Chapter Text
“This is a thing of goddamn beauty.”
At fifteen feet tall, reinforced by titanium, fitted with a rockin’ set of shields, and capable of spawning badass tier loaders, the latest in Hyperion’s Constructor technology was exactly that. Friggin’ beautiful. It was a goddamn shame that it was hidden away from public view, situated in the yard of the Friendship Gulag where it was projecting a fantastic light show, running diagnostics on its array of lasers and whirring through flawless programming. The beast of a machine was gorgeous, deadly, and perfect for its eventual purpose.
Watching from the enclosed space of a nearby tower, Handsome Jack stood with his arms crossed, sporting a grin that had already begun to hurt. Having had his mind abuzz with constant calculations the last few weeks — barking constant orders, quadruple-checking lists, and herding the cats that were his incompetent employees — he was content to steal the moment just to watch his latest success run its tests. The W4R-D3N was far from his favourite machine, but it was an essential pawn in a line up for a game he’d been plotting for the last two years, and everything was finally falling into place. A friggin’ victory in its own right.
“It’s a bot,” a voice grunted from behind him.
Jack stiffened, fingers tugging creases in his jacket. He tempered his ire, determined not to let her bullshit get the better of him; this was part of his triumph, his magnum opus. His goddamn purpose. He wouldn’t allow her indifference nor the sting of rejection from someone with whom he once shared long, warm nights to deny something of such great importance.
“It’s not about the bot,” he conceded, huffing.
“Right. Your master plan. I dunno, Jacky. Seems a bit overkill.” A hand smoothed along the shoulders of his jacket, and the gunslinger at his side tugged her duster back to press against him. His lip curled with a snarl, but despite himself, he couldn’t help leaning into the warmth of her body, feeling a swell of heat within his own. “For a couple of Vault Hunters? How do you know they’ll even make it this far?”
“They will. I hand picked these ones myself,” Jack lied, his gaze descending to her neck with interest.
“Well,” Nisha snorted. She discarded a cigarette onto the floor to snuff out beneath her boot. “In that case.”
The acid tang in the corners of Jack’s jaw was strong; he swallowed it back and bit down.
“Maybe send them out to me at Lynchwood as a treat,” she hummed. “We’ll see if your hunters are worth their mettle.”
“Yeah huh. I’ll be sure to do that.”
Nisha turned, swivelling her hips as she slipped by Jack. He again huffed his irritation, but reached an arm for her waist, ducking for her mouth.
His hand greeted empty air, forcing him to stumble; he was left blinking in outrage as she swept toward the door. She did not even seem to notice his attempt for a hug, leaving him stunned and pissed without so much as a good-bye. Each fading clink of her spurs grated on Jack’s last nerve.
“Neesh,” he complained in a bark.
“Sorry, love. Got a helo’ to catch.”
“This is a big day for me,” Jack growled.
“You’ve had a lot of big days,” she retorted.
“Baby—”
“Listen, Jacky,” she interrupted his warning with a sigh, pressing fingers to the bridge of her nose in a manner that shot a lance through Jack’s chest. “I’ve got things to take care of. I’m sorry I don’t have time for your insatiable appetites right now. Some other time, love.”
Naturally, Jack opened his mouth to argue, tempted by a slew of insults and threats. His enthusiasm ebbed just after she disappeared past the threshold. Clenching his fists, he glared at the abandoned doorway, then turned his gaze back to the constructor outside.
Minutes passed as Jack nearly chewed his tongue in half. A feeling had already taken root, burning and niggling its way through him; he cursed, stabbed at his wristwatch to lock the door from afar, then snapped his belt buckle free.
Jack was a man of extremes. Perhaps not in his youth, and perhaps not without the corruption of that alien artefact leaking into his skull, but he had little control over the rush of hormones that sometimes inundated his system. His was a pendulum that swung wild, undulating between rage, obsession, and on occasion, lust. He had not looked into mitigating the effects, beneficial as they proved to be, although every once in a while they inclined toward inconvenience.
This was one of those unfortunate moments. It was a dry and labourious process to begin, before Jack managed to remember the little bottle in his breast pocket. He dropped to one knee, his free hand planted on a computer console for balance, and squeezed his eyes shut in concentration.
Even with the slick glide of his warm and broad palm, the pressure mounting between his hips with every tugging stroke, Jack took little personal pleasure in the act. It was wholly carnal, that alien demand that gripped him by the balls and screamed for release. When the match was struck, Jack could only fan the flame with urgent exhalations until it caught, flourished, and erupted, its fuel spent. Only then was that oppressive voice quieted, appeased but for the rest of his deranged goals.
Of course, for a man of such lofty importance, his day was not his own. Not only did his grand plan demand attention, but so too did the rattle of notifications on his wrist, and an abrupt knock on the door.
“Christ,” Jack cursed, opening an eye to pay the door a glance, annoyed by the interruption but appeased that it hadn’t slid open. Handsome Jack would not be caught with his cock in his hand unless he planned on it. “What?”
“Sir,” the reply came — familiar and hurried. “One of our facilities is being attacked.”
“And!?”
“Its location restricts moon shot usage, and there are limited resources onsite. I am requesting to handle it myself.”
“What? No! Goddamn it.”
Jack rose, tucking himself into the uncomfortable confines of his jeans. He made a face, irritated by the dissatisfied thrum in his balls and skull both. When he threw the door open, he was greeted by an opaque visor. The soldier in yellow and faded black stood at attention, annoyingly rigid and devout.
