Broker

It was sunny in the food court thanks to the large skylight. Just another day doing a little bit of people-watching. A few notes were already scribbled down on the notebook. That woman was probably having an affair. That girl was doing her best to keep her smoking habit from her father. Those two were secretly dating. He wrote everything down but kept the names out of it. It was better that way; he didn’t want to get in trouble. He was just trying to learn. Another step on his path to joining the BAU. That was his dream, now more so than ever.

Ordinary criminals were interesting.

Supervillains were fascinating.

Ollie set down his pen and reached for the small pile of fries at his side, and his hand froze. His brows furrowed. Something’s wrong. He felt a chill run up his spine. Where was I just a moment ago? Why can’t I remember?

“Hey! Is that Ollie?”

The chill turned into a spark of fear. He turned his head just in time to see an arm as thick as a small tree limb pass him and snatch his notebook off the table. He reached for it, horrified. “Wait! No!” he gasped. “That’s private!”

A pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him into his seat as a boy his age sneered down at him. He had short, brown hair and beady eyes that made his head look big. His thick neck bulged as he laughed. “What the fuck?” the guy said, flipping through the pages. “Are you spying on people?”

“I’m learning about people!” Ollie protested, trying to pull himself from his chair, but the hands on his shoulders forced him back down. The panic rose in his chest. Something was very wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “It’s for college! Please, Patrick, just put it down!”

“College boy! You?” Patrick laughed. “Maybe a community school or something.” Patrick leaned down to get to his eye level. “You’re learning about people, huh? Gonna be some kind of detective?”

Ollie shrank a little. “Yeah, sort of?”

“Alright! Tell me something about me, and maybe I’ll give this back!” Patrick said, waving the notebook in Ollie’s face. “Come on, man. Gimme something good.”

The young men behind Ollie laughed. He turned frantically towards anyone nearby, but nobody paid what was happening any mind. Even the security guard looked away. Patrick was a big guy, so it was understandable, nobody wanted to make him angry. He looked back at Patrick and swallowed. They went to the same high school; he knew him. He’d seen him often throughout the day-to-day. He had plenty of observations, but…

“I can’t,” Ollie said, trying to shrink even more into the seat. “Please don’t make me.”

Patrick frowned. “What? You think there’s something wrong with me?” he demanded and grabbed Ollie by the collar. “Spit it out, you little shit.”

Ollie winced. “You’re probably g-”

The fist nearly caved in the side of his face. He was on the ground in a heap as three young men crowded around him. He tasted blood. His head spun. He looked up into those beady eyes and saw something. Threads. Threads bounced off of them to the surroundings, to other people, connected by so many different colors. He felt something enter him, burning in his chest. Patrick sneered, and all Ollie wished was that they’d stop bullying him and bully someone else. They resent each other too, right? He could tell. So why didn’t they beat each other up?

WHAM!

Blood splattered across Ollie’s face, but it wasn’t his own.

WHAM!

A shout rang out.

More shouting.

Feet trampled over him, and he heard a scream. Angry cries sounded around him. He covered his head and looked around as everyone in the food court started to attack one another. Did… did I do that? he thought. Wait. No! He got to his feet. “Stop!” he shouted. “Please stop!” 

They didn’t stop. The little sparks of hatred and irritation, jealousy and malice, tiny bits of resentment blew up into a conflagration that sent everyone around him into a frenzy of rage. He hid under the table and covered his head again, tears streaming down his bludgeoned face. 

“It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault.”

It’s not your fault. You can start your life with the guild with your head held high. 

The memory of those words cut through the panic. Ollie looked up, wide-eyed, and saw a pale woman. She was tiny, with white hair and pink glowing eyes. She held out her hand, and a gentle smile crossed her face. She was familiar to him - his savior, his shining beacon of light, the Golden Thread. He scrambled to his feet and reached for her. It’s not my-

Ollie opened his eyes, and he was back at the table, the pen in his hand. His heart was pounding in his chest. His breaths came in rapid gasps as people walked by. 

“Hey! Is that Ollie?”

He experienced everything again in a haze. Fear. Confusion. Panic. A rush of power. Violence. Discord. Ollie was beneath the table again, tears in his eyes as the mayhem resumed. There she was again, reaching for him. He threw himself towards her and caught her hand, and his eyes opened. He was standing on a stage. His head was spinning. That woman was in front of him again with a card in her hand. He knew that card. His Hero License.

