long moments. Frank was about to repeat the question when a response finally came. "That is not a question I can answer for you, Frank. Are YOU saying he is the one to blame?"

Striking his leather-clad fist against the metal archway, Frank turned around and headed back toward the center of the campus; the Poly Sci lecture hall wasn't that far away. "Dunno... but I think what I need right now are answers."

The glove's response was obtuse, but not as vague as its prior statements. "You are getting warmer, Frank."

* * * * *

Despite classes taking part during most hours of the day, the middle of the afternoon was light on actual lecture or calssroom time, meaning the Poly Sci building was relatively empty. Professor Monroe, like most of the other teachers, had an open period and either spent it in his office or in the lecture hall in order to be avaialble for students. Frank checked his office first and, when he saw it was empty, went into the lecture hall. Checking toward the podium, he missed the professor approaching him. "Oh my god, Frank!"

Before the young man could react, his professor had pulled him into a huge embrace, gripping him tightly. "I heard about... everything. It's all over the news. About General Glory... and... about Rook."

Something about his instructor's emotional reaction to seeing him was touching and Frank had to fight back tears; he reflexively returned the hug, however, and found his palm itching as he passed it against Professor Monroe's back-- other than that, he felt... numb.

When he trusted his voice enough to speak he drew away from his instructor. "What..." when his voice croaked he paused, and started again. "What do you know about it?"

Professor Monroe stepped away, reaching up to brush his thumb under his glasses and sniffling once before about-facing and heading toward the lecture podium, speaking as he went. "Legendary Heroes is in an uproar; their governing board is in disarray, their stock has been in freefall. There's been talk about what to do with Glory... gone."

Frank cleared his throat, feeling tears fill his eyes unbidden. "Not what I meant."

The Professor paused at that. "Well... I had hoped that you and the guys got out of there-- you obviously did. Are Juan and Chance back at the dorm? When did the three of--"

Speaking over him, Frank tried to keep his breath even, following after his instructor. "I mean the PLAN. You had this whole plan-- a way we could solve problems and FIX things... they feel pretty fucking BROKEN right now."

Monroe let out a steadying breath, one hand on the podium, the other pulling a pen out of his pocket. He clicked it with his thumb, putting the tip to the paper on the podium as he spoke aloud. "Okay... right. Fixing things. This IS salvagable, believe it or not. Although there hasn't been a legal precedence set, Merc's Metamorphs has a few variables on your side. First, the initial aggression was--"

Frank backhanded the podium with his gloved hand; it went flying across the room with force and trajectory that should have been more suitable if he'd been in his Metamorph form and he was stunned for a moment, but his mindlock ended when the wooden stand shattered against the wall. "Christopher is DEAD!"

Professor Monroe remained in place, pen still in hand, clicker still compressed by his thumb. The older man slowly turned and looked at his student, blinking once before he calmly stated "Yes. I am aware of that, Frank... very aware of it. I've known him for several years and he had so much potential. We've suffered a great loss, and he will be missed... but, right now, we have to focus on damage control, and tantrums won't help anyone."

Having barely given any thought to his hand, Frank registered the feel of bones popping back into position; he realized that Ngalyod was present but, thankfully, it wasn't bothering him. It was letting him think... letting him figuring things out himself. At the moment, he wasn't thrilled with the man in front of him and the casual dismissal he had over the death of Christopher. "Christopher is DEAD, Monroe. That means something."

Hand still gripping the pen, which was apparently forgotten the moment his podium disappeared, Professor Monroe took a step closer, taking on the same tone he used as when he was lecturing and was interrupted with a silly question. "I am aware of that, Merc... and that means we will have to work harder because we're down a man."

It took a second for Merc to realize that he'd changed-- usually the process was so all-encompassing he could barely do anything but focus on it but, suddenly, he was more than a foot taller than his professor, who seemed significantly smaller. He kept his voice as even as possible as he stared the man down. "I'm not sure I want a 'we' any more, Monroe. Ever since you got involved everything's turned to shit."

His Professor let out a long sigh. "Merc... how long have you been hearing it?"

Merc rose up to his full height, scrunching up his snout as his ears raised, pulling his cobra-like hood with it. "Hearing what?"

Monroe gestured to him with the pen. "This... all of this... have you SEEN yourself recently? Surely it's been talking to you. Ngalyod, I mean. I could tell by what you DIDN'T say that it was affecting you to at least some extent. By now it's beyond obvious. You have to realize that Christopher--"

Merc meant to remain calm, but his voice came out as a roar. "YOU FORCED HIM INTO THIS, JUST LIKE YOU DID WITH US! DON'T YOU DARE SAY HIS NAME! YOU DON'T GET TO SAY HIS NAME!"

THe professor froze; the kangacobra saw a very strong hint of fear peek through the man's otherwise unreadable expression but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. "I can see that you are upset, Merc, and that's understandble..."

Merc clenched his talons so tightly that the leather on his glove creaked and the claws on his left talon bit into his scales, drawing blood. Even so, the Kangacobra kept his voice steady even as he saw the red glowing from his eyes illuminate the professor's face. "No, 'Chess Master', I don't think you get just how 'upset' I am."

