The Ratings War IV: Paradise City
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I'm thinking I'll have to post my story in parts; I don't think I can write 7-15 pages worth of metal beam-y goodness in an hour and a half. That being said, I'm still not %100 sure how I'm going to do it. The biggest problem with Gabriel is he's supposed to be a solitary character; him interacting with other people is usually limited to a general passing of information and snide remarks at the other people's expense (usually at the same time). I'm not sure how to make it work for these guys.
I dunno. I'll figure something out.
'pologies.
I dunno. I'll figure something out.
'pologies.
The Gold King tore his gaze away from Gabriel, now paying attention to their announcer. "I'm sorry, what?"
"We're hunting down a manticore that tells riddles." Gabriel said. "In a cave filed with poisonous plants and animals. And a metal that assymilates other materials."
"Will there be gold?" The Gold King asked.
"No, it will have been asymilated by the metal-assymilating metal." Gabriel replied.
"So...yes?"
Gabriel shook his head. "Sure, wh-"
"I'm in."
Gabriel turned to Corckscrew Nick. "What about you? Is there some crazy thing about this that brings water to your mouth?"
"I do love me a good riddle, Metal Angel." Nick replied.
"...lemmie guess, a redneck-"
"I was being alliterative for dramatic purposes, friend. No need to make enemies."
Gabriel turned to the hostess. "Can I forefit?"
"You would be turned loose in an entire city that wants you dead."
"I'll assume you saw what I did to the cosmic horror your benefactor invited here?"
"Yes, it was all over the news, your point?"
"What do you mean what's the point?" Tom asked. "Gabriel can own anything that moves. Did you see-?"
"That may be, but can he 'own' a hundred million of said moving things?"
"Well, I'll bet you fifty bucks-"
"Tom, enough. I'll go, but I won't like it." Gabriel looked to his two...allies? Enemies? This whole thing was unnessecarally confusing. "I'll meet the two of you out there. Take care not to get yourselves killed."
Tom got up. "Hey, what about-"
"You're staying here." Gabriel replied. "For your own saftey. I don't want you traveling with...these two."
Tom sighed, and sat back down. "Alright. But I don't have to like it."
"Agreed." Gabriel said, and flew off.
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In hindsight it may have been easier and more effective to have Tom ask someone where the cave was. It took him hours of flying around to find it; Nick was already there by the time he touched the ground, sitting on a rock around a handful of dead bodies. "Where's The Gold King?"
"I tossed a gold coin in front of a moving car." Nick said. "He chased it."
"Wait, what? You killed him?"
"As it were, an attractive young woman in a green blouse killed him."
"It was unnessecary."
"His good rememberence lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb."
"All's Well That Ends Well; Act One Scene II."
"A fan of Shakespear?"
"No, but a friend of mine is."
Nick shrugged. "Shall we go?"
Gabriel walked into the cave. Nick got up and followed. "Do we have a plan?"
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The GOLD King huffed as he walked up to the cave. That bastard Corckscrew Nick had tricked him, throwing that GOLD coin in front of a moving car that also happened to be GOLD. But that hadn't killed him; it hadn't even slowed him down. Neither had the cops that had come to arrest him. Or their dogs. Or their dog's dogs. Not guns or tranqualizers or frigin' rocket launchers could stop The GOLD King; his love of GOLD was too powerful.
That being said, The GOLD King had gotten lost after emerging, gasping, from the pile of bodies he had acumulated. After wandering around for a bit, The GOLD King pulled over a GOLD car and told him that if he didn't take him to the entrance of Death cave, he would stab him with his GOLD sword of GOLD.
So here he was, standing in front of the cave. Maybe it was a cave of pure GOLD. There was no way to find out except to look, so The GOLD King went in.
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"Plan is, I own anything that moves." Gabriel said, unfolding his blasters. "With these."
"Disdaining Fortune, with his brandish'd steel, which smoked with bloody execution, like valour's minion, carv'd out his passage."
"So to speak." Gabriel replied. "This has to be the strangest cave I've ever seen."
The cave was strange, in that it did not appear to be a cave. It appeared more to be an extended basement, sloping down slowly until it was out of sight. The walls were painted, the floor was concrete, and the celing had a florecent light every twenty feet or so.
"If I were a jester," Nick said, "I would suppose this was not a cave. If I were a jester."
Gabriel walked forward at a leisurely pace; Nick followed. "Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubb-"
"Wouldn't that be more appropriate if it was dark? Or creepy?"
"Does not the solidarity of this place bother you?"
"I like my privacy."
"If I was a jester-"
"You would suppose that would be more appropriate if I were alone?"
"Something like that."
Gabriel said nothing, and they walked along in silence. Eventually, they both said nothing.
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The GOLD King had been walking for some time in pursuit of GOLD. Sadly he had found none; but he was not disheartened! In fact, he was more resolute than ever! The less GOLD he found along the way, the more GOLD there was bound to be at the end. And that meant more GOLD!. The GOLD King loved GOLD! So he truged along the brightly-lit, non-GOLD cave, optimistic in his future GOLD prospects.
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"I find these long silences agitating at best." Nick said.
Gabriel gave Nick a hard look, and continued walking.
"If I may make a more serious observation..." Nick said, walking beside Gabriel. "I see neither flora nor fauna, both of which we were told to be wary of. Mayhap there are none, and we are being led along?"
"There's something alive further along in this cave." Gabriel replied. "I can see them up ahead."
"Is that so? Be they flora or fauna?"
"If I were a jester, I would say Fauna. They're to warm to be plants."
"Are you mimicing me, perchance?" Nick asked.
"Try not to get too flattered."
Just then, two poweful looking men jumped out from...well, somewhere. They weren't there before, that was certain. On of them was tall, powerful, muscled; the other was taller, powerful-er, darker and muscled-er-er.
"My name is Fauna!" The muscled man said, flexing.
"My name is Flora!" The muscled-er man said flexing-er.
Striking a pose, they said together, "And we're...FLORA AND FAUNA!"
Seconds passed. Nick burst out into laughter. Gabriel sighed, "You have got to be fucking joking. Please tell me you're joking."
"Hey!" Fauna said. "Don't take us lightly!"
"We both have very special skills in fighting!" Flora said.
"I have the power to transform into fauna!" Fauna said.
"And I have the power to rhyme with my brothah!" Flora said.
Gabriel turned to Nick. "I think we could manage to rhyme, too."
"'And one will tell nothing but lies to you...'" Nick replied.
Gabriel stared at him quizically. "What was that?"
"A refrence."
"I don't get it."
"You must not have the internet."
"Damn it."
"In any case," Nick said, spreading his arms. "My friend has a special power, as well!"
"I can blast anything that moves straight to hell." Gabriel said, pointing his blaster at Fauna. "I would suggest you get out of our way."
"Else your lives end today."
Gabriel turned to Nick. "I didn't say I would kill them..."
"What do you plan to do then?" Nick asked.
"Maybe just beat the crap out of 'em." Gabriel said, shrugging.
"As if we would let that happen!" Fauna said, flexing. "And quit doing that! You're making us look bad!"
"Yeah," Flora said. "I'm the only one that's supposed to be able to do that!"
"We're adding injury to insult." Nick said.
"...what?" Gabriel asked.
"QUIT IT!" Fauna yelled. "THAT'S UNBELIEVABLY ANNOYING!"
"AND QUIT DOING WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING!"
Fauna turned to Flora. "YOU QUIT THAT GOD-AWFUL RHYMING, TOO!"
"I'M SORRY, THERE'S NOT MUCH ELSE I CAN DO!" Fauna replied.
"I CAN'T HELP YOU LOSING THE SUPERHERO LOTTERY!"
"YOU COULD AT LEAST TREAT ME LIKE A HUMAN BEING!"
"SEE! YOUR DOING IT AGAIN!"
Nick piped in. "I don't think he can help it, friend."
Fauna screamed and turned into a rhino. He then immediately charged at our heroes. Corckscrew Nick fearlessly rushed at Fauna while Gabriel prepaired for the inevetable brawl. Showing an odd sort of bravado, Nick lept, landing on top of Fauna. Grabbing his horn, and with a laughing howl, Nick jerked the horn; Fauna ran into the wall. The entire cavern shook as he fell.
Nick got up and brushed himself off. "It amuses me that you did not offer help"
"I thought you could take it." Gabriel replied.
"STOP DOING THAT!" Flora yelled.
"Or what?" Gabriel said. "Remind me which one of us just KO'd a rhino?"
"Not you." Flora replied.
Gabriel sighed, and said, "Y'know, I could still kill you..."
"I didn't say I would stop you..." Flora said. "Just that I couldn't stand you."
"Surely you can find something better than 'you' to rhyme with." Nick interjected.
"I'M NOT DOING IT ON PURPOSE!" Flora seemed agitated. "I guess I should let you go ahead..."
Nick shrugged. "That would be best."
As they walked past the unconcious Fauna and broken Flora, Nick asked, "I must ask the point of that eneavor..."
"Please tell me we won't be doing this forever..." Gabriel responded. He then slapped himself on the head.
Nick lagued. "No, Metal Angel we will not."
Gabriel looked at Nick, then said, "Orange."
Nick smiled and said, "Porrage."
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The GOLD King was not having a good time, he was not fine and not of a good mind; he heared in his head an infinate rhyme. Not even good rhyme, or properly timed, just horrible, awful, irregular rhyme. Like how the tunnel seemed to be one long line, but there seemed to be nothing ahead to find. Horrible, terrible, awful rhyme. Rhyme, rhyme, rhyme, rhyme, rhyme, rhyme, rhyme, rhyme, rhyme, rhyme. Horrible, awful, motherfucking rhyme.
The GOLD King did not like the word rhyme. He wished he could think of words that rhymed with GOLD. But what on earth could rhyme with GOLD? The way you could hammer it into little FOLDS...the way it could be ROLLED into any MOLD...even the value that GOLD could be SOLD for was, at times, practically UNTOLD...the way it was certainly the BOLDest of metals...no, there were no words that could rhyme with GOLD.
With nothing else to do, The GOLD King continued forward. The tunnles and rhyming were making him bored.
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"Call me crazy," Gabriel said. "But this is getting boring-"
"Hold on," Nick replied. "In the distance, I believe I see something."
Gabriel glared at Nick, hard. "I thought you said we were done with that."
"And indeed we are, Metal Angel." Nick replied. "That was simply a strange coincidende."
Gabriel shrugged. "I think I see it too. Do you think it's the manticore?"
"I could not imagine what else it could possibly be." Nick replied. "This whole thing seems to have been a rather nasty trick..."
"What?" Gabriel asked, crossing his arms.
"We appear to be walking down a tunnel that was intended to be either a mine or some sort of freeway. We were told to beware of 'dangerous Flora and Fauna', but were not told the nature of their...danger. This manticore may be not nearly the threat they and we presume it to be."
"I'd agree with you, except the whole corridor is blocked. Whatever it is, it's big."
Nick looked ahead, squinting. "I hadn't noticed that, Metal Angel. That seems...unfortunate."
Gabriel shrugged as they walked forward, noticing a low rumbling sound. The closer they got, the louder it became, and clearer The Manticore became. It did, in fact, fill up the entire corridor; it was huge. It was also covered half in a golden mane and half in black feathers. A manticore, indeed. A gigantic, sleeping manticore. The low rumbling was the beasts breath going in...and out. The Strangely, no bodies, parts of bodies, or even blood were visible around or even on The Manticore. Nick was quick to make note of that.
"It seems strange to me..." Nick said. "For an infamous murdering psychopath, there is a surprisingly small amount of bodies around...it..."
"It could just be cleanly." Gabriel replied. "And it's made up of three carnivores; it has to eat something."
Nick shrugged. "It's so cute when it's sleeping...I almost don't want to wake it up..."
Gabriel readied his blaster. "I could just-"
Nick shook his head. "No, friend, I wish to know what this riddle is that confounds these people so. How should we go about waking it up?"
Gabriel nudged The Manticore's paw with his boot. "Hey. Wake up. We're here to keep you from killing stuff." The Manticore didn't respond. Gabriel tried again, with the same response.
Nick rolled his eyes and cupped his hands around his mouth. "MIGHTY MANTICORE!" he yelled. "WE WEARY TRAVELERS WISH TO PASS! MAY WE BE GRANTED AN AUDIENCE?"
The Manticore growled louder, and yawned. "Sorry, friends, I've not had an audience in some time." The Manticore rose its head, looking inquisitively at Gabriel and Corckscrew Nick. Its voice was distinctly feminine, and warm, with a hint of an indistinguishable accent. "Are you here to kill me?"
"My friend and I certainly hope that won't become nessecary." Nick replied. "If I may be so...inquisitive, you do know the Sphynx asks questions and bars passage, do you not?"
The Manticore shrugged. "The two of you ought ask yourselves who told you I was anything else." The Manticore smiled. "The two of you...well, you, in any case, seem to be much better mannered than most sorts that come here."
"Nick likes riddles." Gabriel said, leaning against a wall.
The Manticore smiled. "I see. I could ask you the riddle, if you so wish."
The Manticore seemed to growl as it breathed in. Nick flexed his mind, anticipating what this incomprehensible riddle may be, while Gabriel prepared for an attack. They both flinched as The Manticore spoke...
"Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear. Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair. Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy wuz 'e?"
Gabriel stared for a moment, then sat down, putting his head in his hands. Steam erupted from the coils on his head, and continued for longer than usual.
"That..." Nick began. "Is quite the-"
"WHAT THE FUCK?" Gabriel's scream filled the entire cavern. "WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF RIDDLE IS THAT? WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF ANYTHING IS THAT!"
"Metal Angel," Nick said quietly. "I would strongly suggest-"
"NO, NO, I HAVE A RIDDLE FOR YOU, YOU UGLY, MISMATCHED PIGFUCKER; WHAT HAS AN I.Q OF EIGHT WHEN IT'S IN PIECES ON THE FLOOR?"
"A Vorlon?" The Manticore replied.
"NO!" Gabriel screamed, pointing all four of his blasters. "YOU!"
All four blasters fired off, filling the corridor with violet light. Nick turned his head; spots still flared in front of his eyes. Then, for good measure, Gabriel turned his wings to his front and ridded the passage with the metal barbs that covered his wings. When the dust settled, the head was gone, and the body (as well as the chamber itself) was full of barbs.
"That seems odd..." Nick said to himself. "Didn't that attack nearly-"
"And what the fuck is a Vorlon?" Gabriel said, kicking the corpse.
"An energy being from Babylon 5." a gurgling voice replied. Gabriel jumped-literally jumped two feet back, falling on his back as he landed. "Tell me, was I correct?"
The corpse cracked and shook, and began...growing. Growing back it's head, specifically. Gray-ish mass slowly crept up along the manticore's neck, settling in place and color where it was. The barbs were similarly turned into gray-ish-er matter, and was absorbed into the manticore.
"That does explain several things quite nicely." Nick said. "Such as why there are not dozens of corpses surrounding the beast, and what the 'assymilating metal' is."
Gabriel, on the other hand, shook his head. "OK. I get it. A psychotic literary professor is ten times as useful as a guy who can kill a lovecraftian horror. I am useless. " Turning to Nick, he said. "All yours, buddy."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
The GOLD King had been walking for miles. Or, at least he thought he was. It could have been just one mile. It could have been just one yard. He could be not walking at all, he was zany like that. It didn't explain why the floor, walls and celing were moving, but hey. He was zany. In any case, it had been at least fifteen minutes since he'd seen anything GOLD that wasn't attached to his person. Fifteen godawful minutes. It was unberable.
But what's this? Up ahead? Something blocking the corridor, something that wasn't a pile of or a piece of or some large amount of GOLD? Oh, The GOLD King was about to kick someone's ass.
The GOLD King heared conversation up ahead (conversation about GOLD? The GOLD King didn't know...) It sounded like Kookoo Nick and GOLDriel, or whatever their names were. Likely they were schemeng how to keep him from getting his GOLD, GOLD he'd worked damn hard to get but hand't found yet because the bastards were keeping him from getting the GOLD.
Well, The GOLD King would not stand for that shit; he had his limits. Unsheathing his GOLDen sword of GOLD, the GOLD King charged, screaming his battle cry, "FOR THE GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLL-"
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"Another comes to challenge me." The Manticore said, turning her head. "Do you mind if I lump him in with you?"
Gabriel, sitting down, shrugged. "It would not be a problem, friend." Nick replied. "Lump aw-"
"Very well." The Manticore said. "Thank you."
The manticore stepped aside, and a yell was heared, "FOR THE GOOOOOO-"
The Gold King came charging from behind the manticore, waving his sword, and screaming the other part of the word gold. Not expecting The Manticore to have let him through, he promptly fell on his face. This didn't stop his yelling, though...
"King?" Gabriel said, standing. "I thought you killed him?"
Nick shrugged. "I thought I did. He was hit by a car going forty miles an hour; that would kill most men..."
The Gold King stood up. "Well, I-The GOLD King-Am not most men! In my pursuit of GOLD, there is nothing I cannot do! Run faster than a speeding bullet! For GOLD! Out-power a locomotive! For GOLD! Leap tall buildings in a single bound! For motherfuking GOLD! Prostitute myself more than Paris Hi-!"
"You had me going until that last one." The Manticore said, resting her head on her paw. "You've already outlived your usefulness as a comic relif. Go away."
"Not until I've found my GOLD!" The Gold King cried, waving his sword. "Where is it? Where is the GOLD! The GOLDen GOLD of GOLD-y GOLD-ness!"
"Set almighty, if you can answer my riddle, I'll give you as much gold as you want. Then will you shut up?"
"Ah-HA!" King cried in triumph. "I know you're deal, Sphynx. You're riddle is unsolvable, and if I fail to answer it correctly, my life becomes forefit. You cannot lo-"
"I'm not a sphinx." The Manticore said. "It's just for fun. It's not even really a riddle, it's more of an idiocracy. Do you want to hear it or not?[/i]"
The Gold King stuttered for a moment, and shrugged.
"Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear. Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair. Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy wuz 'e?"
The Gold King stood there flabbergasted for a moment, then said, "Who?"
The Manticore shrugged. "That's actually it. How much-"
The Gold King pointed his sword at The Manticore, and began yelling, "GOOOOOOO-"
The Manticore touched the tip of Gold King's sword with a single claw; The Gold King slowly became a gray mass, then was transformed into a solid gold statue. "That's what you get for being an obnoxious coocoolander. Tosser."
Nick laughed, and slumped down on the ground. "I am defeated, and by the least of foes. I concede the match to you, Metal Angel."
Gabriel looked to Nick. "You do know I gave up first, right?"
"I care not." Nick replied. "The rest is silence."
Gabriel shrugged, got up, and said to The Manticore, "If I answer your riddle, will you come with me to this stupid bar and stop blocking the way through the tunnel?"
"That is what you came here for?" The Manticore asked, laughing. "You only had to ask. I am not one of these mindless townpeople, I am fully willing to do anything less boring than guarding this inane tunnel."
"Really? Really?" Gabriel, as both King and Nick had been before him, was fabberasted. "All we had to do was ask? And you would have come?"
"I've been here for the better part of fifteen years, friend. Put yourself in my place; wouldn't you jump at any opportunity to leave?"
Gabriel thought abut it for a moment, and shrugged. "Is the other way out shorter than the way in?"
"Considerably so; my tail is only three feet from the entrance."
"Great, let's go."
The Manticore nodded, and left. Gabriel shortly followed. "G'bye, Nick." Gabriel said as he left. "For a sociopathic murderer, you were OK. Oh, and The Manticore says, 'You were very polite.'"
"Goodbye, Metal Angel." Nick said, picking himself up. "I wish you luck in all you endeavors."
Gabriel nodded, and flew away.
Nick waited for some time after The Metal Angel and The Manticore left, contemplating what to do. He was certain going back to Paradise City was certain death, barring that option, and, seeing none other, he headed out into the warm midday air. Certainly his story didn't end here; he was the main character!
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Gabriel and The Manticore landed at the bar. Gabriel burst through the doors, saying, "King is dead, Nick gave up, and you're full of shit. Here's your manticore, she said she wouldn't block the tunnel. Do I win?"
The Hostess stuttered for a moment, before saying, "Yeah, sure. By default, I guess."
Gabriel sat down. "Good. Manticore, you're free."
"Of course." The Manticore replied, flying away. "you ever have need of me, blow into the feather I gave you.
Gabriel shrugged. "If."
The Manticore smiled, and left. Tom walked over to Gabriel, asking, "Was that a real life Manticore? Really? I thought those things didn't exist..."
