A dying man is given a second chance. This story is a fan fiction that takes place in the Whateley Universe.

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The secret super villain lair of Lady Havoc was almost exactly what I would have imagined for a mad scientist…depressingly so. The building was an old single screen movie theater that looked like it had been closed down and probably even condemned at least fifteen years earlier. Nearly everything from the old theater had long since been stripped out and removed, including most of the seats.

Nearly every available square foot was filled with machines, half build machines, half dismantled machines, or the tables and equipment needed to work on these machines. To my untrained eyes, some of it looked extremely high tech, like something I’d see in some science fiction movie, while other bits and pieces looked like they’d been scavenged from a junk yard. All in all, I could barely make sense of anything.

The ‘kitchen’ consisted of two hot plates, three microwave ovens that were wired together in a weird way, and what looked like some kind of high tech coffee pot on steroids. On second thought, it looked more like one of those fancy espresso machines on some kind of super soldier serum. The only thing I could make out about it for sure was that it produced coffee, and that was only because of the coffee spill in front of it.

And then there was Rachael’s ‘bedroom’, which consisted of a mattress that was tucked between a couple work tables. I stared at the setup in horror, realizing that absolutely everything in this place was designed for making her inventions. Everything related to her living arrangements or taking care of herself seemed to have been nothing more than an afterthought. I felt a deep sadness as I thought about the way my daughter was living, and I desperately wished there was something I could do to make things better.

Rachael seemed rather proud as she led me through the clutter, pointing out various odds and ends. “This is my molecular disintegration ray,” she told me, pointing to an odd looking weapon that resembled the energy rifle she was still holding. “Unfortunately, it freezes up after a couple shots and I have to tear it halfway apart each time just to get it working again.”

Then Rachael stopped in front of one work bench that had several bottles of chemical stored on a rack. She pulled out a vial containing a golden colored liquid and held it up for me to see.

“My cancer cure,” she told me with a grin. “I wonder if this would trigger Kaylie’s manifestation…or maybe even Mel…” She paused at that, looking excited for a moment before she shook her head and let out a sigh. “It wouldn’t work. It would need a large enough concentration of cancer cells in order to generate the cellular energy required to boost the metabolic process…”

“Rachael,” I said, trying to get her attention before she got lost in another idea.

“Sorry,” she apologized with an embarrassed look. “Sometimes, being a devisor is like having ADD. I start off planning to make a universal remote for my home electronics, then one idea leads to another and the next thing I know, I’m invading a research lab for the materials to make my own flying saucer.”

I gave Rachael an odd look as I commented, “That sounds oddly specific.”

“Doesn’t it?” she responded with a smirk, showing just a bit too much of her scary looking teeth.

“About Rich,” I reminded her.

“Of course,” she said, her expression going serious again. She stopped and just looked over her lab, then shook her head with a look of disgust. “I’ve lost all my robots and won’t have time to build any more before we need them. But of course, that would be pointless anyway unless we can find the Marquis.”

“And how do we do that?” I asked, fully aware that when it came to super villains, she knew more than I ever could. In this case, I’d have to rely on her expertise, which was why I’d come to her for help in the first place.

“I’ll have to call in some favors,” Rachael answered.

Rachael went to one corner of the lab where a comfortable looking chair was set up, surrounded by computer monitors and odd bits of equipment. She sat down and touched a button, then a glowing keyboard made of light suddenly appeared, floating in the air in front of her. She began typing a few things.

“Leonides,” Rachael abruptly said, looking off to the side rather than at me. A few seconds later, it became obvious that she was having some kind of phone conversation. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a problem I was hoping you could help me with. I’m trying to locate the Marquis and was wondering if you’ve been keeping track of him.” She nodded at that, then asked, “Do you have any idea? Well, thank you for your time anyway, and good luck with Saint Louis.”

“Who was that?” I asked curiously.

Rachael glanced at me and simply said, “You don’t want to know.”

I nodded at that, knowing the circles she socialized in and suspecting that she was right. I probably didn’t want to know the kind of people she had on her speed dial.

A few seconds later, Rachael was repeating the process, exclaiming, “Hellbinder… Its Lady Havoc you sad sack of shit. And fuck you with a lamp post. I need something from you, you useless waste of flesh…” I just stared at Rachael, surprised because she was talking in an almost pleasant and friendly tone while she was saying these things. “No, you’ll only get my soul when you pry it from my cold dead flesh. What I need is the location of a wretched sinner… No, I’m looking for a specific one…”

I just stood back and listened in as Rachael made a series of calls, some of which were actually seemed to be video calls, though I couldn’t see who the other people were. However, the conversations included things like, “You owe me for that hover conversion on your battle tank,” and “If you can get this for me, I’ll provide you six automatons…”

This glimpse into Rachael’s life was interesting and very educational. I was seeing a side of my daughter that I’d never seen before, and I felt an odd sense of pride that she was good at her chosen career, even while I felt horrified by the things she did.

