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Not that Dyne’s opinion has any genuine bearing upon the Good Empress Beatrix’s decisions, much less Dr. LaRow’s often intense (and as he’s recently learned, morally bankrupt) dedication to powering Imperium, but the latest dragon they’ve hauled into the lab is…strange.
Primarily because it is not, in fact, a dragon.
“Oh, it’s a dragon alright,” Dr. LaRow says. “Well, partly. You should take the time to dig into Ninjago’s myths and history, if you have the chance, it’s all very fascinating. The genealogy alone is a mess.”
The dragon(?) makes a dry sound. Dyne risks glancing at the figure imprisoned in the golden barrier. They look rather bored, all things considered. You’d almost think that they were the one observing an imprisoned Dr. LaRow, instead of the other way around.
They also look nothing like a dragon.
“Isn’t that right?” Dr. LaRow grins at the figure. “You’ll have to tell me about this supposed Oni part of your heritage. Your history books are fairly uninformative. That is, if you’re able to talk after I’ve started draining you.”
The prisoner simply smiles back, their teeth a little too sharp to be normal. Dyne feels his skin crawl as unnaturally green eyes rove over the lab. They land on him for only a beat, but it’s long enough to leave Dyne feel like he’s been lasered through.
He feels he should probably give Dr. LaRow’s “not human” diagnosis a bit more credit.
Unfortunately, Dyne also has the sinking feeling that Dr. LaRow is messing with something she absolutely, a hundred percent, should not be. Like those terrible movies his friend used to screen in private, where the witless explorers ignore every warning and awake an ancient evil that melts the flesh from their faces.
That’s what those eyes feel like — a flesh-melting stare of green.
“You could always save me the trouble and start talking now.” Dr. LaRow makes a mockery of knocking her fist against the barrier. “Did you bite your tongue? You were so loud when they brought you in.”
The person — dragon, dragon, he needs this job — stares at the ceiling long-sufferingly.
“Hm.” Dr. LaRow clicks her tongue. “We’ll see how quiet you are after we start taking that power of yours.”
That one’s enough to prompt Dyne to speak up. He’s been having enough of a crisis over the reality that they drain living dragons down here. Draining the drag— alright, prisoner — is an entirely new crisis just waiting for him.
“Excuse me, great Dr. LaRow,” he says, sweating. “The prisoner — are we sure it’s safe to drain it like we do the dragons? They aren’t exactly…the same.”
“Safe?” Dr. LaRow’s eyebrows shoot up. “Tell me, guard. Are you here to ask questions?”
Dyne wisely holds his tongue. Dr. LaRow nods in satisfaction.
“It’s a dragon, alright. My energy sensors are never wrong!”
Dyne wants to question if her sensors might have a bad day every once in a while, but he also likes living in relative peace.
It simply doesn’t make sense. The prisoner doesn’t look a thing like the other dragons. Of course, they also don’t look entirely human, features too-sharp and eyes too-bright, but the tousled blond hair and tanned skin, now darkened in blood and bruises from the scuffle, could pass for any other Imperium citizen.
There’s also a distinct lack of wings, or scales, or actual draconic characteristics of any sort.
“And they tell me there’s quite a bit we can get out of you,” Dr. LaRow tells the prisoner.
The prisoner’s brow furrows, the action pulling at the bruising gash at their right temple enough that a new stream of blood traces down their cheek. Their expression twitches, but they continue to hold Dr. LaRow’s stare.
“I think I’ll enjoy this,” Dr. LaRow grins widely.
As they reach the twenty-four hour mark since the prisoner’s capture, Dr. LaRow is most certainly not enjoying this.
“—unbelievable, what useless imp decided to short out the entire draining system, the wiring’s in shambles—”
Dyne watches as Dr. LaRow storms around the lab, fuming as she tosses through tools. He holds his blaster close to his chest, as if it will protect both him and his job from her wrath.
From the corner of his eye, he can spot a disturbingly smug grin creeping up the prisoner’s face. Dyne wonders if it was less a useless imp who shorted out the wiring and more a supposed dragon.
He’s also elected to abandon calling them a dragon altogether. He’s likely to start laughing if he does, and Dyne is clinging to his sanity enough as it is.
