Captain of The Stars

In terms of Captains, Johan Schwartzenegger is king. His fleet serves The Imperial North, a far away planet with technology far beyond our own. One day he lands back at his homeworld

At first, the crowd mulled around itself, churning and turning faster then the dark seas surrounding the planet, she notices. Being jostled side to side, jeered and sneered at when she allows her finger feathers to dip even an inch below her cloak. She must stay hidden, blend into the faces, ducking through the masses to get closer to her target, where he will arrive. Now, everyone knows this man. Not just in the imperial north, but out through the entire galaxy. And she has a job to do.

-

People chattered among themselves, eager and impatient for the hero to arrive. Today was the day, the day he promised to return back to the north. Sometimes space travel can go wonky, sometimes things happen, but he has reported in every captains log with the same self-assuring charming smile, that his calculations will be perfectly precise. And people believed him too, he’s always been right. Sure, people do talk, they spread rumors, skeptics and conservatives always have had their own beliefs, but Captain Johan Schwarzenegger has never given them a single reason to doubt him excellence.

The man has a large stature, kind eyes and hands that turn to stone for anyone who resists his entry, that have planted his empires flags in hundreds and hundreds of planets. A true hero to his nation, the captain of the stars as he has been called, and as he is known. There is no stopping this man, and no one brave enough to step in his way.

Suddenly, above all speech, a large dark swirling warp opens in the sky with a loud, ripping noise. Gasps of shock and cries of happiness erupt from the crowd as an enormous starship jettisons from the portal.

-

The ship is enormous, blazingly white and deadly. Insidious, in a sense. The assassins eyes widen, rushing through the crowd to the landing sight as fast as possible. Some people grunt and cuss at her when they bump shoulders rather quickly, but she doesn’t give any notice. These people mean nothing to her, but if she does this right, they’ll all know her name. Infamous to the Imperial empire, god it sounds delicious to her ears, to be her highest achievement.

-

As the ship lands and opens, The blinding white light from the ships interior makes most of the crowd Yelp, should their eyes, but even when the lights die down there is still a single figure still glowing. The captain. After the cries die for a second, the man seems to emit for just a second, an aura of pure silence and serenity before the waiting people erupt into a victorious prideful cheer.

-

She watches his hands, every movement he makes. Every Officer’s hand he shakes, every baby he kisses, she is there. Close by, but not within arm’s reach. Near, by just far enough to go unnoticed; Invisible. Every step he takes, she is there.

-

“Captain Schwarzenegger!! God, it is... it is an honor!” A man said, fixing his hat flusteredly. Johans eyes lock serenely onto him with a kind smile.

“It is nothing, Johnson. It’s good to see you again.” The older man heartedly and excitedly takes his hand and shakes it with vigor.

“Your journeys are incredible sir- I don’t know how you do a bit of it. Why, when you were in my second period mechanics class-“ the captain only chuckles.

“Yes, I was quite a devilish little monster as a child. Fortunately, the past is the past Mr. Johnson.”

-

The assassin would watch Schwarzenegger greet an older man, grip his hand firmly and kindly. How he can have that much patience to meet and greet so many civilians, so many *fans* is disgusting. It’s like watching a child play with her dolls, or a virgin patch of Snow, White as that coat he adorns so proudly. Something about it’s perfection and innocence that makes you want to ruin and rip it apart so badly.

-


Captain Schwarzenegger greets the old man Farewell as his crew floods out of the starship behind him. He looks around, proud to see his homeland again, before a small child runs head-first into his coat. The young boy looks up at Johan with such hope and wonder in his eyes, such a look of admiration that only a child could muster.

“Gabriel!! Come back here- oh my god.” A Woman would come bursting out of the crowd, tripping over her own feet to get to the child.

“Ca-Captai-n Joh an!! I didn’t-I didn’t know oh Jesus please forgive my son, he-“ he holds out a hand, stopping her immediately. A smile grows softly on his face as he kneels to the ground, to look the child right in the eyes.

“It’s quite alright. He hasn’t done anything wrong, Miss.” Gabriel, as his mother called him would garble at this new strange man. “Why hello there, young man. Who are you?”

