A/N: Well, here 'tis. Just a quick one-shot while I work on the next
chapter for Telekinetic. If you like this sort of character monologue, you
should definitely check out Kathryn Anne's "Psychometric Musings." She is
the ultimate Karasuma writer and a lot better at these monologues than I
am.
As always, criticisms and review are vastly appreciated. Thank you.
--Manny PenPen
Disclaimer: WHR belongs to Bandai, Sunrise Entertainment, and possibly the Sci Fi Channel. There's a pleasant thought. Also, I'd like to remind everyone that this ficlet is POST SERIES, with SPOILERS lurking about and pouncing without mercy. You've been warned. ;)
******
Karma
It's just a scratch, really. I've lived through worse. Much, much worse. Nigh-electrocution, broken limbs, bullet wounds, being Hunted, falling off my motorcycle--that's a month's load of injuries. Hell, a day on the job here puts me in more danger than most people experience their entire lives. Bad luck? I guess so. Karma doesn't bite me in the butt anymore--it's permanently attached.
I don't know why I stay here anymore. I don't even really know why I joined the STN-J. Can't remember back that far. My records say a motorcycle accident scrambled something or other up there, and that's good enough explanation for me. I'm not that big on explanations. Just point me in the direction to go and I'm gone. It's easier not to think, easier to charge in all half-cocked and deal with the consequences later. I'm a masochist, not a strategist. I like going in for the adrenaline. Injuries are a pain, but they're signs of honor too, I guess. Proof that I'm still alive. It drives Michael crazy. There he is trying to get us out of bad situations, and here I am rushing right into them. Karma--butt--attached.
I should be organizing myself. Since the whole mess with the Factory, everything's gotten too complicated. Every time I think I've got something figured out, whoops, there's karma--no answer for you. I used to love going on Hunts. Playing hero, playing with guns, playing at it like it was some sort of game I could put down any time I wanted to. Shoot the Witches, take them down, it's alright. It's humane. They're only being carted off to be tortured and violated in the worst ways imaginable. So long as you don't kill them, it's not murder. Good little rookies can't be murderers.
And Orbo. The green stuff that saved my life too many times to count. I don't even remember what they told me when I first put it on. It was just another toy to play with, something so that maybe I could stay uninjured long enough to Hunt one more time. Never mind it was the product of those tortured people we Hunted. Sakaki doesn't have time to think. Sakaki has to go off and poison his brain on adrenaline. Let the others think for him. It's easier that way.
And now neither answer fits any more. It's just a scratch, really. Just a small skip in my thoughts, right? It should be. If I had taken the time to think before this happened, maybe it would be. But right now, that little scratch isn't little at all. It's a gaping hole I can fill only by turning my back on it. Karasuma can't help me--she's worried sick about her Craft and the team and anything else that comes to mind. Michale can't help me, busy as he is searching for Robin and Amon. And Doujima. . .Doujima is somewhere in Europe working for SOLOMON. It's that damned karma again. The one time I actually want some help, no one can do a damned thing. It's just as bad as having a broken leg.
In fact, the broken leg would be better. At least then I'd know the problem would heal itself.
So here I am. I don't know why I stay here. If I had any sort of a conscience, I would have left as soon as I found out about Orbo. But I can't stop. I hate to admit it, but Hunts are even more exciting without Orbo. More dangerous. More opportunity for injury. Maybe it's sick to feel this way, but pain just makes everything else fade out. I can focus on the injury and pretend I don't have a single damned thought in my head. I can be that idiot of a rookie who ran on ahead and waited for karma to catch up. That guy who gave lopsided grins and always said what everyone was thinking, since he didn't have a thought in his head to call his own.
I don't know what to think. I don't want to think. It hurts to keep going around in circles until it feels like my head is going to explode. This is just a scratch, I keep telling myself. Just a scratch. It's not like you're laid up in the hospital because some psycho Witch ripped you limb from limb. It should be easy to actually take responsibility for yourself. It should be easy to think and get an answer and move on.
Then why is it so hard?
It's really getting late. The briefing is scheduled in just a few minutes; after that, we'll Hunt. I can't help but remember what those Witches in the Orbo tanks looked like--but I can't help but continue to throw myself into my work. What sort of a hero does that? What sort of a hero keeps playing like he hasn't murdered, like he hasn't contributed to the torture and mutilation of his fellow humans? What kind of a rookie won't wake up even when the truth is biting right along with karma?