"Because seven foot tall organic machines, white magic users, lovecraftian horrors and men with an inexplicable love of gold are so much more probable."
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The GOLD King walked out of the cave. He wasn't sure when he realize he could actually move, but as soon as he did, he rejoiced. The GOLD King...was now truly The GOLD King. And now he could sense GOLD. Everywhere. He picked it up as he went, from the plants and ground around him, all over him.
So The GOLD King walked on, in pursuit of more GOLD. It was his thing.
So I read Zem's post and...well frankly I'm fucked if I don't write something better than this. The story here is, in theory, both blantant and subltle, simple and complex, but it's also...medeoker. Plain. Run of the mill. Maybe I'm not good at comedy, or maybe it's not the story I wanted to write, but either way this is no longer my submission. That doesn't mean it's not worth reading, just that it's not going to be as good as my next post.
EDIT
OK, so I'm only 3/4 or so of the way through Steel Dragon; I've been preoccupied most of the week, and I'm going to be busy for the rest of the day. If Steel Dragon isn't finished by the deadline, this is going to have to be my submission.
Apologies for the confusion.
The Gold King stared. There was precious little else he could do, now that he was aware he'd be competing with a nuclear laser-robot kung-fu rocket thing. And an English teacher. The King was really more worried about the kung-fu robot, though.
"Money, money, money..." he sang. Everybody had a thing to calm them down when they were facing insurmountable odds; The Gold King's was ABBA. "...Must be funny... in a rich man's world..." He stepped towards the door. Kingsley was a doer, not a thinker, and if he was lucky the solution would come to him along the way. Kingsley was also a gambler. Maybe he'd come up with a plan to best the robot, maybe not. You win some, you lose some. "It's all the same to me... Doo dee doo dee doo dee doo doo doo..." the King hummed. There was something about killing a middle-aged wizard that put him in a musical mood, though for the life of him he didn't know why...
The Gold King was, at this point, just outside the door. He'd opened it and stepped outside, all the while humming '80s music to himself, when there was the most dreadful crashing sound, followed by the loud roar of an engine. The King looked up to see that his kung-fu robot adversary had taken the less practical but much more impressive means of exiting the tavern by shooting through the ceiling and rocketing off towards the cave. Kingsley thought about giving up. There was no way he'd be able to best that mechanical menace; not without some nigh-impossible, ridiculously convenient deus ex machina guiding him...
A knife whizzed past the Gold King's ear. If he hadn't been so distracted with his thoughts he may have been able to nonchalantly tilt his head to one side and allow the knife to pass him; as it were, the blade nicked his ear, which started to bleed rather badly.
"Ow! Bastard!" the Gold King yelled, spinning around to face the thrower of the knife. It was, of course, Corkscrew Nick, the most normal person still currently in the competition. Bearing in mind he was a serial killer with the assorted works of Shakespeare running around in his head, this was saying something.
The bastard opened his mouth and muttered something under his breath. There was a good thirty feet between the two psychopaths, so the King couldn't make out the exact words, but it was fairly safe to assume it was a quote from classical literature that pertained to the situation in some way.
"Yeah, well... your mother tames geese in Hell!" Kingsley shouted back. He drew his sword and made towards the knife-toting bookworm, then remembered his mission and promptly turned back towards the cave in the hills that Gabriel had probably already arrived at by now, then turned back again when Nick started throwing more knives.
"Stop doing that! You aren't helping anyone!" the King cried, parrying knives off course with his sword and darting towards Nick. When he got within range, the Gold King lunged with his sword, aiming at his rival killer's heart. Corkscrew Nick pulled (of all things) a portable dictionary out of his belt and caught the blade with it, before pressing forward and smacking the Gold King in the face with it.
"Oh, come on! That's the least practical weapon ever!" the King cried, unhooking the cross from around his neck and twirling it dauntingly. Corkscrew Nick said something about a weapon being only as good as the one holding it, tally-ho forsooth, and then pointed at the King with his book.
"From the nave to th' chaps, I'll gut thee," he muttered, then tossed the book into the air, causing the pages to part and allowing the knives stored within to fall out. Nick started juggling with them, slashing every time he caught a knife. The Gold King, with his sword and his chain, did a decent job of blocking the blows, but occasionally a blade would slip past his defenses, leaving the King bloodied and weakened.
"Hang on, stop! Why are we even fighting? There's no point to this!" Kingsley objected.
"What, drawn, and talk of peace? How I hate the word, as I hate Hell, all Capulets and thee." Nick pressed forward.
"What does that even mean!?" the King asked, stabbing at Corkscrew's tummy and missing.
"Basically, I love killing people," the word-worm explained, and stabbed the Gold King in the chest.
The King collapsed onto his back, breathing heavily. Nick let go of the knife and stepped around the Gold King's body before walking away, not looking back. He was just sheathing his knives when something hit him in the back of the head. Nick looked down to see a gold coin, lying on the ground by his feet. He turned around to see the Gold King, on his standing once more and with a terrifying grin on his face.
"You know, they told me a suit with gold woven into the threads was impractical," The man in gold said. "And for the most part they were right. It's heavy, expensive, overly flashy... it's also sturdy. Sturdy enough to stop a knife from going in too far, at least." The King took a step towards Corkscrew Nick. "Now then... Let's settle this like the gentlemen with unusual hobbies that we are. Come, sir, your passado."
Nick's hand went for a knife, and the Gold King slashed his arm with his sword. Nick backed away, and the King wrapped his chain around the other man's leg and yanked it, tripping him over. The sparkly englishman stepped over to his opponent and leveled his rapier with the disarmed man's tummy.
"From the knave to th' chaps, did you say? Well, I'm afraid I don't know what that means," the Gold King declared, drew his arm back to his shoulder and sliced Corkscrew Nick in half along his midriff.
"I'm so great, la la la!" The Gold King sang. Murdering that English teacher had put him in a really good mood, and now the smile on his face was so large it reminded one of a colon followed by a capital "D". Even though that kung-fu robot had probably already found and incapacitated the Manticore, meaning that other bastard with "King" in his name was going to put a price on the Gold King's head so high he'd probably go ahead and turn himself in, the nutty monkey he was, Kingsley was on such a high induced by the taking of another person's life (and the huge amount of blood loss, most likely) he really didn't care.
The King reached the hills about half an hour after murdering the weaker of his foes, and spent another ten minutes climbing up to the cave, more out of his own sense of accomplishment than anything else; it would likely be more sensible to get a head-start on getting away from the mob, but Kingsley had decided to explore that one-in-ten chance of the robot having failed his mission.
Fortune smiles upon the brave, and she was smiling now as the Gold King entered the deeper caverns of the cave. A large puddle of metal was resting in one corner of the tunnel, and the half-eaten remains of Gabriel were resting in the puddle.
"Right, the sentient assimilatey metal... Forgot about that..." The King looked up at the sky and gave God a silent thanks in the form of a thumbs-up. "A deus ex machina if ever I saw one... a man made of metal, eaten by metal... and speaking of metal..." The Gold King pulled a coin out of his pocket and tossed it from hand to hand, all the while singing "I love gold, gold gold gold, lalala".
"Now why in the Hell would I do that?" Kingsley inquired to himself, running as fast as his legs would carry him away from the puddle of metal, which was now chasing him. He turned around a corner, noticed the pit three feet in front of him and leapt over it, landing without stopping and continuing to run away from the metal. Fortunately the metal didn't seem to have the same kind of athletic ability, and it slithered at speed into the pit, falling all the way to the bottom with the exception of a tiny splash which managed to latch itself onto the hem of the Gold King's trousers.
"Buggery!" he cried, swiping at the metal with his rapier. The metal sprung off his trousers and attached itself to the sword, and Kingsley grabbed it and yanked it off, paying no heed to the deep cut he caused in his palm. The metal was now stuck to the Gold King's hand.
If I flipped a coin into the pit, the slimy'd probably chase it and fall in itself... the King thought to himself. Yeah, that'd probably work... on the other hand, I'd literally be throwing away money...
Kingsley brought a coin out of his pocket and held it over the pit. Come on, you're definitely gonna die otherwise... there again, a whole pound, lost forever...
"Ah, to Hell with it! I can't make decisions like these!" he yelled aloud, and cut his left hand off before casting it into the pit. "There! Problem solved! What's more, now I can get an awesome gold robot hand, like I always wanted! Ha ha! Wow, that's bleeding more than I thought it would..." the King set off running down the tunnel. Good thing he'd sold those useless organs a while back, or they'd just be slowing him down...
"The Razormane Manticore, I presume?" the Gold King cried, facing the robotic monster and swaying slightly.
"No illin'," the Manticore replied. "Nao, you think you a bad enough dood to answer my riddle?"
"If I didn't, I wouldn'ae be standing here talking to ye aboot it, now would I?" the King asked, swaying some more.
"Aight, I get the memo. So, underneath one of mah manly paws I gots me a sweet ruby. If'n you can guess which paw it is, ima join yo' crew. Gets it wrong, howevah-" the Manticore whipped his tail out from behind him and pointed it at the Gold King. It transformed into an enormous gatling gun, and the Manticore spun it menacingly. "-and ima bust a major cap in yo' ass."
"Now, this is hardly a riddle, is it?" the Gold King asked. "It's more like a nonsensical guessing game. Ah well. I shall, for this endeavor, as I do with all endeavors, place my faith in money." He produced a coin from his pocket and flipped it high into the air. The manticore watched it rise.
"Shiny..."
"That it is, my boy," the Gold King said, drew his rapier and stabbed the manticore in the head. He twisted the sword, then slashed it upwards, slicing the beast's core processor in half. "I never really was one for puzzles..." The manticore fell over sideways, revealing that there was nothing beneath his paws but empty space. "Yeah yeah, woop woop, why you all in my grill, sellin' all kinds of shit that I ain't tryin' to hear?" the King rapped, kicking the manticore and bleeding all over the place. The Gold King glanced up and saw a camera on the ceiling. "Wow, he wasn't joking when he said he had cameras everywhere..." Kingsley addressed the camera directly. "'Scuse me, Mikey-boy, but I believe this was the manticore you ordered... anyway, now that this whole ordeal's concluded, would you mind sending an ambulance or something? I'm a bit, uh..." the Gold King held up his stump so the camera could see, and collapsed onto the ground, a pool of blood forming from the space where his hand used to be. "Take your time, don't trouble yourself..." he grumbled into the dirt, slowly slipping out of consciousness.
"Money, money, money..." he sang. Everybody had a thing to calm them down when they were facing insurmountable odds; The Gold King's was ABBA. "...Must be funny... in a rich man's world..." He stepped towards the door. Kingsley was a doer, not a thinker, and if he was lucky the solution would come to him along the way. Kingsley was also a gambler. Maybe he'd come up with a plan to best the robot, maybe not. You win some, you lose some. "It's all the same to me... Doo dee doo dee doo dee doo doo doo..." the King hummed. There was something about killing a middle-aged wizard that put him in a musical mood, though for the life of him he didn't know why...
The Gold King was, at this point, just outside the door. He'd opened it and stepped outside, all the while humming '80s music to himself, when there was the most dreadful crashing sound, followed by the loud roar of an engine. The King looked up to see that his kung-fu robot adversary had taken the less practical but much more impressive means of exiting the tavern by shooting through the ceiling and rocketing off towards the cave. Kingsley thought about giving up. There was no way he'd be able to best that mechanical menace; not without some nigh-impossible, ridiculously convenient deus ex machina guiding him...
A knife whizzed past the Gold King's ear. If he hadn't been so distracted with his thoughts he may have been able to nonchalantly tilt his head to one side and allow the knife to pass him; as it were, the blade nicked his ear, which started to bleed rather badly.
"Ow! Bastard!" the Gold King yelled, spinning around to face the thrower of the knife. It was, of course, Corkscrew Nick, the most normal person still currently in the competition. Bearing in mind he was a serial killer with the assorted works of Shakespeare running around in his head, this was saying something.
The bastard opened his mouth and muttered something under his breath. There was a good thirty feet between the two psychopaths, so the King couldn't make out the exact words, but it was fairly safe to assume it was a quote from classical literature that pertained to the situation in some way.
"Yeah, well... your mother tames geese in Hell!" Kingsley shouted back. He drew his sword and made towards the knife-toting bookworm, then remembered his mission and promptly turned back towards the cave in the hills that Gabriel had probably already arrived at by now, then turned back again when Nick started throwing more knives.
"Stop doing that! You aren't helping anyone!" the King cried, parrying knives off course with his sword and darting towards Nick. When he got within range, the Gold King lunged with his sword, aiming at his rival killer's heart. Corkscrew Nick pulled (of all things) a portable dictionary out of his belt and caught the blade with it, before pressing forward and smacking the Gold King in the face with it.
"Oh, come on! That's the least practical weapon ever!" the King cried, unhooking the cross from around his neck and twirling it dauntingly. Corkscrew Nick said something about a weapon being only as good as the one holding it, tally-ho forsooth, and then pointed at the King with his book.
"From the nave to th' chaps, I'll gut thee," he muttered, then tossed the book into the air, causing the pages to part and allowing the knives stored within to fall out. Nick started juggling with them, slashing every time he caught a knife. The Gold King, with his sword and his chain, did a decent job of blocking the blows, but occasionally a blade would slip past his defenses, leaving the King bloodied and weakened.
"Hang on, stop! Why are we even fighting? There's no point to this!" Kingsley objected.
"What, drawn, and talk of peace? How I hate the word, as I hate Hell, all Capulets and thee." Nick pressed forward.
"What does that even mean!?" the King asked, stabbing at Corkscrew's tummy and missing.
"Basically, I love killing people," the word-worm explained, and stabbed the Gold King in the chest.
The King collapsed onto his back, breathing heavily. Nick let go of the knife and stepped around the Gold King's body before walking away, not looking back. He was just sheathing his knives when something hit him in the back of the head. Nick looked down to see a gold coin, lying on the ground by his feet. He turned around to see the Gold King, on his standing once more and with a terrifying grin on his face.
"You know, they told me a suit with gold woven into the threads was impractical," The man in gold said. "And for the most part they were right. It's heavy, expensive, overly flashy... it's also sturdy. Sturdy enough to stop a knife from going in too far, at least." The King took a step towards Corkscrew Nick. "Now then... Let's settle this like the gentlemen with unusual hobbies that we are. Come, sir, your passado."
Nick's hand went for a knife, and the Gold King slashed his arm with his sword. Nick backed away, and the King wrapped his chain around the other man's leg and yanked it, tripping him over. The sparkly englishman stepped over to his opponent and leveled his rapier with the disarmed man's tummy.
"From the knave to th' chaps, did you say? Well, I'm afraid I don't know what that means," the Gold King declared, drew his arm back to his shoulder and sliced Corkscrew Nick in half along his midriff.
"I'm so great, la la la!" The Gold King sang. Murdering that English teacher had put him in a really good mood, and now the smile on his face was so large it reminded one of a colon followed by a capital "D". Even though that kung-fu robot had probably already found and incapacitated the Manticore, meaning that other bastard with "King" in his name was going to put a price on the Gold King's head so high he'd probably go ahead and turn himself in, the nutty monkey he was, Kingsley was on such a high induced by the taking of another person's life (and the huge amount of blood loss, most likely) he really didn't care.
The King reached the hills about half an hour after murdering the weaker of his foes, and spent another ten minutes climbing up to the cave, more out of his own sense of accomplishment than anything else; it would likely be more sensible to get a head-start on getting away from the mob, but Kingsley had decided to explore that one-in-ten chance of the robot having failed his mission.
Fortune smiles upon the brave, and she was smiling now as the Gold King entered the deeper caverns of the cave. A large puddle of metal was resting in one corner of the tunnel, and the half-eaten remains of Gabriel were resting in the puddle.
"Right, the sentient assimilatey metal... Forgot about that..." The King looked up at the sky and gave God a silent thanks in the form of a thumbs-up. "A deus ex machina if ever I saw one... a man made of metal, eaten by metal... and speaking of metal..." The Gold King pulled a coin out of his pocket and tossed it from hand to hand, all the while singing "I love gold, gold gold gold, lalala".
"Now why in the Hell would I do that?" Kingsley inquired to himself, running as fast as his legs would carry him away from the puddle of metal, which was now chasing him. He turned around a corner, noticed the pit three feet in front of him and leapt over it, landing without stopping and continuing to run away from the metal. Fortunately the metal didn't seem to have the same kind of athletic ability, and it slithered at speed into the pit, falling all the way to the bottom with the exception of a tiny splash which managed to latch itself onto the hem of the Gold King's trousers.
"Buggery!" he cried, swiping at the metal with his rapier. The metal sprung off his trousers and attached itself to the sword, and Kingsley grabbed it and yanked it off, paying no heed to the deep cut he caused in his palm. The metal was now stuck to the Gold King's hand.
If I flipped a coin into the pit, the slimy'd probably chase it and fall in itself... the King thought to himself. Yeah, that'd probably work... on the other hand, I'd literally be throwing away money...
Kingsley brought a coin out of his pocket and held it over the pit. Come on, you're definitely gonna die otherwise... there again, a whole pound, lost forever...
"Ah, to Hell with it! I can't make decisions like these!" he yelled aloud, and cut his left hand off before casting it into the pit. "There! Problem solved! What's more, now I can get an awesome gold robot hand, like I always wanted! Ha ha! Wow, that's bleeding more than I thought it would..." the King set off running down the tunnel. Good thing he'd sold those useless organs a while back, or they'd just be slowing him down...
"The Razormane Manticore, I presume?" the Gold King cried, facing the robotic monster and swaying slightly.
"No illin'," the Manticore replied. "Nao, you think you a bad enough dood to answer my riddle?"
"If I didn't, I wouldn'ae be standing here talking to ye aboot it, now would I?" the King asked, swaying some more.
"Aight, I get the memo. So, underneath one of mah manly paws I gots me a sweet ruby. If'n you can guess which paw it is, ima join yo' crew. Gets it wrong, howevah-" the Manticore whipped his tail out from behind him and pointed it at the Gold King. It transformed into an enormous gatling gun, and the Manticore spun it menacingly. "-and ima bust a major cap in yo' ass."
"Now, this is hardly a riddle, is it?" the Gold King asked. "It's more like a nonsensical guessing game. Ah well. I shall, for this endeavor, as I do with all endeavors, place my faith in money." He produced a coin from his pocket and flipped it high into the air. The manticore watched it rise.
"Shiny..."
"That it is, my boy," the Gold King said, drew his rapier and stabbed the manticore in the head. He twisted the sword, then slashed it upwards, slicing the beast's core processor in half. "I never really was one for puzzles..." The manticore fell over sideways, revealing that there was nothing beneath his paws but empty space. "Yeah yeah, woop woop, why you all in my grill, sellin' all kinds of shit that I ain't tryin' to hear?" the King rapped, kicking the manticore and bleeding all over the place. The Gold King glanced up and saw a camera on the ceiling. "Wow, he wasn't joking when he said he had cameras everywhere..." Kingsley addressed the camera directly. "'Scuse me, Mikey-boy, but I believe this was the manticore you ordered... anyway, now that this whole ordeal's concluded, would you mind sending an ambulance or something? I'm a bit, uh..." the Gold King held up his stump so the camera could see, and collapsed onto the ground, a pool of blood forming from the space where his hand used to be. "Take your time, don't trouble yourself..." he grumbled into the dirt, slowly slipping out of consciousness.
As much as I dislike partial releases it occurs to me I should post the work I've done to prove I haven't merely been twiddling my thumbs the last ten days. So, here it is. I can also provide an outline of the story to come if it will help my case.
As I've said, if you give me till moday it will be finished.
As I've said, if you give me till moday it will be finished.
Everything bounced. The earth trembled with queasy enthusiasm and the sky rolled in and away as the voice of god set the world in motion. When he was finished the spiral arm of a galaxy lifted itself off the wooden counter top and stalked away with universes of dark matter. Equus assumed this swift departure was his opponent and when little algorithms and subroutines translated the big ones waves of energy into meaning and language he drifted into steady pursuit. "Percy", this one called itself. The name meant nothing to Equus. He?d killed big ones before; two at once the night earlier. And Equus understood he was meant to kill ?Percy? tonight. He would do it joyfully. But he wished, as he always wished, that ?Percy? meant as much to him as it did to the big ones.
