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Entry tags:
what do you do with a dead scientist? [closed]
Who| Carlos and Kevin
What| You can't always trust a familiar face, and Carlos is about to be really, really stupid about this.
Where| Fifth floor, just outside the planetarium.
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| yep someone's getting stabbed and it isn't Kevin
Carlos could barely believe it had almost been a month. Surviving from day to day on scavenged food supplies, checking the alarm system, sticking close to the exists in case of another electrical storm -- it had all become nearly routine. Long hours of boredom punctuated with extreme panic: that was what his experience in the Arena had been.
The planetarium wasn't the safe haven it had been (well, had seemed) anymore, not after the electrical storm and all the deaths. About forty percent of their wires still worked, and while Carlos had been able to rig up an alarm outside the door he was at now, the circuit boards and fuses lay charred and useless in the center of the room. Carlos didn't dare go too far into the planetarium: he needed to be able to make a quick exit in case whoever was in charge of this death game remembered that lightning did, in fact, strike the same place twice, and often if it was significantly taller than its surroundings.
And as for the deaths...there had been not just safety in numbers, but cheer, too. Camaraderie. Fellowship.
Now...there was just Zoidberg.
"FINALLY, STANDING GUARD AT THE EDGE OF THE SOLAR SYSTEM, IS TINY PLUTO, WHICH IS EVEN SMALLER THAN EARTH'S MOON."
I take that back, thought Carlos, jumping to his feet. That was the sound of the planetarium's alarm -- the activation of the old recording was meant to act as a deterrent to anyone trying to sneak in and a notification to him that someone was trying to get in. It's me, Dr. Zoidberg, and someone who probably wants to kill me. It meant someone had tried to open the planetarium door.
"HERE, THE TEMPERATURE IS COLDER THAN WE CAN IMAGINE..."
"I'm coming, I'm coming," muttered Carlos under his breath, picking up the club that had hardly left his side for the past month. He motioned for Zoidberg to stay put, to hide in their makeshift camp of food, medical supplies, water, and wire, and padded barefoot over to the door.
It was open just a crack, so Carlos pressed himself to the wall and peered out.
What he saw was...well, it was the last person he expected to see, especially after receiving those notes from outside the Arena. Eyes wide, Carlos pulls the door open properly, club hanging loosely by his knees, and stares.
"Cecil?"
What| You can't always trust a familiar face, and Carlos is about to be really, really stupid about this.
Where| Fifth floor, just outside the planetarium.
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| yep someone's getting stabbed and it isn't Kevin
Carlos could barely believe it had almost been a month. Surviving from day to day on scavenged food supplies, checking the alarm system, sticking close to the exists in case of another electrical storm -- it had all become nearly routine. Long hours of boredom punctuated with extreme panic: that was what his experience in the Arena had been.
The planetarium wasn't the safe haven it had been (well, had seemed) anymore, not after the electrical storm and all the deaths. About forty percent of their wires still worked, and while Carlos had been able to rig up an alarm outside the door he was at now, the circuit boards and fuses lay charred and useless in the center of the room. Carlos didn't dare go too far into the planetarium: he needed to be able to make a quick exit in case whoever was in charge of this death game remembered that lightning did, in fact, strike the same place twice, and often if it was significantly taller than its surroundings.
And as for the deaths...there had been not just safety in numbers, but cheer, too. Camaraderie. Fellowship.
Now...there was just Zoidberg.
"FINALLY, STANDING GUARD AT THE EDGE OF THE SOLAR SYSTEM, IS TINY PLUTO, WHICH IS EVEN SMALLER THAN EARTH'S MOON."
I take that back, thought Carlos, jumping to his feet. That was the sound of the planetarium's alarm -- the activation of the old recording was meant to act as a deterrent to anyone trying to sneak in and a notification to him that someone was trying to get in. It's me, Dr. Zoidberg, and someone who probably wants to kill me. It meant someone had tried to open the planetarium door.
"HERE, THE TEMPERATURE IS COLDER THAN WE CAN IMAGINE..."
"I'm coming, I'm coming," muttered Carlos under his breath, picking up the club that had hardly left his side for the past month. He motioned for Zoidberg to stay put, to hide in their makeshift camp of food, medical supplies, water, and wire, and padded barefoot over to the door.
