WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN BY wildcat88 [LFWS #1 ROUND 2]
Title: What Might Have Been
Author: wildcat88
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc., no infringements of any rights is intended.
Spoilers: None
Prompt for the Round: It MUST be told using an original character point of view (the marine guarding the gateroom, the guy who has to clean the blood from the floor of the jumper, the med tech who has to deal with the triage aftermath, the scientist in the lab when everything went bad, etc.).
WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN or TO BE REVEALED
Dengar hung his cap and keys on a peg then scribbled his name on the nightshift log. Only two of the small, windowless cells on this level were occupied - the quiet man in one, his noisy companion in the other. Dengar didn’t know what crimes they’d committed, didn’t care. He had orders: keep them chained up until Mistress returned.
Hip throbbing from the biting chill, he limped down the row, lantern held in gnarled fingers. The quiet man was slumped against the right wall of his cell, his eyes glittering from fever. The bruises on his face and body had faded from livid purple to sickly green, but the stripes on his back were fiery red and oozing.
“We don’t leave our people behind, McKay,” the man wheezed. “Remember?”
“I’m trying. Don’t you think I’m trying? But every time they hit- your back, I mean, my back… My arm hurts, and I’ve got some disgusting buglike things crawling all over me-”
“Stay positive.”
“I am positive…that we are completely screwed.”
Dengar peered into the other cell. The noisy man was a mirror image of the quiet one; they would be leaning against each other if not for the dank stone wall. The mouthy man cradled one arm, trying in vain to flex his fingers, and no matter how swollen his face, he never stopped talking. When he spotted Dengar, he rolled awkwardly to his feet and hobbled as close as the manacles allowed.
“Hi, listen, um, I know you aren’t supposed to, you know, help, but my friend needs medical attention.”
Dengar frowned. “This is a prison, boy, not a hospital.”
“He’s sick! I can hear it. There must be something you can do.”
“McKay, what are you doing?”
“Please,” the noisy man begged. “I’ll do what she wants.”
“McKay!” Chains clanked as the quiet man moved.
“Shut up, Sheppard.” His voice fell to a whisper. “Tell them I’ll cooperate. Just…help him.”
Dengar shone the lantern into the first cell.
The quiet man’s body shook with the effort to stand, his face gray under the bruising. “Don’t listen to him. We’re not fixing that damn torture device.”
“John-”
“No, Rodney.”
“But-”
“I said no.”
He held Dengar’s eye, the tremors in his body not softening the resolve on his face. Something old, almost forgotten, stirred in Dengar, faint memories of a time before Mistress and devices and re-education.
“She’ll have you executed,” he blurted.
The quiet one nodded. “I know. We still aren’t helping her.” His head lifted. “You hear me, McKay?”
A resigned sigh. “Yeah.”
Dengar shuffled to his post, stunned. No device? Defying Mistress? Was it possible? Could they be free again?
But after the dreadlocked man rescued the prisoners, reality set in. Afraid of a future without Mistress’ rule, Dengar safely tucked away his memories and snuffed out thoughts of liberty, vowing to never speak of what he’d learned.
But sometimes he dreamed of the quiet man, his noisy friend, and what might have been.
Don’t forget to leave ONLY FEEDBACK in the comments and NOT VOTES. All comments will be screened until the voting closes.
Author: wildcat88
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc., no infringements of any rights is intended.
Spoilers: None
Prompt for the Round: It MUST be told using an original character point of view (the marine guarding the gateroom, the guy who has to clean the blood from the floor of the jumper, the med tech who has to deal with the triage aftermath, the scientist in the lab when everything went bad, etc.).
WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN or TO BE REVEALED
Dengar hung his cap and keys on a peg then scribbled his name on the nightshift log. Only two of the small, windowless cells on this level were occupied - the quiet man in one, his noisy companion in the other. Dengar didn’t know what crimes they’d committed, didn’t care. He had orders: keep them chained up until Mistress returned.
Hip throbbing from the biting chill, he limped down the row, lantern held in gnarled fingers. The quiet man was slumped against the right wall of his cell, his eyes glittering from fever. The bruises on his face and body had faded from livid purple to sickly green, but the stripes on his back were fiery red and oozing.
“We don’t leave our people behind, McKay,” the man wheezed. “Remember?”
“I’m trying. Don’t you think I’m trying? But every time they hit- your back, I mean, my back… My arm hurts, and I’ve got some disgusting buglike things crawling all over me-”
“Stay positive.”
“I am positive…that we are completely screwed.”
Dengar peered into the other cell. The noisy man was a mirror image of the quiet one; they would be leaning against each other if not for the dank stone wall. The mouthy man cradled one arm, trying in vain to flex his fingers, and no matter how swollen his face, he never stopped talking. When he spotted Dengar, he rolled awkwardly to his feet and hobbled as close as the manacles allowed.
“Hi, listen, um, I know you aren’t supposed to, you know, help, but my friend needs medical attention.”
Dengar frowned. “This is a prison, boy, not a hospital.”
“He’s sick! I can hear it. There must be something you can do.”
“McKay, what are you doing?”
“Please,” the noisy man begged. “I’ll do what she wants.”
“McKay!” Chains clanked as the quiet man moved.
“Shut up, Sheppard.” His voice fell to a whisper. “Tell them I’ll cooperate. Just…help him.”
Dengar shone the lantern into the first cell.
The quiet man’s body shook with the effort to stand, his face gray under the bruising. “Don’t listen to him. We’re not fixing that damn torture device.”
“John-”
“No, Rodney.”
“But-”
“I said no.”
He held Dengar’s eye, the tremors in his body not softening the resolve on his face. Something old, almost forgotten, stirred in Dengar, faint memories of a time before Mistress and devices and re-education.
“She’ll have you executed,” he blurted.
The quiet one nodded. “I know. We still aren’t helping her.” His head lifted. “You hear me, McKay?”
A resigned sigh. “Yeah.”
Dengar shuffled to his post, stunned. No device? Defying Mistress? Was it possible? Could they be free again?
But after the dreadlocked man rescued the prisoners, reality set in. Afraid of a future without Mistress’ rule, Dengar safely tucked away his memories and snuffed out thoughts of liberty, vowing to never speak of what he’d learned.
But sometimes he dreamed of the quiet man, his noisy friend, and what might have been.
Don’t forget to leave ONLY FEEDBACK in the comments and NOT VOTES. All comments will be screened until the voting closes.