Chapter Text
Worm: Rise of Four
The beeping of the alarm clock wakes me. My hand slaps the white plastic top, followed by the sound of plastic breaking. “That’s another fucking expense. ‘Oh wait Clark, get a metal alarm clock it’ll last longer’. Yeah geez thanks fuckbrain father, where the fuck am I going to get the fucking time to fucking buy one. I ask you to do one thing and you fucking can’t yet…I’m handing you beer, and would you like some more sir’.” The sweet, sweet thoughts of dislike towards my father always replenish my beleaguered state; I gaze at the mirror and the portly, 5’8, mid-shoulder length brownish blonde rat nest hair stairs back. I’m not the most attractive of guys, resembling more of a barrel in my bad days but hey things are looking up. I live in the self-contained basement of the house, I stumble ass-naked through my kitchen into the shower the sensation of hot water wakes me up, the sound of heavy metal further helps. I pull on my faded punk-rock t-shirt, Sabaton to be precise and my favoured jogging bottoms and reinforced scuffed trainers.
I technically should be wearing shirt and tie, black and white…but I spend most of my day wearing hazmat suits that are out of the grimdark future. I’ve said to my boss ‘If those things rip, I’m fucked. Pretty sure Peter or Scratch ain’t going to care what I’m wearing.’ I look out the window, I let out a sigh. ‘Breakfast in a flask and Ol’ Bendy Bens Jacket Potatoes’. I, idly check my fridge; true enough, there’s a deep pan pizza. I sigh and shut the fridge. I pop my neck, pour my overly-saturated granola and muesli into the thermos flask before heading out to my battered second GMC Topkick.
‘It’s too damn early for this shit. I should find another job, oh wait, you’re 29 overly qualified, majorly underpaid and even more underlie fucked. However, you’re one of the best Biochemists and Biotinkerers in the North Boston Area.’ It’s a good thing I left at 05:45, as getting caught in the Traffic sucks; today’s been a good day. There’s no evidence of the local nutcases calling themselves ‘Capes’ and the various breathtaking but migraine inducing idiots like the Undersiders or even Empire 88.
I let out a shudder at the thought of the latter group. I'd run afoul of their youth wing at High School. Small annoyances like the locker being wrecked, shoved in said locker and the occasional beatings. I stood up to my bullies, and if I got pushed, I pushed back. My feuding with the Baby Nazis ended after one of my associates-in-target caused a car to explode; nearly killing the Baby Nazi in question.
I later found out he was a Parahuman. One with what could be classed as a ‘Striker Ability’, he had to touch something and willfully activate his skill; his happened to be kinetically-placed-exothermic-reactions. Normally, I would find this detrimental and a hamper to my social life, but as it could be controlled, I could only grin as it got them to back off.
I got through the traffic snarls and soon enough the urban environment was replaced by vast open space, I turned on the stereo and turned on the radio. Music rushed into the cab as I cruised along the endless roads; along the way I opened a Voice-to-Text app and in the manner of many single, introverted, nerds or geeks I began to talk to myself. Normally this would be seen as madness or insanity but these days it's known as ‘geniuses at work’. I'm an author or aspiring author, I prefer words to people; I prefer a pint and a book to people at the pub. Furthermore, I’m generally asocial.
I pull off the road and the large open road gave way to urban dirt tracks. Most people are thrown around by the uneven terrain but my truck is about as normal as I am. My cousin, a mechanic, and a parahuman, is an utter truck nut to the point his parahuman skill kicked in after he got hit by a truck. He ripped my beloved truck apart and replaced everything in it; the engine was a big block gas guzzler, the suspension was something out of the Military R&D Industrial Complex, the shocks and brakes were so sensitive I could probably J-turn like a pro…and inevitably crash; my cousin even installed a concealed roller cage in the cab. I’m gifted with science but driving and people not so much.