-

She watches, through the windows between people as the Captain swings a toddler up into the air, cooing and kissing it’s forehead. Go ahead Schwarzenegger, wow the crowd. Kiss babies and shake hands, make them believe in your façade of power. The moment is coming quickly, and there’s nothing to stop her. Her feet connect with the ground, hardly making a sound despite her weight, eyes focused dead set on the Captain.

She would see his eyes twinkle as he kisses the child’s forehead, joyful and wrinkled before they turn to her, and she sees their emotion damper. F**k.

“Pardon me Miss, it appears someone has come to greet me. It was very nice meeting you, ma’am, little Gabriel.” The mother would stumble out a forced and flustered goodbye, transferring her kid and tripping over her own feet in embarrassment to bother the good captain. His feet, as soft and swift on the ground in hard leather boots as hers are in cloth, turn her way and begin to match over. Her pace stops, head down. He mustn’t know who she is, or where she’s from. Not yet.

“And what might be your name?” She doesn’t answer, and sees the smile on his face grow a bit smaller, worried. Cold.

“Where are you from, Miss?” This is her day, this is her hour, this is her minute this, is her second, this is her chance at glory, to let people finally know her name and that Molly Amos is not going to f*****g sit down and take what she gets.

*”Molly.”* she spits in a cold voice, like a viper spitting poison upon his boots.

“Molly?” The name would roll off his tongue, Trying it out. “And where are you from?” Her wings would twitch with anticipation, shuffling behind her back with wait. She’s so close. A small, pale hand lands on the phaser strapped under her hip, the sound of metal alerting Johan. He begins to form a question, an exclamation to alert others of her presence but she unholsters the pistol and holds it firmly, unwaveringly, to his chest.

*”You’re about to f*****g find out.”* His lips would form to make a sentence, a hand reaches out to stop her, but it’s too late. A thin blue beam would stream through his chest, through his heart, and illuminate that virgin snow jacket he adorns so f*****g proudly. But only just for a second. Her arms, wired and twisted from decades of hard farm work would jolt out to catch his stunned form, already weak and unresponsive. Her fingers, slender and calloused press against his neck. A pulse is there, but it’s weak. she’s done her job, but now the hard part begins.

Voices, cry out in a chorus from all around her, sobbing desperate and angry people clawing at her cloak, trying so pathetically to save their captain. She feels powerful, like mortal humans clawing at a god taking their king away, and it feels damn good. She’s always loved this rush, shifting the captain’s mighty head back onto her shoulder, as hands pull at her cape. In a split second, many things would happen. A mounting hand, frantic to stop the assassin for a hero they think is dead, Rips at her black cloak and tears it off. Two, large downy brown wings expand immediately, knowing crowds of vampires back with their sheer size and power. The power you get from taking down a nations idol. A hero falls, and another rises. And god does she ever rise, those enormous wings knowing every single vampire and human nearby to their knees as wind swirls, beats around their heads and she takes off in a sprint, then into the air.

As she runs the cloak is torn off loosely in the wind, allowing her to run free into the air with sharp gasps, and soon to follow, gunshots. Words cannot stop her now, not even metal can stop her now, nothing can. She is mere feet above the crowd, johans boots dangling just over their heads. It’s heavier then she thought, much, *much* heavier. What god made her think that she could carry a man of this weight, but that same god is going to get her out of here.

“Murderer! Murderer, taking our captain, we’ll get you yet you filthy-“ She passes the old women just in time to have muted her insults, but the calls off murderer echo throughout the crowd. The boom of cycles behind her, revving their engines and energy.

The imperial north’s district have some of the best trained and prepared military police in the galaxy, thanks to king Tyson. There is not a spot that isn’t shining when it comes to his countries defense policies and infantry. Out of all people to be a Viking of space, it’s this guy. The heaviest guy in the f*****g multiverse, and her. The first blast of a phaser ricochets off a building, heading right at her head.

Molly is an experienced flier, she passed top of her class every year at her academy’s physical education, agility, speed, strength, every single category checked off without a problem. But that doesn’t stop her mind from going blank and allowing herself to dodge downwards, allowing the crowd to part with a gasp to dodge the fires of phasers and let johans knees drag against concrete, ripping the knees. The shock of the pain pushes a small noise from the Captain, bloodying his knees. That was alright, whatever she needed to do to deliver him to the king, dead or alive. A little scratch wouldn’t hurt her.

