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Dark Pinky crouched and grabbed his own throbbing cranium, one gloved paw pressed tightly to his forehead, flattening his long, sweat-soaked hair over one eye. His other paw was pressed to the back of his skull, over his metal crown which served as a barrier. It helped him focus and drowned out the minds further away. Those didn’t matter right now. He needed to tighten it even further than it already was, squeezing his head. His own thoughts were the problem.
It didn’t soothe him. He stared at the rocky outcrop he stood on. It was over and he felt…
He laughed. His throat was raw from howling, screaming, cackling, singing, calling out.
Why did he have to do this? What possessed him?
Nothing.
He’d read their minds. They wouldn’t back down. Negotiations had failed.
A rare circumstance. A group with enough man-power (hah) and gun-power and some tanks, who knew where they’d found those, had arrived at their doorstep. Well, not exactly, since even the tower was partially submerged. They’d had to add a new door with a drawbridge onto the mountain nearby. It truly was more of a castle or mountain stronghold now. It looked less like an aggressive dildo this way.
The ocean had created a moat. At least it was good for something. That and letting his octopus wife come and go more easily.
Dark Pinky was always willing to talk. Always.
Most of the time it worked. He did what he could. Really.
There was only so much to go around, especially food and essentials, Dark Pinky reasoned. He needed to keep his immediate followers, his guards, his staff, his family, and his spouses alive.
No, they couldn’t repair this world if they were all dead.
He’d read the minds of these humans. He should’ve stayed inside. He didn’t have high hopes.
He did it anyway. They were polite at least. Pretending they would listen. They let him come out with a motley of guards ostensibly for his protection.
Dark Pinky didn’t need them but no one wanted him to go alone.
These people wanted him dead and he didn’t blame them, really. Some of them sneered at the sight of him in person and he couldn’t resist sneering back.
“We might have a few spare provisions but I can’t give you this tower. It’s my home. Zort.”
It wasn’t his home.
He’d tried to make it one but that slipped away from his grasp daily. Dark Pinky rarely wore his little apron. All he had was his girdle, his flowing loincloth, and his dreams, which he clung to.
The tower was broken, crumbling in some places. It had shrunk with the weight of all their combined mistakes. The world had burned up, ruptured, melted, and then flooded. It was too much. They lost both of their future litters and Pinky had felt that loss almost as directly as if he’d been carrying those babies himself, because he could feel the sorrow and shock when it happened, inside their minds, as well as the pain and turmoil in their bodies. And he still couldn’t comfort Billie and Julia properly.
He’d lost faith that Dark Brain knew what he was doing.
His beloved had been uncooperative… they’d argued too much; couldn’t find compromises any more. Everyone had been angry and bitter. Finally, Brain said it was his fault… Pinky’s.
He’d been thinking about it for a while. Pinky should’ve taken it more seriously when Snowball fed that inkling in Brain’s mind, but thoughts weren’t always words or actions. Then one day Brain finally said it and he’d meant it.
Some of his spouses agreed but Pinky was tired. He’d been arbitrating for so long.
He tried to see the best in everyone still.
Dark Pinky hungered for the good thoughts, the ones that sparkled and filled him up instead of making him so hollow and aching in a horrible way. Dark Pinky, no matter what, no matter how rude, snarky, or glib he’d gotten, always managed to latch onto any cheer that he found and nurtured it as best he could. He wanted to build others up, not tear them down. The joy and the sincere laughter soothed his frazzled nerves. It made life worth living.
Brain wasn’t a source of those any more, not consistently enough. The bad thoughts rang out but Pinky had focused on the good ones, encouraging them, hoping they’d make the others go away, until it was too late. He had tried ignoring the darkness engulfing Brain, afraid it would sink its teeth into him as well.
They sent Brain away.
Dark Pinky had sent him away.
He spoke up first. He made up his mind and convinced them.
