Upon my liar's chair [BLARGH FHTAGN] [player plot] [part 2 and 3] [closed to signups]

[iamresponding]

Who| Rich Rider and those who signed up for Part 2 and 3
What| Stopping the squids from opening a rift to the Cancerverse and saving Rich
Where| At a derelict stargate station and the Cancerverse
When| An IC Day after "Game of Throne"
Warnings/Notes| Lovecraftian squid-monsters, body horror, attempted suicide by black hole

It's time.

They take over and do whatever they have to do, say whatever they have to say to disentangle Rich from anyone that'd get in his way.

The seed was planted a long time ago and what started as a little sprout of life within him grows and blooms within him now, rolling under his flesh, taking over his eyes so that he sees the things that should not be seen. Reality's edges roll away and reveal everything to him, the sickness that is Chronoblivion clinging to the edge of the world and the half-finished worlds and realms beyond.

He can see the Cancerverse and the beings within, staring at him whole universes away. Deep inside himself, his soul thrashes and spasms, and he's lost in a cage of endless rotating fractal visions of the many possible nightmares to come.

And then They push up his sleeves, move his limbs, and and get to work.

Their mission is holy. They will fulfill the Legion's mission and save existence. Chronoblivion's own bloated form will become their new Galactus Engine, they will touch every universe with their gift and life will reign eternal.

That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die.

Comments

[iamresponding]

He's starting to reach the black hole's massive debris field.

"There's not enough time. I can feel them pushing, tearing..." He breaks off into a wince and then opens his eyes again. "A few years ago, I had a tough call to make, so I asked myself: do I put myself first? Maybe live a few more days that don't matter, and let the universe down? Or do I step up?"

He breathes in a shaky breath.

"Novas always gotta step up, Sam."

His eyes are glassy now.

"Novas don't get to quit, but we're also a Corps for a reason. Our universe - and the Legion - needs Nova...and they'll still have one. You're just a munchkin so you have some room to grow, sure, but you're already ten times the hero I was around your age, and I'm so proud of you for it. When you find him again, your dad's gonna be real proud of you, too. You earned that bucket -- long before you met me."

He gives him a sad smile.

"You're gonna shake the stars, Sam. Even though it hurts knowing I won't get to see it, I'm still glad I got this extra time, since it meant I got to meet you."

[unrecovered]

"Never thought you'd take the coward's way out."

It's low, nearly a snarl. Wash has recovered from getting thrown around by tentacles and made his way towards the holodisplay while everyone has said their piece, and it's given him just about enough time to get good and angry. Pain, he understands. Exhaustion, he understands. Guilt over hurting people, he - regrettably - understands. Giving up?

Fuck that.

Sam might be done yelling at Rich, but Wash is just getting started, and if there's one thing he's gotten good at during his years with the Reds and Blues, it's yelling at idiots.

"You realize this doesn't fix anything, right? You die, you put the squids in a shitty situation and hope that they don't find a way out or get released by the local idiots, and you leave us to fight Chronoblivion without you. You don't have to deal with the problem anymore, but we sure as hell do!

"And you're giving up because what, you're tired? Look, I get being exhausted. I get walking through a hell that nobody else will ever understand. I get wanting to leave that behind. But when I did that, I had no one. You have friends who are willing to work their asses off and put their lives on the line to help you, but instead of waiting ten minutes so we can fix this shit, you run off because you're fucking tired? You're done? That's it?

"That box of letters under your bed isn't going to lead a team or fight Chronoblivion or help your friends. We deserve better than this, because you are better than this, so start fucking acting like it!"

He's said too much - torn open wounds he'd rather keep hidden - because this is it. If they can't convince Rich to turn around, they lose him for good, and Wash's desire for secrecy isn't worth that. They'll be shitty last words if they fail, but he's done all he can.

[iamresponding]

"'Tired'? You think this is just 'tired'?"

He starts shaking, uncontrollably, the tentacles writhing and squirming, because while they're attached to the things inside him, they're still a part of him, right now, melded together.

But instead of yelling or having some kind of outburst, it's like some kind of plug is pulled, like the life and energy drains out of him. Rich has never been the type to go quiet and cold before, but now that the memories have been unlocked and his brain has made the shift to what it once was, it's a survival mechanism. His mind goes to the same cold and distant place it tried to retreat to after every death, when he sat there, jaw clenched, wishing that he hadn't woken up.

