Ngoc Chau does not own District 9.
This is the real start of the fanfic. It takes place just 8 years after they land. Forgive me, but in the trailor and movies, it says that the aliens landed 28 years ago. But in the film, it just repeats that they landed 20 years ago.
But I'm going to stick with 28 years ago, they landed.
Note, this is all going to be from Christopher's view but it's written in third person. This is sort of in the past on Earth.
15 years after the 'Prauns' landed on Earth
Christopher -as he was called by most- worked in the broiling sun of South Africa as mine worker. He could not imagine how his life spiraled downwards since he arrived. He had been someone of the highest caliber who had others at his beck and call and was treated with respect. Now he was demoted to a lowly slave who worked labour for below minimum wage.
15 years ago, he was in a hospital ward -barely breathing and moving from a sickness that attacked his limbs and stomach- and he thought as soon as he was released, he would be able to return to the ship and try to produce more fuel. But no, they would not let him or anyone else go back up. They stranded all of them in a destitute land with nothing and expected them to survive without complaints.
He shuddered as he remembered one of the politicians from his planet speak out for rights and better treatments. The answer they received from the 'humans' was a hole blown through their heads.
By now, they should've had enough fuel to go off to another planet and try their luck there. But it was all gone now, gone to power their weapons that the humans had stolen from their kind. He imagined it must've been pointless for them. They had designed weapons that only they could use and it served them well in war and strategy. That was why their kind was peaceful -they had prepared for war and battle. He mentally laughed at the paradox presented by their kind.
He sat next to one of the full metal carts on the tracks and thought about the ones back on his planet who were dead and dying. He was sure that they were happier -dead- than the ones who had left to find a different refuge. He wondered if it would be better if he could just rise up and go crazy to have his brains shot out. It would be a suicide wish, but he was sure that it would be easier than living in deep poverty. He blinked to get the horrific thought of dying out; he had spent 7 years now, finding fuel fluid in little bits of their trash that had been overlooked from the humans and distilling it, and he was certainly not going to let it go down in vain. Just a few more years and he and his friends would be able to leave along with others.
Something shocked him from his valley of thoughts; a man started to yell at him in a language that he vaguely understood.
The man's dark face was light in comparison to the native residents, but the features were all there. His dark eyes surrounded by the milky white almost seemed to glow red and his wide nostrils flared out as he bared his teeth. He dressed in the usual MNU black padded uniform with weapons all around him like armor. He stood out distinctly from the other men in white and green camo. It was odd to see his black uniform caked in blood, dried and fresh. The man looked more like a serial kill or a hunter than a mere field supervisor.
He snarled and barked out more orders.
He clicked back a response as he stumbled up from hunger and the exhaustion of working 12 hours the day before, "I was just resting! I'm getting back to work now! Don't yell at me!"
The man yelled out in English, "Get up! Get up right now!"
He wanted to yell at the human for yelling at him to get up when he already was up. But he recalled someone he knew who yelled at a human for stealing his food and in the end, he was taken away into custody. Christopher -biting his tongue and mandibles- nodded and walked towards the opening where the others were working and joined them in mining out stones for a new air-way.
A few of them stared at him and he could recognize the look from his own mirrored face. They were scared as he would've been if there was another in his position right then. They were defenseless with no way to ward off the attacks or even run -the entire perimeter was guarded.
He walked in long strides to work faster and to have the supervisor see that he was working hard, but the man followed. He roared out words and curses with a horrible voice that was neither supportive or kind and he would stab the end of his gun into Christopher every few steps. His back was aching and he was sure that the rounded barrel marks were dug into him. As he went in deeper into the tunnel and picked up large bolders. As Christopher lugged a heavy boulder to the cart, the supervisor thrust his gun at him, causing him to crash into the wall.
The impact was harder than it seemed and he gave a small shriek.
He looked up to see the supervisor smirking so proudly at him and then leaving him. So horrible; they were so horrible. How could they find enjoyment in causing pain to others? The heavy clacks of the supervisor's boots died away to a ghostly echo and each one of them were still while the carts were still going.
