Hopefully, I'll Be Nothing Like Him (a UA Fanfic)

V

Luther sighed as he listened to Pogo's lecture, his hand slipping to touch his growing belly. Two days later, he still can't decide whether to keep it or to lose it. Grace told him that if he wants to, the pill wouldn't be so reliable and that she recommends vacuum. He still can't make up his mind. On one hand, he wants to keep it and have another life in the house. On the other hand, it's his dad's child. He'll have to stop working out so much, he's not even sure he'll be a good dad.

If he keeps it, will the child somehow be like Reginald? The child has Reginald's genes, will they be passed down the child? Luther hopes not, he couldn't handle a Reginald 2.0. Reginald wouldn't care, right? He'll just leave the whole raising the child to Luther, right? He wouldn't even make it a big deal, especially if he knows that Luther plans on not putting him as the child's father. No, the child would be his and his only.

"Luther," Luther and Pogo turned their heads to see Grace near the door. "Your father wishes to see you."

Shit.

"I'll best be going, Master Luther." Luther heard Pogo leaving his room with Grace, closing the door behind them, Luther stood up to the shelf, pocketing the test results and the USG photo. He'll tell his father now. He'll open up about everything, the paternity of the baby, how far along is he, how hard can that be? Luther opened the door again to see no one there, good. Luther took a deep breath in.

"Dad?" Luther asked as he opened the door to Reginald's study. There's Reginald, writing on his desk. Luther entered the study room, keeping the door open for if he needs to run away.

"There's a mission, an illegal chemical weapon trade, coordinates in this paper." Reginald hands Luther a piece of paper which he accepts with his shaking hands. "You need to put a stop to the business by all means necessary."

"I don't think I can go to missions anymore, Dad," Luther declared. Reginald looked up to see Luther in the eyes.

"Why not?"

"I'm pregnant," Luther answered. Reginald raised his brow. "I'm on my eleventh week. Here-" Luther took out the pregnancy tests and the USG photo and placed them on Reginald's table. "Here's the USG photo and the positive tests."

"Who knows?"

"Mum and Diego," Luther answered, taking back the sticks and the picture. "I told Mum and Diego crept into my room when he asked for your signature."

"Who knows about the parentage?"

"Only Mum does," Luther confirmed. "Dad, I want to keep it."

"Huh!" Reginald scoffed. Luther pressed his lips in a thin line, balling his hands that's on his side. "Go to this mission, we'll talk about it afterwards, Number One."

"You don't need to call me by my number anymore, Dad."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm the only one left," Luther answered. Reginald scoffed again, and at that he left the study to his room, placing the tests on the table and searching the coordinates on the maps app of his phone. There it is.

He went to the garage, taking the key to his motorcycle and started the machines. Luther wore his helmet and turned the gas, following the coordinates given. This will be his last mission, Reginald's reaction wasn't that bad. He'll give him a break from missions later, right? Reginald had been quite accepting, right? He didn't mock him or anything. He permitted him to keep it, right? There'll be another life in the Academy, right?

Luther turned off the machine to his motorcycle a few buildings of the supposed building, putting down the helmet. Luther held the tiny bump, leaving his motorcycle behind. Grace is right, he needs to fix his temper. Grace showed him the contacts to a psychologist who had been sworn to secrecy, all Luther needs to do now is to ring them up. There's no room for debate, he'll do it right after this.

Luther reached the supposed building, remembering that it's on the seventh floor. Ground, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. That's the floor he'll have to be in. He entered the building, using the emergency stairs. By the fifth floor, he started losing breath. He usually can go up and down this building without losing breath, it must be different now. This little thing. Luther shook his head as he caught his breath, he can't keep on being breathless like this if he wants to survive this mission.

Luther pushed down the door level as soon as he's reached the seventh floor, entering the room and hiding behind the walls. He can hear some people talk, that must be them. He couldn't go anywhere, he may be spotted. Luther looked around to see the electrical wiring. He can use them to his advantage, Reginald told him to end this factory, right? He can play with the cables, cause electrical damage which will leave sparks and if no one noticed, he'll burn this building down.

Luther grabbed the nearest couple of liquids he can see, reading what each of the bottles is, cyanogen chloride, ethyldichlorasine, and sarin, pocketing them for in case if he needs it. He crept into the electrical wiring, switching the wrong input with the wrong output to get some sparks, grabbing the nearest object he can find- a wooden block- and letting the sparks hit the block, burning it before dropping it to the wall, burning it also.

Luther backed up, the fire started running around like wildfire. Luther quickly hurried out, only to be met with a janitor.

"I've never seen you-"

"What's up, Jerry?" Luther faked a smile.

"My name isn't Jerry." Luther closed his eyes as he grit his teeth.

"Right! John, my man!"

"My name isn't John too, it doesn't begin with a J." Luther closed his eyes again, feeling stupider and stupider with each second past.

"Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"Big Boss complains about the light out, don't you realise?" Luther chuckled hearing that.

"Oh yeah, the lights are out," Luther repeated. "I think Big Boss wants you to clean that puke over there, though." Luther points to the ground far away.

"What puke?"

"There!" Luther hits the janitor's head to the wall with ease, it's not like he's lost his superhuman strength, now. Luther hides the unconscious body near one of the boxes, the burning scent from the electrical outlet filling the room.

He needs to get out of here.