Puppet Maker
Fandom: Andromeda
Title: Puppet Maker
Author: Illyria13
Words: 23,484
Status: Incomplete
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Spoilers/Timeframe: Sometime in S4, I suppose. Rhade is there and everyone is getting along fine, however that helps.
Warning: mentions of torture (not too graphic) and angst.
Summary: When a crew member is taken, what kinds of horrors will he face? How do you survive when everything you thought you were capable of is turned asunder?
//
For the first time in a long while, he could feel the cold.
He could also feel the pain.
Like a burning blaze, it swept through his body, leaving him breathless on the floor. It was ironic really; his body was shaking with cold on the outside, yet there was a fire in his blood.
At least, in whatever blood that was in him and not on the floor. A broken laugh tumbled from his throat, rasping and edged with hysteria. He knew it wasn't a good sign when he was making jokes in his own head, especially when he half-expected a reply. Although, he had to admit, the observation really had been kind of funny.
Slitting his eyes open, wincing as his whole body was jarred by such a small movement, he wanted to laugh as the familiar ceiling above him came into view. Then again, he was fairly sure all the ceilings on the ship were identical. So, really, he wouldn't know if they had moved him or not.
He definitely needed to stop thinking.
The door to the room opened, causing him to squint against the sudden light, as a blinding beam illuminated the room. Taking advantage of his disorientation, his captors wasted no time in dragging him over to the chains that hung from the ceiling. They switched his previous chains for these, pulling his arms over his head and forcing him to place his weight on his legs.
The position was pure agony.
Rhade had been a soldier for a long time, been in his share of firefights and knew how to keep his focus when others around him were losing theirs.
Focusing on his injuries, he ran a mental checklist, listing his hurts like they were his own personal mantra.
Broken ribs? Check.
Dislocated shoulder? Check.
Fractured wrist? Check.
Blood in his eyes? Check.
Blood on the floor? Check.
He was torn out of his thoughts by the presence of the men in the room; even when injured and just barely hanging on to sanity, he was aware of those around him. It was, after all, a most useful tool for survival.
Glancing them over, Rhade mentally groaned as he counted how many there were. This show of force usually meant he was going to be unconscious, or damn near close to it, by the end of the round.
As the first man stepped forward, a whip clenched in his fist, Rhade braced himself for what was coming. He did have one victory: as battered as he was, they hadn't broken him yet.
He had to admit, their approach was almost Nietzschean: break the will through whatever means necessary.
Luckily for him, they hadn't found what it was that would break his mind.
He didn't fool himself.
Everyone has their breaking point, even Nietzscheans.
And the Nietzschean part of him realized, looking at the men torturing him, that they weren't the real threat. These men were the pawns in a madman's chess game. Sooner or later, Rhade knew he was going to have the pleasure of meeting the puppet master.
A backhand to his face split his lip again, the sudden metallic blood in his mouth bringing his attention back to his torturers.
"Stop."
The soft command echoed through the room, the very walls mocking Rhade as he hung from his chains.
He was a rather ordinary looking man, everything about him proportioned on average.
It was the eyes that were out of place.
They were all-seeing, all-hearing; nothing happened on the ship without this man knowing it. He was a puppeteer, a string-master, a quilt maker on a massive level. He ripped into your very soul and tore everything out of place, then strung it back together to fit his needs.
This man, the Nietzschean in him hissed, this man is the one with the power.
Monster
The air around Rhade suddenly appeared cooler, as if the souls of this man's previous victims were screaming their vengeance.
He inhaled deeply as the man's eyes caught his gaze, his body trembling in sudden horror.
This man had looked into the abyss, and embraced it.
Rhade looked away from the silent contest of wills first, inwardly cursing and rejoicing at the same time. Yet a hollow feeling washed through him as realization struck.
The one thing on this ship that had the power to break him had finally decided to show his hand.
He was making his move.
Rhade wasn't sure if he should feel relief or dread.
The captain passed a critical eye over him, lingering on the weeping wounds and gashes, before he spoke.
"In all the time you've been our most honored guest, did the thought ever cross your mind as to why you're here? Why you and not some other poor soul? Why not your illustrious Captain Hunt? I mean, you must have wondered."
Taking a step closer to his bound captive, his whispered voice washed through the gaping silence.
"Would you like to find out?"
