Disclaimer: Kroenen belongs to Del Toro. I'm only borrowing him for this story. Everything else (not much) in it is just product of my imagination.
Music to go with: Katty Perry – Ur so gay – I think it really suits Kroenen, from the perspective of every Mary Sue ;)
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Consciousness swept over Kroenen like a bucket of cold water thrown across his head. Next after, external stimuli crawled over his brain in a slow march of impulses. His left eye barely focused on some …..chains or wires dangling from the ceiling. There were other forms out there .. a table or a stretcher perhaps, covered in the dim light of an only fluorescent neon lamp flickering above him.
Where…in a base? Bunker? It didn't matter, though he predicted to be somewhere in a frozen nowhere in the middle of Siberian wasteland.
Next thing his brain registered was lying down on his stomach on what it seem to be an operating table, left hand dangling over the edge, the other bent under his head. He flexed the mechanical fingers as imperceptibly as he could to test if the metal hand was still attached. The movement was rewarded with a nondescript nerve feed-back. It was. Probably. The metal beneath seem suddenly chilled against his exposed flesh. The top part of his suit was missing.
Mask where…
He tried to lift his head or at least to shift his position for a better view, but the impulse died somewhere along the way from the brain to the muscles and he resumed being a prone mass.
Irritating.
The third thing that came to his awareness was a weight, not to heavy, literary straddling the small of his back.
Nissa.
Then there was the sensation of something sharp, like a scalpel –either the tip of her claws or tongue trailing along the lengthy scar over his left shoulder , pressing down just enough to make it's sharpness known without cutting the skin , the pressure just under the level it would induce a pain he'd like.
No, she wouldn't give it to him, the wretch!
It progressed slowly towards his flank, wriggling over the bumps of his ribs then returned to explore the scars along his spine, tipping carefully over each protruding vertebrae and finally halted above the large hole-scar between his shoulder blades where the bar that impaled his torso more than half a century ago emerged on the other side.
The pointed tip pressed into the wound poking at the nerves and Kroenen's back muscles twitched into a shiver while his mind suppressed the impulse of arching up against her claw.
Nissa always knew which of his buttons to push.
The thought was stray, likely not his own. She knows he's aware. Either that or she chose to let him know she knows he's aware.
Sound above him, a mix between a sigh and a chuckle distracts him from his attempts to move. Then the sharpness is replaced with something soft and warm, a cheek or a forehead after which he can feel the distinctive moisture of a pair of lips caressing his scars. This time Kroenen sighs, long, loud and rasped.
Als wäre ich ihr Teddy-Bär
The chuckle rumbles deep from her chest into his, like a purr, and he can feel it resonating, unsettling, through his every cog. This time he actually manages to move, lifting his head an inch from the table before she changes her position above him, crawling atop his shoulders and pushing him back with unnerving little effort. His muscles tense and strain and push hard with the intent to throwing her off him. The offending weight on his back doesn't even budge so he deflates like a balloon and remains limp again.
If the pest wants to play there's nothing he can do to put her off.
She tilts her head above his and Kroenen feels the black curls spilling over his neck and shoulders, tingling at the scars, while hot streams of her breath tickle at his exposed cornea. Yet he still can't see her and it almost unnerves him.
She bends down closer and Kroenen feels the amused smirk blossoming on her lips against his nape. He would have flinched had he still eyelids left.
In a blur of movement he could barely catch in his peripheral vision, her arm extends and sharp talons curl around his own, above the elbow , feeling at the suture in his biceps; a movement both possessive and protective it sends a shiver of revulsion down his scarred back.
His arm jerks in a semi-conscious attempt to free itself from their grip.
Useless.
With a chuckle, she tightens her hold on his arm, grinding against muscle till Kroenen can feel the metal rod replacing his humerus straining, effectively blocking the brachial innervations. The mechanical fingers spasm and twitch inordinately then his whole arm is rendered a still mass of muscle, bone and metal.
Another evidence of how easy she can toy him as she pleases.
With nothing he could do, Kroenen simply stares at the claw, the only part of her he can see in his current position. It is also the first time he can see her hands so close, so he takes his time to study it, now that his eyes have finished their accommodation with the dimness.
She must have sensed this for she loses the hold a bit, uncurls and flex her digits, morphed at the knuckle into long, blade like claws, better exposing them for him to see, fascinated, their obsidian length and he instantly understood and felt how easily those razor claws could cut though bone and steel, could break, crush and tear him to pieces. Such strength, far surpassing his, and power he so craved and knew he'll never have, all embodied in the monster above.
So much force and such an ill-suited wielder.
Again, the surge of jealousy ripped through him, clawing at his metallic heart.
She gained in one day, because of his mistake, more than he could achieve in a century, more than he dreamt to be possible and she loved to spite him with every occasion, never losing any to show him how weak and plain and incapable he is next to her. She made an art of throwing his imperfection in his face every time she could. She knew how much Kroenen hated her for it and basked in his hatred. After all, if she can't make him love her, hate would be the next best thing.
