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akumageist · 4 years ago

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I would die for Hitori Uzune. RIP to Kazuaki, but I’m different.

The Hatoful fandom consists of 13 people and a paperclip. It always has. Unfortunately, it probably always will. Where this is cause for some perks, it’s also some of its faults. In example, it’s still an anime game, made by a Japanese woman, and attracts weebs. Weebs tend to like to think of characters 2-Dimensionally, breaking the character down to what they think is their core personality traits. Hitori is no stranger to this, and is beaten down into this heartless, manipulative, selfish bastard. But I believe Moa is saying “anyone, even the best of us, is capable of becoming a monster if driven to it.” Let’s roll.

2162. Hitori was born into a world of war and hate, plopped into an orphanage at just 2 years old. This can be found in Moa’s canon spin-off manga, where Hitori at about ten years old is caring for the other war orphans along with the other older birds. Luckily for him, he was a genius. He was able to go out and get jobs tutoring birds and support his rag-tag family at his young age.

With that, we know Hitori was not originally cold and heartless, despite how the world may have birthed him. Especially when Nageki arrived frail and sickly. Hitori and the other birds were happy to put in overtime in an attempt to pay for the poor dove’s medications, even in his protest.

Then, 2180 happened. Imagine what sort of toll that would take on Hitori. he was absent. He was at work, unaware of the jeopardy that befell his family. What kind of horrible, mind-rattling survivors guilt must rack this bird’s brain, knowing he wasn’t there as his family was massacred one by one?

“What did we do? We had nothing. Our parents and homes had already been stolen by the humans. All we had left were each other.”

We can gather from this same scene Hitori blames himself for not being there. For not being able to protect his family, or even Nageki. Even though had he been there, he would have died alongside everybirdie else, and left Nageki to succumb to his illness alone. Something of this magnitude would create anxieties and trauma unfathomable to those who did not deal with it.

In Hitori, this manifested as full-blown helicopter mom. He can’t help but think of every little nit-pick detail over Nageki, terrified one feather out of place will kill him. The fandom is good about this side of his character! And of course, so is Moa. This may be the Summer Vacation Drama CD: Hitori The Worrywart (which takes place in MIRROR AU), but I love it’s portrayal of the anxious quail.

Hitori continued to care and ache over Nageki’s declining health. He was desperate. Begging doctors, even though deep in his little quail brain he knew Nageki was a lost cause, and that he was dying. But he couldn’t think of a life without Nageki, and did all in his power to try and keep the bird as well as he could. We can see a great example of this love in words you might not think of.

“How about this? From now on, ‘I’m fine’ is not allowed.”

I’ve always imagined Hitori getting mildly heated at Nageki in this conversation.The quail is on his last strands of stability, and the dove he cares endlessly for is trying to hide the very thing he ails himself over. The genuinity in his words shines through- telling Nageki he’d rather hear he’s bad and hurting.

So, in this desperation, Hitori carted Nageki off to some strange doctor in some strange prestigious school. And how couldn’t he? A doctor who claimed to know of the virus eating away at Nageki’s life, and how to cure it. Hitori’s beacon of hope in a sea of darkness. The only bird in the entire universe he had left to love, the one he had arguably always favored and adored, was dying. He would do anything in his power to keep the one thing he loved alive, no matter the irrationality or cost. No matter the very dying bird’s own lips saying “I… don’t want to go.”

Whether or not you ship these birds, I firmly believe Hitori is in love with Nageki in a romantic sense.

“I can no longer love another creature // I think we meant more to each other than anybirdie else in the world... // The love I felt soured into resentment // I should remember the beautiful face I knew, not… a photo covered in scribbles”

Not to mention admitting he can’t bear to live without the dove in BBL. And, in his route, Hiyoko goes as far as to refer to this bird as a female, which means he’s speaking so fondly she’s assuming it was a lover, and therefore a woman. Hitori’s stopped any sort of love at the idea he can only love Nageki post-mortem. That is canon. And well… that’s not very brotherly, no matter how good of a relationship you may have with your sibling (I speak from experience).

Okay, okay, this persuasive essay is NOT for convincing you of this ship, that is another essay for another time. I’ve only mentioned this opinion because I need you to understand his irrationality for the one thing he has left, and the fragility of it. And why it might drive anybirdie to… Hitori-level madness. Moving on.

2183. A mere 3 years after Hitori had lost the majority of his family to human terrorists. Nageki sends a coded letter, and… we can see Hitori’s anxieties outright.

“It’s happening again. Nageki needs me, and I’m not there.”

This is… a very powerful line in the game. We’re seeing just how vulnerable Hitori truly is. This is a traumatized individual in a panic attack- realizing the love of his goddamn life is once again faced with something horrible, and Hitori is once again absent from the scene.

And just like that, he’s gone.

The only thing. The only one Hitori had left in life to love. To live for. Taken from him without so much as a second chance. This is painful to write. This part of Hatoful is, without a doubt, the most agonizing. I know how it is to lose something so dear and feel as though maybe it’s not worth going on without them.

This is the peak of Moa’s tragedy writing ability (and yes, I’m including Holiday Star). But this is my point, is it not? Though his kanji may be “sun bird”, the actual word for his name “Hitori” quite literally means one, alone, solitary. He is now all alone in the universe, no family left. How can anybirdie even remotely remain in charge of their faculties (as Sakuya would put it) by now? You wouldn’t.

Hitori is now a husk of his former self. Anything he’s ever cared for is gone, he has nothing left to live for. He goes- my favorite coined term for him- absolutely batshit. He gets what we call “trauma-induced psychosis”, and begins to hallucinate very vividly, a form that he refers to as “Nageki”. We all know him of course, as Shadow. Shadow, from the little information we’re able to gather from BBL, is tormenting Hitori ruthlessly.

Shadow is easily misunderstood, because Moa made him fathomable, so the reader was able to understand exactly what was happening. What had become of Hitori Uzune. Shadow in all his simplicity- is Hitori. It is an introjection of Nageki, manifested to validate Hitori in his self-hatred. Don’t you get it? He hates himself just as much as you hate him!

Anything Hitori thinks of himself, Shadow is there to back up. He’s taunting him day in and day out, reminding him that he killed Nageki, and every ounce of Nageki’s suffering life was the fruit of Hitori’s inability to protect him. But again, it’s his own brain, telling him exactly what he wants to hear. What he truly believes. Telling himself what he’s done, and how he deserves this. ...And to seek revenge.

Hitori lost his mind. He had nothing else to lose, after all. He became obsessed with Nageki even moreso than he was in life, because there was no level-headed dove to calm him and tell him to stop worrying so much, or keep him at least reasonably held together by simply being there.

He listened to his psychosis, and when he made a friend (Moa gives evidence Hitori and Kazuaki were friends prior to Hitori’s ill-intentions), his psychosis got in the way of that, too. As he travelled down this relationship (which Moa herself says is pretty much romantic), we can assume he realized just how unable to love he was. He had Kazuaki around because, let’s face it. He wanted someone like Nageki who was incompetent so he could nurture and care for them. And for a while, it worked. But it didn’t. Hitori didn’t love Kazuaki. He couldn’t. He was too busy looking for Nageki.

So, you’re reading this in english. You speak english. At least a little, right? So maybe you played the english (and localized) version of the game. Well then you may not know the following. Please pay attention! This gets a bit rocky, and a bit more “Hitori...!”.

In the English version, Hitori disguised as Kazuaki is “tired”. In the Japanese version, he’s “sleepy” or “dreamy”. I’d describe him as ditsy, for sure. He kind of acts like an airhead who knows absolutely nothing, and his students don’t take him seriously. In the Hatomame Sweet Blend Drama CD, there is a track that follows Kazuaki on a little adventure of his narcolepsy, and going to Shuu for help.

In and out of comatose, Hitori, as himself, is there in his dreams as a separate bird.

“This bird with a face I had never seen spoke to me in a voice I had never heard, and this is what he said.”

“Nanaki-sensei” is clearly denying his own identity.

“I’ll sleep, just a little, and then leave… good… night…”

“But sleeping is my job… You still have a little longer. Tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that…”

This is dream Hitori telling himself that he has to continue his alias until his revenge is fulfilled. The quail that was once Hitori must remain dormant until he is reunited with Nageki again, and can be happy again. As a metaphor for depression… don’t you feel like you’re a shell of your former self?

So, going off this information… I believe Hitori has repressed himself. This is due to my own knowledge on psychology but-- Hitori doesn’t want to be Hitori anymore. It’s too hard. Hitori the war orphan. Hitori the lone survivor. Hitori the murderer and identity thief. It’s him not wanting to deal with his trauma in a healthy way, and instead locking it up and becoming somebirdie new and undamaged.

He killed Hitori.

This falls into the other delusion- that Nageki is somehow not completely dead and gone and ash- but still trapped, somehow, somewhere, and Hitori needs to find and get him. To kill Isa and the researchers who “killed” Nageki, and bring “Nageki” home. Whatever he believes Nageki is. In BBL, we see this quite literally varies! He tried to cut Ryouta open and steal his liver!

“Sir, Nageki would have never wanted this…!”

There is no difference between a serial killer and someone in a court room screaming for the serial killer to be murdered in turn. That mourning mother is then one in the same with that killer, is she not? She sees him, and wants him to die. She wants him to die and suffer. She believes that will bring her a sense of justice. Even though she knows it will not return her son to her. Hitori, is that mourning mother. He sees Isa, and all he can see is the man who murdered his dove.

I know the biggest aspect as to why the fandom hates Hitori is the sole factor that Kazuaki is #relatable. He’s a depressed college student who thinks he’s better off dead. Then, Hitori tricks him. But you’re not reading Kazuaki right. It’s okay, he’s easy to misread from Holiday Star’s plotline.

