![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Act Two: Welcome To The Special Hell
(In which a secret is discovered; the crazy people take their sweet time attacking; and Egypt continues to be lovely this time of year.)
9 June 2011
The common room was unusually crowded, even for the time of day. Sure, there'd usually be a bunch of people watching DVDs, or playing cards, or reading, but tonight, everyone was crowded around, eager to hear first-hand just what, or rather, who, they were up against now. Apart from the zombies, of course.
"I didn't really see much of their camp," the Nostalgia Critic explained. "They blindfolded me on the way over, and it was dark when I escaped. I think they're a smallish group, though -- maybe about thirty or so?" He shrugged.
"What about weapons?" Angry Joe asked.
"Rifles, mostly. I saw one or two of them with handguns, but it didn't look like they've had access to anything they didn't own before. Same thing with the cars and the food, I don't think they've been raiding or anything; they didn't seem to have had any contact with the outside world at all."
That Chick With The Goggles sighed. She didn't like the sound of this. "So, basically, they've been holed up in there for more than a year now, probably feeding each other's paranoia, and now they're getting low on supplies and they think we want to steal what little they have left?"
"Pretty much, yeah," the Critic confirmed. "Well, that, or we're conspiring with the zombies, or god knows what. They got pretty incoherent with the accusations after a while, and I kinda stopped listening once they started with the kicking and the punching because they didn’t like my answers."
That explained the bruises she could see on his arms, then, and from the way he was sitting, she guessed his torso probably looked even worse. At least he hadn't broken any ribs. A punctured lung was so not something they were equipped to handle. Linkara's leg was bad enough.
"How much do they know about us?" She asked, carefully neutral, trying not to make it sound like an accusation, like she was asking how much he’d told them.
"That's the weird thing," he said. "They didn't really ask. I mean, they kept asking what we wanted, which I told them, because that's not exactly a secret. They didn't believe me, like I said, and I did hear them talk about 'taking care of' you -- well, us -- but they didn't ask any other questions."
Spoony frowned. "You think they already knew what they needed to know?"
"How?" Goggles pointed out. "They couldn't have gotten close enough to see anything worth seeing without being spotted, not during the day, anyway. And there's only so much they could've seen in the dark. At best, they might more or less accurately guess at our numbers, and assume we have army weapons, but ..." She gestured vaguely.
The Critic nodded. "It was still dark when they grabbed me. I think ..." He sighed, frowned. "It was almost like they didn't care. I mean -- numbers, weapons, whatever, they've decided we're a threat -- no matter what I said -- and they're going to take us out no matter what."
She frowned. "Well, shit. So you think they're coming for us, then?"
"Pretty sure, yeah. Sorry," he half-smiled, but she waved it away.
"We should probably start preparing, then." Not that she was sure what that preparation would entail, though.
"So we're just going to sit pretty and wait for them to attack us? Just play sitting ducks?" Joe interjected.
"Well, what do you suggest?" Ma-Ti glared at him. "We can't just go and attack a bunch of other survivors unprovoked! We'd be as bad as they are!"
"What do you mean, 'unprovoked'?" The Critic, outraged, turned to face Ma-Ti, then winced and turned back. Definitely looked like badly bruised ribs, Goggles thought, maybe even cracked? She hoped the idiot was at least smart enough to have had those looked at.
"It wouldn't exactly be unprovoked, no," Spoony placated the Critic. "But still, I'd rather not attack them unless we have no choice. They might not decide to attack us after all, you know. And Ma-Ti is right, they are humans. Violently crazy humans, granted, but humans. I don't know about you guys, but I'm not sure if I could shoot them if it's not in self-defence."
There was silence at that, and Goggles had to admit Spoony did have a point. They'd all gotten over any discomfort with killing zombies, but as much as those might look sort of human, the brain-eating, the rotting flesh, and the snarling, wild-eyed rage put them in a category all of their own. She didn't relish the idea of having to kill actual people, even if they'd be trying to kill them first.
"Guys, it’s getting late, and I for one am on guard shift soon," she broke the silence. "There's not really anything we can do tonight, other than get a good night's sleep so we're all rested if they do attack us." There was a general rumble of agreement, although she could see Spoony pulling a face for some reason. Whatever, it wasn't like he was scheduled tonight, anyway. Slowly, people started making their way to their sleeping quarters.