Eventually the Lab appeared, chain-linked fences on the outside with solid steel and electrified pylons making a formidable second layer. I might have mentioned I am qualified in Biochemistry…that’s a white-lie. I’m a trained Virologist and Biochemist. I work with viruses, that’s all I can legally say without ending up in jail or the birdcage. “Morning Grandpa.” It’s Jenkins, Jenkins is one of my closest friends, he works security where I work; unfortunately, our interests overlap and when he heard I was one of the Virologists here, he labelled me ‘Grandpa’. It’s a niche joke but it's caught on. As for the building itself; it’s a fortress of a building, it's a quarter-of-a-mile long, made of redbrick and on the surface it looks like a single-story building, it goes far further into the ground then I’d care to admit. It’s as far down as the miners were trapped in Quecreek back in ‘02. It’s got high pressure showers, blast doors and incineration devices every few hundred meters; we’re messing with ‘Pandemic Inducing Shit’ so it’s very schtum and zipped-lips about what we do.
Some do it for fun, others do it for money. Me…I do it because it means I can shut down my nosey parents and equally nosey family members with the words ‘NDA’ and ‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you.’ I pull into my patent parking spot, drink my breakfast and walk into the cigarette of my boss, Donald Jones; he’s not much bigger than me height wise, but he’s got build that makes an Offensive Line green with envy, his green eyes are covered in laugh lines. I take the proffered and lit cigarette, I’d saved his life a few months back and as a result we would talk. Donald…it’s hard to describe him, he’s my boss but he’s also my partner; we operate in pairs or trios, as I’ve said we work with dodgy shit doing dodgier work and get well paid. Unfortunately holidays are a pain to get, I don’t care…I’ve slummed retail and security and as long as I can get my weekends free I’m happy.
“You’re looking stressed out, Clark. Spill.” Donald gets me, being seriously introverted and more problems I can shoot with a standard rifle. He can read me like a book.
“The Empire's making serious noise around my area…again. I’ve heard rumours that they’ve pissed off the Dockers. Doesn’t help that one of their higher ups is still looking for me.” Donald snorted.
“Anyone who even sneezes in front of them warrants their attention; I’m not going to lie and say its going to be okay; but, just tread lighter than usual. You’ve never said why he’s looking after you.”
I snort “He thinks I had something to do with his son being hospitalised, it made the papers.” Donald paused.
“I remember that…you were involved?”
“No…I just happen to know one of the other guys being bullied and the bully himself. If I were going to do something, it would have been neurological recalibration.”
Donald nods, he’s got this nature about him that just allows me to feel safe. “C’mon, Grandpa, we’ve got work to do.”
“Not you too Disc Jockey.” Is my reply, yes, I work on my replies and witticisms; part of my problems leave me very slow on the contributing and witty banter. So I practice my retorts, eventually they become second nature. The card machines beep, lights flash green as we enter the building; we head down the foyer; the cafeteria and reception are the main rooms up here. On cue like clockwork Bendy Ben’s heterochromatic eyes, face like leather and military buzzcut in pristine chefs whites sticks his head out.
“Grandpa…your regular?” I nod, I try to glower at the cook but he knows me well. He grins and vanished into the kitchen.
“Have you thought about expanding your palette?” DJ commented idly as we descend to floor 23.
“I like things regular, safe, I’m not just keeping myself safe as we work. I keep you safe as well; thus…”
“Don’t fuck with independent variable, much like superstitions. I know. Clark, please, tomorrow, go for something that’s not a Jacket Potato, Beans, Tuna and Sweetcorn and covered in cheese.”
“I’ll get that on your tombstone. ‘Don’t eat the Jacket Potato.” I reply, sending my boss into a belly laugh.
“You’re one dry son of a gun…it’s why I like you.”
I chuckle at that “I thought it was because I’m fucking cautious to the point of pendantic.”
“That too…you’ve been doing this for nearly a year, you’re good…you could easily be a Team Leader in three years if you want. You’ve got a performance review with me and Charlotte in two weeks. So that’s going to be a Black and Whites event.” Donald replied, You see, Donald and I dress like we’re homeless and/or unemployed most of the time, much to the chagrin of Charlotte DeVille. Charlotte’s a decent and fair Department Manager, she has to manage a team of twenty virologists of differing ego levels with four Team Leaders reporting back to her; plus she has to get her hours in to keep her licence valid. She’s also a military brat, she likes everyone looking neat, hence the emphasis on Black and Whites. She’s given up trying to get me to dress smart, so she changed tactic, made a deal with us. The deal is, to dress formally when we have inspections and reviews. Since we have registered and unregistered inspections, Donald and I keep a white shirt in our lockers alongside pristine hazmat suits. Charlotte happened to be waiting for us, surprisingly gone was the impeccably dressed heels, skirt, blouse and jacket of her normal attire; instead, reinforced trainers, skinny jeans and crumpled white shirt.
