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Aberrant: Stargate Universe - Through A Glass... Redly [FIN]

The Red Man

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*You think you know me.*

Sgt Perault was training again, the mocked-up staff weapon getting more and more familiar in his hands as he spun it's unwieldy weight through strong spinning maneuvers.

*You point and say Beast. You whisper and say Crazy.*

The mid-morning crowd in the gym were getting more and more used to his presence there, but they were still uncomfortable. Something in the Sergeant came alive when he stepped onto the practice mat, something that didn't seem to feel any need to apologise or hide that deathly gaze.

*You don't know shit.*

During these sessions, alone with no-one to worry about hurting, Dec was as close to comfortable as he got letting Red do the steering. It was part of their arrangement: by letting his darker side out to play, he placed himself in a position of partnership rather than that of jailer. For Red these moments were a dance, his mind, body and soul focused on the wonderful clarity of his Purpose. All the verbal aggression, all the need to menace to release some of his violence through non-physical means, faded away in a transcendental state.

*Some of you out there think you know more, know better. You talk about Taint and psychosis. You think you can take the Red out of Dec, but that's just a cover for what you're REALLY interested in.*

The staff weapon was whistling now as it cut through the air around the leaping, twirling figure inside it's circle.

*I'm in you, too. All of you. The animal brain behind the fancy thoughts and higher moral ground. The dark voice in the back of your mind you try to push down that WILL fight tooth and claw and LOVE it, that thirsts for blood.*

The dance was beautiful, and became more so as it reached it's apex. The other people in the gym stopped and stared at the movements of impossible grace laden with murderous meaning. This was a show that repeated every day, sometimes twice, but it never got old to watch when it got to this point.

*You all have it. All of you. And that's who I am. I'm the voice in your head that wants to see that smug asshole's blood, that wants to feel his nose break under your fist. Every shred of resentment that makes you fantasize about making someone scream, however briefly. You laugh at yourself, shrug it off, go and get drunk or laid or whatever. But you can't deny you felt it for a moment. Felt me.*

Murmurs ran around the room as the Sgt spun the staff one-handed like some sort of damn majorette's baton before leaping through several arching flips, the staff never stopping it's spinning web of motion around him.

*I'm the killin' urge. I'm the primal scream of victory. When the first ape with a bright idea picked up a tree limb and used it to bash in another ape's skull, I was There. When a wife gets slapped around too many times and slices her drunken fuck of a husband open, I was There. I'm in the cities of the West, or the jungles and mud huts of the Third World. I'm in the home, or in the prisons, or even in the schools when some kids decide they want to go out with a big "Fuck you".*

He stopped suddenly, breathing deeply and evenly, eyes focused on a distant point as he thrust the staff's tip into an imaginary foe. He held that pose for a long moment, then relaxed, spinning the staff back into place beside him. The watchers murmured then, with the spell broken, went back to their own exercise routines.

*I'm Murder. And there ain't a damn thing I can't kill or break. One day soon, the Goa'uld will realise this, and they'll regret ever fuckin' with this planet. Thing is, will I even care? Or would I just as soon kill you as the aliens? That's what's keepin' you up at nights, isn't it? Relax. You'll find out, one day.*

Dec looked around himself, then placed the staff replica back on it's rack before grabbing his bag and heading for the showers. Almost reflexively, he slipped his shades on as he went, glancing around the gym once before exiting.

*Guess I will too.*

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