It wasn’t hard; Brain at his worst was extremely uncooperative and damaging. He’d been his own worst enemy in that conversation.
It wasn’t meant to be permanent but it felt like forever. Pinky missed Brain so badly.
Brain didn’t want to come back yet. He missed them, missed Pinky just as dearly. Brain had lost faith in Pinky instead, in them, but not himself. And Brain hated this too, he was frustrated and torn, but Brain knew he’d fall apart if he didn’t believe he could do it.
So he suffered first hand at the world that he’d made and the exile hadn’t been good for his self-esteem or his fear that they were plotting against Brain.
Dark Pinky still loved him, all of him, and that included his mind. It was frustrating and horrible to read, especially now, with that shroud of darkness still keeping Dark Brain from his own mind, which was the beginning of the distrust that Snowball had accidentally dispersed, but it made Pinky want to believe in Brain again, even when he just couldn’t. No, he couldn’t.
Brain had decided that Pinky wasn’t helpful. Brain couldn’t accept these failures and no one else wanted the blame.
Pinky had accepted it, at first, and this was a horrible mistake. Brain obsessed over it, assuming it was purposeful. Pinky gave up trying to undo the tangled web of assumptions but wouldn’t stand for this divisiveness. Brain wasn’t going to be kind; Brain wasn’t helping. That was why he had to go!
But they couldn’t really stay apart. Dark Pinky wanted to find Dark Brain, and often he did, but Pinky wouldn’t stop him. He didn’t need to.
Brain would fail without him. Without them. His constant misery.
Pinky would hold Brain, for as long as he was able. He’d continue protecting Brain, just like he protected everyone else. Pinky was so strong! Pinky was powerful. His timing was impeccable.
He couldn’t forgive the distance between them. The nasty things Brain had said to him. The worst things rolling around inside his mind, about both of them. The thoughts that infected Pinky and became his own. The thoughts Pinky tried to destroy and couldn’t once they dug in. He also couldn’t escape his own bad ideas… that maybe Dark Brain wasn’t wonderful and maybe Dark Pinky wasn’t either. Pinky had kept his psychic powers but he hadn’t been able to protect Brain when those same powers had been crushed out of his skull. He’d failed Brain too many times.
He kept trying, subtly. Brain had almost died with a jarring frequency and Pinky had saved his life. This was deemed suspicious, but it wasn’t hard to convince Brain that he wasn’t trying to kill him. Pinky would never do that, even if Pinky had chastised him and yelled at first. He still held Brain close, giving him soft apologies, light touches, a few giggles after they’d calmed down.
Their bodies and their hearts remained connected, but not their minds, not their willpower.
So they snogged, they cuddled, and they made love; they both wanted it so badly. They hated being apart from each other. Brain assumed Pinky found this separation acceptable, because it was Pinky’s decision. It wasn’t right, it didn’t feel good, it created a longing inside Pinky, but he made do. At least he had their chance meetings to look forward to. He was perhaps more needy than Brain was, even though he had more arms to curl up in, to hold him. Literally, so many!
Pinky took what he wanted and gave Brain what he begged for. That part was easy. Pinky could always help with that. A firm nibble to keep him steady and in the moment, a lap of the tongue alongside eager hips and a deft paw. He soothed, caressed, and whispered encouragement into those big, beautiful ears while cuddling Brain’s chubby, blissful, somewhat metallic body. Brain whimpered and called him such nice things, like Daddy.
His face was still exquisite, when Pinky could actually see it. Brain was also flirty, after the second time. He was careful to block off as much of his mind as he could, to hide his plans, his operation, his allies; it wasn’t easy but he knew how. Pinky didn’t give a shit about those anyway. He looked for Brain’s nervous hope; he looked for flattering depictions of himself. He sought those little moments where Brain felt competent and in control of his life, especially when they were together.
Pinky wanted to believe this could be what turned things around. Brain found him endlessly seductive and Pinky found him perpetually desirable. So many delicious thoughts while their ample tongues were too busy to talk.
