Private Born Again [Solo Thread]

[Percival Io]

Galahad and Percival were dead. Everyone touched by the Demon felt it, though the disturbance had begun with the Matriarch. Her pain over the deaths of two of her children reverberated through them all like an echo, rippling outward along the spiritual threads that bound them.

On Khemost, an anguished cry ripped through the silence and stillness of the wintry woods. The Deluge fell to her knees in the snow, her perfectly coiffed appearance unraveling. Her red hair lost its luster; her porcelain skin became sallow and translucent. Tears streamed down her cheeks, freezing solid in the cold air.

When the transformation was complete, it was Rebecca Io who staggered to her feet. Using up all the strength of will she had been saving up for the past several months, she had managed to seize control of the Deluge's body from the other personas—though she was barely able to maintain said control, as evidenced by how sickly and haggard she looked from the effort.

Ignoring the dozens of voices shrieking in her head, she set her jaw, wiped away the tears, and broke into a run. Clad in that damned white suit, she blended in with the snows of Khemost, her long hair streaming like a tattered flag behind her head as she raced to her private hangar bay.

They would rebuild Percival. It was nearly always done with Neutralizers, especially ones as influential within the House as him. Copies of his memories stored as backup would be used to restore him... and no doubt the Battalion would want revenge against him for killing Galahad. Rebecca had to get to the Colossus of Shadows before she or anyone else had a chance to sink their claws into him...

 

[Percival Io]

As a consequence of her violent takeover of the Deluge's body and the extreme effort it took to maintain dominance, Rebecca couldn't remember what she had been doing or why she was standing outside in the snow. Upon reaching her starfighter, she made sure to contact Chloe, her son's nanny, and make sure the boy was safely in her care.

The other voices in her head probably knew what was going on, but she couldn't afford to listen to them. They'd lie and pour poison in her ear if it meant they might be able to wrest back control. Whatever reason she had been outside in the cold, figuring it out would have to wait...

She left Khemost at full speed, reaching House Io's mobile capital in a matter of minutes. The Colossus of Shadows loomed against a backdrop of stars. It reminded Rebecca of a bird, the lives of countless souls aboard carried upon its spread wings.

As soon as she told the docking officer who she was, they let her board no questions asked. She made an attempt to look more presentable before exiting her starfighter, smoothing her wild hair and smearing some concealer around her sunken eyes. No one batted an eye as she walked the halls of the massive city-ship.

"Lady Deluge!"

She halted and whirled around, coming face to face with Lancelot. Or rather, the botched attempt at remaking Lance. The result was a puppet boy, missing huge chunks of memory and half mad because of it. They said his visions had gotten worse, to the point where it affected his perceptions. He was constantly seeing things, and knew stuff he shouldn't.

"Have you heard the news?" he asked. There was something eerily childlike about him, the wide-eyed innocence in his hazel eyes and the bloodthirsty smile curling his boyish mouth. "Of course, you must have heard. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"I'm here to see Percival," she said with a slight nod. "I'm going to be there when they resurrect him."

Lance lifted an arm and gestured forward. "Then let's get going."

Rebecca didn't like the idea of him tagging along, but she hid her dismay. "Will they resurrect Galahad as well?"

"Probably. He was the Battalion's favorite. She wanted to bring him home." As they walked, Lance rambled on, "Sometimes I miss being part of a whole. Things were simpler when the three of us were one. Of course, you wouldn't understand. Yours is a crowded mind. All the witches in your head are constantly vying for dominance. No offense, but that sounds like a pretty miserable experience to me."

"None taken," Rebecca murmured, turning a corner. Up ahead she could see the creation chamber, where new Neutralizers were manufactured. A sizeable crowd had already gathered around the factory doors. Members of Percival's parish—what was left of them after the Cult took over the House, anyway—and the friends and coworkers of Galahad were among them. The two sides were arguing amongst themselves, pointing fingers and flinging accusations back and forth.

"Percival was a traitor, a fratricide who had clearly gone mad," Kandide, a General Purpose Neutralizer who had worked in the archives with Galahad argued. "He shouldn't be recreated, he should be retired!"

"Galahad's betrayal was far greater," one of the parishioners shot back. "Not only did he run away, he was caught meeting with an Alliance Senator! He was going to defect! If he's brought back, his memory should be wiped—otherwise he's a threat to our national security!"

Rebecca and Lance squeezed their way through the throng. Some of the people and droids recognized them and kindly moved out of their way, recognizing the importance of them being there. At last, they reached the door, which opened readily after conducting a biometric scan of them both...