It was open just a crack, so Carlos pressed himself to the wall and peered out.
What he saw was...well, it was the last person he expected to see, especially after receiving those notes from outside the Arena. Eyes wide, Carlos pulls the door open properly, club hanging loosely by his knees, and stares.
"Cecil?"
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Never mind the large blade affixed to his right arm, or the blood that was splattered over his suit-jamas.
He blinked a little bit at Carlos, tilting his head to one side. Kevin didn't recognize this man, but...gosh, he was PRETTY, wasn't he? And maybe a little familiar, too. Familiar, but...not? Life is just amazing, isn't it?
His voice was bright and chipper when he piped up, not at all like Cecil's...something higher, almost more grating. But he did look like Cecil, didn't he? He read so much like Cecil, just...warped. Wrong.
"Cecil? Who, me?"
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The alarm droned on in the background, playing the audio track Carlos had found, as the scientist himself stared at...this man. Dark brows furrowed above eyes that couldn't seem to decide if they looked confused, horrified, or worried.
Is that Cecil? Carlos wondered. He doesn't sound like Cecil. But he looks more like Cecil than anyone I've ever met. Aside from -- from the eyes, and the mouth, and the blood -- he's a dead ringer. And no one looks like Cecil but Cecil.
He opened his mouth. "I -- I'm sorry," said Carlos. "You look....a lot like someone I know. I thought you were him, until you spoke."
What if this was Cecil? wondered Carlos, mind working. It obviously couldn't be the Cecil that had sent the notes, but Brainiac had mentioned alternate-universe duplicates. What if this was a Cecil from another universe? Or, Carlos realized with horror, what if he was the Cecil Carlos knew, just severely re-educated by order of the City Council? Hypothesis after hypothesis ran through his head, until he realized maybe he'd better just ask.
"Who are you?"
His club still rested loosely at his side. Carlos might have been feeling visceral horror and uncanny-valley nausea, but his guard was down. Call it curiosity, exhaustion, complacency, nostalgia, whatever you like -- but Carlos felt very sure that no Cecil would attack him on sight, no matter what the universe. Honestly, he was more braced for creepy infatuation than a deathblow.
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He was fully oblivious to the inner turmoil that was plaguing Carlos as he watched the other man, plainly boggling over something-or-other. The grin looked as if it never left his face...like it was stapled there, carved out, permanent. His jagged teeth looked so DRY - HAD he closed his mouth recently?
The peculiar man stuck out his free hand for a handshake, not caring for one second about any blood still clinging to it.
"My name is Kevin! I've been here...mm, a few weeks? My sense of time is a little bit off without going to work. I guess this is work now, though!"
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He slid his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants.
"Kevin," said Carlos, voice dark with doubt. No, he thought, you're Cecil. You have to be. "You're...really familiar. You've never lived in Night Vale, have you?"
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And then Carlos spoke.
Night Vale. The words echoed dimly in his head for a moment before his lightless eyes widened, grin growing into something almost frantic. His hand shot right out of his pocket, grabbing Carlos's shoulder and shaking it a little bit.
"Night Vale? You're from Night Vale? OH MY GOSH! No, I'm not from Night Vale, but I AM from Desert Bluffs! I'm the radio host there! Just the next town over! Wow, isn't this just the smallest universe? God works in such MYSTERIOUS ways, doesn't He?"
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An alternate universe? Carlos thinks, almost too distracted by the possibilities to care about the flakes of dried blood that were coming off on his shoulder. Or maybe from the future -- or the past. Either way, Carlos slowly realized, there was no way that smile and those eyes were natural. Someone had done that to Cecil -- to Kevin -- and the wrongness of that sent a fresh wave of horror through Carlos's gut, but this time, it was felt on Cecil's behalf and laced with the barest trace of anger.
"I'm not from Night Vale," Carlos explained, remarkably even-toned. "I'm just working there. I'm a scientist who was assigned to study the paranormal phenomena that frequently occur in that town. I've been there for nearly a year now. ....my name is Carlos," he added, looking for any sign of recognition from the bloody man. You really don't remember me?
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There was no recognition in Kevin's face - not truly. Some part of him perhaps still found something about Carlos vaguely familiar...but not enough to be convinced it meant anything. He was excited, but otherwise, he kept that same businesslike cheer.
