Disclaimer: Not Mine. If it was, we'd have a Farscape Channel.
A smile crept onto his lips as he eyed his prey. He was tired of the same things day in and day out. Pulling out his knife, he crept closer. He didn't really need this, but it was the smell of certain victory over something much weaker than himself that gave him a thrill.
Ignoring the sounds of traffic in the main street, he watched the 'animal' move. His men told him it was beneath him to sink to these levels, but he didn't care. Since they had arrived on Earth and taken over the world's governments. The tedium was about to drive him insane. For a while the daily executions entertained him, but they soon grew boring as well.
That only left this. It was a secret pleasure that no one understood, not even himself. But he did it anyway.
Slowly, so as not to frighten the creature, he removed his jacket and shirt. Moving forward, he tracked the erratic movements.
Lunging for the animal, he laughed as it tried to wretch itself free from his grasp. He could easily snap it's neck, but he used his knife instead. To feel the warm blood flow between his fingers.
As it's movements ceased, he laughed before wiping the blood on the wall next to him.
"Looks like I'm having some Italian KFC tonight," he said to himself before walking out to his awaiting car.
Ignoring the looks of disgust coming from his Captain. Without a glance at the Peacekeeper, he hissed, "Do you have something to say, Grayza?"
Her eyes snapped ahead, she quickly replied, "No, Admiral Crichton!"
"Very good then." Climbing into the car, he threw the dead chicken in the front seat next to the driver. "Take me home."
"Sir, you have people waiting on you..." Grayza's voice trailed off as he gave her a cold stare. "Very well." Turning to their driver, she said, "Take the Admiral home."
Leaning back in his seat, Crichton allowed the smell of blood and fresh kill wash over him. He needed to do something alleviate this boredom. Maybe the executions would be made public and on a larger scale. Yes. That should do well to entertain him.
Author's Notes: This came from a bad dream I had one night after falling asleep to LG/M about a year ago. I finally decided to write it up. This may have more to it, I don't know yet. This is straight to the board. So all mistakes are mine.
Spoiler: Liars, Guns, and Money trilogy
Disclaimer: Not Mine. If it was, we'd have a Farscape channel.
The voice...voices dance through his mind. Pushing him foreward. His feet move of their own volition.
You'll never get away from me, John.
His hand goes to his head, trying to push away the now constant bombardment. He can feel a trickle of moisture on his face. He can't be sure anymore.
"You go away, you're not real!" he shouts to the figure standing in front of him. Were those hands urging him foreward? All he can do is look at the haunting bastard in front of him.
You'll never get away from me, John. "Go away, Scorpius!!"
He feels pressure on him, inside and out. Sensation... lights and sound hold no real meaning. Only Scorpius.
There's no escape, John... no escape, John.
More indistinguishable shouting and he finds himself to close to the spider lady. Spider lady...spider lady...her name was Natira. Glancing over he can see the one call Rorf take a shot. He saved him. The tracker had saved him.
A gun. There's a gun. Scorpius. He can kill Scorpius and stop his voice. Make him go away. God...just let it stop. Yes, pick up the gun. He wasn't going to get him again.
Everything is slow now. Pick up the gun. Don't listen to the voice. It's not real. The gun is real, he can feel the handle in his hand.
Do it, dammit. Do it! He can feel himself chanting as he screamed, "NO!!!!"
He shoots the one who hit the tracker. The tracker who saved him.
He can hear Scorpius' voice as he said, "Leave him, John. "
He's there, right there! Why can't he pull the trigger?
The half-breed's whisper reaches for him, urging him on. "Leave him... and come to me."
He wants to go, wants to just let the pain, the voice end. It feels as if the pressure building up inside of him. Too much. It's too much. The pain too much.
He let's his arm drop to his side, the gun useless to him. He can only stare at his certain death, his body almost numb from the pain.
There's no escape, John. There's no escape. No escape.
He takes a step forward.
There's no escape, John, there's no escape.
And yet another step.
It's almost as if he's not moving his feet himself and he can feel himself growing smaller with each step closer he comes to Scorpius and his out stretched arms.