There is such a thing as Hellraiser/Star Trek fanfiction.
It’s not actually as surreal as I expected — and not just because the Borg and Clive Barker’s Cenobites clearly shop from the same closet.
Actually, Hellraiser’s demon-summoning puzzle box makes quite a nice symbol for Star Trek’s main theme of humans grappling with the unexpected dangers of technology.
Instead of a puzzle box, the Trek characters have puzzles, a different one every week: a spaceborne malady, an inscrutable alien culture, an engine malfunction. In Star Trek, though, solving the puzzle always leads to a happy end. In Hellraiser, solving the puzzle leads to, well, Hell.
Whether a character is deliberately trying to reach the Cenobite world (read: purposeful technological development) or just tinkering innocently with what they think is an ordinary toy (unchannelled human curiosity), conquering the box triggers their doom. If only the Cenobites would obey the prime directive!
(Puzzling — and mockable — story excerpt after the jump.)
The Cenobites’ scorn for Star Trek values fills these fanfic authors with glee. They love the idea of Barker’s characters smearing gore all over Trek’s optimistic, sterile world. Viz the following, from cenobite.com:
CHALLENGERS by BGM
Which Trek: Deep Space Nine
What happens: After ignoring the Cardassian Garak’s warnings about the box, Dr. Julian Bashir gets chained up and buggered by Garak and Garak’s brother (?) “Frank” (!?) while Pinhead & Co. laugh at them.
Notable cheese: “those lurid, dark tales of yestercenturies,” “the room was unforgivingly kindling a sense of impending dread in his soul,” “Garak looked down at the long, slender sex, quivering with need…for him…” [ellipses in original. Oh, and the “sex” is a penis. Which is apparently shaped like a vanilla bean.]
Notable insults to the writer’s craft: “his deathly pallor broken only by grizzly wounds,” “confectioned” as a verb.
There were several slabs of granite lining a wall, and countless candles kindled with shuddering pale light. Julian paused and turned, finding the door gone. He frowned, tracing his fingers absently over the seamless surface. “Like a holosuite …”
Frank tugged at his arm, flinging him against one of the slabs. Julian landed hard, whimpering at the pain. Frank merely sneered. “I have spent eternity in this damnable place … alone … suffering unimaginable tortures.” He gave voice to a derisive chuckle.
Julian looked at him silently, unable to find something appropriate to say.
I sympathize. What is “appropriate” in that situation? I know I’d wind up putting my foot in my mouth — literally!