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Make 'em Smile	By : wickedorin Category: Kingdom Hearts > General Views: 2240 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Make 'em Smile
- 2-Part 2
- 1
- 2
Make 'em Smile and the overall concept of Make 'em Smile
are completely copyright Orin Drake 2004. The game Kingdom Hearts
belongs to Sony and Squaresoft and Disney and all them good people-like
creatures, as do the characters of Cloud Strife, Mickey Mouse, Riku, Sora,
Kairi, Squall Leonhart/Leon, the Heartless, and a bunch of other things
I'm probably just too lazy to list up here. What's important is that
I am making absolutely no money off of my writing, fan fiction or otherwise.
That sucks in some respects, and frankly it kinda ticks me off, but I do
it for the love of it so I'm ultimately okay with that. In case you
cared to know. And I bet you didn't, but I'm feeling chatty and you
will suffer.

        Background: It all started
with my own challenge to friends, writers and artists alike: I gave them
three lines of some poetic thing I'd written a while back and told them
to do whatever they wanted with it. So it was only fair that I got
an entry in myself. The words? They were simply, "Massacred
wreck/ What the heck/ Make 'em Smile". This became a Kingdom Hearts
fan fiction completely by accident. I suppose as soon as I wrote
the first paragraph, I knew who it had to be written about. I guess
Link isn't the only one completely unsafe from my love of mentally torturing
heroes. Sorry, doll. It had to be done. At this point
many things are open to interpretation, and I'm waiting impatiently for
Kingdom
Hearts 2... so here comes a little of the aggression. Dammit,
Sora. I blame you, too.

        And in case you've ignored
the warning (to which I say, "What the fuck?" because, yes, there's "nasty
language" here, too) or happen to be one of those people that just likes
to be an asshole, this parttaintains yaoi (a.k.a. slash, a.k.a. two beings
[males, in this case] of the same gender doing sexual things together).
Not only that, but there's violence and nonconsensual activity. Are
we clear? Excellent. Proceed.

Make 'em Smile

Part 2

bin Din Drake
        "Too bad about those ribs."
The demon inside teased viciously. "Perhaps I should take care of
that."

        Still on the ground, he
was surprised to feel the warm embrace of recovery magic wash over him--right
before he was kicked even harder than before, on the other side of his
ribcage. He gasped, the shattering pain making him shiver every time
he tried to catch his breath, spikes of agony getting harder and harder
to manage. So, that was the trick. How... unpleasant.

        Once more he was momentarily
blessed with the healing magic--and he bolted. Fuck the Heartless,
fuck the suicidal thoughts moments before. It was survival instinct
all the way--

        That crack was considerably
louder than the others. Not to mention the pain threshold having
spiked and multiplied in a way that was not at all computing, rendering
him a writhing, soundlessly gasping mass on the ground. It had been
his whole goddamn right leg from the hip down... a fact made even more
horrific when he went to instinctually grasp the wound and felt
a shard of bone with his fingers, nothing but blood inbetween...

        The figure looming above
gave out a screeching laugh at the Keyblade Master's very human, very weak,
reaction. "Let us not bother with wasting any more energy, hm?"

        The next wave of recy
my
magic was of a vaguely familiar variety; he hadn't needed such severe healing
in quite some time, and back then the bone hadn't been broken that badly.
It
hurt, burning like a million tiny heated pins through his flesh.
It was enough of a relief to allow him a breath, but the searing remained
for several drawn-out seconds, making him wonder if it would ever stop.
The hot pain of spikes in his skin gave way only to an uncontrollable tremble
in all of the muscles being healed, making his leg twitch even as the bone
and tendon were being placed correctly.

        When at last it was over,
most of the hurt and discomfort hanallnally faded away... but there were
so many more horrible things to ponder. This time, however, he stayed
down. Maybe there was a point to saving his strength... or maybe
this, of all times, would be his chance... He turned his head slightly
to gaze up at the hooded figure, seeing the sharp smirk clearly.
Oh yes, there were still plans for him, he had no doubt... but... but maybe...

        "You aren't plng tng to
run again, are you?" the figure mocked quietly.

        "No." He responded,
his voice surprisingly rough. "You?"

