#sl11

I was working, drinking some Goose. Maybe more than I should have, but nothing that would knock me on my ass. With the week I was having, I wanted to funnel that shit straight down my throat. I didn’t, but I wanted to. I doubted there was any type of substance that would make me forget the here and now. I was rooted in, and living in the hell of what was to come next. I had no fucking clue. None. One minute I was hunting down some mysterious being and now I was faced with the possibility it could be my own brother. As of yet I hadn’t spoken about my findings to Wrath or anyone for that matter. I mean this shit was a clusterfuck if it was factual.

The more I drilled back through everything, starting with the first slaughter and ending with the human that was shredded apart just nights ago, pieces started falling into place. The type of destruction that was done was stuff the beast could easily do in his sleep. Even as I thought about it, my brain wanted to toss it out and deny the possibility. Yet the questions kept screaming inside my skull…Why? What brought this on? Can it be stopped? Or is this the way of the Beast now? Was I wrong?This was one of those times that I wish to fucking hell, I was dead ass wrong.

I tip the bottle up, realizing it was empty, drop it in the wastebasket, then grab up the next one and start on it by draining half of it. My phone buzzes and I already know who it is…okay well I know it must be one of the Brotherhood. As if they were on a rotation with contacting me, and asking the same things ‘You know anything new, has anything else happened?’ Sadly the first answer is no and yes and the second answer is the same. We don’t need anymore on top of this shit sandwich. I was going to reply to Phury, the most logical one of the bunch and when I picked my phone up to scroll down to his text, the letters blur out and the object in my hand felt as if it weighed that of an ax and my arm refused to allow me the strength to hold it.

I blinked several times, pushed back from the desk or at least I think that is what I did, because my chair seemed to be moving. Everything appeared to be in motion, the ceiling was meeting the floor, coming together somewhere in the middle. At first it was swiftly happening to where colors swirled into objects, creating a wicked kaleidoscope but then it all slowed to almost a snails pace. Paint looked to be peeling off the walls, even my breathing and the beat of my heart was coming in small bursts and tones. Had I fallen asleep and this was some kind of fuked up nightmare, was I having a reaction to something, but what? I try standing up, but my feet wouldn’t follow the basic instructions from my brain to make any movements and then all thoughts are studded to an end.

I felt fingers wrap around my throat and I instantly tried fighting off the attack but even to me it was a futile struggle. The pressure increased around my neck, my windpipe was cracking under it and yet my own limbs refused to do what comes natural to me, fighting. I was bound without being physically tied up. I was mentally shouting the walls down and yet, not a sound squeaked past my lips. This was a torture unlike any shit I had known but I sure as fuck needed to learn this trick for future use.

I had to force myself to control the chaos that was taking me over. I can be stabbed, shot, beat the hell up, but the very fucking second that I am trapped in any way, my head wigs the hell out. I gasped, diamond eyes were practically bulging out of my sockets and I locked onto my center, wrapping around it like a lifeline until I felt my inner fire take root. I managed to bring the room and all its belongings to a slow spinning, but as soon as I did I had wished to fuck I had left it all to go tits up.

“RHAgee…”

The transporter - is that what started all this mess? It certainly seems to have ended it. He'd been pushed in at the last second, and found himself stumbling out, bewildered, still beside the softened version of his own Captain, found himself looking around like an animal, panicked, caged, backed into a corner, because something in the sets of the faces in this room - they were not like him. Gentler, just as the Jim still on the transporter pad had been. He was defensive, tense, eyes wide and just a little wild, panicked - was he going to have to fight? How did he get back to his Universe? After all, what would they do to him here?

Then again, what would they do to him if he returned to the ISS Enterprise? What punishment would get for deserting his post? He shuddered even to think of it. He was pressed, back against the wall, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, surrounded by possibly hostile strangers wearing his colleague's faces, and a Captain who had every right to want him dead or worse. There was still a scalpel in his pocket, and he'd use it if he damn well had to, that was for sure.