Dr. LaRow finally slams her fist against the control panel, cursing. With a look as if someone’s made her swallow a lemon, she keys in a complicated string of numbers on the control panel, the barrier around the prisoner shuddering as the floor creaks. The prisoner looks mildly concerned, but as it ends as soon as it began, they retreat to their look of utter apathy once again.
“It’s your lucky day,” she grits out at the prisoner. “Looks like we’ll give you some time to catch your breath before we draining you.”
The prisoner simply crosses their legs, clasping their hands in their lap as they stare at the ceiling.
“In the meantime,” Dr. LaRow huffs, swiping at her data pad. “I may as well get what I can out of you. I’m not as used to working with subjects who can talk back, so this is an interesting experience for us both.”
The prisoner says nothing, their eyes glazing over as they continue staring at the ceiling, as if Dr. LaRow’s existence is as interesting as dirt. Dyne has to applaud their nerve — Dr. LaRow looks as if she’s about to pop a vein.
“You know, while I was researching your backwater realm’s history, I came across a good deal about a Green Ninja,” she tries. “I suppose it’d be an obvious assumption, simply because you prefer one color. But I do wonder.”
“If you’ve stuck me in here for being part-dragon,” the prisoner finally sighs. “You probably know enough.”
“So you admit it,” Dr. LaRow smiles in triumph. “You’re one of your realm’s guardians. The lead one, if I’m correct.”
The prisoner’s eyes roll briefly back in their head, and they return to saying nothing.
Dr. LaRow grits her teeth, smile growing tight. “Such a fun little color-coded group. When you run dry, I’ll move onto them next. I can start with the blue one, or the red one—”
“Don’t.” The prisoner’s voice cracks across the lab, louder and colder than anything else they’ve said. For the first time since the guards dragged them in, a truly vicious anger burns in their eyes. “Don’t you dare touch them.”
“Hmm, is that a sore spot?” Dr. LaRow seems thrilled, typing at her pad. “Interesting, interesting.”
The prisoner bares their teeth, looking for the first time somewhat like the dragon they’re supposed to be. And perhaps Dyne is just overtired, or he’s bought a little too much into the myths from Ninjago Dr. LaRow’s been having them all comb through, but the lab suddenly feels much smaller, as if the air’s being compressed. His skin prickles, hair standing on end again, and his flight or fight reaction kicks up about twenty notches.
If Dyne didn’t know that running would probably end in Dr. LaRow feeding him to an actual dragon to silence him, he’d be booking it out of the lab already.
The prisoner glares at Dr. LaRow for a moment longer, eyes turning a violent green — then they jerk back, expression contorting. Dyne lets out a quiet, shaky breath as he finds himself breathing easy again.
Dr. LaRow smirks as the prisoner glares at the shimmering floor beneath their feet in consternation, the clinical metal pulling back to reveal ugly, roughly-constructed black stone shot through with streaks of yellow.
“I was hoping that dealer wasn’t upselling me,” she says, tapping at her data pad cheerfully. “That stone cost us quite a bit.”
A string of muttered curses escapes the prisoner’s mouth.
“—do people keep getting their hands on this like it’s buy-one-get-one-free at the mall, it isn’t that common—”
“Though it will be annoying,” Dr. LaRow’s expression sours again. “Having to admit that Rapton scrounged up something useful for once.”
As the prisoner now looks like they’re planning a particularly violent list of future murders in their head, Dyne takes a careful, measured step back and tries to pretend he’s invisible.
Dyne considers himself a decent person. Most times, he sleeps just fine at night with the knowledge that he’s done his best to live a moral and upstanding life as a good citizen under the Good Empress Beatrix.
And until now, he’s been perfectly content in his position as a guard of Imperium. Helping safeguard their great empire and its citizens is a noble duty, one he takes great pride in.
This was all before he got moved down to the labs for being “a remarkably wise and clearheaded individual” — which he’s now learned is code for “knows how to keep his mouth shut”.
Three days in to the new position, and two days into having taken what’s definitely not a dragon in for draining, all of that is crashing down around his head.
