(no subject)
He can feel it, just under his skin. It doesn't hurt, but it's warm... buzzing. He doesn't like to think about what it might be capable of, all it's different tin features. John scratches at the skin that covers it, the skin going red beneath his fingernails. There's a moment where he wonders if he can't dig it out, slice it out... But no, it's too dangerous. Far too dangerous.
He hadn't planned on staying on Miranda so long, he should have been gone by now. Should have grabbed Jack by the throat and simply dragged him off. For good this time. No games, no turning his back... Just chains and whatever it took to get the other man back. After all, if he couldn't talk sense into him, he could always beat some into the bastard.
Or burn some sense into him. ...Shock some sense into him.
Actually, that sounded just fine. What was that saying? Resistance is futile. They had it all wrong. Resistance was bliss. Resistance was an excuse to have a bit of fun.
The chip in his arm burned again, and his nails dug into his skin, leaving behind dark red lines, only just hidden by his coat, and when the server came back over to ask him if he'd like anything else, he practically shoved the credits he owed down the poor guy's throat before storming out into the night.
---
An hour later and he'd managed to relieve a little stress. Usually he was a little more tidy, careful not to let the blood splatter on him or to get his hands too dirty... Not tonight though. Tonight his shirt was soaked with blood, the red fading to brown behind his fingernails as he stepped into the light of a street lamp. Pain had that effect on him, always had. He could handle torture, could handle pain if he knew why it was coming. The chip though. That damn chip...
The body lay limp at his feet in the ally, hands still bound and eyes still open. It didn't even occur to him to leave right away, that there might be a danger of being found this way. Besides, didn't he deserve a chance to savor his handy work?
And what work it had been.
In his defense, not that he felt the need to have one, the bastard had it coming to him. Filthy git, praying on the young girls who had the misfortune of wandering Siam's streets on their own. It wasn't murder if they were evil. Wasn't murder if it didn't end with John picking the sod's pocket. It was justice. And if he'd enjoyed it? If it had passed the time as the pain faded away? Well, that was just an unexpected bonus.
Knife back in his boot, John leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath. He could handle this. He had it under control. He had plans. He always had plans, and as he pushed away from the wall and left his mess behind him, he decided it was time to put together a new one.
(Open to all)
He hadn't planned on staying on Miranda so long, he should have been gone by now. Should have grabbed Jack by the throat and simply dragged him off. For good this time. No games, no turning his back... Just chains and whatever it took to get the other man back. After all, if he couldn't talk sense into him, he could always beat some into the bastard.
Or burn some sense into him. ...Shock some sense into him.
Actually, that sounded just fine. What was that saying? Resistance is futile. They had it all wrong. Resistance was bliss. Resistance was an excuse to have a bit of fun.
The chip in his arm burned again, and his nails dug into his skin, leaving behind dark red lines, only just hidden by his coat, and when the server came back over to ask him if he'd like anything else, he practically shoved the credits he owed down the poor guy's throat before storming out into the night.
---
An hour later and he'd managed to relieve a little stress. Usually he was a little more tidy, careful not to let the blood splatter on him or to get his hands too dirty... Not tonight though. Tonight his shirt was soaked with blood, the red fading to brown behind his fingernails as he stepped into the light of a street lamp. Pain had that effect on him, always had. He could handle torture, could handle pain if he knew why it was coming. The chip though. That damn chip...
The body lay limp at his feet in the ally, hands still bound and eyes still open. It didn't even occur to him to leave right away, that there might be a danger of being found this way. Besides, didn't he deserve a chance to savor his handy work?
And what work it had been.
In his defense, not that he felt the need to have one, the bastard had it coming to him. Filthy git, praying on the young girls who had the misfortune of wandering Siam's streets on their own. It wasn't murder if they were evil. Wasn't murder if it didn't end with John picking the sod's pocket. It was justice. And if he'd enjoyed it? If it had passed the time as the pain faded away? Well, that was just an unexpected bonus.
Knife back in his boot, John leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath. He could handle this. He had it under control. He had plans. He always had plans, and as he pushed away from the wall and left his mess behind him, he decided it was time to put together a new one.
(Open to all)