A/N: Those who know my fanfiction writing know how much I love background characters-they're so much more fun to work with. My victim in this story is the great Commander Ulysses Feral. And if you're expecting a mush romance with Callie forget it! I hope writing in the first person isn't too distracting-you guys are gonna have to tell me how you like it, I've never written in first person before. Enjoy.
"Life's under no obligation to give us what we expect." ― Margaret Mitchell
I stare at the glass of scotch in front of me. '93, a good year. Almost a shame this is the last taste I'll have. I ponder briefly if the drink is worth putting away the pistol in my lap.
I'm not depressed, I've just been a pallbearer more times than I'd care to admit. My head aches with the thought of fallen comrades and I close my eyes, but the darkness brings back the carnage lead by Dark Kat.
I can still smell the burning wreck of the skyscrapers, seeing people jumping from the windows trying to escape the manic horrors inside, feel the heat so searing the jets can't get close. It's been so many years, and the images still inhabit my brain, weighing my soul down into the dark ground that's now all too inviting.
I bring the scotch to my lips and drain it.
I've heard rumors about papers sitting on the Mayor's desk; warnings of a plan in the works, lost under a pile of tax forms and golf invitations. The system is supposed to work. I'm supposed to be able to sleep at night.
The alcohol races through my head, and my train of thought blissfully slips away. Should I write a note?
No, the bullet in my brain should be enough. No more media ripping me to shreds for trying to keep them safe. We have to stay within the parameters of the law, unlike those damn vigilantes. No more loosing people, or distancing myself to try and ease a loss. No more days cramped in this office or in a turbulent helicopter.
I hear the office door open. I don't turn, unwilling to deviate from my task. There is a dull buzzing as SHE walks into my line of sight. Without looking up I know it's my neice. I sit still for an eternity waiting for Felina to speak, but there is nothing but silence. After the alcohol clears a bit, I'm finally able to look her in the face. Her expression says anger, but why are there tears?
She's so different from me, so hot-headed. But as soon as she grabs the gun from my lap I understand the tears-it's her pain. So passionate. The same pain that resides within my chest, that's been there for years, is clear on her face. Is letting it out what keeps her going?
I can't leave her with tears. I'm relieved she doesn't make me explain myself; the moment she takes the gun from my lap the weight is lifted as I realize it's not just my life anymore. I refuse to ruin hers.
As she continues to glare at me, Felina's radio goes off. Dr. Viper, trying to steal the rarest plant in Megakat City Botanic Gardens. Automatically my brow furrows. Sick bastard is probably trying to mate with it. Felina cocks an eyebrow and offers the gun back. The cool metal feels comforting again.
She smirks as I take the clip out of my desk and slide it smoothly into the handle. I shall take up my burden of keeping this city from ruin. It's my duty to help others sleep at night, even at my own expense.
Besides, no matter what the reporters say, it'll be Commander Ulysses Feral who puts his boot up trouble's ass.