When they could tell that the supervisor was well out of view, a few of them jumped from their spots to his side. they clicked out questions of sympathy, "Are you okay? Does your head hurt? Is anything broken?"
He nodded and shook his head and got up with the help of a tiger-coloured non-human who wore something like long skirt at his side, "Thank you, Bieki."
If expression could be imagined on a praun's face, the one who helped him was doing a good job of it. A look of confusion was on his face, later washed away like water by realization. Said non-human reminded him, "On this planet, you are Christpher just as I am Thomas. We.... We must not speak our names in front of the humans. They won't allow it, they'll beat us again for it."
Christopher's hand went to his back, feeling the ridges of his outer plate and spine. It stung like someone had pressed hot coals onto them.
"Yes, thanks for reminding me...." he hesitated -trying to remember the English name of his friend, "Thomas."
"No problem, Christopher. In this world without order, we still have to remember to be.... nice."
He couldn't believe how Thomas had adapted so quickly to life on Earth. He was the first one to understand and convey the rules the rest of them and he was the first one to remember all the english names while they were still struggling to remember their own. All continued to work the mindless tasks.
As he wheeled and pushed the full heavy cart on the tracks to make more space for more coming carts, he heard a loud crash and hushed cursing. The sounds of it were harsh and sharp like a whip bouncing off stone or bone, then trailing over gravel. It was strange how the sounds continued for some time, there were so many guars and supervisors around, so why wasn't it stopped?
From his never-dying curiosity, he stopped to see what was happening.
Christopher tip-toed as quietly as he could, his mandibles clicking like falling pebbles, and followed the growing sounds of brutality. It was almost hard to find it in the maze-like mountains and fields. He heard the crashing and yelling get louder as he looked into a small ditch.
His eyes almost widened at what he saw was conspiring between humans. He saw a group of 3 hooded men who smelled awful and looked to be of bad character. They looked like the gang members of some of the warlords and arms dealer around District 9. He studied the picture in front of him. There was a small dark-skinned woman amongst the ruffians. All 3 of them were beating her and spitting on her, but she simply crouched and took their punishment.
He wondered why she didn't scream.
If she started screaming, help would be coming just as he had come to investigate the noise. He could see her mouth opening and closing, breathing like a fish, but no sound came out. He pondered if the woman was a girlfriend or a sister to one of them.
It wasn't his business to interfere.
If anything, the MNU who took care of his people and the slums they lived in -District 9- forbade them from interfering with humans and their affairs. He was about to get back to work -before the supervisor came after him and beat him again, worst if the human decided to kill him- but something suddenly caught his attention again. His eyes met with the woman's and he felt something strange in having a human look him straight in the eyes with something different aside from hostility and hate. Something in her expression begged him to stop them and save her.
'I wish I could help, but what can I do?' he thought to himself.
He couldn't help her and even getting help was beyond his abilities. he clicked his mandibles and turned away, yet another thing of this woman stopped him.
She whistled.
She whistled a high pitched unwavering whistle as the men were beating her and punching her in her ribs. He went back to see what she was whistling about and another sound of clicking welcomed his ears. From the clicks and brief whistles, he understood as though one of his kind was speaking to him, "Help me."
He had always felt disgust for humans, but seeing her so vulnerable and defenseless without even screaming had him thinking. He frantically thought of how could he save her. In almost every scenario that he thought up in his advanced alien mind, it resulted in him getting in trouble and beaten -even going so far as to be taken away and killed.
The same clicks and whistles came again from her and for a few brief moments, he actually thought that one of his own was the one getting attacked, "Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me. Help me...."
He couldn't go close to humans, not even the scum of them. Looking to the ground, he picked up rocks. The humans below paid no attention to him at all, they didn't even realize he was standing so close -casting a long sombre shadow over their forms. He gulped as he reeled his arm back. As soon as the first rock would leave his hand, it woud be all over and there would be no going back.
Even if it didn't hit any of them, it would all be over and he would surely be dead.
