Fic: Mirror Universe Drabble
Title: Monster
Fandom: Star Trek XI/Reboot
Pairing: I guess very, very subtle Chekov/Sulu but mostly gen.
Rating: PG-13 for fairly graphic violence and gore. Mirror!character death.
Summary: Mirrorverse fic from Sulu's POV written for the Mirror Universe Fanfic Challenge at startrekland.
Notes: First fic ever posted on LJ. I'm just putting it here for future fic writing reference. I slightly edited it from the original posting since it could only be 500 words and I'm not a fan of word limits. It's hardly amazing and I'm not sure how I feel about this type of POV but eh I gave it a shot. Plus, I don't even read Mirrorverse or gen fic. Knowing how I operate when it comes to fic I'll come back to this later, edit the shit out of it, then delete it.
You are entirely certain you are going to die here in this place, so far from home and so very alone.
As much as you wish it wasn’t, this is reality. An alternate reality. You're used to those now.
Here, no one is who they are and everyone is who they are not.
This Pavel is not your Pavel.
This Captain is not your Captain.
There is another version of you as well. He has a scar across his eye. You foolishly wanted to ask him how he got it but he’d grabbed you by the throat before you could say a word. That’s when they took you down to the agony booth for the first time, when you'd first accidently beamed onto this ship after a transporter malfunction.
It would not be the last time.
It’s felt like a lifetime, being here. Really it’s only been a couple of days being stuck on this ship that isn’t your ship with the crew that isn’t your crew. You think you might be going insane.
But right now you’re standing in a pool of blood. There are bodies scattered along the hallway you’re in. Some have limbs missing. An arm ripped off at the elbow, a foot severed at the ankle.
It is impossible to decipher whose blood is whose and by the way your head is spinning, you think some of it must be yours. You watch it pool and darken across the steel floor for a moment.
Maybe you’ve been desensitized already but your mind seems to blank as you wade through the bodies. You have to get to the other side of the hall. That’s where the transporter room is. It is your only way back.
You’ve got a knife in your hand. It’s cut through skin and bone and blood too many times already today.
In the distance, somewhere on the ship, you can hear shouting and fighting.
It’s a mutiny. One that you-but no it isn't you, not really-started up against the Captain that isn’t your Captain. Everyone is against each other here. It's a wonder they'd survived this long together.
There’s a blood-curdling scream one floor beneath you. One you’ve come to associate with the Pavel that isn’t your Pavel when he’s being tortured with an agonizer. It would make your heart ache if you didn't know any better. Maybe if this Pavel didn't have those eyes, so dark and empty. So far from the Pavel Chekov you know so well.
The blood is seeping into your boots now and you can feel the wet, sticky, warmth and smell the metal. There's so much. It smells like death. It always does here.
Something grabs your leg and you jump away looking down into the blood shot eyes of a Scotty that isn’t your Scotty. There’s that pain in your chest like you want to help him. Then you remember how you saw him viciously bludgeon another crew member the other day. You'd heard the crack of his skull over and over and over...
So you narrow your eyes, kick his dying body, and continue wading through the limbs.
You know you have to hurry.
When you reach the door, you push it open and stumble through shutting it right back behind you before promptly vomiting in a corner of the room. Maybe you aren’t so desensitized after all.
When you beam back, blinking against the bright lights of a place you'd thought you had possibly dreamt up to cope, Pavel is there to catch you when you fall off the transporter.
Everyone is stunned into silence. You don't know how bad you look.
You're covered in blood. Some yours but mostly not. You’ve got bruises all over and there’s a gash across your eye that will make you never want to look into a mirror again.
You'll always see the other you looking back.
The tip of your right ring finger is missing. All of your nails are broken from clawing at the wall of the agony booth, splintered pieces protruding from your skin. You’ve got four broken ribs, a chunk of scalp missing from being yanked around by the hair, and you’re still dressed in the Terran Empire uniform they put you in. You want to yank it off. Burn it.
Even as you stumble away, one arm draped around Pavel's shaking shoulders, you know you won’t ever be the same again.
