Obedience
She rolls her head on her shoulders, feeling the tense muscles loosen and stretch under her pale skin. She turns it to each side and then back again.
She closes her eyes for a moment, waiting for that distinctive crack! in the bones of her neck. It signals her to open her eyes again.
She smiles briefly; though it may sound sadistic, she likes the feeling of it.
She presses, and then runs a finger underneath each of her sleep-deprived eyes, trying her hardest to make them seem far more alert than what they are. Even though she has been doing this for six years now, the process now a routine embedded into her memory, getting up this early never fails to enrage her.
She can't care less about this mission, its intentions or its culmination. She is here simply because she is employed to be.
And everybody knows it.
Why she has to debrief these people, when her distaste for the entire operation is so very clear, is a mystery to her. Dr Elizabeth Shaw is far more capable and for the most part, far more interested than her.
It would have made far more sense for Shaw to stand in her place at this present moment.
She is suddenly broken from her thoughts however, as the right set of gym doors swing open. She immediately stands to attention.
Even after all these years, she cannot believe that they are still using the gymnasium to brief Recruits and Jarheads.
They have many bases on land now and why they are still using Prometheus for these sorts of activities is beyond her.
They begin to pile in and as they do, she makes sure to compose herself. She stands tall and imperial to the others, her body stiff and her expression blank. Her lips do not move, not even a tremble, her cold blue eyes staring right ahead at the wall behind them.
The only sign of life she provides is the occasional blink and even that is a rare occurrence.
The strong stench of Cuban cigars and years old brandy waft into her nose and instantly, she knows.
She does not even have to see him, but already his name is flashing in her mind.
Colonel Miles Quaritch strides into the gymnasium, his hands at his sides and his head held at an upright angle. As always, he is sans a suitable shirt and a washed pair of trousers. His singlet is dirty and worn, his impossible physique bristling beneath the thin fabric.
He winks as he passes and stands beside her, sending pangs of nausea through her rigid body.
He is a much older man, married even. But that never stops him from passing unwarranted suggestions at her at every opportune moment.
There are three people she hates most in this world and Miles Quaritch is one of them.
"I must say Miles," she says to Quaritch, her tone monotonous. She stares ahead and is sure to keep her words out of the Jarheads' ears. "You continue to astound me with your selection of individuals. Not one of them looks alike,"
"You may mock me if you like, Vickers," sneers Miles, his hands clasped behind his back. His Southern drawl is so unbelievably irritating to her ears, every note resonating unwelcomingly in her ears.
"But at least my boys aren't being putting up for sacrifice. At least I'll be taking care of them,"
Meredith Vickers swallows hard.
Quaritch has never been one to ignore the finer details.
"I didn't decide that," she says quietly.
"No. No you didn't," agrees Miles, "But your father did,"
Meredith turns to him for a moment, her eyes flashing. Quaritch knows well the hatred she harbours for her father and for him to suggest that she condones his decisions, makes Meredith's blood boil.
She ought to give him a piece of her mind, slam him on the ground and ram her fist into his throat. It surprises Meredith, the anger and resentment she harbours and she wonders about the day it will manifest into something real.
The left gym doors swing open and Meredith tries her best to contain herself. It is bad enough being the Director of this mission, but to be a woman in this situation is far more damaging. Even in such an era as this, women are still somewhat considered to be meek and obedient, slaves to their impulses and deep desires. How would it look if she, Meredith Vickers, is stumbled upon flustered and incensed?
She tried her hardest but that restraint is immediately broken however, as David 8 enters the vicinity.
Everything about him riles her inner savage, the inner savage that constantly tells her to unplug that prissy son of a bitch.
The vexing android never fails to ignite her hate for him; no matter what he does, he will always be Daddy's boy. Nothing she did as a child, as an adolescent or even as an adult could ever overcome her father's love for his hand made 'son'. Though histrionically childish as it may seem, Meredith has always seen David as the thief of her father's love for her and for that, she would always despise her artificial brother.
He looks briefly at her and offers her a polite smile.
She ignores him.
David's manner, of course, does not mean anything. David is capable of emulating human emotion and etiquette, but there is no way in hell that he actually knows why.
She looks down at the two square sets, the perfectly positioned five by five rows of seats.
The empty sectors are now not so. The right sector, as always, are filled with Quaritch's Jarhead new comers.
They are strong, fit and impressive young men who signed up to serve their country in times of war, disaster and crisis.
In times of need.
But here, they are not soldiers. Here, they are merely hired guns. Brought over not to fight wars, or to assist in disaster or to protect the people in crisis. Not to battle delusional insurgents or nihilist guerrilla forces.
Here, they are a security squad instructed to protect the 'limp dick scientists' they so blatantly despise. They of course, cannot understand the Recruits' enthusiasm for this mission, why they find this sort of work exciting. But they have no choice. It is Company Rotation and every Company will, at least once, find themselves here.