“The hell do you mean, it restricts moon shots?” Jack growled.
“Station fifteen thirty-six,” he explained, like that meant anything. “It’s situated in an underground cavern, sir. Bots would have to cross a fair amount of terrain to make it. I, however—”
“Yes, you’re proficient and eager to please,” Jack rolled his eyes. “Who’s attacking?”
“Bandits. Difficult to say how many, considering we only have an older surveillance system available.” He offered a datapad streaming black and white footage of the outside of the facility. Jack eyed the spinning emergency lights with a thin frown.
“...how far out?”
“One fast travel jump and a thirty minute drive. I can be there and back in a little over an hour.”
“We.”
He stiffened, lowering the datapad. “Sir?”
“I’m pent up, hot stuff,” Jack grunted, giving his crotch a squeeze — a gesture that the other man pretended not to see. “I wouldn’t mind getting back into the action for once.”
“That—” he paused, visibly flustered despite his visor. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”
“Timothy…”
Jack slid his sneaker into the soldier’s space, reaching forward to grab the leather strap under his throat.
“Jump.”
His throat bobbed. His knees flexed.
“How high, sir?”
A grin slid across Jack’s face; he dropped his hand to pat him on the shoulder.
“Good boy. Now. Get the goddamn rig.”
By the time they arrived in the curving canyon preceding the base, Jack’s motivational fury had tempered to mere frustration. While he did not regret his decision to join his body double, the trip had degraded from conquest status to mere pest control. His compulsions had eased, those dozens of reminders were stacking up in his inbox, and the strict timeline of his objectives hounded the back of his mind. His only relief came from the knowledge that his daughter, Angel, had it all under control, well aware of the details of his plan.
But still.
“This…” Jack hissed, scrubbing fingers through his wind mangled hair. “Is ill. Friggin’. Timed.”
“What?” Timothy shouted over the roar of the technical, engaged with the vehicle’s fitful steering column. He attempted a hasty glance over in question, which Jack dissuaded with a wave of the pistol in his hand.
“Just drive,” he barked. “Get us there now.”
“Yessir.”
His watch continued its mad vibrations, assaulted by endless pings. He did not need to read them to know what they were: messages of confusion, requesting clarification on postponement of plans, reminders for time sensitive updates, and simple questions of where did Jack go? Interspersed between them were near-constant alarms, warnings triggered from the old Hyperion outpost — one of the many former Atlas stations he’d had repurposed in his methodical removal of the now defunct company’s presence on Pandora and was now racing towards.
This wasn’t a crucial facility. It wasn’t even manned, beyond the handful of bots and turrets they’d installed some months back. Like others of its kind, it was filled with old data that Atlas had been kind enough to abandon when they’d been wiped off the planet. Stockpiles of information, which was the only reason it hadn’t been looted yet; data wasn’t as tantalizing to bandits as a nice cache of guns, because they were freakin’ morons whose ambitions of success did not spread very far past the little green arrows on a stats screen.
Jack understood the true value of data, especially the kind that was encrypted and hoarded away in some secretive location. While he had an army of techs on hand for this very reason, there also happened to be a shit ton of these facilities, and the bandit populace local to this corner of The Dust was plentiful, so it had gone ignored for a time.
Until, that is, those bandit fuck faces decided to mess with Jack’s stuff.
When they rounded the bend and began the approach of a massive cavern descending into Pandora’s depths, Jack tightened his grip around his pistol. The air was cooler inside, slipping over him in a discomfiting chill. Timothy flipped on the headlights, lighting up the vast space as they proceeded into its depths. There was a road here, albeit old and unmaintained. Well used regardless, much to Jack’s disdain. He made a mental note to hasten the priority of the facility once they returned to the surface.
After ten minutes of winding through tunnels, the building came into view. Their approach was quiet, the only sound the rumble of the technical’s engine and the crunch of its tires as Timothy pulled it within range of the facility. The building itself was constructed into the side of the cave, built to seem nondescript. Even the Atlas logo wasn’t prominent, bearing the appearance of a mining operation rather than a database. Its facade was structured with concrete and fading red steel, and the yard out front bore a few technicals, all abandoned and stripped for parts. Beyond that—
“The shit?”
There had been carnage, as he had expected. The base’s allotment of Loader bots were strewn across the ground in various pieces. Multiple bandit corpses littered the expanse outside the facility. Most noticeable, however, were the doors leading to the facility itself. The massive, reinforced bulk of the garage doors and the side entry were all sealed shut.
Jack climbed out of the vehicle to study the scene. His gaze hung on the doors and the rotating emergency lights above them, then fell to the nearest bandit. He used his sneaker to kick at the disturbed tread of a tire track in the dirt.
“They left,” Timothy observed.
“In a hurry,” Jack grumbled. “How many bots you counting?”
“All of them.”
“Yeah.”
“They couldn’t breach the doors, so they ditched,” Timothy concluded.
“Nah.” Jack strode to the technical and retrieved Tim’s datapad. He crossed to the set of stairs leading to a side door, then hooked the device into the interface that presented at his proximity. Once the panel chirped its progress, running through his hacking software, he pointed upward. “Those lights only trigger if the bay doors have been opened. Someone’s gotten inside.”
Timothy tilted his head back and uttered a small ‘huh’ that Jack ignored. The sound of his inventory digistructor booting up was a sufficient reply; Jack paid him a quick glance to confirm a submachine gun had been drawn into his grip.
The device in his hands chimed. The access door clicked open.
“Wait here while I check inside, sir.”
