District 9. gen. spoilers for the movie. R. characters belong to Neill Blomkamp.
Symbiosis.
You get only what you give back.
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I.
"No. We stick together."
Christopher's insistence unearths a primal determination to survive that Wikus immediately harnesses. The bipedal robotic suit is breaking apart the more he forces it to cooperate, its warning signals frantically flashing at him and reflecting in his mismatched irises. He wills himself to urge the machine forward, upward, for one final race to their destination: the mothership.
Wikus meets Christopher's panicked gaze and nods, his anger and adrenaline pushing him further than he ever thought possible.
"Right. Let's go, if we hurry we can--"
A deafening, whistling screech makes the rest of his statement inaudible; Wikus turns to see Koobus Venter firing an RPG towards the both of them. Furious, Wikus feels the suit enhances his reflexes, enabling to snatch it out of the air, diverting it somewhere (relatively) harmless.
"Fuck you!" Wikus shouts, voice amplified by the suit's communication devices. "Why won't you fucking die?"
"You think you can still escape, you mutant sack of shit?" the soldier yells back, his hatred disgustingly clear, as always.
Wikus is vaguely aware of Christopher seeking shelter behind a nearby shack, but has little opportunity to contemplate it further because Venter is opening fire upon him again. To his dismay, Wikus doesn't know how to activate the magnetic bullet-stopping field he witnessed earlier. But it doesn't matter -- the best defense is offense, right? Isn't that how it goes?
Screaming incoherently in a rage, Wikus shoots everywhere, anywhere, and sees Venter bleeding from some body part or another, but it's not enough to keep that damned man stalled for more than a few moments. He's loaded another rocket and aims it at the base of the robotic suit, its payload smashing on target and causing it to buckle. It crumples to the ground, dust billowing everywhere from the impact.
Shaken and injured, Wikus extracts himself from the twisted wreck and stumbles to his feet, coughing violently to expel airborne dirt from his lungs. He wonders what will happen when his they relocate in his chest. Despite the sweat and blood that obscure his vision, he spots the trapped, crushed corpse of Koobus beneath the extended arm of the suit. He can't help but feel a mix of relief and sick thrill at seeing the man dead, finally fucking dead.
He's not sure how long he stands there, but his stunned staring is abruptly interrupted by Christopher's hand -- we're the same -- on his shoulder, jostling him just short of roughly.
"We need to go," he says, the clicks fast and desperate. "Now!"
Wikus wastes no time in following him, both alien and alien-to-be running in as much of a sprint as their sore and bloodied feet will permit. After what seems like an eternity of forcing his body to continue to endure this insane overexertion, Wikus reaches the pod that houses the control module, his chest heaving and aching in pain. CJ has already moved the mothership to hover above them, and the instant Christopher steps into the pod, he's entering commands and reconfiguring settings on so many holoscreen menus that Wikus has no chance of understanding what's being done until he feels it for himself.
The pod begins to rise, a bright light entering through the partially destroyed doorway and blinding Wikus' already abused eyes. He doesn't remember when he sat down, but the strength and stability of the wall against his half-transformed back is the most reassuring thing he's experienced in days. He spends a few minutes breathing until it's no longer quite so ragged, and only then does he glance over to his newfound companions: Christopher has mimicked Wikus' position and is sitting with his back to the wall, as well, in lieu of the pilot's chair. Wikus is sure this choice was made out of sheer exhaustion and not much else. He watches as CJ sits down beside his father and curls against his side for safety and comfort, and can't stop himself from smiling.
Wikus closes his eyes and focuses on the elevator-like feeling of rising towards the mothership, listens as a soft swishing and a harsh click with an air of finality to it announce the pod's successful docking, revels in the quiet stillness as everything comes to a halt. A few seconds later, the mothership's autopilot navigates them out of the Earth's atmosphere in a rush of speed and heat.
Not long after, Wikus is weightless.