"Gosh, this is just great! Two of us, straight from the same desert to here! What are the odds?"
He was practically hopping up and down on his bruised, bloodied, cut feet, crowbar in a makeshift sling clanking against his hip. Kevin looked like he had seen better days, to be certain...it wasn't even clear if he had slept in any amount of time, by the dark patches under his eyes.
For that matter, if Carlos was looking so closely at this maybe-stranger, he might be able to see older marks that suggested a harder time than the sunny disposition suggested. His mouth had clearly been widened, surgically...people didn't usually have teeth out nearly to their temples, and his lips seemed to struggle a little to comfortably fit around them. His eyes - those were like windows into a void, completely black, no light...hollow. What had happened to his other ones? Were they gouged out? Replaced with nothingness somehow?
This was a man who had been altered, beyond even a sense of self.
One way or another...that much was definitely true.
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To tell the truth, Carlos was wrestling with himself. On the one hand, this "Kevin" unsettled him on a very deep, visceral level. This man was armed and covered in other people's blood and practically illustrated Carlos's fears about what might be lurking under Cecil Palmer's mellow voice and schoolgirl crush. His instincts were telling him to shut the planetarium door and brace it shut with a crowbar.
...but that smile looked painful. So did the cuts on Kevin's feet. And if Carlos didn't have the heart to turn a starving crab man out into the Arena, then...could he do it to this man, who had clearly had something terrible done to him, and who might or might not be Cecil Palmer?
"WE CAN ONLY JUST MAKE OUT THE MARKINGS ON PLUTO'S SURFACE--"
"...listen. I've been hiding in this planetarium for a while now, and although it's not much, I've got some food and water and a first aid kit. You look like you could use it, the first aid kit especially. Your feet are -- well, I'm amazed you're still walking."
Complacent? Probably. Carlos had yet to run into anyone truly willing to kill him on sight: everyone else had either been looking to join the science alliance or allowed themselves to be talked down. But pity had something to do with it, too, for Carlos really wasn't an unkind sort. After all, he was unhurt, so why not put the first aid kits the doctors had left behind to good use?
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His slow glance down towards his own feet, however, was because he didn't even notice how bad they were. He lifted one of them to look at the bottom - shards of glass were still stuck in his skin in places, pushed in because he hadn't stopped walking around.
In fact, he had just been hopping up and down excitedly a minute ago, hadn't he?
"Gosh, it's really not that bad at all," he chuckled, putting his foot back down. "But I would just love to have lunch with you, Carlos!"
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So, Carlos found himself opening the door to the planetarium and letting Kevin in. The planetarium tape had reached the end of the track and begun again, repeating the same information about Pluto, but Carlos was too far away from the controls to turn it off, and he didn't want to venture too close to the telescope.
"Stay close to the door," he said. "We had an electrical storm in here last week, centered on the telescope and computer system. It's a miracle some of the circuits survived at all." Kevin would see a cavernous, round room covered in rows upon rows of plush chairs that receded in to the darkness. Close to the door, though, was a small pile of supplies: food, several bottles full of water, a couple of first-aid kits all up against a wall, along with a fire-starting kit or two, a crowbar, a flashlight, and some spools of wire. All in all not a bad camp.
Carlos sat down, leaning his back on the side of one of the chairs in the row closest to the door, basically sitting in the aisle. His club dropped down next to him, thudding softly onto the carpet.
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When Carlos stopped, so did Kevin, plopping down calmly on the ground in front of him. He released the katar claw from his right arm and set it aside, taking this moment of rest to stretch, forward and back....showing off the patch of matted, bloody blonde hair where some of his scalp had been ripped out on the back of his head.
Didn't seem to bother him, though.
Nothing really did.
"It's nice in here! Have you been in here the whole time? Gosh, it's like a big, cozy home! Wandering the halls has been fun, though. There's a lot to see in this museum."
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Jesus.
This lunch is going to be very onesided, Carlos thought, very certain that he wouldn't be eating anything for a while. But then he realized: He must have been born without pain receptors. That would explain a lot, actually. Still, just because you can't feel it doesn't mean an infection won't kill you.