Captain Dylan Hunt sighed in frustration as yet another search came up empty.
The Andromeda and her crew had been searching nonstop for their missing crew member with no luck. Every search or lead had come up empty and their stress levels were running high. The rest of the crew had learned to steer clear of the five, having learned the hard way that those closest to the missing Nietzschean were on the edge.
It didn't help that they were essentially looking blind. They had no idea as to who had taken Rhade or where they might have taken him. And any thoughts of it not being foul play were quickly discarded. Rhade may have been Nietzschean; however, all of them had noticed that he cared for them in his own way. To Rhade, they were his family and they were well aware of it.
The only thing that would stand between a Nietzschean and his family was force.
They weren't sure if that was a good thing.
So no one on the deck was surprised when Dylan slammed his hand down and stormed out, tossing a parting comment over his shoulder that he would be in his quarters
And it was to no one's surprise that Beka followed, anger evident in every line of her posture.
"Keep searching; we're not finished. I have to go talk to our pigheaded captain for a moment. I want results when I come back, I don't care what kind."
"Aye, aye, Boss. Just try not to kill him, alright? We're already down one member; I don't think we need to lose another one." Harper watched Beka leave, shaking his head. Turning back to the screens in front of him, Harper shared a look with Rommie and Trance.
Dylan had no idea what was about to hit him. Literally.
"Dylan, we need to talk."
Groaning inwardly, Dylan turned to face his first officer.
"What can I do for you, Beka? As you can see, I have many things I need to be doing. You know, places to go, people to help-"
"A crew member to find."
The statement was delivered with a hint of confrontation; a challenge from captain to captain.
"If you have something to say, Captain Valentine, just say it. Because I don't think you're here to play word games."
"Fine." Beka stepped closer to Dylan, resting her hands on her hips. "What do you think you are doing? Get back to the command deck; we haven't finished searching this galaxy yet."
"And what's the point? He's not going to be there, he's not here. Just like all of the other places we've searched. He just…vanished into thin air." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He was unprepared for the punch that connected with his face.
Falling back, he looked up, astonished, at the enraged woman standing over him. Her voice was tight with underlying anger.
"So what, you're just going to give up? Abandon him? He needs our help, Dylan; he needs you to find him. We both know that he would have found us by now if someone-or something-wasn't stopping him. So what the hell is your problem?!"
"My problem, Beka, is that it has been three months. Three. And as you so eloquently pointed out, if he was able to find us, he would have. The fact remains that he hasn't, which leads me to the conclusion that he can't." He stepped closer to his irate first officer, his voice breaking.
"The only thing powerful enough to stop a Nietzschean, the only thing able to stop Rhade, is death."
He was again unprepared for the second punch that hit him.
"How dare you. After everything he has done for you and for us, for all of his loyalty to you and this ship, you're just going to give up on him?" She stepped back and threw her hands up in the air. "Okay. Say we do things your way. We forget about him, stop searching and move on with our lives. What will you do on that inevitable day when we do find him? Because I promise you, Captain Hunt, we will find Rhade if it's the last thing I do. So what will you say to one of the most loyal Nietzscheans I have ever seen, as to why it took so long to find him?"
Beka looked Dylan in the eyes, a flash of sorrow passing over her face.
"What will you tell the man that thinks of you like a brother? Will you tell him the truth: that his family thought he was so weak that they gave up on looking for him, or will you paint him a pretty little picture of everyone's undying faith in his survival?" She gave a scornful laugh. "If you choose option number two, don't count on me to stick around and see the fall out."
"Right now, neither he nor anybody on this ship can feel guilty for his situation, whatever it is. And when we get him back, we will give him whatever he needs. But if you give up on him, if his family gives up on him, then the only thing we can do for him is leave him wherever he is and give him a knife to end his misery."
Dylan's head jerked up as a stab of pain hit him at the thought. But Beka wasn't finished.
"We both know that whoever has him isn't going to leave him in pristine condition. Neither of us is that naïve. And I am aware that we are running out of time. But Dylan, we can't leave him; because if we do, the Rhade we get back won't be him. His blood will be on your hands; his death on your conscience."
Beka squared her shoulders and stepped back.
"I'm heading back to the deck to continue the search. Feel free to join us whenever you'd like." Spinning on her heel, the blond captain of the Maru walked back the way she had come.
"Beka."
The pleading tone in his voice made her stop.