Holiday Star was written with Kazuaki as the villain, do you forget? A grey villain as well, but a villain nonetheless. He told his tragic sob story death in such a way, you can’t help but to cry. He’s the victim! I’m not saying he’s not. But he was written specifically to be pitied in Holiday Star, and as you continue on, you begin to see he’s actually just anti-self help. He doesn’t want to face his fears. He doesn’t want to leave his safe egg and take the risk he should have.

Kazuaki is meant to be pitied, yes, but just on the brink of annoying with his helplessness and self-deprecation. He’s, forgive me, a “sad sack of shit” who does nothing to help himself. Don’t come after me for being “ableist” or whatever- Moa literally wrote him this way.

This is also depicted in “Kazuaki-kun’s Book”. Now, this book takes place in the MIRROR AU, but it tells of how Kazuaki met Hitori. Moa starts the manga off by explaining Kazuaki had a great chickhood, a healthy life, and an easy, happy time. But then, he flunked his college exams and didn’t even get into his safety school. He lazed around, grew depressed, and let his apartment rot. He played video games until his online friends got jobs, and wasted any money he had on them as well. The only thing that scared him out of it is when his next door neighbor was found dead, having rotted into his own futon.

So imagine Hitori, who has worked so hard and lost everything he had done so for. Tirelessly, through his horrible, fucked up existence. Nageki, who had his short and miserable life robbed from him, had to die. Had to kill himself. And this random quail has the audacity to bitch and moan, thinking he’s got it bad? He’s a waste of space that could have been filled with Nageki. This is what Hitori’s brain is thinking. Hitori’s only ~20 years old when Nageki dies, after all.

I’m not saying this is cause for murder and identity theft. Don’t you dare misread me on this. But as I’ve stated prior- Hitori’s completely lost it. But you ship him with the chukar that literally ruined his life. Hitori’s a grey villain but holy fuck why would you want him to fuck the partridge that tortured and drove his only loved one to suicide?

It was wrong to trick Kazuaki. It was wrong to insult him as he died. It was wrong to steal his identity. That’s obvious and a given. But you all seem to look at that factoid alone, chalking it up to ‘preying on a poor mentally ill man” but not taking into consideration Hitori is mentally ill himself. ...Just not #relatable enough for you.

Hitori is suicidal as well. He’s been suicidal presumably since Nageki died. Don’t you dare say Hitori isn’t at least a little in the same boat. I don’t care if he’s not as soft and uwu and cuddly as Kazuaki. Mental illness is not rainbows and butterflies and emo hair (though Kazuaki is not portrayed this way).

Holiday star bears all the answers. I raise you important points, so pay close attention. The first key component is Hitori, found upside down in the pudding. He’s crying. Why is he crying? Because he’s lost his name? Oh, but think deeper.

“I’m Nemo”.

“Nemo” is latin for nothing, and his name translates to “nothing” in every language of HoliStar. The King has vomited him up in his kingdom, and robbed him back of what he stole from him. His identity.

But it goes even deeper than that.

“I’ve lost something, and so, I think I might cry.”

From this phrase alone, it’s painful to play this game. Nageki is right in front of his beak. But what did he do? He ate his own eyes. Hitori, in his refusal to identify with himself, has robbed himself of quite literally seeing the very bird he adores and sought after. Then, he is renamed his own identity by that bird (the only identity he accepts). How surreally real.

The second key component is when everybirdie is being rescued, but Leone warns Yuuya the quail is clearly falling more rapidly into a coma, and may not be able to awake. Why is this? Because Hitori wants to die. He’s fine with it, and Kazuaki is more than happy to keep him. When Yuuya finds him, Hitori is not at all alarmed as he should be. He seems passive, and simply wants to fall back to sleep. He’s to the point of trying to strangle Yuuya in attempt to let himself fall into eternal slumber (even if he thinks Yuuya is… Kazuaki..?).

Heed these next words carefully. When Yuuya asks if The King did something to him, Hitori replies-

“...No, all The King did was close the door.”

I am a firm believer this is Hitori indirectly saying “Kazuaki did nothing wrong, and I do not resent him for hating me.” Especially since Hitori shows signs of knowing it’s Kazuaki, and repenting.

“He said I need to be punished. Apparently I did something bad… and I think I know what it was.”

This is confirmed in my next point, so bear with me.

Hitori, in this same conversation, is admitting he wants to die. The only thing that stops him- as morbid as it may be, is remembering this takes place before the events of BBL. He hasn’t fulfilled what he believes is his “something I need to do”. Which is seek revenge, and bring Nageki home, as per Shadow’s orders.

Lastly, at the bitter end of Holiday Star when everybirdie is plummeting through the air from the false star, Hitori is still blind and confused. Suddenly, The King erupts from behind Hitori, and appears to be talking to him.

“Oh, is that right?”

“...I know, I know. ...but it’s still too soon. That’s right, I’ll be along soon. I’ll catch up with you. Someday…”

This is arguably my most prominent point in the entire essay. This is Hitori, admitting not only does he still plan to kill himself, but that he intends to keep his promise and reunite with Kazuaki in the afterlife. These are not the words of a heartless quail. These are the words of somebirdie who knows they’ve taken advantage of a friend, but is continuing to do their best to keep their promises and make amends. This is Hitori telling Kazuaki he still cares for him.

Hitori is the result of trauma and hardship beyond compare, and his inability to cope. He is not meant to be hated. He is meant to have shock value, yes. What he has done his disgusting, but you want to love him. Because he raised the sweetest bird in the entire game who would rather kill himself than hurt others.

Grey-villains are difficult, and because you can’t love them for being purely evil, you end up hating them for being a good person who’s done bad things. Hitori is a cracked window. Not quite shattered, but no longer whole, with a faulty image. Hitori is not just some heartless, manipulative, selfish bastard. He’s quite literally a bird with a broken wing (or entire ribcage more like), trying to… well, Live, and be happy.

#hitori uzune #uzune hitori #hatoful boyfriend #hatoful kareshi #hatoful #hatoful boyfriend bbl #kazuaki nanaki #nageki fujishiro #hatoful boyfriend holiday star

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libermachinae · 4 years ago

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Fault Lines Under the Living Room

Part II: Breathe - Chapter 6: Just Another One

Also available on AO3! Chapter Summary: Ratchet and Rodimus embark. Word Count: 5096

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They could have left the last stage of planetbreak to autopilot, but Ratchet kept his hands wrapped around the yoke. If there was damage the shuttle’s sensors had missed, he said, better to have someone sentient piloting. Rodimus nodded along with his logic, like he hadn’t been aware the moment Ratchet decided he would do everything in his power to distract himself from… all this.

Rodimus had little room to feel offended. He was trying to dd the same, exploring the shuttle’s interface while background threads worked through anything he might have forgotten in their haste to leave. He hadn’t gotten around to telling the engineers about the ominous blinking panel in engine room 3, and he’d neglected to pick a replacement judge for the upcoming karaoke contest. His consciousness slipped between these background thoughts and exploration and Ratchet’s piloting, both of them trying so hard not to acknowledge the other than they jumped when the alarm went off.

“Frag.”

Rodimus grabbed for controls that failed to materialize in front of him.

“What?” he demanded, looking to the monitors for an incoming projectile despite the answer pooling in his mind.

“Haven’t reached exit velocity,” Ratchet said, punching commands into the console with one hand firm on the yoke. “Forgot how much power it takes to get these old war rigs moving. I’m adjusting the flightpath to buy us time to build momentum.” The alarm stopped. “There.”

Ratchet’s words were echoes of his thoughts, old knowledge by the time they reached Rodimus’ audials. Ratchet didn’t know how to fix that problem. Rodimus hadn’t realized it was a problem. Conversations between them were already a challenge, to add this new dimension was—

They were thinking about each other’s thoughts again. Rodimus rapidly shifted between menu options until the flashing light dragged him back out of his head.

“This sucks,” he said.

Ratchet grunted. He couldn’t keep up with all of Rodimus’ thoughts at once, and even hanging onto one was a strain, so he was trying to create hard divides between them. Right now, he was generating a list of all the medical supplies one could expect to find on a ship this size, basing it on a combination of Autobot guidelines and the kinds of repairs he had seen on POWs. Rodimus’ processor tried to latch on, but the thick jargon kept him slipping off, back to exploring the workings of their new home.

No, was home not the right word? The place they were living? Where they were captive? Their cosmic questing raft? The Decepticraft? The Drifter?

Ratchet withdrew the tracker from his subspace, ignoring the way plinking ideas sunk into his thoughts like lead nuggets into molten cadmium. Autobot and Decepticon tech was not designed to be compatible, but he had performed enough surgeries with parts scavenged from the battlefield to know how to jury rig the connection. As he pulled out a small utility knife, he thought sadly of the universal adapter he had stashed with the rest of his medical supplies, all of it now sailing away to parts unknown. Though he would knock a dent into Arcee if they ever caught up to her, he did hope his kit was getting put to use.

Rodimus wondered how long Ratchet had been preparing for his trip, when the planning had started (at the vote? Overlord?), how he could have missed it. Ratchet recoiled from the blunt curiosity and his list fell apart, dumped out of short term memory as his processor scrambled to pull up the answers to Rodimus’ questions.

Mistake, mistake, mistake.

“Just—stop,” Ratchet said, waving at Rodimus like he could dispel the corrosive thoughts with a gesture.

How do I stop? Does it hurt? You’re so quiet? Are you okay? Does it hurt? What do I do? Rodimus had never had reason to stop his processor before, and the effort of trying to now was making it worse.

Ratchet, though, had a lifetime’s experience forcing himself to focus in stressful situations. He stopped responding to Rodimus’ questions, and the thoughts that did come through were focused entirely on his hands as he stripped down the tracker’s cable. Once a physical connection had been established, he would need to register the tracker as a pilot in the navicomp, then reroute the transceivers in the shuttle’s communications array to increase their range.

