MEN IN BLACK

"For all of you, the dream is over. I have taken it away. For this is my judgment on you: that you shall know, at all times, and forever, exactly what you are. And you shall know just how LITTLE that means."

Part Five, Volume 2: The Doll's House

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She always saw feathers. They always floated by after the cell locked with a clang, after she heard his breathing, after the police jacket was thrown to a corner, after she felt his callused, sweaty palms covering her mouth and slithering about and in her. She would see red in blurs and she would grab her gun and she would go with a bang, bang, bang and the casings would drop and the feathers would float and she should have felt better but she just felt pissed. The sky would be red and the clouds would be black and there'd be a badass track in the background and she would think to herself, "Fucking hell, the yaba and Overholt is screwing with me."

She would know it wasn't all real yet it was real and she didn't dream. She had fucked up moments that she'd rather not think about in waking. Give her a day in happy fun time world Tokyo with some blow and a businessman while shooting some cans off a playset and putting some lead in some bullshido fuckhead with a bad haircut. Give her wild times in a jungle with a Chinglish bitch and random explosions that only happen in the movies. Give her some neo-Nazi tards to be fish chow and a maid on the side to roast and batter. Fuck it all. Anything but the goddamn feathers.

The feathers, for once, listened and disappeared. She stood on the top of a building with the wind in her hair, looking out at Roanapur, then turned around and miraculously found herself in front of the Yellow Flag. She touched the door and the bar blew up before her eyes.

"Damn it, Revy! It's always your fault!" she heard the disembodied voice of Bao say.

"I didn't even do anything!" she yelled at the air. Then there was nothing but rubble and Roanapur began to look like the set of an old Western with a sickly orange sky with vultures over her head. Some odd tune by Johnny Cash whistled in her ear. God's Gonna Cut You Down, huh?

There was a rumble and the crack of a whip. Over the horizon she saw a dark cowboy on a horse. His eyes were the color of the brimstone sky and his horse was pitch black, a shadow. Before him, Revy turned back into Rebecca, no longer a woman but a scared girl in a leather jacket and torn jeans. She shivered before him and looked over her shoulder. Fuck, that cop. She could feel it. He was coming for her.

"You wanna be bad, girl," the rider said. It wasn't a question. She looked up at him pleadingly. It was Jack Wilson, the Man in Black, the original badass motherfucker, her hero. He came to save her.

"All these years and you still don't have it," he grumbled. "No bitch is riding with me. You need to have more grit. I want a real bad girl, and you ain't it." The ground cracked beneath the shadow steed's hooves as the Man in Black turned around. Tears streamed down her face.

"No, wait! I am bad! Let me ride with you!"

But her hero was gone in a cloud of dust and flame. A cold hand touched her shoulder and she turned to see the cop. He clenched her shoulder so hard it ripped out of its socket.

"You motherfucker!" she cried. "I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"

"I wouldn't be so loud, Becky. The boy will hear us," he murmured into her ear. She took a swipe at his face and her wrist cracked in his grip. She was thrown to the ground and his jacket landed alongside her. The sand stung her eyes and blinded her.

"Now, is that any way to talk to New York's finest?"

She couldn't see, but her ears picked up an odd sound. The husky male tone morphed into something familiar, too close.

"C'mon, you little shit. Stop your bawlin' and put up a fight." The tone was feminine now, a jagged voice.

Rebecca took a blind swipe at the air. She felt skin gather under her nails. The voice started to laugh.

"Is that all you got? I guess Two Hand can't do much with her own two hands without a gun. Haha, get it?"

"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" Rebecca attempted to wipe her eyes to be rid of the sand. In a teary blur, she looked up and saw the cop.

"Hey, baby, can you hear it? The skeleton chorus is singing for you." The voice didn't match the body. The cop lowered his sunglasses and Rebecca screamed. The pair of teeth in the eye sockets chattered and the face melted away, creating a new visage.

"Hey, gungirl, why don't you give the band some doubloons for their trouble?" Revy said. Blood and coins dripped from the teeth-eyes. Rebecca punched the woman's jaw and it came loose from the force, hanging limply from her face and swinging. The teeth-eyes clicked and grinned.