Proessor Monroe reached out and placed a hand on the forearm of Merc's gloved hand. "Christopher knew the risks required to change the world when he signed on, Merc. He knew that there were dangers, and, even when you tried to keep him safe after he changed he continued to push to be on the front lines. That's just the kind of person he was. Don't condemn that... celebrate it."

Merc shot him a withering glare. "I won't celebreate him dying."

The older man smiled patiently, taking a step closer and giving the Kangacobra's arm a gentle squeeze in sympathy. "There are risks that we all take when we try to change the world, Merc. Christopher was willing to spend his life working toward that."

Fighting back a growling hiss, Merc pulled free of the professor, his talons clenching tighter. "A life isn't something you trade out like a dollar bill. Christopher wasn't a resource to spend, Monroe!"

The Professor objected, though his voice remained calm. "I beg to disagree. It's a high price to pay, but it can be worth it. Exchanges happen in any game theory. True, a rook is an importance piece to lose, and the cost--"

Merc came very close to striking the man but, instead, he knelt down and backhanded the stage upon which they stood, creating a large hole through the wood beneath the carpet as he roared "He wasn't a chess piece either! He was a PERSON! He... he..." The kangacobra's voice cracked, and he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

Professor Monroe remained where he was. "Christopher meant a lot to all of us, and I realize that is probably true for you most of all, Merc. You made him happy-- I could see that much. I saw him smile more than most, I'd wager, but I'd never seen him smile more than when he was talking about you."

Already in deep, the Kangacobra doubled down with his condemnation. "You mean when you were having him spy on us for you."

The old man let out a sigh and lowered his head. "We are on the same side here, Merc."

Ready to snap back at his professor when a thought entered his mind, Ngalyod offering a steadying thought that he needed to pace himself. The Chess Master rarely did anything for no reason and everything he said probably held significance. The glove encouraged the Kangacobra to understand the situation before doing anything... rash.

Merc found himself chuckling at the suggestion since it seemed like it was the glove that encouraged him to follow his gut rather than his brain. Monroe, who had been continuing on a monologue that the kangacobra was ignoring, paused. "It's speaking to you again... isn't it, Merc?"

Unwilling to discuss Ngalyod, Merc pushed the disussion back toward his point for visiting. "We're talking about Cy, not the glove."

As if he hadn't changed the topic in the first place, the professor jumped right back into it. "I know that life isn't a chess game, Merc; believe me, I do. What I also know is that game theory extends beyond a board game or a gaming console. Simply put, the road to a win is long and hard and, sometimes, despite our best intentions, some pieces end up getting lost... even in situations that aren't chess."

Ngalyod urged Merc to be calm even as the Kangacobra felt his heartrate go up. He took two steps until he was looming over his professor who, still standing in the same position, one hand still gripping his pen, the other held up, palm out as if to show he was no threat. From there, the Kangacobra lened forward, glaring at his professor, gently resting a talon on either of the man's shoulders. "Say it again... just once more. Call Cy a 'piece' one more time and promise you that you won't like my response."

Offering a diplomatic smile, Monroe reached up his free hand and rested it on one of Merc's forearms again. "We are experiencing a setback, Merc. No amount of anger will bring Christopher back, but what we need to do is honor his sacrifice and use this opportunity to move forward."

Merc found himself hissing again as his body began to shake. It was all he could do to keep from roaring. "This. Isn't. A. Setback..." it took a moment for him to get his rage under control and he didn't realize that his claws had pierced the human's suit until he smelled it. Taking a steadying breath, the Kangacobra spoke flatly. "Cy is dead."

If he'd been in his right mind, Merc would have appreciated the apparent nerves of steel that allowed Monroe to remain so calm. "Yes. He is. Christopher is gone. Rook is gone. He'll be missed... but the fight isn't over and we can't take the time to mourn."

The Kangacobra let go of the man's shoulders, noting the points where the professor's light tan suit had red marks slowly spreading. He calmly took a breath and let it out, patting Monroe on the shoulders before smoothing the suit out. "I suppose I'll just have to do both at the same time, I guess."

Monroe nodded as Merc fussed over his suit and shirt. "It's fine... we may be on our back foot after losing such an important piece, but this isn't the end... we just need to figure out the next move."

The Metamorph tensed for a moment, licking the back of his teeth as he regarded the Human. He moved his talons over to ajudst the professor's tie. Ngalyod advised Merc against doing anything rash, but the Kangacobra was more focused on Monroe. "Don't worry there, Professor... I already know my next move."

His mentor cocked his head to the side, offering a subdued smile like the kind he used during his lectures when addressing a student. "You do? Then please, Mr Merc... feel free to share with the class."

"The next move..." the Kangacobra said, raising one talon up to give the Professor's cheek a condescending double-pat. "Is checkmate."

The sound of Monroe's neck snapping like a twig was the msot liberating thing the Metamorph had heard all day and a faint shiver of vengeance shot up his spine, making him smile when the second-best sound of the man's limp body hitting the ground concluded their interaction. Ngalyod's presence in the Kangacobra's mind offered the mental equivalent to a sigh but whatever comment it was ready to share was interrupted by a metallic whirring and Merc spun around as the wall behind the projector screen began to move, revealing a space beyond.

