bakerstreet

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obey

Dystopian AU

Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.

1. Stronghold - Inside the walls, we are safe. Outside the walls, there is only madness, desolation, and thirst. Everything you need is here. Mother protects us. Mother sees to all our needs. To defy or to question Mother is to put all our lives at risk.
2. Rebels against the Government - You know each other only by code names. You’ve met each other only within the safety of illegal, anonymous networks. You can only hope and trust that they are loyal to your cause, and that none of this is a trap.
3. Re-education - Once, you questioned. Once, you doubted. You know this, but you have learned of your folly. The Ludovico technique of aversion therapy is unparalleled at rehabilitating criminals. Traitors. So-called ‘free-thinkers’. You’re better now. Isn’t it wonderful, to be a productive and unquestioning member of society?
4. The Ministry of Culture - Art is lies, and lies are forbidden. Love is treachery, and treachery is forbidden. Sex is deviance, and deviance is punishable by death. History is regression, and regression is a crime. Music is rebellion, and rebellion is intolerable. Any citizens found in possession of deviant and false publications will be punished.
5. Population Control - Resources are finite. There are too many mouths to feed and not enough arable land. Which is why you have been chosen to be culled. Only the strongest, the smartest, and the most resourceful are needed in the new society. One person from your group will be permitted to survive and to return to society, richly rewarded. Everyone else must die. Weapons are right over there.
6. WILDCARD

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[Eugh. It reeks here, and sends Pratt coughing. He's used to gore and blood and rot, but this is that magnified a hundred times and it's overwhelming to his tender human senses. He glares at her when he's finally done with his hacking fit.]

What did you do? Where did you bring me?

[And then a small smile.]

Oh Jacob is going to murder you. Force feed you barbed wire, peel your eyelids off, rip out your fingernails.

[He laughs maniacally while looking around. Jacob doesn't really care about Pratt, but he spent a lot of time molding him into what he is and he'll protect his possessions. Pratt belongs to him, a tool that he can wield when necessary, and he'll punish anyone who dares to touch his things.]

If I get any crazier, I don't think I'd be able to talk anymore. Seems the same.

[He'd heard that crazy people don't know they're crazy. That's not true at all. He knows, the thing is he doesn't care. Because he's not really responsible for what he does anymore. He's insane. It's Jacob's fault. Can't blame Pratt - he's just doing what he's been trained to do and is too crazy to know the difference.]

I don't really think Jacob can do much.

[And the fact that he thinks that's a threat at all is pretty funny. Enough to make her smile.

The hideous warthog beast unlocks the door, and Caedra gestures for Pratt to follow her out into the landscape beyond - which looks to be the outskirts of a massive city, coated in rust and sand and overgrown at its edges with orange-flowered black-thorned vines. Demons in so many shapes and sizes, bestial and hideous for the most part, leer at the pair but seem to keep their distance - at least from Caedra. Pratt, they seem to stalk as if waiting for him to stray from her an inch too far.]

I don't need you to talk, anyway. Come with me.

[Though where exactly she's going may not be clear - she just sets off away from the city, toward the expansive desert ringed with mountains on the horizon, and the chained slaves towing overburdened carts full of ores into the city from the quarries farther in the distance.]

[He snorts trotting along behind her obediently. Jacob can do anything, he's a Herald of Eden's Gate. And this is just some annoying pest who keeps killing him. He used to be afraid of her, but he's not anymore, not afraid of much of anything really. He's also not exactly intimidated by his surroundings, because he figures this is a bit like being in the Bliss back home.

Though it smells way worse. ]

Where are we?

[He kneels down to touch the sand, letting it run through his fingers.]

And where are we going? The battle is back that way.

[He points back where they came from.]

Oh, you don't have to worry about the battle.

[With a hand in the air and a few harsh Abyssal words, a symbol appears in the air above her fingers. Some sort of strange series of runes to him, perhaps? It glows bright green and before long a carriage, pulled by a team of armored centaur-like creatures rides up.]

Get in. We have a long ride. Tell me more about Jacob.

[Pratt stays where he is, staring at the centaurs. They're horses, but not. And wearing armor. The part of him that's still very much Deputy Pratt is intrigued.

Instead of getting into the carriage he approaches the creatures pulling it. Not too close because he doesn't want to get attacked, but he's obviously stopped paying attention to her.]

[As Pratt goes to look closer, he'll notice several things. They turn abruptly to watch him, and the nearest snarls and lunges at his shoulder, and it's only Caedra whipping her rapier into its face that manages to get it to pull sharply back. The face itself is neither horselike nor humanoid but something horrifying - it lacks the horse's long snout, and is almost shaped like a human head but it appears to be eyeless, has ridges of jutting bone where cheekbones and jawlines ought to be, the jaw detaches far wider than looks comfortable, and there are so many rows of teeth. Additionally, the movement makes it clear - the armor does not rattle, it is not worn, there are no straps or belts or fasteners of any sort but rather the plates grow directly out of the creatures' flesh.

