refactor | week 7 and on

"here's all the gay stuff that happened before rhys got stabby"

[ This evening was definitely not the shitshow that Jack was expecting. He had absolutely left his room only for the hope of hunting down what was left of Rhys. No one here knew the extent of how deeply it ran, but Jack's paranoia was a powerful force. That thing getting away alive had been eating at him to the point that every time he heard so much as an unexpected shift, his eyes would dart to the vent in his room with that same wild mania that had led to that thing revealing itself in he first place.

He climbs up the ladder with some effort, as he has been this entire goddamn week, but it's more difficult because of what's in his hand. His mask is half-melted, covered in gore and acid, but he refuses to leave it be. He'll dispose of it on his own later, but for now, he felt some sort of irrational fear at leaving it. Once he's in his room, he stands, breathing out a loud exhale of effort. Here, alone, he feels more at ease, and there's no posturing needed. He doesn't carry himself with the same, rigid confidence, but the fact that he's tired and wounded shows much more in how he carries himself. His shoulders slump, and his head bows slightly to look at what's left of the mask in his hand.

It was always a symbol, and he knows that. It was all branding, because he knew the face of Hyperion couldn't be a man with the symbol of a Vault burned into his face. There were too many questions that would arise, practically speaking, but much, much more than that, he couldn't let anyone see anything that resembled weakness even in passing. It was what he had started thinking as things had gotten more dire on Elpis, he remembers. You can't let anyone see you so much as bleed, because it reminds them that you're no different. No more important.

But that-- That wasn't true. It couldn't be true, because Jack was going to be the hero that saved the goddamn universe. So he takes a mask to hide the fact that he's ultimately nothing more than a mortal man. The uncanny nature of the mask only helped with that. That was always the plan, and he had thought ever piece of that through from the mismatched tone of the skin to the name he took. It was absolutely Handsome Jack, as if he's daring someone to question that claim.

Yet now, he looks down to his own face, and he sees not the symbol of the Vault, but a target. When he had first seen it, it made him sick, because oh, there's no missing the implication here. He knows that Rhys and Liz weren't the only ones. He is so goddamn glad that Rhys managed to fuck things up so spectacularly that his betrayal would end up a mask of its own, that's for sure. As soon as Hancock was revealed to have been poisoned, he fucking knew Elizabeth was one of them. And if not for Rhys... He wouldn't have been able to go after her. Rhys himself just ended up being a happy accident, but even so. He understands this target, because it's his fault that two of those things are dead. His heart pounds in his ears the longer he looks at the mask, but— ]

Hahahahaha—!!

[ Jack tosses the mask at the wall hard enough for it to make a noise that's nothing short of disgusting. His expression breaks into a wild grin, but this one is unhinged in a way that's far closer to when he killed Rhys. He's feeling cornered. He's feeling desperate. He's afraid. ]

I— Haha-- I am Handsome goddamned JACK, and if-- if you think that this, this is going to, what, scare me? Ohhhh... Oh, you, all of you, you have another fucking thing coming!

[ He's truly not talking to anyone but himself here, but he runs his hand through his hair as he paces, trying to work out that manic energy, since there's truly nowhere for him to put it. Jack just keeps laughing hysterically, as if this were the funniest thing that could have ever happened to him, but it's harsh and strained. ]

Everyone here-- Ha, I could just, fr, friggin' kill them all, then-- [ He's interrupted by laughter again as his eyes fall on the mask, but this time, seeing it seems to calm him down, paradoxically enough. His expression is still nothing short of being so dangerous that it's truly a good thing that no one is here, but that impossibly wide grin still grows. ]

No. No, they can come and get me. If I die, then-- Man, then everyone is friggin' screwed anyways. They have no idea that I'm... [ That certainly sounds ominous, but as Jack trails off, another thought seems to occur to him. He feels the dry blood on his skin all of the sudden, since he looks at his hand as if he's seeing that blood there for the first time, and he laughs again, though it's not quite so wild.

Whatever he was thinking, it apparently remains in his head. Jack heads towards the bathroom, since the blood, it kind of bothers him.

