Even as the fire spreads, destroying her lab, Moira can't help a quiet fascination. This power is incredible, unearthly, even for their kind. If he proves this difficult to contain, then if there ever were a way to leash him, it could mean untold power at Talon's fingertips.
Imagine what they could unlock.
She's pulled from these thoughts by the pop and spark of a nearby machine, and her teeth grit. Determined, she continues to try to drag what she can from him, anything to stave off the flames. Then suddenly, from behind her, a blue circle of light pops into being. A mechanical hand reaches through, tugging Moira back with it, before pop! The portal vanishes from sight once more.
Now, they can start to seal the lab off in earnest. It's not the prison she would have opted for, but they'll have to make do now, won't they.
This is an exercise in power for the demon itself. It has never inhabited a host like this, never had the chance to try something like this in a mortal form, and the potential of it is heady. But with potential comes limitations. His body, for one, which is both starving and struggling to heal the damage done. His fangs flash as he tilts his head back and laughs, the fire consuming everything from floor to ceiling. The lights flicker, the room melting and warping and spitting out sparks from numerous sources.
Then the flames retreat, returning to their source and dancing among his fingertips before snuffing out. A shame. If he was in his full power, he might even have been able to melt the metal at his wrist. An experiment for another time.
“This is fun, isn’t it mijo?” he says to himself despite knowing that no one will answer.
There's no keeping something like this quiet, after that. The facility has to be made aware of what's being kept in its bowels, and stricter security measures are put in place. No living creature is to enter the lab, all data to be remotely scrubbed and transferred to an alternate lab for the time being. The whole area is to be kept sealed tight.
Fortunately, she's already removed the other specimens. Even if the demon does summon enough strength to rip itself free of its shackles, there's nothing to feed on. No way to regain its vessel's strength, trapped inside of a starving vampire cut off from any and all food sources.
Until daylight, no one even travels down to observe the mess within through one of the lab windows.
The limitations of his vessel really are putting a damper on things. He can’t break his restraints, not without sustenance of one kind or another. And when the sun rises, he sleeps. The rest helps, but without blood, he doesn’t continue to heal in any way faster than a normal human might (putting aside for a moment that his wounds would be fatal to a mortal, and he’s not that dead.)
But the demon is nothing if not patient. It will bide its time, regardless of what the denizens of the lab get up to while he recovers. Human, immortal—they’re all so short-sighted.
While he sleeps, he is moved. Out of the labs, to a holding facility of a different nature. He can't be left there, with so much sensitive information there at his fingertips should he break free. That had clearly been McCree's intent. Who knew what the demon actually wanted?
There would be ways of finding out, in time. First, they had to be in a position to bargain with the creature. Perhaps tempting it with food, a way for it to recover its strength, provided it was willing to give something in turn. Information. Service. Whatever they might be able to finesse from it. Moira of course wants little more than to pry him open a piece at a time, but there are others in Talon with...alternate goals in mind.
After three nights, Moira appears at the door of the cell. Time to try this again.
By that point, even the demon’s unique abilities can’t stave off the effects of starvation and torture. The smile he turns toward Moira tonight is just as amused and unaffected as before, on the surface—but that only thinly veils the malice beneath. He’d been summoned in pursuit of power, after all. He does not at all appreciate having his taken from him yet again.
“O’Deorain. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He sits on the ground, back propped up against the wall, and watches her with those same, shadowed eyes. There are subtle differences tonight, however. The way his skin seems pulled more taut over his face, the prominence of his fangs. The tell-tale signs of a vampire well into starvation.
"I thought you might be hungry," she replies blandly, before jerking her chin. Hesitantly, a young man edges into view, black-brown eyes wide with fear and jaw clenched tight. His uniform said he might have been security for the Oasis facility. Perhaps the fault that had allowed McCree to slip in had been pinned on him, and only now was punishment being meted out.
"A meal. After which you'll behave yourself long enough to earn less...limiting accommodations. Refuse, or take advantage of the offer? And you'll not receive another of the kind." One eyebrow arches.
The demon’s eyes lock on the boy and stay there, like a snake that has spotted a mouse. Unlike McCree, it has no qualms about killing innocents. Blood means power, and power means freedom. If it must be on Moira’s terms for now, then so be it.
Sternly, she nods into the cell, and the poor guard steps inside. His hands shake at his sides, throat bobbing in a swallow as he stares at this monster, with eyes like the void itself and a hunger in its stare. But he edges forward as bidden, just the same.
