BSG FIC :: "Rapture" [D'Anna, Cavil, PG13]
Title: Rapture
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Rating: PG13
Characters: D'Anna, Cavil
Date: 19 February 2008
Word Count: 685
Summary: What does a Cylon think when she dies?
Spoilers: 3x12 "Rapture"
Website: ShatterStorm Productions - Frisked & Conquered
Link to: http://f-n-c.shatterstorm.net/
Archive: ShatterStorm Productions only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…
Author's Disclaimer: "Battlestar Galactica," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Ron Moore, David Eick, SciFi, R&D TV, Sky TV, and USA Cable Entertainment LLC. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Battlestar Galactica," SciFi, or any representatives of the actors whose characters are involved.
Author's Notes: This was originally written for the fifth week challenge over at lastficstanding, which was to write about a character's death from that character's POV. The minute I read this challenge, I pretty much knew I'd work with D'Anna's boxing in "Rapture". It just seemed perfect. So I pulled out my homemade disc & this transcription site to transcribe that final scene of D'Anna's. All dialogue in this piece is directly from the episode. The rest of it's all mine… What cracks me up is that some of the feedback I'd received on this story actually bashed the dialogue as unrealistic.
Dedication: My muses, because they rock
Beta: Not beta'd. Any and all errors are my own.
"Rapture"
by A. Magiluna Stormwriter
The first sharp gasp filling oxygen-deprived lungs always startles you; it doesn't matter how many times you've died and been downloaded into another body. But this time is different, isn't it? You're different this time. Your latest death only proves that, as the memories flood your awakening brain.
"You know the drill." That voice, it's familiar to you, grounding you in the present. "Long, deep, controlled breathing."
Yes, you know the drill well. You feel an odd sense of discontent at Cavil's presence by your rebirthing chamber, rather than Six and Eight like normal, but you reach out for his hand to further ground you in this body. Cavil, the one among your kind who has always been the keeper of God's laws and teachings. You have so much to tell him that will irrevocably change your paths.
"At least you'll never have to go through this again. The decision wasn't easy, but the conclusion was inevitable. Your model is fundamentally flawed."
What is he saying? That wave of uneasiness oozes down your spine again. "No," you breathe, still getting used to having a voice. "It's not a flaw to question your purpose, is it? To wonder who programmed us, the way we think and why?"
That look is on his face again, the one that can be confused for compassion and support, but is really condescension, pity, and… revulsion? "Well, that's the problem right there. The messianic conviction that you're on a special mission to enlighten us. Look at the damage it's caused."
"I would do it all again." The words are out before you really even consider them. The conviction in your voice suffuses your entire being with a warm that has nothing to do with the synthetically warmed amniotic fluid you're floating in.
"Yes, we know. That's why we've decided to box your entire line. Your consciousness, memory, every thought your model ever had are going into cold storage. Indefinitely."
No, he can't seriously mean it. He doesn't understand; none of them do. Your brother and sister models are all so blinded by their thoughts of revenge that they refuse to see that you're all meant for so much more. It's not the subjugation of your former Human overlords so much as finding a way to co-exist in God's love.
You've seen the face of God. You've seen the Five. You've lived to tell the others about it. And now they want to box your model indefinitely? You are the Chosen One. The Hybrid was right all along in her cryptic ramblings, just as the seeress before her. Your brother and sister models are the ones touched by madness, not you.
"One must die to know the truth? There are five other Cylons, brother. I saw them. One day, you're going to see them, too. One day…"
He won't even meet your gaze now, the cowardly bastard. If they've all decided to box your model, why aren't they all here to do this? Why hide behind one messenger? God will punish them for their folly, you know it in the deepest recesses of your consciousness.
"Goodbye." He lets go of your hand, body shifting as he reaches for the button on the side of the tank.
"Brother…" Try harder, damn you! You can change his mind. This is Cavil, the least secular of all models. He has to be made to understand the importance of what you've seen. "Brother…"
His right arm jerks slightly and you can feel the buoyant liquid begin to cool as an electronic whine fills your ears. It's far quicker than you would have expected. No, this can't happen! The cold begins to seep into your extremities and you struggle to get his attention again.
"Brother…"
You manage to see he's gazing down on you again before your vision films over permanently. The sensation of your hand being pushed beneath the surface of the rapidly congealing fluid surrounding your body. The last thought you'll ever have is that you've failed because they've failed you, but God will embrace you for your attempts at swaying His children. Won't He?