“There we go,” Dr. LaRow adjusts her glasses, smiling as the row of monitors flicker back to life. “All back online and ready to go. I should probably invest in more of that stone, just in case…”
The prisoner shoots her a particularly rude gesture from behind the glowing barrier. They look a little worse for wear today, the bruising at their temple having turned an ugly, mottled purple. The dark circles beneath their eyes nearly match it shade for shade, and a portion of their blond hair is crusted with dried blood.
It must hurt, though you’d never know it, from the prisoner’s increasingly heated glares.
Dyne swallows. He knows very well that forcibly draining the life force out of any being is bad. He knows it’s even worse to stand by and watch the life force get drained out of a person who’s noticeably younger than he is.
He also knows that he’s going to end up with Dr. LaRow’s socket wrench through his skull if he tries to protest. Which leaves him at a bit of an impasse.
“You’re making a mistake,” the prisoner speaks up quietly, as Dr. LaRow preps the system.
“Oh, I really don’t think I am,” she says. “You’re going to help me power Imperium for the better, you know? Well, I suppose you wouldn’t know too much about all this, coming from a backwater realm like you do.”
“What, this?” The prisoner waves their hand at the glowing barrier. “No, no, I’m familiar. Been there, done that. Last time I was in an exploding plane, it was a lot more exciting.”
Dyne’s eyebrows shoot up despite himself. As if sensing his curiosity, the prisoner’s eyes flick to him, their mouth twitching.
Dr. LaRow makes an irritated sound.
“Keep an eye on it, alright? I need you to make sure it doesn’t keel over dead or anything,” Dr. LaRow instructs him, acknowledging to Dyne for the first time in…well. Perhaps it’s better if he doesn’t think about that.
Sanity hanging on by a thread, and all.
“You could at least say keep an eye on him,” the prisoner mutters. “I am a person. With a name, if anyone cares.”
They — he, Dyne corrects, because he does have some semblance of a conscience — looks irritated, but in a very exhausted way, as if he’s been in this particular situation enough times to find it boring.
Dr. LaRow smiles tightly. “Let’s see how that nerve of yours holds up now, shall we?” She twists the dial with a savage kind of enthusiasm.
To his credit, the prisoner manages to mask any reaction as first, only tensing up as the golden barriers surge to life. He’s bitten his lip, but otherwise he seems just as unruffled as he’s been.
Then Dr. LaRow triples the intensity, and the prisoner crumples forward, barely catching himself on his hands as he shudders in pain.
“Oh, not cool,” he wheezes, fingernails digging into the floor. “Ow, hell—”
“There we go,” Dr. LaRow says, her glasses glinting in the golden light as she studies the readings gleefully. “See that, mildly competent guard? It’s as dragon as they get. We can power a whole block with this!”
“Wonderful,” the prisoner rasps, fingernails now biting into his arms as he steels himself against the obvious pain. “Getting used as — a literal battery — no-ow, ow, ow. Powering — small kitchen appliances — that’s me.”
Dr. LaRow clicks her tongue. “I don’t suppose you’d want to rate your discomfort on a scale from one to ten?” she says sweetly. “It’s important that all my subjects feel they have a voice.”
“Two — out of ten,” the prisoner gasps. “Overlord — did it better. Get on his — level, and we’ll talk.”
“Overlord,” Dr. LaRow says, tapping at her data pad. “I’ll have to track him down next.”
Absently, she twists the dial a level higher. Dyne cringes.
The prisoner bangs his head against the floor, his cursing muffled.
“Hmm, we aren’t getting as much out of you now,” Dr. LaRow mutters, tapping at her data pad. “Maybe you have a lower limit than most dragons.”
“Hope you choke,” comes the seething response. “Gonna — bite you, when they…break me out…”
“Break you out? Our security is the most advanced in all the realms,” Dr. LaRow laughs. “We’re more than prepared for any threat that would try to free you.”
Despite the clear pain the prisoner’s in, his lips twitch.
“Not prepared for Nya,” he mutters, before cutting off in a strangled swear as Dr. LaRow ups the intensity yet another level.
Dyne resist the urge to bury his face in his hands.
Oh, he’s most certainly developing another six crises after this.
He knew he should’ve just applied for garden maintenance.
A little over forty-eight hours in, Dyne decides he can only take so much without doing anything.