I took a look at her face, her eyes were bloodshot, there was foundation and bronzer around the other eye. My good nature evaporates “Let me guess, you're wanting to do some lab work?”
“What gave it away?”
I snorted “Sir…I'm putting this on record.” Donald nodded “Seen, heard and recording.”
“I, Clark Ashworth, do not agree with my Department Manager working with me today on the grounds of external compromise,” I stated, causing Charlotte to flush and swell with fury.
“How…” She began.
“I'm placing my life in DJ's hands and he does the same. I only know you as my bureaucratic boss…I don't know how you operate, you may know how I operate on paper, but on paper is not the same as experiencing it. Plus, I cannot trust that you're not working objectively. You call it brash and rude, I call it clinical and critical thinking.” I retorted. Like that any fury and indignation Charlotte had bled away. It was the first time I took the moment to truly take her in. She was roughly my height, take an inch or two, could easily have been a model and how her brown hair mixed naturally with the red colouring, well she was truly beautiful; I’d only ever seen her as ‘generic boss number 1’ i.e. a faceless emotionless drone.
“You’re right. Your complaint has been acknowledged and heard. However, whilst I shall not be joining you in the labs I am going to be observing you…from a safe distance.” She replied.
I nodded before turning on my heel and headed for the changing rooms. The changing rooms were empty, as they should be, at the time. I pulled off my clothes and pulled on scrubs, the door opened and JD entered. “You’re looking healthier.”
“I managed to carve out time to create a meal plan. It helps. How’d the manager take my…less than delicate tact.”
“That’s between me and her…and it’ll come up in your review.” DJ replied as he pulled his shirt off before helping me fit the oxygen tank to my back. I turned and assisted him with his; as we’ve done for more or less a year. We fitted our tanks, calibrated our gasmasks, washed our hands, fitted gloves and with copious amounts of duct tape taped our gloves to our sleeves, our overalls to our disposable boots. We even taped where the hoods of our overalls connected with the hood of the gasmask.
We took three minutes to synchronise our breathing, the first thing I’d learned working here was ‘the viruses aren’t the things that kill you. You kill you.’ I took that to the next level, one of my many problems includes anxiety which is less controlled and more running wild; I work with it and try not to let it choke me into submission. I also have faulty adrenal glands, meaning I’m stubborn and far quicker to delve into ‘fight or flight’. The hermetically sealed doors open with a soft hiss and the interior of the lab is revealed; it’s pure white, and clearly designated work stations are placed five meters from another; each work station has two operators working in tandem. We nod to one another and we get to work.
Our project made me shudder. You see…I’ve kind of sussed out whom I’m working for. I work for the Government, I work in one of their blacksites and I’m fucking around with world-ending viruses. Unfortunately, for the most part, most of my colleagues do not use the appropriate syntax, jargon, and official record keeping as emphasised by Charlotte’s superiors. I tenderly grab one of the newer petri dishes labelled ‘SP #1 B00001A’. Spanish Plague, Strain 1, Batch 1 Alpha; in other words the first of the first. Mine and DJ’s project was to somehow wed the IAV or Influenza Alpha Virus with the Bubonic Plague. It made my stomach churn at the concept, however, I could not help but be impressed by my own warped genius. My dissertation had been purely theoretical about merging Plagues and Viruses together, now here I was working on it.
We took small samples, added them to our Petri dishes, and ever so slowly began the laborious task of monitoring just how quickly the bacteria could jump between cultivated cells. Time flew by, and I could feel my hands shaking. Sweat built on my brow and ran across my eyes. “Clark…Clark!” I look up from the microscope, to see DJ looking at me concerned.
“Yeah?”