He meditated whether or not it would be the best choice to do; save a human by injuring another human. At long last, a sound came from the small human woman. She fell to the ground and hissed out a long strained sound. It reminded him of the pipes at the factories he worked on some weeks when the pressure from water would be too much and it would escape by the small holes at the tip of the cylinder pipes in steam.
Without even realizing what had just occured in his brain, the stone left his hand and was on its way to one of their heads. He stepped forward, as though he thought he could draw it back by wishing hard and staring at it but it was futile.
In one split second, it had left his hand. In a moment, it was traveling for their heads. In less than a second, it hit one of the men with a sickening crack. Christopher leapt back behind a stone wall and pressed himself as close as he could. His tall form crumpled up and slid down against the rough stone. He tucked his long legs to his chest and carefully watched from the corner of his eye. He could see that the one was drooling and his face was twisted in distortions. His dark face actually had a raging red tinge to it and fear struck him deep down in his core.
The gang member walked a few steps out of the ditch -Christopher hoped that he wouldn't find him- and his nose twitched as though he was smelling the air. "Bitch! Come out and fight like a man! I'll kill you! I'lll fucking kill you, you motherfucker!" came a bellowing order.
His mandibles clicked in tune with the cocking of the man's gun.
Oh...
Oh...
He simply helped another and he was going to die for it. He wasn't even sure if the woman was alive at this point. He could hear the steps coming closer and closer..... closer....... closer....... He had heard of situation such as these where someone would pray for mercy or even to one called God and they would actually be spared. Just from seeing and hearing about so many superstitions to save lives, his fingers clasped over each other and he started wishing that whoever was coming to kill him would leave him alone or be killed back after taking his life. In the midst of his prayer, he hoped that the woman had at least gotten away and understood that he had good intentions towards her.
He could practically smell the man's presence right next to him and his eyes shifted to the right of him. THe man's tattered nike shoes were right next to him, his eyes moved up to see patched up and ragged grey jeans, then to the pockets of the hoodie, then the gun's barrel.
He clicked out a questioning sound.
The man started snickering, "Get ready to die, you dirty fucking prawn."
He closed his eyes and his hands fell to his side; it was all over. His life of 140 human years was about to be over. He still had so much to look forward too. He still had so many years till the age of 400 human years. He still had yet to go home. But.... he had threw all those chances and years away for...... a human woman who was mostly likely dead.
The man in front of him paid no attention the order and pushed it against Christopher, the cold steel on his hot plates. He sneered out once more, "Motherfucker, you're dead."
A shot was blasted out and he closed his eyes shut from the shock of hearing such a loud sound.
Yet, he felt no pain. He felt no blood oozing down his body. He hesitantly opened up his eyes to see the same man standing right in front of him, but he was convulsing like a snake had bit him. Drip.....
Drip....
Came those little sounds and right away he scanned his head and chest for a bullet hole. There were no injuries of any kind and finally he looked to the still shaking man in front of him. The dripping sounds were coming from him. As soon as the discovery came to him, the man collapsed on his side and was motionless. He did not move. He did not swear and curse. He did not even breathe.
He was dead.
There came the rising sounds of an alert siren and thinking that he had already been in a lot of trouble, Christopher ran off to get back to work. He supposed that some of the automatic machine guns that were now attached to the speakers and cameras had accidently fired at the human instead of him. Or the guards were playing guns again and had aimed for some blank spot, only to hit him instead. Or perhaps his gun had malfuctioned and shot back at him. He didn't spend anymore time thinking up the reason for his survival and sprung away. His frantic clicking and leaps got him back to the mining in a few short minutes.
Some of the non-humans who were still working as though nothing had happened told him as soon as he arrived, "Don't worry. We didn't see nothing. We heard nothing. So we're not going to say anything. Just... just pretend that nothing happened."
He nodded his head and he hoped that the idea of pretending that nothing happened would work out. It woud've been impossible since the blast of the bullet had echoed so loud and virtually shook the whole terrain. He didn't want any of the supervisors to see him or have anything linked to him and decided to go deeper to avoid whatever might be coming. He sprinted deep into the stone mines and nervously picked up the stones in the darkness on his way. The other prauns with him barely acknowledged his presence and practically ignored him.
