Nostos 36
Title: Nóstos 36
Summary: This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with Change. After the bombs fall, Critic must lead his people on an epic journey in search of a place to call home.
Characters/Pairings: Linkara/Spoony, Linkara/Marzgurl, Critic/Chick, Tom/Mickey
Rating: R- descriptions of death, violence, sexual abuse, and angst.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This work is based on characters played by the great guys at Channel Awesome.
Author's Note: This is a full blown post apocalyptic rewrite of Kickassia (with added superpowers!). Somewhere between an homage and a parody of post-apocalyptic movies, it makes deliberate use of tropes common to the genre. For those interested, a list of tropes and references will be provided at the end.
Warning and Triggers: For a homage/parody, this is a serious fic. It includes references to mental illness, child abuse, sexual abuse, incest, sexual assault, rape, torture, dub-con situations, good people doing bad things, bad people doing worse things, and issues dealing with gray morality. Please do not read if any of this may trigger you. Warnings include character death, violence, descriptions of gore, and some surprisingly mild sexual content.
Personal Disclaimer: The thoughts and actions of the characters do not reflect the personal feelings or opinions of the author.
For a week they held their breaths. Picked their words carefully, never knowing which of them might be goodbye.
But slowly they settled, as people will. Hour by hour, day by day, they relaxed a little more.
It was amazing, what one could learn to live with.
It only made it harder when Critic insisted on holding daily meetings, looking down from the monitor in the mess with the eyes of a parent desperate to keep his children safe.
"Sleep in shifts," he told them, "Two people should be awake and patrolling the halls at all times."
Or
"Set a curfew. After ten, anyone who leaves their room better have a damn good explanation."
They obeyed, and not just to placate the man.
"I'd feel better if he didn't make so much sense," Lord Kat said once ,"If he'd rant a little, or drool. Something to remind us he's a batshit insane little motherfucker."
Still, they gathered each night far from the mess. The failure of their first grand plan made it hard to work up enthusiasm for another, but they forced themselves to try.
Only to be defeated again and again by the first step.
Open the door.
Since the night of Snob's exile, Critic had kept himself isolated in the systems room. Sealed away behind thick steel with their death at his throat, safe from attack and their judgment.
"Just rip it off the hinges, Tom. What's the fucking problem?" Joe asked now.
"That's a fantastic idea! It's not like we need to be quiet about it or anything. I'm sure Critic won't press his little red button when he hears that," Linkara said, then mimed slow realization. "Oh, wait..."
Desperation kept them circling around to the same unworkable schemes, but Linkara had little patience left for tail chasing. Every hour they spent arguing was another hour Spoony spent alone.
"Shut it," Joe grumbled, "You got any better suggestions?"
"I can tell you won't work. Phelous can't cut through it. I can't blast it down. It'll just set off the alarm, and without Snob we can't try the override. So no, no suggestions, but wasting our time isn't helping."
"This isn't right." Chick's smile had flipped over into a pouty little frown that made her look younger than her years. "This isn't how things were supposed to happen."
They laughed at the understatement, and when the laughter died so did the meeting. Paw began to hum, a slow dirge that Linkara recognized from one of the Silent Hill games.
"Yeah," Larios said, "I hear that."
For Critic, time did not pass hour by hour, day by day. There were only seconds, minutes, life slowed to a lethargic crawl.
Snob's betrayal had shown him the folly of allowing the others access to the systems room. He kept his watch alone, his own breathing loud in his ears.
Yet not alone after all, for the computer was a worthy partner. Immune to sentiment, doing as it was asked and never less, never more. Critic had turned the sensors, all of them, to their most sensitive levels, had given charge of the turrets over to circuits and wires.
The lower settings had allowed for human discretion in judging a coyote from a man who wore a coyote's skin, but Critic had a new rule now, one that eliminated such needless risks.
If it moved, it died.
Zull, Motherfucker's pup had succumbed to the first barrage, his mate to the second. Critic forced himself to watch without flinching, but deep within he was glad the foxes had never been named. A few days of bullets and blood, and the small desert creatures learned to avoid the canyon.