Fandom: Star Trek XI/Reboot
Pairing: I guess very, very subtle Chekov/Sulu but mostly gen.
Rating: PG-13 for fairly graphic violence and gore. Mirror!character death.
Summary: Mirrorverse fic from Sulu's POV written for the Mirror Universe Fanfic Challenge at startrekland.
Notes: First fic ever posted on LJ. I'm just putting it here for future fic writing reference. I slightly edited it from the original posting since it could only be 500 words and I'm not a fan of word limits. It's hardly amazing and I'm not sure how I feel about this type of POV but eh I gave it a shot. Plus, I don't even read Mirrorverse or gen fic. Knowing how I operate when it comes to fic I'll come back to this later, edit the shit out of it, then delete it.
You are entirely certain you are going to die here in this place, so far from home and so very alone.
As much as you wish it wasn’t, this is reality. An alternate reality. You're used to those now.
Here, no one is who they are and everyone is who they are not.
This Pavel is not your Pavel.
This Captain is not your Captain.
There is another version of you as well. He has a scar across his eye. You foolishly wanted to ask him how he got it but he’d grabbed you by the throat before you could say a word. That’s when they took you down to the agony booth for the first time, when you'd first accidently beamed onto this ship after a transporter malfunction.
It would not be the last time.
It’s felt like a lifetime, being here. Really it’s only been a couple of days being stuck on this ship that isn’t your ship with the crew that isn’t your crew. You think you might be going insane.
But right now you’re standing in a pool of blood. There are bodies scattered along the hallway you’re in. Some have limbs missing. An arm ripped off at the elbow, a foot severed at the ankle.
It is impossible to decipher whose blood is whose and by the way your head is spinning, you think some of it must be yours. You watch it pool and darken across the steel floor for a moment.
Maybe you’ve been desensitized already but your mind seems to blank as you wade through the bodies. You have to get to the other side of the hall. That’s where the transporter room is. It is your only way back.
You’ve got a knife in your hand. It’s cut through skin and bone and blood too many times already today.
In the distance, somewhere on the ship, you can hear shouting and fighting.
It’s a mutiny. One that you-but no it isn't you, not really-started up against the Captain that isn’t your Captain. Everyone is against each other here. It's a wonder they'd survived this long together.
There’s a blood-curdling scream one floor beneath you. One you’ve come to associate with the Pavel that isn’t your Pavel when he’s being tortured with an agonizer. It would make your heart ache if you didn't know any better. Maybe if this Pavel didn't have those eyes, so dark and empty. So far from the Pavel Chekov you know so well.
The blood is seeping into your boots now and you can feel the wet, sticky, warmth and smell the metal. There's so much. It smells like death. It always does here.
Something grabs your leg and you jump away looking down into the blood shot eyes of a Scotty that isn’t your Scotty. There’s that pain in your chest like you want to help him. Then you remember how you saw him viciously bludgeon another crew member the other day. You'd heard the crack of his skull over and over and over...
So you narrow your eyes, kick his dying body, and continue wading through the limbs.
You know you have to hurry.
When you reach the door, you push it open and stumble through shutting it right back behind you before promptly vomiting in a corner of the room. Maybe you aren’t so desensitized after all.
When you beam back, blinking against the bright lights of a place you'd thought you had possibly dreamt up to cope, Pavel is there to catch you when you fall off the transporter.
Everyone is stunned into silence. You don't know how bad you look.
You're covered in blood. Some yours but mostly not. You’ve got bruises all over and there’s a gash across your eye that will make you never want to look into a mirror again.
You'll always see the other you looking back.
The tip of your right ring finger is missing. All of your nails are broken from clawing at the wall of the agony booth, splintered pieces protruding from your skin. You’ve got four broken ribs, a chunk of scalp missing from being yanked around by the hair, and you’re still dressed in the Terran Empire uniform they put you in. You want to yank it off. Burn it.
Even as you stumble away, one arm draped around Pavel's shaking shoulders, you know you won’t ever be the same again.