Tell me that you love me

This is one of those 'what if' fics that can be described as sick and twisted but somehow warm and fuzzy at the same time. Thank GardenLaw for the idea…This is going to be filed with yummy violence, blood, and boys getting frisky, like most of my other work. Most noticeably is the mpreg, Hiltz/Prozen, and mass destruction, simply because I can. This is pre-CC of course. Another universe…and I think I can make anything believable. Thanks to Sh33p and Zinou for their views on Zoidian culture, and apologies for making assumptions. Booyah.

Chapter One: When Fate lost the dice

There's something we all do in life – consider the 'what if' theory. We all do it, hell some of us more than most, and we all know what will happen if we dwell on it too long. The world is full of what ifs. The world is full of choices too, and that's what makes a 'what if'.

It can happen when a person is depressed, wondering what will happen to their life as they go about their duties and try to make sense of what's going wrong. It could be over an unfortunate event in an individual's life, where guilt eats away at the soul until things get silly, or they get a lawyer. It can even happen when someone is quietly getting drunk.

It was around this time, and that last scenario, that something happened, something that might be described as outrageous, even morally degrading (especially to someone in particular) but it started so innocently…three guys in a room, discussing the future of democracy, one vote, and royal crowns over a take out of extra hot vindaloo and a healthy dose of lager.

Funny how life seems to like people in this sort of situation, favours their hair-brained schemes for success, and ultimately proves that sometimes even God has to take a leak. That's how the really weird stuff slips through.

Boris Falstaff was the tall bloke to the left, the one who's drinking his lager like it's his last, savouring each sip over his tongue like a connoisseur. Boris was the thinker, the guy voted most likely to stay behind after work to clean up everyone else's messes. He was also slightly pissed.

This wasn't good.

"We're all going to die." He said, finally finding his words. They seemed to echo in the smoky room, what with it's greasy pin-ups of scantily clad women (because, heaven forbid, they saw a real woman in such a state of undress – there would be nose haemorrhaging everywhere!) and the funny signs everyone sees around an office that weren't really funny at all. "They say…They say that the Republicans are planning…some sort of massive attack."

"Bulltwoddle" This would be Crippsly. Mervin Crippsly. The only man in recorded history to say 'sugar' when he dropped a filing cabinet on his own toes and have them set in plaster. Crippsly was against swearing completely, believing he could set an example by being a good boy and showing everyone there were perfectly good words to say without all this gross profanity. He was 53 years old by the way. And balding. "The Republicans are a bunch of ninnies who can't find their own noses in the dark."

"It's finding their arse with both hands, Merv." Oh, this is Alex, Alex Shaums. Alex is the outrageous one, mousy on the outside, tiger on the inside. A graduate from one of the best schools in Guylos, and kicked out of several establishments for his infamous and terrible hamster experiment[1]. He gulped back his beer and then smirked one of those evil smirks we see so often. "And you are right; Helic can't do anything to us. No, what's really bothering me is this." Without much of a show, he slapped a fat file onto the table and sighed mournfully. "I keep going over the schematics, and to be honest, I think we are screwed."

"You said that about the RevRaptor system." Boris replied, sourly.

Alex glared at him then adjusted his glasses. "Yeah, well, I was still a college student back then."

"Oh, the days of amateur theatre and balmy summer evenings on campus…" Crippsly broke in with a smile that was just too big. Hard to believe the lug was happily married really. And had kids.

Boris and Alex exchanged glances then looked back down at the file.

It was the DeathSaurer, of course. Not yet completed, but still an ugly mutha with a healthy smattering of malice and overtones of death. Alex quivered whenever he saw the images, and quivered even more whenever the minister got that look about him, the Look, that is, and the quiet reminder of there was a place for obsession and a place for science. Here it was a science case, the minister had said, and any unusual or unwelcome thoughts had better be discussed out in the open before they festered. No, Minister Prozen was okay, provided you didn't annoy him too much.

But Alex was good at annoying him.

Very good.[2]

"The photocopies didn't come out right." He said, mournfully. "I don't know how I'm supposed to work this stupid thing if he doesn't give me the real file."

"He only keeps it under lock and key 'cos it's a secret." Boris spoke up again. "He dun' want the Republicans getting their filthy paws on it." He didn't add that the other reason was because Alex couldn't be trusted with the really big projects. He was too ambitious, and too bloody-minded to see sense.