His calm confidence guided Rodimus’ focus. The stream of questions would not abate, but they were no longer provoked from panic, nor did they interrupt Ratchet’s process.

Will it accept an Autobot ident?

Some even turned out to be helpful.

“Probably not,” Ratchet said, their connection helping Rodimus pinpoint which of his thoughts Ratchet was responding to. “Not a problem, I can just program a new one… dammit.”

The computer flashed red: outdated codes.

“Who was stationed on this ship they would bother updating their security?” Ratchet wondered aloud, his processor trying to piece together a workaround simpler than taking apart the entire navigation system.

Rodimus hesitated, but Ratchet caught it, so there was no point to staying quiet.

“Prowl passed me some intel before we left,” he said.

“Hm.” Ratchet’s thoughts turned sharp, a phantom pain that caused Rodimus to wince.

“Codes,” he said. “Just in case.”

He hadn’t asked where Prowl had gotten them, though Ratchet’s imagination filled in the gaps. Instead, Rodimus had been doing his best to appear professional and capable before Optimus’ infamous adviser. Prowl’s optics could not bother to emote for how unimpressed he was. That Rodimus had assumed this meeting concerning “galactic relations” would be about culture clash with their closest neighbors had not helped his image.

He had nearly run out of the office when Ultra Magnus commed to say he was actually late for another meeting, stopped only by the datapad forced his way.

“A few precautions,” Prowl had called it. Rodimus downloaded the files and stored them among the events on Kimia, tech specs for the waste disposal system, and other things he could willingly not think about.

Ratchet’s hand, poised over the keyboard, clenched and shook itself out.

“I hope you ran a virus scan on that thing before you plugged it into yourself,” he said, doing a commendable job not bringing up everything this subject of conversation was making him think about.

“No, but I passed it through my antivirals.” And it didn’t feel like Prowl was remote controlling him from the opposite side of the galaxy. He doubted Prowl had the processing capacity to pilot him through multiple rounds of volcanic derby racing, for one.

“Here.” Ratchet retrieved his portable med kit from his subspace and set it on his lap. The lists were moving back in: everything he’d lost versus what he had to work with now. Rodimus found himself sobered and accepted the antiviral chip when it was passed to him. “Load this and run another scan. You might experience a few seconds lag or disorientation; just ride it out and let the chip do its job.” A few very rare cases experienced sensory inversion, but longterm effects were uncommon enough Ratchet wouldn’t bother to mention them.

Rodimus cracked a grin as he popped open a port cover and inserted the chip. He grimaced as he installed the program—invasive medical programs were rarely comfortable to integrate—then ran Prowl’s files through it.

So, there had been a tracking signal that Rodimus’ programs had failed to uncover, but once that had been snipped out the rest were deemed safe. Rodimus tightbeamed the data to Ratchet who used it to finish building their fake Decepticon and finally got through. ‘Galeforce’ finished integrating the tracker and set the system to start searching for Drift’s signal.

“Thanks,” Ratchet said, a longer pause than normal between thinking the word and saying it out loud. Internal distractions compounded and inevitably led them to crashing into each other, so maybe talking would redirect enough of their attention to stop the spiraling before it could start.

Rodimus chanced a glance at him but could not catch his optic; he was still focused on the controls.

“No problem,” he said. Drift had once wasted a full off-shift failing to teach him how to meditate. The problem had not been Drift’s teaching: it was all Rodimus and his inability to let a thought go once it manifested. It was like they stuck him, coils of barbed wire wrapped round and around, each pinprick demanding his attention and—”How far is it to the outer rim?”

“Depends where we’re going, and if Drift’s on the move,” Ratchet said. The screen of the navicomp blinked, a pinwheel replacing the previous screen. “Might find somewhere to get comfortable. This part’s been known to go for a few hours.”

“Hours?” Rodimus repeated. Anything that could have once been considered comfortable was covered in junk. The captain’s chair had belonged to Ratchet before they had taken off, and the flight deck chairs were too abandoned to feel secure.

“The transceiver on Drift’s speeder isn’t strong enough to send a direct signal,” Ratchet said. “It’s going to have to bounce between Galactic Council transmission planets a bit before it makes it back here.” Assuming Drift had strayed close enough for one to grab his signal. From what Ratchet understood, though, they were almost impossible to avoid these days. “Whatever we get’s going to be a few days old, but it’s a start.”

Rodimus’ processor drew up a cartoonish map, a dotted line zigzagging between planets to show the path Drift’s signal would take. He recoiled from under Ratchet’s scrutiny, but all his haste could add was a backdrop of randomized stars.

“While we’re waiting, I’ve got us on course to slingshot around Scarvix’s star,” Ratchet went on. A note of surprise: Rodimus’ stress had caused his own cables to tense. “By the time the tracker gets us some coordinates, we should be ready to… This isn’t helping.”

Rodimus was distressed and Ratchet was spiraling. How were they going to make it all the way to the outer rim? What would they do if Drift had nothing for them? Refused to help? Rodimus couldn’t keep tying himself in knots, nor could he endure the sting every time Ratchet anguished over a possible future trapped together.

“I distract myself.” Rodimus forced his voice through the fog.

“How?” Ratchet was gripping the edge of the captain’s seat, squeezing until the hard edge reminded him which body was his.

“A lot of things work: racing, fight,” Rodimus said. “Anything that could get me out of my head for a few minutes.”

Meteor surfing, free all skydiving, asteroid spelunking. Any activity that teased the edge of mortality (crafting a spectacle was a bonus) was fair game. The rush of knowing he was solely responsible for the continued light of his spark never failed to wipe his mind of the stress of everything else.

Ratchet could not relate. Nor could he imagine how they were going to fit a racetrack into a ship just a bit larger than Swerve’s. Sparring might have been an option, were it not for the fact that every step risked tripping and landing face first on something volatile.

The idea hit Rodimus and he groaned.

“What about—cleaning?” Ratchet gestured around them. “I don’t want to put up with this chaos for longer than I have to.”

And there was something nostalgic about it. After the destruction of his Rodion clinic, Ratchet started practicing performative minimalism; anything of purely sentimental value had to be kept on his person, out of harm’s way. Prior to that, his offices had been littered with evidence of a life lived mostly within their walls: chickenscratch notes immediately forgotten, used energon cubes, and fond mementos from old friends he would get around to calling one of these days, for sure. Over days and weeks it would pile up, until he was using his lap as a desk and had no choice but to sweep it all back into a configuration resembling tidiness.

Rodimus balked at Ratchet’s fondness of those memories. Cleaning for him was performed on hands and knees, tips of steel wool sticking into his finish as he worked rust out of wash rack corners. Back and forth over the same spot, over and over and over, until boredom pressed down like it intended him to become one with the floor.

“Punishment detail,” he said, though Ratchet had already guessed.

During the war he had bounced between barracks and military vessels, plugging into recharge docks still warm from their last occupant. How could he ever take pride over a cleaned room when neither the space nor the mess belonged to him? He had tried to improve his habits upon moving into the Lost Light, but there were reasons Ultra Magnus refused to meet him at his hab suite.

“It’s not just about the space,” Ratchet said. “It’s an emotional reset. When you have time to clean, it means the fighting’s over for now.” Ratchet’s memories had lost hold of entire days stationed in field hospitals, brought back only as he had wiped down his instruments and organized his remaining supplies. Rubbing cleanser deep into his joints to free them of the day’s residue was one small kindness he could afford himself.

Rodimus shrugged and twisted in the seat so he could rest his chin on the back of it. He scanned the room. It certainly looked like a fight had gone through.

“Right.” Ratchet did one better than him and stood up. “You’ve got decent knees, so you can start by hauling those shelves back into place.”

“Decent knees?” Rodimus repeated, allowing himself to crack a grin. He shoved himself from the chair and wandered out into the swamp, tripping once as he felt something snap under his heel. “Old joint all worn out, doc?”

“Just got them replaced,” Ratchet corrected, “and I’d rather not break them in on a mess that wasn’t even my fault.” First Aid would let him have it, and he was already due for a tongue lashing whenever they got back to the Lost Light. “This can be your penance.”

“Penance.” Rodimus laughed through the word, though he was already maneuvering around the shelves in question, trying to guess which end would be easiest to lift from given the state of the floor around them. “Right, because I’m the one who put you on this ship in the first place.” Neither would have been out here if Ratchet had just asked to go get Drift.

Nor if Rodimus had gone first—not sent him away—prevented Overlord—

“Here,” Ratchet said, clearing some of the space Rodimus had been tiptoeing around. “Let’s start with this.”

They started together, Ratchet picking through whatever was in Rodimus’ way as he heaved the shelves upright, but their tasks caused them to drift apart, Ratchet sorting through his findings while Rodimus shoved the room back into a semblance of order. He drifted into a rhythm of lifting and pushing, occasionally grunting with the effort of returning the room to its previous state. This plan was derailed almost immediately: he’d had other things on his mind when he first rushed onto the bridge, and the placement of the various shelves and crates had missed his attention entirely. Even Ratchet’s memory of the layout was imperfect.

So, he got creative with it, using the shelves to form a divider between the cockpit and what would have been the command zone. He used the crates to fill in the gaps and form uneven benches along the walls, and as he took to shoving the broken pieces and miscellaneous ends into piles, the bridge started to take the shape of a living space. Ratchet, glancing up from his work only to remind Rodimus not to lift with his back, had no complaints about the design choices.

He spoke up again when Rodimus paused before one of the larger crates, considering it carefully.

“It’s not a bad idea,” he said, “but I doubt you’re the first to have it. Why would the Cons waste space with chairs when they’re already tripping over storage cubes?”

“You can’t relax sitting on a block,” Rodimus said, although, he reflected, that was likely the point.