Es ist nicht wahr, Schatz?
Her thought punctured through his mind like a needle, and Kroenen briskly shook his head to clear it.
The waves of her high pitched laughter, splintered at his eardrums, and he would cringe if his remaining facial muscles allowed. Though he surely did it when she bent down and licked with that long slithering tongue of hers the exposed flesh where his left eyebrow used to be, decades ago, than trailed further along his neck, rimming over the cartilage left from his ear.
Nehmen Sie Ihre verabscheuungswürdigen Zunge von mir, Sie jüdische Hure !
It didn't come out as spoken words; instead he aimed the thought towards her like a projectile full of venom. More of that infernal ear screeching laughter was her answer, but at least she deigned to lift the cursed appendage away from his skin.
And where do you want me to put it, Schatz?
Her thought clanged in his mind just as unpleasant as her voice. Kroenen cringed. As best as he could.
Saumensch
The irritation and disgust that laced his thought elicited another mirthful chuckle from her. Apparently her favorite game of hassle-the-nazi was on, so Kroenen build up his mind's walls as best as he could and focused on contracting his consciousness in a thigh, even ball, where Nissa's psionic claws could not reach and pester. He felt the tendrils of her mind prodding at the walls of his own like a shower of cold needles across his forehead , and oozing from them, like a mist, her annoyance at having been cheated of her fun. It was satisfying and fun and he could understand for a second why she so loved to harass him so much. He might even try to laugh if that wouldn't disrupt his focus at keeping the mental shields up. Nissa prodded few more time then he felt her mind retreating away from his. Then silence, both physical and mental.
It wasn't good. In the condensed center of his thoughts Kroenen knew she was a strong enough Psion to simply shatter with a telepathic nudge whatever opposition his mind could put up. Undoubtedly that lizard brain of hers is now hatching some plan to get him out of his mental shell.
Nissa didn't let him wonder long.
Schatz? Schatz, don't want to hear a little song?
No answer.
Do you want me to sing you Das Liebesverbot? It used to be your favourite, nicht wahr? She asked aloud, the husky hum of her voice mocking at still aching griefs.
It was the last opera he sang, ninety six years ago, in the months before his singing dream crumbled along with his voice.
You miserable Jewish wretch!
The labile walls of his mind shattered in a fit of rage and his right arm shot out, hand curled in a fist towards whatever part of her he could hit. He couldn't tell where the blow landed, on her head or her shoulder, but at the impact he had the same distinct sensation of helplessness like when he hit the padded concrete walls of the mental asylum, long ago, in his youth.
The feel of her hair against his parched skin was like a mixture of scales and silk and he yanked it hard, least he inflict on her whatever pain he could. The tresses unfolded obediently, with no resistance and she chuckled again at his failure.
Kroenen untangled his hand from her curls and groped lower till he found the arch of her neck. There he gripped and squeezed, as hard as his right, flesh hand allowed. A human tissue would have crushed under the pressure, but with Nissa it felt as if he was chocking a velvet covered steel pipe. While regretting removing his nails, Kroenen dug his fingers as hard as he could in her flesh willing to give her at least some ugly bruises if asphyxia was out of question. Not that her body need oxygen anymore.
He felt her throaty laugh at his realization, felt vibrations rippling through his hand and fingers and it dawn on him that for Nissa all his attempts to inflict harm are nothing but a neck rub.
And you're sooo good at it, Schatz! She purred in his mind, elevating his anger on higher levels.
Move lower.
The mental instruction was accompanied with an arch of her neck, a languid movement like the stretch of a cat, to allow him better angle at her nape.
Oh, this plea he could certainly fill. His hand let go of her neck and swing, violently at her back with bone crushing force.
Suffer you…
And yet, it was he who did, as his palm imbedded itself in the spiky vertebras that made up her spine. Two sighs were released at the same moment, one of suffering, the other of annoyance.
Ruprecht, that hurt!
It did. Him. The mocking amusement from her voice, the usage of his despicable middle name nobody ever dared to call him by, and the cuts. The pain spilled, alien and unpleasant in the extreme like Nissa herself, in his hand, across the length of his forearm, it crippled his fingers rendering them useless.
Even the pain, coming from her, feels unbearable, Kroenen mused.
Nissa's right claw patted his exposed skull in a mockery of a comforting caress and Kroenen's rage simmered red across his vision. No amount of jerking and twisting his head could make her take the bloody hand off him, so he tore his impaled one free from the spikes and swing it at hers, trying to swat if off his head. Nissa was faster, though, and instead of her appendage, he smacked at his own skull, feeling his teeth chatter in response.
Schatz, that was awful.