"I can't lose him. He's family…he…I need him back. I need to make things right. As captain of this ship, it is my fault, for whatever it is he's going through. I just…I've already lost so many. I can't lose any more."
"We will get him back, Dylan. You're right, he is family; he's family for all of us. You have to pull yourself together and keep searching with us. Once we find his location, we can work on bringing him back. It's the only option left. So let's go."
Dylan smiled at the determination of his first officer, knowing that if anybody was up to the task, it was her. Beka's tenacity would be just the thing to find Rhade's elusive captors. Following her back to the command deck, he spared one last thought to his missing friend.
Hold on, you stubborn Nietzschean. We will find you and if you're not alive, I am going to kill you myself.
Rhade raised his eyes to the captain, exhaustion evident in every line of his face. The past few months had been too much, even for a Nietzschean. He knew it was only a matter of time before his body gave out on him, and once that happened, his mind would follow. For someone who took great care of his body in the hopes of proving his worth and superiority, to be broken like this was a blow.
Yet the words of the man in front of him hurt far more than the physical torture. Looking into his face, Rhade knew that the worst was yet to come.
Straightening up, the captain turned his back and walked a few steps towards the table against the wall.
"When I first laid eyes on you, all I saw was another arrogant, stubborn Nietzsche. Driven to excel, to pass on those perfect genes and create a family. After all, for a Nietzschean, family is all.
And then I started thinking, wondering why it was that such a perfect specimen had no family yet."
Spinning back towards Rhade, he continued.
"That's when I realized: you were special. You see, you created a family, a surrogate one, out of the crew of the Andromeda. Like all of your kind, you looked for a situation that would lead to your survival. And in them, that mixed-up group, you saw the potential. After all, who could guarantee your survival better than a man that had survived a black hole and the fall of his beautiful Commonwealth?
So you adapted. You integrated yourself onto the ship, suppressing the instincts to continue your line, opting instead to focus on your survival."
The man glided closer, his every step mesmerizing to the bound Nietzsche. His words seared his mind; a small part of him recognizing, even through his pain, how very close to the truth this man was.
"Which brings us as to why you're here. You're here because you chose this. Because every step you've taken to ensure your survival has brought you to me. And it is through me, that you are beginning to know how very far from survival you have come. Now that is true irony."
Without warning, he lashed out, grabbing a chain from the table and striking forward. Unbidden, Rhade flinched, his body preparing for the blow.
It never came.
Instead, a gurgling sound came from the soldier standing next to him, as the hooked end of the chain crushed his windpipe. With a tug from his captain, the unfortunate soldiers' throat was ripped out, splashing everyone in the surrounding area with a fine, crimson spray.
All eyes turned to the calm captain, a few of his men making aborted moves towards him.
"Now, now, boys. We are teaching him. And what's a lesson without a demonstration?"
Smirking, he sat down on the table, directing his attention back to Rhade.
"See what I did there? I killed one of my men, someone loyal and willing to grovel at my feet if need be. And I feel nothing. Because it was nothing, he was nothing. Were he in your position on someone else's ship, your captain's perhaps, do you think I would look for him? That I would willingly risk my life in an attempt to save his? If you're thinking no, you'd be right."
He studied the Nietzschean carefully.
"You think they are looking for you."
Rhade jerked his head up at the statement, ignoring the pain that raced through his body at the movement. He stared at the man before him, inwardly lamenting at how far he had fallen; that a simple human could read him so well.
Because it was true: he was waiting for them. He knew Dylan Hunt, knew what lengths he would go to in order to protect what was his.
But a small part of him, that little voice that had whispered to him over the past months, wondered if he was worth saving. If the Andromeda ever showed up, would they want someone so weak back among them? And if they truly cared, where were they?
He had refused to believe the voice, writing it off as simple weakness, as the part of him wanting only survival at the cost of everyone else. He didn't want to listen to its lies; knowing that Dylan cared about him, had forgiven him for the sins of his ancestor, and to think that they wouldn't look was an insult to their character.
But the real truth was that he wouldn't be able to take it if that voice was right. It would mean that everything he had gone through had been for nothing. That his reason for breathing, for living, had all been a lie.
For a Nietzschean, family is all.
And for Rhade, the family he had fashioned for himself, knowing the consequences, had centered around Dylan Hunt and his crew.