The only sounds in the cavern were the grunts of the workers, the stones falling to the ground, and the squeaking of the rust metal wheels of the carts. His hearts were stilll beating and his antennas whipped off his forehead.
There was an excitement remaining in helping that human, but it scared him. The addiction to adrenaline did exist to his kind and it often led to executions and banishment. He imagined if the plan were to actually go through, would the feeling be better and worse? He was actually still breathing hard and his antennas twitched violently, still recalling each second of how the sudden feeling of what was pressed against his hand just leaving instantly.
Most of all, the vivid sounds of the whistling rang deafly in his ears. He could still hear it as though she had been screaming. But he then imagined it not as a scream for help, but more like a bell. That was how clear it had been, it was like the crystal like bell that rang in the morning every day to tell each of them to wake up. He sighed as he remembered the look that he had seen from her; a look that asked -not ordered or demanded- for help. From him of all.
The thought of her eyes looking into his somehow made his work more bearable than usual and the day seemed to pass all too quickly with not a single supervisor coming by for questioning luckily.
Work was over for the day at about an hour before curfew. The skies that were always seen to be blue and orange streaked with red in the late afternoon were now dark as coal with small points of lights. The guards blended in with the shadows that a few had bumped into them. The humans erupted in a fury of swearing and menacing threats.
Each non-human boarded the rickety and rusty bus one by one, checking off their names off the list at the front as they did so.
The bus was low for their tall heights and the seats were torn with the plastic cutting into them whenever they sat. There were bars and fences on the windows and it was like they were being taken into jail rather than going home.
Christopher felt nervous as he passed the bus driver behind the caged wall and the driver appeared to be glaring at him. His brows were furrowed together like it could be one and his mouth was turned to be an arch. He pondered if guilt and stress could be see on his face.
He chose to sit in the back for that day and his request for a seat was accepted by a thin non-human.
This non-human was given the name of Sara Paige with her curving torso and soft navy colour plates. She didn't look so masculine with rags of cloth covering the area betwen her legs and a sort of ragged sash going across her chest, it was mostly size that resulted in having everyone think of her as a girl. Sara had experienced a brief humiliation and detest when she was assigned the womanly name by MNU for on the home-planet, Sara had been a soldier and took on a paternal role rather than a maternal role.
At first the rest of them had teased her about the sudden gender change and name, but that changed when Sara had sucker-punched each other them -still reminding the rest of them about her brute strength that had served her well on their home planet. All of them still thought of the once manly soldier as a woman, but they still treated her as equally as they would a paternal figure.
The bus rides were always quiet since the MNU were always monitoring any of their activity and conversations. Any word of anything cuold be misinterpreted as rebellion and anyone could die. They were considered lucky if they were just detained for a month and released back into the slums.
Christopher -just having the urge- asked Sara discreetly, "Can I switch sides with you?"
Sara inquired first, "What for? There's nothing to see out there and bars are all in the way. It's safer to just stay in our seats. The guards could think that we're planning an escape."
Sara was the least trusting of them all, ready to get rid of any trouble-makers she saw that could jeopardize any of them. She would rather report them to the MNU herself than keep them around and have investigations done around them.
She had killed 3 humans before simply because they got on her nerves -calling her names and scum and trying to steal from her- and she was able get away scot-free by placing the MNU's attentions on another one of them that had been wreaking havoc all around by going out after curfew and scaring some of the townspeople. When all had asked her why she had done that to one of them, she simply answered, "All of us would've been in trouble because of him. It's better that it was him instead of all of us. Besides, he probably would've spoiled any of our future plans."
She was cunning.
He also knew that it was often hard to get what one wanted from Sara. Still, he was persistent in asking and trying to persuade her to let him sit at the window for the day. Each of his requests were denied with a simple, "No."
Finally, he offered her, "I'll buy you dinner tonight for the seat."
A look of excitement grew on her face and she actually looked happy for once, "Cat food?"
