SPOILERS: Firebomb.
DISCLAIMER: The recognizable characters belong to J.J. Abrams;
the other guy's mine. :) Either way, no profit is being made by me.
SUMMARY: A different view of Sydney's cold suit. Silliness.
ARCHIVE: Sure.
THANKS: To Emily Meredith, for refusing to write this herself,
to Kate, for laughing in the right places, and to Jo March, as always,
for betaing despite never having seen the show.
View to a Kill
Macha
Surveillance was not Jamil's favorite duty.
After all, he considered himself old-fashioned. Walking the perimeter
with a Kaleshnikov was much more to his tastes, even if the guns
were from the infidel Russians. The guns might be the only real
help the Russians had ever given Arabia, and there was always the
possibility that someone would try to infiltrate the compound and
he'd get to use the gun when he was on guard duty. But tonight,
Jamil had been assigned to man the surveillance room, watching the
black and white images of hallways, and the strange, multicolored
hues of the infrared cameras.
The infrared monitor strained his eyes, and he was pretty sure that
he was supposed to despise such blasphemous Westernized technology,
but truth be told, it was amusing to see what his fellow men looked
like to the thermal camera. Blobs of color moving strangely, man-shaped
with arms and legs showing, despite their modest galabeeyahs.
He leaned closer to the monitor as someone -- probably Reza -- rounded
the corner and paused at the top of the staircase. Jamil wished
he could see facial expressions or hear sound as the red-blob Reza
gestured oddly with his free hand.
On screen, the Reza-shaped blob rushed forward, jabbing and ducking
as if he were fighting someone. Some invisible opponent, Jamil
thought, leaning so close to the monitor that his nose was mere
inches from the screen. There was no one. Simply no one there. Reza was...
He had no idea what Reza was doing. Jamil tilted his head from
side to side, searching for a perspective that would make Reza's
strange, dance-like movements make sense. Nothing worked, but his
eyes were starting to hurt as he strained to focus on--
By the grace of Allah!
A head!
A disembodied *head* was fighting Reza. A red blob floating in
the air, bobbing and weaving opposite Reza on the screen.
Jamil shoved his chair back, moving instinctually away from the
devil on the screen. He realized that he was making a strange,
keening noise, but couldn't seem to stop.
A head.
What in Allah's name could it be but the devil? The devil was loose
in the compound. They were all going to die.
He covered his mouth with one shaking hand, trying to contain the
shriek that was struggling its way out. And then on the monitor,
Jamil saw Reza's red blob of a body fall to the ground, motionless.
He was dead. Reza was dead.
And then the head, its features indistinguishable but awful. Menacing.
The head paused, tilted up to the camera in a distinctly threatening
manner. And then it fled, moving eerily in midair.
Jamil took one last look as it appeared on another screen in the
adjacent hallway -- the hallway just around the corner from his
location -- and he ran, screaming, into the night.
-30-
Feedback to thestickywicket@lycos.com
The Sticky Wicket:
DISCLAIMER: The recognizable characters belong to J.J. Abrams;
the other guy's mine. :) Either way, no profit is being made by me.
SUMMARY: A different view of Sydney's cold suit. Silliness.
ARCHIVE: Sure.
THANKS: To Emily Meredith, for refusing to write this herself,
to Kate, for laughing in the right places, and to Jo March, as always,
for betaing despite never having seen the show.
View to a Kill
Macha
Surveillance was not Jamil's favorite duty.
After all, he considered himself old-fashioned. Walking the perimeter
with a Kaleshnikov was much more to his tastes, even if the guns
were from the infidel Russians. The guns might be the only real
help the Russians had ever given Arabia, and there was always the
possibility that someone would try to infiltrate the compound and
he'd get to use the gun when he was on guard duty. But tonight,
Jamil had been assigned to man the surveillance room, watching the
black and white images of hallways, and the strange, multicolored
hues of the infrared cameras.
The infrared monitor strained his eyes, and he was pretty sure that
he was supposed to despise such blasphemous Westernized technology,
but truth be told, it was amusing to see what his fellow men looked
like to the thermal camera. Blobs of color moving strangely, man-shaped
with arms and legs showing, despite their modest galabeeyahs.
He leaned closer to the monitor as someone -- probably Reza -- rounded
the corner and paused at the top of the staircase. Jamil wished
he could see facial expressions or hear sound as the red-blob Reza
gestured oddly with his free hand.
On screen, the Reza-shaped blob rushed forward, jabbing and ducking
as if he were fighting someone. Some invisible opponent, Jamil
thought, leaning so close to the monitor that his nose was mere
inches from the screen. There was no one. Simply no one there. Reza was...
He had no idea what Reza was doing. Jamil tilted his head from
side to side, searching for a perspective that would make Reza's
strange, dance-like movements make sense. Nothing worked, but his
eyes were starting to hurt as he strained to focus on--
By the grace of Allah!
A head!
A disembodied *head* was fighting Reza. A red blob floating in
the air, bobbing and weaving opposite Reza on the screen.
Jamil shoved his chair back, moving instinctually away from the
devil on the screen. He realized that he was making a strange,
keening noise, but couldn't seem to stop.
A head.
What in Allah's name could it be but the devil? The devil was loose
in the compound. They were all going to die.
He covered his mouth with one shaking hand, trying to contain the
shriek that was struggling its way out. And then on the monitor,
Jamil saw Reza's red blob of a body fall to the ground, motionless.
He was dead. Reza was dead.
And then the head, its features indistinguishable but awful. Menacing.
The head paused, tilted up to the camera in a distinctly threatening
manner. And then it fled, moving eerily in midair.
Jamil took one last look as it appeared on another screen in the
adjacent hallway -- the hallway just around the corner from his
location -- and he ran, screaming, into the night.
-30-
Feedback to thestickywicket@lycos.com
The Sticky Wicket:
