Fic: Mad World (Mag7 AU)
Title: Mad World
Rating: PG
Warnings: Character death. Um. Sort of
Disclaimer: I make no attempt to pretend that I own the Magnificent Seven.
Universe: Open
Summary: He dreams of gunfire. He dreams of death. He dreams of something better.
This fic was inspired by Gary Jules' cover of Mad World (Hear it here)
This is a modern AU (But quite emphatically not ATF) with hints of OW. Just a little attempt to get my muse moving for Call and Fold.
Most nights, Ezra dreams of dying.
He can't quite recall when the dreams first started, but he knows why. Increasingly as the technological wonders of the twenty-first century change the world, con-artistry is all about talking to computers and anonymous offshore accounts. The thrill has gone.
He's drifting now, no real purpose any more with Maude in prison and enough money in his various accounts to support him if he lives to be a hundred. Once the dull, blank-eyed stupidity and mediocrity of humanity amused him - a sign of those who could be manipulated and relieved of their earnings. Now it just depresses him.
It is a sad thing, to be twenty-eight years old and devoid of all purpose in life.
His dreams, though - they tell of a very different life indeed. Gunfire and desert and the adrenaline rush of combat, and an unlikely band of brothers-in-arms. With surreal, impossible vividness he feels the searing kiss of bullets. The pain shouldn't feel so good. It's almost certainly indicative of some deep-seated character flaw, but he can't quite bring himself to care.
His dreams aren't much, but they'll do until life can compete.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Character death. Um. Sort of
Disclaimer: I make no attempt to pretend that I own the Magnificent Seven.
Universe: Open
Summary: He dreams of gunfire. He dreams of death. He dreams of something better.
This fic was inspired by Gary Jules' cover of Mad World (Hear it here)
This is a modern AU (But quite emphatically not ATF) with hints of OW. Just a little attempt to get my muse moving for Call and Fold.
Most nights, Ezra dreams of dying.
He can't quite recall when the dreams first started, but he knows why. Increasingly as the technological wonders of the twenty-first century change the world, con-artistry is all about talking to computers and anonymous offshore accounts. The thrill has gone.
He's drifting now, no real purpose any more with Maude in prison and enough money in his various accounts to support him if he lives to be a hundred. Once the dull, blank-eyed stupidity and mediocrity of humanity amused him - a sign of those who could be manipulated and relieved of their earnings. Now it just depresses him.
It is a sad thing, to be twenty-eight years old and devoid of all purpose in life.
His dreams, though - they tell of a very different life indeed. Gunfire and desert and the adrenaline rush of combat, and an unlikely band of brothers-in-arms. With surreal, impossible vividness he feels the searing kiss of bullets. The pain shouldn't feel so good. It's almost certainly indicative of some deep-seated character flaw, but he can't quite bring himself to care.
His dreams aren't much, but they'll do until life can compete.