As Caedra wards the armanite back, she also shoots a glare at Pratt and then tries to shove him forcefully toward the carriage door.]

You'll do as I say, or you'll end up breakfast for Vith'torok here and I suspect he hasn't been fed since yesterday. Watch yourself.

[He doesn't recoil, raising a fist as if to punch this thing in the face even at the expense of getting his hand chomped off. But then Caedra is threatening it with a sword and it seems to back off. He escapes with all his parts intact.]

You're going to kill me anyway, what difference does it make if you do it or I get eaten?

[He doesn't sound too upset about it. Either this is all real in which case he'd be dead and then not have to worry about any of this ever again. Or this is some sort of Bliss hallucination and 'dying' will wake him up and he can go back to his life as normal.]

Where are we going?

[He climbs into the carriage because he doesn't seem to have a lot of other options, and running out into the desert doesn't really sound appealing. Especially with all the creatures running around that he doesn't want to see up close.]

[That's better. He's much easier to deal with when obedient. Caedra glances over her shoulder and calls out a command to the armanites attached to the carriage, who immediately begin to gallop forward as if afraid to do much else but run. Seemingly placated, she settles into her seat and crosses her legs, looking Pratt up and down again. Ugh, what a mess. She'll be glad to be rid of him once this is all over.]

It makes a difference. I'm handing you over to people who can work out why you keep coming back.

[There's no problem admitting the truth, as far as she's concerned. Yes, it's true, at this point she doesn't really care that much if he dies, and maybe if he dies here it will be permanent and that will be that. But she knows she can get more value out of him by bringing him here alive.]

[Nothing seventeen hot showers and a change of clothes won't fix. And a hair cut. And some medical attention. Maybe 3 weeks of sleep. Okay he pretty much is a mess.]

What do you mean people who can work it out? You did this shit to me, you undo it.

[He glares sullenly, everything had been fine until she kept showing up and killing him which meant it was her fault.]

I have tried to undo it. Giving mortals some limited form of reincarnation is absolutely not something I want to make a habit of doing. You've crossed paths with some form of necromancy that I don't understand.

[She growls the retort, clearly aggravated by whatever he has become. Humans are supposed to die and stay dead. The exceptions are rare and usually indicate meddling by powers far higher than herself, and she not only suspects but truly hopes that whatever it is that has involved itself in Pratt's life is some form of competing demon, or a powerful wizard or lich. If this is the work of a god, then getting involved might spell deep trouble but it's much too late now to step away.]

[He huffs, crossing his arms and sitting back in his seat. Pouting like a child.]

Well you're doing a shitty job of it.

[His eyes brighten and then he laughs.]

Or maybe I'm just better at being alive than you are at killing me.

[Yup, clearly that is the case. Pratt is just too awesome to die.]

You would be the first one.

[Which is a begrudging sort of agreement! That's just how much she hates this. She's come to accept that something is terribly wrong - but it's clearly Pratt who's broken since anyone else she's killed lately did, in fact, stay dead. As far as she can tell, anyway. He's the only one who keeps resurfacing.]

Which is why I'm taking you in. You're certain you don't know why this is happening?

I have no idea. I didn't choose this.

[He pulls some of his white hair in front of his face, looking at it cross eyed.]

This isn't exactly worth living for you know.

[Then he remembers who he's talking to, and realizes that she probably doesn't know.]

What happens when they find out why I keep coming back? They kill me for good?

[Doesn't know, doesn't care. It's not as if she particularly values others' lives. He's a thing she wants solved and if he's suffering, too bad. Everyone suffers, some more than others.

She levels her eyes at him when he asks that question, just for a moment, then peers out the window at the passing scenery. There's a beauty to those mountains and desert plains that she always appreciated. It recalls vague memories from a previous life.]

I don't know, it depends on what's wrong with you. Perhaps if you're particularly interesting they'll keep you like this and see if they can make more.

Good, a whole army of me to annoy the shit out of you.

[He sulks in his seat, barely noticing the outside. He's annoyed and exhausted and everything hurts all the time. He hopes they just fucking kill him so it can be an end to all of this.]

What happens if you die? Do you keep coming back too?

[Maybe he's contagious.]

[Ah yes perfect. No, she doubts they'll actually want more of Pratt. What a useless individual to have somehow gained this particular quirk. If they can figure out how it happened, then surely they can find plenty of others to grant this odd form of immortality to - others who will be useful, or at least less irritating.]

Of course I do. I'm immortal. That's the whole point.

