The Dead Will Come 17
Feb. 18th, 2008 12:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
misanagiThe Dead Will Come
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: The pilots. 1x2, 3x4
Summary: A batch of abandoned toxic waste turns a town into a living cemetery.
Warnings: Zombies, death (not the pilots), gore, language, violence and everything you would expect of a bad B movie. Also humor, hopefully.
Notes: This was inspired by Robert Rodriquez and Quentin Tarantino's "Grindhouse" so if you saw that then you know what to expect. If you haven't, then think of bad 80's zombie movies and you'll get the picture.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28
Quatre resisted to urge give his bindings an angry tug. It wasn't the first time he was strapped to this chair, in fact he had been in this position at least four times a week for the last year. His word had consisted of this exam chair where they would get whatever samples they needed for their experiments and his small room in another floor of the building. Quatre couldn't say he missed either.
The chair had thick leather straps at the arms and feet, to secure Quatre's limbs and additional ones to strap over the chest and forehead. These last two had thankfully been forgotten this time.
Dorothy had had fun securing Quatre to the chair, taunting him all the time about the uncomfortable procedures that would take place shortly and how his friends were going to be experimented on soon enough.
She had left a few minutes ago after placing a taunting kiss on Quatre's forehead. Quatre hated that; he hated how she treated him like he was nothing more than a stupid child when she knew very well Quatre wasn't one. A few times in the past he had managed to make her lose her cool but he could count those on one hand.
The door opened and Quatre turned to look. The five scientists entered the room.
"So you thought you could escape, brat? You should know better," G. said.
"We made a mistake with the security," admitted S.
"But now that we have you back you can be sure we won't make it again," O. added.
"Quatre, my boy, haven't I told you it's best of you cooperate?" H. was smiling at him. Quatre only glared. Those scientists were crazy. Quatre had decided long ago that if they were going to test and prod him then he wouldn't cooperate, wouldn't talk to them, wouldn't help in any way.
"Stubborn, boy," J. grumbled. "You should be thankful that we still need you alive. G. here has always wanted to study a Psychic's brain up close."
There was glee coming out of all the scientists. They were happy, ecstatic to have turned so many people into the zombies. Quatre knew they were looking for a formula of eternal life and they thought that if they could manipulate that which made the psychics different then they could achieve it. Judging by the zombies outside Quatre would have thought things had gone utterly wrong, but the scientist were pleased.
"Great day today, boy!" H. said. "We made a breakthrough, but of course we are going to need you to smooth out some of the details."
"Details?" Quatre couldn't keep quiet this time. "You killed the people in this town, made them into walking corpses and you think those are just a few details?"
"So it talks!" G. was amused. "The little psychic is capable of intelligent speech."
"We don't need him to talk," O. said, glaring at Quatre. "He needs to learn to behave."
"Yes," S. agreed. "He's a very disobedient boy."
Quatre could feel their happiness at the thought of hurting him. He could still feel Dorothy somewhere in the building, exited about the new developments. There was fear all around, fear coming from the mercenaries and the thick fear and pain he could feel from the zombies. Those feeling felt heavy and unnatural and they were suffocating Quatre.
It had been more than 24 hours since they had injected him with drugs. That medicine kept his empathy dulled and since he had escaped he had felt it come back but what he was feeling now was more than he recalled ever feeling in the past. Trowa was worried somewhere. Heero and Duo were happy, someone was in pain and the zombies… their hunger and fear and pain… it was too much, just too much.
Quatre shut his eyes tight and focused on breathing. The scientists were still talking but Quatre couldn't hear them. They were a little nervous now but the happiness was still there. Quatre's eyes opened.
How could they feel happy?
They had tortured people, given them a fate worst than death.
And they were excited. They were glad.
Quatre focused all that he was feeling, the heavy unnatural emotions of the zombies, their fear and yearning and pain, and he projected it to the scientists.
The scientist screamed. They clutched their heads and screamed until their eyes rolled and they fell to the floor unconscious.