 

[Percival Io]

Upon entering the factory, they were approached by a General Purpose Neutralizer with dark gray hair. She wore a thin white robe over a purple garment which did little more than preserve her modesty. "Lady Deluge, Chaplain Lancelot," she greeted them with a polite bow. "How may I be of service?"

"We need to see Percival," Rebecca replied. "The rebuilt version of him, that is."

After glancing at Lance for confirmation, the Neutralizer gestured for them to follow her deeper into the factory. Her bare feet made no sound as she walked.

They passed through a transparent barrier and into a room which was abuzz with activity. Specially programmed Neutralizers tended to the manufacture of more of their kind, keeping the automated machines running smoothly. The factory was in constant motion—vats stirring strange substances like one would mix batter and knead dough, mills and wheels spinning nerves and veins and miles of digestive tract, pods growing specialized organs and glands. Then it was all pieced together by the dutiful workers, much like a speeder or a starship was assembled.

"He wanted to die, you know."

Rebecca's eyes slid toward Lance, startled by his sudden words. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I saw the security footage," Lance said. He was still smiling, though it was fainter, marred by sadness. "Percival shot Galahad with a dart filled with Alpha Red. An instant death sentence with no antidote immediately available. Then the Alderaanian took his dart gun. Percival taunted him, provoked him, and finally left him with no choice but to shoot him. Think about it. He did something similarly self-destructive aboard that Sith yacht, challenging Darth Empyrean to a duel."

Though she hadn't been there to witness the events herself, the yacht incident was a well-known story among the House. Some had lauded Percival for his boldness and bravery, while others had expressed concern about his state of mind. Rebecca hadn't known what to think. When she saw him afterwards, he seemed depressed, but hardly suicidal. But what did suicidal look like in an android?

"You were the only thing keeping him going," Lance continued, watching her out of the corner of his eye as they made their way down the assembly line. "But in the end, I guess not even love was enough."

Rebecca clenched her jaw, but said nothing. The whispers in her skull grew louder, crowding out her thoughts. She fought to keep them at bay for just a little while longer...

Once all their components were in place, freshly made Neutralizers were "left out to dry". Featureless automatons, their defining physical characteristics having not yet been programmed, they lay on slabs in a laboratory manned by organic technicians. This was where their Mother would give them their identity, filling their brains with her own developed software and giving them faces. The lab was also rapidly becoming a hotspot of Cult activity, as high-ranking worshipers would participate in the process. They had a vested interest in the next generation of House Io, after all.

Much to Rebecca's relief, the Battalion was nowhere in sight. On the other hand, there was a conspicuous lack of any other Cultists. Not even the Parliament had arrived yet. But no doubt she would be here shortly to witness the rebirth of her son. Rebecca had very little time.

The General Purpose Neutralizer led them to a slab where a blank-faced Neutralizer lay. "This one will become the new Percival," she said, gesturing to the body. Her fingernails had been painted red and filed to sharp points. "The one beside him will be the next Galahad. Both are due to be resurrected, using the most recent memory backups we have on file."

"Thank you," Rebecca said. "You are dismissed."

The Neutralizer paused, then swiftly departed, leaving them alone with the body. As soon as she was gone, Rebecca began the initialization process for Percival...

 

[Percival Io]

... Or she would have, had Lance not seized her arm.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, trying to wrench her arm free. But his grip was like beskar, unyielding. "Let go of me!"

"Not so fast," he said. "You can't initialize him without Mother present. Besides, I know you're up to something. Rebecca."

A chill ran down Rebecca's spine. Lance gazed at her knowingly, his smile stretching into a smug smirk.

"I don't know how you managed to overcome the other Witches inside you. That's a pretty impressive feat for someone like you. But did you really think it would go unnoticed? What the Deluge's got, you just don't have. It's in your stance, your walk, your talk, the way you look at the world. But then..." His other hand reached up to brush away a lock of loose hair, intentionally touching his knuckles to her cheek. "That marred, broken beauty of yours is still something to behold..."

She recoiled from him. "I'm warning you. Don't try to stop me."

"Or what? Will you kill me? I'll be born again, same as them." He gestured to the rows of Neutralizer bodies around them.

Rebecca pulled out a disruptor pistol and pointed it straight at him. "But you won't be able to stop me while you're dead."

"I don't believe you can kill me. The Deluge won't let you. Not to mention security..."

With a gesture of the Force, Rebecca sealed all the doors to the lab shut. She had paid attention to how the Witches used the Force, studying their methods; it was the key to her success with regards to overpowering the Witches. But it sapped her strength. The whispers crawling within her skull grew louder and louder. "Try me," she hissed through grit teeth.

