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Key to Merwe
By : BlueBastard
Category: 1 through F > District 9
Views: 5819 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit from District 9
Chapter List
- 5
- 6
A/N: hmmm, maybe I should've put a warning for that last chapter. Then again, this is rated M...

Lol, and I didn't realize I wrote it that way, Cordiss. Nit pick away. I meant hard as in speed-wise rather than volume-wise.

There are so many more reviews than i thought, and more than i can respond to without taking up a whole bunch of room.

So... Thanks for all your reviews, yes i am an evil bastard dealing this story to you innocent readers in small increments like crack, Wikus and Christopher totally rock, and hell yea this makes no sense even to myself!!! Though I was inspired by previous writers of this genre, like Chaosdreamer and others on both fanfiction . net and adulftfanfiction . net

You guys should check them out.

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Wikus ducked behind a pile of garbage, praying they wouldn't find him.

He had the absolute worst kind of luck.

He had been minding his own business, working on his shack to make it more livable, when this group of fookin' Prawns had sauntered over out of nowhere. From the moment he laid his eyes on them he knew.

They were trouble.

His feelers scented the air.

They were close. Nearby.

But they obviously hadn't found him yet.

"Fookin' great idea Wikus. Ditch the yellow and red Prawns. Me? Need help? No. What could go fookin' wrong? Apparently everything!" Wikus prattled nervously under his breath, berating himself.

The funny thing was, he had no fookin' idea what they wanted exactly. But his instincts had told him it wasn't good. At least, not for him.

A clatter sounded to his right.

"Fookin' shit!" Wikus cursed, taking off into a dead sprint.

The Prawns, about three with varying shades of brownish gray coloring, chittered loudly and gave chase.

Wikus was never a runner in his former life. But this past week has tested his speed and stamina to its very peak. And then some. Not to mention it had been the longest two weeks of his entire life. Of course, the boost of Prawn genetics had some say in it.

Though the whole, running for his life bit was thrown in there as well.

He ran through a couple campfires, apologizing to the assorted Prawn residents as he weaves through them. He didn't completely avoid bumping into a few Prawns and objects, but from the loud clanging and shouting behind him, his pursuers weren't making the same attempt.

He weaves through a throng and ducks through a couple alleys, finally getting a breather after another half hour. He never really appreciated just how large District 9 was. Or just how many hiding places there were. He couldn't be sure, however, if he was circling back or running in a zig-zagging line. He was aware there was a sort of turf war kind if thing going on with the Prawns. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, Christopher was his best ally, next to Travis and Curtis. He really needed to find his way back.

Chest heaving, he pressed himself against the tin wall of a shack.

Okay. Fook.

He needed a plan.

They were still after him and this running was only buying him short reprieves every time.

He tried to shuffle the previous events through his head. Had he done something wrong when they had first stumbled on him? No, he was just minding his own business, cleaning the outside of his shack.

Fook. But how should he know?

Maybe he had flicked a goddamn antenna the wrong way.

A brush against his leg had him shaking it, pushing what he thought was a cat away without looking at it.

Damn rodents were everywhere.

But then a chirp made him think twice.

He looked down.

Shit.

It was a fookin' Prawn kid. The tiny yellow shirt seemed to swallow his naturally small frame. Making the kid look even more fragile. His red shorts clung to his scrawny legs, not exactly helping the whole 'helpless' visage he had going.

It clutched, vice-like, at his heart to think how he had incinerated that whole shack full of Prawn eggs. Thinking nothing of it then. Holy Fook, Wikus felt like a monster. MNU had lied to them all. It was easy, when Wikus had been focused on his work. For Tania. And not messing up in front of her controlling, ego-driven father, who would chopper over in an instant if the company was in trouble, but would barely budge if his daughter was hospitalized from an accident.

But Wikus had still done it.

And looking into those large, amber eyes, he felt like slime that had dragged itself out of the gutters.

The least he could do was get the kid as far away from him as possible. Especially with the three-manned goon squad after him.

"Go away, kid. I'm busy." Wikus whispered, making a shooing motion.

But the little tyke was persistent. He cocked his little head, looking up at Wikus curiously, but otherwise not budging. The boy's dark green plating, sparked something in the hybrid. A tendril of familiarity nagged at Wikus, but he pushed the thought away. Up until a week ago, he had thought all Prawns looked the same. It was probably just coincidence.

"Fook, kid, I said scram!" Wikus tried again, ducking as he heard the trio getting closer. He tried tossing a pebble at the boy, but the Prawnling simply looked at where it landed beside him, then chirped back up at the hybrid.

Muttering, Wikus turned away to scan the area.

Then he was hit on the head, yelling "Fook!" more out of instinct than out of any sort of pain the object could have caused.

He glared accusingly at the pebble on the ground, then back at the little tyke, "Why you little-"

"A game?" His innocent voice tugged at something in Wikus, draining his slight anger. Was he actually worried about the little guy?

Fook no.

But then those big eyes shimmered at him.

All right. Shit.

Fine. Maybe he did care.

Somewhat.