Might as well wash it off, he figures. ]

[ Another week, another murder, but this time, he didn't give a damn in the slightest. Truth be told, it was a little hard for him to do so after this past week especially. Sleeping during the trial, while disrespectful on the surface, was actually the most peaceful sleep he'd had in several days. It's ironic, and he realizes it, but now the place he feels most secure is in a room full of people. He couldn't trust any of them, but he could trust that they wouldn't murder him in a room full of people. None of them had the balls to do it.

But, hey. It worked for him. Well-rested for once, he can take up a task he's been wanting to get to. It's the sort of detail-oriented work that he hadn't quite felt up to the task of taking, but now, it's something he's actually willing to stay up all night working on.

A silver arm has been laying on the desk since he had returned from the med-bay, and since the robotics lab had opened, he had plifered a few tools for his own use. It's nothing extravagant, and certainly nothing you could kill with (unless you were creative, which, granted, he is), but an assortment of small screwdrivers, cables, and pliers will get the job done, he figures. Jack pours himself a glass of booze for the work, the same one that he had shared with Rhys, and he settles at his desk with a tired groan of effort. The problem was, this was going to be an absolute bitch one-handed.

He puts on his glasses, another surprisingly private sign of weakness that Jack only reveals when he's alone, and then sets his work music to start (Taylor Swift and related artists, of course), and he gets to work in earnest. First it's a matter of exposing the internal components of the arm, but that's easier said than done. He uses his tools as best he can, but it's not something that comes easily to him. There's a fair amount of cursing, but nothing actually longer than a murmured out phrase for quite a while. Though eventually, as he starts to pry open that arm, he does end up laughing and sort of idly talks to himself. ]

For fuck's-- Finally. Goddamn, this arm was sure built better than your first one, kiddo. Spent the big money for the upgrade, huh?

[ He shifts, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose as he leans closer to inspect the wiring. He's poking through it, clearly looking for something, but he keeps talking. ]

...Probably should have guessed it sooner. 'Course that was a lie. But noooooo, Jack, you just have to give the kid a chance, because, hey, like what you did with the hair. Or something. Pffft. So friggin' stupid. Always trusting people I know I goddamn shouldn't...

[ He trails off in concentration, but pulls a bit of wire away from the rest as he follows it up the arm. He has to pause a few times to remove more metal with care, but eventually, he makes it up to what he's looking for: the arm's hard-drive. ]

There we go.

[ He unplugs the cable, then carefully removes it, only to start digging through the cables he's brought with him. None of them are going to fit the hard-drive as is, but it doesn't particularly matter for Jack. He didn't expect it to. He inspects the connection, then leans back as he starts taking the cables and stripping them, making a very crude, haphzard one that will on his own. After all, despite all of his natural talent as a leader, he had started out much more humble than that. This was the kind of stuff he used to do as a kid for fun. Jack works on it for a while, but eventually, he exhales a sigh as he still seems to be mulling over something. ]

...Don't get it, though. It doesn't make any goddamn sense, since if he wanted to screw me over, he had-- I dunno. Six weeks, there was definitely six weeks to do that. I mean, hell, he could've killed me. Had plenty of chances, since I didn't think he'd screw me. So, why pretend-- Ahhhh.

[ He cuts off with a frustrated noise, but it doesn't take him much longer to finish his hack job of cabling. After that, it's easy enough to connect the hard-drive to his data pad, after which, he won't say much more. He'll have to concentrate to see just what he can recover here. ]

Edited 2016-07-25 04:17 (UTC)

[ rhys hates being dead. when he woke up, he found himself lying there on the ground for an exceptionally long time, parsing through his feelings and what -- what even just happened. it's all such a blur and for a long, long time he just sat there and tried to remember what was real.

he remembers being shot, remembers the look on jack's face -- the sting of betrayal lingering behind his eyes as he lifted the gun and before anyone could even stop him, there was a bullet in rhys' skull. rhys thought that was in, genuinely couldn't imagine anything beyond that but as the pygmalion has proved time and time again, there was always more.