Equus was small. Objectively, he knew that he was microscopic. And yet, he couldn?t ignore the part of himself that saw his own nanofilament body just fine. Objectively, he knew that dust mites were tiny things, just on the edge of human perception and therefore just on the edge of reality. And yet, he couldn?t ignore the part of himself that wandered the unkempt peaks and valleys of a dust mite?s back like an eternal, uncharted, wilderness. Objectively, he knew that the parts of the world that mattered were so gigantic he could not conceive of them; that his wildernesses could be crushed under a human?s thumb without being noticed. And yet, he could not ignore the part of himself that thought his world was important, and the big one?s inconsequential.
After all, what was a ?Percy?? Universes of cells and bacteria and clothing fibers and parasites and soil residue and pollen were all moving in perfectly synchronized unison ahead of Equus. Were each and every one of them ?Percy?? And what did it mean that ?Percy? was dead? In Equus?s experience, the big ones were considered dead long before they were actually gone. Usually, all you had to do was stop a couple key parts moving and all the other big ones would start crying and fighting and morning those who had passed. Equus thought it was silly. ?He?s not passed. All of 'Erik's lice are still living it up. They haven?t even noticed anything went wrong!?
He couldn?t argue with big ones though. Because they can?t see him. Or hear him. He?s inconsequential?
Which is probably why he got into the killing business. Every sentient creature wants to be remembered. He?d never met someone his size who could think and plan and talk and feel, which meant that he had to seek his remembrance from the big ones. But he was too small, they were too large, nothing he could build would even be noticed. Which only left the question of what he could destroy.
He didn?t mind. In truth, it made him feel understandably badass. He?d killed things so large they couldn?t be measured. He?d been to the big one?s Chernobyl and caused the explosion. His own creators couldn?t control him and now their species trembled in fear as the opponent they could not see disassembled them from the inside. It was a life. Enough of a life.
Equus followed behind the swift movement as it entered the street. ?Percy? stood still for a moment, doubtlessly examining a landscape Equus couldn?t begin to comprehend. Regardless it afforded Equus the prime opportunity to drift farther and farther up the near endless expanses of white cotton threads that draped the being he was to end. They were very beautiful, in a way. Like snowcapped deserts woven together. Not that Equus had ever seen snow, but he was programmed to know everything the big one?s knew; and he knew that a snowcapped desert was beautiful, for those who could see it.
Before long Equus found himself crossing the border of the cotton Sahara and entering the pockmarked and squishy ruins of the face. From a distance they were supposed to be quite appealing but Equus had never been able to look on them in anything but disgust. With urgency he cast his eyes on the horizon and searched for a mountain of peculiar dimensions. Ridged on one side and flat on the other, possessing two gaping fissures, the nose always stood from the rest of the facial environment. And before Long Equus discovered the nose of ?Percy?.
The big one began moving again but his fate was sealed. Equus was inside him now, moving patiently down his bronchial tube, already releasing the drones and clones that would realize his coup. With steady drive and a practiced hand Equus traveled to the heart. The heart was the key to killing big ones. Everything in a big one relied on the heart for power and motion and guidance which meant that a brief examination of the gigantic machine afforded him the chance to see everything in the big one. Equus camped at the main ventricle and reproduced, throwing countless of his drones into the coursing rapids. They traveled the full length of the being and with military precision formed forts and barracks in preparation for the imminent invasions.
Equus departed the heart. The warmth and viscosity of its river always made him anxious. He felt always that he might slip and the thick current would never release him, doomed to spend eternity as a cog in the machine of a being to great to appreciate his toil. His mind always traveled from his purpose while he sat around the heart. He wondered what peace he would find in his life when the thrill of killing had ducked below the horizon. He assumed it was the siren?s call big ones talked about, a haunting melody that wounds your sensibility until finally you?ll do something stupid. Some kind of defense mechanism, no doubt.
The brain on the other hand held no such awe. It was merely the chair of the central nervous system and the place to stage one?s microbial rebellion. Equus clawed at the frontal lobe before wedding himself to a promising looking node. Before the fight had even begun, colors and scents came flooding into Equus, assaulting him physically. There was so much ? perception, sensation, form and feeling and all of them ran like mustangs released from the pen, trampling Equus in their fervent compulsion to be the first to thank him for their freedom. Drones across the body set into motion taking over and Equus writhed in something that wasn?t pain. He tried desperately to tear his connection to Percy, but he?d already won the battle. Everything Percy was sat idle for him to command.
It was horrible.
The big one stood up from the ground. He was feet from the bar he?d left only moments ago and panting with a desperate kind of pace. The sky was overcast but lovely and it distracted him from the crowd of concerned citizens. They shouted things like ?Hey man, you okay?? And ?What the hell is on your back!? Are you okay?? The big one didn?t respond. Equus could have made him, but there were larger issues to deal with. Percy?s couldn?t feel his legs. The drones there reported that the muscles were overworked and nearly lifeless. His back burned as though it were on fire, but somehow the nerve endings remained intact. His stomach was shrunk from starvation and his knees and joints were nearly paralyzed with arthritis. It was a wonder this one could move.
Which begged the question, could it move? Equus brought one leg to bear and it stepped with remarkable grace. Impossible grace. So Equus sprinted, and Percy whistled away from the crowd of onlookers. Equus stopped at the corner of fifth street and Monroe, when he heard gunfire. There was a dead woman in the middle of the street and, without Equus?s consent or even acknowledgment, the Percy began moving toward it. It was muscle reflex, the kind that didn?t go through the brain; the same thing that pulled a person?s hand from a fire. Except in Percy?s case it was a complex motion inspired by only the sight of a dead body. Equus didn?t know what was happening but he was inclined to let it continue. And in the space of thirty seconds Percy reached the woman, grabbed a feather from the beast on his back and placed it delicately on the woman?s tongue.
She shouted. They were horrible curdling cries. But she breathed again, and she wept like a person who hadn?t died only minutes before. She looked at the big one and asked ?WHY?? Percy didn?t answer. Equus could think of nothing to say. Everything he?d ever seen and all he was programmed to know just told him he witnessed the impossible. And so he dug deeper into Percy?s mind, deeper than he?d ever traveled before. There was pain and guilt and memories and finally, a plateau. A place to breath. Equus assumed this place. And then the voice began.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter One
Hello, My name is Perseverance. My father beat me.
I had an elder sister. She died of polio at age fourteen. I never recovered from her death. I stopped befriending people because I didn?t want to lose them. I was a lonely young man. When I was old enough to understand, I seized on the concept of religion. I began studying white magic. When I was good at it I left home. I think my father always blamed himself for pushing me away.
I was the cleric for a group of mercenaries for a while. My role in their unit was to sit on the sidelines and heal everyone during and after the battles. I was never to actively participate. It made me feel weak and under appreciated and the men in the group often emasculated me.
I liked a girl in my group named Alys. She was a terrible influence on me. Alys convinced me that killing cruel men was holy work by citing the crusades and that killing innocents was holy work by citing the current state of the world. She made me believe that heaven was a better place for good men than earth and that there was nothing wrong with speeding their passage. I believed her because my sister was dead.
On a cold day imperial mercenaries routed our group. I survived because I was the last person they reached and they wanted me alive. They were fondling our witch?s breasts and in the process of disrobing Alys. It was the first time I?d seen a woman naked. They told me to resurrect the girls. I?d done it in the past, it was my purpose in the group, but I refused. He punched me, so I hit their leader with Holy and ran.
I spent a long time wandering alone trying to decide if I had done the right thing by killing those women. I don?t think they would have wanted to live through what the men had planned. But they never got to say. And now they never would. I had betrayed them for good intentions. And then I wondered if good intentions could be evil.
All I realized after years alone was that I could justify anything; make anything sound holy. But I knew there were evil acts in the world, all religions are clear on this point. Which meant all I had achieved was realizing I am incapable of discerning between good and evil. I carried anxiety and guilt for everything I?d ever done after that moment because I didn?t know how much of it was evil and I needed to be penitent for all of it if I was to be forgiven.
And so I wandered, trying to do nothing more than what could be inexcusably proven as holy. I found a phoenix one night and I bound it to my back, cutting of its wings, beak and claws. This was holy because it meant both of us would do more good for the world. It also burned my back in constant agony. I think that is appropriate.
I stumbled on this tournament and immediately met a man who seemed to have answers. Who seemed able to predict the future. It made me happy because for the first time in twenty years I thought someone might be able to settle my stomach and tell me what is holy and what is not. I killed him. With a Holy spell. And now I?m here.
The End
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Percy stood quiet as the dead woman scampered away. Equus had an answer, for her ambulations and for the body's performance in spite of debilitation. It was magic.
... Wasn't much of an answer. And it wasn't what stuck Equus in his place. It was ... a sad story delivered by a melancholy man. And it reminded him of himself. And for the first time Equus thought of Big Ones as something tangible, something that can be broken and torn and feel every cruelty; a whole greater than the sum of it's parts. Equus wasn't sure he liked this new intertpretation. And he wasn't sure he would ever discard it.
Equus was small. Objectively, he knew that he was microscopic. And yet, he couldn?t ignore the part of himself that saw his own nanofilament body just fine. Objectively, he knew that dust mites were tiny things, just on the edge of human perception and therefore just on the edge of reality. And yet, he couldn?t ignore the part of himself that wandered the unkempt peaks and valleys of a dust mite?s back like an eternal, uncharted, wilderness. Objectively, he knew that the parts of the world that mattered were so gigantic he could not conceive of them; that his wildernesses could be crushed under a human?s thumb without being noticed. And yet, he could not ignore the part of himself that thought his world was important, and the big one?s inconsequential.
After all, what was a ?Percy?? Universes of cells and bacteria and clothing fibers and parasites and soil residue and pollen were all moving in perfectly synchronized unison ahead of Equus. Were each and every one of them ?Percy?? And what did it mean that ?Percy? was dead? In Equus?s experience, the big ones were considered dead long before they were actually gone. Usually, all you had to do was stop a couple key parts moving and all the other big ones would start crying and fighting and morning those who had passed. Equus thought it was silly. ?He?s not passed. All of 'Erik's lice are still living it up. They haven?t even noticed anything went wrong!?
He couldn?t argue with big ones though. Because they can?t see him. Or hear him. He?s inconsequential?
Which is probably why he got into the killing business. Every sentient creature wants to be remembered. He?d never met someone his size who could think and plan and talk and feel, which meant that he had to seek his remembrance from the big ones. But he was too small, they were too large, nothing he could build would even be noticed. Which only left the question of what he could destroy.
He didn?t mind. In truth, it made him feel understandably badass. He?d killed things so large they couldn?t be measured. He?d been to the big one?s Chernobyl and caused the explosion. His own creators couldn?t control him and now their species trembled in fear as the opponent they could not see disassembled them from the inside. It was a life. Enough of a life.
Equus followed behind the swift movement as it entered the street. ?Percy? stood still for a moment, doubtlessly examining a landscape Equus couldn?t begin to comprehend. Regardless it afforded Equus the prime opportunity to drift farther and farther up the near endless expanses of white cotton threads that draped the being he was to end. They were very beautiful, in a way. Like snowcapped deserts woven together. Not that Equus had ever seen snow, but he was programmed to know everything the big one?s knew; and he knew that a snowcapped desert was beautiful, for those who could see it.
Before long Equus found himself crossing the border of the cotton Sahara and entering the pockmarked and squishy ruins of the face. From a distance they were supposed to be quite appealing but Equus had never been able to look on them in anything but disgust. With urgency he cast his eyes on the horizon and searched for a mountain of peculiar dimensions. Ridged on one side and flat on the other, possessing two gaping fissures, the nose always stood from the rest of the facial environment. And before Long Equus discovered the nose of ?Percy?.
The big one began moving again but his fate was sealed. Equus was inside him now, moving patiently down his bronchial tube, already releasing the drones and clones that would realize his coup. With steady drive and a practiced hand Equus traveled to the heart. The heart was the key to killing big ones. Everything in a big one relied on the heart for power and motion and guidance which meant that a brief examination of the gigantic machine afforded him the chance to see everything in the big one. Equus camped at the main ventricle and reproduced, throwing countless of his drones into the coursing rapids. They traveled the full length of the being and with military precision formed forts and barracks in preparation for the imminent invasions.
Equus departed the heart. The warmth and viscosity of its river always made him anxious. He felt always that he might slip and the thick current would never release him, doomed to spend eternity as a cog in the machine of a being to great to appreciate his toil. His mind always traveled from his purpose while he sat around the heart. He wondered what peace he would find in his life when the thrill of killing had ducked below the horizon. He assumed it was the siren?s call big ones talked about, a haunting melody that wounds your sensibility until finally you?ll do something stupid. Some kind of defense mechanism, no doubt.
The brain on the other hand held no such awe. It was merely the chair of the central nervous system and the place to stage one?s microbial rebellion. Equus clawed at the frontal lobe before wedding himself to a promising looking node. Before the fight had even begun, colors and scents came flooding into Equus, assaulting him physically. There was so much ? perception, sensation, form and feeling and all of them ran like mustangs released from the pen, trampling Equus in their fervent compulsion to be the first to thank him for their freedom. Drones across the body set into motion taking over and Equus writhed in something that wasn?t pain. He tried desperately to tear his connection to Percy, but he?d already won the battle. Everything Percy was sat idle for him to command.
It was horrible.
The big one stood up from the ground. He was feet from the bar he?d left only moments ago and panting with a desperate kind of pace. The sky was overcast but lovely and it distracted him from the crowd of concerned citizens. They shouted things like ?Hey man, you okay?? And ?What the hell is on your back!? Are you okay?? The big one didn?t respond. Equus could have made him, but there were larger issues to deal with. Percy?s couldn?t feel his legs. The drones there reported that the muscles were overworked and nearly lifeless. His back burned as though it were on fire, but somehow the nerve endings remained intact. His stomach was shrunk from starvation and his knees and joints were nearly paralyzed with arthritis. It was a wonder this one could move.
Which begged the question, could it move? Equus brought one leg to bear and it stepped with remarkable grace. Impossible grace. So Equus sprinted, and Percy whistled away from the crowd of onlookers. Equus stopped at the corner of fifth street and Monroe, when he heard gunfire. There was a dead woman in the middle of the street and, without Equus?s consent or even acknowledgment, the Percy began moving toward it. It was muscle reflex, the kind that didn?t go through the brain; the same thing that pulled a person?s hand from a fire. Except in Percy?s case it was a complex motion inspired by only the sight of a dead body. Equus didn?t know what was happening but he was inclined to let it continue. And in the space of thirty seconds Percy reached the woman, grabbed a feather from the beast on his back and placed it delicately on the woman?s tongue.
She shouted. They were horrible curdling cries. But she breathed again, and she wept like a person who hadn?t died only minutes before. She looked at the big one and asked ?WHY?? Percy didn?t answer. Equus could think of nothing to say. Everything he?d ever seen and all he was programmed to know just told him he witnessed the impossible. And so he dug deeper into Percy?s mind, deeper than he?d ever traveled before. There was pain and guilt and memories and finally, a plateau. A place to breath. Equus assumed this place. And then the voice began.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter One
Hello, My name is Perseverance. My father beat me.
I had an elder sister. She died of polio at age fourteen. I never recovered from her death. I stopped befriending people because I didn?t want to lose them. I was a lonely young man. When I was old enough to understand, I seized on the concept of religion. I began studying white magic. When I was good at it I left home. I think my father always blamed himself for pushing me away.
I was the cleric for a group of mercenaries for a while. My role in their unit was to sit on the sidelines and heal everyone during and after the battles. I was never to actively participate. It made me feel weak and under appreciated and the men in the group often emasculated me.
I liked a girl in my group named Alys. She was a terrible influence on me. Alys convinced me that killing cruel men was holy work by citing the crusades and that killing innocents was holy work by citing the current state of the world. She made me believe that heaven was a better place for good men than earth and that there was nothing wrong with speeding their passage. I believed her because my sister was dead.
On a cold day imperial mercenaries routed our group. I survived because I was the last person they reached and they wanted me alive. They were fondling our witch?s breasts and in the process of disrobing Alys. It was the first time I?d seen a woman naked. They told me to resurrect the girls. I?d done it in the past, it was my purpose in the group, but I refused. He punched me, so I hit their leader with Holy and ran.
I spent a long time wandering alone trying to decide if I had done the right thing by killing those women. I don?t think they would have wanted to live through what the men had planned. But they never got to say. And now they never would. I had betrayed them for good intentions. And then I wondered if good intentions could be evil.
All I realized after years alone was that I could justify anything; make anything sound holy. But I knew there were evil acts in the world, all religions are clear on this point. Which meant all I had achieved was realizing I am incapable of discerning between good and evil. I carried anxiety and guilt for everything I?d ever done after that moment because I didn?t know how much of it was evil and I needed to be penitent for all of it if I was to be forgiven.
And so I wandered, trying to do nothing more than what could be inexcusably proven as holy. I found a phoenix one night and I bound it to my back, cutting of its wings, beak and claws. This was holy because it meant both of us would do more good for the world. It also burned my back in constant agony. I think that is appropriate.
I stumbled on this tournament and immediately met a man who seemed to have answers. Who seemed able to predict the future. It made me happy because for the first time in twenty years I thought someone might be able to settle my stomach and tell me what is holy and what is not. I killed him. With a Holy spell. And now I?m here.
The End
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Percy stood quiet as the dead woman scampered away. Equus had an answer, for her ambulations and for the body's performance in spite of debilitation. It was magic.
... Wasn't much of an answer. And it wasn't what stuck Equus in his place. It was ... a sad story delivered by a melancholy man. And it reminded him of himself. And for the first time Equus thought of Big Ones as something tangible, something that can be broken and torn and feel every cruelty; a whole greater than the sum of it's parts. Equus wasn't sure he liked this new intertpretation. And he wasn't sure he would ever discard it.
I apologize for this not being in a spoiler box: when I posted it in a spoiler and then clicked on it, it said "Text too long--edit to reduce." Apparently spoiler boxes have a word limit--who knew?
In that vein, I also apologize for the length of this piece. When writing something like this, it was kind of unavoidable.
Hope you enjoy it.
In that vein, I also apologize for the length of this piece. When writing something like this, it was kind of unavoidable.
Hope you enjoy it.
Battle Two
Villain Songs
Villain Songs
A Musical Drama in One Act
A Musical Drama in One Act
Dramatis Personae
Razormane Manticore, the Robotic Riddler
Corkscrew Nick, the Eloquent Killer
Gabriel, the Metal Angel
Kingsley Goldman, the Gold King
Timmoth, the Silent Bartender
Michael King, the Mysterious Patron
The chorus for this production is comprised of members of the Paradise City Chamber Choir. The music is performed live by the Paradise Orchestra, conducted by Mr. Thomas Cook, with Ms. Emma Rhodes on lead guitar, Mr. Hank Dappa on drums and Skeeve on the synthesizer.
=-=-=-
Playlist
Gold, Gold, Motherfucking Gold
Hail to the King
Seraphim / Killer's Debut
Riddle Me This
Corkscrews
Hail to the King, Reprise
=-=-=-
The Gurney Wheel, corner of 4th and Pennyworth.
Timmoth, the bartender, is standing silently behind the counter, polishing a glass with precise movements. In the dim recesses of the bar are the patrons, the willing or unwilling entrants in Mr. King's tournament. They are shadowed, out of focus and completely unmoving. The only motion is the small sweeps of Timmoth's hands across the glass.
Nick's theme is heard, faintly at first, rising slowly as he slides into view, stage left. The music is brash and cheerful.
NICK: Did I hear my name called, for another fight to the death? Why, so I did. A manticore, you say? Pestering travelers with riddles? What is this, fucking Egypt?
No one moves when Nick speaks, or gives any indication that they can hear him.
NICK: You know, I think I've got this tourney figured out. We're errand boys for Mr. King, is what we are. Rouge beast threatening the paths to his city? Why, he's got a stable of killers right here! The Gurney Wheel. Hah. Call us up and send us out, for whatever problem he's having, and we'll clear it up. And what's more, he only has to pay one guy--the winner! Oh, what a marvelous plan it is! The man's been playing speed-chess, and we've only just figured out there's a game on! I admire him for that, I really do.
He begins pacing.
NICK: But you know, you got to know, that you're holding a rod to the fire. Got the tiger by the tail, and if you let go you're gonna get got. Things are heating up, my man--can you keep your grip? Can you hang tight, no matter how much it burns your hand?
MICHAEL KING, from offstage: Tighter than death, Mr. Dorcheld.
NICK: Eh?