The hybrid gave an exasperated sigh, looking around as though a solution would appear and slap him across the face. But, as luck would have it, none came.

Good thing he hadn't thrown a good sized rock at the kid, he thought with a frown as he rubbed his head.

Still...

He couldn't let them hurt the kid. If there was one thing he remembered well about the worker Prawns, it was their unpredictability.

They would easily rescue a cat from a tree as they would smash it up and eat it. The same could be said of Prawnlings, whether the kids belonged to them or not. Sadistic. Barbaric. But survival of the fittest flicked through Van de Merwe's mind.

"Yes! Yes, a game." Wikus said quickly, voice still hushed, "Now t-tell me, kid. Where's your favorite hiding place?"

He glanced nervously over his shoulder as he heard the excited trillings of his pursuers. They were getting closer.

Shit!

"Or better yet, show me." Wikus improvised.

"Okay!" The boy hummed happily, scrambling off.

Wikus spared no time following, keeping his form hunched as he followed the speedy rascal.

Fook the kid was fast.

He kept pausing to look back, making sure Wikus was still behind him. It was endearing, in a way, that the little guy warmed up to him so fast. But it didn't say much for the kid's street smarts. He should probably mention it to the kid's parents.

Not that he cared. Or anything.

It was just the right thing to do.

The kid almost lost him through the maze of shacks, but they finally managed to reach a destination. The rundown shack was just like all the others, but Wikus was strongly hit with a sense of familiarity. He shoved it aside in favor of the current situation.

"This it kid?"

At the boy's vigorous nod, Wikus grinned.

Then he became serious once more, "Okay, thanks. Now scram! This could get dangerous, kid."

But the Prawnling merely blinked up at him again, as though not comprehending the urgency in Wikus's tone.

The clattering of three pairs of feet made up the hybrid's mind.

Fook.

"Inside!" Wikus exclaimed, all but carrying the younger kid with him as he quickly slammed the door behind him.

He clamped his hand over the kid's mouth, holding his own breath.

Sounds of the three Prawns paused right outside the door. Wikus's antennae quivered as he could make out muffled curses and questions as to where the hybrid had run off to.

Did they know? Fook. What should he do if they burst in the door? He couldn't just leave the kid. Or should he? But could he trust they'd ignore the little guy?

His fears seemed uncalled for as the trio took off, sounds of their presence fading in the distance. With a shaking sigh of relief, Wikus released the boy, sagging against the inner wall.

That was close.

Too close.

Just as he slumped on the ground, he noticed the kid standing right next to him, not even reaching eye level since he was so tiny.

The boy held out his arm, chirping excitedly, "The same! But you're prettier."

Wikus nearly choked, "The Fook?!" before he composed himself enough to adamantly deny, "No, no I am NOT prettier."

"Yes." The kid clicked as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, tracing the cerulean splashes of blue that enveloped Wikus's elbow. It shined brightly against the hybrid's slick ebony shell, as the pattern did throughout his hard form.

"You are definitely confused kid. Me and the word 'pretty' do NOT fookin' go together." Wikus clicked strongly, shaking his head as though the motion would end this confusing and uncomfortable debate.

The boy laughed, a light, repeated chirping sound that reminded Wikus of glass wind chimes tinkling in the breeze. He opened his tendrils to obviously refute the hybrid's statement, when his amber eyes widened. The little green Poleepkwa's antennae stilled, frozen glance glued to the door.

Then Wikus noticed as well.

The three pursuers were back. They must've narrowed down his scent, finding the last place it was strongest at. And that was near this shack.

He could hear them getting closer, hard feet clawing dry dirt and stone under each step.

"Fook. Fook. Fook." Wikus chanted under his breath, terrified eyes glued to the door.

Now what?

In the back of his panicked mind, Wikus heard the small whimper of fear and the tiny scrambling that ended under a desk in the back.

But he could not get his mind to focus on that past the haze of fear.

The three browns burst in, clicking and clacking excitedly.

"What do you want?" Wikus managed to whisper, his throat seized in the same paralysis as the rest of him.

But they were clicking too rapidly. He could only make out a few words.

"Good. Smell good." Was the repeated mantra.

He stood rigid. Two of them came right into his personal space, antennae waving wildly as they clicked nonsensically. Scenting him, hands outspread and trembling, as if desiring to touch him so much they were unable to.

The third one went straight to the desk behind him.

Wikus couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. What did they want with him?

Then there was a terrified squeal behind him.

Fook, the kid!

Wikus jerked, still frozen, but able to turn his head just enough to observe the goings on behind him.

The bigger brown Poleepkwa had the boy by the arm, dangling the kid high in the air as he inspected him. The kid, in the meantime, was kicking and squealing frantically.

"Found little one. Keep?" The big one clicked curiously.

The smaller two paused in their own -invasive- inspection of the frozen hybrid to click at each other.

"Kill?" The bigger one asked then instead.

The two didn't hesitate.

They nodded vehemently in agreement.

Wikus grew rigid. Even more sore than he was before. They would do this? Hurt a little kid? The animal kingdom was tough. Mankind, as Wikus was starting to learn, was worse. But he didn't think the Prawns could have it this bad.

