4vA]^#PG#IN-7#ST-7#SP-7#DR-7#EP-7#FS-1
Post by Uatu the Watcher on Oct 8, 2008 20:54:20 GMT -5
[Vaughan, Brian K. (w), Adrian Alphona (p), and Craig Yeung (i)] “Parent Guidance Chapter Two” Runaways., v2, #15, (June, 2006), Marvel Entertainment: [1-5]
Adapted By: Uatu, The Watcher
“Padre Nuestro.” A fine stream of smoke wisped away from Victor’s lips as the electrical sparks from inside his mouth flickered wildly “Perdona… Perdona nuestras ofensas.” His eyes were filled with shock and terror. His hands were cold and clammy as they clenched the ground beneath him. A small layer of sweat masked his forehead. The cybernetic teenager’s body was poised over the floor of the Hostel’s main chamber—hunched over appearing collapsed as his posture seemed exhausted and filled with dread.
“I… I think I screwed up.” His statement could only mildly reflect the impact of his actual actions, as the bodies of his new friends and team members were strewn across the Hostel’s surroundings. Security daemons lay deathly still and eradicated. The leapfrog remained toppled over, crushed and unsalvageable. The struggle and conflict that ensued had left no survivors-save for the attacker himself—Victor Mancha.
"Your analysis is incorrect Victor." A metallic, grinding, whine of gears and metal brushed against a hollow, steel, darkness, that formed words and statements recognizable to simplistic organic creatures. "You’ve actually made dear old Gepetto very proud today." Behind Victor, the dreaded figure of his natural father and creator overshadowed his distressed body. It was just as still and unflinching as every other inanimate object throughout the surroundings. Yet behind the surface, the subtle noise of pistons and electricity seemed to pulse and hum its way to the surface. Yet as it waited in the dark, a deep, low, red glow emitted from its face like a demonic heartbeat—praising the actions of its offspring.
“No, I… I would die before I did something like this for you.” Victor shouted back to his father, fighting back the tears of his guilt—the grim nightmares of his worst fear becoming a reality. “I’m not your toy, Ultron.”
"Every child is a marionette, and long after you’ve all run away from the shop and grown into real live boys and girls..." Upon instructing his creation, Ultron seemed to steadily approach Victor from behind, almost gilding across the floor. "...know that your makers are still pulling the strings." With intense speed, Ultron’s steel claws latched around Victor’s fragile neck and ripped his small frame up from the ground. Eye to eye with his maker, Mancha could feel the cold grip begin to apply immediate pressure to body and quickly squeeze the life out of his system with a large resounding metal clank.
Victor struggled, fighting the grasp of his father. Crying out in whimpers and moans. His fingers tensed. His voice lost sound. His body fought to move but failed to act. Locked in an immobile state. Complete isolation. The fate his father had intended for him foreshadowed the inevitable bonds of his fate.
“Dude, put yourself on mute.” A bright light seemed to shine out in the darkness. A familiar voice breached the terrifying vision. “You’re gonna wake the whole Hostel.”
Mancha’s eyes opened in an instant at the sight of a ghost of one of the friends he had just slaughtered. A brief yelp escaped his lips that resounded off the surroundings of his room—reclining back in fright within his bed.
“Chill, Vic. It’s me.” Chase removed his flashlight’s glare from his face, shining it back upon Victor, as the tension inside the unlit bedroom begin to ease into an unnerving circumstance. Stein , originally intent on investigating the strange and disturbing noises of his team member’s violent night terrors, had now received more than he had originally intended to. Just as Victor began to awake and remove himself from his nightmare, he flung back the sheets covering his form and nonchalantly exposed himself to Chase in an attempt to reach the bedside lamp. “You were just having… another… bad…”
“AHHHH!” Chase screamed just as loud as Victor had upon his sudden awakening at the awkward sight before him—dropping his flashlight to cover his eyes. “Gratuitous male nudity! My eyes!”