Now the monitors looked out over a barren, pockmarked land, and Critic was left to spin in his chair for the novelty of dizziness. It occurred to him that this was what he had given Spoony, this waiting, and his own cruelty chilled him.
But as the seconds, the minutes passed, Critic found it easier to sleep, if not to wake. The sickening pride and anger he'd felt in exiling Snob had faded to a clean and uncomplicated grief.
He took comfort in that and in his lessons, so hard won.
Nothing lasts forever.
This too would end.
Not by Critic's hands, and not quite yet. But the others were almost ready, to do what needed to be done.
He wouldn't make it easy for them. They would be given one chance to prove themselves and show they could handle the hard decisions without him there to hold their hands.
'Not quite yet,' he thought, 'But soon.
"Please, let it be soon.'
"Wait."
The others had already begun to drift away when Phelous called them back.
Linkara hovered near the door, fists clenched in fury at this delay. He needed to get home. Home to Spoony, to the stranger he loved, the man with kaleidoscope eyes.
Even the alters looked upon him with something like suspicion now. Linkara would wake in the night with SWS at his side, but there would be no wandering hands to fend off, no dark promises whispered in his ear.
The bedroom had become a lonely place, but to stay close was the only proof of devotion Linkara had to offer, for what little it was worth. But every day there was a little less of Spoony to hold onto, and Linkara missed him with a dark and bitter ache.
They met now in the inventory room, surrounded by their ill-gotten bounty. Phelous stood near Baugh's altar, covered still by a sheet with dust gathering in its folds.
"I have an idea," he said, and out of them all turned to Linkara, "But you aren't going to like it."
He was right.
"No," Linkara said, and that should have been enough.
And he growled when it wasn't, wishing he had Lantern's fangs to put some threat behind his snarl.
"No."
"You're the one who keeps saying we can't use force," Joe reminded him, "So we don't. We use something else."
Science.
"You don't understand," Linkara said, and knew that it was true, knew they never had, even in the days when they'd cared enough to try. "And Spoony...he's not doing well. He's not...he's not a weapon. You don't get to take him out when it's time to use him."
"Linkara..."
Chick drifted close, and if she tried to touch him, if she smiled, Linkara was going to something he would later regret.
But she kept her hands to herself, and when she spoke it was plainly, without saccharine pleas.
"He'd be saving himself too. What else is there?"
"No," Linkara said again, "I won't let you break him."
Because he'd done that already, with his lies and his love.
He could feel his power rising to twine hot around his fingers, and knew the others had spotted the green glow when they took a step back. "You can't ask this of him. You just don't get it."
They'd never witnessed Insano at work, at play. Had never stood beneath a fall of burning feathers and smelled the ozone scorch of a laser.
"He's right. This isn't fair."
Benzaie.
The bear shuffled forward to stand at Linkara's side. Rose up to brandish his claws, and in that moment Linkara forgave him his sins.
"Thank you," he whispered, and saw Benzaie's ear flick in quick acknowledgement.
"Without Snob, he's our only shot at hacking the system," Lord Kat said, as if Linkara simply hadn't understood.
"And I'm not saying he couldn't do it," Linkara answered, "I'm saying there's no way to control what else he'd do."
"Couldn't you help him?" Liz asked, and at least from her the question was an honest one. She knew only SWS, The Bum, Lantern. Dangerous in their way, but they could be coaxed. Controlled.
But it still cut that she would ask, still felt like betrayal. "Not with this," Linkara said, "Not anymore."
Still they were not convinced. Linkara could see it in their eyes, hear it in their huffing sighs.
"We abandoned him." Benzaie spoke softly now, dropping to four paws and bowing his head low. "We can't expect him to sacrifice himself to save our own skins. Not after that."
They looked away then, and Linkara was quick to take advantage of their shame.
"He wouldn't be able to come back. There's not enough left. Leave the man alone...it's the absolute least you can do, and you've had plenty of practice."
He spun then, gesturing for Benzaie to follow with a careless flick of his wrist. Strode from the room with powerful strides, all too aware of how his coat billowed out behind.
