08-11-2018, 08:55 AM
Thank goodness the Bandit had struck first. Mickey didn’t have the chutzpah. He careened through the air. Nothing seemed to matter.
How could it, after that?
“You don’t have to go through with it.”
Was that true? Would Susie forgive him if he just couldn’t? The Bandit’s words were comforting, but they couldn’t shake the demons plaguing the mouse every second since Susie’s pigtail slipped from his fingers. He’d bought into this game’s sadism, and she’d been caught in the middle. And paid dearly for it.
He couldn’t help but think that if he’d just left the sign up booths, she’d still be alive.
“Are you trying to fight in this game?”
He’d let other forces overtake his own instincts, and because of that, Susie was dead.
Forever.
His guilt overtook him as he plunged into the toxic waste.
Above, a surprised Bandit waved. “Good fight, buddy.”
Kerrigan appeared behind her, arms crossed, glancing down at the break in the noxious fog where Mickey Mouse had fallen through. “Hmph,” she scoffed, “Weaker than I expected.”
The Bandit’s smile sagged. “Yeah, I didn’t think he’d—”
“No matter,” Kerrigan interrupted, whipping her gaze toward their opponents’ territory. “We’ve got another to crush.”
Kanda mounted their demonic turret, his body shaking. He wept as he switched it on, aiming it at the no-named woman and Kerrigan. It went against every fiber of him to traffic with mechanisms of Diablo, but he’d just watched his tragedy-stricken partner choose to accept fate. He could’ve lived to fight another day, but didn’t have the will.
Before this, Kanda might’ve resented the mouse king, written him off as a weakling and a coward. But he wasn’t—he was strong and noble, and if this was his chosen death, the exorcist would accept those wishes. He owed the mouse that much respect.
And he would destroy the women across the chasm from him in Mickey’s honor.
He jammed the trigger, expecting lasers, or flames, or at least something normal; instead, scores of souls, charred from years of torture, erupted from the turret’s mouth, scattering with a cacophony of the most disturbing screeches any of the competitors ever heard. The Bandit covered her ears; Kerrigan watched with a scowl as they refocused on their targets and charged at them.
Underneath the goo, Mickey Mouse sank.
The weight of his body dipped slowly through the slime. If he hadn’t been so numb, he might’ve felt the burning of his fur beginning to disintegrate.
This pain was nothing. His heart ached worse.
He hoped his time in the Omniverse was at last over. Please, he begged, his thoughts echoing in the empty, guilty void that was his mind, take me away and don’t bring me back. He hoped, for once, that the Bandit was wrong. Maybe all primes didn’t return. Maybe Omni could pick and choose; maybe he’d spare Mickey the torment of another however-long in this place…
Free me.
He spread his arms, welcoming death. The toxic waste burned with even the slightest movement.
Then, for a moment, death greeted him like an old pal. His eyes opened, but instead of toxic waste, he saw a dark figure staring down. A small, dark figure that was somehow everlastingly bright, a living hyperbole. He stared up and fear overtook him.
“Hey, Fella,” the creature said, disarmingly friendly.
“Don’t make me go back,” Mickey pleaded.
“Oh-ho-ho,” the figure chuckled, “...come on pal. You know you gotta.”
Mickey’s face scrunched.
I don’t wanna.
Okay.
…
…
Okay… okay…
Breathe.
His heart beat. Tha-thump, tha-thump.
Dang. Still going.
“Still going!” the little guy nudged. Within the hood, Mickey could see a cheeky, familiar grin spread beneath the hood. “I know. Ya wonder why,” he nodded. “Can’t tell ya, pal. You just gotta do it.”
“I don’t wanna,” Mickey Mouse wept.
“But I will.”
The Bandit sank beneath the force of the banshees.
Kerrigan batted the spirits away easily and soon thrust Yu Kanda from the turret’s seat, swiping him with her wing blades. Blood gushed from a chest gash as the Queen’s spindly fingers wrapped around his throat and surged psychic energy into him.
“You… won’t… win,” he stammered.
Kerrigan rolled her eyes. These drama queens.
“Fool,” she barked, “I already have.”
She squeezed. The killing blow was here, but just before the light left the exorcist’s eyes, a pillar of Light energy smashed between Kerrigan and her prey, knocking them both off their feet.
The Bandit With No Name looked up, amazedly, then heard the swooping of a carpet and the familiar, springy touchdown of yellow sneakers.
She spun. “Mick!” she shouted. “Thank fuck!” Met by a keyblade whacking her abdomen, she doubled back, clutching her stomach. “Ooooooof,” she exhaled, “ya got me there, killer.”
She looked at him. His eyes were a deep, ugly shade of yellow, his fur mostly burnt off; barely enough shreds of his clothes remained to keep him modest. Boils sprouted from all over his body, alternately oozing puss or spilling blood. He didn’t resemble your run of the mill Saturday morning mouse anymore.
“You look rough, dude,” she quirked.
“Thanks, Butt Kicker,” a renewed Mickey chuckled.
“Look, Mick, I don’t mean to criticize,” she snarked, “but you’ve said that twice now, and it’s Ass Kicker, okay?”
“Yeah, nice try, but I’m not falling for that,” the goody-two-shoes mouse smiled.
