KARKAT ⇒ HAVE A SHITTY FUCKING DAY AT WORK
Karkat swallows thickly, staring at his boots as the transport rolls down unevenly paved streets, jostling with every movement. The other soldiers are talking amongst themselves, a soft murmur that their commander up front would surely snap at if he’d bothered to cram himself back here with them like canned fish.
He’s not looking forward to today.
He traces his fingers over the sword at his waist. Standard Alternian issue, every one of the soldiers had one. No rifles for lowbloods, after all. Couldn’t risk them firing at their supervisors. His traitorous blood pusher jumps in his chest as the window separating them from the driver’s side opens, and an irritable indigo blooded commander scowls at them until it goes silent. “Stick to the plan from the briefing. Get in, sweep the houses, round up the lowbloods for questioning. One of them has been sheltering enemies of the Condesce, and we’re going to figure out which one. Hold your fire -” One of the soldiers opens his mouth to point out, not for the first time, that they have swords and nothing to fire, but a withering glare makes him snap it shut again. “You’re all good, productive members of society, so you shouldn’t see any familiar faces. And if you do, you don’t. “ Not for the first time, Karkat feels like everyone can see through his disguise. They know, they all fucking know and he’s going to get culled - The transport finally stops. Karkat rubs a hand across his face, following the rest of the soldiers outside. One of them stops and Karkat nearly bowls them over, his brows furrowing in irritation. “Hey, what the fuck are you -” He pauses then, and realizes the soldier is staring at the culling drone down the street. Oh fuck.
At least he doesn’t have to school his expression into a nonchalant one, all the footsoldiers look just as fucking thrilled about it being here. After all, most of them are lowbloods, trying to make their way in a society stacked against them. Their commander rolls his eyes, ushering them further down the street. “Unclench your waste chutes, they’re here for any sympathizers we find. “
Sure, easy for him to say, the big bastard. Karkat had only managed to survive the culling drones visit to procure buckets for the slurry by taking on a series of offworld deployments, making sure he was conveniently unable to provide each season.
“Vantas, Cherog, you take this hive. Round them up, bring them out here for questioning, look for anything out of place.” “Yes, sir.” Karkat bites, trying not to roll his eyes. He can’t fucking stand Cherog. He’s a towering pile of barkbeast shit on a good day, and spends too much time throwing his stupid blood color around in drills instead of actually bothering to get something done for once in his useless insipid life. Blue blood wasn’t even that much higher than Karkat was anyway! Well, as far as he knew. “I’ll lead.” Cherog says, because of course he does. Karkat sighs irritably, staring up at the hive in front of him. “Whatever, I don’t give a shit. Let’s get this over with.” The two of them take the cracked path to the door, which looks to have been repaired a few times. Lowblooded neighborhoods were always a shitshow, and honestly, Karkat’s own shitty fucking hive is no exception.
Cherog pounds on the door like some sort of ape, and Karkat once again has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees the other soldiers hard at work, knocking on doors and heading inside. He turns his gaze back forward when the shouting starts, quickly followed by screaming. Great. Fantastic. Cherog pounds again, his brows starting to knit in irritation. “OPEN UP, ALTERNIAN MILITARY.” His pounding isn’t helping the door’s pathetic grip on its hinges. “Maybe they’re not home.” Karkat says, extremely helpfully. Incredibly. The most helpful he could be at this moment, possibly, worth a gold fucking star. “It doesn’t matter if they’re home or not.” The larger troll grunts, taking a step back. “Get out of my way so I can kick the door down.” Karkat moves out of the way because the last way he wants to die is by being crushed by a giant moron. (His mind jumps to John’s stupid doofus face for a moment, and he tries to put him out of his mind just as quickly.) “We could check around back, most have rear en-” Cherog kicks the door down with a loud bang as Karkat is in the middle of suggesting his solution, because his thinkpan is fucking empty and he’s not going to do anything that takes more thought power generated by a wriggler. There are no immediate sounds as the two of them step into the hive. Karkat is almost relieved - it’s possible they really aren’t home. Whoever they are, they’d gotten out. Cherog trudges up the stairs while Karkat ensures there’s no one downstairs. There are two respite blocks, and a room with one of the sorriest excuses for an ablution trap he’s ever seen. He leans against the side of it, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror. Olive green eyes stare back at him, once more reassuring him of his safety. It helps more of the nervousness leave him, and he exhales a quiet sigh of relief. Someone screams upstairs. Hissing out a string of curses that would make the most weathered seafaring trolls blush, Karkat bursts out of the block and heads for the stairs. One of the doors is open, and Cherog has two half dressed rust bloods backed into the corner, sword drawn. “They were hiding up here, they’re probably hiding something.” “Or you scared the shit out of them by kicking their door open.” Karkat snaps, stepping further into the room. “Did you even bother to ask them anything or were you too busy swinging your bulge around to notice? You.”