I don't know. I don't want to think about it any more.
As always, criticisms and review are vastly appreciated. Thank you.
--Manny PenPen
Disclaimer: WHR belongs to Bandai, Sunrise Entertainment, and possibly the Sci Fi Channel. There's a pleasant thought. Also, I'd like to remind everyone that this ficlet is POST SERIES, with SPOILERS lurking about and pouncing without mercy. You've been warned. ;)
******
Karma
It's just a scratch, really. I've lived through worse. Much, much worse. Nigh-electrocution, broken limbs, bullet wounds, being Hunted, falling off my motorcycle--that's a month's load of injuries. Hell, a day on the job here puts me in more danger than most people experience their entire lives. Bad luck? I guess so. Karma doesn't bite me in the butt anymore--it's permanently attached.
I don't know why I stay here anymore. I don't even really know why I joined the STN-J. Can't remember back that far. My records say a motorcycle accident scrambled something or other up there, and that's good enough explanation for me. I'm not that big on explanations. Just point me in the direction to go and I'm gone. It's easier not to think, easier to charge in all half-cocked and deal with the consequences later. I'm a masochist, not a strategist. I like going in for the adrenaline. Injuries are a pain, but they're signs of honor too, I guess. Proof that I'm still alive. It drives Michael crazy. There he is trying to get us out of bad situations, and here I am rushing right into them. Karma--butt--attached.
I should be organizing myself. Since the whole mess with the Factory, everything's gotten too complicated. Every time I think I've got something figured out, whoops, there's karma--no answer for you. I used to love going on Hunts. Playing hero, playing with guns, playing at it like it was some sort of game I could put down any time I wanted to. Shoot the Witches, take them down, it's alright. It's humane. They're only being carted off to be tortured and violated in the worst ways imaginable. So long as you don't kill them, it's not murder. Good little rookies can't be murderers.
And Orbo. The green stuff that saved my life too many times to count. I don't even remember what they told me when I first put it on. It was just another toy to play with, something so that maybe I could stay uninjured long enough to Hunt one more time. Never mind it was the product of those tortured people we Hunted. Sakaki doesn't have time to think. Sakaki has to go off and poison his brain on adrenaline. Let the others think for him. It's easier that way.
And now neither answer fits any more. It's just a scratch, really. Just a small skip in my thoughts, right? It should be. If I had taken the time to think before this happened, maybe it would be. But right now, that little scratch isn't little at all. It's a gaping hole I can fill only by turning my back on it. Karasuma can't help me--she's worried sick about her Craft and the team and anything else that comes to mind. Michale can't help me, busy as he is searching for Robin and Amon. And Doujima. . .Doujima is somewhere in Europe working for SOLOMON. It's that damned karma again. The one time I actually want some help, no one can do a damned thing. It's just as bad as having a broken leg.
In fact, the broken leg would be better. At least then I'd know the problem would heal itself.
So here I am. I don't know why I stay here. If I had any sort of a conscience, I would have left as soon as I found out about Orbo. But I can't stop. I hate to admit it, but Hunts are even more exciting without Orbo. More dangerous. More opportunity for injury. Maybe it's sick to feel this way, but pain just makes everything else fade out. I can focus on the injury and pretend I don't have a single damned thought in my head. I can be that idiot of a rookie who ran on ahead and waited for karma to catch up. That guy who gave lopsided grins and always said what everyone was thinking, since he didn't have a thought in his head to call his own.
I don't know what to think. I don't want to think. It hurts to keep going around in circles until it feels like my head is going to explode. This is just a scratch, I keep telling myself. Just a scratch. It's not like you're laid up in the hospital because some psycho Witch ripped you limb from limb. It should be easy to actually take responsibility for yourself. It should be easy to think and get an answer and move on.
Then why is it so hard?
It's really getting late. The briefing is scheduled in just a few minutes; after that, we'll Hunt. I can't help but remember what those Witches in the Orbo tanks looked like--but I can't help but continue to throw myself into my work. What sort of a hero does that? What sort of a hero keeps playing like he hasn't murdered, like he hasn't contributed to the torture and mutilation of his fellow humans? What kind of a rookie won't wake up even when the truth is biting right along with karma?
I don't know. I don't want to think about it any more.