Jonathon Worthington: Strangelight Investigator

Case #18: The Mystery of the Purloined Past (Chapter 12)

Orsch's shot went high and wide, his own resistance combined with my retaliatory strike forcing the cannon's shell to sail into the far wall of the warehouse. The structure was no match for a necromechanikally-enhanced cannon round, and the wall blew out in a spectacular explosion of green flame and shrapnel.

My shot, however, hit precisely where I'd intended.

Through my sanguinary sight I saw the tertiary brain in Orsch's chest, the one Aria had seized control over, torn apart by the bullet's impact. Foul sorcery lashed out from the small gunshot wound like a tentacle trying to drag its prey down with it, a dying protest from the third brain. I shook my head and cleared the supernatural vision from my eyes, allowing me to see the grim smile fixed on Orsch's lips as he swayed in place with the force of the hit. Despite the grievous damage done by the bullet the wound bled very little; had I not witnessed the internal injury with my mystical sight I would not have known the difference. Being essentially a modified brute thrall Orsch was more resilient to the injury than a living entity, a fact I'd been counting on.

"Orsch?" I called out tentatively. "Are you all right?"

A frightening grin at odds with the reserved ogrun I knew split his face. "Splendidly, sir. A fine shot, and an excellent use of your deductive insight. You have my thanks."

Aria screamed in defiance, thrusting her hand out as she tried to reassert control.

"Obey me, beast! Obey me!"

Orsch's disturbing smile grew in size. "Unfortunately for you, that is no longer a protocol within my cerebral matrix. Or to put it in a pedestrian form you will more easily comprehend: no."

Aria cried out in wordless frustration, falling to her knees as exhaustion and pain took its toll on her. I could barely feel her magic sputtering; she'd used most of her power to defend against Orsch's assault and to subsequently enslave him. For the moment she had nothing left to threaten with, and was a danger to no one.

Relief washed through me, robbing my knees of their strength and making me wobble. There was a dull throbbing pain from the burns on my back; my coat was a charred remnant clinging to the tattered shambles of my shirt. Still, given how close Orsch's cannon shell had passed and my proximity to the explosion, I felt I'd gotten off rather light. The mortuary-warehouse had not been so lucky, and given the fear of fire in the city's residents I estimated we had about five minutes, perhaps less, before the area was swarming with authorities and witnesses.

I looked up as Orsch loaded the last shell from his bandolier into the cannon. It was not pointed at me, but there was still an edge of wariness to my voice.

"You're you again, then? No more playing both sides of the fence?"

"Indeed. I rather think you will be pleased, sir. Not only did you liberate me from Aria's immediate control, but you also destroyed the primary inhibition mechanisms built into me during my reanimation. I am free, or rather, as free as one of my kind can be."

"Orsch?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Please stop smiling like that. It's actually quite creepy."

"As you say, sir," Orsch nodded, returning his countenance to its normal taciturn state. But I could still feel a devilish glee dancing behind his blank goggles, and it gave me pause. How much of my companion's sober outlook on the world had been due to the controls built into the third brain? I wasn't even sure if Orsch qualified as living or as undead; the necrotechs had rebuilt him, had obviously altered his physiology, but had he died and been reanimated during the process? Would they have even noticed the difference? Would he?