A flicker of anger crossed Lance's boyish features. "You know what, Rebecca? Deep down, you're still just a scared farmer's daughter playing at being a soldier. That's why you were so eager to become a mother, wasn't it? Being a good little housewife is easier and safer. But of course, while you were at home Danithel was killed, and you weren't there to save him. Just like you weren't there to save your mother, your father, your brothers and sisters. Not even poor Debra. The Bryn killed her right in front of you, but you were too afraid to come out of hiding. Not even to fight to save your best friend. You're a simpering, spineless coward. The only reason you're in control of your body right now is because the Witches must've let you take the reins."

As he spoke, Rebecca began to tremble. The original Percival had been her confessor long before he was her friend or her lover. Lance knew all her most painful secrets and buried traumas, and he had the cruelty to use them against her. "You never should've existed," she spat. "You're the real reason Percival wanted to die. That stupid magnet ripped you apart, and you've all been incomplete ever since. Shattered pieces of a soul."

Lance just laughed. "Then what are you waiting for? Shoot me. I've only got part of a soul, after all!"

So she did.

The first disruptor blast blew a hole clean through Lance's skull. The second destroyed his face, burning away his frozen expression of shock. She kept firing until she knew he was dead, with too much of his brain destroyed for him to regenerate without outside intervention.

The gun overloaded. She tossed it away, breathing hard. The Witches were silent, and for once, she was alarmed rather than glad of it. Lance's words came back to haunt her. Were they letting her do this? Was it all part of some hidden design, their own agenda?

A pounding on the door interrupted her train of thought. No time to think about it now. She rushed to Percival's side.

 

[Percival Io]

The Neutralizer initialization process would've horrified and disgusted most people, but years spent with House Io had long since desensitized Rebecca to body horror. Leaning over the featureless body on the slab, she watched in nervous fascination as malleable flesh melted like hot wax into the familiar mold of her beloved's face.

Percival possessed many qualities which were almost universally considered attractive—a chiseled jawline, dreamy green eyes, and a certain boyish charm, to name just a few. But Rebecca had learned to prize spiritual beauty above the physical. In less lofty terms, it's what's inside that counts. Without a consciousness to animate it, this empty shell was no more than a pretty doll, an idol. Rebecca hovered over his head as soft, dark curls sprouted from his scalp, fingers stretching toward him with anxious, impatient longing. But she would not lay a hand on him until she saw his eyes open.

It was him who ultimately laid hands on her first.

Rebecca found herself violently shoved backwards. Her feet left the ground and her back crashed into the far wall hard enough to dent the metal. She fell to the floor, too shocked to even utter a cry of pain.

Percival, on the other hand, was screaming. It was a terrible, grief-stricken wail that tore itself from his throat. Naked and howling, he reminded her of a wild man. Or perhaps a newborn, brought screaming into life.

"Percival," she rasped. "Percival, I'm sorry..."

He looked at her, eyes wide. Tears streamed down his cheeks. His lips tried to form words, but what came out was only a whimper. "Why did you do it?" he asked.

His words cut her to the core. She had dragged him back from the grave, given him rebirth after what was likely a suicide. No wonder he was in agony. He wanted to die, but she wouldn't let him stay dead.

"Percival," she repeated his name, uttering it like a prayer as she slowly rose, dragging her broken body across the floor. "If you want to die... I'll let you go. I won't let them bring you back ever again. I love you too much to condemn you..."

His wild-eyed stare abruptly softened. The Deluge would not say such things, would never risk losing him. But Rebecca? It was exactly like her to sacrifice her wellbeing, her happiness, her sanity, all for the sake of those she loved. She would roam the galaxy alone, cursed for all eternity, before she let him suffer through it alongside her.

He climbed off the slab, crouching down to take her in his arms. "My Rebecca," he whispered, stroking her hair. "I'm sorry. I thought you were the Deluge. She killed them all..."

A chill ran down Rebecca's spine. Who had the Deluge killed? Before she could ask, there was a horrible screech of plasma through metal. The knocking on the door had grown louder and more insistent. Now they were cutting their way inside.

 

[Percival Io]

The blade of a lightsaber, red as blood, carved a hole through the door. Rebecca raised her disruptor, ready to fire at whoever lay on the other side, but Percival stopped her.

"It's no use," he said. "We're aboard the Colossus, aren't we? There's no getting out of this."

With tears stinging her eyes, Rebecca turned away from the door and looked over at him. "What are you doing?" she asked.