"You're sure this is going to work?" Spoony asked again. It hadn’t been easy getting Linkara down here undetected, but he'd rather drag him back up than have to explain to people how he died. Luckily, The painkillers seemed to be working, and he hadn't woken up on the way down, at least.
"No, I'm not sure," the other man said impatiently, downing one of the Red Bulls. "I'm sure it won't kill him," he continued. "But I can't guarantee his leg will heal all right." He looked at Spoony and shrugged. "It's your call, oh Fearless Leader."
Spoony really wished people would stop calling him that. He ran a hand through his hair, looking from Linkara to the assembled tools and medicine, and back again. "Okay, fine. What do you need me to do?"
"Hold him still. I'm pretty sure the painkillers will keep him knocked out, but he might still move about in spite of the muscle relaxers, and I have to do this as fast as I can."
Spoony nodded, and mentally crossed his fingers. They'd need every bit of good luck they could get, he suspected.
In the end, the whole procedure took thirty long minutes, but once it was over, Linkara's leg looked a lot better even to his layman's eyes. "That ... didn't go too badly, I think," he ventured.
He received a short nod in response. "Luckily, it hadn't healed too much yet. Well, the bone hadn't, anyway. I think I managed to re-set it properly, but time will tell if it'll heal the way it should. Come over here and hold these splints, would you?"
Spoony did as he was asked. "At least he has a better chance than before," he commented. "Thanks again."
No response.
"I'll take him back upstairs, then?" It wasn't actually a question, not really. Keeping Linkara down here wasn't an option no matter what. Even if he didn't wake up, someone would notice him missing, and then the shit would hit the fan in a big way.
"Give me a moment to clean up and I'll help you. If you try and move him alone, you might undo all my work."
He opened his mouth to protest -- what if the other man was seen? -- but realised it was a good point. Anyway, they'd already taken a huge risk doing this in the first place, what was a little more, right?
10 June 2011
The Nostalgia Critic looked down from the top bunk and suppressed a groan. Every part of his body hurt in ways he hadn't noticed the day before (three cheers for adrenalin, he guessed) and even just sitting upright had been a struggle. He wasn't even sure how he'd managed to get up into bed the previous evening, especially since the ladder had disappeared long ago. He didn't think he had enough strength in his arms to lower himself down, and jumping down would likely result in more bruises. What he wouldn't give for some random boxes right now ...
Just when he was about to risk the jump anyway, his unwanted -- and , to be fair, unwilling -- roommate entered. And laughed at him, the asshole. "You look like a kitten stuck up a tree," he announced.
The Critic glared at him. "Cram it, asshole." The Nerd easily dodged the pillow the Critic lobbed at him -- and ow, that may have been a mistake. He made a silent promise to himself that he was never going to take his ribs for granted ever again.
The Nerd sighed theatrically and came over to the bed, arms crossed. "Need some help?"
The Critic scowled at him and mentally weighed the pros and cons of accepting the Nerd's help versus jumping off and risking further injury. After a moment, his pride gave in to the knowledge that Goggles would kill him if he broke something. One person with a broken leg was enough, really. "Yes," he sighed, and the Nerd smirked and pointedly held out his hands as if the Critic was a five year old. Well, if that was how he wanted to play it, the Critic would play along.
He swung his legs, pushed off, and landed sprawled across a now very angry Video Game Nerd. "Ow," he complained. "You're way too bony to make a good pillow."
"Get off me, you shitmonkey!" And wasn't that an interesting shade of red, the Critic noted. He scrambled upright and looked around bleary-eyed. He needed his glasses. And, he suddenly realised as a cool breeze came through the window, pants. He definitely needed pants. Oops.
Pants and glasses acquired, he followed the Nerd to the canteen for breakfast. They were late, it seemed, as most everyone else had already left, but the Nostalgia Chick was still there, finishing off what seemed to have been a truly humongous plate of food. She cheerfully waved at them to join her, so they did.
"Are you preparing to go into hibernation or something?" The Nerd asked, raising an eyebrow at the Chick's now empty plate. "Because if you are, I'd lay off the coffee." He ducked out of the way of a crumpled-up napkin aimed at this head. "Okay, would people please stop throwing shit at me?"
The Critic and the Chick both ignored him. "I'm fuelling up for the big fight," she informed them imperiously. "Not that they're likely to attack on my watch. They'll probably wait 'till it's dark."
