10/06/2015

As a note before any new readers begin this story, or to communicate to any of my present readers who have ventured back to the very beginning, I wish to establish a few things that I have mentioned throughout conversations and chapters that I've posted over the three years since I began this trilogy. This is also posted on my profile page, but if you're like me, once you see a story you don't actually look at the profile page until after you've read, (if at all), so it's a good idea in my estimation to stick it in here too, at the very beginning. :)

My intention with writing in the movie universe - aside from creating a story, and making an attempt at portraying characters that I have an indelible link with, as well as honing my writing skills - is to in essence, 'fix up' the numerous technical, characterisation and storyline errors that occurred in the farce that was Thunderbirds 2004.

There are things that I did like about that film - not the least that it was my first real introduction to the concept of International Rescue and the Tracy boys, if grossly misinterpreted beyond the vague recollections I had of 90s reruns. I loved the updated depiction of the craft, the bright, colourful interpretation of Tracy Island, I adored the updates to the uniforms, and the incorporation of helmets and basic protective gear that the original series never had, and I also loved the fact that three actors that I had immense respect for, played three of the most iconic characters brought from the original series. However, as we know, there were a number of problems and issues that most certainly did not give any credence or indeed, any respect to that iconic original. The fact that we were stuck with three teenagers - one of whom never actually existed originally - and dumped into a world where those three unqualified, frankly spoiled children were apparently 'forced' to save the day, how they made no reference to Grandma, a force of nature and an important character in her own right and how characters were either de-aged and over-aged, quite frankly sucked. I hated how four of the brothers had barely any screen time other than being stuck up on a space station and made to flail helplessly, more or less, when IR is meant to have an agent's network that could have assisted them in exactly that sort of scenario. The fact that those Thunderbirds machines are able to be filmed, where in the original, utmost secrecy and the wiping of tapes were implemented, well, that was almost the worst part... Those are just the tip of the iceberg.

So yes, the 2004 movie is scorned by some people, and that is perfectly okay, but my aim is a writer is to find a way to solve the puzzle of those self-same issues, to create a reasonable, believable plot to repair some of the damage that the film created, to use my own original story to depict the Tracys in the way that I feel they should have been portrayed, how they should have been closely developed as a salute to the original series that started it all.

As a writer, I am a firm believer in writing what you want to write, using and manipulating the tools in front of you to work for you and create something that you are not only proud to have written, but that you would be happy to read yourself. This is a challenge that I set myself at the age of nineteen, and is still in the works, three years later. I have four other trilogies planned for this universe, both set before and after this one to round out the 'Bound-verse' as I have named it, in it's entirety, so in all likelihood I will still be here ten years from now, completing it to the extent I wish it to be, but I am enjoying every moment of it.

With that in mind, should you be willing to put aside your prejudices and begin to read my fanworks, I wish to tell you that I have altered some things with character appearances, some situations and references to the film in order to more fully translate into a believable fic, that also pays respect to the 60s original, as should have been done in the first place.

- Gordon, yes, has green eyes, Virgil hazel, and Scott blue-violet ones in these stories, which are a fan tweak of my own, recognising the differences between tv and that film, and therefore adding my own little touches. However, their hair colours are the same as the film, except for Gordon's - who having been very indignant at discovering they'd not gotten a redhead to play him, I refused to think of as anything but a ginger (damn you, Thunderbirds Are Go, though I do adore you for you your other improvements!) - you will learn the explanation for that in due time, taken in complete and utter wow-that's-awesome shamelessness from Darkhelmetj's fantastic Movie-verse fanfiction, The Winds of Advent. Scott still gets shot down in the Air Force - in accordance with the Bereznik references in the old Thunderbirds comics, though it is Afghanistan in my stories, due to the lack of information on said comics.

- Also, as in Original Series canon, as specified by Chris Bentley's The Complete Book of Thunderbirds, Gordy still has his hydrofoil accident, despite the younger ages (as sourced from Alex Pang's Thunderbirds: X-Ray Cross Sections - part of the official film merchandise released in 2004). In referring to this, as of March 2058, when this fic is set, Scott is twenty-five, John is twenty-two, Virgil is twenty, Gordon is eighteen and Alan (much as it irritates the life out of me) is fourteen. Tin-Tin is fifteen, and Fermat (ew), twelve. Explanations for my keeping in line with those movie-verse correlations are featured with further reasoning within this set of stories.

- I have also, with her permission, made subtle references to That Girl Six's backstory for Scott, which you will see if you also peruse my multiple oneshots with the tag 'Boundverse' in their summaries, which, yay, new readers! aside, I do recommend you look at for information's sake.

- I have adopted for Grandma, the fan-created moniker of 'Ruth', as there has never been a canonical name for her, and that beautifully rustic, reliable name suits her as well as any. My credit for that goes to the writer who first referred to her as such, Samantha Winchester. As far as the use of the Mercury Seven Astronauts' second names as correlating with the Tracys goes, as they were never actually given middle names; I'm not sure who actually started that one (I think it was Little Miss Bump, maybe), but if anyone does know of the original source, please feel free to enlighten me, because I would love to give credit where credit is due.

So. If you have slogged your way through this essay, an extremely heartfelt thank-you, and whether you do choose to read on or not, I appreciate the time you have given me. If you do honour me by continuing on, please feel free to contact me with any errors and/or discrepancies you find, because aside from chapter five onwards of Part III: Fulcrum, and the majority of my oneshots, all stories posted prior to this date are unbetaed. I hope you enjoy my universe as much as I have enjoyed creating it. I look forward to hearing from you, but most of all, thank you for taking this time. It is extremely humbling.

Yours in love of Tracys, writing, and fandoming,

Darkflame's Pyre.