Light slowly blooms over the scene, and the shadowy patrons in the back begin to move. A metal angel and a man dressed all in gold arise from separate tables and come forward onto the stage.
KINGSLEY: Underground caverns and wondrous treasures! A noble task indeed.
GABRIEL: It is no less despicable than anything else our host has done.
KINGSLEY: Beautiful armor you have there, angel. I love the gold highlights.
NICK: You two are Gabriel and the Gold King, I suppose? The man in gold must be the King, and so the mechanical man must be Gabriel.
KINGSLEY: Your skills of deduction are unmatched.
NICK: I try.
KINGSLEY: Well then, to the dungeon! Fare thee well, the both of you! Though you are no gentlemen, I feel nothing but respect for you, especially for the golden armor! I'll see you back here after I've dealt with this beast the girl spoke of.
Gabriel turns without a word and launches into the air.
NICK: Dammit, he's beaten us both to the dramatic exit.
KINGSLEY: Away!
Nick and the Gold King exit, hurrying after Gabriel. The King tries to trip Nick with his cane. Nick pretends not to notice.
=-=-=-
In the hills on the outskirts of the city, amid barren rock. A cave entrance is nearby, partially obscured by shrubbery.
Corkscrew Nick and the Gold King roar in from stage right, in separate cars, both dented and beaten from repeated impacts. The Gold King is driving a gold sports car, while Corkscrew Nick is in a forest green town car. In the distance, sirens can be heard.
KINGSLEY: Exhilarating!
NICK: Excellent driving, King. I thought it was especially neat when you ramped off that police cruiser.
KINGSLEY: 'Twas nothing. You had some fine moments yourself, hey?
NICK: In my defense, the choice was between going through the orphanage or losing time by going around.
KINGSLEY: Completely understandable decision. I would have done the same thing myself. Though in a more stylish car, of course.
NICK: Of course.
KINGSLEY: Where'd the angel go? Did we get here before him?
NICK: No, he's most likely down there already. He was flying very fast, don't know if you noticed.
KINGSLEY: Ah, your skills of deduction strike once again.
NICK: Quite so.
KINGSLEY: And now, it seems, we are at an impasse. We can do nothing about the metal angel, but we can certainly take care of each other, as it were. You may want to reconsider drawing your pistol, by the way.
NICK, guiltily: What pistol?
KINGSLEY: The one you're struggling to pull out of your trousers.
NICK: God damn these fiddly little parts that catch on everything!
The Gold King sweeps Nick's legs out from under him with his golden chain.
NICK: Whoa!
KINGSLEY: Isn't it great? A chain made of gold! Solid money! You can take that and put it in the bank, but why would you?
NICK, finally getting the pistol out: I've got nine bullets in this thing. Think I ought to waste a few on you?
KINGSLEY: Save 'em. They wouldn't be much use against me, anyway.
NICK: And they'd fare any better against Gabriel?
KINGSLEY: No, I expect not. Looks like your screwed either way.
NICK: Par for the course, then.
Awkward silence. The Gold King stands with his golden sword held with casual skill, and Corkscrew Nick lies with his pistol out and held in the unnervingly calm manner of someone who knows they will hit what they're shooting at.
NICK: So, uh, while we're sitting here in this standoff...what's with you and gold, anyway? The Gold King, the clothes, the hair, the weapons...even your damn eyes are gold, God knows how you managed that one. And when you were looking for a car to jack, you picked a gold one. What gives? Am I not getting the symbolism here or something?
KINGSLEY: Gold! Moneymoneymoneymoney! Greatest thing in the world, gold.
NICK: Yeah, but you can't do anything with it.
KINGSLEY: You can do anything with it. It can be anything, take any form, be exchanged for anything under the sun and many things that aren't.
NICK: But it itself is useless.
KINGSLEY: So speaks the man taken down by a gold chain.
NICK: That is not good logic. But it is symbolically appropriate, so I'll let it pass.
KINGSLEY: It's not what it can buy that matters, it's the concept of the thing. The idea of gold, the feel of it, the hard warm gleam. I take it wherever I can find it. I'll have to come back for the car, you know--gold cars are hard to come by.
NICK: ...It's not actually gold. You know that, right? It's just painted that way.
KINGSLEY: Pffft. Perhaps no, but it will be. I can summon gold from the air, with the use of things that are not gold, and behold: gold. I'll get this car plated in gold. I can turn anything into gold, you know.
NICK: What?
KINGSLEY, climbing onto the roof of the car: You'd think that with so much gold around, it would lose its value to you. But, nope! I love it.
The music begins playing, dimly in the background--soft drums and flutes, for now.
NICK: You are a crazy, crazy man, Midas my friend.
KINGSLEY: No worse than you, I'm sure.
NICK: So you love gold. I get it. Any reason why?
KINGSLEY: Must there be a reason?
The music suddenly rises, trumpets shout in brassy joy, and the Gold King strikes a pose on the roof of his gold car and begins to sing.
KINGSLEY: Gold, gold!
Motherfucking gold!
I love it so much it hurts.
I clothe myself, I line myself,
I surround myself with gold!
But I worry that I'm missing out
On that metal that I adore;
I lie awake on my bed of gold
And know I still need more!
Gold, gold!
Motherfucking gold!
I love it so hard it hurts.
I've got a palace of gold
And a city of gold
And a toilet with a golden seat!
But that's not enough
(No, it's never enough!)
I've got to get more of that shiny yellow stuff
That glorious metal I crave!
Gold, gold!
Motherfucking gold!
I love it so fierce it hurts.
Money is King, Gold rules all
To the god Au I pledge my life!
Shining dawn, Aurum, my love
Hold on tight to my golden glove
I can't hold back, I must be bold!
I have to win this race because
To first place goes the gold!
Gold, gold!
Motherfucking gold!
I love it so--hey, where'd he go?
=-=-=-
Moving through the caverns. The stage is slowly rotating, so it seems that the audience is panning over various rock formations, fungal growths, etc. There are holes in the wall and the floor at irregular intervals, through which various characters either climb or drop over the course of the scene.
New music begins playing, low and insistent. Corkscrew Nick appears from stage left.
NICK: There is a fear here in my heart that I have long known before
Fear of the dark?
Fear of the spark?
There is a fear here, slowly growing, rising through my throat into my mouth
Fear of the light?
Fear of the night?
MICHAEL KING, from offstage: Fear of the King
Fear of what I might bring...
CHORUS, softly: Fear of the King.
NICK: Anticipation, o glory, where can I find thee?
These halls are so dark, glory, how will I find thee?
My veins fill with acid, my fingers start twitching,
O glory, await me for just one moment more!
MICHAEL KING: Just one moment more
All I can allow...
CHORUS, softly: One moment more.
NICK, speaking normally: Ah, this is exiting, isn't it? It's these moments I live for, the moment before anything happens. While things are going down, you're kind of too busy to enjoy it, you know? But during the buildup...man, then things get crazy! Foreshadowing, that's the ticket.
MICHAEL KING: Watch your step, Mr. Dorcheld.
NICK: Eh?
Corkscrew Nick takes an unwary step and plunges through a hole in the stage, emitting a muffled yelp. The stage keeps turning, absent of any actors.
For a moment, there is silence. Then Gabriel stalks in from stage right, moving faster than usual due to the spinning stage.
MICHAEL KING: Holy avenger, of iron and steam.
GABRIEL: I am lost in this maze.
MICHAEL KING: Mighty steel angel, have you lost your way?
GABRIEL: I have lost my way.
MICHAEL KING: You're going the wrong way...
GABRIEL: How can I know the right path?
They say they respect me
They say I have saved them
What happened to wrath?
MICHAEL KING: There is no right path.
You've been around, angel,
I'd have thought better of you.
If there are only two ways, the right and the wrong
Then how can you take a third option?
It's simple math.
GABRIEL, fading away as he moves offstage: I fear they will fear me...
MICHAEL KING: They already do.
The stage turns, without actors. After a moment's pause in the action the Gold King leaps out of a hole in the cave wall and begins walking briskly towards stage right.
KINGSLEY: This dank, dark ruin
Holds no interest for me.
There is no gold here, for all of its depth
No treasure save mold, no miners but wet.
Water trickling, eroding, working the stone
Carving priceless statues from rock
To stand in darkness, worthless, all alone.
MICHAEL KING: You are alone.
CHORUS softly: Entirely alone.
KINGSLEY: Nothing stands here but garbage and bone.
Oh, for a bank! For a golden-wrought throne
I would kill for a glint
To make it my own.
MICHAEL KING: I own the gleam, Gold King, Shining Lord.
I own the stone and the key and the sky and the bone.
CHORUS softly: He owns all your bones...
KINGSLEY: For gold alone I walk into the unknown
And with gold I shall walk out.
MICHAEL KING: You are nothing, kid.
Though a very fine fellow,
Just a madman in yellow
Blown in by the wind.
CHORUS, softly: Blown in by the wind.
KINGSLEY: There will be gold or there will be blood.
MICHAEL KING: On that we can agree.
The stage slowly grinds to a halt, and the Gold King marches off stage right. The entire scene is silent, now, not a motion breaking the stillness or a sound breaching the quiet.
The drums sound like a heartbeat, low and insistent.
Suddenly the music roars, the electric guitar screams, and a pounding bass line shakes the air. The stage begins to spin again, faster and faster, sparks flying up along the edges, then gouts of flame that reach ten feet into the air. The theater is lit by an evil red light. The rock walls fall away, and in the center of the stage is a shadowed figure, features hidden from the audience. He raises his arms high.
Over the wailing guitar, thundering drums and powerful synth bass, voices can be heard.
CHORUS, triumphant: Hail to the King!
MICHAEL KING: Hail to the King!
Bow your head, kiss the ring!
You're in my city, boy, let me tell you
You'd freak the hell out if only you knew
What's really going on behind this scene
I'm the King, son, sight unseen.
CHORUS: Hail to the King!
MICHAEL KING: Hail to the King!
Motherfuckers don't mean
Any disrespect to the man on high.
It's a hell of a ride to escape this town
One wrong move and the whole thing's down.
I'm the king, son, people die when I frown.
CHORUS: Hail to the King!
MICHAEL KING: Hail to the King!
I see you disrespecting.
Defiance in the building?
Whoa, everybody freeze!
If you want to stand tall
You'll have to do it on your knees.
CHORUS: Hail to the King!
Hail to the King!
Hail to the King!
MICHAEL KING: You think this is funny?
You think this is a game?
You think I can't be laughing
And serious all the same?
Peace, *****, please
Hail to the King.
CHORUS: Hail to the King!
MICHAEL KING: Hail to the King.
CHORUS: Hail to the King!
MICHAEL KING: To the goddamn King.
CHORUS: Hail to the King!
To the King!
To the King!
Hail to the King!
The music stops, and the light fades. The shadowed figure in the center of the stage slowly disappears into the growing darkness.
MICHAEL KING: Yeah.
Hail to the King.
The stage goes black.
=-=-=-
In the maze, where nothing is certain. The stage is split into two sections by a rock wall in the center, both sides visible to the audience. It is implied that these are separate tunnels that happen to be side by side. In the tunnel at stage right is a dim glow.
Corkscrew Nick enters from stage right, and Gabriel enters from stage left.
NICK: What is this I see ahead? Let us take a look--careful, now, no need to be killed by foolishness, there's reason enough to die by other causes.
Nick peers around the corner from which the glow is coming. Gabriel cocks his head, as if listening, and exits through the stage left tunnel.
NICK: Now, isn't that fascinating? Looking for a manticore, and here one is. I stand on the doorstep of the lion's den, and mine allies all unknowing! Boldness, be my friend. Let us walk together into this hell.
GABRIEL, from offstage: We are in this together, are we not?
NICK: As you say.
Gabriel emerges from stage right, behind Corkscrew Nick.
NICK: Here to kill me, I suppose?
GABRIEL: This is no battle here. We were told to go and dispose of this beast, not fight each other. There is no need.
NICK: Hah. Yes, no need to fight. That's just what I told the last fellow. Jacob Kaynard was his name. "We don't have to fight, Jake," I said. "All we have to do is solve this little murder and then go home." Guess how that ended up?
GABRIEL: Since I haven't seen Mr. Kaynard, I assume it ended poorly.
NICK: Poorly! Never was a word truer spoken. He shot at me. Me! With the murderer's own pistol, no less. You can't trust anyone these days, Jake, and that's a fact.
GABRIEL: I am not Mr. Kaynard.
NICK: No, you're a mechanical beast hiding behind a thousands-year-old mythology. How is that better, pray tell? I can't see you but I suspect there's a man inside that shell, and all men are the same. Women, too, let's not be sexist here.
GABRIEL: I--
NICK, interrupting: And kids, too. Fucking kids. The worst people in the world are children, let me tell you that.
GABRIEL: Did you have a point you were trying to make?
NICK: Oh, sure. But not, I fear, one you'd be interested in hearing.
GABRIEL: Speak, and I will be the judge of that.
NICK: Okay, look, let's get this out in the open, straight and clear. I know you, Gabby-boy. You're a goddamn cardboard cut-out, all papier-mâché and glass eyes. You're a foil. The archangel, high and mighty, dispenser of justice, flaming sword in hand and praise for the Lord on his lips. That's an archetype. And then you're made of metal. You've got guns and chains and wire hair spitting steam. That's a classic inversion of the archetype, you see? You're an angel, but you're also something else, something mechanical and manmade and strange. I can add together all the archetypes, the themes and the symbols, and I can see straight through you at a glance. Do you not get this? You're a composite, merely the sum of your parts, and don't try to say you're greater because you aren't, Gabby-boy, you simply aren't.
GABRIEL: I don't think you know what you're talking about.
NICK: Or perhaps you're afraid I do.
GABRIEL: Not really, no.
NICK: No?
GABRIEL: I am the savior of Shore City, its protector and guardian. I know who I am, Nicklaus. I don't need you to tell me.
NICK: The guardian angel, eh?
GABRIEL: If you will.
NICK: Well, then. Humanity's savior. Or Shore City's, at least. Very nice.
GABRIEL: We are wasting time. We have a job to do.
NICK: That's the thing, isn't it? It isn't just a job, Gabby. All the talk about kill-on-sight orders, and declaring that you can win if you off your opponent...you think that's just gone away? Hell no, Gabby-boy, by this point that shit be implied. Read between the lines a little, eh? Take a look at the subtext, because that hasn't changed since the last fight.
GABRIEL: It was not Mr. King who gave the order this time. Things have changed.
NICK: Things never change, Gab. It's just a new take on the same theme.
GABRIEL: Very well, then. If you are unwilling I shall do this alone. Step aside, Nicklaus. Let me finish this task, and then we can resume this conversation in a more appropriate place.
NICK: Hah! No.
The murderer's pistol is in Nick's hand, and he opens fire. One, two, three shots, sparking off the red-gold armor, and then Gabriel is upon him and Nick is flying through the air. As he moves the stage spins on an unseen axis: gears grind and whirr beneath the floor as the mechanism works. The stage spins, and a new scene is brought to bear.
Nick is tumbling through the air, slowly, as the stage turns. The effect is well done: the audience cannot see even the shadow of the wires.
He lands upon the stage in the next scene, which is still resolving itself. The great machine in the floor turns and moves according to orders from the unseen man in the effects booth, and the floor falls away. What is left is a narrow stone bridge across a chasm of fathomless depth, with the tunnel entrance from the previous scene on stage right and an opening filled by the head of a sleeping mechanical beast on stage left. The walls are rimmed with glowing fungus.
Gabriel reenters the scene from the tunnel, stage right, his left arm hanging limp and useless. Black, grainy fluid leaks from his shoulder joint. The music begins, low at first, rising slowly.
GABRIEL: That was foolish.
NICK: Was it? It would have come about eventually, you know. The wise man does at once what the fool does finally; I saw no reason to delay further.
GABRIEL: You fool. You damn fool. We could have done this together, you and I, and never had to fight at all. And now you've tried and failed, and you're out of the game for good.
NICK: Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself, you know.
GABRIEL: No, all it takes is stupidity.
NICK: Well, if you want to take all the romance out of it, then...yes. What's wrong with your arm, by the way?
GABRIEL: You shot it.
NICK: What, so you aren't armored on the joints?
GABRIEL: Oh, shit.
NICK: Oh ho ho! Have I discovered a weakness? A ***** in the armor? I think I have!
GABRIEL: You fool.
NICK: What will you do now, metal angel? Should you charge you will be on the ground, limbs useless, long before you reach me.
GABRIEL, taking aim with his right-arm blaster: Don't make me kill you, Nicklaus.
NICK: You? Kill me? Yeah, that's going to happen.
GABRIEL: I am warning you. I don't want to kill you, but I will.
NICK: Open fire, then. Kill me.
The chorus begins singing, a rising, wordless sound behind the speech of the actors.
NICK: I see through you, Gabby. I see what you keep chained inside.
GABRIEL: Lower your weapon, Nicklaus.
NICK: Pull your trigger. Press your button. Charge. Just do it, man, don't wait around, don't slow down! Hit it! The scum of the earth, and you're looking at him! You know what I am, you've got it figured out by now, right? Corkscrew Nick, man! Boring straight through you, and out it all comes like pop.
GABRIEL: Lower your weapon, Nicklaus!
NICK: Shoot me. Cold blood, stone cold...metal cold. Cold as iron.
The music rises. The scene is lit from below the stone bridge, throwing deep and strange shadows over the performers.
CHORUS: Seraphim, rising high!
Armor of shining star-metal
Flower with iron petals
Seraphim, ride the sky!
NICK: Bright red-coated angel,
Why do you hold back?
Your limbs are all weapons
You are God's greatest weapon
Go on the attack!
GABRIEL, reluctantly: I must be their savior
But what must they see in me?
Mechanical demon
Red steam-shrouded demon
I fear they will fear me.
NICK: What do you fear?
I see no demon but man.
What you could be is no worse
Than this plague on the earth
Unleash your fury.
CHORUS: Seraphim, rising high!
Armor of shining star-metal
Flower with iron petals
Seraphim, ride the sky!
GABRIEL: If I could but save them
But save them from themselves?
I know not the right path
I cannot praise or condemn.
With service comes worth
And with power comes duty.
NICK: With power comes power,
No more and no less.
Get down from your tower
Get your guilt off your chest!
CHORUS: Seraphim, rising high!
Armor of shining star-metal
Flower with iron petals
Seraphim, ride the sky!
GABRIEL: I will save, not destroy.
I was made to rise, not to fall.
I am a savior, o killer,
Not a one-man crusade.
NICK: Are you?
Sometimes I wonder,
Alone in the dark,
What would you do
If you were not afraid?
GABRIEL: I am not afraid.
NICK: Then shoot to kill.
GABRIEL: Lower your weapon.
NICK: Disgusting. Absurd.
It comes down to your life
'Gainst a life lived for death
And you still have not the will
To draw the last breath.
CHORUS: Seraphim, rising high!
Armor of shining star-metal
Flower with iron petals
Seraphim, ride the sky!
There is silence, for a moment. Then the music starts again, with a single sad piano tune at first, rising to darker guitars and synth when Corkscrew Nick begins singing.
GABRIEL: What can I do?
I must be their hero
I must defend them
I must be their savior
I must always be true...
NICK: What can I do?
Can't say I'm surprised you
Can't pry your knees from the pew.
So here we go, Gab,
Gonna end this right now
With one fatal stab
That cuts clean on through.
It's the killer's debut, Gab.
The final adieu.
The music stops.
GABRIEL: I don't like to kill.
NICK: Does that mean you will?
KINGSLEY, offstage, singing: There is no gold here, for all of its depth
No treasure save mold, no miners but wet.
Water trickling, eroding, working the stone
Carving priceless statues from rock
To stand in darkness, worthless, all alone.
NICK: Oh, bloody hell. Is that the King?
MICHAEL KING, offstage: No.
NICK: What?
The Gold King enters from the stage right tunnel.
KINGSLEY: There you are! I've been looking all over for you both. Terrible shame, running off like that. Terrible.
NICK: I didn't want to interrupt you, is all.
KINGSLEY: To be sure, to be sure. Considerate of you.
NICK: I try.
GABRIEL: Gold King, help me. This madman will not let me pass.
KINGSLEY: Is that so?
NICK: Something along those lines, yes.
GABRIE: We do not need to fight. All we have to do is solve the problem of this manticore. Nicklaus, however, does not see it that way, and will not let me pass.
NICK: It is my greatest failure, blocking the way forward.