Dylan was a brother to him. It didn't matter that he was human, though at times he thought like a Nietzschean, or that his ancestor had once betrayed the man. He had learned to trust Dylan, rely on him; to Rhade, he was his captain, his brother, his king. And to think that the man had forgotten him hurt more than anything. It was a betrayal of his trust and, more than that, a sign of how worthless he really was.
"You know, I was wondering. Do you want them to find you? I mean, really think about it and look deep down in your soul. Do you want them to come rushing in, all white knights in shining armor, and kill us? Rescue you from our evil clutches? End your pain?"
The smile slipped from his face, all traces of humor vanishing from his voice.
"I've got news for you, Telemachus Rhade. Your pain will never end. Look at you. You Nietzscheans are gods among insects. What happens when the insects bring down the gods?" He paused, tilting his head to the side, and shrugged. "Suppose they do find you. They come aboard, kill all of us, and release you from those chains. They take you back to the Andromeda, clean your wounds, and patch everything up with a neat, little bow. Tell me, what happens then? You'll cry a little and they'll kiss it and make it better?
And the whispers. Oh, they won't say it to your face but, you know they'll talk about it. The big, bad Nietzschean needing his little family of humans to save him from the ship full of…well, humans."
His tormentor jumped off the table and moved towards Rhade, smirking as the bound captive involuntarily startled at the motion.
"That's the biggest rub in all of this, isn't it? You need saving from a band of pathetic humans. And you know it. It's the thought that will haunt you, day and night, whether they find you or not. You think that will be the worst part of all of this; the greatest blow to your massive ego."
The captain leaned into Rhade's face and breathed his next words, watching for his captives' reaction.
"Not even close, Nietzschean."
Suddenly, he lashed out, a glint of silver flashing as a deep river of blood began flowing down Rhade's right cheek. Rhade snapped open eyes that had unknowingly closed, his breath starting to shorten as a trickle of ice raced down his spine. Like any animal, he knew when he was being hunted. Looking into the predatory eyes of his captor, he shuddered with the realization that for the first time, he was facing a hunter greater than himself.
"You see, the thing that will haunt you, the face that appears in your nightmares, that tiny little voice whispering in your ear, will be me. Because I am truth, and the truth always hurts. How's that for irony? Ask and ye shall receive. Speak of the devil," his eyes glowed in excitement and a smile twisted his mouth as he spat out the next words.
"And I appear."
The man moved lazily, predatory, around Rhade in a small circle, his body brushing against his like a lover's caress. When he spoke again, his final message to the captive before him did exactly what he had been hoping: it destroyed the defiant hope that had lingered in Rhade.
"I will be the shadow at the foot of your bed; the nightmare that lingers on the edge of sleep, the cold chill that races down your spine.
I'll be the person always in your thoughts, the thing of which you always dream.
With me, you'll scream in shades of red and without me, you will mourn the utter emptiness of it all."
His voice carried through the silence, echoing around the chamber and reverberating in the Nietzschean before him. He did not speak in a whisper, though he did not yell his words. Instead, a level tone, neutral in emotion and void of satisfaction or anger, conveyed the tormenting words. He paused behind Rhade, and studied his back silently, a smile ringing in his eyes. Reaching out, he ran a cold finger up the blood-soaked spine, the bite of his nail curving between the whip lashes.
"For I am you, and you are me, and there is nothing in between."
Fresh blood ran down the already crimson back as his tormentor dug his fingers cruelly into the lash marks, but Rhade didn't care anymore. He had reached his limit, as he had known he would, and the last hope he held of surviving this encounter, this torture, fled him, so like the fluid of life that was escaping his body.
His head slumped forward and he could no longer feel the pain being inflicted upon him, his entire body going as numb as his heart. His gaze grew vacant as he drifted, not noticing or caring that the man had moved away from him; that the torture had paused and that he was alone in the chamber with only the captain of his prison.
A river of blood was flowing from a gash above his eye, the red liquid falling in a rhythmic pattern onto the tatters of his clothing. He gazed at it dazedly; mesmerized by the splatter and the patterns it formed once it landed.
This little speck of blood held more meaning than him. It contained the power of life, the taking or giving of it. Without it, a body could not sustain itself, no matter the will or the desire.