Once Rachael was finished with her phone calls, she told me, “I’ve done what I can for the moment, so now we have to wait until one of my contacts gets back to me. The hard part is finding someone who is not only capable of finding the Marquis, but willing to give me the information. A lot of people don’t want to risk crossing him.”

I nodded at that, telling her, “Thank you for looking.”

Rachael nodded at that, giving me a worried look. “I might not have been a very good sister,” she admitted, “but I’ll be damned if I let him kill Rich.”

“He’s always looked up to you,” I told her quietly. “Even after all this.”

Rachael winced slightly at that, then joked, “Well he shouldn’t. I’m a horrible role model.” I wasn’t about to argue that one.

Since there didn’t seem to be anything else we could do at the moment except wait for Rachael’s contacts to get back to her, we sat down and began to talk. “What has everyone been up to?” she asked me, both eager and nervous at the same time. “And what are Mel’s daughters like?”

I smiled as I thought of the little girls, though it turned into a scowl as I remembered how scared and shaken they both were thanks to the Marquis. “They’re good girls,” I told her honestly. “Kaylie is twelve, and she’s starting to get a little rebellious, or at least show a bit more independence. In fact, she reminds me a bit of Melanie at that age.”

Rachael chuckled at that. “Then Mel is in for a rough couple of years.”

I nodded agreement, then told her, “And Kimberly is seven…and into the whole princess thing. She’s the sweetest thing…” I paused, feeling a little sad as I thought about how much she was like Rachael at that age. I just desperately hoped that Kimberly didn’t have to deal with a quarter of the things that Rachael did.

While we talked, Rachael moved to a stool by one of her work benches and began to fiddle with an invention, which looked more like a small pile of parts than anything else to me. I was pretty sure that she just needed to keep her hands occupied while she talked and I didn’t take it as anything personal. I remembered that she used to do this all the time when she was younger too.

After I’d filled Rachael in about how everyone else was doing, she asked, “But what about you? How are you doing? I know it can’t be easy turning into a kid…much less a girl.”

I chuckled at that and admitted, “It can get pretty awkward…not to mention frustrating. People treat me like a kid, and admittedly, I kind of bring a lot of that on myself with the dress and all.” I gestured down at myself. “But it’s kind of exciting too. It’s like everything is new and I’m seeing the world for the first time.”

“But what are you doing to do?” she asked me, looking a little worried. “I mean, it isn’t like you can go out and get a job when you look like that.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, having thought about this quite a bit. I had a second chance and I definitely didn’t want to waste it, but I still had no idea what to do. “Maybe I could work for the cops as bait for pedophiles or something.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, though she looked rather skeptical about that.

“Whatever I do, I can’t stay where I am forever,” I told her with a sigh. “I can’t keep mooching off Melanie and Mark.”

“You always were too stubborn to accept charity,” Rachael told me with a smile. Then in her best gruff imitation of me, or at least of the old me, she said, “I don’t need anyone to give me anything. If I want something, I’ll damn well earn it myself or do without.”

I chuckled at that, especially since she could do a better imitation of me than I could at the moment. “Well, it’s true.”

We sat there in an awkward silence for several minutes, with me just watching as she worked on her electronics. She kept glancing at me, as though having a hard time believing that I was really me, or maybe that I was even there in her home. Finally, she cautiously asked, “You haven’t noticed anything like Diedricks, have you?”

“No,” I answered, and she immediately looked a little relieved. Then I took a deep breath and admitted, “But the doctor says I’ll probably have to be on the lookout for some exemplar related issues…especially once I hut puberty again.” I shuddered at that and added, “I am NOT looking forward to going through it again, especially not from this side of the fence.”

“I’d imagine not,” Rachael said with a chuckle. “But you might have a couple years to prepare for it.”

“Probably longer,” I admitted with a sigh. “There’s a good chance I might not hit it for ten years.”

And though I didn’t say it aloud, there was also the chance that I never would. It all depended on if my aging had merely been slowed down, or if my BIT would remain frozen like this for good. Fortunately, Dr. Franklin had told me that most BITS could change over time, at least enough to allow for aging.

“I’m glad you don’t have to deal with this,” she told me with a faint smile, suddenly looking exhausted.