"Basically," he said, keeping his voice as level as he could. "Like I said, the electrical storm drove us out for a little while, but the majority of this month has been spent here." As he spoke, Carlos reached over and pulled a first-aid kit off the pile. "I'd have liked to see the rest of the museum, but I also like not being attacked on sight." He unlatched the kit and flipped open the lid, then looked up at Kevin, mouth pulled into a thin line. This would not be fun, or pleasant, but if Carlos hadn't had a strong stomach before, a year in Night Vale had ensured it.
"Now, let me see your feet. I'm no medical doctor, but I can at least get that glass out."
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Thoughtfully, he tilted his head to one side, considering what Carlos was saying.
"You really think people would have just...attacked you on sight? Gosh, people have been so nice to me so far!"
Said the man with broken teeth and ribs and a chunk of his scalp missing.
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Honestly, after the initial shock at the gore, Carlos had pulled himself together remarkably well. He had steady hands, and, well, medical science was still science. Carlos did pause for a moment to stare disbelievingly at Kevin, wondering for a moment if he should ask how did you get so badly injured, then, but decided against it. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to hear the half-mad, head-in-the-sand explanation that would probably follow. All I want, Carlos thought, is to get this glass out of his feet.
"People are being killed out there," he said tersely, like he could not believe Kevin had missed this. "Hold still. I'm sorry, but I don't have any anesthetic. This is going to hurt."
He took solid hold of Kevin's left ankle with one hand, took a pair of forceps in the other, and carefully began to work the first glass shard free.
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"That tickles, actually! I'll try to hold still."
Stifling his giggles as best he could, he watched Carlos intently, eyes wide as can be. "...Well, of course people are getting killed! Isn't that what's supposed to be going on? I mean, gosh, people do have to do their jobs. If no one was productive, where would we all be?"
Of course this man knew people were dying.
It just didn't frighten him.
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Clink, clink, clink. One by one each glass shard came free. One by one, Carlos dropped them into a tiny tin that had, once, contained a sponsor-gift of food. The laughter was more unsettling than screams would have been, but it didn't impede Carlos's focus as he worked silently, diligently, precisely. It was a tricky task, and Carlos's gloves were slick with blood long before, with a sigh of relief, he pulled the last visible shard out.
"That's it - or at least, all I can see," Carlos said. "But at least walking won't make it worse now." Cleaning the wound wouldn't be easy, and honestly, Carlos didn't want to waste his water supply on it. The way the renewed bleeding had flushed the wound would have to be enough, and at least Carlos could bandage it. By the time Carlos was done, Kevin's foot was wrapped tight in a neat, clean bandage.
He sat upright and straightened his back, stretching the kinks out with a sigh, careful not to touch his clothes with his bloody gloves. It was a long, satisfying stretch.
"Okay. Give me the other one."
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Seriously, what a guy!
When asked to, he gives his other foot to Carlos, grinning his constant grin and...not saying anything.
Silently thinking.
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The longer this goes on, the more unsettled Carlos feels, but he doesn't stop extracting the glass from Kevin's foot. It takes less time than the other, partly because Carlos is more practiced now, and partly because Carlos wants this to be over. Quickly, deftly, the glass comes out. There are blood splatters all over the floor between them and Kevin's foot nearly slips out of Carlos's slick, bloody gloves a couple of times, but soon, soon, the glass is gone.
Out comes the bandage, wrapping tight around Kevin's foot.
"--TINY PLUTO, WHICH IS EVEN SMALLER THAN EARTH'S MOON. HERE, THE TEMPERATURE--"
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He speaks, out of the blue, thoughtfulness laying an extra layer over his sugary-sweet tone of voice.
"Are you really that worried about people attacking you on sight in here? You seem so nice. Even if you called in to the radio station back home in the middle of a busy workday, I wouldn't think anything but nice things about you!"
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Carlos waits until the bandage is fastened to reply, putting the bandaged foot down gingerly on the ground.
"Of course I am," he says, giving Kevin a dark look as he strips off his soiled gloves and drops them into the box. "Listen, only one of us is coming out of this arena alive. That means a very high percent chance of fatality for any given person in this arena. The more people each given Tribute kills, the higher their chances of survival. It's simple probability. Therefore, killing other Tributes is in their best interest, and that's easiest to do when you have the element of surprise. Ergo, anyone I meet will most likely attack me on sight."