Maybe the alternative he was offered was worse than this. Somehow.
With stuttered breaths, he drops to his knees beside the demon, and by now his whole frame shakes. But he makes no move to defend himself from what's to come.
Even if he had tried to defend himself, it wouldn’t have mattered. The demon only takes a moment to consider his prey before striking with an inhuman speed, too hungry for niceties or to toy with his meal like he might’ve otherwise. He latches onto the young man’s throat without a hint of hesitation, and he drinks deeply until there’s nothing at all left.
When it’s done, he looks up with a sound not unlike a purr and lets the body drop from his hands. He looks better. Less desperate, but not wholly recovered. He turns towards Moira and licks the blood off his lower lip.
"You'll need to prove yourself before that happens. I have no intention of letting a fully-powered demon within the body of a vampire loose within our base. Not without certain assurances."
She approaches, stepping over the body of the unfortunate guard, before gesturing for him to lift his wrists.
Regardless, he raises his hands with a look that that could almost be described as put-out. As he waits, he blinks, perhaps for the first time—and after, his eyes look normal again. Like McCree’s. He has the strength for that now at least.
“Where to now, doc? Back to the lab? Or do you have somethin' more interesting for me?"
"As interesting as destroying a lab's worth of equipment?" she replies dryly, before sliding her thumb along the underside of the cuffs. They retract, falling away, before she bends to attend to those around his ankles as well.
A little more swiftly, and with her attention ever on him.
"It has been determined that you are worth a great deal to Talon. The method of your service can be influenced by your actions, moving forward. Some believe that a proper operative could be made of you. Particularly since Overwatch trusts the man you reside within."
“You had a choice,” he reminds her, not one ounce of regret in his voice. “Part of that was givin’ the equipment up. You can hardly blame me.”
He watches her right back, not unlike the way he’d watched the man dead at their feet. Like he has half a mind to pounce at any moment. The effect is perhaps dimmed by the fact that his eyes look human now though.
“Suppose I should be flattered. Y’all must be confident you can convince me to follow your orders, to be considerin’ a position with such high stakes.”
His hands now free, he rubs at his wrists and stretches out his legs, arching his back in a languid stretch.
Her lip twitches ever so slightly at his remark. He doesn't know. Good. Best to keep it that way.
"You are a demon. One side could certainly see to your needs better than the other. But if you prefer to be locked away as a scientific curiosity until your host finally expires, that is always an option," she replies evenly, fingers steepling primly in front of her.
"Trust that we've taken measures to ensure you can be contained once more, if necessary. But if you are willing to conduct yourself appropriately, you will find life here much less restrictive. And no one will attempt to bottle you back up, for a start."
“Just so long as I’m a good dog at the end of your leash.”
He finally goes to stand, the process taking more relying on the wall than he’d like. But once upright, he’s able to stand on his own, and he takes a moment to look himself over. Prominent scarring still on his torso, body weak but responsive. He looks down at his own hand, the flesh and blood one, closing his fingers into a fist before opening them again.
A broken body, but his nonetheless. It’s a start.
“And who do I report to around here? You?” He looks up at her with one eyebrow raised. “A woman who could’ve been a demon in another life—seems appropriate.”
"Charming," she replies flatly, before gesturing for him to follow. It's a test of sorts. Leave him his mobility, his perception of freedom. See what he'll do with it when given the opportunity.
Nothing need change. And the failsafe in case he decides to act out of turn courses through his blood. And how willing he had been to suck down every last drop. So much the better.
The demon would really love nothing more than to see if Moira’s blood is as edible as any other monster’s—and if it’s not, finding another way to dispense with her. Preferably in a particularly painful way. But he knows better than to try just now, with her on her guard and him in an unknown place and weakened to boot. If he’s patient, a better opportunity will present itself. He’s sure of that.
So he follows, keen eyes taking note of everything there is to see. Any people they pass, and what they’re visibly armed with. The structure of the building. What rooms there might be so see.
He can tow the line for as long as it suits him. And when it doesn't, he doesn't see what's stopping him from leaving this place entirely.
In the meantime, out of curiosity, he focuses his attention internally in search of that bond. After all, if his sire is around... well, who better to help him recover his strength?
The presence is surprisingly close, when he reaches out. On a lower level, seemingly in conference with others here at the base.