Dr. LaRow went ahead and tossed the prisoner in one of the holding cells after draining what she could, called away by Empress Beatrix for what’s likely not anything good, and probably something incredibly destructive and morally bankrupt.
She’s also neglected to give the prisoner any kind of hydration. If he were actually a dragon, this might not be as much of a problem, only two days in. But considering Dyne’s very logical assumption that he isn’t, it could prove a somewhat deadly problem.
So with Dr. LaRow stuck catering to Empress Beatrix’s every whim for the rest of the day, Dyne feels somewhat confident in his decision.
One water bottle never led to an entire prison break, did it?
The prisoner stares at the bottle Dyne’s shoved through the barrier opening, brow furrowed.
“It’s not poisoned,” Dyne says, quickly. “Or drugged, or anything. I wouldn’t — that’d be stupid.”
The prisoner’s mouth quirks.
“Thanks,” he says, taking the bottle. His voice is a little raspy, but much softer now that he isn’t violently cursing out Dr. LaRow.
He proceeds to tear the top off and chug the entire thing.
“I can, ah, bring more,” Dyne says, slightly horrified. “I should’ve grabbed another.”
“Mmh, no worries,” the prisoner says, polishing off the bottle. He glances at Dyne.
“I guess you probably couldn’t smuggle food in,” he says, visibly wilting and pretending he isn’t.
Dyne shifts, at war with himself.
Well, a packaged snack bar never led to an entire prison break either, did it?
“Oh, fank eff-ess-em.” The prisoner barely takes time to breathe as he devours the bar. “Owe you one for d’at.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Dyne says, before abruptly remembering he’s supposed to be an intimidating guard. It’s the prisoner’s fault, for acting so weirdly casual about being imprisoned.
“Nah, people don’t really think about this part often,” the prisoner says. “They lock you up and assume you’ll just survive without eating or drinking anything. I mean, if you’re gonna rant about how you need my strength all day, at least make sure I have any, and I’m not like, a corpse by day six, you know?”
Dyne adds weirdly friendly toward obvious enemies to the list.
“Anyways, thank you,” the prisoner finishes off the last of the ration bar, looking far more at ease. “It must be a pain, working under that doctor all the time.”
“I am fortunate to have such a trusted position in the great workings of Imperium,” Dyne recites on instinct. “Helping Dr. LaRow detain prisoners such as yourself is a…it’s a…”
The prisoner raises an eyebrow.
Dyne deflates.
“Yeah, maybe work on your elevator pitch there.”
“Apologies, prisoner.”
“Y’know, I do have a name,” the prisoner sighs.
Dyne winces. “Oh, yes. Well, obviously. What…is it?”
He smirks. “I’ll tell you when I’m out of here.”
“Ah.” Dyne isn’t sure how to respond to that one.
“No offense, I just don’t know how much you know, and I don’t wanna risk it. I kinda have a bad track record with people out to get me.”
“No, that’s…I don’t blame you,” Dyne says, staring at his boots. “Considering the situation.”
The bars between them loom dramatically. Dyne begins his seventh moral crisis.
The prisoner eyes him, almost curious. The expression looks far more at ease on his face than the glares he’s been routinely sending Dr. LaRow’s way. It also makes him look a good deal younger, which does absolutely nothing for Dyne as he begins his eighth crisis of crippling guilt.
“Hey,” the prisoner says. “Have you guys heard of Starfarer here?”
At five in the morning on day four, Dyne finds himself listening intently as the prisoner tells him about the time a realm came to life as an eldritch tentacle monster of doom and tried to swallow Ninjago — or something like that, the prisoner keeps getting fairly heated talking about this one, so the finer details are lost — when they’re interrupted by the distant, muffled sound of an explosion.
Dyne goes tense, grabbing for his blaster. His first thought is that it’s simply Dr. LaRow having a mid-morning experiential mishap, as those are fairly normal.
The screeching alarm that goes off, followed by the distinct sound of screaming, dashes those hopes.
“Are we under attack?” Dyne mutters faintly. “No one attacks Imperium.”
The prisoner smiles, stretching back in the cell. “Tell that to Kai.”
“Who is Kai?”
“Don’t worry about it,” the prisoner waves his hand. “Just stay back near me, okay? Definitely clear of the doors. And uh, try not to look like you had a big part in this.”