And Brain didn’t take this for granted, deep down he was grateful, but he called it sinister when he wasn’t receiving enough attention to quiet that wellspring of fear inside him, something which tormented them both. It was hard not to sneer and recoil from that.
Pinky’s fault. Pinky’s evil designs. As if Brain wouldn’t have perhaps done the same. Brain’s paranoia meant he attributed things he or others might have done onto Pinky as a way to explain the bad luck and the overlooked mistakes. Because Pinky could read his mind. Pinky had premonitions and could locate him like no one else.
They couldn’t make up. They couldn’t agree. Brain was stubborn. Pinky was beseeching.
Why did no one listen to him? Dark Pinky did his best.
No, most of the time they listened. They just didn’t understand him. Brain used to. Not now.
He was capable. He spoke cleanly and smoothly, in spite of his tics which came out more delicately at times. He’d used the voice lessons so that Dark Pinky seemed like a good head of the rodent state. It worked, usually.
He had a reputation. Elegant and fluid as the water. He dressed up daily, his poise, his crown.
He was loved. Dark Pinky was calm, collected, and silly sometimes, but sensible. Regal.
And then in the very back of their minds, he was feared.
Dark Pinky had a presence. He could reach far beyond himself. His mind was sharp and grasping. He could guess where they’d strike. He could bounce on his own little force fields, ricocheting, clawing, biting, pummeling, with his limber body and his psychic powers.
Physics! Brain had taught him how to use momentum to his advantage. Pinky had learned how to fight best from him and then adapted it. He also decided to improve himself; lifted weights when he couldn’t knit or bounce around or watch some old broadcast.
He was already incredibly strong for a mouse and had only gotten stronger. He needed to be. There was an entire world he needed to protect from itself.
Dark Pinky didn’t really need his minions there. In fact, he’d told them to step back, and wanted them to leave him. They were bigger targets. They might die in battle some day but it didn’t need to be today.
They didn’t want to leave him alone. They respected his abilities, but worried he’d overreach. Feared his power but trusted that their loyalty meant he’d protect them. He wanted to do that.
But Dark Pinky got careless sometimes. He didn’t like this. That’s what it usually felt like in the beginning. He wasn’t nearly as fearless as he pretended.
He hated it in principle, simply couldn’t stand fighting. It pained him to tear down more people when there were so few left. But it didn’t stop him, no.
Dark Pinky suggested gently, “It’s not all or nothing.”
“Yes it is! There’s nothing else left.”
“Gee, if that’s how you feel, then I can’t help you! And if you don’t go away, I’ll have to hurt you,” Pinky admitted.
He always gave people a chance to back down and change their minds. Most of them listened. This group felt different.
Some laughed, low and without much amusement. Some were relieved that he was reluctant. Others were disdainful. They’d been willing to risk it all and were bitter, angry, hungry for justice and violence, a spark of frustration that began to kindle inside him as well. He didn’t blame them for that.
Having seen Dark Pinky in person finally, most of these humans decided the very up-close videos and the lengthy reports about him had been greatly exaggerated. The few who were still worried were glad they were in the back or inside a tank.
He was so small and ridiculous, a purple-clad dunce on a large rock. He stood tall and proud but he was just a genetically altered lab mouse, posturing, gently pleading with them.
Their desperation had turned into reassurance: humans were still the dominant force.
They shouted and began aiming the tanks at different sections of the tower stronghold.
“Get ready… steady…Fire!” the one who was in charge barked. “Now!”
The riflemen lurched to life, mostly aiming at him, their only target. This was going to get ugly.
Dark Pinky tensed, hunched, clenched his claws and used his mind, lifted up the rock that he was standing on, almost a boulder really, stepped off it in the middle of the air, onto a brightly glowing ripple, and hurled it at the furthest tank gun. It wasn’t quite enough to crush it but it did warp and spin it enough to startle them and throw the shot out of alignment with their intended target, sailing off into the agitated ocean.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Pinky asked. “Now’s the time to speak up!”