Percival had gathered up the multi-colored wires and nodes through which he had downloaded his consciousness and memories, clutching them in one hand like a bouquet of flowers. "You killed Lance, and they haven't initialized Galahad yet," he said. "I'm going to download their memories while I still have a chance..."

"Reclaim the lost pieces of your soul," Rebecca murmured, glancing again toward the half-slit door. Percival clutched her chin, forcing her to face him.

"I won't be with you when they come through that door," he said, attaching the nodes to his head and neck. "Don't let them stop me. Don't listen to what they say. I know that what happened wasn't your fault."

"What happened?" she asked urgently.

But it was too late. As he began to download the memories of his two brothers, Percival's body slumped against the slab, unresponsive. Rebecca took a simple white cloth robe from a folded stack on a nearby table and clothed his nakedness with it.

 

[Percival Io]

The circle was complete. The lightsaber blade disappeared from view, then a push of the Force sent the chunk of molten metal falling to the floor with a loud thud.

In walked a coven of Witches. At their head was the Chorus, blonde and statuesque. The rest were terribly gorgeous, of course, with skin tones and features from dozens of species and peoples. They all wore the same white catsuits, hugging their toned and voluptuous figures, but their hair came in every color under the sun. Except for red, Rebecca noted with a grim smirk. They would need her fiery mane to complete the full spectrum.

She faced them down, standing with her back straight and her chin lifted. They all stared at her, their expressions unreadable. Then a slow smile spread across the Chorus' face. "Well done, Deluge," she said.

"I'm not the Deluge," Rebecca snapped, hating how weak her voice sounded. "Or haven't you noticed?"

"We saw the security footage," a witch known as the Horde said. "Of you killing all of Percival's parishioners."

"Everyone has seen it by now," another witch called the Myriad added. "You broadcast it live to all the House servers, and even saw fit to patch it into Percival's memories. Ready for him to witness as soon as he was initialized."

"Such brutality!" the Chorus exclaimed proudly. "I couldn't have done it better myself. You are truly sick and twisted, sister. It was a marvelous thing to witness."

The Witches began to clap. While they applauded her, Rebecca stood very still, her eyes widening with shock. In her mind she saw the faces of her fellow parishioners. Her friends. People with families and dreams and lives bound together by their shared faith. So many... dead at her hand? Was that what she had been doing when she awoke in the snow? Killing her friends?

"Why?" she asked. "Why kill them? They were Citizens."

"Are you kiddin'?" The Plethora, a witch with a strong, shrill accent—one of many stubbornly lingering vestiges of a previous life—shrieked with laughter. "Percival's parish had been bleedin' members ever since we blew up the Silver Rest! The last of 'em was about to leave tonight. We decided to have them killed, and you volunteered to be the one to do it."

Rebecca raised her hands to her mouth, then covered her face completely. "I... No," she rasped. "I didn't do that. I didn't kill them. It was the Deluge. The Deluge did it!"

"Does that change the fact that they're all dead now?" the Chorus asked in a sickly sweet tone.

Rebecca felt sick. Not knowing what to do or where to turn, she glanced toward Percival, but found him still slumped against the table. When she glanced back the Chorus was directly in front of her, still smiling.

"Oh, it was wonderful, hearing them scream. They all still called you Rebecca. 'Rebecca, stop! Rebecca, why are you doing this? Rebecca, please!'"

With a cry of blind, futile rage, Rebecca lunged at her.

 

[Percival Io]

Percival awoke to find Rebecca surrounded on all sides by the Witches. They had her pinned down, unable to move, though she thrashed and gnashed her teeth and screamed. Busy handling her, they didn't notice as Percival sat up, removed the needle from the back of his neck, grabbed a nearby sword, and impaled the Myriad through the back.

The resulting battle was a bloodbath. Percival, having joined minds with his brothers, had vastly expanded his skillset, knowledge, and experience. He had Lance's brutal finesse, Galahad's efficient practicality, and his own ruthless will. The Witches fought fiercely, and they had an advantage of numbers, but their fury and ferocity didn't quite equal that of their highly motivated opponent, who had been born to kill Force Users like them.

The Plethora was next to fall, having been decapitated by Percival's blade. That freed Rebecca enough to escape their clutches. Seizing her disruptor, she joined in the fight, blasting a hole through the Horde's head and the Multitude's heart while Percival gutted the Symphony. On and on it went, until only the Chorus remained.

After seeing the deaths of her fellow Witches, all traces of haughtiness were gone from her features. She snarled where once she had sneered, her eyes filled with hatred. "You'll pay for this treachery, Deluge!" she roared. "We had a deal!"