Victor switched the lamp on with a simple click as Chase lamented his shock “You’re sleeping in the raw? What is wrong with you? At least the computer wore tennis shoes!”
“We live under a tar pit, Chase. It’s a million degrees down here.” Victor masked his indecency with the sheet atop his bed, wrapping it around his waist before sitting back down on his bed. “Besides. What’s the big deal? I’ve got the same parts that you do.”
“Says who? You’re an electric chair with legs!” Chase remarked back with a suspicious twist on the brow of his forehead, shooting a squinting glare at Victor. “Except, you know, instead of four legs, you have, uh… three.”
“Chase, I risked my neck to save your girlfriend’s life back in New York.” He pleaded exhaustingly with Chase; reflecting on his recent nightmare. “Every day, I deal with the fact I’m potentially gonna grow up to be this… this killer, but for now, I’m as loyal to our team as anyone. Why do you hate me so much?”
“It’s not hate, Mancha. More like jealousy.” Chase quieted his tone at the despair of Victor, kneeling down to swipe the flashlight from the floor before taking a seat at Victor’s desk.
Mancha remained puzzled exactly as to what Chase meant. The usual sarcastic nature that had rubbed off on him from Stein’s girlfriend made Chase’s comments suspect to dual interpretations. “This is the part where you trick me into feeling sorry for you, and then laugh in my face and admit you were just kidding, right?”
“I’m serious, paranoid android. Look, before they got blown up trying to jumpstart the apocalypse, my folks were these mad scientist types.” Chase thumbed the lens of his flashlight as he continued on with the delicate and sensitive subject of his parents. “Our family got rich off patenting crap. Everything they made was a total success… except for me.” Turning his lost gaze away from the simple device in his hands, he looked in Victor’s direction at the dismay of his past. “They wanted a whiz kid, but they got an average athlete with a combined SAT score of too lazy to show up. But you… they would have been happy to invent something as cool as you.”
“Wow, thanks, That…” Mancha was hesitant on how exactly to comment on the subject that was obviously a serious issue to his friend. “That actually means a lot.”
“Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head.” Chase raised his hand and pointed his index finger in doubt towards Victor. “My parents may have been geniuses but they were also genocidal maniacs.”
Adapted By: Uatu, The Watcher
“Padre Nuestro.” A fine stream of smoke wisped away from Victor’s lips as the electrical sparks from inside his mouth flickered wildly “Perdona… Perdona nuestras ofensas.” His eyes were filled with shock and terror. His hands were cold and clammy as they clenched the ground beneath him. A small layer of sweat masked his forehead. The cybernetic teenager’s body was poised over the floor of the Hostel’s main chamber—hunched over appearing collapsed as his posture seemed exhausted and filled with dread.
“I… I think I screwed up.” His statement could only mildly reflect the impact of his actual actions, as the bodies of his new friends and team members were strewn across the Hostel’s surroundings. Security daemons lay deathly still and eradicated. The leapfrog remained toppled over, crushed and unsalvageable. The struggle and conflict that ensued had left no survivors-save for the attacker himself—Victor Mancha.
"Your analysis is incorrect Victor." A metallic, grinding, whine of gears and metal brushed against a hollow, steel, darkness, that formed words and statements recognizable to simplistic organic creatures. "You’ve actually made dear old Gepetto very proud today." Behind Victor, the dreaded figure of his natural father and creator overshadowed his distressed body. It was just as still and unflinching as every other inanimate object throughout the surroundings. Yet behind the surface, the subtle noise of pistons and electricity seemed to pulse and hum its way to the surface. Yet as it waited in the dark, a deep, low, red glow emitted from its face like a demonic heartbeat—praising the actions of its offspring.
“No, I… I would die before I did something like this for you.” Victor shouted back to his father, fighting back the tears of his guilt—the grim nightmares of his worst fear becoming a reality. “I’m not your toy, Ultron.”
