I CAN COME UP WITH A BETTER NAME THAN 'SPACE OPERRRRRRAAAA'
BUT I CHOOSE NOT TO.
Title: Fly Away, Jet Boy (IP TITLE)
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating: T for Teen
Pairing(s): Later on there is Russia/Canada, America/Ukraine, France/England, and possibly France/Seychelles if I can get a human name for Sey-Sey.
Word Count: I don't know, man.
IT'S SCI-FI AU. DEAL WITH IT, WANKERSSSSSS.
The first time Alfred met him he was on a mining planet in the once-Bolivian-controlled mining planet in the English Beta System.
Sometimes, you could take your time with tough descisions. Sometimes, you had to choose as quickly as you recognize that a choice was put forth. And sometimes people all but made the descisions for you, pushed you off a moving train and gave you seconds to save yourself, or die. That was your decision.
As Alfred jumped off the side of the low-flying carrier ship, he realised all his decisions were set up like the latter. Quickly placing the oxygen mask on his face, he felt it mold to his face shape and looked up just in time to spot one of his attackers barreling down at him from the air, launched off the carrier with supplies pre-attached; more ready than Alfred. Alfred couldn’t move until the sensors in his System-regulated clothing steadied, leaving him to stand in one spot, feeling alternating pressure and weightlessness until finally a beep near his ear told him it was fine, and he bolted off, shooting a tiny laser from his fingertips at the attacker. This was new technology. The laser hooked up to his glove, and could only fire shots by using the nano-nerves running through his arms. Different than his normal nervous system, with a .13 second response time, Alfred paralyzed the woman who was following him, but the man, unknown because of the gas mask covering his face (Alfred could tell it was his job to stop him though; he was the hero, after all) was not so easily brought down. The tall, strange man pulled an L-2 brand proton phaser from his holster, and Alfred smirked through his oxygen mask- it was always the weapon that gave them away. Some planets or regions were identified by their alliances with other System or off-System planets, so the ones that produced phasers and laser-pistols differed.
Luckily for Alfred, proton phasers took longer to reload, although they were more dangerous, than his own smaller weapon, and he fired another round at his pursuer, digging his feet into the soft land of the mining planet.
Then something happened that Alfred hadn’t expected. The man removed his helmet, designed like an old-style Terran gas mask (for shock, surely)-a suicide move considering he probably didn’t have the technology Alfred did-and revealed a smiling face, covered by a slightly less high-tech mask than Alfred’s, but doable all the same, holding his proton phaser in his left hand and his helmet in the other. His smile was like an un-programmed child. From what Alfred had seen of those.
“Let us not fret about shooting and things,” he chirped, putting his phaser on the ground. Alfred smiled and tapped the left side of his visor once, making it speaker sound, and deactivated his artificial nerves. They were for soldiers, and did nothing save for fight.
“Nano-system AFR 62 and 64 disabled,” the computerized voice told him. The man held out his hand, stepping closer to Alfred.
He was holding a handheld matter separator.
That was dangerous equipment for a man who was only supposed to be dealing with anti-matter smuggling and the distribution of Martian diamonds; his brother told him they weren’t diamonds at all, but that would never stop people from stealing them from the government to make a profit.
“Hey now, partner,” Alfred warned, putting his hands in the air.
“You co-operate now, yes?” He ran his hand over the smooth, pod-like matter separator, before continuing.
“Or…no?” Ivan applied a little pressure on the device, and Alfred nodded, agreeing not to try anything, trying to figure out a way to keep himself safe and a way to prevent the man from committing suicide.
“You hurt my sister…” The man looked behind him to the prone female figure.
“She was chasing me.”
“So was I.”
“I shot you too.”
“Ah, yes. Yes that’s right. I had forgotten, yes.” The man smiled widely at Alfred like they were striking up a conversation about the weather. Alfred blinked. While he wasn’t equipped with the most powerful laser on this mission, it was certainly no tickling sensation. He had just brushed it off, but he wasn’t even feeling a soreness in his muscles, if his response was anything to go by.
“How could you just forget that? I shot you in the fucking chest!”
“Languaaage,” he sing-songed, waggling a finger. Alfred gritted his teeth but complied, calming himself and sighing.
“Who are you working for?” Maybe he could get some answers. This man had obviously been hit one too many times in the head, he probably would tell his secrets because he didn't know any better.
“Nobody.”
“…what?”
“I am the head of my organization.”
“And you came on a grunt mission.” That was ridiculous. Of course he didn't. Nobody would put this guy at the head of a company or even in charge. Alfred would be worried to let him refuel his own ship, that was the impression he was getting.
“Yes, I did,” he assured, nodding like that was perfectly normal. Alfred rubbed his temples, making sure his nano-nerves were appropriately shut down before doing so. If not, ouch. Now he definitely could not kill the man, because they needed him for information.
