A Meeting of Minds

Connor opened his eyes to a dark void. All around him was swirling nothingness, as if he was in eye of a midnight sandstorm. Directly across from the scrapper was the parasite. It stood like some sort of ancient idol, glossy and featureless. A golden man with a blank face, and bursting with power. Connor scowled at the sight. Then he looked downward to himself. At least he was back in his normal clothes, a bomber jacket and comfortable jeans. The only problem lay with his mecharm. The left sleeve of his antique leather jacket dangled empty. Even so, Connor felt great. Like he had just eaten a gourmet meal and had a fantastic rest. The scrapper rubbed his shoulder, feeling its completeness. He was shocked to find not hint of a connection port. Whatever this thing was, it had rid his body completely of implant technology.

The scrapper grimaced and focused back on the shining figure.

“I know you can hear me,” Connor shouted. “Open your eyes, or whatever those things are. I want some answers.”

A short blast of light came from the figure. Connor shielded his eyes at the action. The light dimmed, and the scrapper looked back. Now the figure had a bit more definition to his face. Eyes, a nose, even a mouth. Yet what stood out was the parasite's new attire. A long lime-green trench coat flowed over black pants and onto stylish boots. Underneath was a charcoal gray three-piece underneath, the tie a match for the parasite's eyes. Said eyes were covered by a domino mask. A fedora sat perched on its head.

The parasite cracked his neck, moving his right arm in a circle. It grinned. Blue light crackled across its face from the action.

“Sorry, I’ve always wanted to try this on,” it said. “The Hornet has been one of my favorites since he started. Can't fault anybody opposed to injustice and tyranny. Big Shadow lover as well, but he was always a bit too zealous for my tastes.”

“I have literally no idea what you are talking about,” Connor said. “Now get on with it.”

“With what? You said you wanted answers, but never asked me a question to begin with!”

“Alright then. Let's start with the basics. What are you? And how I can get rid of you?”

“Oh, but I think we made a pretty good team back there,” the parasite pouted. “At least, until you spoiled my fun.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed.

“Fun?” he hissed. “You think it’s fun using a woman as your personal shield?”

“Oh don’t be like that. I’ve been cooped up for so long, I needed an escape plan. Besides, they seemed capable enough. Better them than-”

Connor threw himself at the parasite before it had a chance to finish. Somehow, even though it looked like nothing, there was ground beneath the two. The parasite’s masked eyes raised in shock as Connor’s fist connected with its face. It didn’t move an inch. The parasite snorted. He happily grabbed the scrapper's hand. Connor yelled in pain. It felt like a burning vice on his hand. The scrapper pounded at the parasite's main body to try and escape.

“Impolite to cut somebody off,” the parasite mocked. “Maybe I should teach you some manners.”

He raised Connor’s arm to the sky. The scrapper found himself lighter than air, being thrust upwards with ease. Then the parasite threw his enemy down into blackness. Connor yelled, thinking he would slam into the unseen ground. Instead, he plummeted quite a ways downwards into the abyss. Connor struck the invisible ground hard on his back. It hurt, but he was still breathing. Coughing, he glanced up. The parasite was descending like a falling star. The scrapper barely had time to roll out of the way before the parasite landed, throwing up a field of sparks. Connor braced himself, raising his one fist. The sight caused the parasite to laugh.

“You really don’t like me, do you?” he barked. "So much so you think you can take me with only one hand?"

“I don’t even know what you are,” Connor spat. “Besides being something that Flynt had locked up in his basement like a forgotten toy. What, did he get tired of playing with you?”

The scrapper watched the parasite turn red in rage. He smirked. Sharp words were always a talent of his. Connor heard the thing make a few unnatural sounds, then transition back into English.

“The first thing I'm going to do when I take your body is wiping Flynt and his master off the face of the earth,” the parasite spat. “And before I grind this fighting spark of yours out, let me enlighten you. Your kind’s word for me is ‘Pinnacle.’ I don’t expect you to understand what I just said in my own language.”