With a quick shock, she realizes the peril she’s in, while rushing through the air. The police, screaming threats with red hot anger and wild gunfire behind her. His enormous, country-wide ship looming ahead of her, and her arms are too weak to bring him up any higher, use anymore strength. She can’t use more power in her wings without losing it in her arms, and thus losing the captain, her career, and her life with it. She is carrying the future in her arms and as her father taught her; first if you can’t go back, go around. If you can’t go around, dig your way deep under, and under it is. Not like she has a choice either way.

She can hear the cycles slowly, knowing their victory is coming soon, but her wings fold into a drop and force her to soar under the ship, heart beating faster then a dying mans. It’s home free. At least until the roars and sirens of the police drew louder. You can’t be f*****g kidding me.

The path besides her rapidly lit up and faded blue as a blast shot past her missing by hardly an inch and letting her skin boil. Her pulse bubbles and and twists, bumping her adrenaline up to levels unimaginable. They’re still coming.

*”f**k!”* under her breath. A ripping, sore pain is simmering in her arms, her pecs from strain and pure weight of carrying her load, and it begins to dig in deeper as The captain stirs. He groans, once in pain for his ruined knees, twice for the air hitting his face roughly. A third as he swings his head up slightly to see red hair, red hair he’s seen only but once before. The girl who shot him. He would twist with all his might, say softly to her,

*”nooo..”* her hands shake him once, like a disobedient child. Twice, to get a better grip. It feels like her fingers and palms are bleeding, the skin is raw and scraped, but it will all be worth it. It’ll all be worth it in two, just two minutes. As more bullets flash, Johan squeals, scared in his sleepy state. His legs shift once back, twice back, rocking himself slowly and forcing Molly to loose her grip on his rough canvas suit. One of her clothed feet would swing down, without balance, and kick his spine back into position. Nothing that would leave a bruise, not a noticeable one at least. Another beam fizzles onto the ground, dead but burning dirt holes into the runway.

Her eyes are focused, eagle-set on the approaching light at the end of the ship’s tunnel. Home is so close, salvation is so, *so* close. She begins to feel her heart lighten, the time is almost here. Johan is beginning to wake up more every second, squirming and whining in desperation- desperation to be free. But the light at the end of the tunnel grows closer faster then he wakes up, and faster then those damn policemen could ever. The last, few mirthless bullets ricochet off his ship and into the dirt, but as soon as the golden light of the sun hits her face, her arms reach out and- he falls. Falls straight down, straight off the cliff he didn’t know was there.

Not even a split-second later, the kidnapper, the assassin is above him, wings tucked and folded graceful and thankful to have her own weight. He looks behind, and all there is is the ocean waiting for him. She’s f*****g crazy.

“You!-“ and for the second time that day, Molly has pressed a blaster to his chest. And over the roaring howl of the wind, he car hear her say,

“That’s right, Captain. Me.” And pulls the trigger, forcing a stun into every muscle in his body and the grimace to slide off his face with sorrow. He’s done for. Drowned in the ocean, killed flown away to safety. It was all worthless, after every thing he’s done. Molly watches the life and energy fade from his eyes with undisguised glee. She’s done it, she’s won. Everyone in the colony will know her name. And as she and that captain fall, a ship jettisons up from the surface of the ocean, bay doors opening with a metallic groan, layering over any gust of wind to catch Johan, and allow Molly to slip through their cracks just in time to slip out into the sky.

-
-
-

His eyes would open to nothing, all white. Nothing but white. Maybe this is what death is like. Johan doesn’t believe in any type of afterlife, nor does his king or the rest of the Imperial North, but he cant deny what’s happening behind his eyes. A shiver of cold, the first sensation in this pure world he feels is the painful, sharp cold.