GABRIEL: Not one needs to die today. Come on, Gold King, we can complete this mission and return to Mr. King, both of us alive. And (indicating Corkscrew Nick) maybe this madman will yet survive, who knows.
KINGSLEY: An interesting proposition.
NICK: Yes, Ben, he could go far with twenty thousand in his pocket.
GABRIEL: What?
KINGSLEY: This poses a unique problem. I came here for the gold, you know? It's a tournament. That means a prize, and a prize means money. Even here, in this cave, I have come seeking gold. And you know what? I haven't found any. Not a speck, not a flake.
GABRIEL: Perhaps you should focus on more important things, then.
KINGSLEY: Exactly! Gold. There isn't any in this damn maze. And so I got to thinking, where is the gold? There's always some, you know. That's how the world runs, on gold.
NICK: Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold?
KINGSLEY: Yes! Wonderful!
GABRIEL: I think you are getting off track, Gold King.
KINGSLEY: No, no, I'm fine, thanks. But the gold. You have to be bright, sometimes, to find it. Oh so clever, right? Think around corners.
NICK: Think in corkscrews.
KINGSLEY: Exactly!
GABRIEL: Did you have a point you were trying to make?
KINGSLEY: Of course. Because you see, Gabriel, there is no gold in the dungeon. No gold in the maze. But there is gold here, because there is always gold, right? So there is gold here, but the cavern has none.
Corkscrew Nick begins to laugh.
GABRIEL: I am sorry, but I do not understand what you are trying to say.
KINGSLEY: Isn't it obvious? The only gold here, Gabriel, is you.
The Gold King steps behind Gabriel and strikes with his golden sword. Sparks cascade from the full length of the angel's back and Gabriel stumbles, thrown off-balance by the blow. Before he can recover the Gold King lashes out again, then again, and again.
Gabriel turns and delivers a thunderous blow to the Gold King, and the fight begins in earnest. They move stage right, attacking and parrying in turn, neither having an obvious advantage.
Corkscrew Nick stands, watching, lowering the gun.
NICK: Well, now. That was interesting. Oh, Gold King, you are such a joker. Entirely predictable, though.
The fight continues. The only light on stage is a spotlight on the combatants and a spotlight on Corkscrew Nick.
NICK: You know, I think I'd only get in their way at this point. Let's move off, shall we? See about the victor later. Hah.
He turns, and a spotlight illuminates the head of the razormane manticore, slumbering in the tunnel stage left. Gabriel and the Gold King exit stage right.
NICK: Now, what shall we do about you? The hostess said something about a programming error. I see a gleam of metal: are you beast or machine?
The manticore does not move.
NICK: Hey! Wake up! Sleeping Beauty, you ain't!
The manticore stirs.
MANTICORE: Who dares disturb my rest?
NICK: Jeez, man. Could you try to come up with a line less original than that?
MANTICORE: I'm still waking up, you daft bugger. You get woken from a deep sleep by a bloody gnat and see how eloquent you are.
NICK: Fair enough, I suppose. Though for the record I am extremely eloquent even when exhausted.
MANTICORE: Duly fucking noted.
NICK: So...I was informed there was a riddle you'd been giving to travelers trying to get to Paradise City.
MANTICORE: You have heard correct.
NICK: Excellent!
MANTICORE: You, however, are coming from the city.
NICK: Throw it down anyway. I like riddles.
MANTICORE: The penalty for failing this one is, I eat you.
NICK: ...Wait, isn't that the penalty for failing any riddle?
MANTICORE: What?
NICK: Well, whenever I ask someone a riddle, and they don't get it, I kill them. I thought that was just how it worked. Standard procedure, you know?
MANTICORE: Well, yeah. Social norm, that.
NICK: Phew! Thought I might have been committing a repeated faux pas there.
MANTICORE: Yes, yes, fascinating, I'm sure.
NICK: So then, the riddle. Lay it on me.
MANTICORE: Very well. Clears throat.
The glowing fungus lining the walls of the cavern begins to make strange noises.
FUNGUS: Doo.
NICK: The fungus! It talks?
FUNGUS: Doo-wop.
MANTICORE: The fungus, it provides backup vocals.
FUNGUS: Doo-wop, doo-wop.
NICK: Oh, hell yes.
FUNGUS: Doo-wop, doo-wop, doo-wop...
The drums kick in, and the music starts.
MANTICORE: A question for you
FUNGUS: Doo-wop doo-wop
MANTICORE: On the edge of the abyss
FUNGUS: Doo-wop doo-wop
MANTICORE: A puzzle or two
FUNGUS: Doo-wop doo-wop
MANTICORE: Riddle me this.
FUNGUS: Doo-wop doo-wop
MANTICORE: Many have come here
None of them knew
Those bold pioneers
With nary a clue...
FUNGUS: Doo-wop doo-wop
MANTICORE: A question for you
FUNGUS: Doo-wop doo-wop
MANTICORE: Come now, I insist
FUNGUS: Doo-wop doo-wop
MANTICORE: A puzzle to do
FUNGUS: Doo-wop doo-wop
MANTICORE: Riddle me this.
FUNGUS: Doo-wop doo-wop
MANTICORE: A riddle to solve
You must get it just right
A mystery to resolve
Or you die tonight!
FUNGUS: Doo-wop doo-wop
MANTICORE: Riddle me this.
FUNGUS: Doo-wop doo-wop
MANTICORE: Riddle me this.
FUNGUS: Doo-wop doo-wop
NICK: So ask it.
The manticore's eyes glow brighter, its claws rake the stone, and the music reaches a crescendo.
MANTICORE: Ask and ye shall receive. The riddle, then, is...
The music stops absolutely, and the manticore freezes with its mouth open. A faint buzzing sound can be heard, and a series of beeps.
MANTICORE: Rid-d-dd-d-l-rid-riddle m-me/me th-th-th/is
File corrupted.
Bypassing.
Boot to answer sequence.
NICK: Well, then.
MANTICORE, normal once again: Answer, or die. And you might die if you answer, too. No promises.
There is an extended silence.
NICK: Hell of a riddle there, eh?
MANTICORE: Is that your answer?
NICK: No, no, just a comment.
MANTICORE: Word of warning: whatever you say next will be accepted as your answer.
NICK, muttered: To hell with it. Louder: The answer is "swordfish."
There is silence. The manticore blinks slowly, once.
MANTICORE: You know, you're the first one who's gotten that right. Congratulations.
NICK: Thank you.
MANTICORE: You may pass.
NICK: The cyborg hostess--I mean, the person who directed me to you--mentioned something about a wish being granted?
MANTICORE: That's crazy talk.
NICK: Please?
MANTICORE, sighing: You bloody humans. Fine. One wish, but I can't swear that I'll grant it.
Gabriel and the Gold King reenter the scene from stage right, still fighting. Both are bleeding, battered and torn: neither has the upper hand.
Corkscrew Nick points at them with a grand gesture.
NICK: Throw them down.
MANTICORE: Is that all? Easily done.
The manticore leaps, sailing over Corkscrew Nick and landing with a massive thundering of drums and bass. Gabriel and the Gold King turn, seeing the beast coming too late. The manticore roars, a sound that shakes the theater, and lashes out with an enormous paw. The Gold King and Gabriel are sent flying through the air. The manticore strikes once more, with another mighty roar, and the two fall from the stone bridge that is the stage for this scene.
After a moment the Gold King can be seen, determinedly climbing up the side of the bridge. The manticore strikes him off with a single blow as behind him Gabriel rises up from below.
The manticore turns, Gabriel fires his blasters once, and then he is gone, slammed down into the darkness below by the manticore's metal fist.
MANTICORE: R-r-ridd-rid-dl/ri/le-rid m/e-me-e th/is
The manticore collapses, and for the first time the audience can see the glowing crater carved into its head by Gabriel's weapons. There is no sound in the theater, save for Corkscrew Nick's mad laughter.
The stage goes black.
=-=-=-
The stage is dark, occupied only by dim, featureless figures. The floor is uneven and rough, marked in places by mounds or pits. The light is coming from behind, backlighting the scene: it is pale and silvery.
Nick's theme is heard, darker and more hard-edged than before, rising slowly as the spotlight fades in on him at center stage.
NICK: Walk in circles.
The music matches the pace of his footsteps as he walks around the stage, gesturing at unseen things.
NICK: Spinning, swirling,
Truth unfurling
Down the corkscrews.
He stops, and the glow from his spotlight reveals Gabriel, lying upon the stage in a broken heap.
NICK: Archangel, arise not to the sky
That life now is forever denied.
You fell like so many others have fallen
Where have I seen this before?
Archangel, the savior, guardian Seraphim;
You shall fly no more.
He begins to walk again, and Gabriel vanishes into the shadows.
NICK: Dancing, shaking,
Hearts are breaking
Through the corkscrews.
He stops again. At his feet lies the Gold King, crumpled and shining.
NICK: O what fools these mortals be!
But better a fool than a pauper
And better a beggar than a king.
There is gold in the jungle
Buried deep beneath the sand
You walked into the jungle
Thinking you'd come out rich:
You walked into the jungle
And you came out not at all.
Nick begins to walk again and the Gold King vanishes into the shadows, until not even the gleam from his clothes remains.
NICK: Laughing, fighting,
Life is exciting
Around the corkscrews.
He stops, once again in center stage. The spotlight vanishes, so that he is only seen dimly, outlined by the silvery light.
NICK: Here stands the final player
Here stands the actor supreme
Here stands the smooth-tongued slayer
Here stands the man who took a knife to your dreams
Here stands the dark soothsayer
Here stands no mouth that still must scream.
He begins walking backwards, fading into the darkness, and the music fades with him.
NICK: Loving, burning,
Screws are turning
Twist the corkscrews.
Corkscrew Nick can barely be seen now, and the music is almost nothing.
NICK: Walk in circles.
MICHAEL KING, offstage: Forever in circles.
Nick vanishes into the darkness. There is complete silence in the theater.
The drums sound like a heartbeat, low and insistent.
Suddenly the guitar wails and the bass roars. Violins strike a vicious, eager chord, and the fanfare plays darkly. The stage parts, and a shadowed figure rises up from the floor. He is backlit by fire: the audience cannot see his features.
CHORUS, sinister: Hail to the King!
MICHAEL KING: Hail to the King!
Bow your head, kiss the ring!
You're in my city, boys, let me tell you
Whole place was built by men who never knew
What was really going on behind this scene
I'm the King, son, ruling unseen.
CHORUS: Hail to the King!
MICHAEL KING: Hail to the King!
I hope you don't mean
Any disrespect to the man on high
No one can ever escape this town
Set me off, the whole thing comes down.
I'm the king, son, means I get the crown.
CHORUS: Hail to the King!
MICHAEL KING: Hail to the King!
I see what you're thinking.
Defiance in the building?
Whoa, everybody freeze!
If you want to stand tall
You'll have to do it on your knees.
CHORUS: Hail to the King!
Hail to the King!
Hail to the King!
MICHAEL KING: You think this is funny?
You think this is a game?
You think I can't be laughing
And serious all the same?
Give me some credit, man,
Hail to the King.
CHORUS: Hail to the King!
MICHAEL KING: Hail to the King.
CHORUS: Hail to the King!
MICHAEL KING: To the goddamn King.
CHORUS: Hail to the King!
To the King!
To the King!
Hail to the King!
The music stops, and the shadowed figure raises its arms. The light is strange, flickering like a fire about to go out, red and silver and weird.
The crumpled bodies of the Gold King and Gabriel are illuminated by spotlights. Gabriel stirs, and painfully moves his head to look at the shadowed figure.
GABRIEL: ...Tom?
MICHAEL KING: Close.
The spotlights go out and the stage falls into darkness, leaving only a lone figure, rimmed in silvery light. The audience cannot make out his face, try as they might.
The shadowed figure brings its arms together, and
The Curtain Falls
The Steel Dragon
_____________________________________________________________________________________________Part I: Wanderer
Breaking Benjaman, So Cold
Gabriel's fingers drummed impatiently under his gauntlet. He would never say it, but he was sick and tired of waiting for something to do. He was sick and tired of the cross-eyed bartender. He was even tired of Tom's endless optimism about the future. He wasn't a child, he should know that words are only worth the action put behind them.
But it was more than that. He would never admit to himself, but he was sick and tired of being cooped up; He wanted to feel the wind and rain on his armor. He was tired of feeling helpless; he wanted to go out and stop people from getting hurt. But more than anything, he was sick and fucking tired of this city; something about it was fundamentally wrong, and he didn't know what.
"-nd I've got a sister in Shore City, so I could go there, maybe help you out a bit." Tom prattled on and on, breathlessly. "At the very least, I could come see you every now and again." Gabriel nodded. "Yeah," Tom continued. "I'd like that a lot. Is something bothering you? You seem quieter than usual."
Gabriel gesured with his eyes across the tavern; sitting in a corner was The Gold King, eyeing Gabriel and playing with his sword. Tom shrugged. "Yeah, that guy's a psychopath alright. Not as bad as Corkscrew nick, but still pretty bad. I think he wants that gold on your arm-"
"It isn't gold." Gabriel said loudly. "I wouldn't carry something as useless as gold around with me, let alone decorate myself with it. It serves no purpose."
The Gold King laughed. "Then what is it made of?"
"Steel-Titanium." Gabriel replied. "And bronze where the armor comes apart."
Percy spoke up" Isn't that dangerous-"
Tom cut him off. "Hey, buddy, you're taking about a seven foot tall, one ton bulldozer. You think you can get his armor off, do it when you fight him."
Percy said nothing.
"In fact," Tom said standing. "I'm pretty sure Gabriel could bulldoze all of you without trying. Did you see what he did to that...thing, that appeared over the sky? Stop for a second and imagine what would ha-"
Gabriel grabbed Tom's arm. "Enough. They know what I can do; I don't know what they can do." Tom stuttered for a moment, and sat down.
Something was happening; perhaps the last figher was arriving. Finally, a break from the-
A woman clad in black burst through the door, shaking. She looked around, threw up, and collapsed.
Everyone shot up from their seats, except Gabriel; Tom was there first, and took her pulse. "Dead. And cold; she shouldn't have been able to come here."
"And the other guy isn't here." The Gold King said. "Does that mean no one wins?"
"No." Percy said. "One survived."
Tom took the power cels from Sarah, and gave them to Timmouth. Almost immediately, the cyborg girl took them from him. "You were supposed to give those to me." Clearing her throat, she said, "Percy and Equus, step forward." Percy remained seated. "I have a-"
"So...the virus survived?"
"So it would seem" Gabriel said, rising. "I want you to leave. I may need your help with this, and I don't want you around them."
Tom shrugged, and got up. "'k. I'll meet you on the roof across the street."
Gabriel stretched every joint in his body as far as it would go, in spite of his restrictive armor. "Corkscrew Nick, Gold King, Gabriel, I have a more special assignment for you. Just outside of one of the routes that lead here, there is a cave. This cave leads into a vast underground complex which houses a rather unique structure; an artificial Razormane Manticore. It has recently started killing people who try to travel here but can't answer it's idiotic riddles. Mostly scu-"
Gabriel had heared enough; annoying homicidal lion-thing, kill it, tame it, make it gone. Gabriel's feathers ruffled as he stepped inside and flew off.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Corckscrew Nick and The Gold King walked out of the tavern.
Nick couldn't finish his sentance. Underneath the tavern behind them, a conviniently placed gas main ruptured, and the tavern, as well as the two travelers, were engulfed in a massive fireball.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
The air at dusk was almost magical; the beams of light relfected off the smallest grains of dust, dancing in the air, making it seem bright and full of life, something Gabriel had always loved watching. As soon as he was out of the tavern, he streched out his wings and flew straight up, watching the light dance around him
Being out of that little tavern felt good; he was not used to being indoors, and often found he didn't enjoy it a whole lot. Even when he was at the church, he spent most of his time outside his job and do-goodery perched on a ledge.
Gabriel slowed down as he reached the glass dome, stopping about a foot away from it. The sense of being trapped returned, abet not as strong. This is wrong he thought, reaching a hand and touching the glass. It was a foot thick, probably reinforced. This is why I've been so bothered. This should not be.
Gabriel shook his head, and let himself descend. He would not let himself be bothered by troublesome thoughts; he had a job to do. Something was killing people, and he intended to stop it.
Descending slowly, Gabriel landed on the roof of the tavern, looking for Tom. Sure enough, he was right across the street, sitting on the roof. Gabriel shook his head and flew over. "I need-"
Tom shot up from his seat, taking out a gun. abriel put up his hand. "Tom, It's me, Gabri-"
Tom shot Gabriel, each bullet bouncing off his armor. Gabriel spun his wings to his front. "Thomas, I'm not your enemy." Gabriel said. "You know me. I saved you from that demon. I'm your friend." Tom's magazine ran out; he empied his gun, reloaded it, and kept shooting. Gabriel shook his head. "I'm not going to hurt you, Tom. I don't care why you're doing this, I'm not going to hurt you."
A great calm settled upon Gabriel, as though his body was not sure how to respond to what had just happened. In truth, his mind needed time to strech. A fury like he had never known was settling into him, the kind of fury that could drive any concious being mad.
Gabriel took in a deep, deep breath. Steam ejected from him with enough force and heat to melt brick. The silver plate on his left arm spun around, folded and began to glow with a bright blue light. Gabriel coolly and quickly fired a beam of blue energy at the tavern. The gas main under it exploded, and the building was engulfed in flame.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Part II: Destroyer
The Gold King's ears were ringing. He felt confused, disorented, everything was spinning around, and he felt an enourmous pressure on top of him. All in all, not a good day.
King jerked up; bits of wood and rubble fell off him. His ears were still ringing, probably because he was so close to the tavern when it went kaboom! Corkscrew Nick was lying in a broken heap about five feet away; he wasn't moving.
The Gold King rose, slowly, looking around. The blast had taken a toll on the surrounding area, but there were no bodies anywhere, except Nick. King briefly wondered what caused the blast, but decided it was unimportiant. What happend had happened, and there was no use contemplating it.
The Gold King's hearing was slowly coming back; he heared sirens in the distance. He was in no condition to fight anything, especially a squad of cops. Cursing his luck and picking up his sword, he quietly limped away.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
The Tyrant King was facing the very real possibility that there was nothing in heaven above, hell below, and nothing in all the vast infinite universes that could stop this thing. Even Lord Halberd feared this thing, more than those it brought with it.
The Tyrant King cracked his neck, and sat on his throne. His army had been all but defeated; his castle was crumbling around him and all his plans had been thwarted. The least he could do is send the men responsable for it back to the hell he had rescued them from.
The wall before The Tyrant King shook. A beam of indigo light pierced through the wall, bouncing harmlessly off of The King's psychic barrier. The wall violently shook a second time; and a third, caving in a little more with each massive blow. "I don't know what you wish to acomplish..." It was difficult to tell whether his voice was mocking or sincere, as reassuring as it was. "Lord Halberd is dead. The old man will not help you. Beings as insignificant and ultimately powerless as yourselves cannot defeat an ascended." The wall shook again, a crack running down the line of it. "I would let you serve me." The Tyrant King continued. "I have lttle choice, as you killed all my-"
A final, massive blow shook the wall before The Tyrant King; it could take no more, and colappsed. The Tyrant King, with a wave of his hand, cleared the dust and rubble away.
Gabriel pointed his blaster at The Tyrant King. Four points at the end of his fist glowed with violet energy, darkening the air around them. "No more lies. No more games. This ends now."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
A foot of glass was inconsequential to Gabriel, reinforced or not; his cannons blasted through them like a knife through warm butter, cutting two half-circles from one end to the other. Gabriel drop-kicked it mid-flight, sending it flying into the canyon below.
Gabriel was aware he probably didn't need to kill the manticore; what he did need was to blow off steam. More importiant, people were going to need the way out, and there was a distinct possibility that this cave would be ideal for that.
The Chimera hesitated for a moment, before sitting back down. "I do not believe we are enemies."
Gabriel remained motionless. "Prove it."
"Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me how?" The Chimera repied. "Or would you rather battle to a standstill again?" The manticore cocked her head. "Or do you believe you can defeat me? Perhaps you could, but what purpose would it serve?"
"You kill."
"As do you. I am not a fool, Metal Angel.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Part III: Warrior
What was left was little more than a crater in the ground. Reports were still early and incomplete, but it looked like a gas main had exploded under the tavern. Despite the sheer radius of the blast and debris flying up to three blocks away, there were only a few injuries.
The emergency services had been delayed, but not completely held off. So many things were wrong with this city...but that was irrelevant. Percy didn't help people because it was convinient, he helped people because he was a healer.