“Are you alright? You’re not looking alright.”
“I will be. I will be. Just, just, feeling rattled that I’m being observed by someone…i.e. Charlotte.”
DJ snorted, “She’s observed us before, and I’ve never seen you rattled by her observing us before.”
“It’s more the fact she’s stated that she’s observing us. I don’t mind if they’re checking we’re not killing each other.” I reply, I can feel my heart begin to beat quicker; I want to check my watch but it’s under layers of tape. My eyes flicker to the glowing red alarm clock in the Northwest corner of the lab. To my surprise I look up just as the hour hit noon.
“Let’s get lunch.” DJ suggests, it’s an age-old trick he plays between us.
“We secure the samples, clean our surface.”
“You just want brownie points with my boss.” DJ replied with a knowing grin.
“I merely want to emphasise that my lack of societal skills, specifically interacting with people for prolonged periods, are due to my own asocial and introverted tendencies. I’m beginning to see why my refusal to work with her might be a fireable or even write-up offence, but, we’ve got each other's lives in our own hands and damnit, I’ll admit I’m fairly superstitious.” I could not help but sing the last two words, as much as my preferred stance is to be introverted and isolated, I will not lie that DJ’s dragged me to various pubs and bars and the experience has been relatively enjoyable.
We quickly change and clock out for an extended lunch break. This is part of the schedule and work rota, which involves half the day in the lab, plus however long it takes to write up our results. DJ is highly skilled at producing the templates, null and actual hypotheses, while I handle most of the legwork in filling out the forms in triplicate. Why triplicate, you might ask? One for the company, one for the boss, and one for our records. I am very stubborn on accountability, plus, the coffee on the upper levels doesn’t taste like it’s been rinsed through a cats anus.
“How much mass have you lost?” DJ asked, curiously.
“When I started at Club, I was 105KG…been going for two months and I’m down to 94-95KG.” I reply, that had been eye-opening.
“Damn, kid…just damn. What’s you’re meal plan? Air? Fasting?”
I grin “Nah…less carbs more veg and meat, divide your plate into thirds and make carbs your smaller third. Oh and snack on fruit and fibrous stuff along with a cheat day and swimming half-a-mile three-to-four times a week.”
“No longer on the pies?”
“Yes and No. Yes on the pies, I make. No more ultra-processed shite. I’ve got a Steamer, Air Fryer and a One Pot stove. Just need to find a decent and reliable line for fresh produce.”
DJ snorted at my deadpan response, he’d taken his family on a two week trip to Europe and when they’d come back, they’d lost weight and eaten like kings! “Germany’s a brilliant destination to travel.”
I couldn’t help but grin, I couldn’t wait to book out my holiday leave and just go somewhere, but, I didn’t know where I wanted to go. However, with everything that was going on I had decided to keep my head down and squirrel money away. I quickly broke down the numbers in my head, I was going to be getting just over 67k then Massacheusets was taking its slice that was leaving me with just over 52k. That gave me 4.4k a month. I was spending on bills roughly 1k, rent included. Pension took another 2k and that left me with 1.4k of which 840$ I put into a separate pension and rainy day funds leaving me with $560 to play with.
Then there was the fact my mother, an ex-IRS Auditor, nkw a private Family Hedgefunder and guest lecturer…yeah a scary ass woman given she's reached state pension age and does this stuff for fun. She was probably spinning me a tidy nest-egg with the private pension and rainy day fund.
Either way life was good as I tucked into a Jacket Potato. I pulled out my phone and opened up the internet. I was on a cooking website, examining a sushi recipe when Charlotte joined me. “May I join you?”
I nodded, made sure to clean my mouth from the potato and beans I’d just finished “Knock…Sure. Although…why?”
“Can’t I choose to eat with my colleagues?”
“Nothing in the book saying you can’t, but, what’s going on?”
Charlotte opened her brown bag and pulled out a sandwich, my stomach mutineed against me as I could see the smoked ham and smoked cheese in a spiced pickle “Not if you’re going to tempt me.”
“Want some?”
“No thank you. So what’s going on? I’m doing paperwork this afternoon…at least in theory, add in the fact I’m nearly at my limit for hours in a lab.”