There is pain, but none at all, in a sense, in the deep, deep areas of his brain, there is nothing. Not an idea or fly of thought. The second pain to hit him is light, the afterworld’s light. Pain, digging deep into his retinas, and a cold shaking out through every bone in his body. As consciousness sets in, the third pain is hearing. Even just gentle whispering, who’s whispering he doesn’t know, but even so echoes and ricochets through his empty brain. Maybe they’re angels coming to fish him out of the sea. Who knows?

A dreamy smile works it’s way into his face, unbeknownst to him. Heaven doesn’t sound that bad, god knows he deserves it. But one sight stops that thought in its tracks. The fourth pain, is sight. Four to five, god who knows how many, grey figures mull and mix by his feet. Angels are not grey, he remembers.

*”..he’s awake...”* bounces through his skull. Who? Him? He’s not awake, he’s dead at the bottom of the sea. Shouldn’t they know this?

The fifth pain, now the fifth pain is touch. A latex glove hand on his face, roughly grabbing his cheeks and poking something scratchy into them. The scratchy sensation makes him want to sneeze, so he scrunches his nose but gets shaken as punishment. Angels aren’t rough, either.

Johans brain is empty enough to find this weird, but not weird enough to resist again. The scratchy, smelly thing continued to poke and prod his face but he continues not to move. His hands are numb, unmoving. A mans face comes into view above him, scowling as he holds Johan in a tight grasp. Their eyes meet, red to brown, and sternness turns to fright in a millisecond. The group of grey painfully jolts back, squawks and chirps of shock and fright strike agonizing pain into his skull, forcing groans and gasps of pain out of his diaphragm.

*”...anesthesia... who..-“
“now...”* they whisper among themselves, flocking tightly together while the man closest to Johan crawls up, shakily playing with something next to his head. The world fades a little bit as he cries out at them softly, whispers back a tiny,

*”no... shhhh..”* to get the angels to silence themselves, but the rustling and faint chirping continue. The stick is back, poking marks over and around his eye. The room stills for just a second as the angels hand leaves his face, brushing his eyelids closed with a soft hand. Everything just seems so peaceful, so soft and warm...

*”... it’s time...”* one of the grey angels mutters, shifting at his feet.

*”are you sure he’s under, this time Johnson?”* a grunt from above.

*”just go. It doesn’t matter if he’s conscious or not, just get those... things into him.”* the same, familiar oily smell and feel of latex is up against his cheek again.

*”do it, Johnson. We’re losing precious time.”

“On it, sir.”* the cold buckle of something would be pressed against his skin, Johan lightly flinching away from its touch. But that metal is nothing to compare to what the machinery does, because in the next second a hard, unyielding freezing and hard object was forced with a jolt into his cheek, injected roughly beneath the skin. His body would tell him to scream, the pain is unbearable with just the first injection but soon, a click sounds and the next object pierces the thick skin in fat in his cheek.

*”no, no, no-“* he tries to plead, quietly, but no one seems to hear. Maybe they just don’t care. The next one, in a less skin-dense area goes right through fat and muscle and into his very skull, releasing its object there as he spasms. Then, another excruciating shot under the end of his eyebrow, then under the middle of it. Right, deep into the bone.

Johan doesn’t even dare to move, the weight in his chest so, so damn heavy with pain. The next one goes in, hardly above his tear duct and he *screams*, howls in pain, but to no avail. It doesn’t stop. The metal mouth is lifted from his skin, and that gentle gloved hand strokes around his right eye, the site of all the injections. Something above his skull, above his skin moves gently.

*”perfect...”* the angel would pure, cupping his wounded and now wet cheek, tears mixing with blood.

*”we’ll make a model prisoner of you yet, son.. nurse, the cap..”* a second angel would shuffle to hand her doctor another object, bigger and rounded then the last. Brown eyes meet red again as the man leans over Johan, inspecting his handiwork.

*”Now stay still, son.. we wouldn’t want this to hurt. Now would we?”* a small, short wet sob wracks johans body is the only response he gets. The pain is back in his ears, as metal rubs rusting against metal, something twirling steadily down over his right eye. He can’t see. He can’t see anything from it anymore. They’ve blinded him, the angels have blinded him.

Author's Note

Please tell me if there is anything I need to fix, grammar, misspellings, opinions, at all. I write for myself and my working partner, this is my first attempt at making any type of story. Thank you for reading :)