        The hooded thing almost
managed to laugh--and that's what caught him. The sound... no, it
wasn't all there. Riku's laughter had been so different, more full
and youthful, but... Dammit, he heard it. He knew
he heard it, like a whisper in the background. He remembered it so
clearly, as something he guarded close and sacred in his memory to keep
him alive, keep him fighting... Was there a chance? Somewhere
deep inside, was there still a chance to draw the boy out of the monster?

        But in the end... did he
really wish to do that? It was no longer even his pride, nor his
humanity that was questioning... it was for the boy he'd known so long
ago. The boy... a boy no longer. Perhaps a person no longer...
but he knew he'd heard that voice. He knew it, beyond illusion
and beyond the pain clouding his mind. That voice that only moments
ago had said his name--a name even he had almost forgotten--and his heart
had ached. It was possible, dammit--

        But what happened if Riku
really were able to "wake up"? After... what his body had been forced
to do over the years... what his salvageable memories had been used for...
his soul... his heart...

        The figure's shrill voice
tore him away from his thought process. "An interesting threat you
make. But I think not." A gloved hand rose, palm flat, facing
the ground--it was too late to think. The fingers flexed outward,
and at that command, all of the Neo Heartless suddenly melted, instantaneously
forming together into one viscous puddle of gleaming darkness. And
the Keyblade Master... he knew enough to run. He knew enough to leap
into a mad sprint and keep fucking running until his muscles gave out--but
the darkness was faster. His position on the ground afforded just
enough time before he was able to gain footing on the wet earth; the pool
of darkness leapt out at him, long, thin limbs of solid, shimmering black
ensnared him like living ropes. He kicked, struggled, strained madly
against them, but the ones wrapped around his chest constricted.
The already raw flesh and unsteady bones only made it harder to breathe,
and his entire body fell limply under the command of the tendrils clasped
around him.

&;&nb;      "Tisk. Tisk."
The demon voice whispered in the back of his consciousness. He was
of no mind to throw back a couple of choice words himself, starting to
feel only a growing terror as the restriction of his chest retreated only
enough to allow him air. Slowly pulled back into full consciousness,
nothing about the situation was looking in his favor. He was suspended
tightly in the grip of hundreds of thin, strong limbs of pure darkness,
completely immobile, at the mercy of... whatever it was. It was powerful,
and cruel. He tried to move his head to find the cloaked form, but
the restraints would not allow it.

        "Do not waste that precious
energy just yet." The harpy voice came from behind him.

        The godawful possibilities
that tone held... His thoughts were nearly sliced through completely
as he felt the dark ropes shift around him, the tearing of fabric quite
clear. A moment later, he felt the misting rain against bare shoulders.
Bare shoulders...

        The tendrils twisted all
at once, the power and force of their working together successfully rending
the clothes he wore. What didn't fall to bits instantly was jerked
apart with increasing violence, yanked against his skin until it, too,
fell from his body. And the rain fell against him, making him even
colder than he thought possible.

        But the panic had yet to
set in. The ropes of blackness shifted again, grasping his limbs
and turning him roughly, bringing him sharply to the ground on his hands
and knees... spread. Open. Exposed and rendered helpless in
a way he'd never actually thought about before. His wide eyes caught
sight of the hooded figure standing in front of him, the lips curved upward
in a horrible smile--his mind clicked on again, calling upon the instinct
to fight; but the darkness held him perfectly still, no matter his
struggles. Then the panic washed over him like a cold ocean,
but it was not death he was afraid of. No, he'd come to understand
that there were a million other things better feared than eternal peace...

        The figure walked to him
slowly, stopping only when the leather boot was inches from his face.
It stayed there for many long seconds, giving the panic plenty of time
to churn to the surface again. The possibilities had started to present
themselves in his mind, regardless of how hard he tried to push them away.
He'd almost been able to control himself again when the figure shifted...
then began to walk, circling, behind him.

        He grit his teeth, holding
in the panicked squeak he felt welling up in his throat, once more pulling
madly at the tendrils which held him. It was no use, and no matter.
He felt the brush of air as the figure stopped just behind him, so close
he swore he could feel the painfully slight heat coming from the other
body.

        "I would prefer you like
this..." the voice taunted, "But then I couldn't see the pain on your face."

        at oat once, the limbs of
darkness shifted again, flipping his body and slamming his back hard against
the ground. He was allowed one moment to kick, to squirm, to struggle--and
then four tendrils flew from underneath him, catching his limbs and pulling
them wide. The shock was almost too much to think around.