What had the Prawnling done to deserve this?

Something in Wikus's hybrid nerves snapped.

"Don't you fookin' dare touch the kid!!" He found himself snarling as he became a whirlwind, turning as he flung himself at the Prawn twice his size. He didn't know if it was the surprise, his new strength, or the adrenaline pumping his veins, but he managed to topple the behemoth, freeing the squealing child in the process.

"Get. Out. Of here. Kid!" Wikis shouted in between punches, dazing the big Prawn he had pinned to the ground.

The kid hesitated, "But-"

"I said SCRAM kid!!" Wikus repeated more urgently, shooting a glare at the boy for added emphasis.

The good thing was the kid actually listened, though not before wriggling his tentacles in worry. He barely dodged the two other Poleepkwa before making it out the door.

The hybrid's victory celebration was short lived, however, as the momentary pause in the beating gave the bigger Prawn the opening he needed.

Wikus saw a burst of angry stars before his eyes, hot pain surging through his faceplates. Then he was on his back, on the ground, staring up at three very angry, very menacing Poleepkwa. The boy's safety came at a price. The anger-fueled fight drained out of him, leaving Wikis trembling in post-adrenaline stress, worrying about what would happen to him now.

They descended upon him, and he could not help the way his vocal chords constricted in fear.

-o-o-o-

Christopher stared in abject boredom around him, not realizing the other Poleepkwa was still talking. Berating him, again, about the balances in power among the people. It was important, of this he was fully aware. But he could not rid himself of the tantalizing scent or feel of the hybrid he had in his grasp hours before.

Noting his lack of enthusiasm, the white and crimson speckled Poleepkwa gave a harsh bark, before stepping forward to clip the green dominant on the back of his head.

"Your mind wanders too much for my liking, Christopher Johnson." The elder clicked in a scolding series of clicks.

"What use is it to hear the same lecture once more, V'razzen?" Christopher sighed in exasperation. Like many of the older generations, Tom had taken a human name, but punished those who would use it.

"Christopher, I see so much of your father in you-"

"Not this again." Johnson clicked irritably, sighing as he turned to look away.

But the elder continued, as though the green Poleepkwa hadn't spoken, "-I had watched him grow from a hatchling, just as I had watched you. We would not have made it to crash land safely on this planet had he not-"

"Safe? You call this hostile world safe?!" Christopher turned on the other, tone cracked with hurt and rage, "This place is NOT safe! Not for our people! Not with the humans around!"

"Ezra'eed-"

But Christopher snarled instantly, "Do NOT call me by that name, uncle. *Never* call me by that name. I am Christopher Johnson. THAT is who I am."

"But your sire-"

"Do not speak of my father to me, V'razzen."

"You would take the pet name of the humans over your family name?"

"No. They may treat us like dirt but we are the superior. Crippled as we are, we still have our strengths. I take the name proudly, because they have no true power over us, Uncle."

"...Your father would not take too kindly of your disregard in this matter."

"My father is dead. He has little disregard for anything at this point."

The white and crimson Prawn paused, tendrils churning thoughtfully before he spoke once more, "And I suppose this hybrid you have come to adopt, *he* has no place in this matter as well?"

"What has he to do with anything?" Christopher snapped, angry once more.

V'razzen simply looked at him.

Then both turned as a Prawnling came scrambling up to them.

Both pairs of antennae stood ridged at the familiar scent, the yellow shirt whipping around its owner's hasty approach.

"Oliver!" A concerned frown pulled down Christopher's faceplates, as he took four long strides to meet the boy halfway.

"Father! Father! He's being attacked! They do not play well, those three." Oliver jumped up and down at the dominant's feet. He stopped at the last statement, going so far as to cross his arms and shake his head, as he had seen his father do on many occasions when something happened that he did not approve of.

"What?!" Christopher demanded, crouching down to better look his frantic son in the eyes, tentacles dwarfing the boy's shoulders as he took a firm, reassuring grip, "Who?"

His nerves danced with his apprehension. The emerald green took the safety of his people seriously. But there was one new addition he worried about above all.

"Wikus!" The little Prawn exclaimed, as if it were obvious. His amber gaze looked at his father as though to ask 'who else?'

Fear and anger lurched in the dominant's gut. How dare they mess with what was his! He towered up to his full height, fists clenched tight. His red glare burned a hole in the horizon, as if he could spot the Prawns in the distance and incinerate them on the spot. Christopher moved, scooping up his son in his tense arms, about to take off.

Catching himself, he paused only to glare at the older Prawn, "This means nothing, Uncle. He is under my protection."

As the younger took off at a dead sprint, his Uncle only stared after him knowingly.

"No, nephew," He murmured to himself, "This means everything..."

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A/N: My bad for the long update, working on the next chapter now. This one woulda been longer, but I figured I've kept ya waitin long enough.
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Key to Merwe	By : BlueBastard Category: 1 through F > District 9 Views: 5819 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit from District 9

Key to Merwe