Note: I had the sudden, most random urge to write this. I've seen nothing like it yet, and damned if I'm gonna let someone else start the trend. Muahaha.
This fic is rated Mature for good reason, so if you're not mature enough to read this, I suggest clicking that little back button right up there. Ya see it? It's right there. Yeah. If you don't like this, then I refuse to accept any flames or unpleasant reviews. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated, however, even worshipped. But flames will only make you look like a complete ass all over the internet, and just because people can't see you doesn't mean they will respect you. So keep your big wazoo shut. If you liked this, however, then by all means, feel free to click that blue button at the bottom of this page and tell me so!
Also, I have come up with longer, more "official" sounding names for the characters, as if those were their real names but the names we all know them as are only nicknames. See if you can guess who is who, but if you're truly stumped, I'll un-stump you and tell you. But try first, okay? It's not that hard to figure out. In fact, you'd have to be rather thick not to realize who was who.
Now let's get this show on the road before I forget what I was writing about. It's happened to me before, you know. I'll go too far into my own head and-- Hmm? What am I doing here? When did I get here? Who are all you people?! ARGH!!
Chapter One: Harsh Reality
War. Fighting. The inevitable showdown between good and evil; however, no one could truly be sure which was which. There were heroes on both sides, and the battle was bloody and lethal. Blood slicked the ground to the point where the remaining soldiers were having trouble keeping themselves upright long enough to fight without slipping and landing in a puddle of what used to be a comrade's very life force. Still, soldiers came pouring from all sides, surrounding each other and running like some sort of deadly, grotesque dance.
In the relative safety of the Tower, the commander surveyed the carnage. He had five stars affixed to his jacket, and his name-tag read Harsh Reality. He reached up with shimmering golden claws and tapped his headset, opening the frequency to his subordinate on the field.
Said subordinate got the ring and tapped his headset, a flash of silver affixed to a head that was never seen. "Yez, my commandeer?"
"What's going on down there?" The general snapped, his voice deep and powerful.
"It iz nuz-sing, commandeer. We zeem to be weening ze fight, but zere is ztill much to do before ze battle can truly be called a veectory." The other replied in a heavy, stereotypical, French-sounding accent. "Wait... what iz zat? Commandeer! Commandeer! Zere is somezing out zere, commandeer! Somezing large! It iz firing bombs in all directions! Comman--" the line went dead.
"Hello? Hello? Jackle in the Field! Jackle in the Field, can you hear me? Jackle in the Field, do you copy!" The general growled in concern and irritation and, after clipping a small first-aid kit to his belt, flew from the window to search for his fallen comrade.
He flew over the heads of comrades and enemies alike, until he found the smoldering remains of the radio base tent. He surveyed the damage with piercing blue eyes, and, not seeing any signs of life, turned to fly away, until a small twitch of the vinyl caught his attention. He turned back and stared at the spot, waiting for some other sign. The fabric twitched again feebly, giving Harsh Reality the urge he needed to fly forward and drag the heavy tent off of whatever was causing the motion. He saw a flash of bright orange, another of white, a third of yellow...
Harsh Reality swore loudly as he lifted Jackle in the Field into his arms and flew to the sidelines of the battle. Loud clangs and crashes, along with explosions and shrieks of terror, echoed behind him. The quivering, unseen figure in his arms coughed as he opened his eyes.
"Commandeer, I apologize... I should 'ave been wash-ing ze battle az my orderz instructed, but I waz diztracted and now a large army has invaded our battlefield." Jackle in the Field coughed out blood.
"Save your energy." Harsh Reality snapped, trying to sound commanding, but the quiver in his voice told all.
"Commandeer, do not be worried about me! If I should die, I will 'ave played my part and died for ze sake of Nightmare."
"Damn it, Jackle, you're my best soldier, and I need you." Harsh Reality unclipped his first-aid kit from his belt and felt around for the largest of Jackle in the Field's wounds. The other jerked and hissed when Harsh Reality brushed against a raw burn, unseen but not unfelt. Harsh Reality opened the kit and pulled out a jar of salve, popping the top off and sticking his claws in it. He slathered the salve on the wound (or what he thought was close to it) and others he managed to find along the way. "Damn it, Jackle, this wouldn't be so difficult if I could see what I was doing."
"I am sorry, commandeer, I can not 'elp 'ow Master Wizeman formed me."
"I know, I know. I'm just stating an observation, is all." Harsh Reality fumbled in the kit for some bandages and began wrapping Jackle in the Field.
"Er... commandeer? I 'ave no wounds zere." Jackle in the Field stated confusedly as Harsh Reality began wrapping up his left thigh.
"I'm wrapping all of you so I can see you, dammit." Harsh Reality snapped back. Then his expression softened. "Because if I can see you, I'll know if you're injured rather than going on your word. Not that I don't trust your word, but I don't trust my hand more."
