Chuck Hansen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wearethehunters) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
all_inclusive2013-10-06 01:26 am
wearethehunters) wrote in all_inclusive2013-10-06 01:26 am
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“Like my father always said. If you have a shot, you take it.”
The whole plan’s gone FUBAR. It was supposed to be a four-team drop. He was supposed to walk through the wreckage with his dad and drop the bomb right into the jaws of hell and then walk away. Apocalypse over. World saved. Instead there’s two of them against three Kaiju and his only way out of this is in pieces.
It’s easier, neater this way. Poetic even. Maybe he wasn’t born in a Jaeger, but that’s where he grew up, became a man. Seems like the right place to die too. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll become a hero for it.
In some cowardly lizard brain part of himself Chuck’s almost grateful. It means not having to worry about ‘after.’ He’s spent his whole damn life single-mindedly working to end the apocalypse to the point he’s never thought of what he’ll do when it’s done. No mates, no partners, nothing other than the enemy and the weapons humanity had at its disposal. It’s a strange weakness of character that makes him accept his own death with a semblance of grace.
Going out like this means he won’t be a Jaeger pilot in a world with no need for them. He won’t have to fade into obsoletion like a wreck into Oblivion Bay. His dad, the people in the Shatterdome, and–hell–the two lovebirds down in Gipsy Danger have tomorrow. Chuck has now. Now is all he needs.
Distantly, he can hear Mako and Pentecost saying their goodbyes. His dad doesn’t say anything and Chuck can’t blame him. Their whole life is made up of things gone unsaid. Goodbyes now will just be forced. More to the point, they’ll be painful. So instead they have actions. He has a shot and he’s going to take it. He’s going to clear a path for the lady.
“It’s been a pleasure serving with you sir.”
As one, he and the Marshall reach out, hit the button, detonate the payload. If anything else is said he doesn’t hear it. His heart beats hard and he swears he can hear it, hear his whole body panicking against the forced tranquility of his brain. They’re not gonna survive and that’s okay.
For a second, everything burns. Chuck doesn’t close his eyes. He’s going to look death in the face when he goes, like a real Ranger.
When the metal and smoke and light clear, Chuck finds himself lying on his back, staring up at floating cliffs. His whole left side feels ravaged and his mind feels carved–the echo of a broken Drift. Everything hurts and he has no idea where he is. He tries to sit up, stares around uncomprehendingly, and then lays back in the grass.
“Well shit.”
The whole plan’s gone FUBAR. It was supposed to be a four-team drop. He was supposed to walk through the wreckage with his dad and drop the bomb right into the jaws of hell and then walk away. Apocalypse over. World saved. Instead there’s two of them against three Kaiju and his only way out of this is in pieces.
It’s easier, neater this way. Poetic even. Maybe he wasn’t born in a Jaeger, but that’s where he grew up, became a man. Seems like the right place to die too. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll become a hero for it.
In some cowardly lizard brain part of himself Chuck’s almost grateful. It means not having to worry about ‘after.’ He’s spent his whole damn life single-mindedly working to end the apocalypse to the point he’s never thought of what he’ll do when it’s done. No mates, no partners, nothing other than the enemy and the weapons humanity had at its disposal. It’s a strange weakness of character that makes him accept his own death with a semblance of grace.
Going out like this means he won’t be a Jaeger pilot in a world with no need for them. He won’t have to fade into obsoletion like a wreck into Oblivion Bay. His dad, the people in the Shatterdome, and–hell–the two lovebirds down in Gipsy Danger have tomorrow. Chuck has now. Now is all he needs.
Distantly, he can hear Mako and Pentecost saying their goodbyes. His dad doesn’t say anything and Chuck can’t blame him. Their whole life is made up of things gone unsaid. Goodbyes now will just be forced. More to the point, they’ll be painful. So instead they have actions. He has a shot and he’s going to take it. He’s going to clear a path for the lady.
“It’s been a pleasure serving with you sir.”
As one, he and the Marshall reach out, hit the button, detonate the payload. If anything else is said he doesn’t hear it. His heart beats hard and he swears he can hear it, hear his whole body panicking against the forced tranquility of his brain. They’re not gonna survive and that’s okay.
For a second, everything burns. Chuck doesn’t close his eyes. He’s going to look death in the face when he goes, like a real Ranger.
When the metal and smoke and light clear, Chuck finds himself lying on his back, staring up at floating cliffs. His whole left side feels ravaged and his mind feels carved–the echo of a broken Drift. Everything hurts and he has no idea where he is. He tries to sit up, stares around uncomprehendingly, and then lays back in the grass.
“Well shit.”