He addresses the troll with longer hair, because their counterpart looks liable to piss their fucking pants. “Alternian Military, we’re doing a sweep for enemies of the condescence. There’s an officer outside who will officially question you. Why didn’t you answer the door?” The two share a guilty look, before the long haired troll frantically starts speaking. “We’re - he’s my matesprit, we were, um-” She swallows, flicking her eyes to the right. Karkat follows the gaze, and sees an empty bucket. Ugh. He wrinkles his nose, trying to maintain his composure. “Next time, just put your bulges away and answer the door.” Cherog is less than pleased, but trudges off to do his job. Karkat rubs a hand down his face, waiting patiently as the two trolls get re-dressed. He starts leading them down the stairs, the two of them going before him. Thankfully he gets them safely outside and into questioning without further incident. He returns to the hive, and finds it quiet. “Cherog? Where the fuck are you? Normally it sounds like there’s a hoofbeast trampling around.” Karkat jeers, despite knowing Cherog will be a pain in the ass. No answer. What the fuck? “You better not be fucking with me Cherog, I am NOT in the fucking mood.” Still nothing. Karkat groans, reaching to rest his hand on the hilt of his blade as he slowly ascends the stairs, nerves buzzing. The rust bloods’ block is now empty, and three other doors are open. One is a room containing a proper ablution trap, and the other looks like a closet that’s two seconds away from exploding its contents. The third appears to be another respite block. He’s cautious in the way he approaches it, half expecting Cherog to come diving from behind the door and scare the shit out of him for snarking at him earlier. Instead, he steps into room and sees him lying on the floor, throat cut. Karkat hisses another curse, whirling on the spot and drawing his sword just as a troll tries to sneak up behind him with Cherog’s fucking sword, which Karkat hadn’t even noticed missing from his corpse. If he dies because of this gigantic emptypanned fucking waste of slurry, he’s going to be pissed.
The two of them clash swords, but it’s clear that this guy has no fucking clue what he’s doing. His stance, his grip - it’s all amateur, fueled nothing but the instinct to - His eyes meet Karkat’s, and fuck him sideways they’re the brightest shade of yellow he’s ever seen, nearly blinding. Karkat manages to get a slice at his arm as the troll backs away, and his gnawing suspicion is confirmed. Neon yellow blood seeps out of the wound, and the troll bares his fangs, focused on survival. Of course. The rusts must have been covering for him while he was finding somewhere to hide. They’re all going to get culled. Muffled thumps come up the stairs, and Karkat makes the mistake of looking for half a second. The mutant surges forward, and Karkat only just barely manages to get out of the way, the sword embedding in the wall next to him. Unfortunately, it’s good and stuck and the troll realizes his mistake, frantically backpedaling. “Please - I won’t tell anyone.” He starts, and Karkat’s blood runs cold. How in Alternia had he of all people been the person chosen to be standing here? His grip on his sword wavers a little, throat constricting. They’re the same, except Karkat had either the best or worst luck possible. “Look, I-” “Vantas!” Another voice echoes through the house, and he realizes it’s his commander. Fuck. His eyes flicker desperately around the room, but the one window is sealed shut with planks. Probably to keep peering eyes from gazing in. He can’t just let him run past him, because he’ll run right into - “Vantas, there you - Shit, is that Cherog?” The commander has his rifle at the ready, and he quickly trains it on the lowblood. “Yes, sir.” Karkat answers, wishing he could leave his own body for a while. Maybe he can come back when he’s back at his hive. Or never. “He stayed inside while I escorted the rustbloods out, and this goldblood killed him.”
Maybe his commander is a moron and won’t notice, but it’s a ridiculous thought. The older troll snorts, still keeping his rifle trained on the mutant. “Are you blind? That’s not a goldblood, that’s a mutant. Look at it’s fucking eyes.” Karkat swallows again, gripping his sword so tight he’s surprised his arm isn’t shaking. “Say, you ever cull a troll, Vantas?” “No, sir.” He says stiffly, already getting the sinking feeling he knows where this is going. The commander laughs, even as the mutant starts to panic, scrabbling backwards against the opposite wall. Neon yellow tears slip down his cheeks as he begs, promises he’ll never tell a soul, he’s a good troll, he can contribute- “We’ll make a proper soldier out of you yet. Go ahead. Cut it down.” Fuck. Fuck. Karkat looks back at his commander for a brief moment, trying to school his expression from one of incredulity to anger. “Don’t we have drones for that, sir?” “Yeah, but we’re here and the drone is up in another hive. Do it, Vantas. That’s a fucking order.” Yeah, he’ll take that exit from his body now. Karkat doesn’t want to do this, but the alternative? Being a sympathizer and getting culled himself? He swallows again, steeling himself as he stares down the mutant troll in front of him. He tries to make it quick, but the troll won’t stop running, won’t stop frantically trying to get away. Karkat ends up driving his sword into him at least 10 times - he’s not sure, he’s not really focused on counting.
It’s a relief when the mutant finally stops moving, even as Karkat feels like he’s going to empty his entire breakfast onto the floor. There’s neon blood all over the walls. His blade, his uniform. Literally mutant blood on his hands, even as he tries to wipe them off on his pants. “Good job, Vantas.” His commander laughs, clapping a hand on his shoulder like Karkat has just set a new record for marching formation and not killed someone. “Thanks, sir.” He mutters, biting his tongue to try to keep the tears back. He has to pull himself together - he’s killed before, fuck, it was the whole job, but… It could have just as easily been him on the floor, begging for his life. He’s quiet as his commander leads him outside, tells him to wait in the truck while they finish up. Turns out leaving his body is pretty easy, because Karkat will later not remember much of anything up until he’s in his apartment, peeling out of his bloodsoaked clothes while trying not to stain the floor. In the ablution block, he stares at his hands, watching the neon yellow go down the drain.