“And miss all the fun?” Jack scoffed. He pressed past, a defiant hand shoving his double’s shoulder. “One side, cupcake.”
He took a meagre step only to pause, sifting past the sounds of machinery reverberating inside to turn his attention to the cave behind him.
“You hear that?” he hissed.
Timothy tilted his head. “Rigs inbound.”
It was distant. The roar of an engine, maybe several, closing in on their vulnerable position.
“Better get to work then, sweetheart,” Jack winked. “I’ll hold down the fort.”
He slipped inside and shut the door behind him with a dull clong, leaving Tim to his job. Slipping the datapad into his pocket, he drew his gun again and surveyed the room.
A short catwalk extended from the doorway and descended into the expansive space of the garage. There were a few technicals in the bays, all in various states of disrepair. An engine was suspended from chains above one, swaying in some sourceless draft. The second was less of a lost cause, with jumper cables still hooked up. Jack studied them before turning his gaze to the back of the room, where there were a series of consoles in front of dirty, bulletproof glass glinting in the dim light. Beside them was a set of doors that would lead deeper into the facility.
Aside from the general hum of the consoles, all was quiet. Jack scanned the dusty floor, spying a set of foot prints that appeared, clustered around the second technical, then disappeared again at the opposite ramp. He eyed the jumper cables a second time and advanced.
His gun led the way, dipping with each potential hiding space and obstacle he passed. His search was methodical at first, cautious, but was disrupted by a sudden burst of gunfire outside the facility. There was a thunderous boom that shook the place, troubling under the weight of the mountain above them, causing the lights to flicker overhead. Though dulled by the thick steel cocoon around him, the explosion was enough to propel him along at a renewed pace, if only to reach the back rooms for an additional level of security.
As Jack rounded the consoles in the flash of darkness, however, he collided with something that had unexpected give. He prevented his own fall with a hand snapping down onto the console, and when his gaze dropped down to find someone else’s looking back, he froze.
“What the shit?”
Horror filled the visage of a lankier, younger man. When he spoke, it laced his trembling voice.
“…Jack?”
Instead of some wounded bandit, the man on the floor was of typical corporate stock, dressed in fine clothes inappropriate for Pandora and now rumpled by her embrace. There was a dusting of greys at his temples despite Jack’s guesstimation of his age at around mid-thirties, and his pretty little mug was muddled by a look of terror for having recognized who was standing over him. Jack must have knocked him onto the floor, still hovering over his prone frame, only a cybernetic arm raised between them.
Although not surprising that he knew who Jack was, his horrified expression at the sight of him was somehow peculiar. Jack simply didn’t recall having menaced him in the past.
His gaze then flickered in suspicion to the “A” shaped belt buckle between his hips.
“Heya, Atlas.”
“Atlas,” he parroted. His eyes followed Jack’s down to his belt in understanding, going wide.
“Didn’t expect this,” Jack sneered.
“No,” he blurted, like the predictable idiot he appeared to be, still holding his arm aloft.
Jack lurched forward, reaching for his collar to scruff the kiddo. It wasn’t until he felt the brush of steel under his chin that he realized with a belated punch that there was a gun attached to the prosthesis now aimed at his head.
An audible click punctuated the silence of the room, followed by a deafening crack. Jack’s shield shattered. His head jerked back with the impact, his gaze lost and mind swimming. In his daze, his instincts took over, pressing past the ringing in his ears and the panicked klaxon of his shield; he snatched the prosthetic arm and jerked it upright before the trigger could again be pulled. The gun fired into the ceiling high above, but the second shot still managed to leave them both disoriented.
In their flailing, Jack dropped his weight, straddling the man to pin him to the floor. He grasped his metal wrist in one hand, shoving it against the concrete, then caught his throat in the other, holding fast until the tinnitus could clear. His shield was quick to recharge, a reassuring hum of energy across his flesh, and although it had held up against the first bullet, the underside of his chin still throbbed its complaints, which would be purpled with a bruise before long.
“Ohhhoho, kiddo,” Jack sniggered through bared teeth. “You brave little shit.”
“Ja—” he choked, cut off by Jack’s grasp.
Jack wrenched his forearm into an awkward upright twist to examine the gun. Upon confirming that, yeah, that tiny tube on it was the barrel, his grin lengthened. Kiddo’s expression soured, intermingling beautifully with his fear.
“What’s this piddly ass prototype?” Jack snorted. “I don’t remember approving this.”
“You didn’t!” he snapped, recoiling under Jack’s rebuking glance. His gaze fled elsewhere, in distracted panic. “This… this isn’t right.”
“Didn’t expect to get caught sniffin’ around, huh?”
“What? No. I…”
A quick jerk of the prosthetic arm did not relinquish its hold on the pistol; he had to slam it hard into the floor several times before the hand snapped wide. Most notably, the third instance that the sleek gadget was smashed into concrete, when its digits crunched and scraped against the hard surface, the man winced with visible pain. He dropped the pistol, and Jack struck it with his knee, knocking it from reach.
“Right,” he sank back, his hair askew as he panted to catch his breath. “Let’s chat, kiddo.”
“Not a kid,” he hissed back.
“Pff. Sure thing, baby face,” Jack grasped his chin to give his head a wiggle, laughing when he jerked free. “The ‘stache supposed to make you look older than you are? Cuz it ain’t working.”
Granted, he wasn’t super young, but hell if Jack was going to take him seriously because he could grow some awful facial hair. Kiddo opened his mouth to snap back, some defensive insult in return, but wavered. He prodded his moustache with a frown, brows furrowed; Jack watched with considerable interest that he seemed to be considering his jab.