“It’s getting pretty late,” I told her gently. “Since there isn’t anything we can do right now, why don’t you get some sleep…”

Rachael gave a short and bitter laugh at that. “I don’t sleep…or at least, I haven’t had a good night sleep in years.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, once again feeling worried about my daughter and depressed over what had become of her.

“Nightmares,” Rachael admitted with a pained smile. “And for the last week, it’s been even worse.” She stared off into the distance as she quietly added, “Every time I close my eyes, I see your face…”

“What?” I asked in surprise.

Rachael gave me a forced smile and explained, “Every time I close my eyes, I remember killing a little girl…shooting her right in the face.” Tears began running down her cheeks and she choked out, “What kind of monster would do something like that?”

“It’s not your fault,” I told her, giving her a gentle hug.

“If not mine,” she demanded bitterly, “then whose?”

“But I’m still alive,” I quickly reminded her, feeling my heart break all over again. “You didn’t kill me.”

“And you have no idea how thankful I am for that,” she said in a near whisper. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I shot a little girl in the face without having any suspicion that she’d live through it. What if it had been a real little girl? What if I really had killed her?” She paused at that, wiping the tears from her cheeks, asking, “And what about the next time?”

I certainly couldn’t argue with this, especially not when this was the exact same thing that I’d been thinking of. I wanted to comfort her and assure her that everything would be all right, but neither of us was foolish enough to believe that lie.

“I’m tired, Daddy,” she told me quietly. “So very tired.”

I continued to hug Rachael in silence since I couldn’t think of anything else to do. She clutched me back, holding me so tightly that it probably would have hurt a real little girl, though I was sturdy enough that it wasn’t a problem.

Once Rachael pulled away from me, she said, “I’ve given up on trying to find a cure for my Diedricks. Instead, I’ve spent the last week desperately trying to just figure out a way to contain myself. I wish I’d done this ten years ago, because now it’s far too late.”

With that, Rachael touched the device that she’d been assembling right in front of me. The surface was mostly a golden colored metal, and it was shaped like it was meant to go over someone’s forearm like a bracer. There was also a gold metal band as well, which looked like it might have been a tiara for a Halloween costume party.

“What is this?” I carefully asked her.

Rachael held up the gold tiara and gently touched the arm bracer, giving me a faint smile as she did so. “This measures my brain waves, and whenever I reach a set threshold in a Diedricks event, it should paralyze my nervous system.” She paused at that, then explained, “When I drick out, this should paralyze me so I can’t hurt anyone.”

“That’s great,” I exclaimed, only to realize that she didn’t seem as excited about that as I was.

“If I use this,” Rachael told me with a sigh, “it should keep me from hurting anyone else.”

“But there’s a side effect,” I stated, knowing how her inventions worked.

“Not a direct one,” she responded. “The problem is, if I use this…I might as well be committing suicide.”

I stared at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Rachael just ran her hands over the new device, shaking her head slightly. “I have a lot of enemies,” she finally told me, keeping her voice calm and almost flat. “And some of them want to do more than just put me behind bars.” She gave me a wry smile as she added, “I’m not always picky about who I steal supplies from, or who I drick out on, and some of them really hold a grudge.”

“So you don’t just have super heroes after you,” I said in understanding. “You’ve got villains too.”

With a faint nod, Rachael responded, “One or two. Every once in awhile, they make a try for me. Usually, it isn’t much of a problem but…” She shook her head at that and said, “You know that stress is one of my triggers…” I nodded at that. “Well, if I’m using this and someone comes for me, I’ll probably freeze up and won’t be able to defend myself. I’ll be helpless.”

“So,” I said grimly. “You either leave yourself vulnerable if you’re attacked…or you risk killing more people.”

Rachael frowned but nodded reluctantly. “And the same holds true for dealing with the Marquis.”

“But if you have an episode then,” I pointed out grimly. “You might end up hurting me…Rich…and any other prisoners.”

Rachael just sat there, staring down at her new invention for several long seconds. Then she scowled intently and stood up, announcing, “I’m not going to just stand still and let someone kill me without doing everything I can to fight back. If I was going to do that, I would have just stayed in prison.”

As she started to walk way, I cautiously said, “Rachael…”

“Like I said,” she responded grimly, turning and giving me a flat look. “It’s far too late for that thing to do me any good.” Then she gestured towards the back and told me, “You’re welcome to use the bed. I’ve got too much work to do to bother with sleep.”

I stared at my daughter’s back as she continued walking away from me, not bothering to look back again. I shook my head sadly and muttered, “Ain’t that a kick in the balls.”