Oneshot. Written as a bit of back-story for Gazz (and a slight bit of Scara in the end), it just popped into my head and I had to get it out before I drove myself insane. Not that that didn't happen already. If you see phrases that don't quite make sense, assume that it's a song lyric. I tend to quote a lot.
Rated T for suicidal references.
He lived in a perfect world. Everything he needed was brought to him. He was protected. Smothered, actually. They protected him. They protected him from poverty, starvation, war, freedom, creativity, and knowledge about the past. There were some things that they couldn't protect him from: ridicule and himself.
He figured that every school needed someone to hate. Someone to blame everything on. Someone to hurt, to make themselves feel better while bringing someone else crashing to the ground. Biting the dust. Everyone needed someone to make fun of. No-one was good enough until they found someone that didn't fit in. Someone that Globalsoft hated. Someone called...a rebel.
The rebels were the ones who didn't want to be smothered by some world-wide company. The rebels were different. They wanted to get in contact with the world before them. The twentieth century. More specifically, the music from the twentieth century was what they wanted. Classic rock. Living rock. Whatever you called it, it was rock. It was no doubt classic, no doubt living. That was what the rebels were after; that's what pissed Globalsoft off. Globalsoft hated the rebels. Thus, the Gagas hated the rebels. They endlessly taunted the rebels, before they actually turned into rebels. When they still went to Virtual High.
Galileo Figaro was beyond a rebel. He was the one they'd been waiting for. He was the man who could remember. The one who could remember the past, music from the past. He was the one who would bring it all back. He was the one who could defeat Globalsoft. He was the one known as the Dreamer. Only he didn't know that quite yet.
All that he knew was that he was different. And that he was mad. Every day, random words were popping into his head; he didn't know what they were, what they meant, or why they were coming to him. It was the sort of thing to drive a person slightly mad. The only other thing that he knew was that he hated his life. He hated the world, and what was happening to it. He hated what had happened to the people living in it. He hated everything, but most of all, himself.
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When he was sixteen, he brought home a razor from school to finish fixing his laptop. That particular day was horrible. Beyond horrible. It would be safe to say that it was the worst day of his short, painful, controlled life. Later that night, trying to fall asleep, he caught a glimpse of the moonlight reflecting off the razor. In less time that you could say "Globalsoft is fascist", he had gotten up and wandered towards it.
He was intrigued by its sleekness. Thin and light, yet sharp and strong. Strong and sharp enough to cut through flesh. Easily. He had heard stories in the schoolyard of what the rebels did. They cut themselves. At the time he had thought it was stupid. Now, he wasn't too sure. Compared to Globalsoft, it was brilliant. Before he could stop himself, the blade was through the skin on his wrist. That first time wasn't deep enough for it to bleed; but it hurt enough to do the job. To focus his mind on physical pain. After all, physical pain was much better that emotional pain. He could feel his hostile emotions evaporating out of that cut, and he felt better. Not completely healed, but much better. With a few more cuts, all of his thoughts about the world were forgotten. He was in a deep sleep, dreaming about living rock and the place where the champions played...
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Ever since that night, almost a year ago, the razor had been his only friend through teenage nights. And days. He kept it with him wherever he went. No-one noticed the cuts on his wrists, and no-one would've cared if they did. Between classes he'd steal away to a bathroom stall to relieve more pain. During lunch period he'd cut deep enough to feel dizzy. He liked the feeling it left him with--it was much better than the lonely, no-importance-to-anyone feeling that he lived with every day.
After a bloody disastrous day at school--he'd gotten in a physical fight, and lost--he decided to end it all. He wouldn't have to deal with anything after that. He wouldn't have to put up with the taunting and pain. He wouldn't be "just another mouth to feed". His parents wouldn't notice he was gone; they had four other perfect Gaga children to look after, all younger than him. Since his cloned siblings were constantly barging into his room, he decided to end it all in the wasteland a few blocks away, on the outskirts of town. It was the place no-one went to, since there was a rumor about rebels living there that'd kill you. He'd rather rebels found his dead body than his family. That way no-one would ever notice.
At about ten that night, he began to make his way to the wasteland, carefully staying behind shadows so no-one could see him. Unfortunately he couldn't see where he was going, and bumped into some girl who was wearing all black, like him, and torn up clothes. Her hair was purple and up in knots, her face pale. She too had a blade in her hand, but no marks on her wrists. She looked up at him, eyes bloodshot.
"What're you lookin' at?" Her voice was flat and shaking. Had she been crying? On drugs? Who knew? Obviously no-one cared. No more than anyone cared about Galileo.
"Uhh, no-nothing, really...just, uh, passing through?" He spoke as if he was asking her permission to go past.
"Where're ya going to? It isn't exactly day, in case you didn't notice," she was looking down at her blade, trying to figure out what she would do with it. She didn't know how to cut properly. But there was no way she was going to tell him that. For all she knew, he was a spy. Out to get her. Any minute now Khashoggi would make an appearance and demand to know what she was doing out. Why she wasn't acting like a Gaga girl. Why she hated Globalsoft so much.
Galileo didn't feel that way. He never really understood the whole "spy" thing. If someone asked him something, he answered them. Truthfully. Except for when it came to his dreams. He knew to keep that private. Not that anyone ever asked about them, that he remembered.
"A-actually I'm j-just headed for the wasteland, and, umm...yeah, just headed for the w-wasteland and going to--shit. I'm going to kill myself. So if you don't mind letting me b-by--"
"Wasteland--as in, where the rebels are? And 'killing yourself' as in taking that blade and dragging it across your wrists? Like in the twenty-first century?" All suspicion of him being an SP was forgotten. She wanted to know about this guy. She wanted to know that there was someone like her, who didn't fit in.
"Yeah, yeah, and yeah. So can I go by now?" Galileo was starting to get annoyed. He didn't want anything to ruin his plans, even if it meant being somewhat rude. Why would she care, anyways?
"Could ya teach me how to do that?"
Galileo blinked back in surprise. It didn't occur to him that she was the slightest bit like him. He thought she was gorgeous--definitely a Gaga. Even if she was dressed oddly. And alone. He didn't want her to die. Hell, if he had her, he didn't think that he wanted to die. He decided to dodge the question.
"What's your name?" It was a simple question. Simple, stupid, pointless, and random. But it was better than nothing.
"Isn't important," she was scowling into the razor. "So are ya gonna show me or not?"
Galileo sighed. He didn't want her to die. "Let's go to the wasteland. We should be alone then. No-one would notice that we're all dead and gone."
Side by side, they ran to the wasteland, eager to end their lives. Instead, they ran right into someone else entering under the fence. A rough, strong guy, about six feet. Slowly, he turned to face his companion behind the two young soon-to-be rebels.
"Meat, I think we've got visitors."
We all know what happens after this, more or less. I know the ending is a little weird and baddish, but I did this in one sitting and couldn't think of anything else (well, I did, but it wasn't any better). Reviews, please! Constructive criticism is awesome...