he remembers his body hurting, the throbbing of the metal in his brain pulsating with each passing moment. he remembers the shifting, cracking, breaking down of his bones as his body transformed into this -- this monster. he remembers the complete abject horror he felt when he realized he had become the same thing that elizabeth was, the same thing that threw his body like a rag doll and woke him up enough to be there when jack shot him. he remembers staring right at jack and as the monster talked, his conscious screaming wait no, not jack! before a claw came down and he -- it -- they escaped into the vents together.

he thinks he blacked out after that.

it was a strange, humming kind of conscious. he wasn't there, not really, because he was -- he was dead. sometimes though, the body would shift and the wires in his brain would connect just enough so he could realize what was going on. he remembers being curled in a corner of the vents and the creature lifting a clawed hand to his own eyeball, so angry at these handicaps it had to deal with. remembers the excruciating, brutal pain as it clawed out the organ and tossed it to the side, a mess of wires and blood.

that's better, it thought. help, he thought.

it was the pain that did the trick, actually. enough sensation running through his shambling corpse that the leftover dregs of his mind were able to pick up on it, to remember it. the monster was constantly in pain as the days went by, the bullet still buried deep in his skull and it considered -- if for just a moment -- trying to take it out. another handicap that just had to go. of course, the monster still had things to accomplish, had made promises it knew it had to keep, so it wouldn't risk damaging this shell more than it had to. the eye, the arm, they were dragging it down and making its mobility suffer, they had to go.

rhys wished it was over, silently begged for death at his increasing inability to tell himself apart from this thing as the days went by. it was shifting too fast from him to it and back to him again without him being able to do... anything. the creature was usually able to keep its host at bay, rewrite what it wanted to make sure they were completely unaware but -- the two of them were beyond that point, curling together in this symbiotic death as the thing dragged rhys and his corpse along with it for his last final days.

of course, the creature was growing impatient. it needed to kill, needed to take something of theirs for its promise. it needed to make up for the failings of his host and for the loss of his partner because this is what it owed. it needed to do this or there would be a punishment far, far worse than anything alice could do.

so, it tried to take care of its mortal body. the bleeding was getting excessive, the eye crusting over in ways that were even starting to hurt it. its thoughts were breaking down into something incoherent, more instinct than the practicality it usually knew. it couldn't let this get out of hand before --

harold arrived and it knew what it must do.

later, rhys found himself injured far, far worse than he ever thought he'd be. there was a panic to its movements but also a resigned feeling from the both of them -- this was the end. he (no, it. it.) had made good on its (his) promises, knew that it'd done enough to be allowed to die with mercy because truly, this was the more merciful option for it. maybe not for rhys though. rhys' terror thrummed white hot inside of this thing, wondering if maybe he... deserved this? maybe now, that he knew what he was, maybe it was all inevitable.

maybe jack was right.

with fiona's bullet nestled right next to jack's like a well deserved goodnight kiss, rhys was finally able to let go. at this point, rhys wasn't sure if this was mercy or revenge. at this point, rhys wasn't sure if he deserved worse. this was really way too simple, wasn't it? he... he hurt so many people, he let so many things pass him by, he was a monster and nothing could really make up for that fact. the only thing the pygmalion did was finally make it a brutal, physical thing for him to deal with but rhys knew, he's been a monster since the day he sent helios crashing to the ground.

nothing on the pygmalion would change that. ]

[ They need time to collect their things to monitor him, and so far as Jack is concerned, that's a very happy coincidence. He's calm and casual when he returns to his room, but as soon as that door is closed, he's possessed by nothing short of a manic, frantic energy. It's up the ladder and into his room, because as there's often been since Rhys died, there's a series of partially finished projects sitting on his desk. There are various parts scattered on his desk with tools, chaotic, but also neat so long as you understood the method behind it. Working on the arm had reinvigorated some of his spark to tinker and create things, though everything so far had a very specific purpose. ]

Hah— 'Bout friggin' time. I mean- Ha, I mean, what kind of heroes do they think they are? The kind that waits three weeks before they even remember what happened?

[ Jack laughs, though it's at least not in that manic, frantic way. He really does seem to find it hilarious more than anything else. He takes a seat at his desk with a flourish and puts on his glasses, since he has to work quickly here on finishing up his project. He had imagined he'd have it done today, but he hadn't expected to not have the evening to do it. He gets to work quickly wrapping a small metal dowel with wire, twisting and tying it in such a way that the piece is hooked onto one end. ]

Whaddya think, Alice?