It takes Hanzo somewhat by surprise to feel that sudden tug, and he's certain they must have noticed the way his gaze suddenly flickered up, attention drawn elsewhere. But none of them say anything, and Hanzo puts it from his mind for now.
The fool got himself captured. Why is he not surprised?
He doesn’t engage any further than that, though he thinks he could despite the distance. Their bond is metaphysical, which a realm he’s well-practiced in. It really had been a waste that Jesse hadn’t learned to utilize it more. He’d barely even scratched the surface, and more’s the pity, but it’ll serve the demon well. Any move he makes on that front won’t be expected.
Content with the thought that his and Hanzo’s paths will cross before long, he continues his survey of the base, keeping Moira always within his line of sight. She still has tricks, that’s a given. But what will they be?
None she's willing to give away so readily. And anyway, the theory is if the demon feels like he's got some freedom, some range of movement, his reactions will be more genuine. They'll be able to learn what to expect, plan for the future.
The experiment is still happening, but not quite on the scale Moira would have likely hoped for. Still. It's better than nothing, which seems to be the consensus all around.
Then, his first opportunity presents itself. Overwatch has noticed he's gone missing, and are investigating. They'll need to look into where these search parties wind up, and if possible? Neutralize the agents involved.
Surely, a task that asks too little of so powerful a creature.
Talon plays its cards close to its chest. Unsurprising, for an organization that has lasted so long and become so powerful—but also puzzling, considering they haven’t made their methods of control more overt. It makes the demon antsy. They already think they can reign him in, clearly. But just how do they intend to do that?
That, or they’re foolish enough to trust him. He knows better than to underestimate them that much.
“Gonna need my gun,” he comments airily when the details of his first “mission” are revealed. “Could operate with just any firearm, but you’d be riskin’ some subpar performance.” He has all of Jesse’s knowledge about Overwatch still, and everything he needs to know about the agents themselves. Taking them out would be easy if he were inclined to follow orders. He can already guess where the teams might end up: Jesse’s old watering hole in New Mexico for starters, on the off-chance he just jumped ship. One team would look into the facility where he was captured, likely knowing by now he’d accessed certain files before he’d left. They might not enter the town and risk being noticed, but they’d be nearby. And there’d be those left behind at the base. A skeleton crew at best.
It’s a test for Talon as much as himself. Will they let him go alone? Surely not, but what’s to stop him from taking out the entourage? That is the plan after all. That, or take out a few Talon agents around the base before even getting to the outside. That second option is looking better by the minute, if only Moira would give him some space to breathe.
Sadly, it doesn't look like she's letting him off his leash just yet. Nor is he being given his weapon, not until it comes closer to time for him to depart. And of course, there's the matter of which poor bastard is going to have the task of trying to wrangle a demon in human skin.
Really, there's only one choice.
And it takes everything Hanzo has to remain composed behind his mask as Moira instructs them both. They'll be allowed to deliberate which targets to head towards, depending on how ambitious the pair of them feel. She's obviously relishing the discomfort in the room as Hanzo stares down McCree.
Something is wrong. Something is wrong with him, but he can't place what, and Moira hasn't broken that particular subject yet.
‘Jesse’ can feel the weight of Hanzo’s stare, but does an exemplary job of pretending he doesn’t. This is both a blessing and a curse, having his sire be the one to accompany him. He has to decide the best way to take advantage of it before he engages. So his attention remains on Moira, thoughts only half on the mission, his countenance relaxed save for the flash of annoyance at being denied his gun—an understandable reaction, surely, even if it were still Jesse at the wheel.
Once the mission briefing is over, he leans his arms on the table in front of him, expression thoughtful.
“We’ve got ourselves some options. Taking out one of the teams in a civilian area would be easiest, and they’ll be the ones least prepared for an attack. But if we wanted to get boots on the ground at the base…” which he has not revealed the location of, assuming they don’t already know, “… they’d probably let me wander right on in. But that has the highest risk of going badly for us.”
It’s then that he turns his gaze to Hanzo, familiar honey-brown eyes locking on his sire’s.
It's hard to say what he thinks or feels, with that mask in place. All that remains truly visible are his eyes, which have been staring unblinkingly at Jesse for some time. Once the other's gaze moves back towards him, he jerks a look at Moira, who smiles placidly. Waiting for his response.
Damn her.
After a moment of silent deliberation, Hanzo fixes his dark eyes on the intel instead.
