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reddwarfslash2008-03-09 03:55 am
hazeltea.livejournal.com) wrote in reddwarfslash2008-03-09 03:55 am
Fic: Static- PG-13
Title: Static
Pairing: Lister/Rimmer
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf, and I do not profit from this. I just do this to amuse myself.
This comes after Function I didn't intend for this to have multiple parts, but it stewed in my head, and now it will.
Static. A dull white noise, a jolt through his scattered senses, disturbance in the dark field that was his vision, if he were a being with eyes to see. He was a being of some sort, he knew that. From the depths of blackness, he rose, although never to the surface, like being caught up in an ocean current far below where the sunlight could penetrate. The static would increase in intensity, and he would feel as though he was being lifted up, just to have it abruptly stop, and the current would then lash back against him violently, sending him spiraling downwards with a painful crack. Sometimes the blessed blackness would return, but just as swiftly, he would be prodded into the chaos again.
This time was different than the last. He was more aware of the static, more aware of himself. He hurt everywhere and nowhere, because he could not figure out where he began and the black static ended. Something that was almost a physical presence needled through the static, and he twitched, curling in on himself as much as he was able. Why was this happening? It was so peaceful just a moment ago. Whatever it was was pulling him upwards again, and instinctively, he swam against it. The presence forced him forward, against a solid wall, and he both heard and felt a loud click, echoing inside of him and out. The static had ceased, and he was overwhelmed with images, feelings, knowledge. There was no time to access them now. He saw glimpses of them as they were neatly filed away somewhere… somewhere inside of him.
He flexed his fingers in worry. Fingers! He had fingers. He had a form. And a name, yes, his name was Arnold, and … and there were a lot of things that he suspected that he didn’t want to remember just quite yet, for some reason.
The stream of incoming data was too much to take in actively, so he braced himself, and let it passively stream in. This made him feel worse than at the height of the static assault. He groaned, and stretched out to focus on something, anything, other than this new information. He was seeing glimpses of things that terrified him, things that made him ill, things that made him feel oddly ashamed, and he wanted it to stop, he wanted the darkness, even the awful static, anything but what was currently being fed into his memory.
He had to get away. He struggled away from the influx, and towards the only thing he could sense- some other data, broken and incomplete, that seemed familiar yet alien at the same time. If he could use it as an anchor, he wouldn’t be absorbed by all of those dreadful, hideous things that the presence poking through the static was forcing on him. These memories weren’t so bad… they weren’t complete. They were unreal, snapshots in time. He liked that. It felt safe, like it wasn’t real at all, but a sort of game. Until he touched the core…
The simulant looked down on him and smiled a sickly grin. It aimed its particle accelerator cannon downwards. He struggled, but his light bee was caught beneath the tangle of steel rafters…
“No!” he screamed, struggling to disentangle himself from the splintered memory. This too? No, please, not this one, too. Was there no peace for him? He sank to his knees, heaving, shaking, head pounding. “Lister…” he groaned. He’d cried out that familiar name as the nuclear fire erupted from the barrel of the simulant’s gun. He sobbed it now, not remembering its meaning, but knowing that it had the power to make all of the pieces fit together. He focused on the word, and not the jumble of memories, and at long last, the magnificent, merciful blackness claimed him once again.
“No!” Lister hissed, throwing down the minuscule screwdriver in despair. “Not again, not this time!” He resisted the urge to bring his fist down on the keyboard that he had wired to the hard light drive. He drew in a sharp breath, and covered his face with his hands as he exhaled. “I’m too smegging close… don’t do this to me, you bastard.” he whispered.
There was no answer.
Pairing: Lister/Rimmer
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf, and I do not profit from this. I just do this to amuse myself.
This comes after Function I didn't intend for this to have multiple parts, but it stewed in my head, and now it will.
Static. A dull white noise, a jolt through his scattered senses, disturbance in the dark field that was his vision, if he were a being with eyes to see. He was a being of some sort, he knew that. From the depths of blackness, he rose, although never to the surface, like being caught up in an ocean current far below where the sunlight could penetrate. The static would increase in intensity, and he would feel as though he was being lifted up, just to have it abruptly stop, and the current would then lash back against him violently, sending him spiraling downwards with a painful crack. Sometimes the blessed blackness would return, but just as swiftly, he would be prodded into the chaos again.
This time was different than the last. He was more aware of the static, more aware of himself. He hurt everywhere and nowhere, because he could not figure out where he began and the black static ended. Something that was almost a physical presence needled through the static, and he twitched, curling in on himself as much as he was able. Why was this happening? It was so peaceful just a moment ago. Whatever it was was pulling him upwards again, and instinctively, he swam against it. The presence forced him forward, against a solid wall, and he both heard and felt a loud click, echoing inside of him and out. The static had ceased, and he was overwhelmed with images, feelings, knowledge. There was no time to access them now. He saw glimpses of them as they were neatly filed away somewhere… somewhere inside of him.
He flexed his fingers in worry. Fingers! He had fingers. He had a form. And a name, yes, his name was Arnold, and … and there were a lot of things that he suspected that he didn’t want to remember just quite yet, for some reason.
The stream of incoming data was too much to take in actively, so he braced himself, and let it passively stream in. This made him feel worse than at the height of the static assault. He groaned, and stretched out to focus on something, anything, other than this new information. He was seeing glimpses of things that terrified him, things that made him ill, things that made him feel oddly ashamed, and he wanted it to stop, he wanted the darkness, even the awful static, anything but what was currently being fed into his memory.
He had to get away. He struggled away from the influx, and towards the only thing he could sense- some other data, broken and incomplete, that seemed familiar yet alien at the same time. If he could use it as an anchor, he wouldn’t be absorbed by all of those dreadful, hideous things that the presence poking through the static was forcing on him. These memories weren’t so bad… they weren’t complete. They were unreal, snapshots in time. He liked that. It felt safe, like it wasn’t real at all, but a sort of game. Until he touched the core…
The simulant looked down on him and smiled a sickly grin. It aimed its particle accelerator cannon downwards. He struggled, but his light bee was caught beneath the tangle of steel rafters…
“No!” he screamed, struggling to disentangle himself from the splintered memory. This too? No, please, not this one, too. Was there no peace for him? He sank to his knees, heaving, shaking, head pounding. “Lister…” he groaned. He’d cried out that familiar name as the nuclear fire erupted from the barrel of the simulant’s gun. He sobbed it now, not remembering its meaning, but knowing that it had the power to make all of the pieces fit together. He focused on the word, and not the jumble of memories, and at long last, the magnificent, merciful blackness claimed him once again.
“No!” Lister hissed, throwing down the minuscule screwdriver in despair. “Not again, not this time!” He resisted the urge to bring his fist down on the keyboard that he had wired to the hard light drive. He drew in a sharp breath, and covered his face with his hands as he exhaled. “I’m too smegging close… don’t do this to me, you bastard.” he whispered.
There was no answer.
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Very well done indeed, and I eagerly await more!
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I'm torn in this case. One of the reasons that the topic fascinates me so much is because what defines a soul is debatable, but I have to agree with you and Lister in that I see Rimmer as a human essence and mind operating in a mechanical/cybernetic shell. I think it's interesting to see how he adapts, from his early sulking to later on, when he almost seems to prefer his condition to Lister's (or at least not mind it so much, appreciating its advantages every now and then instead of cursing it daily.)
Thanks so much for the comment, I really enjoy your stories, so it means a lot to me.
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Hehe, I love the Flibble. ;)