“Ignore him! Take down the guards, tear it open!”
“Then I can only give you the gift… of pain,” he’d said. “Bwahahaha! Narf!”
Pinky threw himself onto a different tank, one that was closer, and ripped open the hatch with a combination of his muscular back, his thick knees, and his prying mind, his whole body twirling around with the spinny thing, so he could smugly peer in at the yelping humans.
“Fuck!” one of them snarled. “Shoot it and shoot the rat!”
The gunner blanched. The driver pulled out a pistol. Pinky felt the bullet whizz by his metal-contained ear, he was hard to hit even when he wasn’t moving, and he cackled.
The vehicle underneath him whirred to life in the commotion but the gunner hesitated after being knocked off-kilter by his arrival. He could hear them second-guessing this decision. The middle one went ahead and fired.
Pinky whined and winced as he created an abrupt, positional force field that it smashed into instead. The explosion shook the harsh ground and the weatherbeaten building, sending the waves churning.
It took a lot out of him but it would be fine. This would give Julia, Snowball, and Billie enough time to get the old technology force field up. It was sluggish and took too much vital energy to be kept online all of the time.
Another human appeared in view, also holding a gun and glared up at him in confusion, not seeing him from a previous angle which was blocked by the cabin itself.
“I don’t think you’re gonna like playing with me very much,” Dark Pinky said. “Poit.”
“Stupid shit,” a human hissed, its features twisting aggressively.
They all blurred together for him. He didn’t know them and didn’t care much now.
“But don’t you worry! I’m gonna enjoy it,” Pinky said, grinning. It didn’t reach his eyes.
He wouldn’t. Not really. Not at first. He had to warm up to it. Pinky sighed as the implied threat sank in.
The woman hastily thought about some nice people she loved. So did her male companions. Pinky could smell the fear that leaked all over their happy memories. They had to survive. They resolved to kill him.
He cackled and dropped inside as they began firing at him again, hastily shooting themselves in the process as some of the bullets glanced off metal. Someone screamed. Pinky landed on the man’s shoulder and giggled when he hastily pulled out a knife that was as big as Pinky was.
There was so much blood. Pinky moaned when the blade sliced his thigh, dangerously close to an artery. His tail gained a new gash too, between one of his five rings.
Pinky took hold of the knife and returned the favor as he jumped down, slashing at the man’s leg. The man screamed. Pinky cooed.
Pain was the cleanser. It hurt. Pinky felt that agony even when it was only inside his own head but it slowly made him giddy. He reveled in the pain, theirs and his. He could feel their grief which tainted it, alongside fear and regret from all of them, including himself… but it was good. It was growing inside him, this callous disregard. The excitement was building.
There was blood splattered on the inner walls, dark and gloomy. The pent up feelings washed over him as one of them died. The other two were maimed, crying, terrified. They no longer wanted to be there. The woman fled.
Pinky smiled and kissed the cheek of the man who’d cut him. Another scar to add to his tally. He was smashed into the floor by a flailing, frantic limb and laughed. It went limp and he crawled out from under the man’s fist, feeling bruised and crunchy, but shaking it off as he pranced up the inner workings of the machine and out through the lid, dripping a little.
“Oh, the pain, the paaaain, the gift of pain,” Pinky sang. “Reaking, stinging, that’ll leave a stain.”
He bounced, bounced, bounced across the smoking rifles being fired at his men who were crouching behind cover to the best of their ability, and he landed on the second tank. Pinky managed to clap the shell back into the tank gun as they finally decided to commit to firing it. The engine cracked as he tapped, tapped, tapped the shell around and leapt off just as the ammunition exploded, sending him flying. He lost all control of his body for a minute, freefalling and cackling.
