1.2.3 Whose fault is it anyway? (Patreon)

1.2.3 Ortega late night rescue, no minor variables added yet but a lot of banter. 4150 words of it.

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Why does this feel familiar? Stuck in a wheelchair, coming down from painkillers and struggling to keep hold of the thoughts around you? Look away, look away, look away or turn to stone. You don't care which, there's too many memories running adjacent to this experience. As the wheels roll you try to find a position that doesn't hurt. Find a way to breathe, even though you're nauseous with agony. You didn't tell Ortega you might need another dose, that would be admitting to weakness you're not sure you're comfortable with showing. 

Right now you regret it.

You should be used to pain by now, but your body still reacts. You never knew how good you had it 'growing up', coddled by the pain-gate turning agony to discomfort. You doubt the Farm truly knows what power it gives to their Re-Genes. The pain-gate allowed you to exercise will over your body's involuntary functions, to let you destroy yourself in measured intervals rather than collapse in protective shock. Did it make things worse on occasion? Yes, of course. Pain is there to protect your body from breaking further, but broken bodies can be fixed. Death is permanent.

*if gate >= 4

  Right? 

Did the pain-gate break with you against the hard asphalt below that room full of nightmares that was the Heartbreak Incident? Perhaps. Was it taken out or sabotaged while the Farm was stitching your broken body together afterwards? Equally likely. All you're certain of is that after the fall, you had to go through every agonizing breath afterwards. Local anesthesia can only go so farm and the blissful darkness of sleep was denied you. Were they afraid to put you under?

*if gate >= 4

  They were. And rightly so.

You've blanked out most of those first months, there was nothing there worth remembering, even in your nightmares. A second birth, more traumatic and painful than your first decanting. The farm. Your creators.

Did they put you back together wrong, all those years ago?

*fake_choice

  #They put me together wrong, this is their fault.

    *if motivation = "fate"

      They did something to you, of that you are sure. Put you together wrong. Set you on this path.

      It's only right they get to reap the whirlwind of ${villain_name}'s wrath.

    *else

      Did they put you back together wrong? Is this the Farm's fault? 

      Probably. $!{villain_name} is their creation, like it or not.  

  #No, they set me free, finally.

    *if motivation = "fate"

      They did something to you, alright. They set you free. Set you on this path. Birth is always painful, but you hold no gratitude for your cruel midwives.

      It's only right they get to reap the whirlwind of ${villain_name}'s wrath.

    *else

      The farm didn't do anything but set you free. Whatever bonds you had with your past were cut on that operating table, and what remained shriveled during the captivity afterwards. 

      The farm might have messed ${name} ${surname} up, but they set ${villain_name} free.  

  *selectable_if (motivation != "fate") #Maybe. I don't want to think about it.

    Maybe the Farm messed you up, but didn't they do that back when they decanted your mewling teenage form all those years ago? You try not to think about it. 

    What's the use? $!{villain_name} is here to stay.

  #The farm has nothing to do with this. This is all me.

    *if motivation = "fate"

      The Farm has nothing to do with this, this is fate. You were always meant to walk this path, you can feel the weight of inevitability with every step.

      ${!villain_name} was always your destiny.

    *else

      The Farm has nothing to do with this. They're a painful memory, an obstacle in your path. Nothing more. You've crafted ${villain_name} from past mistakes.

      Let nobody say you're not responsible where you go from here.   

"How are you doing down there?" Ortega's voice is light, but you know ${him} well enough to spot the cracks. "Holding it together?" 

"I'm literally stapled together, idiot." You can't help the snarl, your escape from the Ranger's Headquarters wasn't hard for someone with inside knowledge of the systems, but now you're outside and the street makes you feel naked and irritated. The Gucci hoodie covers your arms, and the rest of you is wrapped in blankets, but you still feel exposed. "Please tell me you've got a car."

"Did you think I'd strap you to the back of my bike?" Ortega pauses, waiting for you to give ${him} the all clear before crossing the road.