In the end, he settled for placing a couple smaller cubes on either side of the makeshift table, almost adding a third before he thought better of it and slotted it into a space on the wall, finally covering up the loosened panel from which red light continued to trickle. His cables relaxed and he became aware that he had been hearing a buzz (a melody?) in the back of his processor ever since the flare. The silence that swept in to fill the space was just as loud, but slightly less grating.

His optics swept the room; still chaotic, according to Ratchet, but Rodimus thought it was gaining a shape. Noticing that he had accidentally blocked the door at the back of the bridge, he went to clear it, and was surprised when it didn’t open automatically for him, nor did he see a control pad.

“Ident sensor,” Ratchet said. He had noticed it built into the upper frame of the door.

“What, more secret tech stashed back there?” Rodimus asked. Both their minds bloomed with possibilities, but Ratchet shut them down.

“Recharge docks, more likely,” he said. “We had similar systems on some of the larger warships. Kept bots to their assigned off-shifts.” On one occasion, a superior officer had tried to use the same tactic to lock Ratchet out of his medbay when he was supposed to be recharging. After the public fallout settled, no one else dared to try it. “I can rig up our transceivers with a couple more facsimiles, soon as I’m finished here.”

Rodimus grinned and waved up at the sensor. He thought he could feel a brush of radiation as it scanned him, but Ratchet rebuffed the notion; it wasn’t nearly that powerful.

If that was true, what was to stop the Decepticons from lacing their ships with invisible observation devices? What if it had already discovered the intruders and was sending alerts straight to the DJD who were—

Fifteen pounds titanium alloys, ten pounds compressed carbon, eighty pounds halogen…

Ratchet’s thoughts were calm, regular, and purposeful enough for Rodimus to latch on. He glanced around again. He could start clearing the stairs. Or sweeping up glass. He could create a designated pile of useful equipment, or check that all the navigation terminals were in working order, or perform a quick security sweep. So many options. So many ways to prove that he was taking this seriously and was ready to work to stay out of Ratchet’s way.

“Come here, Rodimus.”

Of course, thinking about his options accomplished none of them. Aware he would continue wasting time if left to his own devices, he complied, plopping down in front of Ratchet. He landed in a relaxed sprawl, his position calculated down to the bend of his fingers.

Ratchet glanced up to him, thoughts of energon stock briefly set aside.

“Maybe you should’ve paid more attention to those meditation lessons,” he said.

“Told you, it didn’t work.” Never mind that he hadn’t said that part out loud; it was the defining feature of that memory. Drift had tried so hard, patiently explaining each step and troubleshooting when Rodimus struggled. They had tried different techniques, positions, even locations, and at every one, Rodimus’ thoughts had caught up to him and refused to be ignored. And every time, Drift had nodded with gentle understanding and suggested something new to try.

Because that was who Drift was: patient, calm, nonjudgmental. A forged mentor.

Ratchet’s thoughts hit him like acid rain.

“Did you know your ‘best friend’ at all?”

Of course he did, he wanted to say. All the important bits! Like that he was more regimented than Magnus when it came to his refueling schedule: one cube at the start of duty shift, and one at off-shift, every single cycle. That with his years brought experience untold, solutions and advice always at the ready. That Drift had been, and still was, extremely dangerous.

But when he dove inward to find these answers, he discovered something else: another Drift, sharp, with tattered, ill-defined edges that nonetheless drew and intimidating silhouette. This Drift was cloaked not in radiant light, but wrapped himself in darkness like a shawl, and when he tried to speak it was in many voices, none of which Rodimus recognized.

“Real friends don’t worship the ground you walk on,” Ratchet was saying. “I know your perception’s skewed since you think you have to live up to the very scratches in Optimus’ finish, but that behavior’s not healthy and it’s not normal. Drift is a real person, not some sort of—of fantasy fulfillment for you to drain until your hero complex is satisfied.”

Impatient, masking over constant stress, deeply critical of everyone but wrestling with his own failings: the other Drift’s hand appeared not with a sword, but a gun.

“I’m sorry.”

And vanished.

Ratchet released his death grip on an energon cube and set it aside.

“Not me you need to apologize to.”

“I know,” Rodimus said. “But you’re here, and it means something to you.”

“It doesn’t.” Ratchet’s lie was scratchy, like a frayed wire. “Drift’s made plenty of bad decisions in his life.” You’re just another one.

That’s not any of your business.

Habit kept them civil on the outside, but nothing, least of all self control, could stop them from thinking their truths. Drift had taken his post-war freedom and handed it straight to Rodimus, his dripping optimism like a fresh protoform faith. He had taken every dirty, demeaning job the Lost Light required of him, because he was good at them, because he wanted to help, because it was the only thing he knew how to do, because Rodimus had asked. Rodimus had taken advantage of, given an opportunity to, betrayed, saved, sacrificed—trying his best and couldn’t help that—

“Cleaning,” Ratchet said. “Cleaning.”

It took Rodimus a second just to find his body, then remember the piles of cubes stacked between them.

“What?” he asked. Even with a mental warning, he startled at the cleaning rag that landed on him.

“Some of the cubes were damaged in the crash, but it’s impossible to tell which when they’re piled together like this,” Ratchet said. He picked one from the pile and nested it in his own rag, diligently wiping away the loose energon before he unwrapped it and held it to the light. “Clean ‘em and check for damage. Get a leaker, pour it into the can with the rest. We can feed them to the ship’s reserve cells.”

The flight time bought by even a full crate’s worth of cubes would be negligible, but that wasn’t the point. Rodimus took a cube off the top of the nearest pile, feeling along the buckled edges. Were it just his own head to deal with, it might have been enough, but Ratchet’s still burning fury would not be so easily shut off.

“He volunteered,” Rodimus said.

Had he? Ratchet hadn’t known that. Rather than calm him, though, the new information made the fire in his spark burn hotter.

“I’m not having this conversation,” he said.

The cube hit the floor with an unsatisfying thud and Rodimus stood up.

“Whatever.” He had a taste of grim satisfaction watching Ratchet freeze.

“Don’t—” Ratchet started, but Rodimus cut him off.

“I get it,” he said. “You hate me. I’m used to it. I get people hating me for who I am way before they find out all the slagged choices I’ve made. But when you’re—you—”

Ratchet was treating Drift like a drone, unable to make any choice beyond its core programming, and Rodimus the cruel engineer who delighted in watching it shock itself. Rodimus could take lashing Ratchet delivered, but objectifying Drift and calling it righteous was a step too far.

“Except that’s not what I’m saying,” Ratchet said. His voice was steady and he stayed seated; he did not try to chase Rodimus. “Of course Drift is self-sufficient. I’ve never doubted that. And I believe you that he volunteered, because it’s the exact kind of glitched plan he would come up with. But the world is bigger than you, Rodimus.”

He knew—

Drift pledging life and spark to a leader whose words struck a thousand furnaces. Cast through self-revolutions of building and breaking himself, each new face patterned after what the last one lacked. Fighting his way up an eroding cliff face of rejection, reaching out…

“It’s more than you,” Ratchet said. “Drift might have volunteered. But I’ve got to check your conductors for rust if you think he wanted to go.”

“I know, but…” If Drift wanted salvation, who was Rodimus to deny him?

“His friend, allegedly.” Though Ratchet seethed with the word, there was a hidden gentleness behind it. Drift needed friends.

Rodimus had never considered that. He knew Drift was not well liked among some Autobots, a target of suspicion if not outright hostility, but Rodimus had always seen him rise above it. Strong and steadfast and as confident in himself as he was, isolation seemed no weight on his struts.

“He’s just a bot like any other,” Ratchet said. Well. Not any other. Neither knew anyone quite like Drift. “He gets slagged ideas, too, and as you’re friend, you’re supposed to tell him that.”

Ratchet had never hesitated to tell Optimus when he was being an idiot. Not much good it had done them all in the end, but memories of yelling at the Prime while elbow-deep in his wiring helped break the tension that had crystallized between them.

“I messed up,” Rodimus said quietly.

Ratchet gestured to the floor on the other side of the cube pile.

“You did,” he said, shaking his head at Rodimus’ ripe disappointment. “What do you want me to do? Say you tried your best and forgive you? You’re right, Rodimus. Whatever your reasons for not acting sooner, Drift’s the one who has to deal with your consequences.”

“I’m scared,” Rodimus admitted as he took a seat again. He picked up the cube he had been checking before and looked it over: no leaks. He put it in the intact pile and retrieved the next. “I liked what we had before, and I’m scared Drift’s going to hate me now that his big sacrifice turned out to be for nothing.”

“What you had before wasn’t sustainable,” Ratchet said. He had moved back into his own rhythm, optics on his hands while he spoke to Rodimus. “Want to talk about objectifying? You treated Drift like a personal worshiper.”

Rodimus ducked his helm. It sucked to feel Ratchet’s scrutiny even without those fierce optics on him, but he knew it was deserved. It had just been so nice to feel appreciated for once. To have someone tell him, without disclaimer or exception, that he was good at something and could help people. Everyone else was always searching for his flaw; Drift had been the first to explore Rodimus with the intention to find his virtues. It was the praise Rodimus missed most, second only to the camaraderie, and even while acknowledging it was for the best, it still stung to know he couldn’t have that back.

Ratchet set down a cube and did not immediately reach for another one.

“I can’t make any guarantees about what Drift will do, but I think you would actually find friendship without aftkissing to be more rewarding,” he said.

But I liked that, Rodimus thought, to his horror. Ratchet rolled his optics.

I’m sure you did.

“Of course,” he said out loud. “And you never doubted it? Never once thought, ‘Hey, this level of devotion from a bot I haven’t shared three words with is a little weird’?”

No. But a few moments slipped in from Rodimus’ memories. When Drift told him about his affiliation ceremony, there were embers of a once blazing inferno glowing behind his optics, a side of the ex-Decepticon that Rodimus told himself was but a lingering echo. Drift had given up that kind of passion on his road to atonement. At least, Rodimus had convinced himself as much.