Jackle in the Field was silent for a time as Harsh Reality worked. "Zank you, commandeer."
"Think nothing of it." Harsh Reality finished bandaging his comrade and lifted him.
"Commandeer? Where are we going?"
"Back to the Tower. With you in the state you're in I don't trust you to lead an army."
"No, no, commandeer, please! It iz only a flesh wound! Please, commandeer, I can ztill fight!" Jackle in the Field attempted to struggle from his commander's grip.
"Jackle in the Field, are you disobeying a direct order?!" Harsh Reality roared, tightening his grip. Jackle in the Field stiffened. He was fiercely loyal to a fault, and refused to disobey orders if it meant his life. He slackened, and his large, bright green eyes cast downward at the distant ground.
"Commandeer...! Commandeer... non. Non, I will obey..." Jackle whispered, defeated. He went limp in Harsh Reality's arms as the commanding general flew back into the window of the Tower, and into Jackle in the Field's own bedroom, decorated with bright, eye-watering colors and casino-like music and objects. He placed his mummy-like comrade on his bed, which was a giant roulette wheel with a pillow and blanket set up on it, and sat down beside him.
"Commander Jackle in the Field, look at me." Harsh Reality ordered. Jackle in the Field cast his eyes up. "Look, you and I both know you're too injured to fight. For Wizeman's sake, man, you were caught in a direct explosion. I know you want to go back out there and win one for the home team, but I won't allow you. You're the best we've got. The best I've got. I'm not letting the best I've got go out there and kill himself needlessly. You and I both want the bloodshed to end. This war will never end so long as the other side has soldiers willing to fight. This war could go on for a very long time. Why die now? Why kill yourself now when you could live to see it end?"
Jackle in the Field raised a hand shakily, as if he were going to reach out for Harsh Reality's hand, but merely laid it back down and turned his head away, so his commanding officer couldn't see his tears. Jackle in the Field was fiercely loyal to Harsh Reality for many reasons, most of which he refused to express to anyone but himself, and many of which involved emotions that weren't supposed to exist. Not in Nightmaren. All Jackle in the Field wanted was for the war to end, for the fighting and the suffering to cease. On the battlefield he was renowned as a lunatic of a warrior, able to utterly demolish armies single-handedly, able to move so fast it was considered magic. But frankly, Jackle in the Field did not like to fight. On the field, he allowed himself to be lost in the thrill of the chase; he allowed himself to be consumed in hatred for his enemy. However, Jackle in the Field was only following orders.
He would only follow Harsh Reality's orders. Even the Master Wizeman himself didn't understand why Jackle in the Field would only obey orders if they were relayed through Harsh Reality. It was as if Harsh Reality were the only other person in Nightmare, as if the others didn't even exist.
Jackle in the Field would prefer to sit in his room, surrounded by the bright lights and colorful music, and contemplate his own being.
"Jackle, don't hide your tears. I as well wish only for the fighting to end."
"Z... zat iz not why I weep, Commandeer."
Harsh Reality smiled softly.
"For God's sake, Jackle. That's not my name."
"It iz not why I weep, Harsh Reality."
"Thatta boy."
Harsh Reality reached a hand out and tentatively patted Jackle in the Field's shoulder. "Why do you weep? Is it for each soldier who's blood is shed? Nothing can change the cause of all this. It's in the past and the bloodshed is the result."
"Quand le massacre cessera-t-il, mon ami ?" Jackle in the Field slipped into French.
"It will cease when there is nothing left to fight for." Harsh Reality replied, looking out of the window to see a sharp contrast to the bright, overwhelming primary colors of Jackle in the Field's bedroom to the dark, shadowed storm outside, riddled with clangs of weaponry and the sharp crack of the cannons and bombs exploding.
"Qu'est-ce qui doit là lutter pour ?" Jackle in the Field asked softly. Harsh Reality looked back at him.
"I don't know, Jackle. I couldn't tell you. However, I know that no matter the reason for this war, I know that it's our duty to see it through. You get some rest, Jackle. I'll be back in later to check up on you."
". . . Oui."
Jackle in the Field nodded silently as Harsh Reality left the room, closing the door behind him and flying back out to join the battle.
Jackle in the Field was left alone to think.
He looked out the window, desperately wishing for a way to rise and rejoin his commander-- no, his friend, out there on the battlefield. He wanted to protect him, to shield him from any fatal blow. Harsh Reality had always been there for him, so why now, why at this moment, when it could have been his turn to repay him, did he have to get himself blown up? Jackle in the Field felt useless, alone, hopeless. He let out an anguished, strangled howl of physical pain and mental torment. Tears streamed down his invisible face like rivers, mingling with the remaining blood left on his body.
"Dieu, s'il vous plaît, je lutte pour la Réalité Dure!"