“How did you get in here?” Jack nudged, eyeing his cybernetic arm. “Old Atlas creds?”
“N-no.”
“Good,” Jack grunted. “I would’ve had to dispense with a couple of my tech guys. So then—”
When his wrist watch vibrated, he seethed, releasing Kiddo to link with Timothy’s comm.
“What now?”
“More enemies inbound,” his voice hummed through, clipped and hurried. “Getting a little overwhelmed out here. You might want to get your head down.”
“Fffff—ine.”
Jack shuffled back a few inches and began to pat Kiddo down, indulging very briefly in the shape of his hips before moving down his thighs. When Kiddo attempted to grab Jack’s wrists, he had his hands smacked away, wisely deciding not to try again.
“Just checking for any more surprises,” Jack explained. “Where the hell is your inventory device?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Hah. Wow. Came real prepared, didn’t you?”
Appeased that he seemed harmless, Jack rose, hopping over to collect the discarded pistol before he scanned the room.
“There’s a small army of bandits on their way. Let’s put another blast door between us and them, shall we?”
An explosion rocked the room. Rock debris fell in ribbons from above; Jack instinctively ducked, glancing toward the access door. It no longer stood in its frame, blown clear off its hinges, but luckily the cacophony of its loss was enough to propel Kiddo off the floor.
“Smart thinking, dipshit,” Jack chided as the pair sprinted for the back of the room. Their footsteps echoed in dull tong, tong, tongs off the metal ramp.
“Is it?” he scoffed. “Pretty sure I’ll end up riddled with bullets either way.”
Displeased with the lag in Kiddo’s step, Jack hooked an arm around his shoulders to pull him along, enjoying the irritation that crossed his face. “Sure, but my way will be fun.”
In a moment of obnoxious stupidity, Kiddo resisted. He slid to a stop, yanking himself free. Jack turned to retrieve the pain in the ass, his grin twisting back into a snarl.
“I’m not kidding, dickhead, we do not have time for this.”
He latched onto his metal wrist and pulled, only for it to be snatched back out of his grip, so quickly that it forced him into a stumble. Despite the growing din of gunfire approaching them, Jack stopped dead, lingering in his disbelief to consult the man staring back at him with wide eyes.
“I—” Kiddo winced, holding his prosthesis against his chest. “That’s mine.”
“Uh.” Jack’s mind skipped. Friggin’ what? “Yeah.”
“You can’t use it.”
“What?” Jack balked. “I wasn’t trying to use it. How would—”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, shivering with impatient rage.
“Are you freaking serious? C’mon, you little brat, move.”
He ignored whatever obsession Kiddo had with his arm to step forward and clap a hand onto his back, directing him along behind a short wall of computer consoles. Kiddo followed, ducking lower when a fresh volley of shots singed the walls behind them.
“Into the hallway. Go.”
Jack chanced a look over his shoulder as they moved from cover. A handful of bandits had entered the garage, spreading out between the vehicles. Their gunfire was scattered, Tediore crap spraying wild. However, a lone psycho sprinted through the pack, its buzzsaw axe waving overhead as it started up the catwalks.
Freaking awesome.
Kiddo reached the doors before him, shoving through the narrow gap that was slow to spread. Jack slipped through sideways, pausing under the partial cover to lift his pistol and fire. The round struck the psycho through its mask, plastic splintering, and put a hard stop to his charge toward them. With a little more breathing room, Jack trailed Kiddo into the hallway and sought out the panel to his right. Growling at its still-booting interface, he eased back and stabbed his watch, an eye on the advancing pack of bandits.
“You good out there, hot stuff?” he barked.
“Almost clear,” Tim chirped back. “I’ll get to you soon. Get your head down, Jack. They’ve got lots of—”
Another explosion outside preceded a blur of motion through the slit in the doors. Jack consulted the rolling grenade before he turned and snagged Kiddo by the collar to thrust him further down the hallway. They made it all of two steps before the grenade erupted behind them.
Jack was deafened by a sudden static crack. Spidering jolts of heat struck his shoulders and spine, met with mutual sizzling disdain from his shield. The searing prods forced him forward; he was shoved into Kiddo and the two fell in a heap on the floor. Jack snaked his hand to Kiddo’s head and pushed it down, his shield doing the work of eating up each assault. By sheer luck, and Hyperion ingenuity, it managed to outlast the bullshit Maliwan grenade’s performance, but only just, its clinging warmth shattering shortly after the electrical bursts shunted out.
He shuddered, shoulders throbbing where each arc had attempted to stab through to his flesh. It left him momentarily stunned, until Kiddo began wriggling beneath him, reaching back to free himself from where Jack’s hand still pressed his head to the floor. With Jack still regaining his senses, Kiddo managed to turn underneath him, but Jack merely moved his hand to his front to keep him in place.
“Get off,” he hissed, blood staining his lips.
“Stay down and shut up,” Jack instructed. “They might—”
“Jack, please, get off of me!”
The terror in his plea caught Jack’s attention; he dropped his gaze. Kiddo’s chest rose and fell under his palm at a rapid rate. Blood was smeared across his lips. His eyes were wide but focused. Given the emergency, his reaction would be typical of most well dressed corporate tools — his attention, however, was devoted not to the ruckus down the corridor, but directly to Jack. His bio-hand had found and gripped Jack’s wrist, tugging to ease the weight off his arm.
Kiddo was scared.