"Great," the Nerd grouched. "I'm on evening shift today. Just my luck, they'll probably start five minutes before I'm off, too."
"Oh, stop complaining," the Critic told him. "I'm on late evening shift tonight; at least you get to get some sleep at a normal hour."
The Nerd shot him a look of disbelief. "You're going to go on shift in your state? You couldn't even get out of bed without help!"
The Critic could see the Chick’s eyebrows shooting up at that, but ignored it. "Careful," he told the Nerd. "I might get the impression you care."
"Oh, fuck off. I don’t want you distracted up there is all, you fucker." If looks could kill, the Critic thought, he'd be a pile of ashes now.
He cast a curious look at the Nostalgia Chick, who seemed to be choking on something. "You okay, there?"
She waved him off. "I'm fine, don't mind me. Hey, do you guys know what the plans are for when your crazy folks actually attack?"
"Okay," the Critic started. "They're not 'my' crazy folks, thank you. And no, I kinda assumed we'd just shoot at them until they were all dead or they surrendered or something."
"You call that a plan?" The Nerd demanded.
"No, asswipe, as a matter of fact, I don't. But then, I'm not in charge of this operation, am I?"
"Thank fuck for that," the Nerd grumbled.
The Nostalgia Chick shook her head at them. "It's the waiting that's getting to me," she said. "I kinda wish they'd just attack already."
"So," Spoony started, "To echo the question everyone is asking, what do we do to prepare for the crazy people?"
"Not much we can do, is there?" Joe sighed, "Other than sit around and wait, I mean."
"We have to give people something to do, even if it's just busywork," Spoony said. "We'll all go stir-crazy otherwise. Including me," he admitted.
"God, seriously," Goggles said. "The Nostalgia Chick was already complaining earlier, and it's just gonna get worse if they take their time preparing for their attack."
"Or if they're waiting for us to attack first," Spoony said darkly. If this whole thing was gonna devolve into some sort of twisted staring contest, they could be in a lot of trouble.
"The other thing is," Goggles pointed out. "If we just leave things to chance, it'll be pandemonium when they attack. Everyone will rush to the gates and leave everything else unprotected. I mean, the crazies don't sound like they're likely to have any actual strategy, but ..."
"But that doesn't mean we shouldn't," Spoony agreed. "So you’re saying we ... what, give everyone a post to be at when they attack?"
"Sure," she shrugged. "That way, they can't distract us at the gates while they steal supplies or kidnap someone else, or god knows what."
"No, it's a good idea," Joe put in. "And if people start getting fidgety, we can always run a couple of drills," he grinned.
Spoony shot him a stern look. "You're not running training drills in the middle of the night just to annoy people," he said.
"Spoilsport," Joe sulked.
"I didn't say you couldn't run drills in the middle of the night at all," Spoony grinned. "I just said you couldn't do it just to be annoying." If he was going to have to organise this, he reasoned, he was allowed to get some of his own back.
"What about Linkara?" Goggles asked.
"Nothing wrong with his hands, is there?" Joe said. "If we can find or make him a pair of crutches, he can get to the tower. I'll haul him up, and he can shoot from there without having to move around to be safe."
"Works for me," Spoony said cheerfully. At least now they had a plan. All that was left was to work out the details.
"Oh, hey, you're awake!" Linkara blinked against the light and struggled upright.
"Marz?" He croaked.
"Okay, maybe 'awake' was a bit optimistic," she grinned at him. "Still a bit fuzzy-headed, then?"
He nodded and rubbed his eyes. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and his mouth tasted like the worst hangover in history. "Water," he managed.
Three glasses of water later, he at least felt capable of speech, and his mind was clear enough to form coherent sentences.
"Thanks. How long was I out for?" It felt like weeks but that was probably the leftover painkillers talking.
"About a day and a half," Marz confirmed his suspicions. "How's the leg?"
He hadn’t thought about it before, but now he noticed the lack of pain in his leg. It still felt sore, but an experimental wriggle of his toes failed to send pain shooting through it. He peered down at it, and noticed the now neatly stitched wound and the new splints. "Huh. A lot better, I think. Doesn't hurt nearly as much, anyway, but I think that's partially the painkillers."
She nodded. "You should need a lot less of them, anyway. Spoony did a god job, didn't he? We're trying to get you some crutches, even."
"Spoony?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Apparently, he has hidden talents," she said.