"I know what my own brain looks like," he says distantly. "Anytime I revived, sometimes the...bits that came off would still be there, even though I'd wake up whole again. And it was just there. On the ground. With bits of my skull. Like raw hamburger. Just...sitting there."

He remembers having had the irrational urge to put it back inside himself. It wasn't supposed to be on the ground, it was supposed to be inside him. But Worldmind had talked him through it, had urged him to move. There was nothing he could do, and new brain had replaced it, as if by magic. And more of the squids were coming.

More were always coming.

"I know the sound every bone makes when it cracks. I know what it feels like when acid makes your skin slide off. I've heard what my voice sounds like in every kind of scream. I didn't - I didn't know I could make some of them. I didn't know."

He doesn't notice the tears rolling down his cheeks until they slide down his neck, and he doesn't notice the black hole's debris field until the red and purple of the Cancerverse fades away again, out of his sight.

"I'm not tired. That's not it." His eyes go a little wider. "I'm still there. Not just because they're inside me, it's that I'm still there up here." He taps his temple with the hand that's still a hand. "I never left."

He's still there, mad and wandering, eternally stumbling through red hills and valleys that are always hungry, never silent.

He never left.

"And I never will."

He voice drops to a whisper.

"Let me have this. Let me...let me be me. Again. One more time. Instead of that...thing. That I was. Just...eyes. Looking out from a head. I want to be me one last time and keep everyone safe. And then no more. No more."

He crumbles now.

"They're not allowed to have you. You're all mine." He thumps his hand against his chest, and the words sound like they've been ripped out of him. "You're mine. Everyone is mine. Everyone back home. Everyone in this universe. You're mine and you're so good. Even people I don't know. Because you're people and you're not them. I can die with you here." He thumps his hand against his chest again. "And then you'll be safe. I'll get to stay in the dark. And I'll keep you all safe with me there. Forever."

This is what he's good at. This is the kind of thing he does that makes him him. Saving people. Giving himself away until there's barely any self left. This time, there's so little self left that, to do it, he has to give the last little bit of it up.

"This is my job."

It's not a sob. There's no name for the noise he makes while saying the words. Human beings aren't supposed to make noises like that and therefore don't have a name for them.

[whyarewehere]

Rich doesn't snap back at Wash, of course he doesn't, because he's Rich. He just takes it in that way of his that always pisses Grif off. Classic infuriating superhero best friend. If Grif had any lingering doubts about who's driving the Richmobile right now, this is the thing that blows them out of the water for good.

"Fuck you, this is our job!"

Rich wants to go out there and solve the problem alone by dying, of course he does, because he's Rich. And Grif could strangle him.

Rich was the one who talked to him about this in the first place.

"So if any one of us does fail at something, the others are ready to try to help keep it from hurting someone -- and if they can't do that, they're there to help their teammate pick up the pieces.

Do you really think you're the only person who's fucked up here? That's why we have a team, Grif. For superheroes, a team is fuckup insurance."

That conversation is what's running through his head when he yells:

"Jesus, Rich, maybe you're fucked up right now, but guess what? You got us! You got fuckup insurance!"

"So get your stupid, spandexed ass back here so we can fix you or so help me I will race that black hole and drag it!"

That's... that's definitely how that would work.

[iamresponding]

Proximity sensors start blaring but Rich finally stops the cruiser and sits there, staring ahead at the great disc of inky black. He's just shy of the event horizon, where gravity will be too strong for the ship's thrusters to counter; they're working at close to full strength right now, just keeping the ship stationary.

It's the closest someone can get to the purest oblivion possible, and a part of him wants that oblivion so badly. A part of him needs it, like he's some kind of addict that will only be happy if he gets one last hit of the intoxicating darkness he'd found after each death.

After a moment of staring, he has something close to a child-like tantrum, pounding his fist against the control panel of the cruiser, thrashing his limbs, needing to hit something, anything, as if that will somehow exorcise the monsters and the conflict inside him. The thrashing accidentally turns the main lights off and the emergency lights turn on, leaving him bathed in a red glow. Then he slams his head against the wheel, wrapping his arm and tentacle around it, as he tries to make a choice.