Percy strode to where the tavern used to be. Several officers shot at him; their bullets bounced harmlessly off the invisible honeycomb shield around him. Walking over to where Nick's body lay, Percy considered his options; a phoenix feather would only bind his soul back to his mortal form, and his newfound life would leave his body as quickly as it came. He could use his magic to revive him and heal him simontaniously, but that would leave the both of them at the mercy of the men with guns not so far away. Percy needed to know what happened here, and he needed to know soon.
Percy breathed in deep, and raised his staff. Small orbs of white light seeped up through the ground around the police and emergency workers; when they got to eye level, they exploded, leaving nothing behind. That taken care of, Percy pointed his staff to Corkscrew Nick and spoke a single word; "Arise"
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Stephen R. Donaldson, The Killing Stroke
'Tis done. 13 pages all put together. I really got to learn to write less.
Everything bounced. The earth trembled with queasy enthusiasm and the sky rolled in and away as the voice of god set the world in motion. When he was finished the spiral arm of a galaxy lifted itself off the wooden counter top and stalked away with universes of dark matter. Equus assumed this swift departure was his opponent and when little algorithms and subroutines translated the big ones waves of energy into meaning and language he drifted into steady pursuit. Percy, this one called itself. The name meant nothing to Equus. He?d killed big ones before; two at once the night earlier. And Equus understood he was meant to kill ?Percy? tonight. He would do it joyfully. But he wished, as he always wished, that ?Percy? meant as much to him as it did to the big ones.
Equus was small. Objectively, he knew that he was microscopic. And yet, he couldn?t ignore the part of himself that saw his own nanofilament body just fine. Objectively, he knew that dust mites were tiny things, just on the edge of human perception and therefore just on the edge of reality. And yet, he couldn?t ignore the part of himself that wandered the unkempt peaks and valleys of a dust mite?s back like an eternal, uncharted, wilderness. Objectively, he knew that the parts of the world that mattered were so gigantic he could not conceive of them; that his wildernesses could be crushed under a human?s thumb without being noticed. And yet, he could not ignore the part of himself that thought his world was important, and the big one?s inconsequential.
After all, what was a ?Percy?? Universes of cells and bacteria and clothing fibers and parasites and soil residue and pollen were all moving in perfectly synchronized unison ahead of Equus. Were each and every one of them ?Percy?? And what did it mean that ?Percy? was dead? In Equus?s experience, the big ones were considered dead long before they were actually gone. Usually, all you had to do was stop a couple key parts moving and all the other big ones would start crying and fighting and morning those who had passed. Equus thought it was silly. ?He?s not passed. All of ?Daman?s lice are still living the good life. They haven?t even noticed anything went wrong!?
He couldn?t argue with big ones though. Because they can?t see him. Or hear him. He?s inconsequential?
Which is probably why he got into the killing business. Every sentient creature wants to be remembered. He'd never met someone his size who could think and plan and talk and feel, which meant that he had to seek his remembrance from the big ones. But he was too small, they were too large, nothing he could build would even be noticed. Which only left the question of what he could destroy.
He didn't mind. In truth, it made him feel understandably badass. He'd killed things so large they couldn't be measured. He'd been to the big one's Chernobyl and caused the explosion. His own creators couldn't control him and now their species trembled in fear as the opponent they could not see disassembled them from the inside. It was a life. Enough of a life.
Equus followed behind the swift movement as it entered the street. "Percy" stood still for a moment, doubtlessly examining a landscape Equus couldn't begin to comprehend. Regardless it afforded Equus the prime opportunity to drift farther and farther up the near endless expanses of white cotton threads that draped the being he was to end. They were very beautiful, in a way. Like snowcapped deserts woven together. Not that Equus had ever seen snow, but he was programmed to know everything the big one's knew; and he knew that a snowcapped desert was beautiful, for those who could see it.
Before long Equus found himself crossing the border of the cotton Sahara and entering the pockmarked and squishy ruins of the face. From a distance they were supposed to be quite appealing but Equus had never been able to look on them in anything but disgust. With urgency he cast his eyes on the horizon and searched for a mountain of peculiar dimensions. Ridged on one side and flat on the other, possessing two gaping fissures, the nose always stood from the rest of the facial environment. And before Long Equus discovered the nose of "Percy".
The big one began moving again but his fate was sealed. Equus was inside him now, moving patiently down his bronchial tube, already releasing the drones and clones that would realize his coup. With steady drive and a practiced hand Equus traveled to the heart. The heart was the key to killing big ones. Everything in a big one relied on the heart for power and motion and guidance which meant that a brief examination of the gigantic machine afforded him the chance to see everything in the big one. Equus camped at the main ventricle and reproduced, throwing countless of his drones into the coursing rapids. They traveled the full length of the being and with military precision formed forts and barracks in preparation for the imminent invasions.
Equus departed the heart. The warmth and viscosity of its river always made him anxious. He felt always that he might slip and the thick current would never release him, doomed to spend eternity as a cog in the machine of a being to great to appreciate his toil. His mind always traveled from his purpose while he sat around the heart. He wondered what peace he would find in his life when the thrill of killing had ducked below the horizon. He assumed it was the siren's call big ones talked about, a haunting melody that wounds your sensibility until finally you'll do something stupid. Some kind of defense mechanism, no doubt.
The brain on the other hand held no such awe. It was merely the chair of the central nervous system and the place to stage one's microbial rebellion. Equus clawed at the frontal lobe before wedding himself to a promising looking node. Before the fight had even begun, colors and scents came flooding into Equus, assaulting him physically. There was so much ... perception, sensation, form and feeling and all of them ran like mustangs released from the pen, trampling Equus in their fervent compulsion to be the first to thank him for their freedom. Drones across the body set into motion taking over and Equus writhed in something that wasn't pain. He tried desperately to tear his connection to Percy, but he'd already won the battle. Everything Percy was sat idle for him to command.
It was horrible.
The big one stood up from the ground. He was feet from the bar he'd left only moments ago and panting with a desperate kind of pace. The sky was overcast but lovely and it distracted him from the crowd of concerned citizens. They shouted things like "Hey man, you okay?" And "What the hell is on your back!? Are you okay?" The big one didn't respond. Equus could have made him, but there were larger issues to deal with. Percy's couldn't feel his legs. The drones there reported that the muscles were overworked and nearly lifeless. His back burned as though it were on fire, but somehow the nerve endings remained intact. His stomach was shrunk from starvation and his knees and joints were nearly paralyzed with arthritis. It was a wonder this one could move.
Which begged the question, could it move? Equus brought one leg to bear and it stepped with remarkable grace. Impossible grace. So Equus sprinted, and Percy whistled away from the crowd of onlookers. Equus stopped at the corner of fifth street and Monroe, when he heard gunfire. There was a dead woman in the middle of the street and, without Equus's consent or even acknowledgment, the Percy began moving toward it. It was muscle reflex, the kind that didn't go through the brain; the same thing that pulled a person's hand from a fire. Except in Percy's case it was a complex motion inspired by only the sight of a dead body. Equus didn't know what was happening but he was inclined to let it continue. And in the space of thirty seconds Percy reached the woman, grabbed a feather from the beast on his back and placed it delicately on the woman's tongue.
She shouted. They were horrible curdling cries. But she breathed again, and she wept like a person who hadn't died only minutes before. She looked at the big one and asked "WHY?" Percy didn't answer. Equus could think of nothing to say. Everything he'd ever seen and all he was programmed to know just told him he witnessed the impossible. And so he dug deeper into Percy's mind, deeper than he'd ever traveled before. There was pain and guilt and memories and finally, a plateau. A place to breath. Equus assumed this place. And then the voice began.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter One
Hello, My name is Perseverance. My father beat me.
I had an elder sister. She died of polio at age fourteen. I never recovered from her
death. I stopped befriending people because I didn't want to lose them. I was a lonely young man. When I was old enough to understand, I seized on the concept of religion. I began studying white magic. When I was good at it I left home. I think my father always blamed himself for pushing me away.
I was the cleric for a group of mercenaries for a while. My role in their unit was to sit on the sidelines and heal everyone during and after the battles. I was never to actively participate. It made me feel weak and under appreciated and the men in the group often emasculated me.
I liked a girl in my group named Alys. She was a terrible influence on me. Alys convinced me that killing cruel men was holy work by citing the crusades and that killing innocents was holy work by citing the current state of the world. She made me believe that heaven was a better place for good men than earth and that there was nothing wrong with speeding their passage. I believed her because my sister was dead.
On a cold day imperial mercenaries routed our group. I survived because I was the last person they reached and they wanted me alive. They were fondling our witch's breasts and in the process of disrobing Alys. It was the first time I'd seen a woman naked. They told me to resurrect the girls. I'd done it in the past, it was my purpose in the group, but I refused. He punched me, so I hit their leader with Holy and ran.
I spent a long time wandering alone trying to decide if I had done the right thing by killing those women. I don't think they would have wanted to live through what the men had planned. But they never got to say. And now they never would. I had betrayed them for good intentions. And then I wondered if good intentions could be evil.
All I realized after years alone was that I could justify anything; make anything sound holy. But I knew there were evil acts in the world, all religions are clear on this point. Which meant all I had achieved was realizing I am incapable of discerning between good and evil. I carried anxiety and guilt for everything I'd ever done after that moment because I didn't know how much of it was evil and I needed to be penitent for all of it if I was to be forgiven.
And so I wandered, trying to do nothing more than what could be inexcusably proven as holy. I found a phoenix one night and I bound it to my back, cutting of its wings, beak and claws. This was holy because it meant both of us would do more good for the world. It also burned my back in constant agony. I think that is appropriate.
I stumbled on this tournament and immediately met a man who seemed to have answers. Who seemed able to predict the future. It made me happy because for the first time in twenty years I thought someone might be able to settle my stomach and tell me what is holy and what is not. I killed him. With a Holy spell. And now I'm here.
The End
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Percy stood quiet as the dead woman scampered away. Equus had an answer, for her ambulation, and for the body's performance in spite of debilitation. It was magic.
... Wasn't much of an answer. And it wasn't what stuck Equus in his place. It was ... a sad story, delivered by a melancholy man. And it reminded him of himself. For the first time Equus confused Big Ones for something tangible, something that can be broken and torn and feel every cruelty; a whole greater than the sum of it's parts. Equus didn?t like this new interpretation. And he wasn't sure he would ever discard it.
Equus abandoned the plateau and returned to the shallower portions of the brain. They were more comfortable. They dealt with the concrete. All he had to think of was the real world and in the real world things were simpler. Percy and he stood on the mouth of a street riddled with fire and gun shots. There was a gang war, Equus was to stop it and then kill Percy.
Percy sprinted off toward the center of the street, a smell of caustic chemicals burning his throat and nose. Both gangs had created battlements in front of their respective buildings, cars and food stalls thrown on top of each other in a dashed effort to barracks the soldiers. Four men hid behind their makeshift wall to Percy?s left as a group of five Asian men shot from the safety of their barricades. There was an awkward moment as the Yakuza stopped to stare at what must have been a truly unique sight, an elderly man in flowing white robes sprinting to the center of a bloody ordeal. The four hiding soldiers, however, were not so easily distracted.
All of them jumped from their barricades in perfect unison, firing at the Yakuza battlements. Three of the Asian men collapsed instantly, the other two dived into cover. One of them was clutching his shoulder and quivering. Equus tried to ignore it.
Percy stopped sprinting as the four soldiers strayed out from behind their fort, moving to press their advantage. It had ostensibly been Percy who provided them the victory and Equus assumed this meant the men would be friendly and bringing the body up to meet the head of their gang. A lot more could be accomplished wielding a body of with that much clout.
A gun shot rang and blood poured from Percy?s forearm. The men were advancing on him. Equus reeled in confusion and betrayl. Percy flew from the men and leapt behind the Yakuza?s barricade at Equus?s direction. The wound burned and made Percy lightheaded and Equus would not let Percy die! ? Right now. Equus would kill him later, certainly later. But not right now.
Percy landed with solid footing among a hail of bullets. The remaining Yakuza members fired on him in quick succession. Equus felt more bullets pierce Percy?s side. The smell of blood was now stuck to the body and the warm stickiness painted his clothes. Percy ran with ever more force and desperation, dashing toward the entrance to the Yakuza compound. Looking back, Equus decided this was probably not the greatest plan, but at the time he was sure, all he had to do was get Percy off the street. Once they had a set of doors between themselves and the gangbangers, everything would be alright.
Percy crashed through the doors and Equus locked them behind him. They turned around with the madness of evasion still in their eyes. The lobby was mostly empty, it was a formal, polite, slightly upscale environment complete with mahogany desk in the center of the room, little chairs for waiting around, tables for coffee and an elevator in the corner. Percy and Equus shot toward the elevator as the men outside banged on the doors. Equus pressed the button for up once, twice, three times, four times, and then he collapsed in a chair next to the metal doors.
Percy was in a horrible state. Dying, actually. Equus could feel the life drifting from his host and, for reasons he couldn?t explain, it scared him. It wasn?t the first time a big one had died while in his grasp, he had no reason to be afraid. But cold chills ran through his microscopic body even as disquiet tremors ran through Percy. The breathing was raspy, the heart was failing, and everything felt cold. And, inexplicably, from Percy?s navel Equus felt ? a slow release of energy. It was nothing tangible, nothing he?d seen before, but he could feel it flowing out of the body and drifting away. Equus searched his data banks. There was no information on this subject. Which meant it was magic. Maybe the body was trying to heal itself? Maybe everything would be okay?
BING!
The elevator arrived with a jarring note and reminded Equus of just where he was. The metal doors opened, beckoning him and his host to the next floor of guns and violence. Things would not be okay. This one had magic, but Equus was piloting, not Percy. Equus didn?t know the spell to conjure the balm that made everything okay. Percy was going to die if Equus couldn?t find help. That?s how it was and that how it was supposed to be.
Percy stood with a grunt and a tear. A solemn metronome of blood dripped from down his arm and struck the marble ground below. He hobbled through the elevator and struck the button for the top floor. A bloodstained finger print remained.
**********************************************************************************************
The men up top had been made aware, some old guy with a death wish was breaking into the Yakuza stronghold. He was in the elevator, heading to the top floor, and they were to expect him in under a minute. The leader, Yatto Kashi, was sitting at his desk, barking commands with a manic distracted air. He was middle aged, short and muscular with a face like a puppy, and now it was curled into little wrinkles of frustration and urgency. ?Remember,? He said, ?You don?t know who he is or what he?s packing! Old doesn?t mean stupid, I?m old! Kill him quick before he kills us!?
The guards were crouched around the elevator in a perfect semi circle, watching the floors tick away like the timer on a bomb. Four to go. Three to go. Two to go.
One.
The doors opened and an old bloodstained man charged out from behind them, wielding his wooden staff like a long bat. The shots came before he could swing, a hail of bullets that froze the elderly berserker in his tracks. The face contorted and he stumbled as he struggled to stand. He breathed in deeply once as the men with guns paused in their volley. Then he coughed, horrible ragged coughs. He took another step forward and weakly swung his staff at one of the men?s head. The man simply fired a round into his stomach as response.
Percy pitched forward, dropping his staff and barely keeping his balance. He straightened himself and leapt poorly over the line of crouched soldiers; one of them dropped his gun and pulled Percy?s arms into a painful lock. Yatto sat up from his desk, wandering over with a suspicious air.
?That?s thirty bullets in you, I count.? He declared walking to within feet of Percy. ?How are you still standing? Why? What do you want with me??
Percy didn?t speak. His eyes were fading in and out of focus and Equus was losing his contest with the inevitable. Multiple punctures in the lungs and stomach meant that death was inescapable for the body; he and all his clones couldn?t keep Percy alive, though they scurried through his system in maddening waves of determination.
Yatto came closer. ?What do you want?? He demanded slowly.
Percy rolled his head to look at Yatto. He blinked his eyes a few times and opened his mouth. ?Directive? Eliminate Perseverance.?
Yatto crossed his arms. ?A robot? With blood? I thought we had all the fancy toys. Well, sorry to break this to you, I don?t know this Perseverance. We?ve got no projects with the code name Perseverance, no agents with the code name Perseverance and no products with the street name Perseverance? I think you made a mistake somewhere. Took a wrong turn.?
??Processing new data. Confirmed. Too many wrong turns.?
Yatto put his face an inch from Percy?s. ?So what are you going to do now??
?Rewriting priority subroutines ? Processing inquiry. Goals: Say goodbye.?
Percy coughed. Equus soared.
The world spun for a moment as Equus forced himself inside Yatto?s nasal cavity and delicately into the brain. He latched onto one of Yatto?s frontal lobes with an artist?s precision. But it all felt so hollow now, the once great thrill of seizing a big one had fallen below the horizon.
Yatto backed his head away and swayed a moment. He looked at his surroundings, Percy standing before him, held upright by his wounded arms, staff discarded in the distance, a sizable coterie of soldiers arrayed around him. Equus lifted Yatto?s callused hands, noting the stiffness of the movement, and waved the soldiers away. With hesitation they retreated and let Percy slide to the ground. Yatto knelt, Percy looked at the ceiling with no expression, barely breathing.
?? Transferring message. I will remember you Percy. You won?t be forgotten.?
Percy said nothing.
?? Transferring message. Your sister will be there.?
Percy looked at Yatto with unfocused eyes.
?? Transfering message. You can finally ask Alys.?
Percy swallowed.
? ? Transfering message ? I?m sorry. Sorry for all the things I?ve done.?
Percy smiled, slowly. He nodded once and gestured for his staff.
Equus leapt for the redwood bat and put it in Percy?s hand. Nothing was said but there was a feeling of appreciation and forgiveness. Percy crossed his hands over his chest. And then Percy died.
Equus was small. Objectively, he knew that he was microscopic. And yet, he couldn?t ignore the part of himself that saw his own nanofilament body just fine. Objectively, he knew that dust mites were tiny things, just on the edge of human perception and therefore just on the edge of reality. And yet, he couldn?t ignore the part of himself that wandered the unkempt peaks and valleys of a dust mite?s back like an eternal, uncharted, wilderness. Objectively, he knew that the parts of the world that mattered were so gigantic he could not conceive of them; that his wildernesses could be crushed under a human?s thumb without being noticed. And yet, he could not ignore the part of himself that thought his world was important, and the big one?s inconsequential.
After all, what was a ?Percy?? Universes of cells and bacteria and clothing fibers and parasites and soil residue and pollen were all moving in perfectly synchronized unison ahead of Equus. Were each and every one of them ?Percy?? And what did it mean that ?Percy? was dead? In Equus?s experience, the big ones were considered dead long before they were actually gone. Usually, all you had to do was stop a couple key parts moving and all the other big ones would start crying and fighting and morning those who had passed. Equus thought it was silly. ?He?s not passed. All of ?Daman?s lice are still living the good life. They haven?t even noticed anything went wrong!?
He couldn?t argue with big ones though. Because they can?t see him. Or hear him. He?s inconsequential?
Which is probably why he got into the killing business. Every sentient creature wants to be remembered. He'd never met someone his size who could think and plan and talk and feel, which meant that he had to seek his remembrance from the big ones. But he was too small, they were too large, nothing he could build would even be noticed. Which only left the question of what he could destroy.
He didn't mind. In truth, it made him feel understandably badass. He'd killed things so large they couldn't be measured. He'd been to the big one's Chernobyl and caused the explosion. His own creators couldn't control him and now their species trembled in fear as the opponent they could not see disassembled them from the inside. It was a life. Enough of a life.
Equus followed behind the swift movement as it entered the street. "Percy" stood still for a moment, doubtlessly examining a landscape Equus couldn't begin to comprehend. Regardless it afforded Equus the prime opportunity to drift farther and farther up the near endless expanses of white cotton threads that draped the being he was to end. They were very beautiful, in a way. Like snowcapped deserts woven together. Not that Equus had ever seen snow, but he was programmed to know everything the big one's knew; and he knew that a snowcapped desert was beautiful, for those who could see it.
Before long Equus found himself crossing the border of the cotton Sahara and entering the pockmarked and squishy ruins of the face. From a distance they were supposed to be quite appealing but Equus had never been able to look on them in anything but disgust. With urgency he cast his eyes on the horizon and searched for a mountain of peculiar dimensions. Ridged on one side and flat on the other, possessing two gaping fissures, the nose always stood from the rest of the facial environment. And before Long Equus discovered the nose of "Percy".