Jack blinked. Yeah. Atlas fodder, snooping around his turf? There would be hell to pay. He had a reason to be afraid.
And yet this…was not that.
Moving slowly, Jack slicked his hand over the prosthetic jammed between them. Kiddo twitched as expected, unable to protect his precious arm. It submitted to the gentle prod of Jack’s thumb, as he studied its magnetized ball joints, its crimson design. The way Kiddo winced with every brush of the metal. He turned his focus to Kiddo’s gaze, honing in on one dazzling blue iris.
“Panel on the wall,” Jack breathed.
Kiddo’s gaze darted to the interface by the door and back. He said nothing. Did nothing, too. Jack stroked a thumb next to his sparkling eye, giving a hum.
“I mean, it’s your funeral.”
“Ours.”
“Nah. I’ve got both of the guns, remember?”
“Hell.”
His hand emitted a soft whirring, light glowed between them, but Kiddo didn’t even look at the panel. The doors slammed shut, lock clunking, and all the while he maintained Jack’s fierce eye contact.
“Good choice, sweet stuff,” Jack grinned. “Don’t worry; my right hand man out there will clean up in no time.”
“Right hand man…?” Kiddo frowned.
“In the meantime,” Jack interrupted, bending forward to murmur into Kiddo’s ear. “It’s just you and me. So why don’t we get better acquainted?”
Deeper inside the facility was a dusty server room, still humming along. Despite the years of abandonment that had passed, it was in decent condition, tended by a few mindless bots that zipped by on overhead tracking. The temperature was kept at a constant twenty degrees, the servers themselves maintained by a reliable water source. That the structure was built into the side of the mountain was beginning to make sense, no doubt taking advantage of some underground aquifer or cave system, its longevity a surprise. The real inconvenience was the location, tucked away at the edge of their communications systems, but not out of reach of some nearby bandit camp. He was running the mental calculations of the facility’s usefulness against the cost of upgrading her security when he heard Timothy clear his throat.
Jack stood at a set of windows overlooking the server room, in a control centre lined in part with consoles. Timothy had dealt with the bandits more quickly than expected, rejoining Jack before he could get too far with Kiddo. He stood off to the side, still clad in his armour and helmet, having dutifully connected to the server consoles with his datapad. It rested on a wheeled cart, amongst a number of implementations he had collected under Jack’s orders. With his tasks completed, he looked at Jack in expectation, posture rigid and chin up, ready for his next orders.
Good boy.
There was some remnant dust on Jack’s lapel, presumably from the series of tumbles they had endured in their ordeal. He gave it a casual swat, brushing it away and setting his jacket straight as he turned to consult Kiddo where he was seated and glowering at him from the middle of the small space.
“You know, you don’t look half bad with that fuzzy caterpillar gone.”
The comment earned Jack a sharp look, the younger man bitter regarding the fresh set of stitches in his lip. His fall had left a mark, but between the clean slice and Timothy’s skills with a needle, he wouldn’t have to worry about a scar. If he lasted that long, anyway.
“It wouldn’t have been necessary if you had given me a damn health kit.”
“Trust me, kiddo. It was entirely necessary,” Jack snickered, his eyes narrowing. “‘sides. You really think I’m gonna waste an Anshin on you?”
Jack moved closer, compelled by some strange desire to slip his fingers into Kiddo’s hair to trace them across his scalp. Kiddo jerked his head in evasion; Jack countered his defiance by snagging his hair tight, a flash of rage in his chest. His smirk contorted into a snarl as he leaned in and pinned him back in his chair, the younger man cowering under the press of his bulk.
And there it was. That hint of fear. Of understanding. Though he initially seemed to resist the implications of having been placed in that chair, Jack’s presence was enough to nudge him over that line.
He shrank beneath him, unable to otherwise deter his touch. A delightful sensation stirred in Jack’s groin, spurred by all that writhing. The return of that awful, alien sensation that he suddenly wasn’t so tempted to smother. Tipping his head, he stroked his nose across Kiddo’s ocular implant.
“Gotta save ‘em for what comes next.”
“Do what you have to,” he seethed back, a decent enough handle on the tremble in his voice. “I’ve got nothing for you.”
“Oh, no?” Jack gritted his teeth. “Not even an excuse?”
“For what?!”
“Well, let’s start with this.”
Jack lowered a hand to stab at his belt buckle, prompting a satisfying jerk of the younger man’s hips.
“Looks like an interesting rebrand of the company I made sure to bury.”
Kiddo stiffened, then relaxed, glancing away with some imperceptible look. “It’s not what you think.”
“So what is it?”
With another hesitation, Jack tugged again at his hair.
“Do I look like a patient man, Atlas?”
“No,” he laughed through clenched teeth. “You never were.”
Jack gave pause, scanning the younger man’s face in close scrutiny. When he again failed to recall any previous interactions between the two — which was understandable, given the amount of nameless, corporate stooges Jack ignored on a daily basis — he tilted his head with a scowl.
“You’re implying some familiarity, kiddo. Have we met before?”
Something indistinct but almost akin to shame flickered in his visage.
“No,” he mumbled. “Not you. Not exactly.”
“Hooooly crap, cupcake,” Jack rocked back. “Getting pretty goddamn sick of these cryptic replies.”
“I’ve already told you, Jack. I’ve got nothing to say.”
“Nothing, eh? How about an explanation for why you were poking around my facility?”
“That — okay. I didn’t know it was Hyperion owned. Figured by my scan that it was just an abandoned Dahl factory,” he offered, hissing when Jack’s fingers redoubled their efforts. “I was looking for shelter.”