        The figure stood above him,
smirking cruelly as the unseen eyes took in every inch, up and down.
Layered beautifully onto the options presented was the fact that the Keyblade
Master was shaking. Oh, he tried to hide it, tried to ignore
and forget... but it was there. It was... delicious... "And
at last I can prove to you that all of your life has been in vain... before
I destroy you."

        To express the helpless
thoughts running around in his head now would be worse than suicide.
His voice may not have been absolutely firm, but his words were.
"That's not true."

        "It is." The awful
voice hissed--and then the hood was pulled back. Given nowhere to
turn, the trapped boy on the ground could only stare up in a mix of hope
and disgust. Riku's face, his body... taken over by such powerful
negativity... It acknowledged the look upon its victim's face, jamming
the imagined blade deeper with terribly simple words. "Ansem was
the start... Ansem finally broke him..."

        That name... was not one
he cared to hear. The entire situation was not anything close to
one he'd have ever really thought possible. And though he was quite
certain things would only get worse and worse until there could be nothing
more horrible to accomplish, he had to take his chance. He had to
see... to find out, just maybe... "What did he do to you, Riku?"

        "You will not address
that name!" the voice screeched, the eyes widening in hate and horror.
It seemed to calm itself before continuing, stepping closer and slowly,
almost teasingly, drawing the zipper of the long coat open. "That
name is gone. Dead."

        His heart began to beat
faster, that cold sweat of panic starting to overwhelm his senses.
He could hang on for so long, tell himself to calm the hell down only so
often... "What happened to you?" he whispered, trying again.

        "You speak to the dead."
The figure condemned, dropping the coat behind. It grinned deviously
as the victim laid out before it took in the sight with a wide, still gaze.
"You speak to a thing long since destroyed. One you would not save...
just like all the others."

        And still he could not surrender
to the guilt, the pain, the fear... the fact that a chance was still there,
that the thing in front of him, carelessly pulling off the very little
that remained masking its nakedness, item by item, kept trying to confirm
Riku's death... "He took your innocence, didn't he? Used your
heart..."

        "Quiet, fool." It
responded harshly. As if that were a command to the tendrils, they
pulled their prisoner yet further open. All things once covering
any expanse of flesh finally on the ground, it began to move closer to
its prey.

        And prey he was most certainly
feeling like. Instead of a stately, fluid mn, tn, the predator somewhat
let the legs fall from underneath itself, effectively pouncing atop the
restrained prisoner and pressing its full body against him all at once.
It was such a departure from the cold, empty moisture of the rainy night;
but far was it from welcome, or comforting.

        As the wicked thing above
him gave a satisfied smirk, the tendrils of darkness suddenly seemed to
give a little. Still secured to the ground and his limbs, they acted
a little more like ropes of rubber, allowing him only enough movement to
shift a bit. Or to be shifted. It offered no means of escape,
but perhaps--

        A cold hand grasped firm
hold of his thigh, lifting; the black ropes adjusted accordingly to keep
the chosen leg lifted and bent at the knee. The other cold hand was
atop his other leg, forcing it to remain down. Spread in all ways,
helpless in all senses, he managed to focus solely on the eyes of his attacker.
They were still so familiar... even now, even hidden underneath the darkness,
they were so brutally remembered... he'd let himself believe.

        Unprepared, unwilling, unknowing--the
pale shadow of a lovely creature quickly placed its hands squarely on the
boy's hips and moved in for the kill. Stabbing, thrusting, forcing
forward, it slowly impaled the shivering body beneath, reveling in the
broken screams. It took many thrusts just to get all the way inside,
the shrieking victim beneath never having experienced any such activities.
The suffering was so luscious, so glorious... it looked down on its target,
watching the face of a horrified, pained human thing so very weak...
rendered weaker with every drawn out, wicked motion...

        And still through the absolutely
horrendous pain, the one given the power of the Keyblade could not allow
himself to surrender without a fight. It was agonizing in too many
ways, but if he could pretend... There was almost nothing left of
himself to hold on to. Pride didn't matter, anything and everything
he'd ever been no longer meant shit. "I always wanted this..."
he whispered, trying to force the pain out of his voice, trying to make
the moans of agony into something more heartfelt. "Secretly, I always
waited for this moment... I always hoped it would come... Riku..."

