smapfic day 28! - we become light, chapter thirty-seven
Title: We Become Light
Pairings: Nakai/Tsuyoshi, Kimura/Shingo/Goro
Rating: R for violence and swearing
Notes: Five men meet in a dystopian cyberpunk future to free their city from the Tower, with the help of motorcycle rebels, mysterious memories, and love.
Nakai froze, his calm composure gone. --the knife pressed into his throat--
The plain-faced man stood at a vast console, thousands of carefully-labeled buttons surrounding a microphone and a red light. Beyond him was a set of cameras, pointed at the wall; they appeared unused.
"Ah. It seems we have met before." The man smiled; it was terrifying. "What errand is it that brings you to me?"
Nakai stared at him mutely. Did he not recognize him?
It didn't matter. There was nothing Nakai could do.
The man frowned slightly. "No, you aren't here on an errand, are you." His hand reached into his jacket. "You're here for something else."
Nakai knew, before he saw the glint of light, what the man was holding. That face drew closer, the knife sharp in his hand-- the hand holding the knife--
"Nakai Masahiro. Don't you remember?" The door against his back-- a hand on his chin-- "We are not the ones holding the knife."
--was his own--
Wake up.
What?
People of the city. Wake up.
There were five who stood against the darkness when it descended.
They fought against the seductive false promises it made, against the fear and despair it enforced. They planted the seeds of rebellion in people's hearts.
You know this story.
Nakai blinked; the plain-faced man was staring back at the console. "The channel--" he muttered to himself, moving as if to step toward the console.
In a tower that stretched to the sky, they stood together in their last battle.
And when the darkness surrounded them, they turned to light, stars streaking across the sky. The battle was not yet over.
The battle is not yet over. The Five Stars have returned. And this time--
Nakai watched as the man flipped a switch on the console; all of the buttons lit up, illuminating thousands of place names. The entire city, in a web of speakers. The man reached for the microphone--
--we will fight together, we will have hope--
Nakai lunged forward, grabbing him around the waist. He threw the man sideways, knocking his feet out from under him-- the man twisted, the knife slashing out in the air between them-- Nakai pinned him down, hand closing around his wrist, slamming it to the floor. The knife fell from his hand.
--we will save this city.
The man stared up at Nakai, winded. The message began to repeat, and then the man smiled. "Do you really think that will be enough? The dreams of a few gutter rats and rebels against the Tower?"
Nakai sat up, watching the man warily. "The city will fight."
"The city did not hear that message. The city does not know the Five Stars. Have you forgotten where you came from so easily?"
Nakai stared at him. The channel-- none of the Tower workers would hear it. No one would know the story of the Five Stars-- Nakai himself had only just recognized the name, and nothing else. There was no one calling for them to wake up, no one to plant the seeds of rebellion in their hearts. But they were the city, too, weren't they?
Nakai looked at the knife on the floor. It was in his hand.
He pushed himself up, reaching for the console. "What are you--" the man said, and then Nakai switched the microphone on.
"Everyone. Everyone in this city. Listen to me.
"We can still take back our lives. We can still fight. No matter how much they take from us, we can still fight."
His parents-- his love-- his happiness--
"We aren't what they've made us. We can still change.
"Because the knife might be in our hands, but they are our hands, and no one else's. No one can take that away from us."
Something warm dripped off his chin. Nakai caught it with his fingers, looking at it in surprise--
He whirled at the sound of the knife being snatched up. "You-- you would undo all my work?" The plain-faced man glared viciously at him, holding the knife tightly. "It will not forgive you. It will spare no one. Not even me." His gaze dropped to the knife, a strange, faint flicker of fear in his eyes. "Especially not me."
He turned the knife over in his hand, and lifted his arm--
"No!" Nakai dove towards the man, catching the hand with the knife in both of his. The man struggled desperately to press it to his wrist; Nakai twisted with his entire body, prying one finger at a time, and finally wrenched the knife away.
He sat up, breathing heavily, the knife clutched in his hands. Tears were still dripping down his cheeks. "No. No more fear."
The man looked up at him bleakly. "That's all it wants." His gaze shifted to the ceiling, as if looking through it far into the sky above. "Nothing but fear."
"Then I won't be afraid," Nakai told him, standing. He glanced down at the knife in his hand. It was just a knife, after all. "No one will, anymore."
The plain-faced man was quiet, still looking up at the ceiling. Shingo's message repeated in the background, full of hope and love for the city and its future. Nakai turned to go.
"He's upstairs," the man said, when Nakai had reached the door. "If you think you can save him."
Strangely, it wasn't a vitriolic tone with which the words were spoken. Nakai couldn't place what it was.
Shingo and Kimura all but leaped off the motorcycle, racing towards Mori and Madame. The rendezvous point was a temporary base in far Inner district that the lieutenant had commandeered when organizing the survivors of the first attack.