Given the facility’s obscure nature, Jack was almost inclined to believe him. Pandora was littered with them. Unfortunately, Jack was not the understanding type.
“Shelter. So you were lost out there, sweetcheeks?”
“Yes.”
“In those fancy duds, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, with nothing but your piddly Atlas pistol?”
His eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
Yeah, right. “So who ditched you?”
“No one.” He considered. “It’s complicated.”
Jack gave his hair a fresh tug, the muscles in Kiddo’s throat drawn tight as his head was wrenched backward. He draped himself over him, pressing down with his weight, and the younger man cried out in pain.
“Well you better uncomplicate it real fast, babe.” Jack’s fingers unfurled from his hair, descending to his throat. “Or I’m gonna—”
“Just fucking do it then.”
Jack sank back. He kept his expression rigid with contempt, but his curiosities were admittedly stronger than his irritation. He’d been here before — menacing some faceless nobody strapped to a chair. He’d also had his share of individuals resistant to his fear tactics. Their reactions, however, tended to lean more toward loathing.
The Atlas stooge only looked annoyed. Troubled, perhaps, but distracted, as though it were not Jack that weighed on his mind. His gaze wasn’t present, drifting here and there between questions.
He also looked a bit flushed, and if the tight fabric of his pants was any indication, Jack only needed a minor adjustment in strategy to finally make him bend.
“...very well.”
Kiddo’s muscles twitched as Jack slipped away — not entirely unfazed, then. He kept a wary watch, eyes lingering as Jack moved to the console next to Timothy. Jack took ample time making himself comfortable, stretching his arms overhead and rolling his neck around to a troubling pop in his spine. His hands dropped to his waist, clicking his belt buckle open in a practiced motion. The clips along his thigh came just as easily, and he lifted his digi-holster to rest it on the chair. Kiddo said nothing, though his brow did furrow somewhat.
When Jack began to remove his jacket, allowing the soft material to glide down his shoulder, Kiddo’s eyes edged wider. He tensed, an effort to resist, but he did not seem able to look away.
With his outer-most layer discarded, Jack tucked a thumb between the lip of his pants and his abdomen, then gave Kiddo a lazy perusal, during which the younger man did his best to avoid his penetrating gaze. That look of shame returned, tinted by a soft blush in his cheeks.
Intriguing. Despite his unease, all it took to regain his attention was an eyeful of Handsome Jack. As if Jack’s ego could swell any more.
“So,” Jack breathed, low and heated. “Here I have a pretty little thing all dirty n’ bruised and strapped to my chair…”
Kiddo shifted in his restraints; his blush deepened.
“Who won’t say a thing, except that he definitely does work for a defunct company, and had a purpose for being on my planet but not for stirring up shit at my facility.”
“Atlas is not defunct,” he complained. “And it wasn’t your…”
Of course, he clammed up again, just when his lips were beginning to loosen. Jack clenched his jaw.
“Still not talking, huh? You know what will get you talking?”
Jack’s fingers descended to the first clasp of his vest. One by one, he snapped them free. With each echoing click, Kiddo twitched in some minute response. He avoided looking Jack’s way, his blush progressing to the tips of his ears. Jack would have smiled, were anything about the situation endearing. He removed his vest, his shirt, and adjusted the roll of his sweater sleeves to the crook of his arms. Then, slowly, he reached toward the console and retrieved an implement bound to it by a long, black cord.
Kiddo’s head swivelled around. His gaze found the silver prong at the end, and at last, his fear became deliciously palpable.
“What do you say, Atlas?”
“Jack, please,” he sipped an anxious breath, leaning back in his chair. “I’m telling you the truth. I wasn’t there on purpose.”
His heels dug into the floor, unable to gain purchase with his ankles tied in place. He began to writhe again, struggling in vain, while keeping a close watch of that prong.
“But not the whole truth, hm?” Jack moved toward him, the cable snaking across the ground behind him like a tail. “We’re a little sparse on the details, huh, sweetheart?”
“I—” he choked, watching the plug as it was lifted to oscillate in his face. “Shit. Okay. What do you want to know?”
It was annoying that he seemed more disturbed by the implant access cord than Jack’s foreboding presence, but he wasn’t about to argue with the results.
“How about a name, babe?”
“Rhys,” he answered, swallowing hard.
Jack blinked slowly. “Rhys.”
“Yes.”
“Just Rhys,” he hemmed. “Got a surname, legs?”
“Str-uh… Lawrence.”
In Jack’s peripherals, he saw his double — who had been silent and invisible to them until now — go rigid. While barely noticeable, it was enough that Jack made a note to admonish him for the slip-up later.
“Rhys Lawrence.”
“Yup.”
“Uh huh.” Jack turned the cord, scratching it against his temple to mirror the placement of the younger man’s neural implant. “And, Rhys Lawrence, why are you on Pandora?”
Kiddo — Rhys — sagged. “I was…monitoring an old Atlas site. There were troubling readings that needed attention. I…”
He closed his eyes with a wince.
“I never should have come back.”
“You’re correct there, kiddo,” Jack snorted. “Especially since all of the Atlas facilities officially belong to me.”
“Officially!” Rhys scoffed. “Didn’t you threaten someone for it? Shot his dog at his daughter, if I recall correctly? Real official.”
Jack went very still. The anger pulsed through his veins anew.