Rhade felt the breath hitch in his throat as footsteps caught his attention as they moved slowly closer. An involuntary noise, half-groan, half-whimper, was wrenched from his vocal cords and he felt black dots swim on the edge of his vision. The punishments began again and with sickening clarity, he realized that he couldn't feel or hear anything beyond the pounding of his pulse and the rapid, harsh breathing of his lungs.
He didn't want to acknowledge the emotion that froze his chest and closed his throat. His heart hammered, sweat trailed down his face and back, mixing with the blood like a painting of red and white.
He was nothing, he whispered in his head. Even if they come for me, I do not want them to find me. Not after this. I am not strong enough for them.
I am not worthy to be called a Nietzschean.
I do not deserve them as my family, as mine to protect.
Family is all.
And all that I am has been taken from me. I have failed.
I cannot live with this.
With that last thought, Telemachus Rhade's psyche shattered into a thousand glittering shards.
Even though they were outnumbered, they had the element of surprise. And Rommie. And Beka Valentine, a highly pissed off female captain that Dylan had already unfortunately crossed numerous times. Yes, they definitely had the better odds of winning.
It had taken them over three months to locate the Incendia, the ship that held the captured Rhade, and a week to reach the ship even going as fast as possible. They had needed to be careful, though it went against every fiber of Dylan's being, but he couldn't risk them getting caught. Couldn't risk losing any more of his crew to these people. They had used the extended trip to research the crew that had taken their Nietzschean and what they had found had not been good.
Captain Vinco was not a good man. Most of what they had found out about him was whispered myths and horrors that most people scoffed at. Dylan knew better. No person could make up stories as gruesome as the ones they had heard.
From what they had gathered, he had been the captain of the Incendia for about three years, and most of that time had been spent slipping in and out of various solar systems and trading with other settlements and ships. On the surface, everything appeared legit and peaceful; Vinco was a hard working man with a loyal crew that had made the best of their situation. True, some of their transactions bordered on barely legal, but in these times, nobody looked twice.
The whispers that followed his ship told differently. He was a ruthless man with no concern for the lives or safety of others. Nobody knew when he had first become a captain or worked on a ship, but they did know that the best way to stay alive was to not join his crew. It seemed that the good Captain had the nasty habit of using his crew to search for people that would not be missed, or those without the power or resources to search for them, and keep them on his ship. He gathered them, so to speak, as a collection of sorts with no particular similarities. His objects fit no pattern, and were seemingly chosen at random.
Dylan knew, though, that this type of man was the most dangerous. He could strike anywhere and everywhere; slip in and out leaving no trace behind. Without an archetype of his choosing, nobody would know whom he would strike against.
He was a Collector, and the crew of the Andromeda had been horrified to realize that Rhade had been taken by him. These men never left their items in good shape and more often than not, they were never left alive. What Dylan and Beka had kept hidden from the others was exactly how special Vinco was.
Further digging on their part with their contacts had revealed to Beka and Dylan that their time was running out. It appeared that Captain Vinco had a special trademark in disposing of his 'toys' when he was done with them.
He burned them alive.
A trail of hollowed-hulled ships, riddled with scorch marks evident of large explosions and fire, filled with mangled corpses and skeletons followed behind Captain Vinco. When he tired of the ones that he had, he simply moved on. He didn't kill just the taken ones. No, he killed every soul on board, captive and crew alike.
Nobody knew the exact number of ships he had commanded, but they did know that he always left behind quite a body count. All of his previous Collections ended in ash-marked bones and fiery pools of blood, and all crew members of past ships were also dead. After all, dead men tell no tales.
A shiver of fear had raced down Dylan's spine when he'd realized what they were going up against, but it had vanished as he'd regained his bearings. This man had taken one of his crew and was doing horrible things to him. It didn't matter how powerful Vinco thought he was. He was in for a rude awakening when Dylan got a hold of him. He hadn't survived a black hole for over 5,000 years just to be taken down by one man and his pathetic crew.
A blast ricocheted off the paneling above his head, and Dylan ducked reflexively, just barely missing the blaze. Okay a semi-large, well prepared, well equipped crew, he amended in his thoughts. Shaking his head, he brought himself back to the present, pushing everything away into the back of his mind. It was too dangerous and too important of a mission for him to space out.