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Another long moment of silence - there is a deep thoughtfulness, heavy consideration etched around the lines of Kevin's grin. He looks down to his feet, admiring the bandage job for a moment before turning his attention back up to Carlos.
His voice is honey and sunshine when he speaks again.
"Well, you've done something nice for me...so I've decided it's only right if I do something nice for you!"
His words are at odds with his actions as he reaches out to pick up his katar.
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"No, it's fine," he says, looking around for something he could mark the tin with, so that no one would mistake it for food, and not looking at Kevin, because looking Kevin in the face was somehow worse than looking at Kevin's mangled feet. "Really, it wasn't any trouble at all, and it's not like I was using the first aid kits. There were a couple of doctors in here a few weeks ago, and everyone sent them as sponsor gifts, but once the lightning storm started they really didn't do much good...."
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It's the stance of someone about to attack.
"Why don't I just...take that worry away? That should turn that frown upside down!"
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Then, he sees the way Kevin is standing, and it all comes together in a horrible, plunging-stomach way.
Carlos's eyes are fixed on Kevin as he takes a step back, away, toward the door. Where is his club, he wonders? He must have put it down somewhere nearby, but he doesn't dare take his eyes off of Kevin long enough to look.
"No," he says, and it's unclear whether it's a rejection of Kevin's offer or a desperate denial. "Don't, please --"
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His demeanor suggests less that he's about to attack and more that he's about to offer some gummy bears.
"It'll be quick, and then you'll be all done with the worry! Easy as pie, friend! Just hold still-" And then with no further warning, he's striking out with his blade in a wide arc, striking for Carlos's abdomen.
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The alarm booms in Carlos's ears as he leaps back, dodging the katar -- but barely. No, no, no, he thinks, this can't be happening, he wouldn't --
But it is hardly in Carlos's nature to deny the facts, and the facts are that Cecil is going to kill him if he doesn't fight back, and there's a familiar bit of dull metal gleaming down by Kevin's feet.
Carlos hesitates only a second before diving for the club, hitting the floor shoulder-first, grabbing it by the handle, and skidding past Kevin too fast (he hoped) for the man to get a swipe in with the katar.
Once on Kevin's other side, Carlos turns onto his back, still on the ground but bracing himself up with one hand and holding the club defensively out in front of him with the other. The look on his face is only a little frightened, honestly -- between the anger and the betrayal, there's not much room for fear.
"I should have known," he breathes.
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Getting a handle on his footing took him more than long enough for Carlos to get his club - and now he's staring the scientist down, his smile incongruous with the way his eyebrows furrow in confusion.
"Should have known? Should have known what, Carlos?" The name is spoken too sweetly, cotton candy drenched in sugar syrup.
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"I knew all along I couldn't trust you," he says, and there is a weightier meaning to it than there should be. Cecil Palmer, he thinks.
Carlos knew Cecil Palmer was bad news.
"I knew something like this would happen the minute I let my guard down around you." It had merely been a question of what. It was why, no matter what his personal feelings were, he had always kept a careful distance.
This is just what happens, Carlos thinks, when he fails to maintain that distance.
The next time Kevin strikes, Carlos will be ready to defend: he will strike sideways with the club, hard enough to knock the katar out of Kevin's hands.
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Carlos was glaring, going defensive, plain to everyone watching the Games that he was NOT enjoying Kevin's presence...but it seemed to be soaring straight over Kevin's partially-scalped head. He waved his katar around a little bit while he chuckled, staring the other man down.
"Of course you can trust me. I'm doing exactly what I just said I would do! I promise. Quick and clean!"
He looked down to the katar.
"Well, as clean as I can make it with this reaaaaally old blade."
Lurching forward, he struck out - and sure enough, Carlos's blow landed against the katar, sending it clattering out of his grip and off to one side. The handle wrenching out of his grip made his ring and pinky fingers crack and pop...so he shook that hand at his side, turning his attention to the hand, the blade, then back to the scientist again.
"Butterfingers! I'd better get that...."
He stooped, calmly, reaching for the katar.