The incident with the Atlas exec hadn’t exactly been covered up, but it hadn’t made the news at the time. Either he really was who he said he was, and had heard it through his former Atlas buddies, or—
“I don’t like that you’re keeping secrets from me, princess,” Jack seethed. “So why don’t we get to the bottom of this?”
When he moved forward, Rhys snapped rigid.
“Jack, please, no, please!”
“That’s it, baby,” Jack purred. He maneuvered over him, Rhys’ leg between his knees, nice and close. “I love the way you beg.”
“I will,” Rhys charged. “I’ll beg. I’ll get down on my knees. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“‘Whatever’, huh?” Jack gave a twitch of his hips in indication.
“Yeah. I’ll even suck your stupid fucking cock if that’s what you want,” his tone shifted with derision; Jack wavered, more than tempted to take up the offer. In fact, that little voice at the back of his head was practically screaming for it. “Just, please, don’t plug me in again!”
Jack hovered, bobbing the prong in the air beside Rhys’ face. He looked legitimately terrified, his head craning to avoid the dancing cable. At last, his cocky facade was shattering under Jack’s influence.
…but it wasn’t Jack he was afraid of. And he’s uttered one very revealing, very peculiar word.
Again.
“Sorry, baby,” Jack hummed. He ducked down, brushing his lips across Rhys’ jawline. “Don’t worry. It’ll only hurt for a second. I know you’re gonna take it like a champ.”
Rhys’ eyes flew open. “Jack!”
The metal cable jack lined up with his port and snapped into place with a satisfying clack. Rhys tossed his head back with a gasp; Jack released the cable as it curled and whipped around with his struggling.
Everything went still. Rhys had frozen, but for the shallow breaths taken through clenched teeth. Jack straddled his lap, settling in to monitor his unchanging, pinched expression. After a minute or so of strained silence, of just-visible quakes rippling through Rhys’ limbs, Jack turned his head.
“Well?”
“It’s still running, sir.”
Tim was referring to Jack’s little ECHO hacking program. He stood at the console, watching the datapad as the code worked its magic. Soon enough, they’d be inside Rhys’ head, and he’d have his answers.
“Taking its time, huh?” Jack grunted, unamused. He swept a thumb over Rhys’ chin, nuzzling his nose against his cheekbone. The younger man shivered, but it was restrained. He remained taut, straining under the presence of the cable connected to his skull.
“Won’t…work,” he hissed. “Not…compatible.”
“We’ll see,” Jack answered. “Our team has already cracked the latest in Dahl’s ECHO tech. It will—”
“He’s right.”
Jack glanced sharply at Timothy, features tight.
“Come again?”
The double nodded his helmet toward the screen, tapping on the halted progress bar. Sure enough, the program had failed.
“...not compatible, eh?” Jack sneered. He readjusted himself in Rhys’ lap, gripped his chin, and forced his head straight. Rhys blinked past his tears to glare back. “Even custom upgrades don’t stand up to my gear. What gives?”
“It’s…” Rhys’ throat bobbed. “Different tech.”
“Bullshit."
“Dunno what to tell you, Jack,” Rhys growled. “Your crap is outdated. You aren’t getting in again. Now get this fucking plug out of my head.”
Again. Jack narrowed his eyes. Again, again, again—
“Who the hell are you?”
Rhys relaxed, features cooling. “I can only tell you what I am not. And what I’m not is your bitch.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah.”
“You. Faceless. Out.”
Timothy stiffened. “Sir?”
“You heard me,” he barked. “Make yourself useful. Go check for bullet holes in the vehicle or something, I don’t give a shit.”
“Yes, but…” he dithered, then sagged. “Yes, sir.”
He was slow to leave. Lagging in whatever hopes that Jack would change his mind. But eventually, Jack heard the door slide shut somewhere behind him. He lifted his hands to grip Rhys’ head. The younger man tensed anew, grimacing under thumbs slicking along his cheeks.
Jack gently shifted his head back and forth. This close, he could smell the pomade used to slick back his auburn hair, a faint hint of cinnamon. The panicked look in his ECHO-Eye perfectly matched with its natural brown counterpart, its blue iris flexing smoothly around its aperture. A ring of light glowed softly around the shape of his neural jack, where a vein throbbed angrily beneath the implant. The muscles in his neck seized and rippled; Jack followed the twitch to the rings of a tattoo about two inches down from the crook of his jaw. He stared for several seconds until he forced himself to look elsewhere.
“...you know me.”
Rhys grunted. “Everyone knows you. You’re Handsome Jack.”
“Yeah, but that ain’t it. You know me. Personally. Somehow. And I don’t know what that ‘somehow’ is, cuz I don’t remember this pretty face of yours.”
A sound escaped Rhys’ throat in a garble; he tugged his head free to turn away. Jack allowed it, using the opportunity to move closer, breathing a wash of heat over his skin that produced instant goosebumps. His animalistic drive was beginning to settle in once more, as he nearly ducked in to bite that dotted flesh. A throb in his groin demanded satiation.
“And because you know me, you should also be aware of the extent of my patience,” he went on in a murmur. “That is, if I don’t deem something as worthy of my time…”
He eased back, watching the message work its way through. Rhys chewed his lip in consideration, looking coy despite his unease.
Damn it. Jack snorted, giving his lean frame another once-over. If they’d met under different circumstances…
“If I don’t give you anything, you’re gonna kill me.”
“Bingo.”
Jack tugged on Rhys’ button-up; his attention fell, settling on swells of blue ink exposed on his chest. His tongue thickened with saliva that he was quick to swallow.