Grif is one person too many, with too much hurt in his voice. He has two friends -- no, brothers, just like Bobby -- that will have to watch yet another member of their family die, two friends that'd lay down in traffic for him, that have bled for him in the past. Wash and Grif are yelling despite only having known him for about a year. And Sam...Sam is begging. Rich thinks back to the fight against the Lanterns, when he'd held Sam in his arms, waiting for the color to come back to his face after the blue light chased away the red and had replaced his heart. He'd been so afraid that it wouldn't be enough.

He'd begged then, the silent, pleading, internal litany of a parent or a brother holding a fragile, small body in their arms.

Please God, don't take him, let him be okay, please, if you have to take someone, take me, please take me.

He made Sam beg now, too, and he hates himself for it.

It all finally gets through to him. The love and fear and protective anger.

And the faith.

"We deserve better than this, because you are better than this."

They have faith in him. And the thing is, even if he can't always believe in himself, can't see his own worth, he has faith in them, too. He does have fuckup insurance. He has the kind of fuckup insurance that'd rather die than disappoint him.

"Sorry. But I can't let you down."

He's been used to zipping from one problem to the next for years that have felt even longer than they were, years that have made him feel decades older than he is. In the Cancerverse, that constant state of movement had been eternal as he'd fled from one threat to another, trying to find safety in a world where there was none.

But even before that, he'd been a human rocket, never stopping, carrying the weight of the universe on his own, hoping his forward momentum was strong enough to drag it along with him before it weighed him down so much that he stopped for good. He hadn't been allowed to be anything else. The universe needed him to be that way, because even with friends like Drax and Gamora and Starlord, at the end of the day, it was always him facing the worst of it alone, with everyone else helpless on the sidelines.

It was his job. It was his job to fight and bleed and cry and suffer because sometimes no one else could do that job, not the way it needed to be done.

It finally sinks in that it doesn't have to be that way here. He's the one forcing them on the sidelines this time, instead of supervillains, fate, or circumstance. He gets to have a choice now whether he suffers alone under the weight of galaxies, under the weight of spiraling arms shimmering with life, or whether he lets someone else help shoulder that burden.

He doesn't have to keep everyone else safe. Someone else can keep him safe in a way no one has since the war. For once.

Finally.

He doesn't look up. The words are muffled.

"Are you sure there's something you can actually do? Brainiac, tell me you're sure."

[googledox]

Brainy doesn't look up from working on the door, but only because he isn't sure Rich will turn around and if he doesn't, they'll need it open to have a chance to get to them in time.

"Rider, you're hardly the first Legionnaire who's tried to solve a problem by hurling yourself at a rip in spacetime. I've done it before myself. Twice. As a rule, we try to make it a last resort, and every other time it's happened, I found a way to make things right."

He'd figured out how to shut down the Anomaly, even if he hadn't been the one that took the ship he'd made into it.

He'd figured out how to close the rift near Earth after the Blight, too, even if some of the Legion had been flung into the Second Galaxy in the process.

"We always a find a way, and I always find the solution we need to do it. We have quite the track record."

[relativityspeaking]

"I promise that if it looks like we're running out of time and options, we'll let you do what you need to do. But if there's any chance at all we can fix this, you need to let us try."

A pause.

"You said you wanted to come home. Let us bring you home, Rich. You can finally rest after. When you're safe."

[iamresponding]

There's a long silence.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was just supposed to be a goodbye, one that made it so they hurt less.

But it's enough. It's finally enough.

The human rocket finally...stops.

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay."

He leaves the comm on just long enough for him to see him turn the cruiser around and then flicks it off. Before long - right as Brainy fixes the couplers - he walks in through the airlock door. In the fight earlier, his helmet had gotten knocked by a tentacle towards the hangar door. He picks it up off the floor and puts it on.

Man's gotta have his bucket.

The moment it's on...the tentacles retract and the tentacle arm turns back into a hand.

"My friend Starlord once told me 'if death ever comes your way and won't let you pass, make sure you scream right back in his face,'" Rich says, sounding utterly exhausted but more determined than before.

"Let's scream in their faces."