“He told you exactly what you wanted to hear, knowing you would fill in the gaps,” Ratchet said. “He is a survivalist.” And to have survived so much, only to once more find himself without a home or support was a mockery of justice and everything Ratchet had believed the Autobots stood for.

That was why he needed to leave.

“And you’re getting your new chance because of it,” he said. “You didn’t earn it, but you’re getting one anyway. And if you really meant that apology, you’ll do something different this time.”

Rodimus knew that, could internalize the idea, but when so much of what he did felt like an externally sourced script running of its own volition, he struggled to make it a guarantee. He could intend, with every fiber of every cable, to do better the second time around. But so often the pressure of potential disappointment became its own self-fulfilling prophecy.

“Well, so long as we’re stuck together, you won’t be alone,” Ratchet said. “I’ll be there. I won’t let you do that to him.”

“Okay,” Rodimus said. He had heard promises like that before, from bot who promised to support him only to turn tailpipe once they learned what that meant.

But now he could feel Ratchet’s resolve. Not to Rodimus, to whom his emotions were turbulent and untrustworthy, but to Drift and giving him what life would otherwise conspire to keep away. He thought Drift a fool for the role he had assigned himself at Rodimus’ side, but he would not deny him his agency if that was something he wanted to regain.

The navicomp beeped. They stood simultaneously and Ratchet moved back to the captain’s chair to inspect the screen.

“We’ve got a hit,” he said. “Vitreous.” An organic planet, according to the report. Neither of their databanks could produce any further information.

“A week?” Rodimus’ voice was tight as Ratchet scanned the details.

“Give or take,” he said. “If we need to refuel, that will add a couple days.”

“Sure.” Rodimus was trying very hard not to think about what a week of this would be like.

Ratchet was doing it enough for both of them.

#maccadam #transformers #ratchet #rodimus #my writing #longfic #fault lines #posting this a full day after ao3 dfsgjldfkjh #lifes really living rn

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page-of-tales · 6 years ago

Text

Running Interference

A technical sequel to Frontier Medicine. Detailing the closure of the EZ conflict. It draws premise from a Star Trek Enterprise episode.

Ambassador Elroy was sat in her office staring at her private Screen propped up on her desk. On it was a chess board with pieces scattered about in play. A game against her son who was hopefully but unlikely to be in bed at home far far away. At the present time it was her move and she was stuck in a quandary. His last move had just taken her rook with a bishop which know threatened to take her queen as well. As she considered the consequences of moving a knight to block the attack there came a buzz from her door that drew her attention away from the game.

“Come in.”

The door slid open and one of her aides stuck his head in.

“We have a situation ma’m.”

Elroy set her Screen aside, taking a sip of water to clear her throat.

“What is it?”

“One of the Zygaroons called for a duel against an Ent.”

Elroy almost dropped the glass.

“Oh dear.”

The Ents and Zygaroons were best described as incompatible. The roots of this long running dispute stretches long before the Federation arrived into the region. In that distant past the Zygaroons had been the military arm of an alien coalition that was expanding its territory through military conquest. They were good too, nothing in the sector could stand against them. It was the Ents who stopped them, who despite their limited ventures into space held a clear technological edge over the Zygaroons. It was a humiliating defeat for the proud militant species. Eventually the coalition splintered and each species went their separate way. However the animosity between Ents and Zygaroons simply moved into the background.

Since then the two species had been on uneasy terms. On occasion a skirmish would erupt at their shared borders. Minor disputes escalating into a trade of weapons fire. Normally the Federation wouldn’t have interfered, they were only in a loose trade agreement with the Ents and had only the vaguest of diplomatic contact with the Zygaroons. In addition the conflicts were few and far between with a week long skirmish occurring every couple of cycles. Compared to other more volatile sectors it was a serene peace. However the latest conflict between the two alien species had spilled into settled Federation space. For days the Federation briefly found itself involved in the pointless conflict. Now the Federation was determined to cement a lasting peace between the two historic antagonists.

The negotiations had been tenuous, but overall going in a positive direction. There had been outcry and outbursts that ended sessions, but each time the diplomatic corp had managed to draw both sides back to the table. Working laboriously at hammering out the disputes between the two species in sessions that extended long past schedules and deadlines. This was much more than a band aid to patch the current issue, it was an in depth biopsy to stem any further conflicts. Neither side had liked all the terms of the treaty, but neither was in a position to refuse to sign. It had been starting to look like real peace might have been attainable.

“So run it back again, how did the duel come about?”

More people had been gathered to the limited office space of the Ambassador. Most of the command staff was now present, talking in low voices. The mood was grim with a palpable frustration giving it a buzz of anxiety. Coffee was being delivered and passed around to wake the drowsy staff. Some wore a mix of pajamas and uniforms in an absurd clash with the tense atmosphere.

“We’ve been trying to keep the Ents and Zygaroons separated as much as possible. They’ve mostly stuck to their own ships when not negotiating on the station. However there was a tour of the habitation ring being put on for some of the Ent delegation. One of them was conversing with a guard about the war. Retelling a war story.”

Several members in the room were in communication with those outside. Monitoring the situation. The whole crew had been made aware of the situation and now many eyes watched the two parties who had been separated to their ships. So far neither had made any further movements or communications.

“There was a Zygaroon group walking two corridors away. Somehow they overheard the story and rushed over. Apparently, the Zygaroon knew of the story and of one of the deceased in the Ent’s story. Some miracle of coincidence. The guards managed to keep them apart. But the Zygaroon issued a challenge for a duel in the commotion. I’m sorry.”

The aide finished his story, looking at everyone in the room as he apologized. Elroy leaned forward in her chair.

“It wasn’t your fault, it was sheer bad luck.” Elroy said, moving on to focus attention to the present situation. She looked over to their local expert who was leaning against the wall.

Local expert in this particular situation referred to Captain McTav. A civilian freighter captain who ran a small merchant fleet in the region. He was one of the few captains who could negotiate with both the Ents and Zygaroons without any complications. Recognized for hands on experience and familiarity with obscure cultural details. His glowing recommendation had come with an attachment, warning of the somewhat dubious nature of some of his shipments.

“So what IS an honor duel?”

The captain stroked his rough stubble. For some reason he took this job assignment to be his excuse for a vacation and had stopped shaving. “What were the exact words the Zygaroon said?”

The aide had to take a moment to recall. “Something like, fyr blood for dor blood, Jacusta take my vow, something like that. Translator couldn’t catch it all in the commotion.”

The captain let out a dramatic whistle. “That is severe. Jacusta is the Zygaroon version of a revenge god. They don’t invoke their gods for anything but the most extreme of situations. A Jacusta duel is one that must have a death. If the other side refuses or the challenger backs down then their life becomes forfeit for anyone to take.”

There was a rise in the muttering in the room, and Elroy looked to her secretary. “Who are the parties involved?” The secretary looked at her screen before replying. “The challenge was issued by Zygaroon First Wing Tekmen’Da, the Ent is Ambassador Vekmensa.”

There was an audible groan from the gathered people. Elroy kept a straight face despite her own internal misgivings. The math was clear to everyone. A First Wing was the equivalent of a General, and the Ambassador was part of the Ent diplomatic delegation. If either of them died the related species would withdraw from negotiations and the war would begin again with renewed fury.

McTav looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist. “Well I guess I’ll just enjoy this 54 hours of pace before the fireworks start up again. That’s how long you have by the way. Preparation for the duel will take 54 hours or 3 of their days.”

Elroy downed the rest of her coffee. Then she rose to activate a wall Screen. Writing the world duel and circling it with her finger.

“Alright people, I want ideas and solutions. There are no bad plans.”

Because the Federation was the mediator between the two species the negotiations were being held in Federation territory. Specifically on the Alhazen, a Federation station built in the fashion of an O’Neill Tube, had been chosen as the neutral site for diplomacy. The alien diplomatic ships had been stationed on the far sides of the tube, with the Federation delegation occupying the middle areas as a buffer. Despite the intense ongoing negotiations, business for the massive station continued as usual. Markets continued to bustle with all sorts of merchandise and people. Advertisements flashed images of various wares and an announcer routinely listing new arrivals and sales in different languages. The Alhazen was largely a commercial center, having been constructed at a center point of interstellar trade routes.

Overlooking the market was a sizable food court which was capable of catering to a variety of alien diets. From a window side booth a group of four Federation soldiers sat sharing a meal together while off duty. Several times they had been approached by individuals or reporters asking about the duel. Information of which had leaked after the Zygaroons had requested usage of one of the station’s arenas for the duel. They had declined to divulge any information but now in the quiet privacy of the enclosed booth they discussed the matter freely.

Tano, Kevin, Sept, and Baylor. All four of them held the rank of Corporal, and had served with each other for a long time in the diplomatic branch. While no strangers to diplomatic hiccups this incident was something even they found exciting. They knew the implications of the duel. Sept was of the opinion that the renewal of the conflict wouldn’t have a direct effect on the Federation. Kevin rebutted him stating the conflict would disrupt local stability and potentially place Federation soldiers at risk on the shared borders. Baylor and Sept frankly found the duel to be a barbaric practice. A legalized form of murder that should have been abolished long ago. Tano was willing to pass it off as traditional practice, though he agreed it should have been abolished. As they touched base with each other it became apparent that no one in the corp had come up with a plan that would stop the duel from taking place. Despite all their efforts there was only another 24 hours before the duel started.

“No, I’m telling you, because they invoked Jacusta one of the two has to die.” Sept reiterated, dipping one of their fries in ranch.

“Are you sure?” Kevin inquired as he spoke through a mouthful of salad.

“Stop eating with your mouth full.” Tano nagged. Kevin threw a leaf at him in response as Sept continued.