        Anger erupted in the monster
above him, resulting in a quick series of tearing, mind-searing thrusts
before the initial slow rhythm was gained once more. "No..." the
insane, unnaturally pitched harpy voice began to ebb, just slightly.
"You wanted Kairi, you ungrateful--"

        "Yeah." He admitted,
squeaking and squeezing his eyes shut when the pain overwhelmed his ability
to think once again, relentless. He was going hoarse, little by little...
but he tried to blink away the tears in reflex of the burning agony ripping
through him. He had to see, had to see if he could find...
"I wanted you both..."

        Rage flooded even the darkness
of the blue eyes that bore down upon him, and therein came the most violently
hate-filled thrust yet. It wrung a breathless cry, drowned out by
the demanding voice of something so close to human... "Then why didn't
you stay with her and leave the rest to darkness?!"

        Maybe... Please,
stop, Riku... you don't mean this... "She had no room in her
life for me."

        "Does it look like I
do?!" he screamed, his voice torn open and pouring pain like an open
wound, hands leaving bruises on the hips in their grasp.

        --But it was his
voice. The Keyblade Master knew it as certainly as he could smell
his own blood. The darkness clouding those brilliant eyes broke,
released--the light of his heart began to show through, weak though it
had been forced to become.

        The heavy wave of memory
and the understanding of what he was doing caused him to thrust forward
once more, unknowingly too close to the edge to be able to pull away.
He collapsed bonelessly over the boy underneath him, momentarily too wrapped
up in hollow but necessary ecstasy even to weep.

        Brutalized as he was, the
prisoner underneath made to reach up in reflex of the actions--surprised
by finding himself able to do so. The tendrils of darkness that once
held him had somehow given way, disappearing completely into the ground
with the rain. Slowly, treating the spent form above him like a delicate,
broken artifact, he raised his hands and rested them against the back of
the shivering body. The act itself... of finally holding the boy
he'd spent so long trying to find... he shivered as well, not fully understanding
why he wasn't sobbing twice as hard as he had been earlier. It felt
at once unreal, and too real in his heart to ever question.

        The touch received... it
caused a single, strained sob to wrack his seemingly alien body before
he gave into the peace that it offered. It was total surrender to
a force he could not help but trust. That, he knew, would cost him.
But it would be worth it for the moments they could lay together like that,
and remember...

        --That peace was not to
last, however. Peace would never find the boy that had chosen to
follow the shadows, and total surrender into the only one he could ever
fully trust was not allowed him. He felt the darkness trickle back
in, seemingly amused at his youthful hope of escaping. "Sora!" he
cried out, feeling a dark tendril from the thing that had taken him over
begin to stroke the light of his heart once more. He shifted and
pulled away, afraid more than anything that his mind would be lost and
his body would wind up doing something even more awful..

        "Don't worry, sweet little
thing." The dark demon in his mind teased, edging closer. "Just
close your eyes and it'll all be over again..."

        "Sora, please!" He
begged desperately, pushing the darkness away with all of his strength.
"Don't let them do this to me again! Sora!"

        Hearing his name suddenly
so needed and natural across those pale, pleading lips, he reached up to
grasp the clenched fists, feeling the impossible tension radiate through
them. No, no, no! "What, Riku?! What will they
do? What can
I do?"

        Perhaps it was the combination
of nightmare fear and moisture in the brightest of blue eyes, but for a
moment he looked no older than he had when they'd first met on the island.
"Not again! I can't do this again! Sora! Make me remember!"

        "Don't make me hurt you,
Riku..." he found himself begging, not knowing why but unable to hold back
the words. Anything but that. He would do anything but
that, even if it meant the sacrifice of his own life...

        "They won't let me die."
The boy sobbed, collapsing back onto the warm body below. "I tried...
so many times, I've tried..."

        I would never try to
kill you... he wanted to speak, but his conscience wouldn't let him.
His sorrow wouldn't allow it. "Then what?" the brunette shook him
lightly by the shoulders, trying to get the panic to leave long enough
to get an answer--

        "I have to break their hold."
He whispered, shaking. He could feel the darkness strain to reach
him, fight to get hold of his light... "I'm not strong enough!"

        Somehow Sora could feel
the internal struggle as clearly as if he were living it for himself.
He could not let the boy go, no matter the consequence. "You are,
Riku! I know you are!"

        "I have to remember!
You have to make me remember!" he insisted, forcing himself to meet the
other pair of eyes gazing up worriedly. "Sora, please... hurt me..."