"Bah, I say! They have their own secrets!" Alex pouted. "Look, all I'm saying is, the thing is too powerful. We'd need a Zoidian to pilot it, but we don't have one…one on hand that is, Merv, you know we're not supposed to look into the black ops projects other than our own…but by my calculations, the DeathSaurer's synapses are just too much. We shove anything human in that cockpit and its brain soup all round."

"Correct me if I'm wrong." Crippsly said pleasantly. "But didn't the DeathSaurer kill off the ancient Zoidians? Disregarding the dear little poppet in room 12C with the lovely blue organoid, and that rather excitable young fellow in the vault?"

Alex and Boris looked uncomfortable. Codename Red wasn't a pleasant subject. He gave no name other than 'Hiltz' and had a tendency to look down on everyone and make things uncomfortable for people. He lived for suffering, it seemed, and had proven it on more than one occasion. Few people could deal with the nightmare, those few being the minister himself, the rather firm Colonel Shubaltz, and the head of the medical staff, Angus. Everyone liked Angus, even if you were a 6"4 psycho with a taste for classical music and the colour red, preferably nice and sticky and spread everywhere.

"Y-es." Alex shifted his weight and had another helping of the vindaloo. "He is rather…trying. I suppose he is available, but…can you imagine what it would be like if he got a hold of this wonderful machine?"

"He'd be a bugger to serve at the drive-through-"

"Boris!" Alex snapped. "This is serious! The man's a maniac! He'd murder us in our beds if he could!"

"Yes, yes, he's a bit underhanded…" Spoke up mister innocent. "But I doubt he'd do that."

Once again, Alex and Boris traded looks. Crippsley had been attending his daughter's wedding the day that some prat had allowed a live animal into the quarters of the ancient Zoidian. The stains still hadn't been removed from the ceiling.

Sighing, Boris skewered a helpless piece of meat, and gulped it down "Well…we can hardly ask Rhyss to take care of things. The girl's going through some serious problems right now-"

"She's insane and suicidally depressed." Alex snapped. "I'm starting to think the only reason they were frozen in the first place was because they were mental and they were trying to find a way to make them better. We need a Zoidian to pilot this machine."

"But it doesn't like them very much."

"Merv, we know."

"Wouldn't it be easier if we trained someone to be able to handle it?" Crippsly continued. "You know, like in those science fiction stories…splice human DNA with Zoidians, so they'd be able to handle it better!"

"The last time we tried that, The Z system went haywire in the person it was installed in. Lieutenant Hanna, remember?" Alex sat back and steeped his fingers. "Doctor K was in big trouble over that, Prozen really busted his sorry arse."


But Boris was thinking. He was thinking hard. "'Ere…you said we could control the DeathSaurer, yeah? Well…maybe Rhyss is too mental to do it…and we all know that mister 'I-had-to-put-it-out-of-it's-misery-it-was-looking-at-me' is in no state to pilot a death machine…but, uh, what if we bred one of 'em?" There was silence for a moment. Feeling the urge to fill it, Boris continued. "Rhyss…well, we know she's real young and stuff if you pay attention to th' scans and stuff…but there's nothin' stopping us from…you know…gettin' the other one to give us a sample…and then…we maybe find some lady wanting to make a couple of bucks…uh…guys?"

Ordinarily, Boris would have been dismissed. That would take too long and be too complicated. In another world, somewhere, Crippsley would have given him that gentle smile they all knew so well and talked about young Raven's talent and how they could tailor the machine's coding to his brainwave patterns, but this time, there had been a six pack of extra strong lager, and quite frankly, the nerds were pissed.

Alex grinned like a mad man.

"By Jove, I think he's got it."


There were indeed, strange things happening in the weeks leading up to the grand event.

Hiltz didn't notice it at first. He enjoyed living in his luxurious apartments because it meant he was being kept away from the boring masses of ignorant humans, bar the odd one that came down and did the housekeeping, or gave him information. As far as he was concerned, humans were stupid and rather pathetic creatures that fell into the category of 'livestock' and he planned on keeping it that way. Few of the wretched creatures had shown any initiative, any saving qualities at all, so no one would care if they all died. However, there were some redeeming qualities he'd noticed in the precious few that came down to talk to him…

'Some' being the key word here.

