Socrates the Madman - Chapter Seven

"Won't you come in?" Luke sneered. "There's so much to catch up on."

Managing to keep his expression blank, Socrates stepped up onto the train, smirking at the driver's dumbfounded awe. "Hold the train," he said calmly. The driver nodded blankly, his cigar falling to the floor.

His eyes burned into his former friend's, daring him to strike. Luke was many things, but at the end of the day, he was beneath Socrates. His glass body wasn't even the half of it.

Luke led him into the train car, where two seats had been placed facing each other across a table. Luke had apparently brought them with him.

Not Luke, Socrates reprimanded himself. Not Luke at all. "Shatterpoint," he said, keeping his voice deathly calm, "what do you want?"

"Don't you want to sit down first?" Luke replied, offering a saccharine grin.

Holding his gaze, Socrates settled into his seat. Almost immediately, he felt a blade at his throat. "So, Quinton Socrates," Vellon said coolly, "we meet again."

Socrates stared ahead, unfazed. "Oh, the urchin," he droned. "Back again, I see. Tell me, how was your train ride?"

Vellon growled, his blade cutting lightly into Socrates' neck, spilling trickles of gold blood.

"Go ahead," Socrates said nonchalantly, his gaze unshifting. "Killing me would do wonders for my research. Please, proceed."

"Vellon," Luke reprimanded, his eyes cold. "Stand down."

Socrates felt the blade sliding from his neck, digging a little deeper as it went.

"Now then, Professor," Luke said, clasping his hands, "we have an important matter to discuss."

"Really now. I wonder what could've happened. Did you stub your toe? No, you aren't crying, so it must be-"

"Arthur is dead."

Socrates froze, staring straight through Luke's glass body. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't quite hear you. Did you just say that an Alchemic has deceased? I believe that's quite impossible, so if you could speak up-"

"Lightningrod. 004. Whatever you want to call him, Arthur Brunwick is dead." Luke's fiery gaze drove the point home.

Socrates shook his head again, muttering, "No. That's impossible. Project Alchemy-"

"Project Alchemy didn't work, dammit!" Luke roared.

The two Alchemics glared at each other across the table, each unwilling to let the other be correct. Eventually, though, the professor relented."So, what do you want me to do about it?"

Luke's eyes were locked. "Why would Arthur be assassinated? Myself or Wendy, I could understand. But Arthur? He was a lowlife." He shook his head, his brows furrowing. "That could only mean one thing. He was targeted because he was an Alchemic."

Socrates leaned back, kicking his feet up. "So what? To be frank, he was the least interesting of my subjects to begin with. And always surrounded by prostitutes," he chuckled softly, "he practically funds the business."

"And before you say anything," he continued, cutting Luke off, "I know where you're going with this. You want protection from the big bad Alchemic killer, right?"

Luke's fist slammed down onto the table, and Socrates smirked as he heard Luke's glass skin crack. Staring at his hand, Luke quickly withdrew it before speaking. "I have come to warn you, you ingrate."

"Hm?" Socrates oozed contempt, staring at Luke's fragile features. "Is that it?"

"Now that you mention it, no." Luke made a gesture, nodding

Socrates' eyes widened as the blade plunged into his neck. Vellon grinned as he twisted his sword, driving the point deeper. "As you can see, Professor," he seethed, "Your 'Alchemics' do not die so easily." He tilted the blade down into Socrates' chest, mutilating the professor's innards. "Impervious to poison, electrocution, and incineration, and even all of the above combined."

Socrates clenched his teeth, a bead of sweat rolling down his neck. "I see," he grunted, "you've made your point. Now," he swung his fist into Vellon's chest, smashing the youth away, "you may cease."

Luke gave an imperceptible grin as Socrates extracted the sword from his neck. Meticulously, painfully removing it, the professor discarded it to the floor.

"I understand," Socrates conceded, panting. "You see this as a threat, and not just to yourself. I assume you want to warn the others?" Upon finishing the sentence, he coughed lightly into his sleeve, flecking the white coat with gold.

"Precisely." Luke clasped his hands, looking quite pleased with himself. "Now, my subordinates are on their way to warn Victor." He glanced distastefully at Vellon, who was slumped unconscious against the wall. "Or, at least, were."

"I see." Socrates wiped the blood away with a pained grin. "In that case, I shall take it upon myself to warn Cynthia-"

"Visit Dane." Luke's rejection was coupled with a deathly cold stare.

Socrates smirked; he'd struck a nerve. "Oh, but I could track her down easily, Lukey," he said innocently. "Besides, she's already said that-"

"I know what she said!" Luke snapped. "Now shut up and find Dane." His voice dropped to a threatening growl.

"Fine," Socrates relented smugly, "do as you please. But do be careful with that heart of glass; it is ever so prone to shattering."

Luke's anger practically filled the room, his countenance a mask of tightened rage. "Then I suppose we have come to an agreement," he said evenly. Rising from his chair, he crossed the car to where Vellon was coming to. "Vellon. We're going."

"Pancakes," the boy mumbled dazedly.

Luke turned back to Socrates, his transparent features almost unreadable. "By the way, whatever happened to that ridiculous nickname you gave me?"

"Shatterpoint? It's far from ridiculous, Luke." Socrates' eyes narrowed into malicious slits. "After all, I'm still waiting for you to-" he snapped his fingers sharply, his lips twisting into a grin.

Luke gave no response, but it was clear to both of them who had won the exchange. 

And Socrates relished it. "Have a nice day, Lukey," he said dismissively.

Luke turned on his heel, walking soundlessly out of the train car. Vellon stumbled after him, hitting his head twice on the doorframe.

Socrates sat there for a minute, waiting for Luke to have gone. When he was sure of it, he sighed. Then, he hacked violently, convulsing from his chair. Falling to the floor, he vomited golden blood onto the floorboards. 

Collapsing completely, he lay there for a moment, wallowing in the pool of ichor. "Damn it," he seethed, "damn it to hell." Spasms gripped him once more, and he curled up in a fit of retching.

Panting, coughing, lying there pathetically, he could not have noticed the nigh invisible being slipping back into the train car; nor notice the Alchemic watching him, observing him with hawk-like eyes. He especially could not see the smirk on Luke's face as he disappeared once more.