If he'd learned one thing from his treasured comics, it was how to make an exit.
Benzaie followed Linkara through the halls, trotting at his heels like an oversized dog. Behind them both came Tom, as Linkara had known he would.
Critic sounded distracted when he answered the intercom, disengaging the lock with only a token question or two. His duty done, Tom stepped back.
Linkara was on him before he made it far, hugging him lamprey style, all frenzy and clinging.
"Thank you," he said against the man's back, "If I never said it before, thank you."
Because Tom could have made things so much harder. Could have disappeared into his grief, refused to vouch for Linkara's comings and goings. He was their jailer but also their friend, and Linkara knew better than to take that for granted.
Tom went still. Sighed soundlessly when Linkara refused to take the hint. Finally cracked enough to grunt a protest, and how could Linkara resist squeezing him that much tighter?
At last Tom reached back and plucked him up by the collar. Linkara flailed as he was set down out of hugging range, squawking at the indignity of being manhandled so easily.
"Really, thank you!" he called after Tom's retreating back, but the man moved with impressive haste. He stopped far down the hall, hovering there while he waited for them to enter the bedroom.
Benzaie chuffed a laugh, but he sobered when Linkara curled his hand around the door knob.
"Just...move slowly. Be careful," Linkara told him.
It fell somewhere between a plea and a warning. Linkara could have gone in first, could have asked Spoony if he even had interest in seeing the bear again. Could have given him control over that much at least.
Probably should have.
But he knew Spoony would refuse, and not because Benzaie had turned his back. He had never blamed the bear for that, had never blamed any of them for seeing him locked away. He would hide because he was ashamed of what he had become and, cruel as it was, Linkara wanted Benzaie to see how far Spoony had fallen.
The holes in the walls from Lantern's fists. The garbage piled high. The sex stench rising from the stiffened sheets.
He wanted Benzaie to see the truth so he might persuade the others that if Spoony was a weapon, he was a broken one, too dangerous to chance using.
"Ready?" Linkara asked Benzaie, and didn't wait for an answer before swinging the door wide.
Next
Summary: This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with Change. After the bombs fall, Critic must lead his people on an epic journey in search of a place to call home.
Characters/Pairings: Linkara/Spoony, Linkara/Marzgurl, Critic/Chick, Tom/Mickey
Rating: R- descriptions of death, violence, sexual abuse, and angst.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This work is based on characters played by the great guys at Channel Awesome.
Author's Note: This is a full blown post apocalyptic rewrite of Kickassia (with added superpowers!). Somewhere between an homage and a parody of post-apocalyptic movies, it makes deliberate use of tropes common to the genre. For those interested, a list of tropes and references will be provided at the end.
Warning and Triggers: For a homage/parody, this is a serious fic. It includes references to mental illness, child abuse, sexual abuse, incest, sexual assault, rape, torture, dub-con situations, good people doing bad things, bad people doing worse things, and issues dealing with gray morality. Please do not read if any of this may trigger you. Warnings include character death, violence, descriptions of gore, and some surprisingly mild sexual content.
Personal Disclaimer: The thoughts and actions of the characters do not reflect the personal feelings or opinions of the author.
For a week they held their breaths. Picked their words carefully, never knowing which of them might be goodbye.
But slowly they settled, as people will. Hour by hour, day by day, they relaxed a little more.
It was amazing, what one could learn to live with.
It only made it harder when Critic insisted on holding daily meetings, looking down from the monitor in the mess with the eyes of a parent desperate to keep his children safe.
"Sleep in shifts," he told them, "Two people should be awake and patrolling the halls at all times."
Or
"Set a curfew. After ten, anyone who leaves their room better have a damn good explanation."
They obeyed, and not just to placate the man.
"I'd feel better if he didn't make so much sense," Lord Kat said once ,"If he'd rant a little, or drool. Something to remind us he's a batshit insane little motherfucker."
Still, they gathered each night far from the mess. The failure of their first grand plan made it hard to work up enthusiasm for another, but they forced themselves to try.
Only to be defeated again and again by the first step.
Open the door.
