karrenia_rune (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
karrenia_rune) wrote2011-08-26 07:02 pm
karrenia_rune) wrote2011-08-26 07:02 pm
Entry tags:
ficlet (Cold War: Renewed Hostilities (Highlander) AU
Disclaimer: Highlander belongs to Panzer/Davis Productions, etc, it is not mine.
It was written for the Dream width communty: ficpromptly in response to a prompt left by muccamukk.
and for the genre twist challenge..
"Cold War: Renewed Hostilites" by karrenia
When the end came, much to Duncan’s surprise, his clansman took it harder than anyone else. When it came, it came with a neither a bang nor a whimper but with a gradual awareness that their kind lived by their own rules; all the while maintaining their own code, all in secret.
Not that he had ever paid over much attention the attrition brought up the Game; after over five hundred years, it had become more or less an unspoken acceptance. Connor and his friends among the other surviving Immortals might have had quite differing opinions on the subject; however he simply could not locate them to ask their opinions.
He read the newspapers, watched both the national and international news broadcasts, but thus far the shocking truth about their existence had yet made into the public awareness, or the fact that organizations like the CIA were attempting to quietly and discreetly track down and place Immortals into what they euphemistically referred to as “reeducation centers”.
Anyone who had studied Western European history of the past 100 years or so could read between the lines and realize what those seemingly innocuous terms meant: one checked in, one did not check out.
Which led Duncan to wonder, in between curses and hurling empty beverage containers into the walls of his floating river boat home exactly who had broken the story. It was not all that long ago that another Immortal had tempted a member of the press with the digitized contents of a Watcher Chronicle to reveal their presence to the world. He and Amanda had only managed by the narrowest margins to prevent that from happening.
And yet, it had.
With the current tense, seemingly on the brink of disaster, either politically or financially; this news came as a personal blow. The first proverbial shoe had dropped and it did not even the merest courtesy to allow him time to wait for the other proverbial shoe to drop. He shook his head and began to pace the area between his kitchen and his living room, his thoughts extending to outside wondering if there was anything he could do about, thinking over his options, wondering how many other Immortals had already been found and locked up.
Realization hit like a sucker punch to the gut. “Damn it! While I’m here throwing and smashing glass bottles instead I should be out doing something more productive, like searching for the others and getting them out of harm’s way.”
He paused and thought over the best way to go about doing that. “If anyone will be in the loop about what’s going on it will Dawson. It’s a place to start.”
With that he left off pacing and began to methodically go through and pack all the necessary items that he thought he might need on his travels, into an over-sized back pack and one duffle bag; and finally he safely tucked away his katana sword underneath his duster coat.
It was written for the Dream width communty: ficpromptly in response to a prompt left by muccamukk.
and for the genre twist challenge..
"Cold War: Renewed Hostilites" by karrenia
When the end came, much to Duncan’s surprise, his clansman took it harder than anyone else. When it came, it came with a neither a bang nor a whimper but with a gradual awareness that their kind lived by their own rules; all the while maintaining their own code, all in secret.
Not that he had ever paid over much attention the attrition brought up the Game; after over five hundred years, it had become more or less an unspoken acceptance. Connor and his friends among the other surviving Immortals might have had quite differing opinions on the subject; however he simply could not locate them to ask their opinions.
He read the newspapers, watched both the national and international news broadcasts, but thus far the shocking truth about their existence had yet made into the public awareness, or the fact that organizations like the CIA were attempting to quietly and discreetly track down and place Immortals into what they euphemistically referred to as “reeducation centers”.
Anyone who had studied Western European history of the past 100 years or so could read between the lines and realize what those seemingly innocuous terms meant: one checked in, one did not check out.
Which led Duncan to wonder, in between curses and hurling empty beverage containers into the walls of his floating river boat home exactly who had broken the story. It was not all that long ago that another Immortal had tempted a member of the press with the digitized contents of a Watcher Chronicle to reveal their presence to the world. He and Amanda had only managed by the narrowest margins to prevent that from happening.
And yet, it had.
With the current tense, seemingly on the brink of disaster, either politically or financially; this news came as a personal blow. The first proverbial shoe had dropped and it did not even the merest courtesy to allow him time to wait for the other proverbial shoe to drop. He shook his head and began to pace the area between his kitchen and his living room, his thoughts extending to outside wondering if there was anything he could do about, thinking over his options, wondering how many other Immortals had already been found and locked up.
Realization hit like a sucker punch to the gut. “Damn it! While I’m here throwing and smashing glass bottles instead I should be out doing something more productive, like searching for the others and getting them out of harm’s way.”
He paused and thought over the best way to go about doing that. “If anyone will be in the loop about what’s going on it will Dawson. It’s a place to start.”
With that he left off pacing and began to methodically go through and pack all the necessary items that he thought he might need on his travels, into an over-sized back pack and one duffle bag; and finally he safely tucked away his katana sword underneath his duster coat.