“But I don’t have anything to give,” Rhys insisted. “...nothing you’d believe.”
“Try me.”
He sighed, struggling to adjust himself under Jack’s weight. Something rather interesting announced itself in a soft press against Jack’s thigh before Rhys bucked away, anxious to conceal it. Subduing a laugh of disbelief, Jack found himself considering stripping the pants off him to have a gander.
“What if I helped you with something?” Rhys asked.
“I am definitely open to you helpin’ me with something.” Jack thumbed his clavicle; Rhys shivered. “But it depends what that something is.”
“Not th-that.”
“You sure?” Jack grinned. “Could be fun. And, I mean, you offered…”
“I—” He straightened. “What if I saved your life?”
Jack’s expression flattened. “Is that supposed to be a super lame threat?”
“No, no,” Rhys glowered. “I just…happen to be aware of the real threats. To an extent.”
“Oh, do tell.”
“Will you spare my life in return?”
“I mean, I already saved your life, so…this might just make us square, babe. Not to mention you already tried offing me once.”
“Jack…”
He shimmied a bit to discourage Jack’s hand from playing with his collar.
“It’ll depend on how good your intel is,” Jack shrugged, making zero promises. “Prove to me that you’re worth it.”
Rhys dropped his head backward with a groan.
“What was it you said? Oh, right…” He rolled his neck and met him with that hawkish glare yet again, huffing. “‘It’s your funeral.’”
“Hah. Hoooookay, kiddo.”
Jack shuffled back, spreading his legs to gain access to Rhys’ groin. Rhys’ cheeks darkened as Jack’s hand descended to the side pipe he’d popped during his interrogation.
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
“Who the hell is skinning cats?!”
Jack squeezed his hand around his very present length, guiding his touch along the arch of Rhys’ pelvis. The younger man immediately screwed his eyes shut tight, tossing his head; the cable whipped frantically about.
“Jack,” he hissed. “Stop—”
“What’s wrong, hot stuff?” Jack snickered. “I thought you’d do whatever I want?”
“That was before you plugged me into your fucking computer!”
“You sure about that?”
His shirt came free from his slacks with an easy pull. Jack smoothed a hand up his undershirt thumbing along each crease and muscle beneath.
“S-stop.”
Rhys’ voice cracked into a whisper, hostile but half-hearted. He pressed his forehead to Jack’s neck — dissuading his touch or indulging in his heat, Jack didn’t know.
“Do you really want me to?” Jack teased, picking up pace with his hand. The squirming hips under him failed to escape his firm hold. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“Jack.”
“Bet you never imagined this, huh, kitten?” Jack hummed. “Your hero, Handsome Jack, graciously bestowing your yearning cock with his touch. Is it everything you ever imagined?”
His hand slowed, slicking a thumb across where the head of his dick pressed against the inside of his slacks. The material turned damp under his touch, and Jack chuckled. He went still, staring, prompting a growl of frustration from Rhys.
“Are you seriously going to edge me, you prick?” Rhys snapped, having failed to deny Jack’s accusation. He gave an involuntary thrust up into his hand; the constraints of his slacks seemed to annoy him, a barrier between him and Jack’s palm.
“Oh, I’d be more than delighted to take you all the way. And then some.” Jack nipped the corner of his jaw. “But you’re gonna have to give me a little something in return, first.”
“I told you what was on offer,” he growled. “I’ve nothing else to give.”
“Now I don’t believe that for a second.”
He touched his tongue to Rhys’ throat, dragging a stripe up toward his ear. Rhys inhaled, quivering, a tremble that was just friggin’ doing it for Jack. He slipped his other hand onto his chest and squeezed his pec, adjusting his pelvis to grant space for his own growing hard-on.
“I think you’ve got plenty to offer me, Rhysie, baby,” Jack purred. “Let’s start with your tongue.”
“Don’t you fucking call me th—” A snarl rolled over his mouth, then disappeared; he frowned, scanning Jack’s face in disbelief. “My what?”
“You heard me.”
“N-no,” he growled. Portrayed it as an affront well, despite the burning in his cheeks.
“You gotta give a little to get a little, hot stuff. If you really want my hand back on your dick.”
His thumb found Rhys’ nipple through his shirt, rolling over it, flicking. It knocked another gasp free, Rhys bucking his hips, straining. Jack chuckled and returned to his throat, marking up that pretty little tattoo.
“Jack,” Rhys warned, breathless and shivering. “I’m getting…”
“Or did you want more than that?” Jack snickered, his face smeared with saliva. He set his teeth on him, just a tease, flesh gripped, stamped, released. Rhys’ breathing grew frantic, vacant, his eyes fluttering shut. “You offer up what I want, and maybe I’ll treat you to the full Handsome Jack experience.”
“Fuck. Jack. Stop. Fuck. I—”
The whine that left him was beautifully needy. It broke into a gasp; he bucked his hips one last time, almost violent enough to knock Jack off his legs.
Jack’s head swivelled around to an eruption of sparks from the consoles. The interface flickered, growing brighter. After it bloomed into a blinding shine, all at once, it died. The lights overhead cut out, and they were plunged into shadow.
Jack froze, blinking in the dark. He felt Rhys twitching beneath him, the only sound in the room his come-down panting. Then a sharp click from above heralded the red emergency lights as they turned on, pursued by a series of loud clunks from down the hallway outside the room.
In the troubling aftermath, neither of them moved, but for the small quivers in Rhys’ legs. Jack snorted, looking him in the blue of his ECHO-Eye.
“...you did not just.”