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Jan 22, 2019 12:25 PM
A Jay tries to kill Thanos, it ends predictably
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The sort of death that awaited her if she willingly abandoned her mission goes unspoken, but Thanos can make a fairly educated guess. While repairing her from the thrashing she'd received at his hands, his cybernetics technicians had discovered several implants distributed through Grim's body. Not augmentations. Something more sinister.

 

"It's true, I have an abiding preference for quick deaths. Torture is a poor tool for extracting information and a mediocre one for extracting compliance." Thanos sounds as though he's given various modes of death a lot of thought. Not surprising, really, considering his moniker. "I find the most effective use of slow death to be providing leverage over third parties who care about the victim and, given what I've surmised about the man who sent you here, I doubt that's relevant in your case?"

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"He's more likely to offer suggestions."

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"A travesty."

 

Angry. Angry again, but not at the child in front of him. At the fool who sent her.

 

"If he had any sense, he'd be proud of you."

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Confusion, at that idea. "Why would you be proud of a weapon?"

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"You did better yesterday than he had any right to expect you to." Pause. "Though obviously, I have personal reasons for wishing you'd been sloppier."

 

You. Killed. My. Son.

Inward turmoil. Outward calm.

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"-I am sorry." Not that she did what she needed to survive, but that she caused him that pain.

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"It's okay, little one." He reaches out, puts a finger against her chin, then tilts her head up so that she can look him in the eye. "I don't blame you for what you did."

His eyes are calm. Gentle. Genuine. Yes, there's pain there, but he is a being well acclimated to clear thought in the face of loss.

"You suggested earlier, that it would not make sense to take pride in a weapon? Well. I would say it'd be even more senseless to hold a weapon accountable for the choices of an unworthy wielder."

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She flinches a little at his touch, but lets him tilt her head up. Her lips part, and she doesn't seem to have an answer for him, except. "I- that is logical, sir."

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He withdraws his hand, then reaches into a recess of his armor and draws forth a bloodied piece of mangled cybertech.

 

"But you're not his any longer." Thanos tosses the cybernetic transponder onto the bed beside Grim. "He can no longer speak to you, or trigger those implants, across interstellar distances. And so any further hostile action you take from this moment onward, against me or against my family, would be solely of your own initiative. Do you understand my meaning, little one?"

 

 

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She stares at the cybertech, breath catching in her throat. She can't quite accept that it's what was inside her, what her father used to force compliance.

"I understand, sir," she confirms with a sharp nod.

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"Good." He rises to go. "I'll have a room made up for you."

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"...sir?" she clearly doesn't understand the segue.

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Thanos pauses at the doorway.

She's right to question him. His intentions here feel... muddled, in a way that makes him somewhat uncomfortable.

If there's one thing he likes less than having complicated feelings, though, it's explaining such feelings.

 

"You will cause no further trouble aboard this ship, and will leave your quarters only when escorted." He opts for the simplest possible framing. "You will be asked questions and, provided you continue to answer honestly, you will remain safe here."

 

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...That makes more sense, and she seems to relax with the direction.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Beat. "And- thank you. For the medical attention." (He hadn't had to do that. Not to the extent he has.)

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"Of course, child." He gestures nonchalantly in her direction without turning his body around to face her. "Stay put for now, I'll send someone to collect you later."

 

He leaves.

 

The bloodied transponder still lays beside her on the infirmary bed--glistening, menacing, and totally inert.

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She touches it, almost to make herself believe it's real...

And then levers herself to her feet. She won't leave the room, but she forces her body through some easy katas to make sure everything mostly works as it should.

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Her fingers find the device quite solid. She might lack the expertise to identify it with certainty but, considering how eerily silent her head has been since she got incapacitated earlier, it seems reasonable to conclude that her uplink to Damien O'Reilly really has been severed.

 

Her body protests renewed activity. She's still sore pretty much all over, but if she concentrates she can still coax smooth martial movements out of her beleaguered musculature.

 

Time passes.

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"Hey. Prisoner."

A dour-face woman appears at the infirmary door.

"Come with me."

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It's not the first time she's had to force her muscles to obey after injuries. She manages.

She nods sharply, doesn't argue the moniker, and will follow after her in perhaps eerie silence.

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Silence? Proxima is having none of that.

"Gamora says you sang like a canary before she so much as touched you. Pity that."

More hallways. Grim's escort leads her deeper into the ship's underbelly, towards its central hub.

"I think we ought to put the needles to you anyway. Just for Old Ebony's sake."

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Grim doesn't seem to have much of a reaction there. She has as much faith as she is able in Thanos' statement that she's safe.

"Perhaps you should," she can respect someone's need for vengeance for their family.

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Proxima wheels around, snarls slightly, and backs Grim up against a rusted support beam.

She doesn't touch her, not unless Grim elects to hold her ground as Proxima invades her personal space, but boxes her in completely and stops with her face just inches from Grim's.

"You don't know how lucky you are."

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Grim holds her ground enough that they're in close proximity as she let's Proxima back her into the beam.

"Do not presume what I do or do not know," she retorts. "I had no expectation of waking up. And no expectation of escaping torture, no matter what I said."

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"Hmpff."

Grim's response mollifies Proxima about as much as any response plausibly could have.

Proxima draws away, turns her back on Grim and strides into the next chamber at a brisk pace. It's a massive space, with an inwardly sloping ceiling and a huge throne on a raised dais in its center.

"Not far now. Try to keep up."

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She continues to follow, keeping up with apparent ease. (And if she's silently mapping the ship as they move, that's her business.)

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