“…why?” Alfred asked, completely bewildered. The man shrugged, giggling.
“Does it mean to matter?” The man shrugged playfully. Alfred eyed him with contempt.
“Where are you from?”
“The System of Socialist Russian States,” he stated matter-of-factly, obviously proud of his origins. Alfred mumbled something under his breath about ‘those damned Communists’ and stood up straight, pulling a card ID out of his jacket.
“Captain Alfred F. Jones of the starship Virginia. Remember the name.”
“Why should I? You seem…fragile to me,” the man said, his voice dripping sweet like candy coated in sugar, and pulled out his own card ID and handed it over.
“Ivan Braginski. I do not captain a starship, apologies. I am looking so unimportant compared to you, Captain.”
“There’s no identification code on this ID. All it has is your name and picture…and your origin System…have you ever been programmed?” Of course he was. Alfred was being silly now, playing along with his games. Everyone got programmed, even the insane ones like Ivan.
“No.”
“Wh-what?!” Alfred cried, and held the ID closer, scrutinizing it for any kind of specific identification. That was what IDs were for. They identified people. It was like Ivan was toying with him, toying with the whole universe, by giving him a fake ID and smiling and being the head of a huge mega-profitable corporation in the Soviet System. His whole existance baffled Alfred. He wasn't even programmed. He was so out of System, Alfred wanted to make sure he was human. He was so adverse to everything he'd ever been. Ivan laughed again, and Alfred wanted to shoot him real bad now, but couldn’t. Because Ivan had the upper hand, no matter how irritating or odd he was. He had the advantage, for now.
“You sound so shocked. The Programmers would not take Ivan in,” he said almost-sadly, but it sounded fake, like a bad actor. And that’s what Alfred felt like all of this was. A show of very bad acting on both persons parts.
“They should’ve…”
“I was too extreme, maybe perhaps.”
“That’s what the programming is for, you basta--…nevermind.”
“Hmmm? Oh, I suppose. But it is more fun this way. Watching you live your pretty little lives…you smell.”
“Thank you,” Alfred retorted sarcastically, examining Ivan’s ID with the various settings on his visor until he realised Ivan had gotten much closer; and Ivan was tall. He loomed over Alfred, his oxygen mask making a soft whirring noise as it pulled the breathable air from the planet in and fed it to Ivan, who was using quite a bit with all the laughing he was doing. Alfred couldn’t help but think it was at his own expense.
“Like…it is…familiar. Comrades use it, I think,” Ivan mused, gesturing with the hand holding the gas mask. Alfred stood up straight and moved away.
“Hey man. I do not need to hear about anythi-“
“Tobacco!” Ivan brightened, discovering the word to match Alfred’s scent after a long bout of thought, and watched for Alfred’s reaction. Alfred sighed and tapped the button on the side of his visor that turned it back to his normal sight abilities; he groaned through his oxygen mask, rolling his eyes.
“Yes. Yes it is. You gonna turn me in?”
“No.”
“But we’re enemies.”
“Then I will keep you for toy. I need someone new to play with…my last toy broke,” he whispered, like it was a child’s secret, and Alfred could only stare at Ivan as he hummed pleasantly, rocking on the back of his heels.
“You look worried.” Ivan stared at him, and Alfred realised he must be holding his look of terror. Alfred blinked, returning to his usual self, and straightened his back, set his shoulders and stared at Ivan, all traces of fear gone.
“No. I don’t break,” Alfred assured him, and Ivan cackled at that, long enough to make his oxygen mask work harder to give him the necessary air.
“Are you done?” Apparently not. Alfred begun to grow annoyed when Ivan only settled into rumbling chuckles. He held his side, and Alfred looked into his eyes.
He wished he hadn’t. All he saw was soulless violet. Dangerous, deceptive, fatal violet. They sunk into his head, even though they were bright, beautiful, and Alfred was terrified. Glued to the ground terrified. He swallowed nervously and managed a smirk.
“Oh, friend,” Ivan cooed, mirthful, “we will have so much fun! But not today. I think I will take my sister home. But remember this meeting, yes? I think…maybe you and I are more alike than you want to believe. Until then, best enemy!” He waved gleefully to Alfred and walked off, jamming the matter separator into his pocket and scooping up his sister, who was by no means small, in what seemed like a completely effortless motion. And she must weigh twice as much as she did on the Soviet System. Alfred watched, agape for a few moments, before opening his general communications device, attached to his ear in the form of a tiny headset, unnoticed because everyone had one in this age.
“I need a return vessel on…620-M, can you find my co-ordinates? And, also…can you get me any information you know on Ivan Braginski? Thank you.”