He'd been lounging on his bed reading the latest newspaper and formulating his own opinions on the sanity of the government when he was aware that someone was approaching his door.

Hiltz was partially psychic. He wasn't very strong in that area, after all, he was male and of the working class, more suited to the careful maintenance of the Zoids in service, but it was there. And humans had no shielding, so he could easily read them. Their emotions that is – and he sensed people dripping with fear and loathing coming down the corridor. It could be Rhyss' little fanclub of death worshippers, wanting more of her coins of dark wisdom, but he had no time for depressed little clerics, because they made him angry and mopey. He hated moping. Closing his paper with the kind of finality that was legendary, he rolled over onto his back and concentrated on his senses; until it became clear that they weren't looking for her at all…they were coming for him.

Well that explained the loathing.

Hiltz sat up, stretched, and then got off his bed, found a shirt and went to the door of the bedroom, leaning against it in an effort to seem all knowing and in control. He was in full view of the entrance to the cell, but with enough floor space between them both to put them at ease. They would do anything he said, because damn it, he was the master of the situation.

He wasn't of course, but the illusion was very good, and foolish humans fell into the trap quite quickly, giving him all the information he wanted and then some. No, he was enjoying his time as something special. The only reason he'd been hidden away in the past was because he was a good member of the slave caste, and he'd be needed in the new world as a worker. And perhaps make more little workers, if his masters so demanded it.

Sodding bastards.

The door slid open, and a cautious human greeted him, flanked by two guards. Hiltz extended his mind further and found more down the hall – one step wrong and they'd shoot him. It was one of the mistakes he'd made when he'd first come here, and against the wishes of the man who'd originally greeted him, he'd tried to escape. The guns were loaded with darts of some chemical that made him feel bad. The human – Gunther Prozen, if his memory served correctly – had been very dismayed, and helped retrieve his writhing form from the stairwell down the hall. He'd explained to Hiltz then, in very quiet and patient tones, that the drug was untested on Zoidians, and on humans, it made them sleep. Tranquillisers, he called them. They made Hiltz feel slow and stupid, and especially itchy, and it took three hours for it to wear off. All of course, under the watchful eyes of the doctors.

How embarrassing.

"Hello." He said quietly.

The man gave him an eager and very hopeful smile – not a good sign. "Hello there!" Ooh, chirpy as well.

"Well, I'm pretty sure you haven't come down to see how I'm doing." Hiltz slid into the lounge area and flopped down on the over stuffed couch. He hoped he looked threatening, he wasn't sure how many guards were outside, and they could be here for anything the vile creatures. Sensing his apprehension, the scrap metal[3] on the floor grunted and rolled over, coiling its' head around to watch the humans from its' position on the black tiled floor.

Ambient was a class three organoid, suited to heavy machinery work. He had also had an extra boost to his memory installed and an unhealthy amount of attitude added to his programming, most of Hiltz' savings being eaten up for the upgrades. He gave the humans his equivalent of 'buh' and closed his eye sensors again. Sod.

"He won't bite, will he?"

"Only if you annoy me."

"Right." The human cleared his throat. "I'm Alex. Um, Alex Shaums. I've come to…um, to talk about-"

"The fact you're wasting my time? If you're not going to start talking sense, then don't talk at all. But don't bother me, okay?"

Alex paled.

Hiltz preened.

"…Something's gone wrong." He blurted out, finally. "We need your help to fix it."

"Oh you do, do you?" This was interesting.

But the moment he opened his mouth to question, he felt the rude arrival of Rhyss, her mind sitting behind his like a toad in a pond. Rhyss was exceptionally powerful, and even behind bars she enjoyed harassing him. Ordinarily he'd be able to keep her out, calm his thoughts and not be interesting, but today she seemed especially upset. The attention, obviously – Rhyss had been used to being the centre of everyone's world, and now being trapped in here disagreed with her life style. She coped by manipulating the weak minded and foolish, by getting attention and being fussed over. Rhyss was not, under any circumstances, going to let some low-ranking Zoids technician be fussed over instead of her. In fact, she felt especially slimy to him today, and he was struck by a sudden sense of disgust and nausea. He tried to push her out, clutching his head as he did so, but she tightened her control.

Naughty, naughty…Why are they here to see you? What can you possibly help them with that I can't?

