entrancelogs | (no subject)

Who: Mirror!Jack (

worldentire)...and Subject Delta (

thinkin_man)!
Where: Sinclair's room
When: Not long after Jack's...arrest.
Rating: R+ for animal cruelty/death. You have been warned.
Summary: Sinclair comes home to an unexpected visitor. Delta drops by later.
the Story:

Sinclair's room is not as he left it. It's visible from the outside--the door hangs just slightly ajar, the wood around the lock and one of the hinges splintered.

But before even that becomes apparent, there are the noises. Inside, the dogs are yelping, and it's a different sound from their usual excitement, far more urgent, punctuated by crashing sounds from within the room.

Jack's mirror was annoyed at first when he arrived at the room to find that Sinclair wasn't home, but seeing what was inside has been a steady improvement on his mood.

Except...well, it's taking longer than he thought. You wouldn't think, but puppies can find all sorts of places to hide and dart behind in a room this size.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The remaining pups scramble over to him, yelping and whimpering and looking generally terrified. He steps forward, over what's left of his little pack, glaring up at Jack.

"What the hell d'you think you are doin'?" he hisses, and it's very, very obvious he's pissed.

He picks up his wrench in his right hand, which is missing its bandage, and tosses it lightly up and down, flipping it so that he alternates between catching the handle and the bloodied head. His left snaps restlessly, hardly allowing time for the plasmid to activate before he switches to the next one.

He can't seem to stand still, but he looks Sinclair right in the eye, and his gaze is steady.

"I thought I'd come by. But you weren't home."

"So you come in and start killin' my dogs."

His voice is a deadpan, but he's still glaring viciously. There's a pistol in the holster on his side, but it's slightly obscured by his arm, and his hand twitches ever so slightly towards it. He doesn't ever break the gaze between he and m!Jack, and something dawns on him.

"..You're not Jack."

He laughs, softly and incredulously, just as if he hadn't been killing the dogs, though the evidence is all over him--as if Sinclair is simply being ridiculous.

"What a weird thing to say. Of course I'm Jack. Jack _{Ryan

I'm thinking about changing my name}. By the way, don't pull that gun."

"No. You aren't." His voice is soft, and he raises an eyebrow.

"You've got two choices. You can either slither back t'where-ever you came from, or I can shoot your goddamn knees out."

Jack laughs, the sound coming from way down in his gut, and there's that unhinged grin that Sinclair's counterpart on the other side has learned to dread.

"I can't, mister Sinclair. It's too bad. I really can't. The Queen isn't done yet."

Chuckle.

"So you've got one choice: you can try."

His hand flashes out, aiming a stream of fire at Sinclair.

He just barely avoids it, shifting his weight and letting himself stumble into the hallway. The dogs follow him, and he whistles loudly. They scatter down one end and he jogs down the other, throwing his weight against a door and breaking into a nearby room. The closet relinquishes an untold amount of bullets, spilling out around his ankles, and he growls under his breath and pulls out a legitimate box, and then an old-school grenade launcher.

Three grenades go out into the hallway, aimed carefully at doors, and wood splinters shower the hallway. In the smoke, he shifts to one of the rooms, as quiet as he can, and then there's silence.

Jack darts out into the hallway after him, and hits the floor, covering his head as half the hallway explodes around him. He's on his feet again, coughing and squinting against the smoke.

"Don't run from me! Don't fucking run from me! Where did you go?!"