[ He's speaking to her now, though he has no idea if she'll even respond. He does this often when he's alone now, since after she came into his head, it's like he doesn't want her to have any peace at all. Every word is a barbed jab and very overtly threatening, but they're tied together now. In that, Jack feels paradoxically more secure and not at all. ]

You want me to get rid of aliens? I think- Man, I really think you should be helping me out, sweetheart! You're so quiet lately, I guess because you're a stupid, frigid bitch, even for an AI. But, heyyy, you wouldn't let me get locked up, would you? That would-- Man, that would totally ruin your hopes of getting your shit on track. What do you think? Can your Kampff, oh, singular by the way, how do you think they'll be doing without a Master Chief?

[ With the wire done, he turns his metal arm over and runs his fingers along the underside until his fingers catch a latch just above where his arm ends. He pulls it out, and there's a spool, though it's empty. He takes the wire and starts to lace it thruogh, still crude, but it'll be enough. He wraps the wire around, and it's clear just what this is. To go with the blade obscured to look like a hack job of stealing Rhys's arm, this is a garrote that he'll always have with him. They may be taking his gun, but clearly, Jack has his own plans to make sure he's always armed and ready to deal with a situation.

The spool is wound up quickly, and that small metal bar sticks out just slightly enough that grabbing it and pulling would undo the wire, but it doesn't look that strange against the bent chrome either. Luckily, the arm couldn't be smoothly modified with what he had here. It ended up being more of a help than he would have guessed, and at this point? He can't complain too much for losing the hand, since it's giving him other options now.

He stands and starts to clean off the desk of what he's been working on, but of course, he's not done talking yet. ]

You want me to do what's necessary, then you've gotta help me out here. Let some fucking children take my gun, and ohhh, you should be glad that it's Liz of all people to get it, and you're screwing me here, Al. And you know what? I don't have to say a damn word about what I know. You-- You said you weren't worried about people accessing your mainframe, right? Well, you should be, cupcake. Because I'm in it now.

[ His laughter increases and though he doesn't have anything to look at in particular, he still directs his attention up with a smile that's all teeth, like he's challenging Alice herself. ]

I'll kill you. You start helping me out, giving me information, an advantage, something? And I'll back off. But until then? I'm going to make sure every stupid asshole on this ship is gunning to take you down. Because you think you can control me? Scare me with some visions and a little strangulation? Good fucking luck.

Edited 2016-08-05 03:25 (UTC)

[ since jack is so desperate to poke and prod into rhys' personal life, he'll finally come across something pretty... interesting on the harddrive. it's a folder, buried under a few other ones and very clearly put out of the way. not a secret, really, but more like something rhys just doesn't want to deal with all the time -- not until he's ready.

the folder itself isn't titled anything special -- rhys literally just called it "fucking garbage emo shit" out of frustration and left it at that. still, when jack opens the folder he'll see... videos. like, a lot of videos. they're all titled "vid_001" "vid_002" "vid_003" and so on and so forth but at the very top of the folder is a txt file.

in that txt file is a list.

1. two weeks after helios
2. five weeks after helios
3. eight weeks
4. ten weeks
5. thirteen
6. 16

so on and so forth.

you get the idea. ]

[ For anyone watching, it doesn't seem like Elizabeth's death really effects Jack at all. He goes about a relatively normal day after, smiling, laughing, joking. Nothing is any different beyond that one, muted "huh" when he had seen her floating outside. He returns to his room in the evening when he's free from being at Jason's side, and as he often does, the walkie talkie is set on the coffee table, and Jack sets his datapad to playing music. It's perfectly routine, since he likes to listen to music while he works, and his work never stops.

But for someone that's grown used to this routine, there's a deviation from the usual. He doesn't take a seat at the desk as he usually might. He doesn't tackle whatever problem is on his mind, whether it's something about escaping the ship or just inspiration for some kind of product that Hyperion could make. He steps into the bathroom and turns on the shower, which might make this seem like this is something that a voyeur might want to avert their eyes from for a few minutes, but Jack walks to the counter and braces himself against it as he lowers his head. His posture is tense, and his arms nearly shake from the grip.