She got to her feet and ran, ran as far as she could in the desert wasteland. The sands began to slither around her and pits began to form. Still, she ran, and ran, and ran. A storm brewed at her heels and a colorful band of skeletons played a somber tune in the background.

"You can run on for a long time," they rattled while plucking strings on guitars. "Sooner or later God'll cut you down..."

She swore incoherently and put her chin down to her chest, breaking into a full sprint. Everything her feet touched crumbled into flame and the desert began to fade and crack. A raven flew beside her head as the world disappeared.

"You need to stop, girl," the bird crowed. "I did some bad things in my life too, but the boss man doesn't like you tearing up the dreamscape so much. You might want stop going in so deep."

"You needn't speak, Matthew. I shall deal with this one accordingly."

Then Rebecca ran full force into another man in black and fell back from the hit. She looked up. It was not her Man in Black, but a man in black nonetheless. There was no brimstone in his eyes, only dark voids, and he rested atop a nondescript white horse. The raven landed on his shoulder.

"I see the new Corinthian is attending to his tasks well," he said to himself. "Perhaps too well. Miss Two Hand, you have been digging into this realm very deep as of late. This, I cannot abide as you have sight of the waking world also. Such things can lead to calamity."

"The fuck are you yammering about?" she spat.

"You shift far too often between worlds," he said matter-of-factly. "You dream as you wake. This is usually not a conundrum, but your actions have been having an effect on my duties. The Western landscape is in decay."

"Just who the hell are you? Who do you think you are to tell me this shit? I don't even understand a fucking thing you're saying."

"The alcohol consumption with the yaba does not bode well with your already broken mind," he stated. "You may want to re-evaluate your life choices while you still have them, lest you meet my eldest sister for good. You are drifting out of my realm, thankfully. I can repair this dreamscape while you are away."

She could say nothing more as he rode away with the raven and the broken desert fell out of her view. She stood in a dark void and beheld the sight of a pale woman in black cowgirl attire with an ankh around her neck. Rebecca looked down at herself and realized she was Revy again before looking back at the familiar woman.

"So, you're here again, huh?" the smiling woman asked. Revy looked to the side and pursed her lips. She never knew how to deal correctly with Death whenever they met. She scratched the back of her head.

"Uh, yeah... I guess I am."

"You're still not ready, I see," Death said, crossing her arms over her chest with a smirk. Revy sneered.

"Well, fuck, I don't really have a choice, do I?" the gunslinger shrugged.

"Strange thing about that. A guy I know made a bet a long time ago, but I don't think you wanna gamble at the moment." Something in Death's eyes glimmered in remembrance.

"Then why are you here?" Revy asked quickly.

"More like, 'Why are you here'?" Death retorted. "You put yourself in a lot of predicaments that end with seeing me."

"So, is that a fucking problem?" Revy asked agitatedly. "You always look so happy when I come." Death laughed at the words.

"A problem? Not for me, never for me. But for you..."

Revy grit her teeth and glared, before slouching and exhaling in a deep hiss.

"Whatever. I'm not going yet. You got an issue with that?"

"None at all," Death said. She smiled solemnly. "I just hope the next time we meet, you'll be more at peace with yourself."

Revy couldn't give a jaded remark as she found herself being shaken by Rock in her bed.

"Revy? Revy! Wake up! Please wake up!"

Her glassy eyes regained some livelihood and she instinctively brought her hand to her face. Blood was leaking from her nose.

"Rock, it's all static. I'm alive," she mumbled. Without thinking, she grabbed his tie and started to wipe her face. The sun peeked out from the shades of her room. How long was she out?

"I was worried," Rock confessed, ignoring the ruined accessory. "We hadn't heard from you for three days. When I came here, I thought you had..."

Revy rolled her eyes with a grimace, before shooting a nasty grin his way. Without warning, she grabbed a fist full of his hair and brought his face to hers.

"I was just dreamin', Rocky-baby. That's all."


A/N: Last chapter. Phew, main characters are difficult for me to write about. Revy is hard to peg. Tie that in with Dream, and I had absolutely no clue how to tackle these beasts. I tried, with some much needed help.

I definitely borrowed some stuff from Amigodude's Gun Punk here. If you haven't read it, just leave this story right now. Go read Gun Punk. Now. Seriously, like, right now.

Cheers.