“Yes, that’s the whole crux of the matter. Even if they call if off one of them is likely going to die. If the Ent withdraws the Zygaroons will kill them anyway. If the Zygaroon backs down there are definitely challengers who would take his head for bringing dishonor to his people.” Sept explained. Swatting Baylor’s wandering hands from their fries. “Either way the negotiations would collapse and they go back to shooting each other.”

“What’s to stop someone from challenging a baby then?” Baylor said, consoling herself with a swig of soda.

“Well assuming a Zygaroon would invoke a blood god for a baby, I’m guessing a champion would have to be chosen.” Kevin interposed.

“A champion?” Tano interrupted, sitting up straighter.

“Well that’s how a duel from an old holo film I watched worked.” Kevin said as he shrugged.

“That… might just work then.”

Elroy and her heads of staff were still at work having moved from the office to one of the diplomatic cruiser’s meeting rooms. All four wall screens were in use, displaying biographical information of the duelists, as well as any information they could scrounge up about the duel. Most of them were running on the barest minimum of sleep. The frustrating aspect was how bare skeleton the guidelines were. No room given for them to work out a solution. The lawyers had pointed this out repeatedly as they argued over different translations of the old texts. The alien species were also being obstinate, dead set on settling the matter via the duel despite acknowledging the effect it would have on the negotiations. Central had only recommended they take the best course of action to avoid involve the Federation in the escalating conflict. The wording of the message seemed resolved to the peace negotiations failure. A failure that Elroy and her team refused to accept.

Through the open door walked Lieutenant Commander Maus, commander of the diplomatic security force. A thoughtful look on his face. Behind him followed a couple of officers Elroy didn’t recognize.

“Do we have a solution yet?” Lt. Commander Maus inquired.

Elroy waved a weary hand. “Unfortunately not yet, and I’m afraid we are running out of time.”

“Well, I may have a solution, or rather these officers came up with a plan. But I’m afraid it’s a very bad plan.”

“At this point I would take any plan.”

And so Maus explained the plan. The chatter in the room died down as people listened to the outrageous idea. By the end there was stunned silence.

Elroy chuckled, breaking the silence and all eyes turned to her as she sank her head into her hands. “That is a terrible plan.”

Ambassador Vekmensa’s skin was changing hues at an alarming rate. An emotional display that conveyed his emotional turmoil. Peace had been within his grasp, but now all the labor and strife was thrown to the wind. The hot headed Zygaroons had thrown it away by declaring the barbaric duel. But with the rush of anger came a feeling of undeniable dread. The duel was very clear in its rules and intentions. It was a death sentence for at least one of them. And Vekmensa’s fighting days were long behind him. His challenger was still in his prime while Vekmensa had already retired from the military life. There was little that Vekmensa could do but be consoled by his coworkers that they would avenge his death. Little solace for a walking dead Ent.

The internal comm buzzed to life. “Members of the Federation delegation are here to see you, sir.”

Vekmensa rose to his feet. And after quickly checking his appearance in the reflective glass door he walked out to greet the delegation. They had attempted to intervene a few times, offering protection for Vekmensa so he could decline the duel. However Vekmensa refused, an Ent’s sense of honor might not be as vigorous as the Zygaroon’s but even he still had some pride.

Waiting in the ready room was Ambassador Elroy and her head of security, Maus. They exchanged greetings and sat down on couches to get to the matter at hand. The Ambassador started off immediately.

“Ambassador, as I’m sure you are aware that if the duel is carried out then the conflict we have worked so hard to end will renew.”

She held up a hand to forestall any comment.

“However we understand that the duel must be carried to a satisfactory conclusion. As such we propose that you choose the Federation to supply a champion.”

“A champion?”

“Yes, the rules outlines that in the case a challenge is issued to someone who is unable to fight a champion may be chosen.”

“I am perfectly able to fight.” Vekmensa said indignantly.

“We are trying to help you. You are retired, your body is worn down from the combat stims from your time as a soldier. Choosing a champion maintains your honor and preserves the negotiation.”

Elroy took a breath before continuing.

“You will choose us to be your champion. Do it or we will sanction your people.”

First Wing Tekmen’Da sat in meditation. With the duel upcoming he had requested time be given for him to prepare in peace. A part of him regretted issuing the challenge. As the heat of the moment had faded he realized the implications of his impulsive action. But he resolved himself to the fate he had chosen. He wouldn’t dishonor his people by backing down now. Vengeance would be wrought.

There was a knock on his door. Tekmen’Da fought back a rude response and calmly spoke.

“Enter.”

A diplomatic aide stepped and bowed their head.

“First Wing, the Ents have chosen the Federation to be their champions for the duel.”

Tekmen’Da frowned.

“Is this a betrayal?”

“No, it appears the humans are looking to sacrifice one of their one to preserve the negotiations.”

Tekmen’Da was stunned. Though as he thought about it the logic made sense. The Federation was desperate to reach a peace agreement. For them the death of a human wouldn’t halt the negotiations. He could almost applaud their bravery if it weren’t so dishonorable. Meddling in affairs that didn’t involve them and sending a man to his death.

The time of the duel had arrived. Arena #5 would hold host to the event. In preparation for the event the floor had been cleared creating a clear walled in ring. Only the diplomatic envoys were permitted entry, media and onlookers restricted from entering. As the Ents and Zygaroons filed in they moved to sit on opposing sides of the arena. Besides the Federation guards separating the two sides only Ambassador Elroy was present in the stands. Some of the Ents and Zygaroons commented on this. Ambassador Vekmensa sat besides the ambassador.

“Where are your people?” He inquired.

“Only one person is required to be a witness.” She stated flatly. Her impassive face giving away no emotion in the moment. Vekemensa fell silent, a human was going to sacrifice themselves for him and his people were doubting their courage. The feeling left a bitter taste in his gut.

The two duelists, Zygaroon and human, enter the ring to cheers from both sides. They sit on opposing sides as ritual rites are performed. A priest sanctifying the arena and the weapons with splashes of salt and water. Attendants give each duelist two traditional blades. Long dual handed straight edge swords. Then the fighters are stripped nearly bare, and the crowd grows silent, the moment now upon them.

The two face each other in the middle of the ring. Tekmen’Da watches the human heft the twin swords in their hands. Clearly inexperienced with the weapons. He calls out to them. “I applaud your bravery warrior. I promise a quick death.”

The human nods but doesn’t reply. The priest then asks them to recite the ritual pledges.

“I, Tekmen’Da pledge to Jacusta that my cause is righteous and pray for his support.”

The human emulated the pledge. “I, Tano Tran pledge to Jacusta that my cause is righteous and pray for his support.”

The priest calls for Jacusta to bear witness to the warriors and strikes a bell signaling the start of the duel.

The human thrusts one of the blades into the floor and rushes forward surprising the general. Tekmen’Da raises his blades just in time to deflect the incoming strike. For a moment he is stunned, but is unable to process the thought as the human swings again. The human displays a deft handling of the weapon. The blade a spinning blur that Tekmen’Da could just barely stop. The general is forced back several steps before he manages to recover himself and start his own attack. The Zygaroon form with two long blades was to utilize one in a more defensive posture with the other moving to swing offensively. Tekmen’Da showed his years of experience by switching his offensive and defensive blade on the fly which seemed to surprise the human who was now on the retreat. However the human was smaller and Tekmen’Da struggled to strike at the agile warrior.

The crowd which had been cheering in support now sat in quiet awe. The clash of blades echoing in the ring, neither side seeming to have the advantage. The duel was lasting longer than any had expected. As the seconds ticked into minutes the two continued to hack away at each other. Yet no blows had successfully landed. With a full swing with both blades Tekmen’Da forcefully pushed the human away opening a gap between the two. As the human skipped backwards Tekmen’Da took a moment to catch his breath. To his annoyance while he was dripping with sweat his opponent didn’t seem to be perspiring at all. He would have to do something to finish this quickly before he got too tired to raise his blades..

In one quick movement the human throws the longsword he is holding overhand at Tekmen’Da. Then before reaching behind him to retrieve his other sword. Tekmen’Da is forced to knock away the spinning sword. The wild blade sliding across the floor. With a yell the human leaps at him. Tekmen’Da instinctively raises his swords to block the blow. But the human doesn’t swing at him and instead circles his blade to force one of the longswords from the Zygaroon’s grasp. There is a collective gasp as the sword clatters against a far wall. The human kicks the general in the chest sending him stumbling on his back. Without pause the human rushes forward with his blade raised. Ready to thrust into the alien’s chest. Tekmen’Da in a wild bid of desperation rises from the ground, a yell erupting from his own throat as he brings his sword stabbing forward. There is a clash of swords against each other.

The crowd was completely silent staring at the two figures who seemed frozen in time. Red blood drips onto the floor and the human slumps over, the Zygaroon sword having pierced through its midriff. As the crowd cheers the fallen human is quickly covered with a sheet by the guards. Tekmen’Da takes a moment before rising to his feet and then bows before the priest who declares him the victor of the duel. Vekmensa looks at Elroy whose face remains impassive before rising to leave with his people. Though this outcome was necessary he still feels ashamed and guilty. Elroy rises and walks down to the arena. Tekmen’Da passes her.

“They fought well.”

Elroy didn’t respond and after a moment the general quickly left the arena as well. Very quickly it is only the humans left in the arena.

The humans quickly remove the sword and place Tano on a gurney before withdrawing for their ship. As they walk through the empty hallways they maintain a somber mood as they escort the covered gurney through the station.

Aboard the ship the crew wheel the gurney into an empty room before leaving. Alone, Ambassador Elroy takes a moment to switch on the harsh overhead lights before walking to the gurney. She rolls back the sheet, uncovering the young face of Tano. Who seemed merely asleep with his eyes closed.

“How you feeling Sargeant?”

His eyes opened. “I’m a Corporal, Ambassador.”

“You’re getting promoted for dying in the line of duty.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” Sargeant Tano said rather mildly.