Author: A. Magiluna Stormwriter
Email: stormwriter@shatterstorm.net
Rating: PG13
Characters: D'Anna, Cavil
Date: 19 February 2008
Word Count: 685
Summary: What does a Cylon think when she dies?
Spoilers: 3x12 "Rapture"
Website: ShatterStorm Productions - Frisked & Conquered
Link to: http://f-n-c.shatterstorm.net/
Archive: ShatterStorm Productions only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…
Author's Disclaimer: "Battlestar Galactica," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Ron Moore, David Eick, SciFi, R&D TV, Sky TV, and USA Cable Entertainment LLC. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Battlestar Galactica," SciFi, or any representatives of the actors whose characters are involved.
Author's Notes: This was originally written for the fifth week challenge over at lastficstanding, which was to write about a character's death from that character's POV. The minute I read this challenge, I pretty much knew I'd work with D'Anna's boxing in "Rapture". It just seemed perfect. So I pulled out my homemade disc & this transcription site to transcribe that final scene of D'Anna's. All dialogue in this piece is directly from the episode. The rest of it's all mine… What cracks me up is that some of the feedback I'd received on this story actually bashed the dialogue as unrealistic.
Dedication: My muses, because they rock
Beta: Not beta'd. Any and all errors are my own.
"Rapture"
by A. Magiluna Stormwriter
The first sharp gasp filling oxygen-deprived lungs always startles you; it doesn't matter how many times you've died and been downloaded into another body. But this time is different, isn't it? You're different this time. Your latest death only proves that, as the memories flood your awakening brain.
"You know the drill." That voice, it's familiar to you, grounding you in the present. "Long, deep, controlled breathing."
Yes, you know the drill well. You feel an odd sense of discontent at Cavil's presence by your rebirthing chamber, rather than Six and Eight like normal, but you reach out for his hand to further ground you in this body. Cavil, the one among your kind who has always been the keeper of God's laws and teachings. You have so much to tell him that will irrevocably change your paths.
"At least you'll never have to go through this again. The decision wasn't easy, but the conclusion was inevitable. Your model is fundamentally flawed."
What is he saying? That wave of uneasiness oozes down your spine again. "No," you breathe, still getting used to having a voice. "It's not a flaw to question your purpose, is it? To wonder who programmed us, the way we think and why?"
That look is on his face again, the one that can be confused for compassion and support, but is really condescension, pity, and… revulsion? "Well, that's the problem right there. The messianic conviction that you're on a special mission to enlighten us. Look at the damage it's caused."
"I would do it all again." The words are out before you really even consider them. The conviction in your voice suffuses your entire being with a warm that has nothing to do with the synthetically warmed amniotic fluid you're floating in.
"Yes, we know. That's why we've decided to box your entire line. Your consciousness, memory, every thought your model ever had are going into cold storage. Indefinitely."
No, he can't seriously mean it. He doesn't understand; none of them do. Your brother and sister models are all so blinded by their thoughts of revenge that they refuse to see that you're all meant for so much more. It's not the subjugation of your former Human overlords so much as finding a way to co-exist in God's love.
You've seen the face of God. You've seen the Five. You've lived to tell the others about it. And now they want to box your model indefinitely? You are the Chosen One. The Hybrid was right all along in her cryptic ramblings, just as the seeress before her. Your brother and sister models are the ones touched by madness, not you.
"One must die to know the truth? There are five other Cylons, brother. I saw them. One day, you're going to see them, too. One day…"
He won't even meet your gaze now, the cowardly bastard. If they've all decided to box your model, why aren't they all here to do this? Why hide behind one messenger? God will punish them for their folly, you know it in the deepest recesses of your consciousness.
"Goodbye." He lets go of your hand, body shifting as he reaches for the button on the side of the tank.
"Brother…" Try harder, damn you! You can change his mind. This is Cavil, the least secular of all models. He has to be made to understand the importance of what you've seen. "Brother…"
His right arm jerks slightly and you can feel the buoyant liquid begin to cool as an electronic whine fills your ears. It's far quicker than you would have expected. No, this can't happen! The cold begins to seep into your extremities and you struggle to get his attention again.
"Brother…"
You manage to see he's gazing down on you again before your vision films over permanently. The sensation of your hand being pushed beneath the surface of the rapidly congealing fluid surrounding your body. The last thought you'll ever have is that you've failed because they've failed you, but God will embrace you for your attempts at swaying His children. Won't He?