Charlotte nodded “There’s a form, once you hit your hour max, it allows you to get overtime and a few other perks.”
My eyes narrow and flicker over to DJ “New hires tend to not know about it until we’re hiring more applicants.” Charlotte explained. I nod
“So…there’s form that allows me to do more lab hours for extra pay?” She nodded. My gut tightened, it was screaming at me something was going to go wrong.
I changed tac “How many hours do you need to record?”
“Thirty, by the end of next month.”
I nod and turn to DJ “Oi! DISC!”
DJ turns, a grin quickly crosses his face before fading and he made his way over to us “Yeah?”
I explained about the form and questioned the veracity of it, DJ opened his phone, found the document and sent it to me via WhatsApp. Should we do that? Not really, but, I place my life in his hands literally; I’ve figured that this is the very least he can do for me. “I’ll do this…on one condition.”
Charlotte was about to open her mouth only for DJ to interject with a curt “I’m in.” I finish my lunch, and sneak another cigarette from DJ, before the three of us head into the labyrinthine tunnels of the Biological Hazard Workplace. We headed back down, I had the common sense to acquire a notebook and a pen, we changed. DJ and I shivered as we climbed back into a new set of scrubs.
We left the changing room joining my boss in the hallway. She let out a shaky grin, before we entered the lab. JD and I managed to keep our composure at just how well she kept pace with us, following our routines. She had even asked if I’d be happy to make notes to be submitted in her reports.
Surprisingly the day passed quickly, we all changed and we headed to our cars. “You sure you’re okay?” I asked Charlotte.
“No…I can’t say.” Charlotte murmured, as we left the building I watched her freeze.
Outside in a rather plush looking land rover, I raised an eyebrow and the door opened; a young man Charlotte’s age or slightly older got out. He was dressed in matt-black suit that appeared to drink in light and the crisp white shirt seemed blinding; even in the afternoon early evening sun. I noticed his right hand was discoloured, read bruised. My blood went cold, the fact he was here meant a few things and none of them good, I felt DJ’s hand on my shoulder.
“Let’s keep it calm.”
I grunted and I trotted to my truck, and began to set up leaving; I watch as the jeep tears out of the parking lot and undeterred I follow. Following a car is remarkably easy, all that's needed is to obey the laws of the road and not be obvious. I follow the jeep back into Brockton Bay and I see it take a turn 10 minutes away from where I lived. I roll into the street and park up, I wait and like clockwork Mr Dennis strolled by to pick up his kid from pre-school. The engine turns off and I fall out of the cab and head into the fenced backyard; my eyes narrow as I see my door is open.
I trudge down the stairs and through the door to find my parents, little older sister and younger brothers waiting for me. My brothers are grinning impishly and my sister is scowling at me, I blank them and I open my fridge to find it empty. The pizza was untouched but my drinks were gone, I shut the fridge, and I turned to my family. “Explain. Now.” I slowly start scanning the rest of my space; my computer is on, a notification saying someone had ‘one more chance’ before it locked everyone out for two hours. I can feel my blood hurtling round my body, resentment and anger.
My mother, Margarette, blanched at my tone. Of the five of them, she is probably the most apologetic; being the eldest son, I had often sacrificed more of my childhood to assist my parents in raising my younger siblings, and she understood my desire of having my own space. “I’m sorry Clark…I found them down here.”
My dad, Frederick, unapologetically belched “You had beer.”
“So me doing the family's shopping and factoring your penchant for drinking six to eight beers in a sitting, does nothing. Don’t you fucking dare start weaponising 18 Years of Mandstory Care to make me cowtow Dad, it doesn’t work and I’m pissed off with you that I want to deck you.” At this point I’m squaring off nose-to-nose with my father. My father was a Teacher, he’d spent the twilight years of his teaching career working as an Emergency Cover Teacher, after getting sick of it he’d started a small but successful Teachers Agency. He’d retired but kept his shares in the company. He’s also a vain, shallow man; obsessed with being the center of attention.
“Sorry, look I did buy you a new alarm clock. A good quality one.”