Quatre slumped on the chair, panting hard. He felt better.
* * *
TBC
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: The pilots. 1x2, 3x4
Summary: A batch of abandoned toxic waste turns a town into a living cemetery.
Warnings: Zombies, death (not the pilots), gore, language, violence and everything you would expect of a bad B movie. Also humor, hopefully.
Notes: This was inspired by Robert Rodriquez and Quentin Tarantino's "Grindhouse" so if you saw that then you know what to expect. If you haven't, then think of bad 80's zombie movies and you'll get the picture.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28
Quatre resisted to urge give his bindings an angry tug. It wasn't the first time he was strapped to this chair, in fact he had been in this position at least four times a week for the last year. His word had consisted of this exam chair where they would get whatever samples they needed for their experiments and his small room in another floor of the building. Quatre couldn't say he missed either.
The chair had thick leather straps at the arms and feet, to secure Quatre's limbs and additional ones to strap over the chest and forehead. These last two had thankfully been forgotten this time.
Dorothy had had fun securing Quatre to the chair, taunting him all the time about the uncomfortable procedures that would take place shortly and how his friends were going to be experimented on soon enough.
She had left a few minutes ago after placing a taunting kiss on Quatre's forehead. Quatre hated that; he hated how she treated him like he was nothing more than a stupid child when she knew very well Quatre wasn't one. A few times in the past he had managed to make her lose her cool but he could count those on one hand.
The door opened and Quatre turned to look. The five scientists entered the room.
"So you thought you could escape, brat? You should know better," G. said.
"We made a mistake with the security," admitted S.
"But now that we have you back you can be sure we won't make it again," O. added.
"Quatre, my boy, haven't I told you it's best of you cooperate?" H. was smiling at him. Quatre only glared. Those scientists were crazy. Quatre had decided long ago that if they were going to test and prod him then he wouldn't cooperate, wouldn't talk to them, wouldn't help in any way.
"Stubborn, boy," J. grumbled. "You should be thankful that we still need you alive. G. here has always wanted to study a Psychic's brain up close."
There was glee coming out of all the scientists. They were happy, ecstatic to have turned so many people into the zombies. Quatre knew they were looking for a formula of eternal life and they thought that if they could manipulate that which made the psychics different then they could achieve it. Judging by the zombies outside Quatre would have thought things had gone utterly wrong, but the scientist were pleased.
"Great day today, boy!" H. said. "We made a breakthrough, but of course we are going to need you to smooth out some of the details."
"Details?" Quatre couldn't keep quiet this time. "You killed the people in this town, made them into walking corpses and you think those are just a few details?"
"So it talks!" G. was amused. "The little psychic is capable of intelligent speech."
"We don't need him to talk," O. said, glaring at Quatre. "He needs to learn to behave."
"Yes," S. agreed. "He's a very disobedient boy."
Quatre could feel their happiness at the thought of hurting him. He could still feel Dorothy somewhere in the building, exited about the new developments. There was fear all around, fear coming from the mercenaries and the thick fear and pain he could feel from the zombies. Those feeling felt heavy and unnatural and they were suffocating Quatre.
It had been more than 24 hours since they had injected him with drugs. That medicine kept his empathy dulled and since he had escaped he had felt it come back but what he was feeling now was more than he recalled ever feeling in the past. Trowa was worried somewhere. Heero and Duo were happy, someone was in pain and the zombies… their hunger and fear and pain… it was too much, just too much.
Quatre shut his eyes tight and focused on breathing. The scientists were still talking but Quatre couldn't hear them. They were a little nervous now but the happiness was still there. Quatre's eyes opened.
How could they feel happy?
They had tortured people, given them a fate worst than death.
And they were excited. They were glad.
Quatre focused all that he was feeling, the heavy unnatural emotions of the zombies, their fear and yearning and pain, and he projected it to the scientists.
The scientist screamed. They clutched their heads and screamed until their eyes rolled and they fell to the floor unconscious.
Quatre slumped on the chair, panting hard. He felt better.
* * *
TBC