[Never mind that if someone were to kill her here she would in fact die for good - but that's a detail she doesn't feel like sharing. Besides, it's extremely unlikely that he could accomplish that, she's pretty certain.]

[ Snort ]

Maybe I am too. Then this trip won't be real interesting will it?

[ He sets his jaw, looking out the window. ]

Immortal.

[ Those gears in his head are turning... turning... but they're twisted and misshapen and catching on each other. Without warning he launches himself at her, time to test that immortality. He still has his gun on him, but instead of shooting her he decides it's a good idea to go for the neck and try and throttle her.]

Maybe, but-

[Well screw that sentence, it didn't need finishing anyway. He manages to take her by surprise, because what kind of absolute idiot would tackle her in this place? But perhaps he figures his life is already forfeit, or too damaged to be worth living. It's probably not wrong.

Her shock is sensed by the others in the clan. A relay of telepathic messages traverse that network connected by Amamot's own blood in an instant, but she doesn't have time to respond as she spends those few seconds instead to shove her knee upward at his groin as well as to reach forward with one hand, not to try and pry his hands off but to pierce his eyes with her fingernails while her blade hand stays low, re-forming the sword into a dagger that will serve her better in this enclosed space. She can't make words right now, really, but she snarls, deep and guttural. The meaning ought to be obvious enough.]

If you're immortal? Why even bother fighting back?

[He snarls, tightening his grip on her neck, but he's eventually forced to relinquish his hold, because he likes his eyes where they are and not clawed out of their sockets.

He lets go, sitting back on the seat, slumping and looking out the window dispassionately as if he hadn't just tried to kill her and everything was cool between them.]

If I die here, maybe I'll come back somewhere else. Somewhere not Montana. Maybe I'll come back as a dog. That'd be nice.

[The truest answer of all, of course, is that fighting back is fun. Violence burns through to her very core and she revels in unleashing it.

So when he sits back, she only pauses for a second. Fuck the scholars. Fuck the archives. He can't just give up like that. There's not much space here between them - so she thrusts the necrotic blade swiftly forward, hoping to bury it in his gut and slice upward.]

[He may look like the picture of uncaring acquiescence, but he's a never ending boiling cauldron of nervousness and alertness. He jerks to the side, not fast enough to avoid getting hit, but it stabs him in the side rather than his stomach. All those precious wriggling entrails of his still safely inside his torso.]

The hell was that for?

[He clamps his hand to the wound, an instinctual move to stop the bleeding.. not that there is any. His fingers dig in around the sides of the injury because fuck that hurts.]

I'll just come back and you'll have to find me again. Jackass.

You always seem to find me easily enough. I'm done with you.

[The tanar'ri are known for being capricious, after all. The scent of rotting flesh drives her onward to slice and stab again. If he's truly somehow become an extraplanar creature, his body might just dissolve. If not, the scholars can still study the corpse. At least with that snarl of attitude from him, he sounds more like himself again.]

[he's not dissolving, but his body is trying really hard to rot off his bones and he doesn't appreciate it one bit.]

Oh fuck off. This is your damn fault.

[ He kicks at the sword, hoping to snap the blade in half. He'd launch himself at her again, and let his organs just flop out of his body in a squishy burst, but while he's insane, he definitely still feels pain and this hurts. He screams in rage and agony and starts to thrash to try and drag her down and at least get some measure of revenge before his body finally gives out.]

[Pratt will find that, unfortunately for him, her blade is far too durable to be broken with a simple kick despite how it may look. The nature of the pact she made with Amamot long ago ensures that even if it is broken or separated from her somehow, she can call it to hand and re-form it in seconds, anyway. But it's a nice attempt. He hits her instead and shoves her back against the wall of the carriage, and her shriek of anger causes the armanites to shudder to a hault and the circling vrocks to dive down and find out what sort of fun they're missing.

His thrashing rewards him with a fistful of hair, if that's worth anything. At least he's taken a piece of her down with him as he goes. She tears herself free of the flailing limbs and stumbles out of the carriage, happy to let the others tear him to pieces. Caedra has had quite enough of that.]

[He tried okay. That's all he's got right now.

He'd get up and follow her if he wasn't in agony and his limbs would work correctly. But unfortunately he seems to be stuck on the floor of the carriage, trying to focus on breathing so he can get up on his hands and maybe crawl after her.

Too bad he hasn't noticed that all the other horrific creatures nearby have decided that this looks like a party they weren't invited to.

His screaming is less agony and more anger as he's furious that there's these other.. things that are tearing him apart when all he cares about is removing Caedra's head from his shoulders. Alas, it was not meant to be and he'll be a pile of dismembered limbs and bloody entrails soon enough. Hopefully staining the carriage and at least being a nuisance in his death.]

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