"No, but I don't think you'd be above handing me a rope and tow me behind it." You force your exhausted mind to scan the road. It's late, the traffic is sparse down here. You wait in the shadows for one to pass, then gestures to Ortega. "Go. Now."

"Hang on," Ortega says, not detailing how you're supposed to manage that feat. 

You do your best to help balance as Ortega sprints with you across the road, into the shadows on the other side. The curb makes you grunt in pain, but you keep down a scream. Good for you.

"Sorry," Ortega hisses, pausing as soon as you are hidden by the dark buildings. "Didn't think about that."

"Please tell me you thought of the cameras at least." Your breath is shallow as you try to stop your eyes from tearing up. "The backup power came on fast."

"Of course. The one on the back door was disabled before I went to your room."

"I know you looped the ones focuse on me, but the rest?" You know the corridors are filled with cameras. While the privacy act is keeping them off the street, there's no protections inside private buildings.

"They're not watched all the time so I left them running." A soft chuckle. "Jerome is on the nightshift, and I told him to focus on your room to the exclusion of everything else. If no alarms go off, there's no reason to look. There's a lot of them."

"So they recorded you going in." Sounds uncharacteristically sloppy.

"They recorded a big guy with his hood up. I needed to give them a suspect so they wouldn't think it was an inside job."

"But—"

"With the armored coat and hood I had on I looked bulkier than myself, and I know how to fake a mod-walk. They'd probably pin it on someone armored, or at least heavily modded. I dropped the gear in a compressed bag and hid it in a locker once I'd entered the looped area. Nobody should find it until I've got a chance to pick it up."

"So you thought of everything," you grumble. "The corridor cameras went out with the power so they wouldn't have seen us together. But what about the wide-range ones? The power was back by then."

"Been down since last week due to a privacy complaint. They caught too much of the street, and a concerned citizen reported us." 

"A concerned citizen?" You can't see Ortega's face, and ${his} mind is as unreadable as ever. You only have ${his} voice to go on. "You couldn't have planned for this back then."

"What makes you think it was me?" A soft laugh as ${he} carefully rolls you down the alley.

"Because you sound too smug not to have done it."

"Well, there are many reasons I don't want too many cameras around the HQ. Not all of them are about you."

*fake_choice

  #"Fine. It's your ass on the line."  

    "Fine," you say with a tired sigh. "It's your ass on the line."

  #"You need too stop taking stupid risks like this."

    "You need to stop taking stupid risks like this," you say with a tired sigh. "Your luck won't last forever."

  #"Oh well, old ${ortega_gender}, keep your secrets."

    "Oh well, old ${ortega_gender, keep your secrets." Not like ${he}'s going to share them. Not now.

    "Hey, you could at least have asked what I was up to?" A disappointed complaint.

    "It's no longer my business," you say with a tired sigh. "You do you."

"And this time you won't be around to bail me out, is that what you're saying?" Ortega chuckles.

"Yes. You need to understand that. Everyone knows I'm ${villain_name}, you can't just pretend that didn't happen."

That shuts ${him} up, and you roll the rest of the way in silence. It's not far, thankfully, because this wheelchair is not made for use outdoors. Down the alley a nice van is parked, with the logo of a local plumbing company on the side.

*if mustache

  "Really?" You can't stifle a laugh, which hurts like hell. 

  "Thought you'd apprechiate it." $!{he} strokes ${his} mustache with a wink before pulling open the doors for you.

*else

  "Your carriage awaits." $!{he} sketches a bow as ${he} pulls the doors open for you. 

"Does that mean I'm the princess in this scenario?" You look up at the dark interior, with neatly stacked equipment in shelves along the walls. "Don't tell me you're about to lift me up there, you're almost as messed up as me."

"I could," ${he} protests as ${he} climbs into the van. "But they have a ramp to get the heavy stuff out." There's a small amount of grunting and swears, and a small aluminum ramp slides out and hooks into the floor. "There."