“So how are you feeling Sargeant.”

“Oh I’m good, can’t feel my legs, but otherwise good.”

“Your legs?”

“Yeah, think I severed my spinal cord with that blade.”

“Was your spinal cord cybernetic?” Elroy said with concern.

“Yeah.”

“So you’re good?”

“Yeah, I’m good. No other organs done there to harm.” Tano patted the sheet covering his abdomen.

“Well the medtechs will be along shortly so just hang tight.”

“Can’t exactly move now can I?”

A small smile crept across the Ambassador’s face.

“Do you always get so cheeky after faking your death.”

“Sorry, it’s the adrenaline.”

After the duel the negotiations continued smoothly. Both races now eager to close the deal, the resolve of the Federation having convinced them to carry through with their obligations. The Vek Accords was soon signed, signaling a renewed stability to the region. In official records Corporal Tano was reported as being killed in action and was subsequently replaced by Sargent Tahno. In a twist that was entertaining to Tano’s friends. Corporal Tano was buried with a number of commendations and awards, while Sargent Tahno was later forced to deliver news of the death to the family in person. Central was quite satisfied with the results though the ethical and bureaucratic nightmare was logged as an official complaint by several individuals. However the entire report was sealed afterwards and tucked away in the archives.

#hfy #story #long post #writing

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britesparc · 7 years ago

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My Unpopular Star Wars Opinion: Or, Why The Phantom Menace is Better Than The Force Awakens

Was it, though?

Were the Star Wars prequels – The Phantom Menace, Attack of the Clones, and Revenge of the Sith, whose vary names have become entertainment-industry watchwords for disappointment – really, truly better than the current Disney-owned era of Star Wars, which so far has produced two widely-praised billion-dollar-grossing movies, and is about to unleash a third, about which expectation is as high as a city in the clouds? Can I really think that, for reals?

Well, yes and no.

Let’s get the obvious things out of the way: there were some very poor decisions made during the Prequel Era. Let’s not pick over the corpse of George Lucas’ story choices – the whys and wherefores of virgin births, whiny antagonists, and Jar Jar Binks – and focus instead on the filmmaking technique employed. The dialogue is wooden. The camerawork is rigid. The performances are flat. The pacing is all over the place: in Phantom, the much-vaunted podrace goes on for at least two laps too long; indeed, the whole Tatooine section of the film shoots the legs out from under the momentum. Prior to that it had been a breakneck chase from overwhelming odds, our heroes escaping Naboo by the skin of their teeth; as soon as they break down on Tatooine, they’re sheltering from sandstorms and going gambling. And, of course, there’s the whole “taxation of outlying star systems is in dispute” nonsense: doesn’t quite grab you as quickly as “it is a period of civil war”, does it?

But there’s still something about them that feels Star Wars-y. There’s still a sense, even though I know Lucas was making it all up as he went along, that this fits into the universe correctly (I mean, he was making everything up as he went along, which is why Leia kisses Luke in Empire). There’s a cyclical nature to how the prequels marry with the original trilogy that’s about more than a visit to Tatooine or the presence of a Mandalorian bounty hunter. The first films in both trilogies are, in essence, about innocence: a simple quest by simple people to prevent an immediate danger (removing the blockade of Naboo versus destroying the Death Star); the second films complicate things by splitting up our heroes on separate quests before uniting them for a finale that feels, at best, like a pyrrhic victory; before resolving their respective trilogies in an all-bets-are-off finale beset with divided loyalties and a dangerous Sith Lord. Revenge of the Sith and Return of the Jedi – even their titles are darkly mirrored – both deal explicitly with Vader and his relationship to the Force; he wrestles with his emotions and his commitment to his Order, the love of his wife compelling him to commit dark acts before finally the love of his son pulls him back into the light. The Force Awakens, whilst it does mirror aspects of Star Wars, feels more like a greatest hits package; we have another callow youth from a desert planet on a hero’s journey, another aged mentor, another cocky pilot, another tragic death, and another large object exploding in space, but it feels more consciously designed. A box-ticking exercise, rather than a thematic resonance. Or maybe it’s just because the iconography is so similar.

The First Order is basically the Empire, and the Resistance is basically the Rebellion. There are TIE Fighters and X-Wings. There are Stormtroopers and helmeted good-guy soldiers. There are English-accented characters walking around in SS outfits being glowery and evil. Whilst I’d never attempt to suggest that Amidala’s chrome-plated ship, or the wing-walking droid craft, were as iconic as what we got forty years ago, to go back to the same well is disappointing.

My wider issue, however, is how the new era seems to disregard somewhat the mythological aspects of Star Wars. I guess I’ve only seen one film in the trilogy, but despite the palette-swap nature of its craft and locations, it does feel markedly different to the Star Wars that came before. There’s a sense of destiny in Star Wars, a “balance of the Force” that was hinted at in the original trilogy and made explicit in the prequels; the yoke of inevitability pulling characters in directions that they may not wish to go. The subtle, underplayed, and often-ignored theme in the prequels of once-noble institutions slowly crumbling into irrelevance and becoming the very thing they hated speaks to the wider issue of the “will of the Force”, of the Chosen One appearing to bring balance. That Chosen One is assumed to be Anakin, and we’re left to interpret for ourselves whether the balance was actually achieved; is it when he kills the Younglings? Or is it when he topples the Emperor? This thread ties the first six films together to produce something grander and more metaphorical, even if it is a case of Lucas essentially retconning to some degree his original intentions from the seventies and eighties. The Force Awakens feels a bit different, like the preoccupations of the previous films are gone; there’s a darkness to everything creeping in around the edges, complicating matters. Whether this makes for a better narrative is moot: what I’m saying is it makes it feel less of a whole with the rest of Star Wars.

This is exacerbated by the time-jump. Obviously we were always going to go 30-40 years ahead of Jedi. But so much has happened in that time. In the 20 years between Sith and Hope, the galaxy might be fundamentally different, but from a narrative view, nothing has changed: the Empire is still victorious and the Jedi still in exile, just like we left them. But in between Jedi and Force, we’ve seen Luke’s attempt at training new Jedi falter, Ben Solo fall to the Dark Side, the rise of the First Order, and the formation of the Resistance, to say nothing of the yet-unrevealed histories of Snoke and Rey. The film features flashbacks and a cliffhanger finale. It just feels odd, out of place, not at one with the cyclical nature of Star Wars. And, furthermore, it undoes so much of the happy ending of Jedi: despite the deaths of Vader and Palpatine, the Dark Side rises again, there's a new Empire, Luke goes into exile (apparently convinced that the Jedi as an institution is a bad thing) and Han and Leia split up. It's sad! It's tragic! And whilst I'm fine with all that happening in Star Wars, I think it should happen on-camera. Not in flashbacks or spin-offs, it should be part of the saga. To introduce it as backstory complicates the rhythm of the films. It feels less of a whole. It feels like a sequel, not the next episode. And from the trailers and pre-release hype of The Last Jedi, it seems like this is the new normal for Star Wars.

None of this makes the Disney films bad. In fact, going back to the popular iconography of the original trilogy makes perfect sense. Having the heroes still be a scrappy insurgency helps us root for them. Giving us a mysterious backstory to uncover is compelling. But my argument is, all these elements feel discordant with what's gone before. The prequels, for all their faults technically and narratively, helped weave a mythological tapestry for Star Wars that is being undone by the new films. I feel they're remaining too wedded to familiar imagery and story points, whilst simultaneously moving too far away from the more conceptual, mythological underpinnings of Star Wars as a fable. I kind of wish that Lucas had completed his mooted final trilogy – his own VII, VIII, and IX – before selling to Disney (especially if he took more of an executive role, as he did with Empire and Jedi, and left the writing and directing to others). Taken as individual films, maybe they wouldn't be as good as what we've got – because despite everything I've said here, I really do think Force Awakens and especially Rogue One are pretty tremendous – but at least we'd have Lucas' complex, contradictory, rhythmically compelling vision completed. Of course, then we wouldn't have Star Wars' new Holy Trinity of Rey, Finn, and Poe – perhaps the Disney era's most important additions to the overall mythos.

Look, Star Wars is complicated. George Lucas is complicated, and his legacy is complicated. I'm chuffed to bits he sold to Disney – not because DIsney is the be-all and end-all, but because they've proven their ability to marry corporate aims with creative excellence; look at Pixar and Marvel especially. The Force Awakens has issues but it's still a great, crowd-pleasing, immensely successful movie, and already we've got BB-8, porgs, and broadsword lightsabers sitting in the popular imagination in ways that, arguably, nothing in the prequels ever really managed (apart from Darth Maul and his double-ended saber, I guess). And again, the progressive casting of the new films is long overdue and utterly fantastic. I'm still really, really excited about The Last Jedi, and Abrams' Episode IX, and Johnson's new non-Skywalker trilogy. But I can't help feeling like something quintessentially Star Wars has been lost; perhaps it's an oddness, a willingness to duck when everyone is expecting a jump. Perhaps it was Lucas' own obsessions and interests that fuelled the franchise, that gave us everything from the sublime (Vader, the Death Star, lightsabers, Yoda) to the ridiculous (midichlorians, Gungans, Ewoks, Watto). Perhaps the new films are better films, but in my heart of hearts, I'm not sure I can love them quite as much. Maybe The Last Jedi will end up being the best Star Wars experience this side of Knights of the Old Republic, but it will still feel slightly separate. Further tales. An imaginary story. The expanded universe.

Maybe it's me. Maybe it's just knowing that Lucas had more stories he wanted to tell and never got the chance. Maybe it's because I've always been a lot warmer towards the prequels than most. Maybe things will shift with time – as more films come out in the new universe, with more characters, then this will start to feel like the status quo, the new normal. I hope so, because I love Star Wars – indeed, it's worth repeating, I think the new films are excellent, and are better films, better made films, than all three of the prequels. But although my head believes we're in a golden age of Star Wars not seen since the early 80s, my heart has yet to be convinced.

