Nov. 8th, 2012

hecu_marine: (HECU)
The humans and the trolls're up to their ass in Synths, and everything hurts and nothing is okay any more, and Shephard doesn't care. He's killing shit.

( Sons of bitches, crocodile tears in their eyes
We scare'em shitless just by showin' up alive )


That's what he was born to do and he goddamn well knows it. He's told Terezi- I kill shit so folks don't die. That's what I’m for, simple as that.

( Total war, blow your stack
Say no more, you know you can't go back )


In good times that means hunting dinner or butchering farm animals. Bad times, it means this, splashing things that the good Lord never meant to allow in His good world with as much lead as he's capable of splashing 'em with. Grabbing their weapons off their corpses and turning those on them, too. House divided against itself can't stand, right? Shit yeah.

( The same old thing
The same old thing
I just wanna
Shut it down
Shut it down )


And they're moving, too, they're fighting their way through, the dead things and the living can't hold them back, he can see the trolls and Freeman and the humans and they're pushing towards the place where everything in the world is as wrong as wrong can be-

( Dark night nothing to see
Invisible hand in front of me )


Wait.

… wait.

( Your shadows alive, it breathes at your side
Got no place to hide, be with you 'til the day you die )


(There is no way to explain this. You have to be there to understand it. Unless you've stood there covered in smoke and ichor and blood and worse and so much worse and KNOWN it was all sliding away from you on every side and SEEN it shimmering and darkening and melting and rolling, oh God, oh God Almighty no-)

( Wide Wake, wide awake, hear the silence hiss,
Will you break, will you break, iron binds your wrist )


There are three things in the world that Adrian Shephard fears and this is none of them. Fear is one thing. Indescribable primal terror is something else. This is the black stuff at the bottom of the brain in the places of your mind you don't remember even existing.

( I don't think you understand
Ain't no-one holding your hand
You're only skin and bone )


When you're six years old and you're playing with a friend and the Cheat breaks its bonds to let loose with a century flood, you don't see the river rising. What you see is ALL THE WATER IN THE WORLD, and it's coming in from every direction and it's destroying EVERYTHING THAT IS. And maybe you heard the story of Noah and of God's promise once but you're six and you don't remember that any more. Just the water, and the ending of every single thing that is.

( You're born broke and you die alone )

And with the Adepts in full swing and the hell of the Overworld around him and everything else coming in at once there's this long sharp horrible realization of But now I am six, I'm as clever as clever; so I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.

"From 1775, men have worn and died in that uniform. You will survive, and you will be victorious, and you will live to induct others into that tradition."

And then there's this other realization, the one that got him through the Bar's Apocalypse. That the good Lord isn't gonna make a liar out of Steve Rogers.

The world is still washing away and all of existence is drowning around him and he knows it as surely as he knows he personally exists to kill shit so other folk don't die, but fuck him if he's gonna let a little thing like the destruction of everything that is stop him from doing his goddamn job.

"Reign thou in Hell thy Kingdom, let me serve
In Heav'n God ever blest, and his Divine
Behests obey, worthiest to be obeyed,
Yet Chains in Hell, not Realms expect: mean while
From me returned, as erst thou saidst, from flight,
This greeting on thy impious Crest receive-"

They find him eventually. Not in the Overworld, outside the Greenbrier. Must've triggered his teleporter without meaning to. At least they assume it was without meaning to, considering when they find him he's got his knees locked around the narrowest part of something that used to be huge and winged and covered in guns, and he's painted up to his elbows in sticky stuff nobody's seen before.

It takes them a while, and a crowbar, to pry his left hand's fingers off the weapon he's still trying to bash it to death with. They give up on the other one eventually. That silver hand just plain does not let go.





(OOC: Lyrics not attributable to Milton or Milne are the works of Motörhead.)

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Sergeant-Major Adrian Shephard

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