Secondhand Headhunting

[in_the_cracks]

When the PIN flash fades, all is pitch black in the room where Evil!Telrim and her new guest have arrived. Unfazed and laughing with pleasure at her success, the Controller stands, and moves across the room confidently, shoes ringing on the cold metal deck-plates. She finds the light controls with ease born of habit, and the lights flicker on to

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[in_the_cracks]

Telrim notices his old host unconscious in one corner and regards her with dispassion; she's useful now only as a backup plan. His gaze pans around to Asfil, where the Hork-Bajir Controller is examining one of the wooden sculptures on the other side of the room.

"Successful?" Asfil asks, snaking a glance over his shoulder.

"Of course." Telrim's distracted, becoming aware of the thoughts being thrown at him from behind. His gaze un-focuses as the Yeerk stops to soak in the memories of death and pain, curious and hungry. But he doesn't seem disturbed. Startled, somewhat, but not horrified. Not by the suffering of lesser beings. The best Yeerk would be fazed by the unending reel of horrors that Bonecrusher's memory holds.

This one, however, lacks the capacity. This is the half of Telrim that was pleased with the enslavement of worlds, a willing hand in chaotic slaughter and iron execution, in psychic assault of some species and the genocide of others.

I'm impressed, he muses lazily in the Decepticon's mind. I did wonder what it would be like to infest one of your kind, but I never anticipated so many... pleasing aspects.

[darkladyb]

Crusher pauses and regards him with brooding menace, then, for reasons he can't really put a finger on, he starts thinking of crushed slugs.

And then of the time he saw a couple of them making more slugs....

[in_the_cracks]

Animals? Are you trying to disgust me out of here? the Yeerk sneers, some of its revulsion bleeding over. It's just mild disgust mixed with contempt, but at least it's not happy.

Telrim pulls himself to his feet, refocusing on the outside world as Asfil turns toward him. The Hork-Bajir looks his new form over and remarks in Galard, "He doesn't look like the artsy type."

"You know so little about humans," Telrim replies in the same language, matching the other's trace of humour with condescension.

[darkladyb]

-You think that's bad, slimer?- Crusher turns his thoughts to that movie he saw that time. The one he'd wished he could delete from his memory.

[in_the_cracks]

Telrim takes that in for a second before mustering a response. Well, I do not intend to waste this body on anything of such a ridiculous nature, he says frostily. You needn't fear that.

"No doubt you know what you're doing, Telrim," Asfil says calmly, studying him. One clawed hand is resting on a sculpture; his bladed tail is shifting lazily behind him.

The reaction is immediate: Telrim levels a cold glare at him that states plainly his expendability. "Expect me to know my job, grub, and I'll assume you can do yours."

[darkladyb]

Ah, so he doesn't like that, huh? Crusher suddenly does.

And his thoughts now very closely resemble the pay channel in cheap hotels.

[in_the_cracks]

Asfil ducks his head, deferring to the older Yeerk's air of superiority. Satisfied, Telrim moves towards the box behind which his equipment is stashed. He's already frowning with Crusher's face as he tries shutting out the stream of thoughts being directed his way.

Begging, or threatening, or incoherent hatred he would expect. Human reproduction remains indefinably creepy to him.

He stashes one PINpoint in his clothes and leaves the other, taking the Dracon beam instead and belting it at his side.

[darkladyb]

And Crusher will now show just how truly 'artistic' he is.

And his mun will flee, because she doesn't wanna look in his head either.

[in_the_cracks]

The Yeerk responds with memories of Taxxon-thought: overwhelming, raging hunger and the slippery, slicing mess of trying to sate it.

The images he can ignore. But human emotions and obsessions are hideously close to what it imagines-

Urgh. No. He doesn't care to imagine the thoughts of the self-destructive.

Ignoring the urge to shudder, he glances at Asfil. "Take care of the spare for me."

"Take care of her?" He says it distastefully.

Telrim shrugs. "Just toss her in to Issek if you must."

The big alien rocks back on his tail. "Ah."

[darkladyb]

Crusher is contemptuously amused by the hunger, and he catches that reaction, too. It makes him even more creative.

[in_the_cracks]

Cease that, the Yeerk snaps, going over to retrieve one last piece of equipment from his old host. He remembers which pocket he left the communicator in, and fishes it out in a few moments. And why should you complain, anyway? You were the one who made this necessary in the first place. I would have simply let you go if you'd co-operated.

Probably.

[darkladyb]

The only reply he gets to that is derision, more hate, and even more thoughts.

[in_the_cracks]

Telrim sneers and shuts him out, clamping his control over the human brain and setting the PINpoint. It's time to go carry out the job he wanted done all along.

Time to go fetch his twin.