"Apparently," Linkara agreed, though privately, he did wonder. Something was niggling at the back of his mind; something he couldn't quite remember, but which didn't make sense about this whole thing. Then again, maybe he should just be grateful his leg was fixed at all and not question it.
11 June 2011
"Bored now," the Nostalgia Chick announced. "Really, really bored."
"Would you like me to find you a cup to rattle against the bars?" Marz offered. "Hell, I'll get one for myself, we can do a duet or something."
"Meh. God, I really wish they'd just do something." She rested her forehead against the rail and sighed.
Marz patted her on the back. "I know, honey. But don't say that too loudly, or we'll have another drill tonight."
The Chick groaned. "I'm starting to think Joe's right and we should just go after them. This waiting around knowing they out there getting ready to attack is killing me."
"I know, I know. Look, complaining about it isn't going to help, though, is it? Let's change the subject."
"Okay," the Chick said, suddenly cheerful. "Let's talk about that other favourite subject, then. Have you placed your bet yet?"
Marz snickered. "Yeah, for about a month from now," she said. "Though to be honest, I was surprised I wasn't too late. You'd think a miraculous reappearance after more than a week of being presumed zombie-chow would snap them out of their rut, but apparently not."
"God, seriously. Boys, I'm telling you. Although it's probably a good thing they're still oblivious. Somehow, no one's put anything down for this week."
"Really? Huh." She pondered this for a moment. "Maybe I'll put another bet in, then. Hey, what happens if they find out about the betting pool before anyone wins?"
"You know what, I don't know. I think we all just run away from them very hard," the Chick grinned.
12 June 2011
"Hey man, you feeling more coherent today?" Spoony asked brightly.
"More or less," Linkara said. He certainly looked a lot better, Spoony thought.
"How's the leg?" He asked, gesturing. He knew that setting it properly had to have relieved a lot of the pain, but there was still an open wound, and he was under strict instructions to keep an eye out for infection. Speaking of which ... He frowned. "That's looking a bit suspicious," he said. There was reddening around the stitches. Fuck.
"Yeah," Linkara sighed. "I think it got infected. It's not that bad, though, really."
Spoony gave him a level look. "This is not the time to try and be a tough guy," he said, and placed a hand on Linkara's forehead. "Great, you're running a fever, too." He knew they should've just given him antibiotics preventatively, instead of waiting for infection to set in. It was inevitable that it would, really, and not worth the potential benefit of not wasting any of the medicine.
Linkara slapped his hand away irritatedly. "Please stop mother henning me," he glared. "I'll be fine. We have antibiotics, don't we?"
"Yeah," Spoony admitted. "But I'm not sure which ones to give you, or how much, or for how long, and by the time we figure it out, the infection might have spread to the actual bone."
He tried not to think too hard about that. The idea of having to do an actual amputation, even down in the lab, with nothing but some painkillers, a saw, and a whole lot of luck, was not very appealing. in fact, it was kind of terrifying.
"So," Linkara said after several moments of silence. "Is this where you start muttering about taking me down to 'Him', or should I pretend to be asleep, first?"
Spoony froze. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. He knew the risk had been too great, knew he should've been more careful, should've--
"Dude, breathe," Linkara interrupted his panicked train of thought "I just want to know what the hell's going on."
Spoony took a deep breath. "Okay," he said. "You cannot tell anyone about this, understand? There's too much at stake here, and I took a huge damn risk to save your leg, so you owe me. Or, well, I guess you owe him."
"Yeah, I'd guessed that much," Linkara said. "I'm sure you have many hidden talents, but fixing my leg looked like at least a two person job." He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. "All right, I promise not to tell anyone unless it's necessary to save our lives."
"No," Spoony said flatly. "You can't tell anyone, period. This is more important than individual lives." And he really maybe should've remembered that before he took the risk to bring Linkara down to the lab, he belatedly told himself.
"You know, even if you don't tell me now, I already know there is something to know," Linkara pointed out. "If I tell people you're hiding something, how long do you think it'll be before we discover it anyway?"
"You wouldn't get a chance to tell anyone," Spoony said, sounding a lot calmer than he felt. "You've got infection setting in in your leg, and you're running a fever. I'll dope you up on so many painkillers you won't even remember your own name, and no one will realise it isn't the fever making you incoherent. And if you should die from the infection, well ..." He crossed his arms across his chest to stop his hands shaking. "Welcome to the zombie apocalypse. Shit happens. Hell, it's a minor miracle you've survived this long." He forced himself to look Linkara straight in the eyes, and hoped fervently the other man wouldn't decide to call his bluff.