The Pinnacle began walking towards Connor, glowing a malevolent yellow under his new clothes. The scrapper backpedaled, wondering how in the world he was going to get out of this. This thing wanted him dead. Even worse, it had the power to pull it off. If the scrapper had his mecharm, he stood a fighting chance. A small one, but one that would last him more than 4 seconds of pain. Connor looked back to the trailing sleeve. Then to the Pinnacle. The enemy held up a glowing ball of lightning. Spitting and crackling against the blackness, that sphere would be the last thing Connor laid eyes on.

It flickered and died without a word.

The Pinnacle, shocked at the action, gaped at his palm. All at once, he cried out and clutched it. His right arm disappeared, mirroring Connor’s handicap.

“What?!” the Pinnacle yelled.

All at once, Connor found his missing limb replaced by the Pinnacle’s. A moment of shock stunned both parties. Then Connor, not looking a gift horse in the mouth, got his feet underneath him. A slim chance had presented itself. If he was going down, this was his last stand. The scrapper shot his newfound left hand out. Nothing happened. He scowled, shook it a few times, and reached out again. The Pinnacle laughed.

A sharp pause, and the hand exploded into a tendril of pure power.

The Pinnacle barely had time to raise his remaining hand before he was drowned in light. A massive golden beam was shooting directly out of Connor’s shoulder. The scrapper grunted and dug his heels into the ground. He remembered this was what he did in the lab, but that was when both parties were semi-cooperating. Now he had the full brunt of the kickback. Connor looked from the attack up to his enemy. The Pinnacle had managed to form a small shield around himself. Yet it was frayed and barely holding together. Connor grabbed onto his new appendage, managing to shrink it back to a regular size. A jagged wave cut through it. All at once, the outpouring upon the Pinnacle’s shield compressed into several grasping fingers. Elongated and serrated digits dug into the defense. The Pinnacle cursed and tried repairing the barrier.

No dice.

Connor tightened his grip with newfound resolve. His hand shrank the shield downwards. The Pinnacle grimaced as he drew into himself. Finally, the barrier shattered like glass. Connor felt his hand dig into his enemy. He gave a cry of triumph. The parasite squirmed around, trying his best to do something. The scrapper clenched his fist and reeled the extended arm in. his enemy’s heels slid over the black ground, fighting all the way. Within seconds the two were only a couple feet apart. Whiteout eyes gazed with spite at their captor.

“This is all your friends’ fault,” the pinnacle hissed. “They’re doing something to me. To both of us.”

“Seems like it’s for the best,” Connor smirked.

“Yes, that’s exactly what you would say. I managed to get a small reading of your thoughts when we were bashing against each other. Your name is Connor Nineteen, correct?”

Connor blinked. He wondered just how much this thing could read of him. Hopefully not much. He recalled the bits absorbed when the Pinnacle had first possessed him. The scrapper tried to press into his enemy’s thoughts for more information. He was met with a wall of loud static and a dirty smile. Connor shook his head. Looks like it would have to be the old fashioned way.

“Yeah,” the scrapper admitted. “You have a name besides Pinnacle?”

“Not in your language,” the Pinnacle frowned. “But the one name that’s stood out to me over the years is the one you can call me. Silas, like the famous jailbreaker!”

“Uh-huh. So, Silas. Can you tell me a bit more about what’s going on? Why Flynt had you under wraps like a Christmas present?”

“I could.”

“Let me guess," Connor sighed. "I have to do something for you first?”

“You must have graduated top of your class, kid!” Silas shouted.

“And why should I?”

Connor squeezed just a bit more. Silas gasped, feeling the edges begin to fully bite into him. He panted a bit, then Connor relented.

“Because I'm the one holding the cards,” Silas said.

“Excuse me?” Connor replied.

“That’s my power you’re using. You ice me, no more power. Worse, don’t know what would happen if you did. Feedback loops are tricky things. Best case scenario, your arm would fall off. Worst, you explode from the kickback of offing me.”

Connor was about to press Silas a bit more on the matter. All at once, the scrapper found the darkness pressing in on them. His captive began to dim as Connor’s sight grew blacker and blacker. Even the gold of the Pinnacle’s body wasn’t enough to stand out. The last thing Connor heard was a shout of joy.

“Just call my name when you want to chat!” Silas’ mocking tone came. “I’ve got nothing to do but sit in this empty head of yours and watch life pass you by!”