The big one began moving again but his fate was sealed. Equus was inside him now, moving patiently down his bronchial tube, already releasing the drones and clones that would realize his coup. With steady drive and a practiced hand Equus traveled to the heart. The heart was the key to killing big ones. Everything in a big one relied on the heart for power and motion and guidance which meant that a brief examination of the gigantic machine afforded him the chance to see everything in the big one. Equus camped at the main ventricle and reproduced, throwing countless of his drones into the coursing rapids. They traveled the full length of the being and with military precision formed forts and barracks in preparation for the imminent invasions.
Equus departed the heart. The warmth and viscosity of its river always made him anxious. He felt always that he might slip and the thick current would never release him, doomed to spend eternity as a cog in the machine of a being to great to appreciate his toil. His mind always traveled from his purpose while he sat around the heart. He wondered what peace he would find in his life when the thrill of killing had ducked below the horizon. He assumed it was the siren's call big ones talked about, a haunting melody that wounds your sensibility until finally you'll do something stupid. Some kind of defense mechanism, no doubt.
The brain on the other hand held no such awe. It was merely the chair of the central nervous system and the place to stage one's microbial rebellion. Equus clawed at the frontal lobe before wedding himself to a promising looking node. Before the fight had even begun, colors and scents came flooding into Equus, assaulting him physically. There was so much ... perception, sensation, form and feeling and all of them ran like mustangs released from the pen, trampling Equus in their fervent compulsion to be the first to thank him for their freedom. Drones across the body set into motion taking over and Equus writhed in something that wasn't pain. He tried desperately to tear his connection to Percy, but he'd already won the battle. Everything Percy was sat idle for him to command.
It was horrible.
The big one stood up from the ground. He was feet from the bar he'd left only moments ago and panting with a desperate kind of pace. The sky was overcast but lovely and it distracted him from the crowd of concerned citizens. They shouted things like "Hey man, you okay?" And "What the hell is on your back!? Are you okay?" The big one didn't respond. Equus could have made him, but there were larger issues to deal with. Percy's couldn't feel his legs. The drones there reported that the muscles were overworked and nearly lifeless. His back burned as though it were on fire, but somehow the nerve endings remained intact. His stomach was shrunk from starvation and his knees and joints were nearly paralyzed with arthritis. It was a wonder this one could move.
Which begged the question, could it move? Equus brought one leg to bear and it stepped with remarkable grace. Impossible grace. So Equus sprinted, and Percy whistled away from the crowd of onlookers. Equus stopped at the corner of fifth street and Monroe, when he heard gunfire. There was a dead woman in the middle of the street and, without Equus's consent or even acknowledgment, the Percy began moving toward it. It was muscle reflex, the kind that didn't go through the brain; the same thing that pulled a person's hand from a fire. Except in Percy's case it was a complex motion inspired by only the sight of a dead body. Equus didn't know what was happening but he was inclined to let it continue. And in the space of thirty seconds Percy reached the woman, grabbed a feather from the beast on his back and placed it delicately on the woman's tongue.
She shouted. They were horrible curdling cries. But she breathed again, and she wept like a person who hadn't died only minutes before. She looked at the big one and asked "WHY?" Percy didn't answer. Equus could think of nothing to say. Everything he'd ever seen and all he was programmed to know just told him he witnessed the impossible. And so he dug deeper into Percy's mind, deeper than he'd ever traveled before. There was pain and guilt and memories and finally, a plateau. A place to breath. Equus assumed this place. And then the voice began.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter One
Hello, My name is Perseverance. My father beat me.
I had an elder sister. She died of polio at age fourteen. I never recovered from her
death. I stopped befriending people because I didn't want to lose them. I was a lonely young man. When I was old enough to understand, I seized on the concept of religion. I began studying white magic. When I was good at it I left home. I think my father always blamed himself for pushing me away.
I was the cleric for a group of mercenaries for a while. My role in their unit was to sit on the sidelines and heal everyone during and after the battles. I was never to actively participate. It made me feel weak and under appreciated and the men in the group often emasculated me.
I liked a girl in my group named Alys. She was a terrible influence on me. Alys convinced me that killing cruel men was holy work by citing the crusades and that killing innocents was holy work by citing the current state of the world. She made me believe that heaven was a better place for good men than earth and that there was nothing wrong with speeding their passage. I believed her because my sister was dead.
On a cold day imperial mercenaries routed our group. I survived because I was the last person they reached and they wanted me alive. They were fondling our witch's breasts and in the process of disrobing Alys. It was the first time I'd seen a woman naked. They told me to resurrect the girls. I'd done it in the past, it was my purpose in the group, but I refused. He punched me, so I hit their leader with Holy and ran.
I spent a long time wandering alone trying to decide if I had done the right thing by killing those women. I don't think they would have wanted to live through what the men had planned. But they never got to say. And now they never would. I had betrayed them for good intentions. And then I wondered if good intentions could be evil.
All I realized after years alone was that I could justify anything; make anything sound holy. But I knew there were evil acts in the world, all religions are clear on this point. Which meant all I had achieved was realizing I am incapable of discerning between good and evil. I carried anxiety and guilt for everything I'd ever done after that moment because I didn't know how much of it was evil and I needed to be penitent for all of it if I was to be forgiven.
And so I wandered, trying to do nothing more than what could be inexcusably proven as holy. I found a phoenix one night and I bound it to my back, cutting of its wings, beak and claws. This was holy because it meant both of us would do more good for the world. It also burned my back in constant agony. I think that is appropriate.
I stumbled on this tournament and immediately met a man who seemed to have answers. Who seemed able to predict the future. It made me happy because for the first time in twenty years I thought someone might be able to settle my stomach and tell me what is holy and what is not. I killed him. With a Holy spell. And now I'm here.
The End
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Percy stood quiet as the dead woman scampered away. Equus had an answer, for her ambulation, and for the body's performance in spite of debilitation. It was magic.
... Wasn't much of an answer. And it wasn't what stuck Equus in his place. It was ... a sad story, delivered by a melancholy man. And it reminded him of himself. For the first time Equus confused Big Ones for something tangible, something that can be broken and torn and feel every cruelty; a whole greater than the sum of it's parts. Equus didn?t like this new interpretation. And he wasn't sure he would ever discard it.
Equus abandoned the plateau and returned to the shallower portions of the brain. They were more comfortable. They dealt with the concrete. All he had to think of was the real world and in the real world things were simpler. Percy and he stood on the mouth of a street riddled with fire and gun shots. There was a gang war, Equus was to stop it and then kill Percy.
Percy sprinted off toward the center of the street, a smell of caustic chemicals burning his throat and nose. Both gangs had created battlements in front of their respective buildings, cars and food stalls thrown on top of each other in a dashed effort to barracks the soldiers. Four men hid behind their makeshift wall to Percy?s left as a group of five Asian men shot from the safety of their barricades. There was an awkward moment as the Yakuza stopped to stare at what must have been a truly unique sight, an elderly man in flowing white robes sprinting to the center of a bloody ordeal. The four hiding soldiers, however, were not so easily distracted.
All of them jumped from their barricades in perfect unison, firing at the Yakuza battlements. Three of the Asian men collapsed instantly, the other two dived into cover. One of them was clutching his shoulder and quivering. Equus tried to ignore it.
Percy stopped sprinting as the four soldiers strayed out from behind their fort, moving to press their advantage. It had ostensibly been Percy who provided them the victory and Equus assumed this meant the men would be friendly and bringing the body up to meet the head of their gang. A lot more could be accomplished wielding a body of with that much clout.
A gun shot rang and blood poured from Percy?s forearm. The men were advancing on him. Equus reeled in confusion and betrayl. Percy flew from the men and leapt behind the Yakuza?s barricade at Equus?s direction. The wound burned and made Percy lightheaded and Equus would not let Percy die! ? Right now. Equus would kill him later, certainly later. But not right now.
Percy landed with solid footing among a hail of bullets. The remaining Yakuza members fired on him in quick succession. Equus felt more bullets pierce Percy?s side. The smell of blood was now stuck to the body and the warm stickiness painted his clothes. Percy ran with ever more force and desperation, dashing toward the entrance to the Yakuza compound. Looking back, Equus decided this was probably not the greatest plan, but at the time he was sure, all he had to do was get Percy off the street. Once they had a set of doors between themselves and the gangbangers, everything would be alright.
Percy crashed through the doors and Equus locked them behind him. They turned around with the madness of evasion still in their eyes. The lobby was mostly empty, it was a formal, polite, slightly upscale environment complete with mahogany desk in the center of the room, little chairs for waiting around, tables for coffee and an elevator in the corner. Percy and Equus shot toward the elevator as the men outside banged on the doors. Equus pressed the button for up once, twice, three times, four times, and then he collapsed in a chair next to the metal doors.
Percy was in a horrible state. Dying, actually. Equus could feel the life drifting from his host and, for reasons he couldn?t explain, it scared him. It wasn?t the first time a big one had died while in his grasp, he had no reason to be afraid. But cold chills ran through his microscopic body even as disquiet tremors ran through Percy. The breathing was raspy, the heart was failing, and everything felt cold. And, inexplicably, from Percy?s navel Equus felt ? a slow release of energy. It was nothing tangible, nothing he?d seen before, but he could feel it flowing out of the body and drifting away. Equus searched his data banks. There was no information on this subject. Which meant it was magic. Maybe the body was trying to heal itself? Maybe everything would be okay?
BING!
The elevator arrived with a jarring note and reminded Equus of just where he was. The metal doors opened, beckoning him and his host to the next floor of guns and violence. Things would not be okay. This one had magic, but Equus was piloting, not Percy. Equus didn?t know the spell to conjure the balm that made everything okay. Percy was going to die if Equus couldn?t find help. That?s how it was and that how it was supposed to be.
Percy stood with a grunt and a tear. A solemn metronome of blood dripped from down his arm and struck the marble ground below. He hobbled through the elevator and struck the button for the top floor. A bloodstained finger print remained.
**********************************************************************************************
The men up top had been made aware, some old guy with a death wish was breaking into the Yakuza stronghold. He was in the elevator, heading to the top floor, and they were to expect him in under a minute. The leader, Yatto Kashi, was sitting at his desk, barking commands with a manic distracted air. He was middle aged, short and muscular with a face like a puppy, and now it was curled into little wrinkles of frustration and urgency. ?Remember,? He said, ?You don?t know who he is or what he?s packing! Old doesn?t mean stupid, I?m old! Kill him quick before he kills us!?
The guards were crouched around the elevator in a perfect semi circle, watching the floors tick away like the timer on a bomb. Four to go. Three to go. Two to go.
One.
The doors opened and an old bloodstained man charged out from behind them, wielding his wooden staff like a long bat. The shots came before he could swing, a hail of bullets that froze the elderly berserker in his tracks. The face contorted and he stumbled as he struggled to stand. He breathed in deeply once as the men with guns paused in their volley. Then he coughed, horrible ragged coughs. He took another step forward and weakly swung his staff at one of the men?s head. The man simply fired a round into his stomach as response.
Percy pitched forward, dropping his staff and barely keeping his balance. He straightened himself and leapt poorly over the line of crouched soldiers; one of them dropped his gun and pulled Percy?s arms into a painful lock. Yatto sat up from his desk, wandering over with a suspicious air.
?That?s thirty bullets in you, I count.? He declared walking to within feet of Percy. ?How are you still standing? Why? What do you want with me??
Percy didn?t speak. His eyes were fading in and out of focus and Equus was losing his contest with the inevitable. Multiple punctures in the lungs and stomach meant that death was inescapable for the body; he and all his clones couldn?t keep Percy alive, though they scurried through his system in maddening waves of determination.
Yatto came closer. ?What do you want?? He demanded slowly.
Percy rolled his head to look at Yatto. He blinked his eyes a few times and opened his mouth. ?Directive? Eliminate Perseverance.?
Yatto crossed his arms. ?A robot? With blood? I thought we had all the fancy toys. Well, sorry to break this to you, I don?t know this Perseverance. We?ve got no projects with the code name Perseverance, no agents with the code name Perseverance and no products with the street name Perseverance? I think you made a mistake somewhere. Took a wrong turn.?
??Processing new data. Confirmed. Too many wrong turns.?
Yatto put his face an inch from Percy?s. ?So what are you going to do now??
?Rewriting priority subroutines ? Processing inquiry. Goals: Say goodbye.?
Percy coughed. Equus soared.
The world spun for a moment as Equus forced himself inside Yatto?s nasal cavity and delicately into the brain. He latched onto one of Yatto?s frontal lobes with an artist?s precision. But it all felt so hollow now, the once great thrill of seizing a big one had fallen below the horizon.
Yatto backed his head away and swayed a moment. He looked at his surroundings, Percy standing before him, held upright by his wounded arms, staff discarded in the distance, a sizable coterie of soldiers arrayed around him. Equus lifted Yatto?s callused hands, noting the stiffness of the movement, and waved the soldiers away. With hesitation they retreated and let Percy slide to the ground. Yatto knelt, Percy looked at the ceiling with no expression, barely breathing.
?? Transferring message. I will remember you Percy. You won?t be forgotten.?
Percy said nothing.
?? Transferring message. Your sister will be there.?
Percy looked at Yatto with unfocused eyes.
?? Transfering message. You can finally ask Alys.?
Percy swallowed.
? ? Transfering message ? I?m sorry. Sorry for all the things I?ve done.?
Percy smiled, slowly. He nodded once and gestured for his staff.
Equus leapt for the redwood bat and put it in Percy?s hand. Nothing was said but there was a feeling of appreciation and forgiveness. Percy crossed his hands over his chest. And then Percy died.
The room grew silent. One of the men said ?Hey boss, did you know that guy?? with a hesitant jumpy pace. Equus nodded, slowly. Yatto stood and faced the men, ?Percy gets a proper burial. We?re giving him a king?s funeral and I won?t settle for anything less. Tell the thugs in the other building we?re done fighting. Send some peace envoys and make the deals."
?Boss, we?re not fighting Jask no more?? One of the men said shocked.
?That?s right, we?re through fighting Jask. It?s time to start cooperating.?
?After what he did to you?re daughter you?re gonna cooperate with that monster? Are you feeling all right Boss??
Equus froze. What daughter? What had happened? It never occurred to him to ask why the Yakuza and Jask we?re fighting, it just seemed so natural. Equus started burrowing deeper and deeper into the halls of Yatto?s mind; there had been a plateau in Percy?s. Perhaps there was a calm spot in Yatto?s.
He reached the plain. And the voice started.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter 1
Hello. My name is Yatto Kashi. My father ignored me.
I have five brothers and two sister. I?m strong because from an early age I fought with my elder brothers. Fighting was how we got dad to notice us. It was also a release.
I graduated high school with good grades. My family could not afford college so I joined the military. I was dishonorably discharged because one of my squad mates picked a fight with me. I broke his arm in two places. I thought it would make the higher officers notice me.
I met my wife when I was working a construction job. She was the most caring woman I?d ever seen. We were building her house and she brought us coffee. We started dating, got married, had Angela, and then she died of heart attack.
I loved Angela more than I can express. But she isn?t my little girl anymore. She hasn?t been since she was sixteen and I told her she couldn?t stay out later than eleven. She?s twenty eight on April seventh. She ignores me when I call her.
Four days ago Jask guys shot up a café because it wouldn?t pay them protection money. My Angela was head chef. I am alone in the world because of Jask. And I hate myself because I would have done the same thing.
The End
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Equus crawled back to the shallow world. His head spun and he felt guilt and anger that was not his own. He rubbed Yatto?s eyes to return the world to focus, and saw that they were dragging Percy?s body out of the room.
?Where are you taking him?? Yatto asked surprised.
?Oh Boss, you?re back. You stopped talking for a while. We?re taking this guy to the basement level. We?ll put him next to Angela and bury him when the fight lets up. We?ve sent the guys to make the deal but ? Boss. Are you sure you want to do this??
Equus reeled and shook and Yatto grabbed the underlings shirt collar. ?Angela is in the building?!?
The henchman struggled backwards in stunned surprise. ?Basement floor! You insisted she not be out of your sight! Are you feeling all right boss??
The phoenix cawed mournfully from behind the closing elevator doors. Information sprinted through Equus?s hard drive faster than he could process, something important just happened and now a plan was forming in his mainframe. He threw the henchman away from him and raced toward the closing elevator door. With barely a second?s grace he squeezed into the gap and fell bodily on the elevator floor.
The phoenix cawed again. That was it! The phoenix!
Equus pulled Yatto?s body to its hands and knees and madly plucked at the bird latched to Percy?s back. He?d seen it work, this was what Percy did to bring back the girl in the street. There wasn?t any magic words or focus involved, the magic came with the feathers. That?s what Equus hoped anyway. He opened Percy?s mouth and dropped a down feather on his tongue. A second that stretched eternities tensed every nerve in Equus?s miniscule form as he waited, just waited. And then it happened. Percy screamed.
A curdling shout shook the elevator and Percy whipped his head from side to side. He turned to look at his own bullet ridden form, and then he shouted more. The corpse of Percy lifted his staff and wheezed. Equus felt a warmth glow emit from the bloodstained cleric.
?He?s trying to heal himself!? Equus shouted. ?He?s trying to heal himself but his lungs are punctured! He can?t say the words!? The other inhabitants of the elevator didn?t seem as shocked by this revelation. They merely stood, aghast and confused as their leader brought a dead man back to life. ?Don?t just stand there! Help!?
BING!
The elevator opened into a small makeshift medical bay. The ground was rough concrete but there were a number of hospital beds and medical devices arrayed around. Wounded Yakuza lay in some of them. Angela was also somewhere in the crowd.
They lifted Percy and brought him to the nearest bed. The white mage wheezed again but could
not form the words. New blood poured from his bullet holes and his eyes began to glaze over.
?Come on!? Yatto yelled. ?Get the bullet?s out! Fill up the holes! Don?t worry about fixing all of him, get his lungs working! Get his lungs working and he?ll fix everything!?
The Yakuza men set about the task of pulling bullets out of Percy. They behaved delicately at first but with more direction from Equus their performance shifted to that of frenzied dismantling. They tore bullets out of the body with pliers and fingers. They filled holes with gauze and duck tape. And they pumped his lungs with artificial oxygen like a balloon filled to pop.
Percy lifted his staff from his supine position and spat out ?Hhuuuhhure.?
They filled his lungs with new air, and Equus pushed against his rib cage, squeezing the words out of the white mage.
?CURE!?
White light blinded Equus and repelled him back. All the doctors carefully retreated. Something biblical was happening, they didn?t want to get any on them.
Finally, patiently, the lights whispered away. Percy was laying on his gurney, breathing slow deep breaths. Equus was the first to speak, coming no closer to the body. ?Are you alright?? Percy sat up dutifully. There were tears in his eyes.
After that he didn?t answer questions. He didn?t speak at all. The rest of the day he toiled below in the basement, healing all the Yakuza. Equus followed him in Yatto?s body, waiting for moment when they discovered Angela. He?d tried to ask if Percy had seen Alys, or his sister, but these were met only with cold silence. After hours upon speechless hours, the first thing Percy said was, simply, ?She can?t be healed.?
?What do you mean she can?t be healed?? Equus demanded. ?Fix her like you did all the others and this entire gang war can end! I?m in Yatto?s head, he?s doing it for revenge and nothing more. Fix Angela and he?ll quit the gang business!?
?She?s been dead too long.? Percy said wiping sweat from his brow with a stern expression of disappointment. ?Much past two days and the heart never works right again. I can bring her back and she?ll only die anew.?
A great calm swept over Equus. It was poetic. It was perfect. It wasn?t frightening anymore. It seemed like the universe had planned this moment for a very long time, perhaps since his creation. Somehow, this was always the intention. With no inflection and no great passion, good or bad, he looked at Percy and said. ?Try to bring her back.? And then he left Yatto. He floated absently through space toward the cold, lost big one. He entered her mouth, traveled down the dark red passages and found the great mechanical wonder. The only thing that was permanently broken. The only thing he?d see for years to come.
In the real world, Percy pulled a feather from his phoenix and layed it down on the girl?s tongue. She shouted, worse than most, and her chest shook with silent palpitations. The convulsions would grow more severe until finally she became very stiff. And then the light would drift from her eyes. Percy had done this before. It pained him to do it again.
The shaking grew in magnitude, worse and worse as the girl spasmed and quivered. The shaking reached a violent crescendo and Yatto grabbed Percy by his collar shouting ?What have you done to her?!? And then it stopped. She stood still and examined the room with tired confused eyes, settling finally on Yatto.