“That still doesn’t…”
“You live under our roof.”
“I pay my rent, you said I didn’t have to. Yet I do. Now as for the beer, you can pay me back buy not drinking my shit.” I turn to face my brothers and sister.
“We wanted to play games on your computer since ours is broken.” I snorted “Dad forgot the password to the PC as we were playing games past our bedtime.” Ben explained with Daniel trying to perform puppyeyes.
“Meaning dad fulfilled his threat of putting parental access on my old pc which I gave to you, and has, subsequently forgotten the password and you thought you’d use mine.”
“Yeah, you don’t mind do you?” Daniel winged.
I grit my teeth and I turned to my mother “No. Benjamin, Daniel…you cannot ask your brother to play on his pc when it was your own choices that caused this outcome.”
Abigail, my sister, blurted out “You promised you’d buy me some makeup, I asked you to do it three days ago and you’ve…”
“Why does a Girl need makeup?” I snarled “I never said I’d buy you makeup, I said I would take you out for the day for your birthday. Nowhere did I say anything about makeup, now, Abi…I’ll admit I let you and I still do push the boat a little.” Mom looked at Abigail with a look of horror.
“Clark, she’s slowly becoming interested in boys. That’s why she wants the makeup.” Mom explained.
I let out a sigh “Mom is there…”
“Yes, there’s beer upstairs.”
It’s getting on for 19:30 when I finally unwind. After dealing with my family, I had needed t[ make a trip to the store and unfortunately had to take the runts with me. I hauled myself into my truck with Abigail wrangling our brothers into the backseat “Alright you three, let me tell you how this is going to go…you fuck about and disobey once none of you get $20 each. One of you screws around that reward is gone.” An empty gesture as they'll use the money to load up on sweet things. Funny thing, I think my younger siblings eat healthier than I did and I ate fairly healthy. Then I learned the delights of ultra-processed ready meals and caffeinated fizzy drinks to help compensate for my untreated anxiety and depression. I'm now on the road to recovery.
We pile out of my truck and enter the store.e, shopping goes rather well. I only have to tell my younger siblings to put the limited 144 Can soda back once. I ended up buying it anyway because they said ‘what if we paid for it using the $20 each you promised?’
I could only chuckle at my siblings, but, like any big brother with a decent heart, I acquiesced. I spied Charlotte with her Boyfriend or Abuser, I hadn’t yet made up my mind; judging by the exceptionally possessive way the male half of the relationship had his arms around her, made my mind turn towards abuser. “Do we need to do anything? Do you know her? Do you have a crush?” Abigail whispered, badly towards me.
“No, Yes and None of your business,” I reply before grabbing Ben and Abigail grabbed Daniel; we exchanged high-fives, however, Abigail went one step further. Now Abi, as mentioned she’s 13 going on 14, our younger brothers are 9 and 10…she scooped up Daniel and deposited him in the baby seat of the trolley whilst I dumped Ben on top of the sodas.
“You…” Someone began.
“Siblings not kids.” I reply bluntly, god today had been a fucking day. All I wanted was a fucking beer and my pizza; but no, I needed to do a grocery run right that moment. It was a small mercy that I was literally around the corner from the grocery store, close enough that it was a feasible walk but easier if you drove. I stare the speaker down, she turns red from embarrassment.
“Clark?”
I turn to finally lock eyes with Charlotte “Well…this is a surprise.” I reply, I glance at the other half, his eyes narrow at my familiarity with his partner. Charlotte can smell the tension and went to open her mouth, but I quickly interrupt her.
“Look, lovely running into you but your partner looks like he really wants to shoot me. I wanted to ask if you’d forward the results to me to get them copied up, procedural bureaucracy and covering ones own back.”
Charlotte nodded, whilst she looked disappointed about us breaking off our conversation, the relief in her eyes screamed a different story. I realised I had to do something, but I didn’t know what. What would eventually transpire would shatter my life as I knew it, and the cause…all because of a petty, petulant, primitive, prick so insecure with his ability to keep a woman by his side that he had to do this.
As for me, well, people know me as Clark Michael Ashworth but others…well there’s a reason they call me Grandpa…and this…this is my story.