Yes, it was also humiliating and enough, Kroenen decided. He pushed himself up in his hands, rolled from under her and turned to look at her over his shoulder.
In the dark, he could make out of her shape sprawled on her side, head in her right claw, could distinguish the contours of her face at which not even the lack of light concealed the contradiction with the Aryan standards. Her whole pose conveyed an amused contempt regarding his person while silently daring him to do something about it.
Kroenen thought of slapping the arrogant smirk off her face and his left hand, the mechanical one was in process of doing so when Nissa nudged him in the back with enough force to send him on the floor. He landed ungraciously on his arms and knees, bewildered by the swiftness of her reflex, back muscles spasming where her hit had landed, even though blow was a soft flick, given the stone breaking ones she was capable of.
He looked back at her, whom have now crawled to the edge of the table to jeer down at him with twinkling yellow lizard eyes and that smug smirk plastered on her mouth. An eyebrow arched up, daring him, but Kroenen thought better of it, after just being reminded which one of them was faster and stronger.
The attempt to rise on his feet failed in an embarrassing flop on his bottom and he consciously did not look over his shoulder at the source of laughter. Instead, he dragged himself away from her, or at least unavailingly tried to, arms and legs nothing but a molasses incapable of coordinate movement. Was it because of the freezing cold in the room or her telepathic powers he wasn't sure, but after half a meter distance he managed to creep on all fours:
Schaaaatz
The high pitched sound stopped him dead in his tracks, but he still didn't turn his head.
Haven't you forgotten something?
This time he did. In her hand, caught between the claws of her thumb and index fingers, was something long and solid, with golden metallic shine and even in the murky dimness Kroenen recognized the main gear that wind up his internal cogwheels - his mechanic heart.
At her audacity, the remaining facial muscles twisted in what on a normal human face would have been a frown.
Her grin widened as she leant over the table's edge to dangle the key in front of him, within grabbing reach. He remained immobile for a moment, perplexed by her gall, only the lidless eyes following it's movement, then his hand lunged at it. His fingers touched the familiar metal before Nissa pulled it back with even faster speed.
After his fury slowly faded, Kroenen wondered how stupid he must look, hunkered down on the floor, arm uselessly outstretched, a lousy source of amusement for the accursed jewish whore who stole his heart. Literary.
His exposed eye globes fixed, longingly, the gear then he stared, with as much resentment his mangled face could transmit at Nissa. He wanted his key back. Or at least a scalpel to skewer it in the wretch's throat. Though, given her regenerative abilities, the damage wouldn't last long.
Sie jüdische Zähmung
Nissa read his thoughts and smiled playfully at him, while blinking lackadaisically with all her three sets of eyelids.
It was then, Kroenen decided, that while he could manage reasonably well without his mechanical heart, he couldn't spend another second in her obnoxious approach.
With that resolve in mind, he turned around and crawled, as well as his frozen limbs could carry him, away from her, towards a darken corner of the room.
Lounged comfortably on the metal dissection table, Nissa watched him stumbling his way through the dark. Unlike his, her morphed eyes had no trouble seeing through the pitch black gloom. The monster snorted and shook her head as the nazi missed the entrance and bumped straight into a cargo box, then faltered and crashed loudly on the floor.
Will the idiot ever learn how much he needs me? She wondered.
She would turn on the lights if he asked her to. The switch was just inches above his head, anyway. She could help him repair his internal gearing. The operating table and all the necessary tools and replacements were ready in the adjacent lab, few meters from where the nazi in question laid scattered on the floor. And there was indefinitely more things she could do for him. If he only asked for. She might even return his key if he weren't so… ugh, obstinate.
Nissa pondered if it was a masochistic trait of her own that made her continue this deranged cat and mouse game that wasted her patience and his sanity with only burdening frustration for both of them as result.
Kroenen gathered himself up and continued his blind stumbling not realizing he's wandering in circle around the room. Nissa, for her part didn't offered any clue to enlighten him. She just sat there watching silently the show.
Let him dodder around like a fool if my help is too good for him.
Yes, he could be very stubborn in this aspect. But no matter how much he tried to get away, he'll return to her. Soon. She held his heart after all and the realization was somehow soothing .
The only neon lamp above her flickered feebly and faded leaving the room in complete obscurity only disturbed from time to time by the sounds of a body colliding with the floor and fits of hollow laughter.
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Explainer: For those who wonder, Nissa is a mutant like Sil from Species, with claws, spikes, tentacles and amazing regenerative abilities. And she loves to spite Kroenen with them. Yes, she's Jewish, but that's the last thing on the list of reasons Kroenen would chop her head off for. And it would grow back, too bad for him.
As for Herr Doktor, I felt the need to push him down the pedestal of invincibility and badassness everyone on Internet seem to have him on. Yes, he's a great character, superhuman and superfast and superstrong, but even he has his limits and somebody has to push them.