Turning away from the Jarheads, she faces the pack she pities the most.
The Recruits have followed David in and have now seated themselves in the section to her left.
Every year, like the Jarheads, the Recruits are the same. Bright eyed and fresh, young and with many years ahead of them.
For what the Jarheads may lack in intellectual knowledge, they make up with their understanding of survival and for that, the Marines are somewhat better equipped. Though they may not be familiar with the biology and ecology of this place, they know how to handle a gun. To shoot at impressive distances and protect their fellow comrades.
The Recruits have not been trained in warfare, the only thing that ignites their inner berserker are cells and microbes.
No, the Recruits are simply that.
Scientists.
They probably graduated top of their class in high school, offered places at all the best universities. And whilst they could have lived a life of comfort and success at home, they had chosen to come here.
To sign up for the 'opportunity of a lifetime'.
She sighs quietly to herself.
She hates doing this, standing in front of their bright and exuberant faces. To watch as they beam at the blasphemous lies that slide so easily off her tongue and into their eager ears. The Jarheads she couldn't care less about; they don't even want to be here.
And neither does she for that matter. But she cannot help but feel terrible when she meets the Recruits every year.
Meredith will never know these Recruits personally, she will never have to. It is not required of her and frankly, she is glad for it.
The one time she did get to know one of them, she was rewarded with unimaginable pain. Unimaginable pain and wretched agony as she had watched her friend being placed upon a board and butchered to pieces.
That had taught her, that had taught her well.
How are they to know? How are they to realise that they are not here for research, but for slaughter? To satisfy Their demands and Their insatiable cruelty?
'They don't,' She reminds herself, 'And it's best to keep it that way.'
She breaks her stance and moves forward, managing to silence everyone in the room.
She stands before them, her hands behind her back and legs straight as arrows.
"Good morning," she begins, "My name is Meredith Vickers and it is my job to make sure you do yours."
She pauses for a moment as the crowd erupts in quiet conversation, a little amused at her detached nature. It happens every year, that reaction to her cold and dictator like demeanour. She expects that it is a surprise to most. When they were told that the Director of the mission would be the first to speak to them, Meredith was sure they were expecting someone a little more fervent.
She waits for them to settle down, never one to silence a crowd with words.
"First of all, I would to extend to you a hand of congratulations," says Meredith. She tries her best attempt at a smile and in doing so, she can literally feel Quaritch laughing at her inefficiency to do so.
She continues.
"It is no easy feat making it here and you should all be very proud of yourselves. Do not doubt your credibility amongst your peers; you were selected because you are some of the best in your field."
She looks down on her nose at the Recruits. "And I say 'some' because of most of your field is already here."
That, amongst the many lies she tells, is a truth.
"Regardless of how you got here, whether it was through Board Selection…" The Recruits smile and murmur, puffing out their chests in pride.
She now looks to the Jarheads, "...or Company Rotation, you are all a part of this programme now. And being a part of this programme requires your complete dedication. Despite the excitement some, dare I say all of you, are feeling this is going to be no picnic."
She turns her back on them and starts up the slide show, rolling her eyes as she hears their excited gasps and exclamations of enthusiasm. She turns back, the years old images of LV-223 flashing behind her.
She's done it so many times; she knows which picture will come up at the precise moment.
For example, at this present moment, the full body image of an Engineer will be behind her.
The Recruits' youthful faces light up and much to their own chagrin, so do the Jarheads.
It is one thing to be told on Earth that the Makers of mankind are only a few years away. To actually see them, to live and work on the same planet as they, is another.
"Soon many of you will be out on the field. And should you ever come across an Engineer whilst you are, regardless of proximity, you are not to speak to them," The Recruits instantly groan at this, the Jarheads jeering and laughing.
Once again, Meredith waits for the crowd to settle before she speaks again.
"You are not to approach them and despite of what you're doing, you are to return immediately to base or to your point of origin. These are part of the conditions of our occupation here and so far it has served us well,"
She moves to switch off the projector.
"Should any of you breach these conditions, I will personally take your head off your shoulders," Meredith smirks and as an afterthought ads, "If they don't get to you first."
There is a slight pause and Meredith knows she must move on; the young crowd is quickly growing restless.
"On every venture, you will be in a group of minimum three researchers," she says, "And the members of this group will not change; your team is to remain intact for the duration of your stay here. To even the numbers, on every venture three Marines will accompany you bringing the team to a total of six. This too will not change."
She glances briefly at Quaritch, who responds with a nod.
Her part of the presentation is over and it time for Miles to take control.
"To explain more of this," Meredith announces, "please welcome Head of Security, Colonel Miles Quaritch."
The Recruits applaud politely, the Jarheads practically bringing down the roof with their raucous applause and cheering. Clearly, they hold Miles in very high esteem.
