Public Move Along, Nothing to See Here

[Mikhail Shorn]

The vat of liquid burst out onto the floor, spilling out a body with the fluids.

The corpse proved it was not actually a corpse at all as the man-shaped thing started flailing about on the ground.

"What the-"

He rubbed at his eyes furiously, smearing vat gunk around as he blinked savagely.

"I can't see."

He rubbed harder.

"Nevermind, it's just fuzzy," the not-corpse got to his feet shakily, stumbling around.

Why was he here? Why was he back?

He'd been enjoying a nice seven decades of eternal torment in the Netherworld.

"What the hells is going on?"

Spencer Varanin \ Quinn Varanin

 

[Spencer Varanin]

//: Mikhail Shorn //:
​

"Not even a hello?"

A voice echoed, one that would be too familiar for the man. She watched him stumble about, complaining about one thing or another. Even death didn't change Mikhail Shorn, but maybe that was a good thing. Spencer hadn't decided yet.

"I doubt introductions are necessary, but welcome back to the living." She shrugged, stepping closer, carefully avoiding the gunk and mess he had made.

Resurrection was never a clean matter. But it wouldn't be fair to compare everyone to Ashin.

"You've been dead for some time, things have changed, and have gotten quite boring." Spencer was aware of the peace that the galaxy had fallen into.

While she was typically a fan, the point that her daughter was becoming a focal point didn't sit well with her. Spencer knew that life, knew what it was like to be the fixation of others.

She never wanted that for her children.

They were meant for simpler lives… as simple as she could make it.

"Figured you were getting bored in the Nether, if not, well, I can just send you back if you want, Thronebreaker."

 

[Mikhail Shorn]

Vat slime dripped down the lean lines of his body as he stared in shock at the blonde before him. He remembered her from… from what seemed a long time ago.

Thronebreaker. Yes, that had been what they called him once after what he did to poor Tyrin Ardik. But he had a name. Never a title of Darth. The Galaxy knew his name. Memories sparked in the mind’s eye of skyscrapers and star destroyers alike torn in half by telekinetic power of the man who hi bore the name. A feared name.

Mikhail Shorn.

And the woman in front of him. She had brought him back. His brows drew together. He looked down at his body, but didn’t recognize it. He didn’t have the scar in his chest from Diana Moridena, or any of the other imperfections that had marred him.

This… this wasn’t his body. It looked almost like it, but too perfect beneath the slime. Too neat.

“You… brought me back,” he rasped out, vocal cords still new, “… because you were bored.”

Ice blue Blue eyes fixed on her.

“Spencer Jacobs.”

Spencer Varanin