Original series Suitable for all readersMedium level of violence

The Kinslayer

A Captain Scarlet story

by Amy Rawe a.k.a. Captain Violet


You look through eyes that are not yours. You were woken in one of your deaths (you do not remember which one, you only remember regaining consciousness), but it did not get rid of them. You see horrors every day. Hundreds, thousands are dying. And all by your hands.

No. Not your hands. If they were truly your hands, you’d be able to move them. You’d be able to fight back against this alien presence in your body, your mind, your very soul. But you can’t. All you can do is watch. You have no limbs left to lash out with, you don’t even have a mouth to scream, despite what you have heard them say. ‘He might be alive… If he is, he’s screaming’. Ha. If you could laugh, you would. You’re alive, you feel pain and emotion, yet is this truly living? It’s almost as if you are trapped inside a robot, helpless to do anything except watch as it destroys your world.

Wait… you are. This… thing is a robot. A copy of you, a mere shadow. You see its pallid face in passing glass panes and it still feels like a blow to your gut every time. Well, the gut you once had anyway. But that burned a long time ago, so that, like everything else, only exists in your mind. What little is left of that. The little that is being steadily torn down with each passing day, each new atrocity. Each new innocent, ruthlessly slaughtered to fulfil the Mysteron’s plans. Each new look of hatred those who were once your friends look at you with now.

Although… some of them are not so bad. Those closest to you seem to see past the pallid, enslaved exterior. To the real you. And at those moments, you fight. You never win, but it feels so much better to at least try.

And sometimes you have a moment to yourself. They started when you began to fight, as if the Mysterons- on realising you were there- had decided to torture you further by letting you go free for a moment, then snatching it away again. Maybe, just maybe, you can use those. With practice, you might even be able to control those moments.

It’s worth a try.

It has taken you weeks, but you have finally mastered it, although you can only ever have a few moments. At last you can control when they appear, even though it is so draining it takes days before you can fight back once more. So you wait. Until they can make the freedom permanent.


Finally, the day has come. You face Adam, standing less than a metre away from him and holding his electron gun, when you wrench the body back into your control and gasp his name. That awful sepulchral tone is gone, and he hears the difference.


“No time.” You look him in the eye. “Shoot me. Now.”


“Adam! I’ve only got a few minutes before I’m one of them again and I’m telling you –  kill me! This may be your only chance.” He looks pained, but takes back his gun.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smile, knowing it will be over soon. He raises the gun.

“Good bye Paul.” Before the electron blast and his pain buy your eternal freedom.




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