After several tense moments, Linkara sighed. "Fine. I guess I'll trust your judgment, then. Not that I have much choice. I won't tell anyone, you have my word."
Spoony tried not to show his immense relief, and just nodded. "Okay," he said. "Let me get you the crutches we found you, and I'll show you."
The whole thing was like something out of a movie, Linkara thought. "Really? A secret doorway?" He looked aghast. "What is this, an Agatha Christie novel?"
"Dude, we live in a dystopian sci-fi novel, and this violates your suspension of disbelief?"
"Well ... Yeah? It's totally the wrong genre!" Seeing Spoony's almost pitying look, he sighed. "Never mind, just lead the way."
Getting down the stairs, even with the help of the crutches, was difficult, and he wondered silently how Spoony had managed to get him down there before, on his own. It took them more than a minute to reach the reinforced steel door at the bottom of the winding, narrow stairs.
"Wait here," Spoony instructed, and opened the door slightly. "It's me!" He yelled inside. "I've got company!"
There was a moment of silence on the other side of the door. Then, "Goddammit! He found out, didn't he? I told you it was a bad idea to bring him down here!" The voice was vaguely familiar, and Linkara frowned, trying to remember where he'd heard it before.
Spoony winced slightly. "Look, he promised to keep quiet about it, and he does kinda have a right to know. And anyway, we could use his help. We're coming in, now."
Spoony swung the door open, and behind it, Linkara could see what would have been, a year or so ago, a state of the art laboratory, but which showed signs of intense use since then. In one corner, he saw a cot, which looked slept in, but not recently. And in the middle of it all --
"Dr.Insano?" The mad scientist was looking at him warily, as if expecting him at any moment to start trying to strangle him. Behind him, Linkara could sense Spoony tensing up, probably for the same reason. They didn't seem to have much faith in his ability to control himself, he thought peevishly.
He hauled himself up on the nearest empty surface -- a metal table that looked recently cleaned -- and gestured at them. "Okay," he said. "Explain."
The two men exchanged a glance, and Linkara was struck by a certain resemblance. Probably just a coincidence, though.
"He's trying to find a cure for the zombies," Spoony began. "Or a vaccine, or a weapon, or something. We're not really in a situation to be picky anymore."
"So why him?" Linkara asked. Dr.Insano hadn’t ever demonstrated actual genius tendencies in the past, after all, except maybe in a Surf Ninjas sort of way.
"Because this whole mess is my fault," the scientist said, voice shaking slightly, and Linkara now noticed the man was looking ... Well, 'dishevelled' was putting it mildly. His once-white lab coat was frayed and stained, cracked goggles shoved up onto his head, and he looked like he hadn’t slept for days and had been surviving on Red Bull and junk food for weeks. Which, Linkara thought, was probably a not inaccurate impression.
"You did this?" He asked flatly. It was almost inconceivable, really. Dr.Insano did things like invent push-n-eat macaroni, and run for president on ridiculous platforms involving Canada. He didn't invent things that killed off (even just technically) 99% of humanity. Did he?
"It was an accident," the other man said quietly. "I was trying to engineer nanites to ... to make me smarter," he confessed.
"And you thought that would work?" Linkara blurted out.
"Oh, I knew it wouldn't work," Dr.Insano gestured. "I knew it would fail, like everything else I did, I just --" He paused, swallowed. "I didn't think it would go this wrong. I tried it on a test subject first, and it-- He ... It seemed to work, at first. He was smarter, coherent, and then suddenly he ... turned." His voice grew flat and clinical. "Unstoppable rage, inhuman strength, well, you know the symptoms. He escaped, and ..." His voice faltered.
"Yeah, I think I can fill in the rest," Linkara sighed. "And you think you can find a cure or whatever?"
"I think he might be the only one who can," Spoony spoke up. "If anyone can, anyway."
"I'm touched by your faith in me," Dr.Insano muttered darkly.
"You see now why I couldn't let you tell anyone?" Spoony asked. "If the others found out about this, he'd be dead in less than a day, and we'll never find a cure."
"I know," Linkara sighed. "I understand. And I guess I do owe you both for fixing my leg," he admitted. "But I still think the death threat was over the top."