He sat back against the scratchy seat, "Sorry, I don't have enough for that today. I'll get you beef." His tone rose up to the point that one could interpretate him as hopeful.
There was a pause for a few seconds then she bent low in her seat, "Okay, fine. All for switching seats. Keep acting like this more often and you'll run out of money."
He bent his legs up high onto the chair as she slid off the seat. She moved on the outside of him -making absolutely no sound with her nimble feet- and rose back up to sit, pushing him to where she had been moments ago.
"Thanks." he clicked to her.
"It's fine. Just don't forget to buy me something to eat when we get back." she reminded him with a sort of wit under the voice of exasperation.
He smiled in a way that their kind would smile and turned to look at the window. He gazed through the thick steel bars and thought whimsically. His thoughts wandered back to the female that had been beaten so cruelly, but did not utter a sound. He could only remember her expression. He wasn't even sure if she had gotten away. He hoped that she did. He hoped that she was safe. As he looked outside, he saw some people were still out, surprisingly. It was strange to see peope who were still out before their curfew. Most were frightened of them to even dare to come out, seeing the actions that they had done to simply survive before they were completely isolated.
It was strange -to him as he tried to get his head straight- how he couldn't even remember the woman's face when he found himself always thinking about her situation. Yet in lieu of the lack of identity for this ghost, he imagined a woman with a dark complexion and a small stature. He imagined that it was her who was standing outside in the fields and markets with a basket on the top of her head, looking at the bus with a curious expression instead of one that was fearful.
The bus drove closer to District 9 and a few people were still out. Their face widened and turned longer with open mouths and they ran away from the bus. Through the metal of the bus, he could hear screams and cursing.
The bus drove just a few yards into the area only to stop in a wide space with trash all around. The sight was not enough, but the smell was awful with fungus and what not hanging off of everything. The bus driver stayed behind his wired cage and spoke out with a stern voice, "Every non-human is to go out and receive your pay by the truck behind. You will calmly go purchase whatever food you want within District 9 then go straight to your homes. You will not be alowed to leave until the morning. Get off right now in a calm orderly fashion!"
All got up from their seats, the creaking increased, and they walked as though they were the living-dead. Christopher was the last one to leave from his seat and the smell of rot and compost suffocated him. Even after 15 years, the smell bothered him greatly.
They all walked in a straight line, one after the other, to an officer who was standing outside the door of the truck. The man's face was barely seen under his helmet and the dim light of the stars. He looked almost faceless. A small clatter of coins could be heard falling into the plated hide of their hands. The line moved all too quickly. The pay for an entire day was a small 35 Rand that could pay for just one supper and a small jug of water.
As soon as he saw all the coins fall into his cupped hands, he felt a tug at his side. He walked away from the officer with his pay in his hand and saw who it was who was tapping his shoulder. It was Sara.
"Don't forget that you promised to buy me dinner." she reminded with impatient clicks.
He nodded and the 2 of them walked side by side to the butcher's corner.
The butcher smiled at the prauns who were coming to buy their final meal for the day, his teeth shining white as silver, "Ahh.... Good customors! What'll you be having tonight!"
Sara clicked out a response, "Half the ribs!"
The butcher laughed, "Excellent choice. No cat food?"
Sara looked to him, asking, "Can I get it?"
Christopher considered what he was already paying for. Ribs were a pretty pricey part to buy but it wasn't totally expensive. While he was calculating, the butcher's hollow voice enthusiastically asked over and over, "C'mon, why don't you buy some catfood? It's so good, why don't you buy some? Don't you like it?...."
He wavered his hand in front of him, "No cat food. Ribs." He held out a hand that contained 21 Rand and asked it if was enough.
The butcher took one look and asked, "10 more and that'll be enough." He paid it, looking regretfully at the money he gave away. The butcher cut the ribs in half with just one sweep of his axe. He picked up the broken red and white meat off the dirty fly-infested board, handing it over to him. He pointed over to Sara who took it with the greatest interest. The butcher laughed again and again as she almost carressed the piece of meat, "Oh, buying for your girlfriend, huh?"
