Patron Spectator Entry

Author’s note: The following is an optional piece to fill in some gaps with my round 2 entry, in case my round 3 match up, or anyone else, was wondering what happened between Mitte and Fisher. Although this will be used in my story cannon, it is certainly NOT NECESSARY for my round 3 match up to use this or include it in their story/cannon, though they can if they wish.



For the first time in a very long while, Mitte felt completely, utterly, absolutely terrified.

Fisher looked down at him for a moment, smiling quietly and observing. Mitte shook, tried to open his mouth, tried to tell Fisher to go away and kill himself again, tried to say something. But he couldn’t. And he would most likely die for it, because in his experience Fisher was not a forgiving man when it came to humans and clones were definitely not an exception.

After all he’d gone through… after all that he did to make it this far, to free himself and the others from Fisher’s reign, to blend in with the humans, to change the world, to make it better… All that was for nothing now. He was going to die. Mitte gulped, his throat dry.

There was a long bout of silence in the room, the only sound coming from a gentle breeze through the open window. Then, Fisher coughed.

Wait, no he didn’t. He laughed.

Fisher took a few steps forwards and extended his arm out to Mitte. He took it cautiously, expecting to find a poison-tipped blade or something of the like in the man’s palm. With a quick tug, Fisher pulled the boy into a standing position and they looked one another eye-to-eye, Mitte still shaking and breathing quickly while struggling to keep a straight face. It obviously wasn’t working, because Fisher let out another chuckle.

“Now now, Mitte, there’s no need to fret,” he said soothingly. “I’m not here to hurt you, you know.”

Mitte stopped shaking as Fisher began to make his way around the room, brushing his hand along the smooth, wood-paneled wall, while the other was tucked neatly behind his back. He peered up at the bookcases and paintings adorning the walls while humming to himself, an odd thing considering it only seemed logical to Mitte that he be furious.

“Y-you’re not?” Mitte replied after a while, cursing himself for stuttering. Fisher shook his head without looking back at the clone.

“No Mitte, I’m not angry, not anymore,” he mused calmly. “In fact, I’m impressed. To think that I could be brainwashed so easily into killing myself… by one of my own clones no less. I really aught to be ashamed.” Fisher laughed to himself again. The sound made Mitte cringe.

“But in reality Mitte, I am very glad that you killed me.” Fisher glanced back at his experiment for a moment, whose shoulders relaxed just the slightest. “I was wasting all of my power and potential when I could’ve been out there ruling the world. And quite frankly, I was getting up in the years much more than I would have liked to admit. My body was getting slow and brittle, which perhaps may have been one of the reasons you were able to get rid of me so easily.

“But you woke me up, made me realize that time is not infinite, even for one with an amazing mind like mine. And for that, I thank you.” Fisher drew back from the wall and took a step towards Mitte, his smile fading and eyes darkening.

“However…”

Mitte drew in a sharp breath.

“Keep in mind that although I currently have no incentive you kill you, I am partaking in the Patron tournament.” He took another step, his voice dripping with an artificial anger, one that chilled Mitte to the bone. “And seeing as you have also entered said tournament, the event of you crossing paths with Ensign Phantom” he motioned to himself. “would not be unheard of.” Another step forward. This time Mitte stepped back. “So while you may have been able to stumble your way to the semi-finals and are surely giving yourself much more praise than deserved for it, do not forget that you are merely a clone, naught but a vague shadow of a human such as myself.” A larger stride this time, forcing Mitte back a few more paces than he would have liked. “And I am a Super, now with more than just one power. And I am much more powerful than you can ever hope to be, both in terms of combat and intellect.” A fourth step. Mitte tried to back up, only to find that he was already pressed against the wall. Cold beads of sweat started to run down his face as Fisher closed the gap between them, slowly, almost as if savoring the moment. “And should there ever come a time when we are forced to fight…” Fisher was inches away from Mitte now, looking down at the trembling clone with an eerily calm smile and expressionless eyes.

“…I will not kill you.”

Mitte stared at Fisher, confused, but unwilling to show it. After a few seconds of silence, it was obvious that the man was waiting for a response.

“Why not?” Mitte croaked meekly.