The Bandit smirked; Mickey Mouse lunged. It was on.
How could it, after that?
“You don’t have to go through with it.”
Was that true? Would Susie forgive him if he just couldn’t? The Bandit’s words were comforting, but they couldn’t shake the demons plaguing the mouse every second since Susie’s pigtail slipped from his fingers. He’d bought into this game’s sadism, and she’d been caught in the middle. And paid dearly for it.
He couldn’t help but think that if he’d just left the sign up booths, she’d still be alive.
“Are you trying to fight in this game?”
He’d let other forces overtake his own instincts, and because of that, Susie was dead.
Forever.
His guilt overtook him as he plunged into the toxic waste.
Above, a surprised Bandit waved. “Good fight, buddy.”
Kerrigan appeared behind her, arms crossed, glancing down at the break in the noxious fog where Mickey Mouse had fallen through. “Hmph,” she scoffed, “Weaker than I expected.”
The Bandit’s smile sagged. “Yeah, I didn’t think he’d—”
“No matter,” Kerrigan interrupted, whipping her gaze toward their opponents’ territory. “We’ve got another to crush.”
Kanda mounted their demonic turret, his body shaking. He wept as he switched it on, aiming it at the no-named woman and Kerrigan. It went against every fiber of him to traffic with mechanisms of Diablo, but he’d just watched his tragedy-stricken partner choose to accept fate. He could’ve lived to fight another day, but didn’t have the will.
Before this, Kanda might’ve resented the mouse king, written him off as a weakling and a coward. But he wasn’t—he was strong and noble, and if this was his chosen death, the exorcist would accept those wishes. He owed the mouse that much respect.
And he would destroy the women across the chasm from him in Mickey’s honor.
He jammed the trigger, expecting lasers, or flames, or at least something normal; instead, scores of souls, charred from years of torture, erupted from the turret’s mouth, scattering with a cacophony of the most disturbing screeches any of the competitors ever heard. The Bandit covered her ears; Kerrigan watched with a scowl as they refocused on their targets and charged at them.
* * *
Underneath the goo, Mickey Mouse sank.
The weight of his body dipped slowly through the slime. If he hadn’t been so numb, he might’ve felt the burning of his fur beginning to disintegrate.
This pain was nothing. His heart ached worse.
He hoped his time in the Omniverse was at last over. Please, he begged, his thoughts echoing in the empty, guilty void that was his mind, take me away and don’t bring me back. He hoped, for once, that the Bandit was wrong. Maybe all primes didn’t return. Maybe Omni could pick and choose; maybe he’d spare Mickey the torment of another however-long in this place…
Free me.
He spread his arms, welcoming death. The toxic waste burned with even the slightest movement.
Then, for a moment, death greeted him like an old pal. His eyes opened, but instead of toxic waste, he saw a dark figure staring down. A small, dark figure that was somehow everlastingly bright, a living hyperbole. He stared up and fear overtook him.
“Hey, Fella,” the creature said, disarmingly friendly.
“Don’t make me go back,” Mickey pleaded.
“Oh-ho-ho,” the figure chuckled, “...come on pal. You know you gotta.”
Mickey’s face scrunched.
I don’t wanna.
Okay.
…
…
Okay… okay…
Breathe.
His heart beat. Tha-thump, tha-thump.
Dang. Still going.
“Still going!” the little guy nudged. Within the hood, Mickey could see a cheeky, familiar grin spread beneath the hood. “I know. Ya wonder why,” he nodded. “Can’t tell ya, pal. You just gotta do it.”
“I don’t wanna,” Mickey Mouse wept.
“But I will.”
* * *
The Bandit sank beneath the force of the banshees.
Kerrigan batted the spirits away easily and soon thrust Yu Kanda from the turret’s seat, swiping him with her wing blades. Blood gushed from a chest gash as the Queen’s spindly fingers wrapped around his throat and surged psychic energy into him.
“You… won’t… win,” he stammered.
Kerrigan rolled her eyes. These drama queens.
“Fool,” she barked, “I already have.”
She squeezed. The killing blow was here, but just before the light left the exorcist’s eyes, a pillar of Light energy smashed between Kerrigan and her prey, knocking them both off their feet.
The Bandit With No Name looked up, amazedly, then heard the swooping of a carpet and the familiar, springy touchdown of yellow sneakers.
She spun. “Mick!” she shouted. “Thank fuck!” Met by a keyblade whacking her abdomen, she doubled back, clutching her stomach. “Ooooooof,” she exhaled, “ya got me there, killer.”
She looked at him. His eyes were a deep, ugly shade of yellow, his fur mostly burnt off; barely enough shreds of his clothes remained to keep him modest. Boils sprouted from all over his body, alternately oozing puss or spilling blood. He didn’t resemble your run of the mill Saturday morning mouse anymore.
“You look rough, dude,” she quirked.
“Thanks, Butt Kicker,” a renewed Mickey chuckled.
“Look, Mick, I don’t mean to criticize,” she snarked, “but you’ve said that twice now, and it’s Ass Kicker, okay?”
“Yeah, nice try, but I’m not falling for that,” the goody-two-shoes mouse smiled.
The Bandit smirked; Mickey Mouse lunged. It was on.
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)