“But I did have a big part of this,” Dyne says, weakly.
The prisoner shrugs. “Those snack bars were killer. You can have a pass.”
“I don’t think I—”
“You sneaking, underhanded little animal!”
Dr. LaRow bursts into the lab, glasses askew and hair a frizzled mess. She jabs her finger toward the prisoner, seething. “You led them right to us!”
“Hey, animal kinda crosses a line,” the prisoner frowns.
“How did you contact them!” She bangs her fist against the barrier. “How did you let them in!”
“I didn’t do anything,” the prisoner says. “I’ve been sitting here, nice and behaved, in this stupid cell.”
“Then how—”
Another explosion rocks the building, this one much closer.
The prisoner cups his chin in his hand, grinning at Dr. LaRow. “Say, when you were doing all that research on me,” he says. “You didn’t happen to dig any deeper into the other, highly powerful ninja, did you?”
“Of course I did,” she snaps. “And I’ll be sure to drain them dry once I’ve disposed of you.”
“Uh-huh.” The prisoner looks entirely unconcerned. “You didn’t study enough, I guess.”
The doors slide open with a hiss, and an Imperium guard enters the lab.
A completely normal event on any given day, save for several noticeable things. For starters, there’s no reason for a guard of that level to be entering the cell area, unless Dr. LaRow had signaled an emergency — which is most certainly happening outside the lab, but not inside it.
That, or Dyne’s being replaced. Which he’s heard nothing about.
For another, the guard moves with far more purpose than any other guard he’s seen, taking decisive strides toward them with an intensity that rings alarm bells in Dyne’s head.
And for a final thing, with little decorum, the guard proceeds to freeze the doors shut solid, freeze the security cameras, and freeze Dr. LaRow’s feet firmly to the ground.
In a panic, Dyne brings his blaster up, only to be halted by a sharp look from the prisoner.
“Don’t,” he says. “You’ll lose.”
As the guard shimmers, the black and golds of the Imperium armor melting away to reveal the snow white of a ninja gi, Dyne drops his blaster and takes a step back.
He enjoys living immensely. That’s all.
“Zane,” the prisoner breathes, his expression collapsing in relief.
“I apologize for the delay,” the white ninja says, his own face creased in worry as he maneuvers past a frothing Dr. LaRow, who’s tugging furiously at her frozen shoes. “We were waylaid by Imperium’s forces.”
The prisoner shakes his head. “Is everyone alright?”
“That is a far better question for you,” the white ninja says, tapping something on the control pad. The golden barrier sparks, then erodes entirely away. “But no one was harmed. I simply determined that I alone would be most efficient choice to rescue you, as any efforts from Kai or Nya were likely to end in significant attention and potential loss of life.”
The prisoner stumbles forward the minute the barrier vanishes, all but collapsing against the white ninja, who moves even quicker to catch him.
“Watch out, the floor in there’s Vengestone,” he mutters.
“Your head is bleeding.” The white ninja’s hand flutters at the prisoner’s temple, his other hand wrapped firmly around his back.
“S’not that bad.”
“You’re severely exhausted and your blood sugar levels are alarmingly low,” the ninja continues, voice growing colder.
“Zane.”
“You’ve bitten through your lip again. And—”
“Zane. Not here.”
There’s a tight sigh.
“You are also in dire need of a shower.”
“Rude,” the prisoner scowls. “You try living in a cage and coming out with great hair.”
“—why haven’t you shot them already, you useless imbecile—!”
Dyne takes a leaf from the ninja’s book and tunes Dr. LaRow out entirely.
“Um, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he says, quietly. “But we should probably move if the building’s exploding?”
“The building is in no danger,” the white ninja says, still fussing over the prisoner’s head. “We would never put Lloyd’s safety at risk like that.”
“Remember that next training session,” the prisoner snorts. “I’m guessing the explosions are Kai?”
“He’s incinerating their forces in what could be generously called a diversion,” the white ninja says, lips twitching. “Arin and Sora were enthusiastic about helping.”
“Of course they were.”
The prisoner pulls back, wobbling briefly on his feet as he brushes imaginary dirt from his gi and stretches.
“Don’t hurt that one,” he nods in Dyne’s direction. “He’s pretty chill.”
