MANDALUS BAD END ALTERNATE UNIVERSE.

'I believe in you.'

They really shouldn't have.

Kirk sighed and dragged his hands down his face, looking out over the small camp of Resistance Fighters they had. The Serpent decimated Mandalus, destroyed the System, and they were damn lucky they'd been able to close the rips in the fabric of the universe to contain the Serpent. It took a lot of sacrifice on all of their parts. Not everyone made it out alive. That was three years ago, but it still was fresh in his mind like it was just minutes ago.

That was probably because he had set the Enterprise on a suicide drive into the Serpent. He barely made it out in time. Instead he got to stand on the ground and watch as his ship--his ship--flew straight into the Serpent.

He had looked at his best friend and said: 'Bones, what the hell did I just do?'

'What you always do, Jim. Cheated the rules and won.'

After looking over the sleeping members of his group, Kirk stood and walked away from the fire. He stood at the edge of the small cliff that looked over what used to be the Old Town. They were on their way to meet up with the others. It wouldn't be much longer, thank god. Kirk was tired of looking out over the desolate city that they had all called home for seven years. He was so done with this damn planet. Still, he thought he'd get back home to his universe. He'd see his crew and he'd see his ship again.

Maybe.

Kirk twirled the piece of metal in his hands. It was just a shard of the Enterprise. Something that had fallen to the ground, but he was keeping it. He wasn't sentimental about much, but this? He was damn sentimental about and no one was going to tell him otherwise. So what if he was thirty-five now? That wasn't going to change anything.

"You know," he smirked and looked over to the side. "I'm pretty sure that after ten years, you'd figure out how to sneak up on me, Meg."

Captain James T. Kirk stepped onto the bridge of the USS Enterprise. He was mildly agitated, given the call from Chekov had woken him from a dead sleep. While it was their job to alert the Captain if anything changed or they encountered a planet, he wished they had bothered Spock. Spock was the one who took over when he rounded out. Though there was a distinct lack of one Mr. Spock on the bridge.

"Captain." Sulu addressed him as he stepped on.

"Sulu, Chekov." Kirk nodded to them in turn. "Where is Mr. Spock?"

"He left the bridge about an hour ago." Sulu glanced at Chekov. "He said if we found anything, we were to alert the Captain."

Pointy eared bastard. Kirk thought to himself. He took his place in the chair, leaning back and crossing his legs. "Alright. What do you have for me?"

"A ship, sir." Chekov replied in his thick accent.

"They were transmitting on the hailing frequencies." Uhura explained, and Kirk turned in his chair to look at the dark skinned communications officer. "But it's... odd."

"A different language?" Kirk asked. That was what usually was wrong.

( Read more... )

The great thing about being relatively well known was that he could disappear. In the sense that he could pretend to be someone else, even for a short amount of time, and forget everything that happened. He could forget that he was a lonely, miserable college student with no family or no real friends. He didn't let people close anymore. Not after losing the one person he did let in.

Even though he was naturally flirty, Charles just amplified it whenever he was in bars or parties. Despite the playboy persona, he had the highest grades, and most people were generally confused by how he managed to pull it off. Of course, he was a genius. It wasn't hard to put things together. The few nights he did party were far and between. Most of the time he sat holed up in his apartment and worked on his thesis or something else. Anything to keep his mind off of things he'd rather not think about.

So, there he sat at the well known pub in Oxford, swirling his drink around in his cup. He probably already had one too many, but he wasn't at the point of caring. His thesis was going to be due soon and he'd be a professor. A professor of what? Mutated genetics. He would probably get a job teaching somewhere and be one of those crack pot people no one respected and thought was insane. Hell, maybe he was. He honestly didn't know anymore.

[ Jon made his way back from his post. He and Sam had been the night shift again, but, he knew that was just pay back for proving Ser Thorne wrong in the training. It was early morning now, and as hungry as he was, Jon didn't have it in him to eat. Not yet. Ghost was at his heels, as always, following him like a shadow. His mind strayed from his Uncle Ben to the red haired woman he had sent off to Winterfell. He hopped Robb would show her far more kindness than Lady Stark would.

Suddenly, Ghost bolted off towards one of the abandoned quarters of Castle Black. With a quick glance around, Jon followed the growing direwolf quickly. Ghost whined and clawed at the door, trying to force it open. Jon came to his side, easing him down before putting his hand on the door handle. He paused for a moment, then forced it open. ]

Ghost. There's nothing in here.

Leto Atreides II, Emperor of the Known Universe, ran and ran. The harsh winds of Arrakis - Dune - cut across his skin but he didn't pay any attention to it. There was so much work to be done, so many Freman tribes to bring under his rule, so many Houses to dismantle, and so much spice to control. He who controlled the spice controlled the universe. The Golden Path required that the spice become nearly diminished, making it nearly impossible for people to fly between worlds. It was hundreds of years off, but Leto knew he had to start preparing now. Nothing could be left for later.

He came to a stop at the edge of the desert, looking down over the cliffs that led to Arrakeen. He had seen the transformation of the capital in his visions. It would become a place where people worshiped him, a God Emperor, and then a city for Priests of a far off and distant religion... that would not happen until he had been dead for some time. That was, if they did not falter from the Golden Path.

Leto made his way into the city, taking a cloak that had been hanging in the sun to dry and flipped the hood over his face, making his way straight towards the Grand Palace. The sun was setting on Arrakeen, meaning that the Palace would be quiet as he made his way through the halls. Paul, his father, still lived strongly inside his consciousness and his habits of sneaking in and out of the Palace remained a ever present influence, but just an influence. He survived the Spice Agony. He could safely shift through memories of his ancestors and seek their guidance but not become an Abomination as Alia had.

