As the rows upon rows of angry crimson lamps flickered on, nervous; hot breaths clawed within Roach’s chest. What were they planning there? What was there to find? He’d been fighting their forces for so long, what was he going to find there.
The last light, a singular sickly yellow, shone downwards like a tower amongst the dying-ember rows. And there, beneath the lonely spotlights, weeping red blood from his body, was a figure impaled on a crucifix spike, a man with a missile for a head in a suit, hanging limply.
“You’re too late.” The figure said.
Roach stepped forward. “What do you mean, too late?”
The figure looked up at him, craning his bowed head with an unsettling wet noise. “You’re too late, they’ve left here already.” His voice sounded like some impressionist’s parody of Richard Nixon..” Got a new base, a new plan, a new proxy stooge-in-chief for that fucker Principle. But you won’t have President Nuke to kick around anymore, I tell you that.”
The breath left Roach’s body all at once. All this, all this suffering; all this fighting, for a dead end. But he remembered that name. And what he had done.
“But,” said President Nuke, “If you’d kindly undo me, from this situation, I might be able to assist you. A realpolitik, enemy mine if you w-”
He was promptly interrupted by Roach dashing up to Nuke and grabbing him by the throat “Here’s a better idea you shit-filled soup can!” Roach said. Fire flew from behind him, sparks flew from his words, “You tell me where they are, and I don’t lower you down further onto this spike!” Flashing tears dropped from his eyes “I saw what you did to those people! I saw how you sent them to fight me, to die! Victims versus victims, that’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it?!
“Now, calm down.” Nuke said “We may compromise-”
“With you?!” The flames around Roach grew hotter. “I’d rather die than kill my soul for your bullshit”
“Funny, I thought I saved their souls.”
“Roach stepped back, puzzled. “What the fuck do you mean?!”
Nuke shifted his head, making tisk-tisk noises and sighing, ”I gave them a simple dose of reality. By being joined with us, they were participating in the future. By dying for us, they were given hope.”
A wave of nausea surged down every nerve of Roach’s body, hearing that calm, quiet voice.
“Because,” Nuke continued, “compromise is life. Compromise is pain. And pain is life. We were simply cutting out the middleman.”
Roach charged forward and grabbed him. “You sick fuck!”
Nuke was nonchalant. “Even if you were going to push me down into the spike, I still would win. Long live pain. Long live death. Without it, we’d be nothing but… cyborgs.” And then, Nuke began to laugh.
As Roach was about to push him down, there was a click in the background. The sickening yellow light around nuke began to grow brighter. And brighter. And brighter. And consumed them both...
It was a battlefield, not a dream; not a hoax; not quite all there. A landscape of ground made of mirrors, with soldiers of shards and artillery of bleeding glass. And the crucified figure of President Nuke loomed above it all; gigantic.
“You didn’t think we’d have let you arrive without leaving something for you to remember us by!” Nuke’s voice came, booming from all around like a hi-fi demirge “There’s no Valhalla here, but you’re sure as fuck going to get a Viking funeral when you go down in flames!”
President Nuke laughed his harsh, hateful laugh. The flames flared up around Red Hot Roach’s body. This was gonna be one helluva fight...
BTW, feel free to add commentary on what you'd want changed for this drabble before it truly "drops" tomorrow! Thanks, and I hope y'all like it!