The white ninja’s glare could freeze him dead. “He was guarding you. He helped them torture you.”
“That’s a little dramatic,” the prisoner frowns. “They were just trying to drain my power again.”
“Which still counts as torture.”
“Technically, it’s like, wildly unethical capitalism?”
Their conversation is interrupted as a wrench comes hurtling toward their heads. The white ninja bats it away as if it were a mere fly.
Dr. LaRow, now down her shoes and having made a mad dash for the elevator, looks possibly more furious than the time an intern spilled coffee on her favorite lab coat.
The transparent elevator doors slide closed just in time to block the sharp projectile of ice that would’ve likely taken her head off.
“You know what? Good riddance,” Dr. LaRow spits, already keying in the security code. “That thing isn’t worth the trouble.”
The white ninja’s expression turns flat. “That thing has a name, and he happens to be worth far more than—”
“Zane,” the prisoner murmurs.
The white ninja cuts off with a huff. The ice forming at his hand sputters out as the elevator drops, taking Dr. LaRow with it.
“Kai instructed me to punch the face in of whoever took your captive,” he says, disappointed. “I would’ve liked to fulfill that particular request.”
“I’m sure we’ll get another chance.” The prisoner — now a prisoner no longer, come to think of it — turns to stare at Dyne with too-green eyes, and he feels a bit as if someone’s drilling through his head again.
“My name, by the way,” he says. “Is Lloyd.”
Raisin a trembling hand, he waves, replying, “Dyne.”
Lloyd’s mouth pulls in a half-smile, then he jerks his head. “I’d clear out if I were you,” he says. “I don’t think LaRow’s caught up on what happens when you use energy that’s heavily Oni-contaminated in a system built for dragons.”
Dyne blinks. The white ninja looks concerned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, considering you’re looking at power from two totally opposite beings who exist to fight each other—”
“That was not what I meant, I was referring to the implications they actually drained your energy successfully, which should not be—”
“—if you try to use both energies at once, I don’t think it’s gonna—”
The lights flicker. Before any of them can react, the room rocks dangerously, sending Dyne sprawling as an explosion goes off with a shattering screech a few rooms over.
“—turn out too well,” Lloyd finishes, weakly.
In the end, Dyne finds himself following Lloyd and the other ninja out of the labs. He then quickly finds himself socked in the face by a grappling hook, and narrowly avoiding the furious fists of a pink-haired girl that looks vaguely familiar.
“I got him! Did’ja see that?”
“Lemme go, we’ve gotta avenge Lloyd—”
“Lloyd requested that he not be harmed, Sora,” the white ninja sighs, holding back the seething girl.
“That was a nice hit, though,” Lloyd says, smiling at the dark-haired boy responsible for the bruise forming on Dyne’s face. “You’re getting better at quick reactions.”
The boy’s smile dims as he takes in the now-spectacular mess of green and yellow bruising on Lloyd’s face.
“Kai’s gonna murder some people, I think.”
“Yeah, on that note,” Lloyd glances at Dyne, giving him a rueful smile. “You probably want to get out of here. For your own good, and all.”
Dyne opens his mouth, only to yelp as something else in the lab behind them explodes.
“And, uh, sorry for losing you your job?” Lloyd makes a face. “Next time, maybe go for something a little less…”
“Morally corrupt? Totally evil? Cruel and inhumane?”
“He gets it, Sora,” Lloyd sighs.
“We will be leaving now,” the white ninja cuts in, eyes narrowed on the growing crowd of Imperium guards a street over. “If we’re to pick up Kai and Wyldfyre before we leave, we’d better be quick.”
“Got it.” Lloyd gives Dyne a final, bright smile. “Thanks for the snacks! Good luck on the job hunt.”
The pink-haired girl glares daggers at him, while the dark-haired boy makes a very obvious we’re watching you gesture with his fingers.
“Enjoy your life,” the white ninja says. “Please keep in mind that you only kept it thanks to Lloyd.”
And with that ominous statement, the ninja take off running.
As he watches them disappear, Dyne carefully removes his Imperium-issued helmet, and lets out a long, shaky sigh.
Maybe there’s a job opening in the Realm of Madness.
He’ll bet they don’t require eight-page resumés there.