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Sports had never really been Jack's thing. He had also, fortunately, never had to play them outside of PE class. His mother drove delivery trucks across the country. His father, as far as Jack knew, hadn't been around since making the little deposit that had become his bad-a** self.

There had never been anyone with enough time to take Jack to anything like little league.

Considering this, and Jack's affinity for inactivity, it was anyone's guess why Proustite ended up in the vicinity of the batting cages. At midnight. When there were skirts to chase in Destiny City's other corners.

Probably, he was bored.

Ping

School was over, and that was every reason to slack off.

Ping

Proustite recognized that sound. It could only mean one thing.

Ping

Smiling softly to himself, stepping lightly so as not to attract unwanted attention, the Lieutenant made his way towards the incessant racket of Chris's baseballs clattering against the cages. He was pleased to find the gates unlocked, and started whistling a happy tune.

This was a warning, of sorts.

Oh, they were closed for the night. And the civilian was sorry.

That was just too bad.

Proustite paused in his whistling long enough to let Chris speak, and then started up again once he'd finished. Jack was unfamiliar with this sort of territory, and took his time to absorb his new surroundings.

The cages were interesting.

"I think you can help me, actually," Proustite swept his fingers through his hair. An impeccably groomed mop of gel, it bounced back into place almost instantly. "I've always wanted to learn how to bat."

If this was, indeed, the case it certainly didn't look like he'd come dressed for the occasion. But Jack was an actor. He understood that looks could be deceiving, and trusted Chris to believe him.

Proustite pointed at the pitching machine. "How does that work? Is there just a switch or something?"

If Proustite noticed the disapproving look that passed over Chris's face, he wasn't telling. He continued his casual perusal of the complex, dark eyes sweeping thoughtfully over everything from the baseball spitter to the bat that dangled from Chris's hand.

"Aw shucks," Proustite drawled lazily, stepped into the batting cage with Chris, and closed the door behind him. It clicked ominously. "I wanted to play tonight."

Proustite smirked, and summoned his hula hoop (seemingly out of thin air) with a fancy flick of his wrist. He fixed Chris with a stare that was two parts playful, one part menacing, and move closer.

"You didn't answer my question," Proustite's tongue clicked disappointedly against the roof of his mouth. He spoke with an authority that he probably did not deserve. But it didn't really matter, because Chris couldn't do anything about it. Proustite was the one with the power.

When it came to fights, Jack had always liked having an advantage. Before being transferred to HIllworth, he had tarnished his reputation at Meadowview by picking on boys who were smaller than he was. When his victims could defend themselves, he'd always had Ducky and BJ by his side to protect him.

Now he had the Negaverse. Life was sweet.

"Tell me. Do you love your mother?"

Proustite had no idea that there was anything about the young man he faced now for him to worry about. He had yet to meet a knight, and wouldn't have known what to think if Chris did, in fact, decide to power up. But Chris remained as Chris, and as helpless as a rodent in a cage.

Because that was what he was.

A smirk played across the Lieutenant's face when the civilian cowered, and his fingers tightened victoriously around his hula hoop. This would not be a fair fight. Chris didn't stand a chance. They both knew it. Tonight, it was Proustite's will, or no will at all.

The Negaverse officer loomed closer to his victim and smiled wide, as though there was something remarkably funny about the trouble Chris was in. His teeth glinted in the eerie light of the lonely lamppost that illuminated the grounds.

"Shhhh," Proustite's voice was a soft purr. He pressed against Chris's chest with his forearm, and urged the other young man gently backwards, attempted to press him up against the wire fence. The force he used was such that it would have been possible, if Chris dared, to resist. "I'll be asking the questions here."

He pursed his lips together, stared deep into those golden eyes, and murmured.

"Does your mother love you?"

As far as weapons went, Proustite's was nothing to rave about. It wasn't sharp. It didn't light up. It couldn't shoot laser beams or recite the national anthem. There was something inside (beads, he guessed) that rattled whenever he moved.

But. It was indirectly responsible for the murder of an Eternal Senshi-- probably, if he'd been able to keep her shorter body suspended in the air long enough, she would have choked to death. In the right hands, anything could be lethal.

If there was one thing Proustite had learned since joining the Negaverse, it was that the weapon didn't make or break the warrior. Sure, something like Hematite's big a** sword would be more effective than a lawn flamingo in a fight to the death. But that wasn't the point.

Chris, and whatever kept him from resisting, were all that mattered now.

"It has everything to do with this," Proustite countered gently, as though he and Chris were arguing companionably over tea and biscuits. "Your mother loves you. That's sweet."

"You should do her a favour, and behave yourself now."

The arm that held Chris pinned against the fence moved slowly upwards, and cool fingers curled around a velvet throat. Proustite did not squeeze, but started draining Chris's energy almost at once.

"You have something that I need," he explained, "just stand still and let me take it, and nobody will to get hurt. Especially not mommy."

He could have just asked.

He could have just asked?

That was an idea and a half. Proustite's eyes widened a little with genuine surprise. A new sort of light shone in them, and he regarded Chris curiously, as though only truly looking at him for the first time.

"I'm not going to kill you," It was honest. Proustite had killed before, but only once, and that situation couldn't have been more different from this. He'd had little choice. His own life, and the lives of his fellow officers were on the line that night. It was do or die. Kill or be killed.

Those fingers tightened faintly around Chris's throat when the other boy tried to push him away, but not enough to cause real pain.

"Relax," Proustite said. There was a coo on his voice reminiscent of the way a father might try to console his frightened child. Reminiscent, but not sincere. Proustite's tone was devoid of any paternal warmth. "It'll be over before you know it."

His skin tingled where it drew greedily from Chris's energy source. Proustite's eyes flashed. There was something incredibly invigorating about being so powerful, in the face of such weakness.

Simple.

Clean.

Easy.

This was Proustite's style. Chris was not unlike putty under his capable hands. His fingers pulsed with the electricity of the civilian's stolen life source. And Proustite was more than a little bit awed. He had been to the Rift. He had seen what the Negaverse was capable of.

It was one thing to watch, and to look. And something else entirely to actually experience-- to actually taste the fruits of Chaos for himself.

At times like these, where the odds were undeniably is favour and where no one could contest his strength, Proustite didn't just appreciate being a dark officer. He loved it.

A pompous smirk twisted the corners of his lips. When Chris started to fall, Proustite followed. He extended his arm so that his fingers did not slip from that velvet neck, and even softened the other boy's landing by helping him to the ground.

"Sweet dreams," he whispered once Chris was fast asleep. And then, smiling, energy successfully harvested, Proustite started whistling again. He bid Chris good bye with a mocking salute, and left him.