Didn't exactly get many comments on FF.net, so I figured I'd post it here and see what people thought. And a warning: the fic gets just a wee bit angsty in...hell, the whole thing. 
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(Disclaimer: DonÆt own anything, yadda yadda, rinse, repeat.)
Fratricide
A burst of machine-gun fire rang out in the darkened hallways.
Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard peered through the gloom and inspected his handiwork. The æsuper-wraithÆ lay motionless on the ground, dead. But then you never knew when the Wraith were involved.
For neither the first nor the last time, John cursed MichaelÆs very existence. He cursed him for hurting Teyla. He cursed him for killing the Taranans. And above all, he cursed him for creating these monstrosities.
He cursed him for reminding him of what he nearly became.
John felt the Beast that resided in the back of his mind leap as he approached the twitching corpse. He never told anyone, but John had never fully recovered from his experience with theàretrovirus. Sure, the physical changes had faded, leaving him with nothing but some discolored skin on his arm. The mental changes, however, had not faded.
The only explanation that he could give was that a secondary entity had been tattooed into his brain. John didnÆt have a clue what it was, or how it got there.
All he knew was that it was completely primal.
It was always pulling at the back of his skull, clamoring to be heard. Whenever he was near Teyla, he heard it screaming to claim her, make her unquestionably his. Whenever he was challenged, he felt the alien presence press behind his eyes to silence the confronter, to prove that he was the Alpha. It made him feel like a wolf in sheepÆs clothing on Atlantis, a demon waiting to strike.
But he was able to ignore it, relegating it to nothing more than white noise, even under the most extreme duress. Until now, when it whispered and his body leapt to obey.
Until now, when he was faced with what could have been his brethren. He frowned at the thought, as he stood over the twisted monstrosity, uncertain of where it had come from. But at the same time, he couldnÆt deny it. He stared at the armored, pincer-clad visage ofàhis brother, and felt his very soul shudder. Was this what he would have become, had Beckett not cured his affliction?
The Beast howled at him, and John whirled. Another monsteràanother brother was racing towards him; its arms open to welcome him with its deadly embrace. His finger twitched, spraying the enormous insect with bullets, even as the BeastÆs battle-rage urged him to lunge, to rip and to tear.
John let the gun drop downward with a heavy sigh as the monster fell. His chest heaved, as his mind fought itself. He was growing exhausted, these mental battles taking a toll on him.
John glanced down at the corpse of another brother.
He shook himself from such thoughts, and made to leave. He didnÆt notice the monster behind him twitch. He started walking down the hallway, mind still churning.
The beast lumbered to its feet, the pain from its wounds fading. The strange one was closeùclose enough to lunge at and devour. It crouched, trembling with blood-lust.
A burst of machine-gun fire rang out in the darkened hallway.
John lowered his weapon, and eyed the now-certainly dead bro-horror. He gritted his teeth, and forcefully shoved the tag-along entity into the back of his mind. His team was in danger.
Thoughts on fratricide (justified or otherwise) could wait.
END
**
(Disclaimer: DonÆt own anything, yadda yadda, rinse, repeat.)
Fratricide
A burst of machine-gun fire rang out in the darkened hallways.
Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard peered through the gloom and inspected his handiwork. The æsuper-wraithÆ lay motionless on the ground, dead. But then you never knew when the Wraith were involved.
For neither the first nor the last time, John cursed MichaelÆs very existence. He cursed him for hurting Teyla. He cursed him for killing the Taranans. And above all, he cursed him for creating these monstrosities.
He cursed him for reminding him of what he nearly became.
John felt the Beast that resided in the back of his mind leap as he approached the twitching corpse. He never told anyone, but John had never fully recovered from his experience with theàretrovirus. Sure, the physical changes had faded, leaving him with nothing but some discolored skin on his arm. The mental changes, however, had not faded.
The only explanation that he could give was that a secondary entity had been tattooed into his brain. John didnÆt have a clue what it was, or how it got there.
All he knew was that it was completely primal.
It was always pulling at the back of his skull, clamoring to be heard. Whenever he was near Teyla, he heard it screaming to claim her, make her unquestionably his. Whenever he was challenged, he felt the alien presence press behind his eyes to silence the confronter, to prove that he was the Alpha. It made him feel like a wolf in sheepÆs clothing on Atlantis, a demon waiting to strike.
But he was able to ignore it, relegating it to nothing more than white noise, even under the most extreme duress. Until now, when it whispered and his body leapt to obey.
Until now, when he was faced with what could have been his brethren. He frowned at the thought, as he stood over the twisted monstrosity, uncertain of where it had come from. But at the same time, he couldnÆt deny it. He stared at the armored, pincer-clad visage ofàhis brother, and felt his very soul shudder. Was this what he would have become, had Beckett not cured his affliction?
The Beast howled at him, and John whirled. Another monsteràanother brother was racing towards him; its arms open to welcome him with its deadly embrace. His finger twitched, spraying the enormous insect with bullets, even as the BeastÆs battle-rage urged him to lunge, to rip and to tear.
John let the gun drop downward with a heavy sigh as the monster fell. His chest heaved, as his mind fought itself. He was growing exhausted, these mental battles taking a toll on him.
John glanced down at the corpse of another brother.
He shook himself from such thoughts, and made to leave. He didnÆt notice the monster behind him twitch. He started walking down the hallway, mind still churning.
The beast lumbered to its feet, the pain from its wounds fading. The strange one was closeùclose enough to lunge at and devour. It crouched, trembling with blood-lust.
A burst of machine-gun fire rang out in the darkened hallway.
John lowered his weapon, and eyed the now-certainly dead bro-horror. He gritted his teeth, and forcefully shoved the tag-along entity into the back of his mind. His team was in danger.
Thoughts on fratricide (justified or otherwise) could wait.
END