Glancing around, he was relieved to find that Rommie had taken out the majority of the crew and was now handling the few stragglers that remained. Beka was crouched behind a stack of crates, a control panel to her left missing its cover as she tore through the data it contained by hand. He continued to scan the room, checking for any hidden dangers and noticing the number of corridors that were attached to the main room they were stationed in. A shout of joy from Beka's direction brought his gaze solely on her, and he waited with bated breath, tension thrumming though him, for what she had discovered.
The blond captain of the Maru grinned at him as she turned the screen in her hands around to face Dylan. Five blinking red dots were visible, three gathered in one room, one in a room two corridors in front of them, and one in a smaller area towards the back of the ship. Dylan felt his heart hitch as he realized that the last one could only be the object of their subject. It had to be, as it was located the furthest into the bowels of the ship and far from the hangar bay or cargo areas. He knew in his heart, however, that it was Rhade. The red dot on the screen wasn't moving, and he felt a growing sense of urgency gnawing at his heart. His attention was soon focused on the last singular dot as it began moving towards the other three.
Dylan felt a thrill rush through him and a shark-like grin spread across his face as he realized exactly who that last dot was. His suspicions were proven as the dot came upon the other three, and a voice directly in front of Beka, Rommie and Dylan slithered through the dimly lighted room.
"Well now, what do we have here? I really don't like intruders on my ship, you know. Now I'll have to scour it from top to bottom just to get the filth out. But what did I expect from the infamous Captain Dylan Hunt of the Andromeda Ascendant? Clearly, your manners are lacking. It's considered polite to announce your visits ahead of time, Captain, so we could be better prepared to greet you."
The mocking undercurrent in the voice made Dylan's blood boil and he gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to attack. He swallowed the anger down and spoke in a level voice, keeping all frustration out of it.
"When I'm dealing with kidnappers and murderers, Captain Vinco, I don't usually let them know when I'm coming. They have a nasty tendency to dispose of their victims when backed into a corner."
"Temper, temper, Captain Hunt. I'd be careful. Some of those so-called villains might take offense to such accusations and take it out on…certain objects. We don't want any rash accidents, now do we? So watch your tongue." Vinco lowered his voice, an ominous hiss biting through it. "Or I might have to take it from you. I've done worse things for far less."
Rommie joined the exchange, surprising both Dylan and Beka by the vehemence in her voice.
"So we've heard, Captain. We also noticed quite a few of your former Collections. At least, what's left of them. We also found out about the remains of the ships. How many lives have you destroyed with your tastes?"
The man facing them stepped forward, the overcast light illuminating his face in some parts and leaving other places dark. It was like a jigsaw puzzle; a darkened interplay of shadows and light.
"Is that supposed to frighten me? You haven't even touched upon all the things I've done. I have far more dirty little secrets than just those, my dear. Now why would I start telling them to you?" He tilted his head to the left, an appraising gaze sweeping the three. A small smile crept across his face and he spoke again, an almost lecturing tone in his voice.
"Very well. You amuse me, little one. Now pay attention. I'm certainly not going to repeat myself.
The Incendia is but the latest of many, one home after another that I've cultivated and grown, created from my sweat and blood. Before her came the Cinis Cineris; after her, the Levitas. Ah, now those were some good times. When I was forced to leave her and move on, I was deeply saddened by her loss."
"Why do you burn the ships and kill everyone? Why not simply leave them somewhere and find a new place?" The disgust was evident.
"It's quite simple, actually. I do exactly that. I just leave no survivors. No one sees my face and lives. As for the ships, well, they have always been my one big problem. I can never really bring myself to completely destroy what I've made. My home, a ship of blood and bones, is a part of me. It is always so upsetting to have to abandon it." Vinco sighed, almost like he'd forgotten that he was speaking to them. "But one must do what they must. Therefore, I get rid of the ships and wait until a new one comes along. One in which I can create a new crew and make room for another Collection. They've been getting better over the years. Take my newest addition for example."
The captain lifted his eyes to Dylan, piercing him in his place.
"He looks delectable in red, you know. It's quite becoming on a Nietzschean. But do you know what looks even better? Defeat. And all I had to do to break him was throw a few cold, hard facts his way." The satisfaction was evident in every line of his body.
"What the hell have you been telling him, you monster?!" Rage rushed through Dylan as he imagined what had been said and done to his friend. For Rhade to have given up, he knew that it would have been bad. Very, very bad.
"What I tell all my pets: the truth, my dear Captain. They deserve nothing less."