Without warning, Leto entered his twin's chambers and closed the door behind him. Not that he would have to announce himself; she'd know he was there. Part of it was most certainly because they had awoken to consciousness of an adult inside their mother's womb, and had been communicating since the day they awoke, but Leto was sure if they had been normal twins, they would simply know.

He reached up and pulled the hood off, turning towards the bed chambers to look for his twin. The sandtrout on his body hadn't grown farther than the last time she had seen him, just covering his arm and some of his back, neck and a bit of his face. It took decades for worms to grow to their full size, but he was already changing. They both knew it.

Leto took a step into the bedroom. "Ghanima."

Erik's words hung heavy in Charlotte's mind as she stared at the chessboard before her. Erik had excused himself to return to his quarters, leaving Charlotte alone for the rest of the evening. She stared at the pieces, emotion welling up in her eyes and she lifted a hand, swiping at her cheek. Erik was wrong. There could be peace. Together, with their team, they could achieve it. And save the planet from World War III as well. But he was so sure, so set in his ways that killing Sebastian Shaw was the only way he could move on. Charlotte knew otherwise. Killing Shaw was a temporary fix to a much longer problem, not a solution. Erik would find that he would not be sated with just killing Shaw. He would target others; people he's found wrongdoing, their fear and hatred forced outwards, towards the mutants.

With an exhausted sigh, Charlotte stood, putting out the fire. Grabbing her and Erik's empty glasses as she went, the young, unemployed professor started for the kitchen. Intending to get herself a stronger drink before she retired to her room. She found her gaze straying towards the faint smear from Eric's lips on the side of the martini glass he'd used. Such a silly, childish thing to do. She was no longer a teenager, with a schoolgirl crush. She had farm more important things to focus on.

Halfway to the kitchen, Charlotte stopped. A small groan escaped her and she lifted her hand to her head. She was overcome by a sensation of nausea and dizziness, like she'd ridden one of the rides at the World's Fair. Charlotte focused on her breathing, not wanting to upend the contents of her stomach on the hallway carpet. Once the dizziness had passed, she continued into the kitchen, then stopped.

Something was odd.

[ He groaned and placed the back of his hand to his forehead, shutting his eyes tightly. It felt as if the entire world had suddenly shifted and threw him around like a rag doll. And he knew what it was like to be a rag doll, especially when he had been on a spy plane that had to dodge missiles. Yes, he knew what it was like, and it was far from pleasant.

He took a deep breath and waited for everything to stop moving. Which he almost wish it hadn't. Suddenly a whirlwind of thoughts tore through his mind and he shut his eyes tightly in an attempt to sort through all of them. Strange. Before it was just Hank, Alex and Sean... but these were nearly a hundred or more minds. Had he been rendered unconscious and taken elsewhere? Erik wouldn't stoop so low. Erik would prefer a direct approach when it came down to the two of them.

Charles daringly opened his eyes to find the sun above him beaming down in high afternoon. Afternoon, wasn't it supposed to be morning? He turned his head, finding he was outside in the grass of his mansion. Speaking of the mansion, it looked entirely different. Not entirely different, but there was more added onto it then the last time he looked at it, which had been just a few moments ago.

He looked down at himself. No wheelchair. ]

Bloody hell. [ Charles sighed in irritation and pushed himself up with his elbows. No one was around... desperate measures, it seemed. He wasn't about to try and crawl like a soldier back to his own mansion.

He placed his fingers to his temple and closed his eyes. Someone out there in the sea of minds had to be willing to be open to telepathy. ]

Hello. I do apologize for entering your mind without permission and rather suddenly, but I am afraid I am in need of assistance. Could you spare a few moments of your time?

All was quite in the console room of the TARDIS. All the little companions, the orange-y one and the pretty one, had gone off to bed. They quite liked their new room. The engines thrummed quietly, almost lulling the pair to sleep faster. Most nights, they would stay up later, doing things that would make the Doctor blush. Has made the Doctor blush. Is making the Doctor blush.

Funny how a man of such age could act like such a child sometimes. He'd done some of the things the orange-y and pretty ones had done. Some, but not all. They didn't have many of those actions on Gallifrey. Stuffy old Time Lords. The old men and their silent boxes, insistent on simply watching the universe, not living in it. That's how her thief differed. He wanted to live.

The lights on the console brightened to the point of blinding before shorting out. The console room was otherwise lit, but the console itself was dark. Power had been diverted to the monitor's audio/visual converter, causing the device to work overtime. The converter was strained from the effort and a warning chime was heard throughout the TARDIS, save the pretty and orange-y ones' room. The chime was not meant for their ears. It was meant for someone else's.

[ Rory leaned against the railing of the console room. He wasn't sure where the Doctor had gotten off to, and he had left Amy asleep in their room. It was fine though. He didn't mind the quiet every now and then. Especially when he had to think. He sighed. 1969 wasn't all that better the second time around.

What he wanted and could remember of it from the first time around.

He looked at the recording device that had been inside of Amy's hand. He held it between his fingers, turning it over. Did he feel horrid for listening on Amy and the Doctor's conversation? Yeah, a bit. Was he upset that Amy told her best friend before him? Yeah, a bit. People normally told their friends first, so they could figure out how to tell their spouses. Normally. Amy was far from normal. That was why he liked her at first. She was different in the same old sleepy town of Leadworth.

Rory hung his head. ]

Fat lot of good this is doing anyone, Rory.