"Get out." He said coldly. The humans stared at him, confused, and he mentally kicked himself for forgetting they couldn't hear her. "No, not you, he-arrrrGGHHHH!"

I outrank you. Do as I say.

Bugger this for a lark. Fumbling against the agony of someone tap dancing on his brain, he kicked Ambient's rump and glared at him. The organoid sighed and carefully covered his master with a shield and got up, clucking at him like an overprotective mother hen and starting to groom him with his sharp teeth. It was most disconcerting, and snarling bitterly, Hiltz pushed the organoid away and clumsily made his way to the kitchenette, looking for something that would make the migraine go away. He ignored the human's motions to help him and located some fresh water and some…asprin? That's what it was called, yes, and choked it back.

Composing himself, Hiltz slid back into the living room, leaned against Ambient, and sighed.

"Are you all right?"

"…" He wondered if biting the man's head off would be appropriate in the situation, then felt pity. No, he was too stupid. It would be a mercy, and Hiltz knew nothing of mercy. "Rhyss." He spat. All he received were quizzical looks, and wondering how to explain to them that he was at the bottom of the food chain would be a good idea. It wasn't of course, but it was tempting to explain sometimes. "She's nosy. She…she's very powerful for a Zoidian…and doesn't like being ignored."


"You're in to see me instead of her."

"Oh." Alex bobbed his head in agreement. "Well then…I'm sure we can schedule something for her"

"A lobotomy?" Hiltz asked, hopefully. "I'm trained."

"I'm sure you are." Came the dry reply from down the hall. That would be Plenski, one of the regular guards and an okay human, provided he got his mind off women. Hiltz considered him a little unsavoury, because his mind often dwelled on Rhyss…but the human couldn't possibly understand how young Rhyss was. She may look like a blooming young adult, but she was a spoilt child in reality.

"Anyway, let's stop the unpleasantness! I need your help." Alex gave him his first genuine smile. The man looked like a rat. "We have a problem with the DeathSaurer."

Hiltz raised an eyebrow. Ah.

"We've tried some preliminary tests and things…but unfortunately, all our pilots are out of action now."

"Aye." Hiltz replied, warily.

"…And because it hates Zoidians…well…" Alex fumbled for words. Hiltz tried a quick probe, but found nothing – human minds were full of noise. He always got a headache when he tried to read their thoughts. Distantly though, he heard Rhyss start laughing, and realised that she could, and as soon as the humans left, she'd start teasing him about it. It was the laugh, mocking and full.


Ambient clucked at him again, and nudged him with a gunmetal snout. "…Well?"

"We, uh…we need to breed you."

A first he couldn't believe what had been said. Then he did and felt the shock and horror drain from his system, hoping like merry hell that it hadn't been seen. "…Uh-wah?"[4]

Alex wrung his hands again and whined. "Humans alone can't do it, and gene splicing has left some unpleasant surprises for us. Our only guess is to try with a human/Zoidian hybrid."

"No! Not a chance in hell!" It was the shock talking. It had to be. This was disgusting. "I am not going to do that!"

"Nothing's set in stone yet! We just have to see how compatible you are, take blood samples and lay it up against our donors and-"

"I don't think you understand, I'm not doing it." Hiltz clenched his fists, keeping his anger under trained control. "I don't like your species. I will never, ever allow myself to stoop to…to…mating…" He spat the world out as if it tasted foul. "…With a human female to produce young. It's like…like bestiality. To me, you're just highly intelligent animals, and as far as I'm concerned, that's how it will stay."

But the doctor didn't seem all that worried. In fact, he looked almost pleased. "Yes, we thought this was what you're reaction was going to be. No matter."

Then the soldiers moved, and Hiltz watched in horror as Ambient's control collar flicked on and shut him down. The organoid slumped, and he couldn't move, as the humans held him down and slipped a needle beneath his skin and injected something. His body bucked and he snarled, but to no avail, his strength was nothing against a couple of heavy guys in full body armour sitting on his torso.

Everything slowly went black…and all he could hear was Rhyss laughing. Laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.


to be continued.

[1] Yes, I have seen Hamtaro. No, I didn't like it. Hamsters can be right bastards if you wake them up before they're ready…

[2] Same chap in Resurrection Monster, who gets a bit over excited and is taken away…o.O

[3] Explained in time

[4] Futurama fans take note: Yes, that was a Professor sound.

Hey, why can't we use the star function anymore?!