Why, Meredith had no idea.
Meredith took a step back as Miles takes a step forward.
He looked out on the crowd, his arms steady at his sides. Miles stared down each block, his eyes fluttering over varying individuals.
"Make no mistake people, you are not in Kansas anymore," His booming voice echoes in the capacious gymnasium, the notes practically bouncing off the walls. "You're on LV-223. Or, as the researchers tend to call it, the 'Land of Our Makers'. And despite my original scepticism, they are our makers."
At this point, Meredith tunes out. She has heard this speech every year, every year it remains the same.
There is no need to hear it again.
Her mind drifts off, her thoughts floating around in her head in a melee of bright colours and noises. It is usually grey and rather motionless. But speaking for so long and about something so orchestrated, puts her mind into a spin.
She needs a drink.
Yes, that's exactly she needs.
Something stiff and something very strong. She decides, once this is over, that she'll do it herself for once.
She needs the time alone. She hardly ever has any these days. Either David is trailing her every move, or Shaw is up in her nose trying to explain to her they simply must prepare to integrate with the Engineers, or Janek is busying informing the crew how tight she is.
No.
Solace is a difficult thing to come by, even in a place as isolated as this.
Meredith closes her eyes for a brief moment, and instantly, she regrets it.
She is trapped now, trapped in the abyss of her mind. The darkness swallows her, refusing to lighten its grip. And the hidden beasts rear their monstrous heads, threatening to consume.
All she can see is blood.
Blood everywhere. Crimson and thick, gooey as it slides from one place to another.
It is splattered all over the walls of her mind, no surface left untouched by its defiled presence.
There is blood and there is limbs.
And there are screams.
Oh, such terrible screams. They pierce through her like a physical thing, shredding her sanity apart with their dirty nails.
The pain and despair fill her head and together as a united force, pound against her skull.
They are simply bursting to get out.
They are like a little tribe of nomadic barbarians, draped in the blood of their enemies and adorning their torn fingers around their necks. They shout unintelligible things, sometimes screaming even.
The sounds are warped and the tones muddied by their blood lust, but despite all this, Meredith can understand them.
She can hear them loud and clear.
You liar! They shriek, You Liar!
She can feel the bile rising in her throat, the weight of her guilt heavy in her stomach. She wants to double over, curl herself into a ball and bang her forehead on the ground.
Make it stop.
But it wasn't her fault, it wasn't her fault.
She couldn't tell them, she wasn't allowed to.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I' m sorry.
Meredith opens her eyes suddenly and almost falls back on her feet as she does. She swallows, her saliva sticking uncomfortably on the walls of her bone dry throat. Her breath has quickened, her heart threatening to collapse against the demands of her despairing body.
She places a few fingers on her temple, rubbing it there and trying desperately to knead away the tension.
She scans the crowd quickly, hoping that none have noticed her lapse in emotion and balance.
Thankfully, the Recruits and Jarheads are so wrapped by Miles' words they have not noticed her. They are all extremely obedient, hanging onto his every word and gazing up at him as if he were God.
Even David is paying attention.
She is glad.
Oh, she is so glad.
But that reassurance, that sense of regained stability is nothing in comparison to the fear that is slowly mounting in her heart.
It pounds in her veins and sings in her blood. It sings a deadly chorus and its charm is deadly.
She is gripped by it.
She worries that one day, she might give something away. That the fear and the resent and the guilt she harbours in her heart will one day become obvious to them. That one day, they'll see her through her lies and her elaborate propaganda.
Meredith fears that day, that day when she will pay for her unwavering obedience.
She dreads the day when the lies she has told, the lies she has been told to tell, will come back to her.
Like chicks to a mother hen.
She cannot escape it and they will not leave her.
It is an endless tunnel that never presents a hope of an end. She is doomed to walk like this forever, to everywhere be bound in chains. And if they do come back to her, if they realise they trap she had made for them and come back to wreak their revenge, she fears there won't be anything left her by the end of it.
She fears the price of her precision.
Her loyalty.
Her duty.
Her obedience.
AN: Hello, hello!
Well, this idea has sort of been drifting around in my head ever since I saw Prometheus.
So basically, it is a Prometheus/Avatar crossover in which LV-223 is like Pandora from Avatar. There is a rich substance to be mined here and the researchers from Prometheus have come down to learn from the Engineers and study the ecology and biology of the place. Whilst the marines from Avatar play the same purpose that they played in Avatar.
In terms of the Engineers, they have allowed the humans to stay and do their thing, but in return, they ask for human sacrifices. And that is what the recruits are for. Back on earth, they are told that they are going to work as researcher on LV-223 and because none of them make it back alive, no one can go back and tell Earth what is really going on.
Does that make sense?
Anyway, thank you for reading and I hoped you enjoyed it! Please review!