Some of the shrapnel buried itself in his back and he groaned contentedly. Others were reeling as shrapnel tore into them, bringing more screams and cries. Pinky joined them as something heavy landed on him, briefly squashing him hard into rubble and stones. He rolled around underneath it, his cloak and uniform protecting him from more casual cuts. Pinky craved them and was momentarily disappointed.
He might have to rip his flesh open more once he was done, if he didn’t get more stimulation than this. As Dark Pinky crawled free of his confines, he heard more shouting.
The mercenaries were trying to regroup. Several cocked their semi-automatics at him.
They were finally wary of him. They didn’t know exactly what had happened, everything was more chaotic for them, but there was an understanding that he was fighting back.
“How the… he’s up! No mercy!” a man in a cap snarled.
Dark Pinky batted his eyes. He swiftly leapt towards the one playing commander and landed on top of his semi-automatic rifle with considerable grace, his cape flowing broadly and delicately behind him, his hips swaying as he found balance. Pinky was giggling. The man blanched.
“Egad! No mercy? Really?” Pinky asked, slowly walking up the rifle towards him. “Bwahaha!”
“Send this bastard to hell!” he snapped, trying to sound more in control than he felt.
“Well, how about I send you to hell? It’s a real pleasure, they’ll treat you right!” Pinky said.
They shot at him as Pinky launched himself at the guy’s face, seeing the panic therein. Some of them stopped firing when they realized the dilemma; others decided it was a worthy sacrifice to kill the threat. Pinky bit his eyeball, tasting salt and eye juice as his teeth sank in. It had nothing on some nice savory olives. The man yelped and whacked himself in the face, knocked Pinky silly and spasmed. He only crumpled to the ground after the fact he’d been shot repeatedly finally sunk in. Their gear was reasonable but he wasn’t wearing a helmet.
Pinky could feel him dying in agony and gingerly snapped the man’s neck with a careful twist of his psychic grasp and a twist of his paws. The scientists had done that sometimes to put a dying lab mouse out of its misery, years ago. It was compassionate but these humans didn’t think so.
More ammunition wasted. His minions also took more careful shots in the confusion. One of his minions was hit but would probably live if he ended this quickly.
Pinky started bouncing, pinballing around his psychic platforms, yanking on nearby legs with his glowing grip, swinging humans into humans, bowling over others, scattering them, sending them screaming, laughing. Blood sprayed, bones cracked, muscles sprained.
One unfortunate idiot managed to grab hold of him when Dark Pinky got a little too close, he didn’t think they’d have those kinds of reflexes. The spiky shoulder pads caught his wrist, and Pinky mauled him with tooth and claw; this one didn’t have any protective gloves on. The man let go of him and he tumbled away. Dark Pinky was small, not an easy target. He grabbed another human himself this time, climbed up, pulled the trigger when they didn’t want to, and admired the gore at close range in a distant way.
He danced between them, in the air, on the ground, across their bodies, flinging, flung, spiraling.
It exhausted him. There was so much happening but he kept track just enough not to lose the upper hand. He cackled and groaned with each new wave of nausea, fear, and delicious pain that he and they experienced. He was yelling things that he didn’t think he’d ever say. He didn’t know where it came from, but it was all him. His throat felt raw.
Dark Pinky was panting by the time he could say it had ended. He’d lost track of what he’d done. He’d been bopped on the head and relented. The ones who could run decided to run. Some grabbed injured comrades and dragged them back to distant vehicles. He let them go.
Two simply gave up, begging in the filthy dirt, saying they surrendered. Pinky stared at them vacantly, their suffering washing over him, dulling the physical release. The adrenaline left him.
He grabbed his head. He stared down between his sturdy platform boots, noting the red spatter all over them and the thick smear on his unitard pant leg. The agony tugged at his stomach.
His minions rushed over, making sure it wasn’t a ploy. They captured the injured mercs who remained where they were, too exhausted, no longer the slightest bit opportunistic.