“Congratulations on becoming a hero,” Sonya said with a smile. “I’m proud of you.”

Her lip twitched in amusement. “Are you sure about that codename, Riot?”

The words came out of his mouth against his will. “I’m owning it now. It’ll remind me to be more careful in the future.”

Relief flushed through him, pride. That same pride he had when he spoke those words the first time. He smiled back at her and looked down at his license, and it nearly slipped from his fingers. Blood dripped from his hands and stained the card red. He staggered backwards with a shriek and looked around. Eyes were on him. So many eyes. Judging him. Wait! It’s not my fault! he pleaded. The words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. It’s part of the plan! I didn’t have a choice! He told me to!

A hand landed on his shoulder again, and he spun around and looked into a pair of glowing blue eyes. Otis smiled at him and gripped him tightly. “See? You could use a little more blood under those nails of yours,” Otis said, grinning ear to ear as he gestured around himself. Ollie stepped back out of his grip and looked around. They were in a warehouse. There were bodies everywhere. Torn apart. Ollie reached up to his face and tugged at his hair. “No! No, no, no!”

Otis laughed. “Oh, come on! How many people have you helped me kill, Riot? How many? It’s all on you, buddy!”

They weren’t strangers' faces. Lillian was on the ground. Cassiopeia. Alex. Val. Miss Carla. Miss Chernovna. Bodies everywhere. Blood everywhere. Limbs everywhere. Ripped, not cut. Shorn apart as if they’d been pulled at by a giant. He looked down at his bloodstained hands and heaved at the sight of the threads trailing from his fingertips. 

He fell to his knees as his heart caved in. “No, no, no, no! You’re wrong! I’m doing this to stop you!” he shrieked. “Sacrifices are-”

A hand grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head up. He looked into the twisted smiling face of Otis. “Are what? Necessary? Really?” he asked coldly. “You’re so full of shit, Riot.”

“My name is Ollie Anders!” Ollie shouted back.

“Hardly,” Otis refuted, shaking his head. “Ollie Anders died in that food court.”

“No!”

“Then what about this one?”

Ollie was standing again. His head was spinning. Everything felt like cotton. He could barely breathe, barely think. Where was he? Who? He blinked and looked down, meeting the cold blue eyes of a woman staring up at him from the floor of a prison cell. He looked down at his hands again. The blood was still there. He hiccuped as an arm wrapped around his shoulder. He slowly turned his head to see Otis again. “It’s time to commit, Riot. Kill Liberty.”

Kill… Liberty? She’s defenseless. She isn’t even my enemy. She’s a criminal, yes, but isn’t letting her see trial enough? There isn’t even a benefit to killing her. He swallowed. What am I even doing here?

“Do it.”

I can’t do this. Can I? I’ve already done it so many times.

“DO IT!”

This is wrong. This isn’t helping the plan at all. This is just murder.

“DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”

Ollie cracked under the pressure. He choked out a sob, and his hands moved. The first thread struck Liberty, and he felt it, a profound wrongness that went down to the very soul. The very make-up of her body tore, and she screamed, her limb parting from her shoulder like torn paper. This was a sin. A crime against nature. He wept as the threads whipped about, rendering her down into nothing. When it was over, he was swaying on his feet, his face damp with sweat, sprayed blood, and tears.

Otis’ hand landed on his shoulder again and gave him a firm squeeze of support. Ollie flinched, and, suddenly, a fist drove into his gut. He doubled over in pain as his world spun again. He was on his feet once more, looking down at Liberty.

“It’s time to commit, Riot. Kill Liberty.”

Tears, screams, and pain filled his ears. His heart cried out. His mind and soul begged him to stop. A fist drove into his stomach again, and Ollie was standing in front of Liberty once more.

“It’s time to commit.”

Tears. Screams. Pain.

His eyes opened again, and it wasn’t Liberty chained to the wall. It was Cassiopeia. He felt numb. Confused. Otis threw his arm around his shoulder and grinned at him. “It’s time to commit, Riot.”

Lillian this time. His heart cracked.

“It’s time to commit, Riot.”

John was chained next. He choked.

“It’s time to commit, Riot.”

Again and again and again. Over and over and over. The same faces, his friends, people he cared about, were torn to pieces at his hand. He stopped fighting it. By the end he stood in numb silence as he looked down at a new face. A single tear going down his right cheek. His left eye was dry and cold. His lips twitched as Sonya smiled at him from where she was chained. She sighed at him.