"We should refrain from drawing attention to our movements. Attacking the base is the riskiest, but a precise strike at their core will ensure the most damage done. If it is to be the two of us, we can remain mobile enough to evade their defenses. If we do not escape, I suspect you will still gain some use from our efforts."
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Imagine what they could unlock.
She's pulled from these thoughts by the pop and spark of a nearby machine, and her teeth grit. Determined, she continues to try to drag what she can from him, anything to stave off the flames. Then suddenly, from behind her, a blue circle of light pops into being. A mechanical hand reaches through, tugging Moira back with it, before pop! The portal vanishes from sight once more.
Now, they can start to seal the lab off in earnest. It's not the prison she would have opted for, but they'll have to make do now, won't they.
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Then the flames retreat, returning to their source and dancing among his fingertips before snuffing out. A shame. If he was in his full power, he might even have been able to melt the metal at his wrist. An experiment for another time.
“This is fun, isn’t it mijo?” he says to himself despite knowing that no one will answer.
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Fortunately, she's already removed the other specimens. Even if the demon does summon enough strength to rip itself free of its shackles, there's nothing to feed on. No way to regain its vessel's strength, trapped inside of a starving vampire cut off from any and all food sources.
Until daylight, no one even travels down to observe the mess within through one of the lab windows.
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But the demon is nothing if not patient. It will bide its time, regardless of what the denizens of the lab get up to while he recovers. Human, immortal—they’re all so short-sighted.
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There would be ways of finding out, in time. First, they had to be in a position to bargain with the creature. Perhaps tempting it with food, a way for it to recover its strength, provided it was willing to give something in turn. Information. Service. Whatever they might be able to finesse from it. Moira of course wants little more than to pry him open a piece at a time, but there are others in Talon with...alternate goals in mind.
After three nights, Moira appears at the door of the cell. Time to try this again.
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“O’Deorain. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He sits on the ground, back propped up against the wall, and watches her with those same, shadowed eyes. There are subtle differences tonight, however. The way his skin seems pulled more taut over his face, the prominence of his fangs. The tell-tale signs of a vampire well into starvation.
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"A meal. After which you'll behave yourself long enough to earn less...limiting accommodations. Refuse, or take advantage of the offer? And you'll not receive another of the kind." One eyebrow arches.
"Interested?"
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“You drive a hard bargain. And an unfair one."
He nods, still staring at her companion.
"You’ve got yourself a deal.”
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Maybe the alternative he was offered was worse than this. Somehow.
With stuttered breaths, he drops to his knees beside the demon, and by now his whole frame shakes. But he makes no move to defend himself from what's to come.
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When it’s done, he looks up with a sound not unlike a purr and lets the body drop from his hands. He looks better. Less desperate, but not wholly recovered. He turns towards Moira and licks the blood off his lower lip.
“I’ll need more than that.”
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She approaches, stepping over the body of the unfortunate guard, before gesturing for him to lift his wrists.
"But, as promised."
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Regardless, he raises his hands with a look that that could almost be described as put-out. As he waits, he blinks, perhaps for the first time—and after, his eyes look normal again. Like McCree’s. He has the strength for that now at least.
“Where to now, doc? Back to the lab? Or do you have somethin' more interesting for me?"
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A little more swiftly, and with her attention ever on him.
"It has been determined that you are worth a great deal to Talon. The method of your service can be influenced by your actions, moving forward. Some believe that a proper operative could be made of you. Particularly since Overwatch trusts the man you reside within."
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He watches her right back, not unlike the way he’d watched the man dead at their feet. Like he has half a mind to pounce at any moment. The effect is perhaps dimmed by the fact that his eyes look human now though.
“Suppose I should be flattered. Y’all must be confident you can convince me to follow your orders, to be considerin’ a position with such high stakes.”
His hands now free, he rubs at his wrists and stretches out his legs, arching his back in a languid stretch.
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"You are a demon. One side could certainly see to your needs better than the other. But if you prefer to be locked away as a scientific curiosity until your host finally expires, that is always an option," she replies evenly, fingers steepling primly in front of her.
"Trust that we've taken measures to ensure you can be contained once more, if necessary. But if you are willing to conduct yourself appropriately, you will find life here much less restrictive. And no one will attempt to bottle you back up, for a start."
