Chapter Text
A storm was brewing in the mindscape.
It brewed in every thunder-crackle word from his mouth, in every venomous flash of lightning in his eyes. He rained when no one was looking and raged when everyone was, and all the while pretended the skies were as clear as could be. How tragic, to watch the best of them fall.
And how delicious, to be the cause of it all.
Oh, how every bit of fury filled Rage with glee! Anger was his department, after all — and Logic, wonderful, sweet Logic, he was full of it. Full enough to burst.
Full enough to manipulate.
A storm was brewing in the mindscape.
And Rage couldn’t wait for lightning to strike.
Logan had been pacing for hours.
His room was silent and empty — and so was he. So was he. It was simply excess energy that made him tremble, not anger. It was only hunger that clawed at his lungs and wrapped around his middle and squeezed so tightly that he couldn’t breathe. It was only logical that his mind replayed the events of the day on repeat, again and again and again — to record information, of course, to ensure maximum retainment of the conversation. It was necessary. No matter how bad it felt.
Falsehood. To feel bad, he would have to feel , which would directly negate his purpose. Feelings were entirely unnecessary to a being of pure logic. He didn’t need them. He didn’t have them.
“Robot,” Roman’s voice hissed in his head. “We don’t need your opinions on this. Seeing as, you know, you need emotions to understand it.”
It was a correct statement. He did not possess feelings. Therefore, his opinion on a purely emotional project was… obsolete. Unneeded.
Just like him just like him just like him —
He paced faster.
“C’mon, teach, I’m sure ya have something nice to say!” Patton’s voice echoed. “Be constructive, not destructive, kiddo!”
Patton’s words had not been intended to cause distress. And they hadn’t, of course. In order to experience distress, he would need to possess a heart, which he did not. Why, then, did they stick with him? Why did they echo above all else?
He clasped his hands behind his back, tightly, so they would stop their incessant trembling. A curl of red-hot fire ignited in his chest and he pushed it away, grimacing. He had only been trying to offer guidance. Why did they insist on ignoring him? It made him feel so —
No. No. It didn’t make him feel anything. He didn’t feel anything.
“Yikes, L, I thought I was supposed to be the negative one.” Virgil’s voice surfaced over the others. “Can you, like, actually be helpful here?”
He had only pointed out the potential flaws in Roman’s latest idea. Had he been harsher than usual? Perhaps. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and seeing as none of the others cared to listen to him otherwise, a small bit of unkindness had become necessary. He needed to be heeded. He needed to be heard.
“How sad that you never will be.”
He whirled around at the sudden voice, fury flickering across his face. He schooled his expression into one of cold neutrality and faced the newcomer.
“Rage,” Logan spat. “Has papa Deceit let you out to play?”
“I don’t answer to that slimeball, you fucking —” Rage cut himself off with a growl, the anger draining from his face. His long, dark coat swished behind him as he strode forward, the oily black furs at the end catching Logan’s light and glinting. He clasped Logan’s chin between two fingers, false pity gathering behind his dark-tinted glasses. “What a pity,” he cooed, “that one as great as you should be ignored so, so often.”
Logan jerked away from his touch, eyes narrowing. “As if that is any of your business,” he said, as smoothly as the tremor in his voice would allow. “It is of no concern to you whether or not I am listened to, which I am.”
“Ah-ah-ah, careful, we don’t want slimy here, do we?” Rage tilted his head to the side, and his sickly-sweet smile filled Logan with heavy dread. “We both know you’re not listened to, Logic. They don’t even care about you. Doesn’t that make you furious?”
“Your tricks won’t work on me, Rage. I suggest you leave.” Logan shoved away the flicker of scalding heat in the pit of his stomach. Rage was only trying to control him, to use him. It would be illogical to comply. Still, a hint of fire doused his next words. “Before I make you.”
“As-fucking-if, Logic! You couldn’t touch me!” Rage cackled, his razor-sharp teeth shining. “Think about what I’ve said. Think about what you could do. What we could do.”
He stepped forward and caressed the side of Logan’s face, his touch blisteringly hot. “You could be great.”
And with a final, furious grin, he sank out. Logan didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He stared at the spot where Rage had stood and felt burned, inside and out, ready to burst into flames at any moment. He felt —
No. No, no, no. He would not fall prey to Rage’s disgusting tactics. He felt nothing. His frustration at the other sides’ disregard for his input was purely business, simply a desire to keep Thomas as functioning as possible. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t a feeling, because he wasn’t a feeling.
Logan closed his eyes and clenched his fists — and inside, he burned to ash.