        "I-I... can't, Riku--"

        "You have to! Mark
me! Please!" He brought his fists down onto the other boy's
chest, not hard enough to hurt but to get his point across. "Leave
something on this body!" His pleas were beyond the point of simple
desperation. If he wasn't left with a remembrance, he may never be
able to find his way out again... the only way it couldn't be destroyed
was if this reminder were on him; something physical that could
be hidden, maybe, but not destroyed.

        Begged, pleaded with...
the situation being as it was... he didn't see how he could say no.
Even if it hurt them both... he nodded once, barely. Wordlessly,
they shifted position--though he found it incredibly hard not to scream
with every motion. He concentrated on keeping his breathing relatively
steady, trying to keep only that one goal in mind until he was carefully
sitting on his haunches next to the frightened boy on the ground... looking
very much like he was reliving something in the past. No, the Keyblade
Master doubted very much that his encounter with the ropes of darkness
and hooded figures had been unique. He didn't speak it, and he barely
dared to think it; not now.

        "In the coat..." the paler
boy's voice quivered only slightly. "There's a knife in an inside
pocket..."

        The brunette reached over,
cursing quietly when the internal wounds reminded him not to reach too
far. But fuck it, he did anyway--paying with another shuddering cry.
Gasping, he tried to ignore the pain long enough to find the pocket, carefully
pulling the knife out of the sheath and coat at once. It was a short
dagger, but one that proved almost unimaginably sharp when he delicately
ran the pad of his thumb alongside the blade. Yes, it would most
certainly do the job quickly, but...

        The answering blue eyes
met his for a moment, pleading. Telling him it was okay, without
words. Wanting what he could give... what he would offer. There
was no way he could deny the request.

        For need of a better position,
he carefully crawled atop the other's body, somehow managing to suppress
the shards of pain into several low grunts. Seated as comfortably
as he was going to be, his hand shook, the blade within it trembling.
He didn't see how he could do it, couldn't fathom how his hands could cause
his friend any more pain... but those eyes were so pleading, so scared...
He closed his own and took a steady breath. To do what needed to
be done... yeah. That was familiar.

        Swallowing, he placed the
tip against the pale chest... slowly drawing it to the left, trying to
think of what to carve, of what could work... What came to him made
him shudder--but it was too late by then. The shiver in his body
had caused the knife to cut, a tiny trickle of blood beginning to fall.
It was now or never--and he had to honor that request in every way he could.
Eyes narrowing in forced concentration, he grasped firm hold of the knife
and made a deep, quick mark.

        The boy underneath him cried
out, but placed his hands on the brunette's bare sides. Go on,
the motion said, where words would not come. Go on...

        One more slice... then another,
each one wringing out a pained gasp underneath him. He was as quick
and careful as he could be, as this act would allow him to be, keeping
in mind not to put too much of his weight on the body below, to cut only
deep enough and only with the sharpest part of the blade...

        He tried to be as disconnected
as his mind would allow, carving into the flesh. It was like nothing
he'd ever been able to imagine himself doing; even in his darkest of moments.
Actually cutting that perfect ivory skin, watching the crimson blood
splash and run down, feeling his best friend in all the world squirm underneath
him, moaning in pain even as he tried to keep the sounds inside of himself...
It was at once awful and completely fulfilling. The letters carved,
the way the muscles clenched and the gasps sounded so close to what he'd
really wanted, what he really needed--

        The blood poured in thin
streams by the time he was done, discarding the knife with a careless toss.
Even with the cuts he'd made, he knew that there was a chance they would
not produce a lasting scar... and so there was only one thing he could
do. Looking down apologetically, he tried to somehow communicate
his intentions through his eyes. There was no way he could trust
his voice.

        Still squirming with the
pain of being cut open, mixed with the rain and the cold he suddenly felt...
the silver tressed boy looked back, swallowing. He had a hint, only
an idea--

        The brunette closed his
eyes tightly at the shriek. He just couldn't stand it, couldn't take
it so easily as before. It was the only way to assure scars, to make
it whole... and he couldn't stop once he'd started. He ground the
dirt hard into the bleeding wounds, wincing at every high pitched cry it
wrung from below. It had to be done, this had to be done...
He felt a little place inside of him, something held within the crushing
depths of his soul, warm. Hspedsped in fear of the truth--it
was his darkness. That thing carried inside everyone... was delighting
with the pain. Growing more... sensitive with it. The dark
portions caught delight off of boy'boy's struggles, intriguing pleasure
off of his pain. Riku's pain.