"Did you hear that?" Shingo grinned at them, the voice that echoed throughout the city still vivid in his mind. "That was Nakai! He's all right!" Nakai was still alive, still fighting, still full of hope.
"We could not have hoped for a better course of action," Madame agreed, her smile complex with a myriad of emotions. "I had not counted on being able to reach the hearts of those in the Tower's grasp. But they, too, are people of this city."
"We'll see if it actually has that effect," Mori pointed out, but she, too, looked hopeful. "What it has done so far is announce a clear-out attack on the Tower. They're going to be looking for him inside, and expecting us outside."
Shingo exchanged a glance with Kimura. "Time to fight, then?"
Mori nodded sharply, the commanding light shining in her eyes again. "Time to fight."
Outside, the surviving rebels were assembling and moving out under the lieutenant's direction. Shingo was gratified to see the squad leader as well, albeit leading a considerably smaller squadron of motorcycles. He hoped the training captain had survived. And the--
"Katori!"
Shingo turned; it was the rebel medic, hefting a box of medical welders. "I scrounged all the ones I could find," she said, tossing him a handful. "Good luck."
"Thanks," he called back, clutching the welders. His chest felt like it was flooding over with relief.
"Don't make us jealous," Kimura told him, elbowing his side. Shingo laughed and handed him a welder. "Wouldn't dream of it. I've already got an assistant."
Kimura gave him a smile like he was thinking about kissing him anyway, just to make sure. Shingo almost considered obliging him, battlefield and all--
A wind struck up, swirling around them. Rebels shouted, pointing up-- a dark shape dropped out of the clouds, too-quiet and deadly, a silencer bearing down on them to attack--
"Kimura! Shingo!" A figure leaned out the window-- it was Goro, hair flying in the breeze. "Get in!"
A short rope ladder hung down from the open side of the silencer. Shingo glanced back at Madame and Mori; the two were seated on Mori's motorcycle, preparing to head out. The sounds of battle already echoed ahead. Mori gave them a thumbs-up, and led her squadron out.
Kimura leaped onto the ladder, climbing up; Shingo grabbed on tight, and watched as the ground pulled away. Beneath them, motorcycles streamed out between the buildings, meeting Tower fighters in the Inner streets.
Before the ground fell away too far for Shingo to look down, he thought he caught a glimpse of a handful of people in suits, fighting a patrol alongside the rebels.
Pairings: Nakai/Tsuyoshi, Kimura/Shingo/Goro
Rating: R for violence and swearing
Notes: Five men meet in a dystopian cyberpunk future to free their city from the Tower, with the help of motorcycle rebels, mysterious memories, and love.
Nakai froze, his calm composure gone. --the knife pressed into his throat--
The plain-faced man stood at a vast console, thousands of carefully-labeled buttons surrounding a microphone and a red light. Beyond him was a set of cameras, pointed at the wall; they appeared unused.
"Ah. It seems we have met before." The man smiled; it was terrifying. "What errand is it that brings you to me?"
Nakai stared at him mutely. Did he not recognize him?
It didn't matter. There was nothing Nakai could do.
The man frowned slightly. "No, you aren't here on an errand, are you." His hand reached into his jacket. "You're here for something else."
Nakai knew, before he saw the glint of light, what the man was holding. That face drew closer, the knife sharp in his hand-- the hand holding the knife--
"Nakai Masahiro. Don't you remember?" The door against his back-- a hand on his chin-- "We are not the ones holding the knife."
--was his own--
Wake up.
What?
People of the city. Wake up.
There were five who stood against the darkness when it descended.
They fought against the seductive false promises it made, against the fear and despair it enforced. They planted the seeds of rebellion in people's hearts.
You know this story.
Nakai blinked; the plain-faced man was staring back at the console. "The channel--" he muttered to himself, moving as if to step toward the console.
In a tower that stretched to the sky, they stood together in their last battle.
And when the darkness surrounded them, they turned to light, stars streaking across the sky. The battle was not yet over.
The battle is not yet over. The Five Stars have returned. And this time--
Nakai watched as the man flipped a switch on the console; all of the buttons lit up, illuminating thousands of place names. The entire city, in a web of speakers. The man reached for the microphone--
--we will fight together, we will have hope--
Nakai lunged forward, grabbing him around the waist. He threw the man sideways, knocking his feet out from under him-- the man twisted, the knife slashing out in the air between them-- Nakai pinned him down, hand closing around his wrist, slamming it to the floor. The knife fell from his hand.
--we will save this city.
The man stared up at Nakai, winded. The message began to repeat, and then the man smiled. "Do you really think that will be enough? The dreams of a few gutter rats and rebels against the Tower?"
Nakai sat up, watching the man warily. "The city will fight."