In that, it's clearer what the music and the shower are for. It's white noise meant to drown things out for whatever a walkie talkie could hear. Because as he stands there, he talks. He's not talking to anyone, just speaking for the sake of reasoning through things, but his thoughts are hurried. He's stumbling over his words, but it's not with a sense of anxiety. No, more than that, it's like what he's saying just can't keep up with how fast he's thinking. ]

Six-- Yeah, there's sixteen left. So, what, that's-- Sixty percent. Sixty percent loss, and barely any of them were even from the Soulvaki. So- So, that has to be the point. They don't need to do anything. Just wait. The problem will take care of itself, but then what? There has to be some goddamn purpose, some reason—

[ Jack draws back, and predictably, his expression starts to split into a grin. He reaches up to run a hand through his hair and to pace around the bathroom. ]

So- Which is it? Log said four to five, so we've got two or three of 'em left. That's about sixteen, not impossible, but not probable. So, what, two, five suspects, that's-- Sixty-three. Sixty-three percent chance that one of them. Is infected. And if it's three... Three is [ Jack laughs, and he pulls his hand down to cover half of his face. ] Ninety-four. It-- It could even be all of them? It's not likely, just fractions but--

[ He breaks off there suddenly, and Jack's grin just grows as his hand slowly drops back to his side. ]

Hah— Haha, it's just-- Just friggin' idiots, all of them! They don't— They don't even fucking understand what's at stake here! How- How could they? None of 'em, they don't even get that this, if it's real, we're so, just, where are we going to go? You let an infected ship into your borders? Let that shit spread? No-- No, you've gotta kill 'em all. Only the ones you know are safe, they're the only ones that get to live. You minimize the loss of life by doing that much. That's all you- Ha! That's all you can do! They don't even get it!

[ Jack laughs even more, like this is the funniest realization he's ever had, but he's shaking his head with an expression that doesn't match that at all. He looks genuinely pained, as if this is a realization he hates to come to, but that too is just his thoughts shifting too quickly for what he's saying to keep up. ]

There's— What-- What am I supposed to do here? The one goddamn person I give a shit about and, and what? Can't-- Couldn't...

[ The ranting trails off here, and Jack runs a hand through his hair again before he looks up. His gaze catches his own in the mirror, and for a moment, there's only the sound of water running and the sound of the music outside. ]

[ After receiving a series of messages, Jack sits back with a sigh at his desk. He reaches up to massage his brow lightly like he's tired, but he leans forward again to grab his glasses off the desk as he opens the drawer that contains Rhys's hard drive. It's not quite alone anymore, since it's become something of the place where Jack has started storing sentimental things, though that wasn't quite his intent. He hesitates, but only briefly before he grabs the letters that Elizabeth had written for him. He looks between the two, the sighs as he picks up the crumpled one first. ]

So, uh— [ He starts awkwardly, since he's aware now that people could be watching him, which is... An odd realization to have. He looks up to the ceiling, though he doesn't even know where he'd be looking to look at-- Whoever could be watching. Jack shakes his head and looks back at the papers. ]

Look, kind of weird to just... talk. Knowing someone is maybe listening? Watching. Jesus. [ He frowns and shakes his head. ] And Rhys, if you're listening, since, who am I kidding, I know you are, just— Christ.

[ He runs a hand through his hair, then leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh. ]

Okay, look. I just know from- from the friggin' picture that I'm... I'm gonna get upset. So, I dunno. Don't... mention it. I have feelings, you said it's not weird, et cetera, just pointing this out because screw you.

[ he's sensitive, aubrey

Which is to say, Jack is rather defensive at the prospect of showing any kind of emotion he perceives as weakness where people might be watching. He makes a discontent noise, but opens the first, crumpled up letter to read it— ]

weeks 1 - 6

week 7 - the night jason skywalker became a jedi

week 7 - sunday night

a death in four parts, part one of four.

week 9 - wednesday morning

RHYS' ECHO DIARY

week 10 - friday evening (1/???)

1/3 i think