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He raised the club up like a baseball bat, bracing himself, preparing to strike --
-- his heart hammering in his head, knowing that if he doesn't take this chance, he likely won't get another one --
-- and he could not take it. Carlos realized this with icy certainty: he could not take the shot.
I am a scientist. Not a murderer.
Slowly, the club lowered, from head height down to shoulder height and from shoulder height to waist height, until Carlos finally, finally, cast it away. He knew, now, that he wouldn't be using it, not to fight. His face was a perfect picture of misery: it was the face of a man who knew exactly how stupid he was being, and also knew perfectly well that he could not make another choice.
So, he turned an ran. With his heart and the planetarium speakers booming in his ears, Carlos ran for the door.
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The bandages on his feet made him a bit precarious, and a few of his steps slid more than intended, but Kevin was still very quick - calling out as he ran, looking for all the world like a wild animal running down prey.
"Why are you running, friend? It's all going to be okay! I promise!"
His words were at odds with his actions when he gained enough ground to pounce forward, skidding a little on his bandages as he grabbed for a handful of Carlos's beautiful dark hair. He twined his fingers in deep, pulling hard to try and bounce the scientist back into his waiting embrace.
"This is really no trouble at all."
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Carlos had not heard the footfalls behind him. He had heard the words, of course, but thanks to the volume of the planetarium tape, how near Kevin was was unclear until he felt the painful yank at his hair.
"--THE BEST PICTURE WE HAVE--"
"Aaagh!" he cried out, startled and afraid, and lost his balance completely: he fell back into Kevin, struggling but hopelessly off-balance.
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So, against his clinical sense of professionalism, he was making an exception and killing Carlos first. It wasn't the most efficient thing to do, taking out someone who had first aid skills, but...the poor man NEEDED this.
It was with the warm fuzzies from that thought that Kevin wrapped his free arm around Carlos's waist in a rib-cracking 'hug', other hand still twined tight in his hair.
"Really, Carlos, I'm more than happy to help! But gosh, it's only going to hurt a lot more if you don't hold still. I could bleed you out, if that helps? Make you niiiiiice and sleepy?"
This was dispensed with the tone of someone offering a child chicken soup for the flu.
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Carlos coughed reflexively and immediately regretted it, since it sent pain shooting up his spine to his brain and also lowered the amount of air remaining in his lungs. He grabbed hold of Kevin's arms with both hands, trying with all the desperate strength he could muster to pry them loose.
"--no--" was all Carlos could choke out.
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"Well, silly, I'm going to have to do something! If you just...follow me-"
He started pushing towards the wall, clearly aiming to pin Carlos to it. Despite the struggling and breathlessness, he remained just as apparently happy as ever.
"I'll make this - nnh - as quick as I can! If you don't - I'm going to have to insist - on the bleeding."
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The tape had begun to play again from the beginning, some part of Carlos noticed distantly, while the rest of him was trying as hard as he could not to end up against that wall.
"--ngh!"
His ribs were cracked, his vision going dark around the edges, as he was slammed into the wall, cheek pressed hard against the paneling. His breathing was loud, almost loud enough to be heard over the booming recording, as he writhed in Kevin's grip, still fighting, but weaker than before. He could barely breathe and even when he could, it burned. He was dizzy. He was desperate.
"--Cecil--!"
It was a plea.
Please don't do this. Please don't be this. Please remember me.
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The grip went slack. He put Carlos down for the moment, suddenly, incongruously, he was showing mercy. Was he listening? Was he remembering something?
He stared down at the scientist, his voice bemused. Still smiling. Always smiling.
"...Ce...cil? Did you just call me Cecil?"
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Carlos coughed painfully, trying not to think about how many of his ribs were cracked. His chances of surviving this encounter were low; even if he did, the odds of winning the Games with cracked ribs were absolutely not in his favor. But Carlos wasn't thinking about that, either. He was thinking about how this man, this "Kevin," had responded to the name Cecil. It would have been more embarrassing to make the mistake twice -- Kevin had already corrected him once -- if the rest of the situation hadn't been so deadly.
Was it possible that this was Cecil? Cecil from a distant future, Cecil who had been changed? This hesitation certainly seemed to support the theory. Carlos was frightened and in pain, hurt and confused and betrayed. However, deep in his soul, small and timid and transient as a lit match in a vast subterranean cavern, was a tiny flicker of hope. Carlos turned his head, slowly, to look at Kevin with wide, distraught eyes. He would turn, if he could -- get his back to the wall and face Kevin, and even through the fear, Carlos spoke.
