A/N: I actually wrote most of chapter two before chapter one. While I was writing chapter two (which had the working title "User,") I thought about how much Franklin would have hated the way Sheridan's interrogators used his image – ergo, chapter one. Then, while working on chapter one, I realized there were others the series who would have some strong things to say about being used. Here's another POV. Please enjoy this light-hearted little piece.

Ch. 3 You think you got used?

In the civil war, most people got to choose sides, or at least had the illusion that they got to choose sides. I had my side chosen for me, and I can't even say, oh-so-smugly, "I was on the side of Earth, Mr. Garibaldi; weren't we all?" Bitch – where does she get off, anyhow?

Me, I was a first-round draft pick for Bester's team. After that, the "new Michael" was in charge, and I got to watch the show. I can remember everything "I" did. I was in there, watching, while the "new me" was out there screwing over everyone and everything I care about.

When Talia got taken over by the sleeper personality, you could see right away that she wasn't the same person. Nobody who really knew her – and I like to think I did – would ever think that the demon we saw was really part of Talia.

But when I got remade, when I got taken over, my new and improved personality was just enough like the real me that everyone was suckered. They knew something was up, but they trusted the "real me" enough to let the "new me" really fuck things up.

And that's how I got used. Bester used my friends' trust in me to get exactly what he wanted. He didn't care about what I did to John. Sure, I know, there was no love lost between John and Bester, but that wasn't what it was about. John and I were both tools, to get me into Edgars' private lair. All Bester cared about was finding out what Edgars was doing.

The real me got to listen, while my mouth used John's love for his father to lure John to the rendezvous with the "new me." The real me got to watch John's eyes go flat when I slapped him with the tranq patch. While Clark's animals beat the living shit out of him. While they took him away.

After Bester had his way with me, after he let the "real me" out again, the least he could've done was shoot me. He probably thought my old friends would take care of that for him. Nice touch, Al.

They would've, too, if Lyta hadn't been with them. In fact, Stephen offered to "kill me twice," if I recall. And Franklin's the living embodiment of the Hippocratic oath. I've never been happy to be deep-scanned before. It hurt like hell, but I deserved it, didn't I?

When we finally got into the detention facility to spring John, and when Lyta finally got us into that cell, the only person John said a thing to – was me. Drugged up as he was, he could still remember the face of the guy that sold him out. He couldn't remember what I'd done, but boy, he knew I had it coming to me. I would've gladly taken anything he could've dished out – until I saw him empty a whole PPG power pack into that guard. Then, I was glad he couldn't remember. Cause it would've been me, and I would've deserved it.

I think, in a lotta ways, it would've been easier if he'd kicked my ass the hell off the station. You know what I did when he and Delenn got back from Earth? I offered to let him beat the shit out of me. I told him I'd feel better if he gave me a good pounding. And you know what he did? He looked me right in the eye, for a long time – I think he learned that one from Delenn – and said, "Michael, what's done is done. I know it wasn't really you. And I really don't ever want to talk about it. Ever." Door closed – boom.

So in true manly style, John and I have agreed to just never, ever, talk about what I did. And definitely not about what happened when Clark's guys had him. I don't think he even talks to Delenn about that.

I didn't even get a tiny piece of what I really deserved.

So, you wanna talk about being used? Then come see me.

Now, where did I put that fuckin' bottle?