"Did you steal this?" You thought it might have been fake signs on the sides, but this looks like the real deal.

"No." Ortega walks out and grabs the handles of your Wheelchair. It's made to be rolled, not to be used on your own, so you're grateful for the help. "Borrowed it from a guy who does this for a living. And don't worry, he knows better than to ask any questions."

"Really?" You brace yourself as Ortega pushes, the ramp is steep but you make it up alright. "You certainly got friends everywhere."

"Well, you know me." $!{he} wipes ${his} hands, and then rolls you over to the back end. There are straps there, and looking at the locking mechanism on the floor you suppose it might have been to strap in some kind of heavy thing. You're not sure what it can be, judging from the interior of the van, plumbers have some heavy duty tools.  

"You need to drive carefully," you caution as ${he} secures the wheelchair to the wall. "This thing doesn't come with seatbelts, and I don't think I'd survive another crash."

"I will." A serious look passes over Ortega's face as ${he} hunches down before you. There's a thin sheen of sweat on ${his] forehead, and you remember that ${he} was part of the same crash as you were. How many painkillers are running through ${his} system? "Where do you want me to drive you?"

"I'm not going to lead you to my base." You give ${him} a deadpan look.

"Do you really think I would turn you in? After this?"

*fake_choice

  #"Yes, the moment I did something you disapproved of."

    "Yes." Your voice is hard. "The moment I did something that didn't fit your particular morals. I am not taking that risk."

    "I wouldn't," Ortega protests, but you can see that ${he} knows it's hopeless. "But it's your call."

  #"It's not about that, I don't want you involved."

    "It's not about that," you say with a groan. Trust Ortega to make this about ${him}self. "I don't want you involved."

    "That much is clear," ${he} retorts, looking slightly hurt. "But I guess it's your call to make."

  #"I am not dragging you down with me. This is my mess."

    "I'm not dragging you down with me," you say sharply. "This is my mess. Not yours." 

    "You don't need to protect me," Ortega protests. "I can take care of myself." You long eyes, and it takes a full thirty second before ${he} relents and look away. "But it's your call, I guess."

"Damn right it is." You fumble in your pocket for the burner phone. "Be honest with me, is this bugged?" You can't trust the words, but maybe the reaction.

"No," ${he} say, looking tired enough for it to be the truth. "You know I have a hard time not messing those up. Especially ina  state like this."

"That matters little when you're in diagnostic mode," you say, because there's no way he wouldn't be kept in that low-power mode for at least a week after a crash like this.

"True," ${he} admits. "But I'm not. You think I'd break you out limping around with barely enough power to move? Dragging around a siphon cord?"

*if ortega_power_info

  "What the hell did they put in you?" You're not worried, your voice is raised for other reasons. "I know you've been upgraded, but why would you need a siphon cord?" A generator of some sort is the only answer, not only batteries.

  "That's not the point," Ortega evades. "I just—"

"I know you like to risk your life, but this is stupid, even for you. How much pressure are you putting on your nervous system? How drugged up are you, really?"

"Don't preach to me, ${nickname}. You're as bad as I am, and the longer we stand here arguing, the worse it will be for both of us."

"Fine." You let out a frustrated huff. "I'll take your word on the phone, now get me out of here."

"Alright." Ortega's smile says that ${he} thinks ${he}'s won this discussion, but you don't have time for an argument.

$!{he} gently closes the door behind ${him}, leaving you in the semi-darkness of the interior lights. You wait until the engine starts rumbling, then pick up the phone. 

*gosub henchcall

Unlike normally, Ortega drives the van carefully, with no sudden stops or turns. It gives you time to look around the back, wondering what...

"You okay back there?" Ortega's raspy voice makes you jerk around, which makes your ribs hurt and you course out loudly. "Guess not," ${he} chuckles. "Where do you want to go?"