"You threatened his life?" Dr.Insano sounded almost proud. "There might be hope for you yet." Spoony looked at him, clearly unamused. Linkara noticed again the odd resemblance.
"Okay, I have to ask," he said. "What's with you two? How come you look so much alike?" He narrowed his eyes at them as they exchanged another glance. "Long lost brothers? Twins separated at birth? Clones?" He tried to remember what other possibilities there might be. If only TV Tropes were still online, he thought wryly.
"He's me from the future," Spoony blurted out. Huh. Well, that was gonna be his next guess.
"Sort of, anyway," Dr.Insano added. "Because I don't remember this."
"This?" Linkara inquired.
"This," Dr.Insano gestured, encapsulating the lab, the compound, possibly the whole world. "Any of it." He laughed humourlessly. "I became mad scientist to stop a stupid video game from being made, for Pete's sake. Even my priorities aren't so skewed that that would be my main goal, if I'd come from this future." Linkara had to admit that did make sense.
"Best we can tell, he's either from an alternate universe," Spoony elaborated. "Or from a future that no longer exists due to some sort of unstable time loop, or--"
"Or," Linkara interrupted with a sudden flash of insight. "This zombie thing is basically Final Crisis." Great. The history of the world, of humanity, was being written by DC. This could not end well.
He looked up into two identical looks of near-disgust. "Dude," Spoony said.
"That was an appallingly geeky metaphor, even for you," Dr.Insano pointed out.
Before Linkara could defend himself, a loud noise sounded from above, and all three of them froze. "Tell me that's a drill," Linkara pleaded.
"Not unless Joe's fucking around again," Spoony said, already halfway to the door. "And I don't think he is.
Fuck. Linkara grabbed his crutches and hobbled for the door as fast as he could. Damned crazy people really knew how to time their attack.
"You took your time," Goggles complained when Spoony finally came running up to their post at the gates. "I was starting to think you'd found something better to do. And have you seen Linkara?"
"He's coming," Spoony almost snapped. She decided not to press the issue, although she couldn't help wondering if she should be starting another betting pool.
Linkara made it to the tower just in time. By the time Joe and Spoony had hauled him up, the convoy of crazy people was pulling up to the gates. The entire compound seemed to hold its collective breath as one of the 'visitors' stood up in his jeep.
"I want to talk to the man in charge," he yelled.
Goggles huffed. "I like how he assumes it has to be a man in charge," she muttered to no one in particular. Up in the tower, she could see Linkara scowling as well, and she allowed herself a small smile.
"I guess that's me," Spoony called down warily. "What do you want?"
"Come down here and we can talk about it like civilised people without having to yell!"
There was a loud, scornful "Ha!" -- she assumed that was Joe -- and then Spoony called back, "Yeah, no offence, buddy, but that'd sound a lot more appealing if you hadn't, you know, kidnapped and tortured one of my friends."
She could see the other man (she assumed he was the leader of these people, or at least their spokesperson) scowl at that, then turn to his companions and gesticulate wildly. Her fingers tensed around her gun. She had a feeling she was about to find out how hard it was to kill a non-zombified human.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see one of the crazy people take aim at the tower. Without hesitation, and in one smooth motion, she drew her gun, took aim, and downed the man before he could get a shot off. She had just enough time to marvel at how easy it turned out to be, before the enemy attacked, and all hell broke loose.
The moment the first shot sounded, Linkara, Joe, and Spoony ducked behind the tower's protective balustrade. "Fuck," Joe snarled. "Spoony, get down to Goggles, now!"
There was a moment of breathless silence, and then, hopefully after Spoony'd slid down the ladder to relative safety, they attacked. Linkara sent out a silent thank you to whichever entity was responsible for his gun, and started taking out people one by one. It was slower going than Joe's automatic, but magic guns, at least, didn't run out of bullets. He just hoped the group amassed at the gates was all there was, and they hadn’t managed to get inside the compound.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," the Chick swore. She and Ma-Ti were holed up in the common room, trying to protect the communications equipment from what felt like an onslaught. "Why the fuck aren't they going for the supplies building? There's nothing here they'd want!" She felt panic rising in her throat -- what if they were going for the supplies, and these bastards were just leftovers? -- and ruthlessly squashed it down. They would defend their post, and whatever else happened, would happen.