“Ollie, doesn’t that just mean you went through all that for the right reasons?” she asked.

“I let you down,” he mumbled.

“You let everyone down,” Sonya snarled. “Riot.”

His lips twitched again, and a smile cracked his face. “Did I?” Riot asked. “Or was it all doomed from the start? Otis says humans are pointless things. They just die. Isn’t that funny, Sonya?”

He croaked out a laugh. “It’s funny! With all their connections to one another, they always turn on each other. I can see how close they are, but they just… tear each other apart at the drop of a hat!” His words were tumbling out in a helpless, infuriated wail. "What's the point in saving them?!”

He sobbed out a chuckle and hung his head before slowly raising it again and looking her in the eyes. “It’s time to commit, Riot,” he burbled as the threads fell from his fingers. “Otis was right.” Sonya tilted her head in confusion as he stared back at her. He could see her threads. They looked off. Connected to the world around her rather than reaching out towards people. How could someone so great be so terribly flawed? He’d idolized her, pretended not to see those blood-red threads, that wickedness. Now, it was all he could see. Humans really are pointless things if even the greatest among them is so terrible. His lips curled into a smile as that single stream of tears continued from his right eye. It would never stop, ever.

“You really are just so… human,” he snarled.

Dawning shock bloomed on the thing’s face as he struck.

–

If there was one thing that Felwinter was accustomed to, it was nightmares. She knew how they felt. She understood the taste of the terror that tried to worm into her mind. Vivid dreams were just another part of her life. She’d stared into the abyss for a long time. Right into the same cruel eyes that were looking down at her as she lay on the ground, her arms tied behind her back. She could see Phillip’s face, his smile, and the leering gazes of those gathered around him.

It was so terrifying she wanted to cry. She wondered why, then, that she felt something else bubble up in her chest as Phillip knelt down to grab her chin. Then she remembered, and it made her want to giggle.

“You’re not getting away this time,” he hissed. “I think everyone’s-”

She couldn’t hold it in any longer. She snorted out a laugh, and his eyes narrowed. He snatched her face up with one hand and squeezed down on her jaw. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to what Otis had put her through before. Phillip gave a slight smile that seemed bereft of feeling, and she felt herself start to doze. The confusion came next as her vision swam and her mind cleared enough to see Otis standing over her. She looked around, her heart racing for a moment as she took in her surroundings. It was the inside of a cave, the same one he'd experimented on those things in.

“Wow,” she murmured. “This is really good.”

“Felwinter,” Otis growled. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

She lazily turned to look at him and felt a chill go down her spine as he reached towards her. Discordant thoughts bounded about in her head like ringing wind chimes. She felt the fear. The terror. Her body remembered the pain of what he put her through to change her power into what it was now. Emotion. Deep, thrumming, powerful emotion. It poured and poured into that empty hole in her chest. Her gut twisted as a nervous laugh cracked out past her lips. “Wow!” she laughed. “That one lasted a while!”

Otis’ hand snapped out and wrapped around her neck.

She stared up at him with wide, manic eyes. “How long can you keep this up?” she asked.

Otis frowned. “I think you’re well aware of what I’m capable of, Felwinter,” he said darkly. “Your usefulness to me is at an end. You’re better off as scrap to be used later.”

Her head lolled away and looked off to the cave wall. “You must be doing a number on Riot,” she paused and frowned. “I wonder how His Majesty is doing,” she snickered.

His hand squeezed down, and she choked, coughing out a laugh as the world around her flickered and changed once more. She was tied to the tree again. Otis was there, ready to rip the bomb out of her guts. He scowled at her, and the fear came back. Her mind screamed at her to beg for mercy. Every animal instinct told her that she was confronting the end of her life. Yet all those emotions did was sink down into that hole all over again. 

Otis’ lips curled in disgust. “You act like you’re enjoying yourself.”

She barked out a noisy laugh, patches of ice forming beneath her eyes and along her cheeks. “Am I?” she hiccupped. “Fuck no, I’m terrified,” she half-laughed, half-sobbed. Her body trembled as the horrified emotions were consumed inside of her, that hollow, hungry feeling growing deeper and deeper. She tilted her head and looked him square in the eyes as he approached her. Cold fingers touched her abdomen, and she looked down to see him prepare to remove the bomb all over again.

He looked up from the spot to her face and smiled.

She sneered back. “When I get out of this, whoever you are, I am going to tear your soul out and-” 

That was when the agony began.

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