The Universe's Mixer

The night seemed calmer than usual to her, but perhaps here it was always serene. Not a gale blew, no wind or rain or sunshine. It was only her and the moon. Where such a feeling stemmed from she wasn't sure because she had never experienced anything quite like it before.

Except for a few times back before she had burden. Before she could see.

There was something special about complete darkness, being enshrouded away from the world and unable to imagine or fathom the things within the distance of a simple touch of the fingers or hands. It was something else to never behold true color, to never see outline or detail or shape. At that time she couldn't attempt to think of definition, depth, or even what the most simple object could be. But she could touch them and try. And she did.

At least until her luck changed for the better and for the worst.

The fact that Mag had left her dressing room for her final performance and had ended up in a City Commons struck her as unusual. She was used to Sanitarium Square, and this was nothing like that. There were no tents or booths set up that offered illicit surgery or cosmetic alteration. No, this one was bare of life, void of existence save for the rustle of a few nearby strays looking for dinner.

In the sky there was nothing. No floating billboards with her picture nor did she see any of her posters plastered on any of the buildings. It was a Heaven and a Hell both at the same time. It confused her. But if she was frightened then she didn't show it. She knew enough to keep her wits about her when something strange happened, she had been deflecting strange for a very long time. And yet was she, herself, not the epitome of strange? Take for example her eyes.

Once brown, her eyes held a glow of their own. They had held youth and innocence, dreams and hopes. Now they sparkled, lit up and shimmered, danced and swirled with a much different kind of glow. Rotti's glow. GeneCo's glow. The glow of a star, the most famous Soprano in all of the world and despite how young she did look Mag was tired of it all. She had been ready to give it all up, the glowing optics included because those were a symbol of her slavery. Her binding contracted signed in blood by a foolish girl a very long time ago.

She had been willing to sing her final aria, Chromaggia, with whom she shared so much in common.

But it had to wait and part of her was glad. She was still in full costume , the presence of the stage never fully having left her despite the obvious change in surrounding. The heels of her boots clicked against the pavement as she walked, but she didn't cease movement. She couldn't until she had figured out exactly where she was, and why she had come. She had to get to the bottom of this and she would in good time.

Eric settled into the night, tucking himself into the shadows with practiced ease. He didn't need to breathe in the air to know that it was different from the pollution in Detroit, clearer and free of the usual ash. Had this been Detroit it would've been aflame. The sky would be orange, crimson from the arms of the fires, and the streets would be covered in a coat of ash, burning buildings and lost dreams.

He was glad that this city held none of that blatant disrespect. The skyline was quite something to behold, each building casting it's unique presence against the darkness. One of the largest seemed to be the Stark Tower, a beacon of it's own amongst the collection and assortment of the other surrounding buildings. None seemed to be as spectacular as that one, but Eric really had never been one for endless flash. Even in his career as a musician he had taken his image serious, but it had never been described as flashy.

Lingering another moment in the shroud of the night he watched the peaceful sky. The air was void, also, of the usual city sounds. There were no sirens, no screams. He couldn't feel danger here like he had in Detroit. And the bird seemed almost unsettled by this.

Eric had a mission to complete and yet somehow he had found himself here instead. Sarah had been in trouble which was what had lured him out of the graveyard in the first place, but instead of saving her as soon as he crossed the threshold of the old, broken church he had found himself here. There was no Sarah, no Top Dollar or Myan, just the stillness of the city.

He looked down at the street from the top of the three story building he was on, surveying. He knew he couldn't stay here, he had to finish what they had started and finally find the peace he deserved. Which couldn't happen if he was hanging around here, but it was nice to be in a place void of that danger. Void of the tension, of the fear. Eric never feared, not anymore. He was fear. Fear for anyone willing to do harm intentionally to anyone else. The Killer of Killers, the Dark Avenger, the bringer of Death.

The crow cawed and flapped it's wings, perched on the overhanging ledge of the building. Eric only smiled a little and shrugged, before pulling back and out of sight.

He settled back into the shadows and closed his eyes as the bird took off into the night sky. He would wait for it to find an exit, and when it did, he would go without a word. He would finish his mission and finally be at peace. He would rest and finally be able to live.

But for now he would just wait.

The half-written, tear-stained note broke what was left of the mending pieces of his heart.

It was shattered like a fist through a mirror, and the shards were much too small, scattered and broken to fathom repair. That was the kind of object to be tossed away in the rubbish bin, never thought of except how to replace it. That was sort of what this felt like. A heart too broken, too beyond repair to replace and mostly it was because there would never be another that was exactly the right size. Nothing would be able to repair the hole there, no person, place or thing could ever make the hole go away. The void was an endless expanse of loss and grief, and the scientist wasn't sure how to cope.

He had dealt with grief before. At a young age, and perhaps he had been stronger then. Losing his mother was almost like this and she, too, was irreplaceable. There would never be anyone in his life that could fill that empty space, and it was the same with this. The loss was different because whereas his mother was long since dead, thirty years in her grave by now, Effie was still alive and well.

Bruce trembled at the thought of her being with anyone else, being satisfied, smiling and laughing. He hated the thought of another man giving her these things. Maybe he had driven her away, but if that was the case she wouldn't have tried to take her own life on the roof of Stark Tower. Bruce had agreed to stay married on paper but now....now, he was starting to feel regret. Was it easier to sever ties completely? Let her move on? She didn't seem to want that, but this letter...the writing was half-smeared from the tears, hers and his own, and he didn't know what to do.

He felt like he was standing in front of a wall, unable to go around, climb over it or dig beneath it. A standstill, a checkmate.

He needed to get out of the Tower for a while, relocate. But where? A motel? It seemed more appropriate than this.

With a wipe of his eyes across the sleeve of his lab coat Bruce tossed the note halfway across his desk, a feeble attempt at trying to be rid of its half-hearted words, and he closed his eyes to think. He hates himself, and everything else in that moment. And perhaps even her.