A small explosion rocked the ship, and Captain Vinco took the opportunity to move towards the doorway leading to the escape vessels. Dylan wasn't going to allow him to go anywhere. With a shout, he leaped forward, intending to stop him from escaping; an extremely strong blast made the world tilt sideways and Dylan was barely able to remain standing, let alone stop Vinco. He felt his heart quicken as he realized that time was running out, for both them and Rhade. The ship was becoming unstable and he had no idea how long it was going to remain together. They needed to end this, and fast.
"And here you find yourself at a quandary. Save your crew member, or capture me? Here, I'll make it easy for you. Telemachus Rhade is practically dead. I killed him. What is the price demanded by his blood?" He smirked and took a quick step back as Beka lunged forward, arm with weapon in hand raised as her anger took over. Rommie grabbed her quickly, halting her attack. Her rushed words stopped Beka's struggles as they sunk in for both Beka and Dylan.
"Beka, stop! Rhade is still alive. I can sense his pulse; it may be faint, but it's still there. He hasn't killed him." Their attention returned back to Vinco as he chuckled in amusement.
"Yet, pretty android. I haven't killed him, yet. But you'd better hurry. I have no idea how much time he has left. And I'm sure you've noticed that this ship is becoming quite unstable. So what will it be, hero? Rescue Rhade, or kill me? Tick tock, Captain. Tick, tock. No worries, though. Even if you kill me, I still win. Because Rhade will never be without me." With one last smirk, he spun on his heel and dashed down the nearest corridor, using the cover of the next explosion that rocked the ship to escape. A growl of frustration left Dylan, and it was echoed by Rommie as she started to chase after the madman. Dylan stopped her however, knowing he and Beka would need her help with Rhade.
Though he too wanted to go after Vinco, the thought of Rhade quickly held him back and with a determined nod to the others, he knew what his choice was. Quickly, they picked their way down an adjacent corridor, using the screen to navigate towards the only lone dot located in the back of the ship.
All three of them were aware of time slowly running out and with hearts in their throats and softly muttered prayers; they located the chamber indicated by the panel. With one quick look at each other, Dylan gathered all courage and took the initiative, stepping forward and opening the door in front of them.
Nothing could have prepared them for the sight in front of them.
The tangy scent of copper hung in the air; the liquid form of it covered the walls and floor, a macabre splash of red on black. What drew Dylan's eyes wasn't the blood but the source of it: a form half-sprawled in the middle of the river. It was lying on its side; arms pulled in front, the chains binding the wrists linked to a hook in the floor. Blood splattered the figure; he was covered in the sticky liquid, and Dylan couldn't determine where it was coming from.
"Rhade…" The word was drawn from Dylan's throat; a strangled whisper that was half-afraid to be right. Behind him, he could hear the soft exclamations of Beka and Rommie as their eyes focused on the torn figure. He didn't blame them.
He couldn't tear his eyes away from it.
He wanted to deny that this bloodied form was Telemachus Rhade, his close friend and crew member, his brother and his conscience rolled together in one. For a moment he could almost fool himself.
The distinctive bone blades on both forearms, however, dashed all his denials. Though bloodied and marred as they were, these were a direct mark of a Nietzschean, and Dylan could no longer lie to himself.
Another small explosion rocked the ship, tearing Dylan's attention out of its dazed state and back to the present. Knowing they needed to get out of there, for both Rhade's sake and theirs, Dylan stepped forward; taking slow, deliberate steps towards the chained Nietzschean so as not to alarm him, unconscious or not. He had already been through enough.
The captain of the Andromeda knelt next to his crew member, taking in the numerous injuries that required attention. Rhade looked bad. Dylan could only imagine how he felt.
Aware that the ship they were currently on was becoming unstable, and seeing the seriousness of Rhade's injuries, Dylan ignored all the voices screaming in his head about making a wrong move. Throwing caution to the wind, he reached out and touched the still figure on the shoulder, whispering his name.
One of these days he was going to start listening to those voices.
He suddenly found himself falling backwards as one hundred percent pure Nietzschean growled threateningly from the floor. Dylan raised his arms in preparation for the attack, knowing full well that he was no match for Rhade, injured or not. With bone blades raised and rage in his eyes, the figure let out a snarl as it sprang from its now crouched position.
He never made it.