Anyway. I'll let you know if I still feel the same way after The Last Jedi...

#movies #films #star wars #George Lucas #the last jedi #star wars the last jedi

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nerdy-bits · 5 years ago

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AlmightyZing's 2019 Cinema Recap

Overview and Spoiler Warnings

As we all get ready to wrap up 2019 I wanted to share my thoughts on this year in cinema. This has been one of the greatest years for movies that I can remember, and we’ll be setting the bar very high in my first annual year in review. At the time of this writing I have been to the theater 37 times for 34 different movies.

Throughout this article I will be referencing specific events, so be careful of spoilers if you haven’t seen some of the films I will be reviewing. If a film was still in theaters at the time this article was written I tried my best to keep them as spoiler-free as possible.

Best of 2019

I’ve always struggled when it comes to ranking movies against one another, especially when the content and genres are so vastly different. I’ve put a lot of thought into my top five list, and based these decisions on a number of factors - from personal enjoyment to the quality of performances.

5) Knives Out

RT Critic Score: 97%

RT Audience Score: 92%

Knives Out was by far the best murder mystery movie I’ve seen in a long time. The all-star cast knocked it out of the park with all of their performances and the way the murder investigation played out was a wild ride full of twists and turns. I enjoyed it more the second time around despite knowing who did it, as it was fun to notice the more subtle clues that were left behind. Rewatchability is tough to achieve in murder mysteries, so the fact that I’m looking forward to watching it again when it releases on Blu-ray speaks volumes.

4) Jojo Rabbit

RT Critic Score: 79%

RT Audience Score: 96%

A satire about Hitler and Nazi Germany? Who would dare touch something so controversial? Taika Waititi (and Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds). This film brilliantly tackled some incredibly serious topics while managing to keep a light and comedic tone - mostly. Jojo shows us how susceptible our children can be to propaganda and xenophobia, and how being exposed to other cultures can positively influence their opinions. The entire cast gave us masterful performances that brought out so many different emotions throughout the film.

3) Joker

RT Critic Score: 69%

RT Audience Score: 89%

This was one I struggled with when deciding where to place it on this list. I don’t remember the last time I felt that uncomfortable watching a movie. Normally that would put it on my ‘worst-of’ list, but Joker does that intentionally, and brilliantly. Joaquin Phoenix’s performance was phenomenal and the way the film blended reality and Fleck’s fantasies worked really well. I would love to see more DC villains get this darker, stand-alone treatment.

2) Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

RT Critic Score: 54%

RT Audience Score: 86%

This will by far be the most controversial pick on my list. I won’t get into spoilers since the film is still in theaters at the time of this writing. As we’ve come to expect with the Star Wars franchise, there has been a great divide among fans with the final chapter of the Skywalker saga. Being on this list does not mean that the film wasn’t without fault. The pacing was frantic at times, and some of the characters that had been built up in previous films didn’t get the attention they deserved, but overall I think The Rise of Skywalker did the best it could to answer as many of the questions we had. The fast pacing was a result of having to essentially cover two movies worth of plot in one, since The Last Jedi did very little to advance the story. As a fan of the Star Wars franchise, it was a fun and emotional ride and I look forward to what other stories we’ll get from our favorite galaxy far, far away.

1) Avengers: Endgame

RT Critic Score: 94%

RT Audience Score: 90%

It’s hard to believe it’s been 11 years since we were first introduced to the MCU with billionaire playboy philanthropist Tony Stark. Twenty-one films led up to the magnificent climax that was Avengers: Endgame. Infinity War left a lot of us needing therapy, and Endgame’s opening scene didn’t offer any emotional reprieve. We then jump forward five years and experience the gloomy world that was left behind by the snap. I thoroughly enjoyed the time travel and getting to revisit many of the key moments in previous films. It was tough to lose some of our beloved heroes, but it’s also exciting to look forward to a new chapter with new heroes. One of these days I’ll get through this film without crying. Thank you Marvel. I love you 3000.

Worst of 2019

Initially this was a bottom five list, but I struggled to find five films that I genuinely did not enjoy, and it wasn’t fair to the two that made the list for no other crime than being okay films. I typically only see movies that I expect to enjoy, and the three I’ve chosen did not live up to expectations. So, without further ado, here are my top three worst movies of 2019.

3) Hellboy

RT Critic Score: 17%

RT Audience Score: 51%

This film was, in a word, forgettable. I honestly had to look up a synopsis to remember what even happened. The fight scenes were gory and at times brutal, but they couldn’t overcome the mess of a plot that had Hellboy double-crossed, nearly killed, and still managing to tear apart the three giants acting as the film’s mini-boss. Meanwhile the main villain slowly gains power and Hellboy defeats her using Excalibur after he’s revealed to be a direct descendent of King Arthur. The film then teases Abe Sapien, although it’s unlikely this box office bomb will get a sequel to pay that off.

2) Rambo: Last Blood

RT Critic Score: 27%

RT Audience Score: 82%

I went into the theater excited for more Rambo at least on par with the 2008 old-man-Rambo film. What we got was an hour of mumbling Grandpa John fumbling his way through a rescue mission after his close friend’s granddaughter gets kidnapped by human traffickers in Mexico, followed by about 20 minutes of Rambo being Rambo. I really enjoyed that last 20 minutes of brutality, but it’s a shame that the rest of the movie didn’t share the excitement.

1) Godzilla: King of the Monsters

RT Critic Score: 41%

RT Audience Score: 83%

How do these movies keep getting sequels? I’ll admit the Kaiju battles were badass, but there needed to be more of it and a better reason for it. The entire human plotline had me groaning and rolling my eyes. I have so many questions. If Godzilla is radioactive, and his fire breath is radioactive, how are there even humans left alive at the end of the movie? I felt like following Dr. Serizawa’s lead and departing the film halfway through. I don’t blame him for wanting to abandon this ship. Since the last movie that made me want to walk out was 2007’s In the Name of the King, Godzilla was an easy choice for the worst movie of 2019.

Honorable Mentions

These films didn’t quite make it into the top five, but I wanted to include them as honorable mentions. John Wick and Alita had originally made the top five list and would now be 6th and 7th respectively. Ratings after that point get difficult, so this isn’t necessarily the second half of a top ten.

John Wick 3: Parabellum

RT Critic Score: 90%

RT Audience Score: 86%

John Wick has become one of my all-time favorite action franchises. From the moment Reek did the unspeakable in the first film, Mr. Wick has shown us why he is the greatest asset in the world. Parabellum was more of what we’ve come to expect in terms of high octane fight sequences and sheer brutality. Being pitted against the best killers in the Continental shows us just how incredible, creative, and deadly Wick can be. I also want to give a shout out to the amazing dogs in the film. John’s pitbull was adorable, and Sophia’s german shepherds were unstoppable. Give me thrilling action and good dogs and you’re almost guaranteed to make me happy.

Alita: Battle Angel

RT Critic Score: 61%

RT Audience Score: 93%

Alita was the first film of the year that I saw multiple times in theaters. I’ll admit that I had very little knowledge of the source material going into it, but the creator of the original comic gave his approval of the adaptation, which is usually a pretty good sign for fans. What stood out to me the most was the way that the motion captured CGI of Alita and the other cyborgs meshed well with the rest of the environment. When CGI is done poorly, it sticks out. This movie didn’t have that issue, and nothing seemed out of place. There’s even some cyborg dogs, which definitely didn’t hurt its chances of making my list. The only issue with Alita is that while it did well at the box office, it ended on a cliffhanger for a sequel that’s currently far from guaranteed.

Zombieland: Double Tap

RT Critic Score: 68%

RT Audience Score: 88%

As a huge fan of the original Zombieland, it was great to see what the gang was up to ten years later. I loved the new classification system for zombies, the Tallahassee and Columbus doppelgangers, and most of the new characters. Madison and the hippy commune were a bit on the annoying side, but nothing could distract from the methodical mayhem we’ve come to know and love from the Zombieland crew. I’d love to see more adventures, and I hope we don’t have to wait another 10 years for them.

Jay and Silent Bob: Reboot

RT Critic Score: 65%

RT Audience Score: 94%

If you’re a fan of Kevin Smith, you’ll love this movie, but I understand that his style isn’t for everyone. I had the privilege of seeing this live with Kevin Smith and Jay Mewes when they came to St. Louis on their Roadshow Tour. This was the second film I’ve seen with Smith in the audience and I think the commentary before and after his films really help add to the enjoyment. It was great to see so many old faces make appearances, including a very emotional scene delivered by Ben Affleck. If you’re a fan of Kevin Smith, I highly recommend checking out this film.

Fast & Furious Presents: Hobbs and Shaw

RT Critic Score: 67%

RT Audience Score: 88%

I’ll start off this one by noting that I checked out of the franchise after the 29 mile runway scene in Fast & Furious 6, but I couldn’t resist this spinoff after seeing the previous and I was not disappointed. The main franchise tries to keep things serious despite the absurd circumstances they’re put in, but Hobbs & Shaw embraces the insanity and drives home a great mix of action and comedy. I hope this buddy cop spin-off continues, and based on how well it did at the box office, I’m confident we’ll see the duo team up again very soon.

Most Anticipated in 2020

Jan 24 - The Gentleman Feb 7 - Birds of Prey Mar 6 - Onward Mar 27 - Mulan Apr 8 - No Time To Die May 1 - Black Widow Jun 5 - Wonder Woman 1984 Jun 26 - Top Gun: Maverick Jul 3 - Free Guy Jul 17 - Tenet Aug 21 - Bill & Ted Face the Music Sept 18 - The King’s Man Oct 2 - Venom 2 Nov 6 - The Eternals Dec 18 - Dune Dec 18 - Uncharted

@AlmightyZing

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