"What the..." It takes you a moment to locate the speakers, and another to activate the small screen next to it. Interesting equipment for a plumber's van, but you suppose that's the kind of friends Ortega has. It allows you a view out the front of the van, highly illegal. Interesting.

You push the button to speak, leaning closer to it.

*fake_choice

  #"Thank you for nearly giving me a heart attack, asshole."

    "Thank you for nearly giving me a heart attack, asshole." You can still feel the adrenaline, and you pulled something in your ribs. Again.

    "Sorry. I forgot." Ortega doesn't sound repentant at all. "But the question stands. Where do you want me to go?"  

  #"Looks like you've borrowed the Mario spy van."

    "Looks like you've borrowed the Mario spy van." Definitely not a regular van, probably some vigilante's stake-out van. 

    "Not going to pick you up in a regular one," Ortega says, and you can hear the annoyance in ${his} voice. "If you're telling the truth, there's a chance we might have unfriendly company."

    "So you decided to be prepared." You don't know whether to be amused or relieved. "Is it bulletproof?"

    "Of course." $!{he} chuckles. "Now where do you want me to go?"

  #"Any sign of being followed?"

    "Any sign of being followed?" You can't be too careful.

    "Not so far," Ortega pauses, most likely checking the mirrors. "I think we're as clean as we're going to get. Where do you want me to take you?"

"Head towards old Jefferson Park," you say, trying to find a comfortable position. "I'll tell you where to go once we get close."

"Got it." The van speeds up slightly as you hit a larger road, but Ortega is true to ${his} word and drives as gently as ${he} was transporting a cracked egg. Or nitroglycerin. Technically you could be considered both.

Thankfully ${he} doesn't try to keep up the conversation, at least nothing beyond exchanging instructions as you  drive closer to your target. $!{he} ease the van into the alley you choose, driving as deep as ${he} can to get out of sight from the road. Then the car stops, and the doors open.

$!{swear}. From the look on ${his} face, a discussion is to be had.

*fake_choice

  #"No, we're not talking about this." I cross my arms.

    "No," you say sternly before Ortega can open ${his} mouth. "We are not talking about this."

    "What makes you think I wanted to?" $!{he} doesn't look at you, instead ${he} starts undoing the restraints around your wheelchair.

    "The look on your face." You cross your arms, and try not to wince as you do it. "Hurry up, I want you out of here before my ride arrives."

  #"What?" I give ${him} a long look.

    "What?" You give Ortega a long look.

    "Nothing," ${he} lies, and begins to free your wheelchair from its restraints.

    "If you want to say something you don't have long. I want you out of here before my ride arrives."

  #"You have exactly five minutes to get to the point."

    "You have exactly five minutes to get to the point," you say, crossing your arms with a wince.

    "Neither of us is wearing a watch," Ortega points out and starts to free your wheelchair from the restraints.

    "You know what I mean. We won't have long, and I want you out of here before my ride arrives."

"I think I should stay." Ortega's voice is low, but there's no mistaking the tension in the words. "Just until whoever it is has picked you up."

"You really want to see who I am working with so bad?"

"No, I want to make sure you're safe, is that so hard to understand?"

*if cro

  "Says the one who nearly killed us both in that crash." You raise your voice. "Don't think you've done enough?"

  "I made a mistake, alright?" There's a look of desperation on Ortega's face you're not used to. "I've mad a lot of them. I want to try to make up for some."

  "Then do that by listening to me," you plead. "For once."

*elseif cra

  "You're a walking magnet for trouble." You raise your voice. "Don't think I'm safer without you hanging around? We nearly died in that crash."

  "It wasn't my fault." There's a look of desperation on Ortega's face you're not used to. "I just want to make sure nothing bad happens."

  "Then do that by listening to me and staying away," you plead. "For once."

*else

  "Why?" You raise your voice. "I nearly killed you in that crash. I've put you in the hospital twice by now."

  "You're not even in the top five of my regular opponents there." The joke tastes of desperation, and Ortega is not smiling. "I need to make sure you're safe."

