Chapter 24 : Toyman - Part 6: Mercy
May 2016 — Schott Family Factory — Final Standoff
The dead man's switch changed everything.
Kara could move at speeds that made bullets look stationary. She could rip through reinforced steel like paper, survive explosions that would vaporize ordinary humans. But none of that mattered against a trigger that would activate the moment pressure was released.
"Don't." She held up her hands, palms out, cape settling behind her. "Whatever you're planning—"
"I'm not planning anything." My father's voice was almost conversational. "I'm merely... ensuring that this conversation happens on my terms."
Alex's voice crackled through my earpiece: "Winn, we're detecting massive energy signatures throughout the building. If that switch releases—"
"I know." I kept my eyes on my father. "Stand down. Everyone stand down."
"Winn—"
"That's an order."
Silence on the comms. Then: "Copy. Standing by."
I turned my full attention to the man who'd shaped my deepest fears. Who'd built monsters from children's toys. Who stood now with the power to kill everyone I cared about in his trembling hand.
"What do you want?"
"What I've always wanted." His grip tightened on the switch. "Recognition. Acknowledgment. A son who understood that everything I did—everything—was for something greater than petty morality."
"You want me to say you were right?"
"I want you to see." He stepped forward, and I forced myself not to react. "You have power, Winn. Real power. And you're using it to protect a world that fears and despises people like us. For what? Gratitude? Love? The approval of aliens and government thugs?"
"For people." The answer came without hesitation. "For the hostages you kidnapped. For the families of your victims. For everyone who deserves protection from people who think their pain justifies hurting others."
"Pretty words." He was close now. Close enough that I could see the tears tracking down his weathered face. "But words don't change what you are. What we are."
"You're right."
The admission stopped him cold.
"Words don't change anything." I took a slow step forward. "Actions do. And every action I've taken since I got these powers has been about becoming something different from you. Not because I hate you—I don't, even though I probably should. But because I've seen where your path leads."
I thought about Maxwell Lord, caged after his Bizarro experiments. About Indigo, scattered across isolated servers. About Astra, who'd tried to conquer Earth because she was convinced she knew better than everyone else.
"Your path leads to loneliness," I said. "To desperation. To standing in a broken factory with a bomb in your hand, hoping that the threat of death will finally make someone listen to you."
"I'm not desperate." But his voice cracked.
"You wrote me a letter. From prison. After seven years of silence." Another step. "You built a gauntlet of death traps and then asked me to sit down and talk. You kidnapped hostages and then gave me enough time to save them."
I was close enough to touch him now.
"You don't want to kill me. You don't even want to win." I extended my hand, palm up. "You want someone to see you. To understand why you became this. To tell you that it wasn't all for nothing."
The switch trembled in his grip.
"I can't tell you that." My voice softened. "Because it was. All of it. The deaths, the destruction, the years you lost—none of it had to happen. You chose this. Every step of the way, you chose pain over healing, revenge over recovery."
"I didn't have a choice—"
"You did. You always did." I kept my hand extended. "And so do I. Right now. I could stop your heart with a thought. Fry your nervous system. End this permanently and make sure you never hurt anyone again."
His face went pale. "You could—"
"I could." I smiled, and meant it. "But I won't. Because I'm not you. I choose mercy. Even when it's hard. Even when the person doesn't deserve it."
The workshop was silent except for the hum of dormant machinery.
"Give me the switch." I kept my voice gentle. "Please. You're still my father. I don't want you to die in here."
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then Winslow Schott Sr.—the Toyman, murderer of seven, builder of nightmares—began to cry.
"You really aren't my son, are you?" The words came out broken, desperate. "My Winn would never... he was afraid of me. He couldn't even look me in the eyes."
"Your Winn grew up." I didn't lower my hand. "He found people who believed in him. He learned what his powers could do—and more importantly, what he could do with them."
"Powers that I gave you. Genius that I passed down."
"Potential that I chose how to use." I met his eyes. "The switch. Please."
His hand trembled. The red light pulsed.
And slowly, carefully, he placed the device in my palm.
The bomb was a bluff.
Of course it was. My father was many things, but he wasn't suicidal. The switch controlled nothing—it was a prop, a manipulation, a final test to see what I would do when I thought everyone's lives depended on my choice.
He wanted to see if I would kill him. If the power had corrupted me the way it would have corrupted him.
"You're better than me." He spoke as DEO agents secured his wrists, as Alex verified that the building was actually safe, as J'onn coordinated the final sweep. "I hate that. I hate that you looked at everything I offered and said no."
"I know."
"I'm proud of it too. Does that make sense?"
"It does." I watched them lead him toward the door. "Maybe better than anything else you've said tonight."
He paused at the threshold. Looked back at me one final time.
"They'll send me somewhere darker. Somewhere I won't escape from again."
"Probably."
"You won't visit."
"No. I won't."
He nodded slowly, as if that was the answer he expected. The answer he deserved.
"Goodbye, Winn. Whatever you've become... I hope it makes you happy."
They took him away.
I sat in the ruins of my childhood for a long time.
The workshop looked different now that the fighting was over. Smaller, somehow. Sadder. Just another broken building full of broken machines, built by a broken man who'd never learned how to heal.
Kara found me there.
She didn't say anything. Didn't ask if I was okay, or offer empty comfort, or try to find silver linings in the wreckage.
She just sat down beside me on the dusty floor, shoulder touching mine, and waited.
The factory groaned around us. DEO teams moved through the corridors, cataloging evidence and disabling traps. Outside, the first gray light of dawn was starting to creep over National City's skyline.
"He was right about one thing," I said eventually.
"What?"
"I'm not his son. Not the son he remembers, anyway." I stared at my hands—the hands that could redirect bullets, absorb electricity, do a hundred things that shouldn't be possible. "I don't know what I am anymore."
Kara took my hand. Squeezed it.
"You're Winn Schott. My partner. My friend." She leaned against me, warm and solid and real. "Everything else is just details."
I laughed. It hurt. It also helped.
"You really believe that?"
"I know it." She smiled. "Now come on. Alex is threatening to send search parties if we don't report in soon. And I promised J'onn I'd drag you to the medbay whether you wanted to go or not."
"Medbay sounds terrible."
"It has blankets. And coffee."
"...Coffee?"
"The good stuff. Alex's personal stash."
I let her pull me to my feet. Let her lead me out of the factory, past the evidence teams and the secured perimeter and the flashing lights of a dozen emergency vehicles.
The sun was rising over National City.
It was going to be a good day.
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