"Cecil," he said hoarsely, "please listen to me. Don't do this. You know me. You know who I am. I don't know if the City Council did this to you, or if it was the police, or something else, or how long it's been for you since we've spoken, but I need you to listen, Cecil, this is important." A breath, and an intense look into the depths of the black nothingness that filled where Cecil's eyes should have been, and then he went on: "I am asking you not to kill me." Carlos said this as clearly as he could, so that Cecil could not possibly misunderstand. He could not hide the fact that Cecil was frightening him, but he kept his voice steady. "I do not want to be killed, Cecil."
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After all the words were dispensed, Kevin knelt down in front of the other man, gently reaching out with bloodstained fingers to run softly through his hair, down his arm, hold his hand. Tender. Caring.
And then he spoke.
"...Oh, Carlos. I'm so sorry," he breathed. He squeezed the hand, lifting it up between them in a meaningful grip.
"But I'm not Cecil. And I think it would a whole lot easier for you if you just...go." Without further warning, he snapped his teeth at Carlos's arm, aiming to start him bleeding.
It was for his own good.
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Then Kevin spoke. Then Kevin lunged for his wrist. Then Carlos was too injured, too sluggish, to stop him, and he cried out as Kevin's teeth tore a chunk out of the flesh at his wrist.
He could only stare at Kevin for a moment in wide-eyed betrayal, in self-loathing and in hindsight, as his blood began to spill down over his clothes and over the floor. Carlos began to thrash, trying to yank his arm away (too late), trying to fight his way free (hopeless).
No, no, no, no -- if he was going to die, it would not be without a fight. Carlos had not survived this long by giving up and gracefully accepting death. He kicked out at Kevin, lashed out with his good hand, but Carlos was a scientist, not a fighter, and on top of that, he was already hurt. None of it would be very effective.
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"Look at it this way," he crooned, slowly, tenderly reaching for Carlos's throat,
"You're giving your body to a cause! Not really science, but...well, I guess if it makes you feel better, I could record the way your flesh changes when it roasts."
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The chilling horror of that realization, on top of his broken bones and spurting wrist, slowed Carlos's reaction time. He tried to crawl away, but wasn't fast enough: Kevin's hands closed around his throat.
Carlos had never died before. He had come very close, several times, but never this close. His eyes were wide and frantic, his limbs still kicking out, but none of it was having any effect, and Carlos was too frantic to think of a better plan. He doubted, actually, that there was a better plan.
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"Shhhhh, Carlos - just relax. It will all be over in just a minute."
His grip tightened.
He was grinning.
He looked so happy about killing Carlos...so pleased with himself. What a kind thing he was doing! Gosh, he was just such a great friend.
no subject
"--HERE, THE TEMPERATURE IS COLDER THAN WE CAN IMAGINE--"
He felt cold and hot at the same time. He was losing feeling in his fingers, his sight was going dark around the edges; it was as if Carlos were losing his senses, one by one, all except his hearing.
"--TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY DEGREES BELOW ZERO--"
His vision was going. All Carlos could see now was Cecil's face, Cecil's distorted and maimed face, grinning at him. As though this were normal. As though this were all right. As though Cecil had always known this would happen.
"--PLUTO HAS ONE MOON OF ITS OWN--"
Carlos did not relax. He would not relax until he lost consciousness, his eyes finally closing, his limbs finally going limp, his fingers stilling, falling into the dark, pooling blood on the floor.
"--CALLED CHARON."
no subject
He just let him drop to the floor while he nosed around the room, searching...and coming up with a fire starting kit.
Once he had the fire burning, he dragged Carlos's body out towards it, stringing it up strategically with some wires tired around his ankles. Just before he lowered him into the flames, he reached up, tearing out a choice bit of his beautiful hair.
While he roasted Carlos's body, he braided the hair, happily tying the friendship bracelet onto his wrist. Once that was done, he found a piece of paper, watching the searing skin and flesh intently and writing down notes.
A promise was a promise, after all.
Wouldn't want to disappoint his new friend.