A Scripta

Masonry tore at the ghost attaching himself to his face. He heard a loud boom and the ghost disappeared.

"Sorry, mate."

He blinked away blood. Wombat handed him a towel. He shook his head. Wombat only shrugged and set the towel down. "It will heal."

"Suit yerself. Wha'c'n I do fer ya now?"

"I need you to bind a soul."

He looked at Masonry curiously. "Whose?"

"Nathan Greene's."

"Your host's?"

He nodded grimly.

Womby beckoned to his workshop. "I never bound a human's soul that's boun' to a Kheldian." He showed him to the chair next to his desk. "I 'ave t' do some research."

"I figured you would need to, which is why I am asking now." He gripped the corner of the desk suddenly, squeezing it, his fingers digging hard into the wood. Wombat watched as he struggled with something, listening to the wood crack under the big man's grip. He let go slowly, letting out a breath.

"Why don'cha just let 'im out? Let 'im do what he needs ta do?"

"Because he'll go on a rampage, like he did when he first took the drugs."

"He'll be stopped. You don' give yerself credit."

"Wombat, I have never, ever taken a host over."

"You got th' power t' do it."

He looked at Womby. "He gets past me."

"Cuz you let'im. You have hope."

"I have to. I have to believe that there is something good in him."

"Maybe you were wrong."

He looked wounded. "Do not be like them, Wombat. Please."

Wombat sighed. "Fine 'en, I'll do'it. Ya gotta pay me though."

"How much?"

"Not much." He appraised Jack for a moment. "Few drops o' yer blood."

Jack only smiled. "Somehow, I knew you would ask that. You need to promise me that you will not use it to bind me."

"I promise. I ain' that kinda guy, mate. I jus' wanna study't."

Jack looked him over. "Deal."

Womby merely nodded. Jack winced as he heard Nathan scream.