trans_9 | play dates with madmen

It was evening, though she didn't really pay attention to the way the park lights had begun to flicker on. She whirled her tire iron around in her hands, the hard edge of anger boiling like a beacon. Her fingerless gloved creaked as she flexed them around the iron, slicing it through the air with precise, sharp strikes, working through the white hot fury. It didn't die.

It would never die.

Everything she'd lost, everything she'd gained.

What she'd seen and what she'd become.

For John, for Kyle.

Slice.

She was repressed, Silberman had said. Angry. He didn't know the half of it. How could he know? With his charts and histories and motherfucking diagnoses? He didn't know jack. Neither did this dumbass Vader who couldn't keep his mouth shut if it had been welded. She'd watched him. Kept her eye on his metal head and his big mouth.

Swing.

She was looking forward to denting him. If anything, the purge would be a good one. She didn't give a flying fuck if she wound up with a few herself.

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Vader frowned. There was a man-sized storm of anger stirring up the Force...and it appeared to be headed his way. He put his hand on his lightsaber and waited.

Sarah Connor flipped her tire iron around a few times and kept walking, her eyes narrowed and fixed ahead until she saw the son of a bitch. She came closer, then stopped just short of arm's reach and fixed her glower on Vader. Her teeth ground together for a moment and the stare focused, honing itself to a fine, penetrating point.

"Nice of you to show," she growled. "Thought maybe you might be a pussy."

John raced to the park loaded with gear like he intended to assault a fortified position, in a way he was. When he'd returned home he'd found Sarah missing, and after checking the omnicomm quickly put two, and two together. She was actually going to throw down with Vader, and if he didn't get there in time it would end badly, for him of course. He could care less if the idiot got himself killed, but he didn't want his mother locked up in the brig, not now, not when he was just getting things sorted out.

Christ, could his life get any stranger?

Finally reaching the park he spotted them. Moving quickly he closed the distance, shouting at her while he did so. "Mom! Just...shit! Mom!"

"I leave no challenge unanswered," Vader replied, but stopped when he saw her weapon of choice.

"Is this your idea of a joke?"

Great.

John, being John, had followed her. Tracked her. Good to know he hadn't lost any skills. She flicked a glance at her son, a good steady one, and then her jaw tightened as she snapped her eyes back onto Vader.

"Do I look like I'm joking, fucker?" she said, the full force of her scowl bearing down on him like a motherfucking semi.

He shot Vader a nasty look for his comment. Sarah was only ever deadly serious when she had a tire iron in her hands. "She's not joking, and you should leave while you're still conscious. You'll thank me for it if you do."

Vader scowled. "Hardly. I have not fought with such toys since I was a child. I am not the one whose life is in danger at the moment."

Sarah just glared, her fingers tightening around the tire iron, not backing down an inch. She didn't waste time on talk before she closed the distance, moving fast and hard. Her tire iron slammed into his hand, the one that was reaching for whatever the fuck was on his belt (which she sent sailing), before she slammed her iron upside his head hard enough to dent the metal helmet. Sarah made no sound save for the grunt of impact and the her voice was a low hiss.

"Play with that, asshole," she said, seething as she moved to drive her free fist into his midsection.

There was a deep note, like a sour church bell, and Vader bit down hard on his tongue. It had been a very long time since someone got that close- and he was going to make sure this Sarah Connor did not live to repeat her fluke.

He stretched out his hand and called his lightsaber to in, igniting it- but then, with a slight pause, chose to lash out with the unlit end. There was an unpleasant sound of metal meeting face.

John's carbine was up, and pointed at Vader's face the second he struck Sarah. He'd also flipped the weapon from safe to full auto. "Stop right there!"

Sarah felt the bright red haze of pain soak through her cheek--felt the way her skin split and gave, too, spilling blood in a splatter. She reacted the only way she could, by grabbing his wrist and attempting to break it. She didn't bother with words.

The rage that had built, however, soared to new heights and she spat blood before snarling and driving herself into Vader like a living battering ram.

Now she was too close for Vader to do anything effective with his saber- stupid woman, as if you could crack durasteel with your bare hands- and tried to grab her by the throat, either physically or with the Force.

Damn it! John could shoot with Sarah that close to him, a shot might ricochet into her. That left smashing Vader in the face with the carbine's buttstock as his only option. If it freaking broke he was going to make that asshole shift through the supplies to find him a replacement. "Let her go fuckhead!"

There was a moment where Sarah was still. A single moment. The close of his hand around her throat, the way it felt--machine--a vise pushing spots across her eyes, red and black. Bruising. Sarah could feel the wash of memory hit her hard. Kyle, dead, the Terminator twitching from the pipe bomb.

She shuddered, twisting, her face suddenly devoid of color.

The sound of machinery all around her, hissing, spitting. Her ankle throbbing, her heart pounding hard in her head. It came after her despite the damage. It came after her and she found herself in that moment, in the moment she had that metal hand clamped around her neck. It had killed Kyle. It had killed him.

Sarah didn't register the smash of John's gun. Instead, she drew her fist back and smashed it down into whatever she could--it didn't matter if her knuckles started to split. It didn't matter that she couldn't breathe. Rage mixed with the need to survive and she kept battering away, her lips peeled back in a raw, silent snarl.

Metal.

The hatred pouring off this woman- and to some degree, her ally- was magnificent. Vader could not help but imagine what he could do were he able to harness those emotions- level planets, perhaps, or condense a star so he could hold it in his hand. The possibilities were endless.

In the meanwhile, however, what remained of his face felt like it was being caved in and there was still a madwoman trying to crack him open like a shellfish. Without aiming (it was difficult, with so much blood pouring in his eyes) Vader lashed out in the Force, strong enough to send any passerby flying if he happened to clip them. He shook Sarah violently.

"Get off or die now," he shouted.

John went flying, but managed to tuck and roll as he landed. It wasn't near as bad as being thrown around by a Terminator, or Kusanagi, so he was able to scramble to his feet fairly quickly. Racing back over he aimed a kick at the back of Vader's legs. If he wasn't going to let Sarah go then John was going to get him on the ground were he could safely put a few in his dome to make him let go of her.

Sarah clung to Vader, still driving her fist into wherever it connected. Asshole was fucking metal. He was METAL. A red haze fell over her vision and she kept swinging as John booted Vader in the legs. Strangled sounds of rage hit the air.

If anything, she was tenacious and didn't give a fuck where they landed. She'd keep hitting him.

play dates with madmen

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