        --Pain made even more excruciating
with what he'd just done. He hadn't even known, hadn't really thought
or understood... But the fact remained that they were both naked,
and he was on top, and there had been that moment when... when... and the
darkness just felt so good to understand for that moment, to let loose
for only that second--it felt so--

        Underneath him, there was
a mild struggle. With hardly any strength left as it was, there was
no hope of pushing the weight off... or out. The pain was too intense,
the torture too wrenching on too many levels. It wasn't a nightmare
set to destroy his mind, this time--it was real. It was Sora.
Blood and dirt and rain and... this...

        Oh, god!--no, but--fuck,
it--!!! It was a soft cry, but an obvious one. With one
last thrust of his palm into the bleeding, open wound, in union with one
last thrust into the clenching body below him, he'd finally released.
And what he felt in the wake of that most exceptional pleasure... was a
most wicked, horrific darkness.

        But the eyes widely gazing
up at him understood... and forgave, unconditionally. It was only
a matter of time. Even the lightest of hearts, when thrust into the
kind of situation he had been...

        They weren't even allowed
a moment of peace. The Keyblade Master felt the physical darkness
rising in the body surrounding him, and instinct forced him to retreat.
The time to run was coming too quickly. He needed more strength.
He needed more light... more friends, more allies. Maybe they weren't
all lost. Maybe there was a way... He still believed.
Even with the undertones of what he and Riku had just been through, just
done to one another... the ultimate truth of it remained.

        "Be strong for me."
He whispered, allowing one small portion of time to wrap his arms around
the shaking boy underneath. Just once, just one fucking moment...
blood and dirt stuck to his chest, reminding him just like the mark he'd
made. "I won't be long. I promise, I'll come back. I'll
find a way to end this and I'll come back."

        Those brilliant blue eyes
had begun to cloud, just a little. It was coming, and he knew it.
He hated it, he loathed the impending numbness... and god, how he feared
it... All he wanted, all he needed, was moving away from him
again. Forced, this time. Knowing, this time... but having
to turn and run all the same. He opened his mouth to plead something,
but no sound came of it. His throat was pained with a sob he could
not recover from, the darkness quickly moving to take power again...

        "It's okay, Riku."
The brunette assured, his words moving quickly out of necessity.
He pulled back, getting ready to retreat--but allowed himself one quick
touch; his palm--that calloused, dry, ancient-feeling palm--rested only
for the ghost of a second against the other's wet cheek, taking in the
vision of those blue eyes before they could ever be forgotten. "I
love you. I'll come back for you!" And with that promise, he
grasped the Keyblade, no matter given to the soreness ripping through his
body, nor to the torn clothing left behind--and ran.

        "Sora!" he cried, his voice
rising an octave with a burst of agony. "I--I love... So--"

        He couldn't look back.
From the depths of his very being, he knew to look back was to throw it
all away. He could picture it happening clearly, though, super-imposed
over his eyes even as he tried to keep a look-out for anything in his path
that may try to trip him up. Riku's blue eyes were clouding over
again. With what, he wasn't sure... but he knew their sheen was lost
underneath whatever presence had taken his body again. At least that
mucd bed been marked to remember... marked with the Keyblade Master's own
name across his chest.

        It hurt to run... physically
and mentally it hurt so goddamn much to run... but it would be okay.
All the pain... he could take all the pain in the world if only it weren't
all for nothing...

        A reason to fight... a reason
to go on... and a reason to be sorry again. That last part held no
more meaning, though. He would make it right. He'd have to.
It was promised in blood.

        I can only blame so much
of this on listening to U2's "Always" right after select portions of Utada
Hikaru's "Simple and Clean" techno/PLANITb remix... but it made for a perfectly
horrible moment, didn't it? Believe it or not, this didn't even end
as darkly as I had expected it to. Amazing. That's U2's doing,
so thanks goes to them for a little bit of everything. Of course.

        I can't see myself writing
anything more in this arc/universe, I will admit that. It feels complete,
now, in the way I can write it. Do I still have ideas for how the
story will progress? Oh hell yes. But I just don't think I'm
capable... right now, anyway. Hey, never say never. I'm really
amazed that I like how this came out. So... well. That's it.
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