“Well now, I don’t really see any point in killing you,” Fisher said with a tilt of his head. “No, not when I could just experiment on you again.”

Something in Mitte’s chest tightened. No, not the experiments again. Anything but those. He couldn’t go through that, no, not again, not all those needles and fluids and blood and organs and all that horrendous, unbearable pain. Fisher’s cold smile broadened as Mitte’s face contorted with terrible memories of scalpels and surgeons.

“Wouldn’t that be fun? All those good times you had in the white rooms? I’m sure you’d love to go back there, yes? After all, not everyone gets the chance to see their own internal organs.”

No, no, he wouldn’t go back there, couldn’t go back there. He would do anything, so long as Fisher didn’t make him go back there. Nothing was worth the risk of having all that happen again. He’d… he’d drop out of the roster, forget everything about the Patron tournament and this city and Fisher and run away and make a new life somewhere very far away, where Fisher could never get to him. And then Fisher would just win the tournament because let’s face it no one would be able to beat him when he was that powerful and then he’d be happy and probably forget all about Mitte because the city would be his and he would have lots of more interesting things to experiment on like new clones and humans and…

Wait… what about the humans?

That’s right… if Fisher won, the humans... the humans would be at his mercy, wouldn’t they?

Mitte… Mitte couldn’t let that happen. He loved humans. But he couldn’t fight Fisher, either, not with that threat looming over his head. It was just too much. The thought of going back there was just the worst thing he could imagine, and Fisher knew that all too well. He was playing him like violin, striking the worst possible notes to make him shudder and squirm. He threatened him because he knew what Mitte’s worst fear was…

So… what if the threat wasn’t real? What if Fisher was just trying to scare him?

Yes, that... that must be it. After all, even if Fisher found the time to get back to the mansion, the clones would never listen to him, not without his proper body. Would they? No, no they wouldn’t, crush that doubt Mitte, it’s a silly doubt, absolutely silly. He would never be able to get to the examination tables. Besides, what more could Fisher possibly hope to learn from dissecting him again? Nothing. Nothing at all. So that meant that… he was lying. Yes, that was it, he was lying. Why hadn’t he seen that before, when it was so obvious? Oh Mitte, you really must stop being so naïve about things.

“Mitte?” Fisher asked, the boy lost in his own indistinguishable mutterings. “Is there anything you want to tell me? Perhaps regarding the tournament?”

For whatever reason, Fisher wanted him out. And if that was the case, then Mitte had to do the exact opposite of that. For all those days spent with wires running through him, for all those clones that weren’t good enough to be worth his time, for all those humans that were tortured and experimented on, Mitte would do something about it.

Because that’s what a good person would do, wasn’t it?

Mitte exhaled slowly and looked down at the floor, refusing to meet Fisher’s eyes. “I suppose… if we are matched up in the tournament…”

Fisher said nothing, merely looked down at the clone with his usual uninterested gaze. Mitte’s head shot up, his face nervous but vaguely determined.

“We’ll just have to compete and see who wins.”

There wasn’t much of a change in Fisher’s expression, save for a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. But Mitte knew the man well enough that a slight facial twitch might as well be the equivalent of him declaring war.

“Very well Mitte,” Fisher said as he made his way toward the open window. “It is your decision after all, I can’t very well force you, now can I?”

Mitte didn’t reply, choosing instead to watch quietly as Ensign Phantom perched himself on the window sill and prepared to jump down. He turned back to the clone, still smiling that cold, expressionless smile.

“Oh, and do make sure you dispose of my body,” he said nonchalantly. “And clean up in general when you get back to the mansion, can’t have flies swarming about all the time, now can we?”

On that note, Fisher jumped from the second-story window and landed with a small crunch as a line of bushes broke his fall. Then, he took off silently through the garden, his green-rimmed cape slowly billowing behind him in the cool night breeze. Mitte watched until he was out of sight, cautiously peering around the glass before slamming the window shut and closing the shades as fast as he could manage. Leaning against the wall, he sank to the ground and pulled his knees up to his chest, shaking much more than the air from the open window warranted. Running his fingers through his hair, he breathed rapidly and thought, long and hard, about what sort of fate he had just sentenced himself to.

Whatever it was, it would most likely end up with him either dead or begging for mercy.

Lovely.