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He finally goes to stand, the process taking more relying on the wall than he’d like. But once upright, he’s able to stand on his own, and he takes a moment to look himself over. Prominent scarring still on his torso, body weak but responsive. He looks down at his own hand, the flesh and blood one, closing his fingers into a fist before opening them again.
A broken body, but his nonetheless. It’s a start.
“And who do I report to around here? You?” He looks up at her with one eyebrow raised. “A woman who could’ve been a demon in another life—seems appropriate.”
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Nothing need change. And the failsafe in case he decides to act out of turn courses through his blood. And how willing he had been to suck down every last drop. So much the better.
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So he follows, keen eyes taking note of everything there is to see. Any people they pass, and what they’re visibly armed with. The structure of the building. What rooms there might be so see.
He can tow the line for as long as it suits him. And when it doesn't, he doesn't see what's stopping him from leaving this place entirely.
In the meantime, out of curiosity, he focuses his attention internally in search of that bond. After all, if his sire is around... well, who better to help him recover his strength?
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It takes Hanzo somewhat by surprise to feel that sudden tug, and he's certain they must have noticed the way his gaze suddenly flickered up, attention drawn elsewhere. But none of them say anything, and Hanzo puts it from his mind for now.
The fool got himself captured. Why is he not surprised?
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He doesn’t engage any further than that, though he thinks he could despite the distance. Their bond is metaphysical, which a realm he’s well-practiced in. It really had been a waste that Jesse hadn’t learned to utilize it more. He’d barely even scratched the surface, and more’s the pity, but it’ll serve the demon well. Any move he makes on that front won’t be expected.
Content with the thought that his and Hanzo’s paths will cross before long, he continues his survey of the base, keeping Moira always within his line of sight. She still has tricks, that’s a given. But what will they be?
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The experiment is still happening, but not quite on the scale Moira would have likely hoped for. Still. It's better than nothing, which seems to be the consensus all around.
Then, his first opportunity presents itself. Overwatch has noticed he's gone missing, and are investigating. They'll need to look into where these search parties wind up, and if possible? Neutralize the agents involved.
Surely, a task that asks too little of so powerful a creature.
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That, or they’re foolish enough to trust him. He knows better than to underestimate them that much.
“Gonna need my gun,” he comments airily when the details of his first “mission” are revealed. “Could operate with just any firearm, but you’d be riskin’ some subpar performance.” He has all of Jesse’s knowledge about Overwatch still, and everything he needs to know about the agents themselves. Taking them out would be easy if he were inclined to follow orders. He can already guess where the teams might end up: Jesse’s old watering hole in New Mexico for starters, on the off-chance he just jumped ship. One team would look into the facility where he was captured, likely knowing by now he’d accessed certain files before he’d left. They might not enter the town and risk being noticed, but they’d be nearby. And there’d be those left behind at the base. A skeleton crew at best.
It’s a test for Talon as much as himself. Will they let him go alone? Surely not, but what’s to stop him from taking out the entourage? That is the plan after all. That, or take out a few Talon agents around the base before even getting to the outside. That second option is looking better by the minute, if only Moira would give him some space to breathe.
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Really, there's only one choice.
And it takes everything Hanzo has to remain composed behind his mask as Moira instructs them both. They'll be allowed to deliberate which targets to head towards, depending on how ambitious the pair of them feel. She's obviously relishing the discomfort in the room as Hanzo stares down McCree.
Something is wrong. Something is wrong with him, but he can't place what, and Moira hasn't broken that particular subject yet.
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Once the mission briefing is over, he leans his arms on the table in front of him, expression thoughtful.
“We’ve got ourselves some options. Taking out one of the teams in a civilian area would be easiest, and they’ll be the ones least prepared for an attack. But if we wanted to get boots on the ground at the base…” which he has not revealed the location of, assuming they don’t already know, “… they’d probably let me wander right on in. But that has the highest risk of going badly for us.”
It’s then that he turns his gaze to Hanzo, familiar honey-brown eyes locking on his sire’s.
“Thoughts?”
no subject
Damn her.
After a moment of silent deliberation, Hanzo fixes his dark eyes on the intel instead.
"We should refrain from drawing attention to our movements. Attacking the base is the riskiest, but a precise strike at their core will ensure the most damage done. If it is to be the two of us, we can remain mobile enough to evade their defenses. If we do not escape, I suspect you will still gain some use from our efforts."
A quiet accusation, but pointed all the same.
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