A/N: This is the start of a multi-chapter fic, and is the direct result of reading way too many T-birds stories, and watching the movie and wondering how John managed to survive the impact to 'Five as unscathed as he did. This is my interpretation and subsequent backstory of what could have occurred had he come out of it worse off. Honestly, I think I'll end up torturing him way more than needed. Oh, well.

Please, read and enjoy!

Space. It is around us all the time. Whether it is the air we breathe, or the infinite reaches of the cosmos that lies beyond our atmosphere, it is always surrounding us, supporting us, but it is also harsh and merciless in response to those who are uncaring of its dangers. I can't remember how old I was when my fascination with it began, but I do remember the day that it almost took the lives of my father and almost every one of my brothers. But most clearly, I recall the day that my greatest love simultaneously destroyed and saved my life.

It ended normally; the day before my world collapsed.

Let me clarify.

My kind of normal is not necessarily what the rest of the planet may call it. You see, I don't even live on the planet ninety per-cent of the year. As the space monitor for a secret organisation that is for all intents and purposes my father's seventh baby, I spend my days on Thunderbird Five; the satellite station that has gained the glorious moniker of 'the tin can' from my brothers.

After I had called in for the 'evening report', my dad had informed me of the day's goings-on on the island, and we had shared an amused shaking of heads over the many similarities between Scott and my youngest brother, Alan. Both of them will fervently deny any such relation barring that of blood if the topic is broached, which I find hilarious.

Many people would consider talking to their father over a vast distance of ocean, air and atmosphere incomprehensibly strange, but that's normal for me.

After signing off the communications link, I ran a practiced eye over the numerous consoles in the control room, and their readouts, confirming that everything was as should be. Then, yawning widely, I stood up, rubbing my gritty eyes.

The oil rig disaster from the early hours of the morning had been a long, tiring affair, and I had no doubt that I would be sleeping soundly. It had taken all of my considerable will just to make it to the relatively early hour of nine-pm.

How I could be so tired from just sitting and talking, I had no idea. I had been more exhausted than usual over the last few weeks, but I figured I could place the blame on the heap of rescues my brothers had been called out to. If I then added the fact that I would be trading places with Virgil in a few short days for my week dirt-side, I wasn't surprised. The three week stretch usually leaves me more tired than not in the last couple of days.

Yawning again as I flicked the light switch to cut the illumination to the control room, I headed to bed. I was asleep as soon as my head dropped onto the pillow.

##

The next morning, as the automated chiming sound that served as my alarm rang into my mind, I groaned in annoyance. Once again, for the sixth time in almost as many days, my bedclothes and sheets were drenched in sweat.

The glitch in the climate system was really screwing with my mind. I couldn't seem to find anything physically wrong with the console in charge of the operation, but I figured that maybe Brains might have more luck, and would be able to repair it.

Making yet another mental note to let my father know of the minor malfunction, I grimaced. This meant another use of the tiny washer and dryer in the room next to the kitchenette. As much as I could do the chore without any major catastrophes —like turning underwear pink, as Gordon was wont to do— men really weren't meant to wash this much.

Okay. So it was only three or four times in the entire three-week cycle that I had to wash my own apparel and bedclothes, but honestly —if you asked me— six times in a row was just getting to be ridiculous.

Making a face at the sensation of damp, sticky material parting from my skin, I drew myself out from beneath the blankets and sheets, planting my bare feet on the rug that covered the floor of my sleeping quarters. Drawing myself up to my full five-foot-eleven height, I held still as the now-expected headrush disoriented me for a moment. Not a second later, it had formed into a low-grade headache. As it was easy to ignore, I rolled my head on my shoulders and headed to the tiny bathroom.

##

Twenty minutes later found me showered and dressed in a fresh flight suit; the clothes washer on, and my too-long platinum-blonde hair swept back with the last dregs of my hair gel. Glancing at the clock as I settled into my chair in the control room, with my breakfast of hot, instant coffee balanced on my knee, I was amazed to see how long I'd slept. It was ten am. I had had over twelve hours sleep, though I felt only a little less tired than the night before.

Looking at the mug in front of me, I briefly considered the thought that maybe I should have more caffeine to keep me awake, but then I grinned to myself, shaking my head. As if! I'd be turning into Scott or Dad before I knew it, both of whom would die if they were deprived of the strong black muck they drank for too long.

Reaching forward, I flicked the switch on the nearest console and waited for the system to commence running through the diagnostic scans. Despite the efficiency with which Brains had designed the machines on Thunderbird Five, it would still take a good fifteen to twenty minutes for the checks to be completed to ensure that everything was running smoothly.

My headache was getting worse. I didn't know if it was because I hadn't drunk enough water, or because my brain had decided that it had had too much shut-eye, but I decided that some Tylenol wouldn't hurt. I made one last check of the weather screen, and went to rise, intending to head over to the medicine kit over on the far side of the room.

It happened quite suddenly.

"Warning!" The shrill klaxon-like alarm of the proximity alarms blared into my mind. "Impact imminent!" Without thinking, amid the cacophony of sound and the blood red of the flashing lights from the screen to my left, I lunged forward to the button that would link me to base.

"Thunderbird Five to Tracy Island! Mayday! Mayd-!" I was cut off as I felt myself get blown off my feet.

Half-realising that I was tumbling through the air, I reached out for something, anything that might have possibly hold enough weight to prevent me from slamming into the consoles nearest the airlock.

Howling incoherently as time seemed to stop in its tracks, I felt most of my back and side impact with something hard, rattling my teeth in my head. It sent a wave of indescribable agony tearing through me a split second before the back of my head cracked into the wall, sending me plummeting into darkness.