"Every child is a marionette, and long after you’ve all run away from the shop and grown into real live boys and girls..." Upon instructing his creation, Ultron seemed to steadily approach Victor from behind, almost gilding across the floor. "...know that your makers are still pulling the strings." With intense speed, Ultron’s steel claws latched around Victor’s fragile neck and ripped his small frame up from the ground. Eye to eye with his maker, Mancha could feel the cold grip begin to apply immediate pressure to body and quickly squeeze the life out of his system with a large resounding metal clank.
Victor struggled, fighting the grasp of his father. Crying out in whimpers and moans. His fingers tensed. His voice lost sound. His body fought to move but failed to act. Locked in an immobile state. Complete isolation. The fate his father had intended for him foreshadowed the inevitable bonds of his fate.
“Dude, put yourself on mute.” A bright light seemed to shine out in the darkness. A familiar voice breached the terrifying vision. “You’re gonna wake the whole Hostel.”
Mancha’s eyes opened in an instant at the sight of a ghost of one of the friends he had just slaughtered. A brief yelp escaped his lips that resounded off the surroundings of his room—reclining back in fright within his bed.
“Chill, Vic. It’s me.” Chase removed his flashlight’s glare from his face, shining it back upon Victor, as the tension inside the unlit bedroom begin to ease into an unnerving circumstance. Stein , originally intent on investigating the strange and disturbing noises of his team member’s violent night terrors, had now received more than he had originally intended to. Just as Victor began to awake and remove himself from his nightmare, he flung back the sheets covering his form and nonchalantly exposed himself to Chase in an attempt to reach the bedside lamp. “You were just having… another… bad…”
“AHHHH!” Chase screamed just as loud as Victor had upon his sudden awakening at the awkward sight before him—dropping his flashlight to cover his eyes. “Gratuitous male nudity! My eyes!”
Victor switched the lamp on with a simple click as Chase lamented his shock “You’re sleeping in the raw? What is wrong with you? At least the computer wore tennis shoes!”
“We live under a tar pit, Chase. It’s a million degrees down here.” Victor masked his indecency with the sheet atop his bed, wrapping it around his waist before sitting back down on his bed. “Besides. What’s the big deal? I’ve got the same parts that you do.”
“Says who? You’re an electric chair with legs!” Chase remarked back with a suspicious twist on the brow of his forehead, shooting a squinting glare at Victor. “Except, you know, instead of four legs, you have, uh… three.”
“Chase, I risked my neck to save your girlfriend’s life back in New York.” He pleaded exhaustingly with Chase; reflecting on his recent nightmare. “Every day, I deal with the fact I’m potentially gonna grow up to be this… this killer, but for now, I’m as loyal to our team as anyone. Why do you hate me so much?”
“It’s not hate, Mancha. More like jealousy.” Chase quieted his tone at the despair of Victor, kneeling down to swipe the flashlight from the floor before taking a seat at Victor’s desk.
Mancha remained puzzled exactly as to what Chase meant. The usual sarcastic nature that had rubbed off on him from Stein’s girlfriend made Chase’s comments suspect to dual interpretations. “This is the part where you trick me into feeling sorry for you, and then laugh in my face and admit you were just kidding, right?”
“I’m serious, paranoid android. Look, before they got blown up trying to jumpstart the apocalypse, my folks were these mad scientist types.” Chase thumbed the lens of his flashlight as he continued on with the delicate and sensitive subject of his parents. “Our family got rich off patenting crap. Everything they made was a total success… except for me.” Turning his lost gaze away from the simple device in his hands, he looked in Victor’s direction at the dismay of his past. “They wanted a whiz kid, but they got an average athlete with a combined SAT score of too lazy to show up. But you… they would have been happy to invent something as cool as you.”
“Wow, thanks, That…” Mancha was hesitant on how exactly to comment on the subject that was obviously a serious issue to his friend. “That actually means a lot.”
“Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head.” Chase raised his hand and pointed his index finger in doubt towards Victor. “My parents may have been geniuses but they were also genocidal maniacs.”