"The city did not hear that message. The city does not know the Five Stars. Have you forgotten where you came from so easily?"
Nakai stared at him. The channel-- none of the Tower workers would hear it. No one would know the story of the Five Stars-- Nakai himself had only just recognized the name, and nothing else. There was no one calling for them to wake up, no one to plant the seeds of rebellion in their hearts. But they were the city, too, weren't they?
Nakai looked at the knife on the floor. It was in his hand.
He pushed himself up, reaching for the console. "What are you--" the man said, and then Nakai switched the microphone on.
"Everyone. Everyone in this city. Listen to me.
"We can still take back our lives. We can still fight. No matter how much they take from us, we can still fight."
His parents-- his love-- his happiness--
"We aren't what they've made us. We can still change.
"Because the knife might be in our hands, but they are our hands, and no one else's. No one can take that away from us."
Something warm dripped off his chin. Nakai caught it with his fingers, looking at it in surprise--
He whirled at the sound of the knife being snatched up. "You-- you would undo all my work?" The plain-faced man glared viciously at him, holding the knife tightly. "It will not forgive you. It will spare no one. Not even me." His gaze dropped to the knife, a strange, faint flicker of fear in his eyes. "Especially not me."
He turned the knife over in his hand, and lifted his arm--
"No!" Nakai dove towards the man, catching the hand with the knife in both of his. The man struggled desperately to press it to his wrist; Nakai twisted with his entire body, prying one finger at a time, and finally wrenched the knife away.
He sat up, breathing heavily, the knife clutched in his hands. Tears were still dripping down his cheeks. "No. No more fear."
The man looked up at him bleakly. "That's all it wants." His gaze shifted to the ceiling, as if looking through it far into the sky above. "Nothing but fear."
"Then I won't be afraid," Nakai told him, standing. He glanced down at the knife in his hand. It was just a knife, after all. "No one will, anymore."
The plain-faced man was quiet, still looking up at the ceiling. Shingo's message repeated in the background, full of hope and love for the city and its future. Nakai turned to go.
"He's upstairs," the man said, when Nakai had reached the door. "If you think you can save him."
Strangely, it wasn't a vitriolic tone with which the words were spoken. Nakai couldn't place what it was.
Shingo and Kimura all but leaped off the motorcycle, racing towards Mori and Madame. The rendezvous point was a temporary base in far Inner district that the lieutenant had commandeered when organizing the survivors of the first attack.
"Did you hear that?" Shingo grinned at them, the voice that echoed throughout the city still vivid in his mind. "That was Nakai! He's all right!" Nakai was still alive, still fighting, still full of hope.
"We could not have hoped for a better course of action," Madame agreed, her smile complex with a myriad of emotions. "I had not counted on being able to reach the hearts of those in the Tower's grasp. But they, too, are people of this city."
"We'll see if it actually has that effect," Mori pointed out, but she, too, looked hopeful. "What it has done so far is announce a clear-out attack on the Tower. They're going to be looking for him inside, and expecting us outside."
Shingo exchanged a glance with Kimura. "Time to fight, then?"
Mori nodded sharply, the commanding light shining in her eyes again. "Time to fight."
Outside, the surviving rebels were assembling and moving out under the lieutenant's direction. Shingo was gratified to see the squad leader as well, albeit leading a considerably smaller squadron of motorcycles. He hoped the training captain had survived. And the--
"Katori!"
Shingo turned; it was the rebel medic, hefting a box of medical welders. "I scrounged all the ones I could find," she said, tossing him a handful. "Good luck."
"Thanks," he called back, clutching the welders. His chest felt like it was flooding over with relief.
"Don't make us jealous," Kimura told him, elbowing his side. Shingo laughed and handed him a welder. "Wouldn't dream of it. I've already got an assistant."
Kimura gave him a smile like he was thinking about kissing him anyway, just to make sure. Shingo almost considered obliging him, battlefield and all--
A wind struck up, swirling around them. Rebels shouted, pointing up-- a dark shape dropped out of the clouds, too-quiet and deadly, a silencer bearing down on them to attack--
"Kimura! Shingo!" A figure leaned out the window-- it was Goro, hair flying in the breeze. "Get in!"
A short rope ladder hung down from the open side of the silencer. Shingo glanced back at Madame and Mori; the two were seated on Mori's motorcycle, preparing to head out. The sounds of battle already echoed ahead. Mori gave them a thumbs-up, and led her squadron out.
Kimura leaped onto the ladder, climbing up; Shingo grabbed on tight, and watched as the ground pulled away. Beneath them, motorcycles streamed out between the buildings, meeting Tower fighters in the Inner streets.
Before the ground fell away too far for Shingo to look down, he thought he caught a glimpse of a handful of people in suits, fighting a patrol alongside the rebels.