Pinky collapsed to his knees. A dull sting shot up his body, no longer as appetizing but the only pleasurable thing his mind could scramble for. He began to pant harder. Tears stung his eyes.
Why did he do this?
Everyone else felt silent. Pinky’s own thoughts were too loud, criticizing himself, condemning his actions, wailing, wondering what the fuck he was going to do now, wondering why he would ever be put in this position. Why had Pinky and the Brain doomed so many lives over and over again? In different ways, at different times, with different methods. Who had actually been worse? Dark Pinky or Dark Brain? Was it even a fair competition?
The world was a desolate smoky watery trash heap. He hated it. The world hated it.
Everyone hated him. No one hated him. Pinky hated himself sometimes. Especially now.
He was so pathetically disgusting. He didn’t need to do this. What had come over him?
The anger and the despair had seeped in from these people, scrabbling at his own mind, tugging him down into the pits he’d put them into.
“Sir, we’ve secured the prisoners,” one of his minions whispered.
It wasn’t a whisper but it felt like one. It drew him back to his senses though.
Dark Pinky nodded blankly, his voice small and faint. “Thank you.”
There would be no struggle. He glanced at those corpses littering the ground. The tanks steamed and sparked. They’d need to heal their captives and clean up this mess. Maybe take the scrap for spare parts.
Pinky hissed as he had trouble rolling back onto his feet. His injured haunch buckled. The brief stabbing sensation that shot up his wet flank again was sweet; the feeling of being weak, destabilized, and disoriented wasn’t.
“Do you need help, sir?”
“Yes, please!” he said. “I need a medic.”
He had been carried out and he would be carried back in, but this time he couldn’t walk.
At least he still had someone to tend to him, others to cradle him, and then perhaps his own fingers or toes jammed into his mouth if that wasn’t enough.
The calm after the storm was dreadful.
He almost wished he’d considered this enough of a threat to call for backup.
Maybe he should’ve. Someone else there to keep him in check. Or to cut loose as well so he wouldn’t feel as guilty, as if this was all his fault. It was his fault that he’d failed at his one job, the only thing that he was good at. Being a leader. Being a compassionate arbiter.
Pinky didn’t like this side of himself. He needed time to recover, emotionally as well as physically. The sympathy, gratitude, and hesitant pride of his minions slowly beat against him like waves and he closed his eyes, relaxing into it mentally, resting, limp and dejected, in their hands. It would do for now.
He could sense that Mona had returned from hunting for food, swimming up through the submersible entrance as she often did, and she was panicking after feeling the world shake, her suckers scrambling. She was reading Julia’s thoughts, searching for answers there, because she was the one most often sitting at surveillance cameras of course. His spouses were all worried, they were going to rush out to see him as soon as he was safe and secure inside.
They had similar thoughts. Appreciation, relief that Pinky was alive, disgust for his actions, but also love for him. Always love. Right?
He hoped it was enough. That he was enough. He didn’t know what would happen if it wasn’t.
Dark Pinky would seek out those sweet and wondrous thoughts, loving things, tenderness, awe. He’d ask for them if he was brave enough, hope they’d be spoken aloud or shown in other ways, not rejecting him, and he would accept them with as much grace as he could muster.
He had to protect those feelings, those thoughts too. They were so delicate and easily destroyed. So hard to nurture without help.
He curled up into a ball of blood and unshed tears. He glanced down at his gloved paws, clenching his fingers like talons, seized with another fit of anxiety.
Oh he hated it; he hated himself. How could he even be nurturing when he was so destructive sometimes, when he reveled in it, and yet so greedy for all those good thoughts? Did he ever deserve them? Why was it so easy to be skewered on the bad ones? Had anything he’d done truly been clever or kind?
Pinky winced. His soul hurt much worse than his leg and his back did as he shifted forcefully.
Brain would play him the tiniest violin in a mocking way if he could. Pinky chuckled and wheezed.