Well, 'they' ... "What are you doing?" She snarled at Ma-To, who seemed to have abandoned his gun in favour of just sitting there.
"What I do," was the terse and cryptic reply. "Can you hold them off for a couple more minutes?"
"What? I mean, yeah, but--"
"Do it," he said. "Just ... trust me, okay? I know what I'm doing." A look of intense focus crossed his face, and the Chick shrugged and turned her attention back to the window. Fine, she'd trust him to work his mojo, whatever that might be.
Three more dead crazy people late, she heard him sigh deeply. "Watch this," he grinned at her, rising up to stand beside her at the window. Following his eyes, she saw a group of about half a dozen coming at them. Before she could even shoulder her gun, though, the group was attacked by a pack of brown, furry creatures.
"Hyenas?" She asked, unable to take her eyes off the spectacle. It was horrifying, really. It was bloody and gory, and these were people, she knew, people being torn apart by wild animals. But they were people who'd been planning to do that to herself and her friends, and she found it hard to feel any pity for them.
"Feral dogs, actually," Ma-Ti corrected her. There was more than a bit of the proud father in his voice.
The animals had finished their bloody work, and disappeared back into the desert. Grinning, the Chick turned to Ma-Ti. "That," she breathed. "Was awesome."
Ma-Ti just grinned back, a little smugly, and pretended to polish his ring. It wasn't nearly as annoying or off-putting as it could have been, the Chick reflected.
The Nostalgia Critic took a grim satisfaction in defending the supply building. It wasn't, he had to admit, entirely a matter of defending the compound from attackers. These bastards had spent ten fucking days keeping him in a cramped room, almost starving him, and torturing him, and at least one of them had enjoyed inflicting pain. No, this was payback, as far as he was concerned.
From the direction of the guard tower, he could head a yell of "I am a MAN," and he saw a body tumbling down off the tower. He grinned to himself. Nice one, Linkara.
His attention was drawn back to his immediate surroundings when a large figure loomed suddenly in his field of vision. The Critic narrowed his eyes. This was him, this was the sadistic motherfucker whose boot prints were still on his ribs. He look aim, pulled the trigger--
And froze in place as the gun jammed.
For several long moments, he seemed unable to move, unable to do anything but stand there as the tall man grinned and lifted his own gun. Then, suddenly, and seemingly just as the shot sounded, a weight slammed into him, and a voice hissed in pain. The Nerd? He saw, as he fell, the tall man fall to someone's bullet, either a stray shot, or possibly Linkara and his magic gun from the tower.
He turned to the Nerd. "What the hell?"
"You're welcome, asshole," the Nerd winced, holding his right arm. The Critic could see blood streaming between the other man's fingers. Fuck. He knelt down beside the Nerd, took off his tie, and used it to improvise a tourniquet. Not ideal, but at least it stopped the bleeding.
"Why the hell were you just standing there, anyway? Were you trying to get yourself killed?" The Nerd demanded.
"My gun jammed, okay?" The Critic snarled back. He grabbed the Nerd's gun, since he wouldn't be using it for the time being. "Now shut up. You just lie there and ... don't die."
Not waiting for a response, he turned his attention back to the fight. Now it was really personal.
The battle seemed to last for hours, but Spoony knew it couldn't have been more than thirty minutes when, finally, there seemed to be no more left of the enemy. Cautiously, he looked around the compound, seeing several faces looking back at him, questioning. Was it over?
"I think that's it," he said to Goggles. A cheer went up throughout the compound, but the joy was short lived.
"Guys?" Linkara called from the tower. "I need some help, here. It's Joe."
Spoony was up the ladder in a heartbeat, but he could tell right away it was already too late. There was blood everywhere, and he could see Joe's crumpled body, a gaping wound at his throat.
"One of them climbed the tower," Linkara explained, looking stricken. "He had a knife. I threw him off, but ..."
Spoony nodded, not quite trusting his voice. Victory had come at a steep price.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
(Next, I try and pawn off some AU bunnies on people. Anyone want to write me a cowboy AU? Anyone? Bueller?)
From:
no subject
*sighs* Ok, how the hell am I gonna make this work now ...?
(Next, I try and pawn off some AU bunnies on people. Anyone want to write me a cowboy AU? Anyone? Bueller?)
Put it on the prompt-page, oh modliness!
From:
no subject
Excellent idea! *scutters off to do so now*