Since the night of Snob's exile, Critic had kept himself isolated in the systems room. Sealed away behind thick steel with their death at his throat, safe from attack and their judgment.
"Just rip it off the hinges, Tom. What's the fucking problem?" Joe asked now.
"That's a fantastic idea! It's not like we need to be quiet about it or anything. I'm sure Critic won't press his little red button when he hears that," Linkara said, then mimed slow realization. "Oh, wait..."
Desperation kept them circling around to the same unworkable schemes, but Linkara had little patience left for tail chasing. Every hour they spent arguing was another hour Spoony spent alone.
"Shut it," Joe grumbled, "You got any better suggestions?"
"I can tell you won't work. Phelous can't cut through it. I can't blast it down. It'll just set off the alarm, and without Snob we can't try the override. So no, no suggestions, but wasting our time isn't helping."
"This isn't right." Chick's smile had flipped over into a pouty little frown that made her look younger than her years. "This isn't how things were supposed to happen."
They laughed at the understatement, and when the laughter died so did the meeting. Paw began to hum, a slow dirge that Linkara recognized from one of the Silent Hill games.
"Yeah," Larios said, "I hear that."
For Critic, time did not pass hour by hour, day by day. There were only seconds, minutes, life slowed to a lethargic crawl.
Snob's betrayal had shown him the folly of allowing the others access to the systems room. He kept his watch alone, his own breathing loud in his ears.
Yet not alone after all, for the computer was a worthy partner. Immune to sentiment, doing as it was asked and never less, never more. Critic had turned the sensors, all of them, to their most sensitive levels, had given charge of the turrets over to circuits and wires.
The lower settings had allowed for human discretion in judging a coyote from a man who wore a coyote's skin, but Critic had a new rule now, one that eliminated such needless risks.
If it moved, it died.
Zull, Motherfucker's pup had succumbed to the first barrage, his mate to the second. Critic forced himself to watch without flinching, but deep within he was glad the foxes had never been named. A few days of bullets and blood, and the small desert creatures learned to avoid the canyon.
Now the monitors looked out over a barren, pockmarked land, and Critic was left to spin in his chair for the novelty of dizziness. It occurred to him that this was what he had given Spoony, this waiting, and his own cruelty chilled him.
But as the seconds, the minutes passed, Critic found it easier to sleep, if not to wake. The sickening pride and anger he'd felt in exiling Snob had faded to a clean and uncomplicated grief.
He took comfort in that and in his lessons, so hard won.
Nothing lasts forever.
This too would end.
Not by Critic's hands, and not quite yet. But the others were almost ready, to do what needed to be done.
He wouldn't make it easy for them. They would be given one chance to prove themselves and show they could handle the hard decisions without him there to hold their hands.
'Not quite yet,' he thought, 'But soon.
"Please, let it be soon.'
"Wait."
The others had already begun to drift away when Phelous called them back.
Linkara hovered near the door, fists clenched in fury at this delay. He needed to get home. Home to Spoony, to the stranger he loved, the man with kaleidoscope eyes.
Even the alters looked upon him with something like suspicion now. Linkara would wake in the night with SWS at his side, but there would be no wandering hands to fend off, no dark promises whispered in his ear.
The bedroom had become a lonely place, but to stay close was the only proof of devotion Linkara had to offer, for what little it was worth. But every day there was a little less of Spoony to hold onto, and Linkara missed him with a dark and bitter ache.
They met now in the inventory room, surrounded by their ill-gotten bounty. Phelous stood near Baugh's altar, covered still by a sheet with dust gathering in its folds.
"I have an idea," he said, and out of them all turned to Linkara, "But you aren't going to like it."
He was right.
"No," Linkara said, and that should have been enough.
And he growled when it wasn't, wishing he had Lantern's fangs to put some threat behind his snarl.
"No."
"You're the one who keeps saying we can't use force," Joe reminded him, "So we don't. We use something else."
Science.
"You don't understand," Linkara said, and knew that it was true, knew they never had, even in the days when they'd cared enough to try. "And Spoony...he's not doing well. He's not...he's not a weapon. You don't get to take him out when it's time to use him."