With a resounding snap of victory, the chain around Rhade's neck wrenched him back, preventing him from reaching his goal. A wounded cry not unlike an animal escaped his throat as he was unceremoniously jerked back onto the floor; the sudden impact jarring many of his injuries.
Dylan flinched at the sound, feeling his heart breaking at the state of the Nietzschean.
Anger rose in him as he considered the chains that kept his friend captive, inwardly growling at the man that dared to do this, as if Rhade was a pet to play with. Signaling to Beka, he quietly motioned for her to find something to cut the chains with. That task completed, he turned to Rommie.
A half-whine shattered the silence, causing Dylan's head to shift towards Rhade. What he saw made him want to hit something, and hit it hard.
Rhade was tugging at his chains, struggling to get the one around his neck off. His hands were prevented from reaching it and the desperation in his face increased as the chains tightened in response.
Making a quick decision, Dylan shuffled forward; the movement caught Rhade's attention, making him lose focus on getting free. Instead, his body tensed at the new threat, and warning growls leapt from his throat. Once again he attempted to attack, but the chains held fast.
Using this opportunity, Dylan spoke to Rhade, trying to calm him down.
"Rhade? It's me, Dylan. I need you to calm down, okay? We're here to help you."
A tap on Dylan's shoulder brought his attention to the tool Beka had found to cut the chains. Turning back to Rhade, he carefully brought it up and broke the chain wrapped around his throat.
Reaching slowly forward, watching the dark eyes for a hint of discomfort, he gently separated the chain from the torn flesh, wincing when bits of skin were ripped. Tossing the chain aside, he turned back to Rhade's wrists. The manacles had been wrapped around his wrists more than once, and parts of the chain were wrapped between the bone blades, putting pressure on them and forcing them apart. Blood oozed from the shredded skin; a testament as to how hard Rhade had been pulling on them.
Releasing one of the wrists, he took his eyes off of the Nietzschean for a moment, letting his guard down.
A moment was all it took.
Rhade struck out with the freed arm, the blow connecting with Dylan's face. Snarling and baring his teeth, he tugged on the remaining chain, letting out a roar of anger at its refusal to budge. When Dylan recovered his balance, any follow-up movements were stalled by the Nietzschean. He had never seen Rhade so furious.
Then again, he had been tortured for three months. That'd make even Trance angry.
Sometimes, that sarcastic little voice in the back of his head really needed to shut up. It was entirely too distracting.
Dodging another kick aimed for his head, Dylan sighed in frustration. Rhade was injured and needed help. He didn't have time for this. Trouble was, he couldn't get close enough to calm him down, and Rhade was far beyond the point of reason. Thinking quickly, he prayed that what he was going to do next, didn't push Rhade further off the precipice.
"Lieutenant Commander Telemachus Rhade! As your Captain and commanding officer, I say stand down! That's an order!"
The resounding silence was deafening in its stillness.
Rhade had stopped his struggles the moment Dylan had raised his voice. Unfortunately for Dylan, he didn't know if it was because of the yelling, or the pulled rank. He'd worry about that later.
Taking a step forward, Dylan quickly caught Rhade as his knees buckled and guided him back to the floor. Releasing the second arm, he called his name softly, attempting to get a response.
There was nothing. As in the-lights-are-on-but-nobody's-home type of nothing. A gentle tap on the cheek elicited no response.
Staring into the dark, dead eyes, Dylan felt cold at the blankness, praying that it was merely shock setting in and not permanent catatonia.
What if he really is gone? How can I live with my failure?
Dylan shook his head, refusing to go down that path. They had come all this way to find Rhade. He was going to do everything in his power to ensure that he came through this. There was no other option.
Knowing they had no time to return to the Maru and get a stretcher, he carefully lifted the damaged form himself, determined to carry him the short distance.
He had failed to keep his crew safe once. It wasn't happening again.
Glancing back once more at the prison that had housed his friend, Dylan felt a fissure of fear slice through him.
The sight was almost too gruesome, like a child's toy box that had been emptied in a furious rampage. He couldn't imagine the suffering that had occurred here; could almost feel the pain resonating from the walls. This place was a tomb of despair. Yet Dylan had to remind himself that Rhade had made it out of there alive and was safe and sound with them.
Looking down at the still form of his friend, remembering the blank look in his eyes, Dylan shivered.
It was a cold comfort at best.
End Chapter 1.