Pupils narrowing to pinpoints, it was indeed the Deluge who took aim at the Chorus. "I am altering the deal," she said, before pulling the trigger. (Pray I Don't Alter It Any Further: 100 XP)

The Chorus was vaporized in a blast of white light. Before her ashes hit the floor, Percival had grabbed hold of the Deluge. Laughing, she took the opportunity to lean forward and kiss him. It caught him by surprise, and for a few seconds he kissed her back, swept up in the heat of the moment. But then he pulled away, holding her firmly at arms' length.

"What was the deal?" he demanded.

She grinned. "What does it matter? It's all over now."

"I want to know," he insisted. "Tell me what happened here. Please."

"I love it when you beg," she purred. "All right, I'll tell you. But first, kiss me again."

Begrudgingly, he kissed her. It was brief, little more than a peck on the lips.

"Not like that!" She pouted. "Kiss me like you did just now, when you thought I was Rebecca. Or did you?" She smirked. "Oh, for a second there, you made me believe I was her..." (It's Just a Kiss: 200 XP)

Tamping down on his frustration, Percival kept one hand clamped over her arm, while the other reached up to caress her cheek. She closed her eyes in anticipation. Without those pinprick pupils staring at him, it was easy to pretend that she was Rebecca, rather than a Cultist wearing her face. Slowly, he leaned in, feeling her breath against his face. Then he closed the distance.

She drew closer, her needy mouth working over his. His grip on her loosened as the kiss grew more passionate. He was suddenly hyper-aware of the milky blood of the dead Witches splattering their bodies, his fingers slipping over the white catsuit she wore, hers ghosting over the thin fabric of his robe.

He finally pulled away with a shudder. "Yes," she whispered, biting her lip. "That's it..." She opened her eyes and smiled at him, victorious.

 

[Percival Io]

The Deluge moved to sit on an empty slab. "The Battalion wanted to punish you for killing Galahad. Slaughtering your parishioners was her idea, too, but she was reluctant to go through with it. So I decided to take matters into my own hands and kill them. I figured it would be poetic for a former parishioner to murder all her brothers and sisters. It's certainly got Rebecca all torn up inside."

Percival bared his teeth, but she held up a hand. "Ah ah ah, I'm not finished yet. Don't you want to hear the whole story?

"The Chorus and her cronies were treacherous snakes. They had formed their own little clique and were plotting to overthrow the Cult's leadership long before you were a gleam in your Mother's cybernetic eye. But you already know that, don't you? You worked with her for a little while a few years back."

"She was a cruel butcher, just like the rest of the Cult, only she lacked the intelligence and cunning of the Amalgam or the Battalion," Percival muttered. "She once suggested that I let her kidnap and kill Thel in order to incite outrage against the Cult. She would've blamed his death on the Amalgam."

"Oh, she's a real piece of work. Or was." The Deluge's eyes glittered with malicious satisfaction. "Anyway, I roped her and her friends into a 'deal' where they would help me break Rebecca's spirit to get to you. They hated your guts, you know. Wanted you either dead or suffering as much as possible. Coincidentally, I also wanted that… for them. And I gotta say, it worked out pretty great!” She gestured to the bodies of the dead Witches.

Percival’s gaze had gone ice cold, frigid with fury. Yet there was defeat in his eyes, too. “You used me,” he said in a low voice. “To clean out the undesirables in the Cult.”

“I prefer to think of this as offing my rivals, but that’s another way of putting it.” She stretched out languidly, still watching him. “Aren’t you glad? You got to kill some Witches, and I got what I wanted too. Mmm, Percy baby, don’t be a stranger. We make a pretty good team, you have to admit.”

“You slaughtered my parishioners.”

“They were leaving you anyway. Besides, didn’t you kill your brother for leaving?”

“I… I didn’t kill him for that,” Percival said lamely. “It was a mercy killing. He could never have been happy on his own. He wasn’t designed for anything more than this.”

“Neither were you, then.” She tilted her head, her gaze oddly sympathetic. “Poor Percy. You’re so conflicted. Why not just accept what you are, what you were built for? Why not take a little bit of happiness, rather than nothing but misery?”

“You don’t understand,” he whispered. “Rebecca…”

“Rebecca wants you,” the Deluge interrupted, desperate longing in her voice. Whether it was genuine or all for show, he couldn't tell. “She loves you. She needs you. The spiders are eating away at her. Won’t you make her feel better?” As she spoke, she drew him nearer, reaching out to stroke his hair and caress his cheek. “Make her feel good… Make her forget the pain for a little while…”