"Linkara..."
Chick drifted close, and if she tried to touch him, if she smiled, Linkara was going to something he would later regret.
But she kept her hands to herself, and when she spoke it was plainly, without saccharine pleas.
"He'd be saving himself too. What else is there?"
"No," Linkara said again, "I won't let you break him."
Because he'd done that already, with his lies and his love.
He could feel his power rising to twine hot around his fingers, and knew the others had spotted the green glow when they took a step back. "You can't ask this of him. You just don't get it."
They'd never witnessed Insano at work, at play. Had never stood beneath a fall of burning feathers and smelled the ozone scorch of a laser.
"He's right. This isn't fair."
Benzaie.
The bear shuffled forward to stand at Linkara's side. Rose up to brandish his claws, and in that moment Linkara forgave him his sins.
"Thank you," he whispered, and saw Benzaie's ear flick in quick acknowledgement.
"Without Snob, he's our only shot at hacking the system," Lord Kat said, as if Linkara simply hadn't understood.
"And I'm not saying he couldn't do it," Linkara answered, "I'm saying there's no way to control what else he'd do."
"Couldn't you help him?" Liz asked, and at least from her the question was an honest one. She knew only SWS, The Bum, Lantern. Dangerous in their way, but they could be coaxed. Controlled.
But it still cut that she would ask, still felt like betrayal. "Not with this," Linkara said, "Not anymore."
Still they were not convinced. Linkara could see it in their eyes, hear it in their huffing sighs.
"We abandoned him." Benzaie spoke softly now, dropping to four paws and bowing his head low. "We can't expect him to sacrifice himself to save our own skins. Not after that."
They looked away then, and Linkara was quick to take advantage of their shame.
"He wouldn't be able to come back. There's not enough left. Leave the man alone...it's the absolute least you can do, and you've had plenty of practice."
He spun then, gesturing for Benzaie to follow with a careless flick of his wrist. Strode from the room with powerful strides, all too aware of how his coat billowed out behind.
If he'd learned one thing from his treasured comics, it was how to make an exit.
Benzaie followed Linkara through the halls, trotting at his heels like an oversized dog. Behind them both came Tom, as Linkara had known he would.
Critic sounded distracted when he answered the intercom, disengaging the lock with only a token question or two. His duty done, Tom stepped back.
Linkara was on him before he made it far, hugging him lamprey style, all frenzy and clinging.
"Thank you," he said against the man's back, "If I never said it before, thank you."
Because Tom could have made things so much harder. Could have disappeared into his grief, refused to vouch for Linkara's comings and goings. He was their jailer but also their friend, and Linkara knew better than to take that for granted.
Tom went still. Sighed soundlessly when Linkara refused to take the hint. Finally cracked enough to grunt a protest, and how could Linkara resist squeezing him that much tighter?
At last Tom reached back and plucked him up by the collar. Linkara flailed as he was set down out of hugging range, squawking at the indignity of being manhandled so easily.
"Really, thank you!" he called after Tom's retreating back, but the man moved with impressive haste. He stopped far down the hall, hovering there while he waited for them to enter the bedroom.
Benzaie chuffed a laugh, but he sobered when Linkara curled his hand around the door knob.
"Just...move slowly. Be careful," Linkara told him.
It fell somewhere between a plea and a warning. Linkara could have gone in first, could have asked Spoony if he even had interest in seeing the bear again. Could have given him control over that much at least.
Probably should have.
But he knew Spoony would refuse, and not because Benzaie had turned his back. He had never blamed the bear for that, had never blamed any of them for seeing him locked away. He would hide because he was ashamed of what he had become and, cruel as it was, Linkara wanted Benzaie to see how far Spoony had fallen.
The holes in the walls from Lantern's fists. The garbage piled high. The sex stench rising from the stiffened sheets.
He wanted Benzaie to see the truth so he might persuade the others that if Spoony was a weapon, he was a broken one, too dangerous to chance using.
"Ready?" Linkara asked Benzaie, and didn't wait for an answer before swinging the door wide.
Next