He would make sure that Ivan Braginski had not seen Alfred for the last time. Alfred Jones was nobody's toy. That much was assured.
Title: Fly Away, Jet Boy (IP TITLE)
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating: T for Teen
Pairing(s): Later on there is Russia/Canada, America/Ukraine, France/England, and possibly France/Seychelles if I can get a human name for Sey-Sey.
Word Count: I don't know, man.
IT'S SCI-FI AU. DEAL WITH IT, WANKERSSSSSS.
The first time Alfred met him he was on a mining planet in the once-Bolivian-controlled mining planet in the English Beta System.
Sometimes, you could take your time with tough descisions. Sometimes, you had to choose as quickly as you recognize that a choice was put forth. And sometimes people all but made the descisions for you, pushed you off a moving train and gave you seconds to save yourself, or die. That was your decision.
As Alfred jumped off the side of the low-flying carrier ship, he realised all his decisions were set up like the latter. Quickly placing the oxygen mask on his face, he felt it mold to his face shape and looked up just in time to spot one of his attackers barreling down at him from the air, launched off the carrier with supplies pre-attached; more ready than Alfred. Alfred couldn’t move until the sensors in his System-regulated clothing steadied, leaving him to stand in one spot, feeling alternating pressure and weightlessness until finally a beep near his ear told him it was fine, and he bolted off, shooting a tiny laser from his fingertips at the attacker. This was new technology. The laser hooked up to his glove, and could only fire shots by using the nano-nerves running through his arms. Different than his normal nervous system, with a .13 second response time, Alfred paralyzed the woman who was following him, but the man, unknown because of the gas mask covering his face (Alfred could tell it was his job to stop him though; he was the hero, after all) was not so easily brought down. The tall, strange man pulled an L-2 brand proton phaser from his holster, and Alfred smirked through his oxygen mask- it was always the weapon that gave them away. Some planets or regions were identified by their alliances with other System or off-System planets, so the ones that produced phasers and laser-pistols differed.
Luckily for Alfred, proton phasers took longer to reload, although they were more dangerous, than his own smaller weapon, and he fired another round at his pursuer, digging his feet into the soft land of the mining planet.
Then something happened that Alfred hadn’t expected. The man removed his helmet, designed like an old-style Terran gas mask (for shock, surely)-a suicide move considering he probably didn’t have the technology Alfred did-and revealed a smiling face, covered by a slightly less high-tech mask than Alfred’s, but doable all the same, holding his proton phaser in his left hand and his helmet in the other. His smile was like an un-programmed child. From what Alfred had seen of those.
“Let us not fret about shooting and things,” he chirped, putting his phaser on the ground. Alfred smiled and tapped the left side of his visor once, making it speaker sound, and deactivated his artificial nerves. They were for soldiers, and did nothing save for fight.
“Nano-system AFR 62 and 64 disabled,” the computerized voice told him. The man held out his hand, stepping closer to Alfred.
He was holding a handheld matter separator.
That was dangerous equipment for a man who was only supposed to be dealing with anti-matter smuggling and the distribution of Martian diamonds; his brother told him they weren’t diamonds at all, but that would never stop people from stealing them from the government to make a profit.
“Hey now, partner,” Alfred warned, putting his hands in the air.
“You co-operate now, yes?” He ran his hand over the smooth, pod-like matter separator, before continuing.
“Or…no?” Ivan applied a little pressure on the device, and Alfred nodded, agreeing not to try anything, trying to figure out a way to keep himself safe and a way to prevent the man from committing suicide.
“You hurt my sister…” The man looked behind him to the prone female figure.
“She was chasing me.”
“So was I.”
“I shot you too.”
“Ah, yes. Yes that’s right. I had forgotten, yes.” The man smiled widely at Alfred like they were striking up a conversation about the weather. Alfred blinked. While he wasn’t equipped with the most powerful laser on this mission, it was certainly no tickling sensation. He had just brushed it off, but he wasn’t even feeling a soreness in his muscles, if his response was anything to go by.
“How could you just forget that? I shot you in the fucking chest!”
“Languaaage,” he sing-songed, waggling a finger. Alfred gritted his teeth but complied, calming himself and sighing.
“Who are you working for?” Maybe he could get some answers. This man had obviously been hit one too many times in the head, he probably would tell his secrets because he didn't know any better.
“Nobody.”
“…what?”
“I am the head of my organization.”
“And you came on a grunt mission.” That was ridiculous. Of course he didn't. Nobody would put this guy at the head of a company or even in charge. Alfred would be worried to let him refuel his own ship, that was the impression he was getting.
“Yes, I did,” he assured, nodding like that was perfectly normal. Alfred rubbed his temples, making sure his nano-nerves were appropriately shut down before doing so. If not, ouch. Now he definitely could not kill the man, because they needed him for information.
