Y'know, I really hadn't pegged Blaze as being Cagalli. It certianly makes sense though. My, but that's a motley crew of pilots though - Mu, Murrue, Cagalli and Kira I recognise, the last I don't. Natarle? The line about duty would fit.
========================================
"It's well known that you're sympathetic to the PLANTs," spat his captor. "Perhaps you're Co-ordinator yourself?"
Thomas replied with a bark of laughter.
There was a crunch as the hammer came down on another of his toes. His fists clenched involuntary, but his voice did not betray the pain that he must be feeling as he jibed: "Does hurting me give you pleasure? You must be a very sick individual."
"Is that high pain tolerance a gift your parents bought you in a clinic?" came the question. "It won't be enough, I assure you."
Thomas shook his head. "You're an idiot," he replied. "Do you think that genetic splicing is the only way that offspring can be improved? There have been communities trying the same thing for as long as humanity has existed. Breeding their strongest children to the strongest they could find, with the goal of producing children stronger still. For generation after generation, my ancestors arranged marriages to that effect. Probably your ancestors did the same - the children that weren't picked for those marriages still had kids and interbred with everyone else. After thousands of years, almost everyone alive has ancestors from those little villages."
"What fantasy are you preaching?"
"You're one to talk about fantasys," Thomas replied. "You still labour under one."
"Oh, we will be rid of the Co-ordinators, for our blue and pure Earth," the man promised.
"Not that one. I freely admit you have a chance at success in your sick schemes of genocide."
"So what is my fantasy?" asked the man.
"You think I'm trapped in here," Thomas told him, and the muscles in his forearms bulged. He twisted as if under some amazing pressure. "The truth is, you're trapped in here with me." The restraints broke.
The screams began before the furry mass that sometimes called itself Thomas Finn stepped away from the chair.
Even in an age of scientific wonder, the age-old fears remained, after all.
Lord Djbril fell into the madness of Delirium, a madness that only death could free him from.
-/-
Natarle Badgiruel frowned as she stared at the locked doors into the compartments occupied by the Commander, his staff and the three mobile suit pilots that he'd brought with him. "Can you force it?"
The chief mechanic shrugged. "I can't do anything about the lock," he replied. "That's a specialist's job. But if you don't mind a hole in the door, I can just pull the whole locking mechanism."
"Take it out," she ordered after a moment's thought. "If nothing else, it's a hazard."
It only took five minutes for a cutting torch to be brought up and Natarle had barely reacehd the bridge when she was called back to deal with the quarters again. This tinme the problem was rather messier. If it wasn't for the fact that Natarle had had a complete list of everyone onboard it would have been impossible to determine how many people had been killed inside. It would require DNA testing to work out which parts belonged to which staff member.
Then again, she realised, looking into the medical lab. Apparently her list of people onboard hadn't been as accurate as she had thought.
"Doctor Finn?" she asked. "How in the world did you manage to get aboard my ship?"
"I received a most pressing invitation," the doctor, barefoot and bloodied, replied, not looking up from the three pilots, all of whom were secured to medical beds by heavy straps. "I really couldn't refuse, particularly since I was unconcious at the time."
"Unconcious," she echoed with a growing sense of disbelief.
"Apparently your commander wanted a subject for his experiments in manicures," Thomas said, and raised one foot illustratively. The toes were evidently ruins, crushed by some blunt instrument. "Either that or he was holding a grudge over my part in certain colleagues of his that got their necks lengthened over in Eurasia."
There was a retching sound from one of the soldiers beside Natarle.
"And you broke loose," she whispered.
"Those who would be monstrous," he replied sadly, "should not trifle with monsters."
D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.
========================================
"It's well known that you're sympathetic to the PLANTs," spat his captor. "Perhaps you're Co-ordinator yourself?"
Thomas replied with a bark of laughter.
There was a crunch as the hammer came down on another of his toes. His fists clenched involuntary, but his voice did not betray the pain that he must be feeling as he jibed: "Does hurting me give you pleasure? You must be a very sick individual."
"Is that high pain tolerance a gift your parents bought you in a clinic?" came the question. "It won't be enough, I assure you."
Thomas shook his head. "You're an idiot," he replied. "Do you think that genetic splicing is the only way that offspring can be improved? There have been communities trying the same thing for as long as humanity has existed. Breeding their strongest children to the strongest they could find, with the goal of producing children stronger still. For generation after generation, my ancestors arranged marriages to that effect. Probably your ancestors did the same - the children that weren't picked for those marriages still had kids and interbred with everyone else. After thousands of years, almost everyone alive has ancestors from those little villages."
"What fantasy are you preaching?"
"You're one to talk about fantasys," Thomas replied. "You still labour under one."
"Oh, we will be rid of the Co-ordinators, for our blue and pure Earth," the man promised.
"Not that one. I freely admit you have a chance at success in your sick schemes of genocide."
"So what is my fantasy?" asked the man.
"You think I'm trapped in here," Thomas told him, and the muscles in his forearms bulged. He twisted as if under some amazing pressure. "The truth is, you're trapped in here with me." The restraints broke.
The screams began before the furry mass that sometimes called itself Thomas Finn stepped away from the chair.
Even in an age of scientific wonder, the age-old fears remained, after all.
Lord Djbril fell into the madness of Delirium, a madness that only death could free him from.
-/-
Natarle Badgiruel frowned as she stared at the locked doors into the compartments occupied by the Commander, his staff and the three mobile suit pilots that he'd brought with him. "Can you force it?"
The chief mechanic shrugged. "I can't do anything about the lock," he replied. "That's a specialist's job. But if you don't mind a hole in the door, I can just pull the whole locking mechanism."
"Take it out," she ordered after a moment's thought. "If nothing else, it's a hazard."
It only took five minutes for a cutting torch to be brought up and Natarle had barely reacehd the bridge when she was called back to deal with the quarters again. This tinme the problem was rather messier. If it wasn't for the fact that Natarle had had a complete list of everyone onboard it would have been impossible to determine how many people had been killed inside. It would require DNA testing to work out which parts belonged to which staff member.
Then again, she realised, looking into the medical lab. Apparently her list of people onboard hadn't been as accurate as she had thought.
"Doctor Finn?" she asked. "How in the world did you manage to get aboard my ship?"
"I received a most pressing invitation," the doctor, barefoot and bloodied, replied, not looking up from the three pilots, all of whom were secured to medical beds by heavy straps. "I really couldn't refuse, particularly since I was unconcious at the time."
"Unconcious," she echoed with a growing sense of disbelief.
"Apparently your commander wanted a subject for his experiments in manicures," Thomas said, and raised one foot illustratively. The toes were evidently ruins, crushed by some blunt instrument. "Either that or he was holding a grudge over my part in certain colleagues of his that got their necks lengthened over in Eurasia."
There was a retching sound from one of the soldiers beside Natarle.
"And you broke loose," she whispered.
"Those who would be monstrous," he replied sadly, "should not trifle with monsters."
D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.