  "You can't," you plead. "Please for once in your life, listen to me and stay away."

"I can't." $!{he} looks down, walking over to the edge of the van and sitting down. "I've lost you once already, I won't have that happening again."

*fake_choice

  #"It's not your choice." I swallow hard and blink my eyes.

    "It's not your choice." You swallow the clump in your throat and blink, trying to stop your eyes from betraying you. "You need to realize that."

    "Fuck." Ortega spits the word, but not in your direction. Hard and sharp and with nothing of ${his} usual rambling amusement. "Is that what we've come to."

    "Yes." You feel so tired. So does ${he} from the look of it.

  #"Are you trying to make up for not saving me back then?"

    "Are you trying to make up for not saving me back then?" The thought is intolerable, partly because wasn't that your dream for so long? Ortega riding on a white horse, saving you from the hell you've landed in? A dream. How dare ${he} try to make it a reality. "Don't bother."

    "You can't just say that," Ortega protests. "That's not your choice."

    "It is." You feel so tired. So does ${he} from the look of it. "At least if you want to be better than them."

  #"You're not losing me," I say softly. "You're letting me go."

    "You're not losing me," you say softly. "You're letting me go."

    "Maybe I don't want to." But Ortega doesn't turn around, and the protest is as soft as your words. Almost sad. "You get that, right?"

    "It doesn't matter." You feel so tired. So does ${he} from the look of it. "It is what it is."

"So this is it then." $!{he} slips off the edge and starts to assemble the ramp.

"What else could it be?" You smile grimly into the pain. There's enough in your body to distract from anything else. "You know who I am now. What I am. What I have been doing."

"I don't have amnesia, I remember." $!{he} walks up and grabs the handles of your wheelchair, guiding you down into the alley. "And I still broke you out."

"Thank you for that." The words slip out before you can stop them, causing Ortega to chuckle bitterly.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe things have changed." $!{he} pulls the ramp back up, and closes the door. "Or maybe we both need some time to think about this."

"I have been thinking about this for the last five years," you whisper. "You were never part of that equation, and I wish you would stay away long enough to do my job."

"You don't mean that." Ortega looks at you, a shadow in the dark alley.

*fake_choice

  #"I do." I stare ${him} down.

    "I do," you say, locking eyes with Ortega. It's rare enough to have the effect you want to, and ${he} looks away first. "Don't drag this out. I'll be safe until my ride arrives."

    "I'm going to hold you to that." Ortega's shoulders have slumped, and you know you've won the argument. "But this isn't over."

    "It is. Just go." You gesture towards the van. "And don't try to follow, I might not be able to read your mind, but my friends got ways to make sure we're alone."

  #"Whatever you and I feel don't factor into it." I sigh.

    "Whatever you and I feel don't factor into it," you say with a sigh. "I'll be safe until my ride arrives, you don't have to stick around."

    "I'll hold you to that." Ortega's shoulders have slumped, and you know you've won the argument. "Please, stay safe."

    "I will. And don't stick around to spy," you gesture at the van. "I might not be able to read your mind, but my friends got ways to make sure we're alone."

  #"Just go," I plead. 

    "Jus go," you plead. "Don't make this harder than it is."

    "But that's my thing," Ortega smiles softly, but the slump of ${his} shoulders tells you that ${he} knows ${he}'s losing the fight. "I complicate things."

    "Please. Not this time." You clench your jaw and points at the van. "I'll be fine. Just leave and don't stick around to spy. I might not be able to read your mind, but my friends got ways to make sure we're alone."

"We'll pick this up later." $!{he} opens the door to the driver's compartment.

"No we won't," you say, making the words as decisive as you can. "Now go."

And to your surprise, ${he} actually does. The door shuts, and the engine starts, and the van starts rolling down the alley. You refuse to look away until it's rounded the corner and is gone.

Silence.

Now all you have to do is wait.

*goto fusedpickup