Merc realized even as Ngalyod pointed it out: Monroe had picked up a pen and clicked it-- his thumb had never left it until he died. The Kangacobra stated his conjecture aloud. "A fucking dead man's switch?"

Not sure what he was about to face, Merc sprang backward off the stage, facing down the space beyond the wall as the mechanism finished moving it. If Monroe had meant it to be a trap of some kind, or a weapon, there was no apparent triggering of it. In fact, as Merc stared, all he could decipher was that it looked like a bulletin board from one of those police procedurals with clippings, pictures, and various lengths of different colors of thread.

He took a step toward it. "What the fuck?"

Once any concern for threat to himself had passed, the Kangacobra hopped up onto the stage and sauntered over to the hidden room. It was about the size of Monroe's office and, aside from having no windows, looked like it too... plus the bulletin board-- there was even a desk with a computer. What really caught his attention, however, was that the computer was on and there was a flashing prompt on the screen. Ngalyod expressed an interest in the curiosity of it all but offered no further input.

Stepping into the hidden office through the open wall, Merc began looking around, but most of his attention was on the mechanism that opened the room, carefully watching in case it showed any sign of closing so he could get out before being trapped. The rest of his focus was on the various snippets on the bulletin board and, after not deciphering much of it, migrated over to the computer. The prompt was a popup that said FOR MERC. CLICK 'OK' TO PROCEED.

Saying his thoughts aloud to nobody specific, Merc stated "It could be a trap."

Ngalyod agreed that it could, but didn't seem specifically concerned. That confidence apparently overrode the Kangacobra's own concern and, touching the mouse, he moved the curser over and clicked the button. The screen changed to show what appeared at first to be a recorded lecture with Monroe on the stage but it didn't take long before Merc realized that it wasn't a lecture because the room was empty.

Looking straight at the camera, his professor spoke to him. "Well, Merc... if you're watching this then I assume I'm already dead."

Ngalyod complained about the dramatic nature of his deceased instructor but the Metamorph focused on the recording instead. Monroe continued speaking. "Taking into account all possible variables, I see the likelihood of me surviving the week at worse than a coin toss and, if you're hearing Ngalyod, the chances of me living long enough to grade Wednesday's assignment drops to under 10%."

Merc raised his talon to look at the glove. "He REALLY doesn't have a lot of faith in you being a tool for good, does he?"

The voice in his head pointed out that Professor Monroe was dead, so the man likely had no opinion on anything at that point. It was Ngalyod's casual statement that finally snapped Merc out of his volatile mindset and everything came crashing back down. "I... I killed again... I... I killed--"

Ngalyod interrupted his downward spiral by reminding him that classes would begin again in the afternoon and he didn't have a limitless amount of time. Taking that to heart, Merc scrambled out of the hidden room, stooping down by Monroe's lifeless body, and he grabbed the pen. Not knowing when he'd be back, or IF he'd be back, the Kangacobra figured the least he could do was to keep the hidden room how he left it. Clicking the pen, he was relieved to see that the wall slid shut, hiding what nobody knew existed aside from him and Monroe-- Ngalyod pointed out that the Professor certainly wasn't about to tell anyone.

Merc grabbed his bags and stuffed the pen into one. He started toward the door before Ngalyod pointed out that he was still in Metamorph form and that he would need a change of clothes. The Kangacobra grit his teeth, letting out a hiss through his teeth in frustration when he realized that his unplanned shifting had destroyed what he'd been wearing. Mindful of any possible noise in the hall outside the lecture room, he quickly dismissed his Metamorph form and, doffing his shredded clothes, Frank dressed in one of his spare shirts and shorts; he didn't have any sneakers left but at least he had a pair of sandals with him.

Once he was properly dressed, Frank grabbed his bags and quickly exited the lecture hall. Glancing around he was relieved to see that there was nobody see him fleeing the scene of the crime, the same thought going through his mind again and again, repeating each time he took a step: he'd killed again. What the fuck was wrong with him?

It was supposed to be a rhetorical question, but Ngalyod was all too happy to answer, pointing out that, even for those who believed in pacifism there were still certain events that would cause them to fight. It also made sense that those adverse to killing could still be pushed over the edge if reason existed for someone to not.

Pushing open the door at the end of the hall, Frank stepped out into the mid-afternoon sun. He strode quickly toward the campus exist for the second time that day. He mumbled under his breath at the glove "For someone to not what?"

The response from Ngalyod almost gave the impression of a chuckle, accompanied by the thought that it meant a reason existed for someone to not exist. Apparently it was attempting to be more eloquent and channel some of his slain mentor's theatrical drama. Rather than speak it aloud, Frank simply reminded Ngalyod to remember where that theatricality got Professor Monroe. It seemed to appreciate his response.

Sighing, Frank gritted his teeth as he passed through the gate to the streets beyond the campus. He directed the glove to shut up.

Unfortunately for him, Ngalyod didn't seem inclined to comply.