Chapter 9: The Death of Black Noir
Holander leaned against the wall of the stairwell, the hand holding the report dropping to his side.
The wall was freezing, the chill seeping through the fabric of his hoodie into his skin, but he didn’t feel it at all.
His gaze was fixed on a tiny crack on the opposite wall, yet his eyes weren’t focused; his X-ray vision pierced straight through the wall, through the hospital, and across all of New York.
He had a father.
But no one had ever told him.
Soldier Boy was his father.
The white-coated researchers in the lab hadn’t, Madelyn hadn’t, and neither had Barbara or Edgar.
In his worldview, the word "father" was sothing that belonged to other people, just like the perfect families in breakfast cereal comrcials.
It was an illusion written into a script, a greeting image posted on Twitter by Vought’s PR departnt every Father’s Day.
Now, soone had suddenly told him that he was real.
A father who would beat him, and who would discipline him.
He flipped the report back to the first page and read it again.
Then he read it once more.
By the third ti, his hands began to tremble.
Not from excitent.
It was from hate.
He hated Edgar.
He hated that goddamn bastard who sat behind the round table of the board of directors, always facing everyone with a mild smile.
He hated Vought, hated this lab cage that had contained him in an incubation tank for as long as he could rember.
He hated Black Noir, hated that silent shadow who never spoke.
He had patted that man’s shoulder countless tis, called him "partner" countless tis.
Yet that man had known about his father from the very beginning, and had even been one of the bastards who frad his father.
His hatred needed an outlet.
Holander shoved the report into his hoodie pocket, pushed open the stairwell door, and walked out of the hospital.
The wound on his face throbbed faintly under the sunlight, the dried streak of blood still hanging on his left cheek, un-wiped.
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Evening, Vought Tower.
Holander stepped out of the elevator, the paternity test report clutched in his hand, the paper already crumpled and wrinkled.
He walked along the corridor, constantly looking around, searching.
Finally, Holander found him.
In the lounge at the end of the corridor, Black Noir was sitting on the sofa.
He wore his signature black suit, the mask concealing his entire face.
An untouched glass of water sat on the coffee table in front of him, and the screen of a nearby tablet was lit up, playing so black-and-white cody from the silent film era.
Black Noir was watching intently, or rather, he appeared to be watching.
His posture was straight to the point of stiffness, his hands resting flat on his knees.
Holander ca to a halt at the lounge entrance.
He didn’t speak, but rely stood there, scrutinizing the silent figure on the sofa with a gaze he had never used before.
Black Noir noticed his presence and slowly turned his head, the eyeholes of his mask aligning with the doorway.
The two stared at each other.
"Noir," Holander spoke, his voice abnormally calm. "Do you know my father?"
Black Noir’s head tilted slightly.
Then Black Noir shook his head.
Holander walked into the lounge, his steps unhurried.
He unfurled the crumpled ball of paper in his hand and flung it hard into Black Noir’s face.
"My father, Soldier Boy. The probability of paternity is greater than 99.99%. Sample A is the biological father of Sample B. As a mber of my father’s team, you didn’t know?"
Black Noir’s gaze fell upon the piece of paper.
He stared at it for a long ti.
The only sound in the room was the exaggerated piano accompanint from the silent film; a codic actor stumbled on the screen, silently tumbling down a flight of stairs, glaringly ridiculous.
Then Black Noir nodded, and then shook his head.
He wanted to explain sothing, but he couldn’t speak.
"You knew the whole ti."
Holander’s voice suddenly beca very soft, so quiet it was almost like he was talking to himself.
"Every single ti you stood next to , every single ti I patted your shoulder and called you my partner, you knew."
"And you were one of the bastards who frad my father."
Black Noir didn’t move, like a silent black mirror.
He knew he was done for.
Holander stopped speaking.
He extended his hand, the five fingers of his right hand pressed tightly together, aiming his fingertips right at Black Noir’s chest. The instant his fingertips made contact with the black suit, the fabric was pierced through like paper.
Then ca the skin, then the muscle, as Holander’s fingers pushed inward, inch by inch.
Black Noir’s body shuddered slightly.
From beginning to end, his gaze never left Holander’s face.
Black Noir was dead.
His hands slid off his knees, hanging down at his sides, his fingers curling slightly.
The silent film kept playing.
Various cartoon characters also began to appear in his eyes.
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Holander pulled his hand back.
He glanced down at his hand, then turned and walked out of the lounge.
He didn’t leave so much as a spare glance for the shell gradually growing cold on the sofa.
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A/n: If you want to read ahead and find out what happens next right away, you can read up to 20 Chapters ahead on my p@tr~on: /ForgottenDaoist (@ = a, link is in my profile).
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