“…why?” Alfred asked, completely bewildered. The man shrugged, giggling.
“Does it mean to matter?” The man shrugged playfully. Alfred eyed him with contempt.
“Where are you from?”
“The System of Socialist Russian States,” he stated matter-of-factly, obviously proud of his origins. Alfred mumbled something under his breath about ‘those damned Communists’ and stood up straight, pulling a card ID out of his jacket.
“Captain Alfred F. Jones of the starship Virginia. Remember the name.”
“Why should I? You seem…fragile to me,” the man said, his voice dripping sweet like candy coated in sugar, and pulled out his own card ID and handed it over.
“Ivan Braginski. I do not captain a starship, apologies. I am looking so unimportant compared to you, Captain.”
“There’s no identification code on this ID. All it has is your name and picture…and your origin System…have you ever been programmed?” Of course he was. Alfred was being silly now, playing along with his games. Everyone got programmed, even the insane ones like Ivan.
“No.”
“Wh-what?!” Alfred cried, and held the ID closer, scrutinizing it for any kind of specific identification. That was what IDs were for. They identified people. It was like Ivan was toying with him, toying with the whole universe, by giving him a fake ID and smiling and being the head of a huge mega-profitable corporation in the Soviet System. His whole existance baffled Alfred. He wasn't even programmed. He was so out of System, Alfred wanted to make sure he was human. He was so adverse to everything he'd ever been. Ivan laughed again, and Alfred wanted to shoot him real bad now, but couldn’t. Because Ivan had the upper hand, no matter how irritating or odd he was. He had the advantage, for now.
“You sound so shocked. The Programmers would not take Ivan in,” he said almost-sadly, but it sounded fake, like a bad actor. And that’s what Alfred felt like all of this was. A show of very bad acting on both persons parts.
“They should’ve…”
“I was too extreme, maybe perhaps.”
“That’s what the programming is for, you basta--…nevermind.”
“Hmmm? Oh, I suppose. But it is more fun this way. Watching you live your pretty little lives…you smell.”
“Thank you,” Alfred retorted sarcastically, examining Ivan’s ID with the various settings on his visor until he realised Ivan had gotten much closer; and Ivan was tall. He loomed over Alfred, his oxygen mask making a soft whirring noise as it pulled the breathable air from the planet in and fed it to Ivan, who was using quite a bit with all the laughing he was doing. Alfred couldn’t help but think it was at his own expense.
“Like…it is…familiar. Comrades use it, I think,” Ivan mused, gesturing with the hand holding the gas mask. Alfred stood up straight and moved away.
“Hey man. I do not need to hear about anythi-“
“Tobacco!” Ivan brightened, discovering the word to match Alfred’s scent after a long bout of thought, and watched for Alfred’s reaction. Alfred sighed and tapped the button on the side of his visor that turned it back to his normal sight abilities; he groaned through his oxygen mask, rolling his eyes.
“Yes. Yes it is. You gonna turn me in?”
“No.”
“But we’re enemies.”
“Then I will keep you for toy. I need someone new to play with…my last toy broke,” he whispered, like it was a child’s secret, and Alfred could only stare at Ivan as he hummed pleasantly, rocking on the back of his heels.
“You look worried.” Ivan stared at him, and Alfred realised he must be holding his look of terror. Alfred blinked, returning to his usual self, and straightened his back, set his shoulders and stared at Ivan, all traces of fear gone.
“No. I don’t break,” Alfred assured him, and Ivan cackled at that, long enough to make his oxygen mask work harder to give him the necessary air.
“Are you done?” Apparently not. Alfred begun to grow annoyed when Ivan only settled into rumbling chuckles. He held his side, and Alfred looked into his eyes.
He wished he hadn’t. All he saw was soulless violet. Dangerous, deceptive, fatal violet. They sunk into his head, even though they were bright, beautiful, and Alfred was terrified. Glued to the ground terrified. He swallowed nervously and managed a smirk.
“Oh, friend,” Ivan cooed, mirthful, “we will have so much fun! But not today. I think I will take my sister home. But remember this meeting, yes? I think…maybe you and I are more alike than you want to believe. Until then, best enemy!” He waved gleefully to Alfred and walked off, jamming the matter separator into his pocket and scooping up his sister, who was by no means small, in what seemed like a completely effortless motion. And she must weigh twice as much as she did on the Soviet System. Alfred watched, agape for a few moments, before opening his general communications device, attached to his ear in the form of a tiny headset, unnoticed because everyone had one in this age.
“I need a return vessel on…620-M, can you find my co-ordinates? And, also…can you get me any information you know on Ivan Braginski? Thank you.”
He would make sure that Ivan Braginski had not seen Alfred for the last time. Alfred Jones was nobody's toy. That much was assured.