A murderous glint shone from Sara's golden eyes, but she laughed a dry laugh with the look glowing so intensely. Christopher wished the man could consider how lucky he was for escaping the wrath of this famous warrior. They went off and Sara -suddenly showing off her feminine side to her gender- asked, "What are you going to eat tonight?"
They stopped at a sort of crossroad. He answered quickly, wanting to go back to his shack to just lie down and rest, "I still have some bones and meat from yesterday. I'll finish that off."
He turned around and headed for home when he overheard the chirping of Sara, "Thanks for dinner tonight!" He turned over his shoulder and waved his hand back. He mentally hoped that the meat hadn't gone too bad.
For the entire day, he recounted that about 95% of his thoughts had turned to the simply gaze and whistle of the human female. The female plagued his mind endlessly. He couldn't believe that for a dead woman (he assumed), she would have such a possession over him.
Everyone made a rule to walk at a moderate speed. Going fast, even if you would be late for curfew, was risky since it would bring the most attention and concern as to why one of them should be in such a hurry. Walking leisurely was equally bad and stupid since you would waste more time.
His strides were longer though, for he wanted to come home and just feel safe beneathe the sheets of scrap metal and dead wood. A few others who were eager to get home or who had been in District 9 all day instead of working passed by him, bumping and almost knocking him to his knees. Most of them ignored him while one or 2 of them clicked out, "Hey!"
He didn't really believe in fighting and just brushed it off. He was glad that his house wasn't so far into the District and gently pushed back to door open. The door moved with a whimpering squeeek. He stepped into the dirty ground of his home -reaching back and closing the door- and looked up to find the piece of meat that he left had flies buzzing all around it like moons around a planet. He couldn't totally tell about the colour of it in the white moonlight from the small window close to the top of his ceiling.
In his small shack, he had no electricity as the others did in the slums of District 9, but he and the others still found a way to produce light with candles they bought with no choice and finding batteries and old flashlights in the dumps or on the streets.
After bringing the piece of meat down, his hand immediately went to a corner of the one room hut and pulled out a long lamp with bars over the bulb from under a pile of boxes and things from the garbage and kept from the interest of it. He switched a small tab at the top of it and the entire hut was filled with light. He thanked fate and the spirits for letting humans be able to create industrial-strength products. He sat in the middle of the one room hut and ate noisily into the bone of meat. It was on the verge of rot, but it still had some nutritional value, so he didn't care. If he caught something from it, he was sure it would go away after a few days or weeks of suffering.
He looked around at all the screens that adorned his walls like black window tanks and thought of one thing, 'I need to find a better way to get internet without the MNU's help.' Few bits of the meat fell on his long legs and in his lap, that he scooped up with cupped fingers and slobbered all over it in a beast-like hunger. The thoughts of the woman were blown away by wishes of cat-food. He wished that he had savoured the treat of it longer instead of finding himself at the mercy of the bitter salty taste.
He eagerly looked forward to tomorrow -Sunday- and hoped that tomorrow in the garbage would bring better prospects to the mission to find more fuel. Distilling it was much too slow and finding it was faster to collect but longer to find. Still, it was much better than cutting one self and leaving the blood in the sun for long periods of time that could've stretched into a century.
His sloppy chewing slowed down to a muffled gulping as he looked up to the top of his hut. He could hear through the walls; the sounds of prauns cheering over illegal gambling matches, the human prostitutes that had been sold to them for an hour a night, the sobbing of little young ones and their mothers.
Silence was the norm, so it didn't usually count.
Most of all, in the gaps of the symphony of torment and life, the wind blew so hard through the huts that he could feel it enter his like a snake slithering in and he could hear the hut creak as it leaned.
'The wind is talking to me.' he sighed to himself -from the flow of the moment or the sad realization that night was always so lonely- he didn't know. He continued to eat again when the wind stopped and the warmth from the bright light filled his nerves.
'The wind is talking to me.' the thought itself was crazy but it kept him sane.
That was second chapter. I hoped you like it. It gets better in the next chapter.
Please review.