?Dad?? She said.
Percy left the two to their tearful reunion and returned to the street. The shooting had stopped, the peace talks seemed to be going well. Percy cast slow on himself and wandered back to the bar. Today of all days he needed the peace. The things he?d seen were ? He understood why they always cried.
He reached the bar as the overcast sky dipped to night. He felt cold and unstable and tired beyond all reasoning. But there was nothing more to do. He?d ended the fight. Him and the little one.
? He would need a lot of meditation to understand all that had happened today.
The door swung as Percy marched back toward his appointed chair. The bar man shot him a questioning look. Percy didn?t reply.
?So? you win then?? He asked finally.
?I suppose so.? Percy said.
?Stopped the gang war?? The bartender said, desperately trying not to sound too interested.
?Indeed.?
?Killed your opponent??
?Actually, he killed me.? Percy corrected calmly.
The bartender paused in his duties. ?Well ? You?re here and he?s not. I guess that?s what matters.?
Percy sighed agreeingly.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter 1
Hello. My name is Equus. I have no Father.
I?ve done horrible things because I was the only man in my universe. There was no one to judge me or tell me right from wrong. No one to follow the example of. No friends, no one to lie next to on cold nights, no one to care about.
For as long as I?ve been alive I?ve felt that I could never contribute to the world. No one would notice what I added to creation, only what I removed. So I killed people. Thousands of people. Because I didn?t belong to anything and had no purpose.
I live inside Angela now. I fight to keep her heart working. Yatto told her about me and she reacted well. She?s nervous but so am I.
We cook at a local restaurant. Its not gourmet but people like it. And I like that Angela makes it. Because it means I?ve helped to make something people care about. And I?ve helped make someone people care about.
I haven?t tried talking to her yet. I can?t leave her heart right now without it losing rhythm. But I think one day I?ll be able to speak with her. And right now the promise of it is all I need. I am content. And I think I might be happy.
The End
______________________________________________________________________________________________
?Boss, we?re not fighting Jask no more?? One of the men said shocked.
?That?s right, we?re through fighting Jask. It?s time to start cooperating.?
?After what he did to you?re daughter you?re gonna cooperate with that monster? Are you feeling all right Boss??
Equus froze. What daughter? What had happened? It never occurred to him to ask why the Yakuza and Jask we?re fighting, it just seemed so natural. Equus started burrowing deeper and deeper into the halls of Yatto?s mind; there had been a plateau in Percy?s. Perhaps there was a calm spot in Yatto?s.
He reached the plain. And the voice started.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter 1
Hello. My name is Yatto Kashi. My father ignored me.
I have five brothers and two sister. I?m strong because from an early age I fought with my elder brothers. Fighting was how we got dad to notice us. It was also a release.
I graduated high school with good grades. My family could not afford college so I joined the military. I was dishonorably discharged because one of my squad mates picked a fight with me. I broke his arm in two places. I thought it would make the higher officers notice me.
I met my wife when I was working a construction job. She was the most caring woman I?d ever seen. We were building her house and she brought us coffee. We started dating, got married, had Angela, and then she died of heart attack.
I loved Angela more than I can express. But she isn?t my little girl anymore. She hasn?t been since she was sixteen and I told her she couldn?t stay out later than eleven. She?s twenty eight on April seventh. She ignores me when I call her.
Four days ago Jask guys shot up a café because it wouldn?t pay them protection money. My Angela was head chef. I am alone in the world because of Jask. And I hate myself because I would have done the same thing.
The End
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Equus crawled back to the shallow world. His head spun and he felt guilt and anger that was not his own. He rubbed Yatto?s eyes to return the world to focus, and saw that they were dragging Percy?s body out of the room.
?Where are you taking him?? Yatto asked surprised.
?Oh Boss, you?re back. You stopped talking for a while. We?re taking this guy to the basement level. We?ll put him next to Angela and bury him when the fight lets up. We?ve sent the guys to make the deal but ? Boss. Are you sure you want to do this??
Equus reeled and shook and Yatto grabbed the underlings shirt collar. ?Angela is in the building?!?
The henchman struggled backwards in stunned surprise. ?Basement floor! You insisted she not be out of your sight! Are you feeling all right boss??
The phoenix cawed mournfully from behind the closing elevator doors. Information sprinted through Equus?s hard drive faster than he could process, something important just happened and now a plan was forming in his mainframe. He threw the henchman away from him and raced toward the closing elevator door. With barely a second?s grace he squeezed into the gap and fell bodily on the elevator floor.
The phoenix cawed again. That was it! The phoenix!
Equus pulled Yatto?s body to its hands and knees and madly plucked at the bird latched to Percy?s back. He?d seen it work, this was what Percy did to bring back the girl in the street. There wasn?t any magic words or focus involved, the magic came with the feathers. That?s what Equus hoped anyway. He opened Percy?s mouth and dropped a down feather on his tongue. A second that stretched eternities tensed every nerve in Equus?s miniscule form as he waited, just waited. And then it happened. Percy screamed.
A curdling shout shook the elevator and Percy whipped his head from side to side. He turned to look at his own bullet ridden form, and then he shouted more. The corpse of Percy lifted his staff and wheezed. Equus felt a warmth glow emit from the bloodstained cleric.
?He?s trying to heal himself!? Equus shouted. ?He?s trying to heal himself but his lungs are punctured! He can?t say the words!? The other inhabitants of the elevator didn?t seem as shocked by this revelation. They merely stood, aghast and confused as their leader brought a dead man back to life. ?Don?t just stand there! Help!?
BING!
The elevator opened into a small makeshift medical bay. The ground was rough concrete but there were a number of hospital beds and medical devices arrayed around. Wounded Yakuza lay in some of them. Angela was also somewhere in the crowd.
They lifted Percy and brought him to the nearest bed. The white mage wheezed again but could
not form the words. New blood poured from his bullet holes and his eyes began to glaze over.
?Come on!? Yatto yelled. ?Get the bullet?s out! Fill up the holes! Don?t worry about fixing all of him, get his lungs working! Get his lungs working and he?ll fix everything!?
The Yakuza men set about the task of pulling bullets out of Percy. They behaved delicately at first but with more direction from Equus their performance shifted to that of frenzied dismantling. They tore bullets out of the body with pliers and fingers. They filled holes with gauze and duck tape. And they pumped his lungs with artificial oxygen like a balloon filled to pop.
Percy lifted his staff from his supine position and spat out ?Hhuuuhhure.?
They filled his lungs with new air, and Equus pushed against his rib cage, squeezing the words out of the white mage.
?CURE!?
White light blinded Equus and repelled him back. All the doctors carefully retreated. Something biblical was happening, they didn?t want to get any on them.
Finally, patiently, the lights whispered away. Percy was laying on his gurney, breathing slow deep breaths. Equus was the first to speak, coming no closer to the body. ?Are you alright?? Percy sat up dutifully. There were tears in his eyes.
After that he didn?t answer questions. He didn?t speak at all. The rest of the day he toiled below in the basement, healing all the Yakuza. Equus followed him in Yatto?s body, waiting for moment when they discovered Angela. He?d tried to ask if Percy had seen Alys, or his sister, but these were met only with cold silence. After hours upon speechless hours, the first thing Percy said was, simply, ?She can?t be healed.?
?What do you mean she can?t be healed?? Equus demanded. ?Fix her like you did all the others and this entire gang war can end! I?m in Yatto?s head, he?s doing it for revenge and nothing more. Fix Angela and he?ll quit the gang business!?
?She?s been dead too long.? Percy said wiping sweat from his brow with a stern expression of disappointment. ?Much past two days and the heart never works right again. I can bring her back and she?ll only die anew.?
A great calm swept over Equus. It was poetic. It was perfect. It wasn?t frightening anymore. It seemed like the universe had planned this moment for a very long time, perhaps since his creation. Somehow, this was always the intention. With no inflection and no great passion, good or bad, he looked at Percy and said. ?Try to bring her back.? And then he left Yatto. He floated absently through space toward the cold, lost big one. He entered her mouth, traveled down the dark red passages and found the great mechanical wonder. The only thing that was permanently broken. The only thing he?d see for years to come.
In the real world, Percy pulled a feather from his phoenix and layed it down on the girl?s tongue. She shouted, worse than most, and her chest shook with silent palpitations. The convulsions would grow more severe until finally she became very stiff. And then the light would drift from her eyes. Percy had done this before. It pained him to do it again.
The shaking grew in magnitude, worse and worse as the girl spasmed and quivered. The shaking reached a violent crescendo and Yatto grabbed Percy by his collar shouting ?What have you done to her?!? And then it stopped. She stood still and examined the room with tired confused eyes, settling finally on Yatto.
?Dad?? She said.
Percy left the two to their tearful reunion and returned to the street. The shooting had stopped, the peace talks seemed to be going well. Percy cast slow on himself and wandered back to the bar. Today of all days he needed the peace. The things he?d seen were ? He understood why they always cried.
He reached the bar as the overcast sky dipped to night. He felt cold and unstable and tired beyond all reasoning. But there was nothing more to do. He?d ended the fight. Him and the little one.
? He would need a lot of meditation to understand all that had happened today.
The door swung as Percy marched back toward his appointed chair. The bar man shot him a questioning look. Percy didn?t reply.
?So? you win then?? He asked finally.
?I suppose so.? Percy said.
?Stopped the gang war?? The bartender said, desperately trying not to sound too interested.
?Indeed.?
?Killed your opponent??
?Actually, he killed me.? Percy corrected calmly.
The bartender paused in his duties. ?Well ? You?re here and he?s not. I guess that?s what matters.?
Percy sighed agreeingly.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter 1
Hello. My name is Equus. I have no Father.
I?ve done horrible things because I was the only man in my universe. There was no one to judge me or tell me right from wrong. No one to follow the example of. No friends, no one to lie next to on cold nights, no one to care about.
For as long as I?ve been alive I?ve felt that I could never contribute to the world. No one would notice what I added to creation, only what I removed. So I killed people. Thousands of people. Because I didn?t belong to anything and had no purpose.
I live inside Angela now. I fight to keep her heart working. Yatto told her about me and she reacted well. She?s nervous but so am I.
We cook at a local restaurant. Its not gourmet but people like it. And I like that Angela makes it. Because it means I?ve helped to make something people care about. And I?ve helped make someone people care about.
I haven?t tried talking to her yet. I can?t leave her heart right now without it losing rhythm. But I think one day I?ll be able to speak with her. And right now the promise of it is all I need. I am content. And I think I might be happy.
The End
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Huzzah! Victory for the musical!
...And now, I think I'm going to have to ask for an extension on the deadline in advance, because I'm posting this while in the airport on my way out-of-state for a week. Maybe I'll have some time to write, I don't know, but just in case...
...And now, I think I'm going to have to ask for an extension on the deadline in advance, because I'm posting this while in the airport on my way out-of-state for a week. Maybe I'll have some time to write, I don't know, but just in case...
For the first time in a while, there came a knocking at the door of the bar. Timmoth opened the door slightly, taking with him the small parcel. He unwrapped it gently, laying the now-familiar screen on a table.
"I know you've missed me terribly, but I've had to arrange a few things. Hope you liked those little games my associate gave you. The manticore was a nice touch. Now let's get to business. I bring in a bunch of freaks and the wimpy little humans make it to the end. Hell of a show, I have to admit. Your final task is pretty damn straightforward: get to me. Find me. Make it through my security. Get to my office first and you win. Just remember: everybody in this town wants you dead. Everyone. Now get going."
Timmoth turned the little screen off and stored it behind the counter, a tiny little voice coming from the speakers and audible only to him.
"As soon as those two step out, walk out and hit the switch".
There will be no official deadline; just keep it reasonable. Go for it.
"I know you've missed me terribly, but I've had to arrange a few things. Hope you liked those little games my associate gave you. The manticore was a nice touch. Now let's get to business. I bring in a bunch of freaks and the wimpy little humans make it to the end. Hell of a show, I have to admit. Your final task is pretty damn straightforward: get to me. Find me. Make it through my security. Get to my office first and you win. Just remember: everybody in this town wants you dead. Everyone. Now get going."
Timmoth turned the little screen off and stored it behind the counter, a tiny little voice coming from the speakers and audible only to him.
"As soon as those two step out, walk out and hit the switch".
There will be no official deadline; just keep it reasonable. Go for it.
Battle Final
Unforgivable Testimony
The file is battered, not through age or use but because it came through Hell itself just for the act of putting it together. Warrants had to be arranged, dates and times noted, pictures taken, questions asked and the answers recorded. Specialized equipment had to be brought in, and specialized people to use it. It took them too long to put it together, but it will work for now. It's a starting point. Something to figure out what happened.
They've kept all the original materials together--the recorder, the security camera footage, the files and the initial reports. They've kept all the evidence. It's all archived on the computer, sitting in neat little folders on the desktop.
The man sitting before the computer is exhausted, inelegantly slumped back from the screen, drained. He's had a long day. His body aches, his mind feels like its stuffed with cotton, and his eyes are itching. Doubtless there are others worse off than him, but he cannot bring himself to worry about their plight just now, for the day has left him with little energy to spare for empty compassion.
The computer is mostly quiet, the fans having settled down after handling the stress of transferring documents. The room is brightly lit by clean white light, to make the work easier, but outside the window it is black as pitch. The lights of the city beyond provide no illumination. There is no sound save for the even breathing of the man and the small, barely perceptible hum of the machine.
The man moves at last, setting wounded hands on the keyboard and mouse. Three fingers have adhesive bandages wrapped firmly around them, one on the left and two on the right: other fingers probably ought to be bandaged, but lack of supplies and time has left them bare.
He clicks twice on the folder marked "FILE 001," and brings up the first of the documents inside.
Part One
CONTROL
Hello. My name is Nicklaus Dorcheld. I am my father.
And my mother, and the person who raised me, and the man who gave my father money to go to town and thus meet my mother (who was me). I am the bartender and the sweeper, I am my own child and my own most bitter enemy, in a cycle with no real beginning and no discernable end. I was the man who pulled the pin, and I was the man who caught the grenade. I am the one who is said to have died; I am the one who they say never lived. I went seeking vengeance on someone I didn't know was me and ended up having nasty, wonderful sex with myself, purely by accident, and later I came along with a net and a thousand dollars to set things right. I know where I came from--but who the hell are all you people?
What?
Okay, how the hell did you figure that out? Yeah, I stole that wholesale from a short story I read once. Didn't think anyone would catch the reference. Kudos for that, I guess.
You're not getting the real story, of course. I'm not giving away my secrets that easily. Tell people your life story, you get to know one another, you get to feeling that hey, this person might be redeemable and likable, and one thing leads to another and then you're burning down a hospital and you're laughing in the maternity ward as the cradles go up like fireworks. It's not worth it, is what I'm saying, no matter how good it feels at the time.
And no, you don't get a damn "The End." There is no end. I'm not done yet.
Corkscrew Nick nearly jumped out of his skin when the bar exploded behind him. His first thoughts were something in the vein of "What the fuck?!" and degenerated from there. It took him a while to convince himself that Armageddon wasn't happening in his personal vicinity, though the lack of boiling seas and antichrists riding about might have clued him in sooner had he been paying attention. As it was, though, he was preoccupied with the black smoke pouring out of what remained of The Gurney Wheel. He'd just stepped out, after all; the blast had nearly caught him. If he'd been a little slower, a little more relaxed, a little less eager to be let loose on an unsuspecting city...
It occurred to him, for the first time, that he might be the unsuspecting one. It wasn't Corkscrew Nick happening to the city, it was the city happening to Corkscrew Nick. It was an unnerving, unfamiliar feeling.
Everybody in this town wants you dead, Michael King had said. Everyone. Well, shit. He tried to ignore it, tried to conjure up the red adrenaline thrill of the hunt, but the feeling remained in the back of his head: you against the world, and they've got more ammo than you do.
He checked the gun in his pocket, made sure he could get at it easily, then set off down the sidewalk, whistling idly. He needed a plan. He needed to throw them all off the scent. He needed something big.
And at the moment he needed to stay alive, because holy shit everyone was shooting at him--
Corkscrew Nick thought he had a handle on things now. For example, he knew he couldn't hope to stay under the radar. Someone had gotten word out--to goddamn everyone--and he was a marked man for every person on the street. That was a new experience for Nick. He was used to people either ignoring him or fleeing, or perhaps advancing angrily. This cool and calculated intent to straight up murder him was new. Kind of novel, kind of interesting, kind of frightening.
He loved it.
He'd kicked off the party by shooting an elderly lady in the head. It had seemed appropriate. Ten minutes later there were five people on the ground, and his gun was empty. He gazed at it sorrowfully. It was cheap, worn, and inaccurate--an all-around poor weapon--but it had served him well in the time he'd had it. Every pull of the trigger had been rewarded by a scream of sound and a thunderous delivery of lead to whatever he had pointed it at, until the end, when there had been only a ridiculous click.
There was probably something symbolic in that.
He tossed the gun aside and flipped a knife out of his pocket. A gun could fail you--jam, miss, break, misfire, run empty--but not a knife, not if you kept it sharp. He liked his knives. And you didn't really need a gun to throw the city into chaos--sure, it made it easy, but it wasn't necessary. For example, this car here, if it were moved into the middle of the street like so and had the emergency brake applied like so and the tires slashed so it couldn't be moved, like so...well, there was a little chaos, right there. One of the arteries of the city, cut off by a fat metal shell. Traffic slows, stops, no one can move in a vehicle for blocks around. Everything's by foot now, police cruisers moldering in traffic. The only way anyone with serious firepower would be getting into the city would be with APCs running over stopped cars.
Or at least that's what he fancied would happen. Reality wouldn't match up to his expectations, he knew. He needed something bigger. Get to Mr. King, said the screen. Be in his office. Be in his head. How did Paradise City work? How could it be made to not work?
Corkscrew Nick put his mind to it as he strode off. He whistled a snatch of music, muttered a fragment of a line--"Tonight the streets are red / The lights are blue and blinding"--and flipped his knife between his fingers. He laughed. "No sign of the good doctor / But the siren's wail and whining / Tell us he'll be found..." The knife leaped through the air, dancing off his fingers.
"I can almost hear the hounds..."
There is a man in the shadows. He is named Perseverance, but he will not mind if you call him Percy. He is bringing a man back from the dead.
It is a sequence of movements that long ago passed beyond memorization and into the realm of instinct. Take the feather from his back--he's so used to the sound that he barely hears the outraged squawk of the phoenix--place it between the lips, say the words, and then the man is gasping for breath and crying like a babe in arms. Percy moves on without a word; he has nothing to say to this man, and in all likelihood nothing the man could say would interest him. To find answers to deep philosophical questions, you do not look to the broken form huddled in a pool of its own blood, for such a figure raises more disturbing questions and answers none.
He is searching for answers. What, for example, is good? What is right and what is wrong? Perhaps he could find answers here, in this place where wickedness burns in the stones, where a virus smiles and mobsters cry, where men in white hold demons to their breasts and even the poor are evil.
Somewhere in this city, there was a man who knew something. That man might not know the answers Percy sought, but he would know something, and that might be enough for the moment. Percy hadn't had enough human contact to distinguish between reliable knowledge and knowledge that was...otherwise, as it were. He was a slate, wiped clean by the acid in his brain, rewritten by a passing stranger.
Somewhere in this city was a man named Michael King, a man Percy must find. Not because it was ordered, not because it was required, not because it was the objective of the game, but because there might be answers. Answers from the King, the voice behind the screen. From the man who seemed to know everything that happened in his city.
What else might such a man know?
There is a man in the shadows. His name is Nicklaus Dorcheld, but he will insist you call him Corkscrew Nick. He is killing someone.
It could be said that this was Nick's basic state of existence, that he was never not in the act of killing someone. He was the perpetual murderer, locked into the cycle of death dealt by his hand. It was his instinctual reaction to many things: to that which he didn't understand, that which he saw as threatening, that which was in the way or that which didn't fit into the story in his head. He considered himself a storyteller, speaking with the use of corpses. Bodies were nothing more than symbols, scrawled on the page with a violent hand.
Look at the city through his eyes.
There are countless people that make up a city, each and every one a unique and absolutely unreplicatable person. This is untidy. The human mind cannot contain that much, so it is reduced to a concept. No one says "the millions of people that make up New York City and its surrounding area:" no, they say, "New York." It is a place, a theme, a personality.
A city is a character.
A character can be killed.
This is how Corkscrew Nick thought. He didn't understand that the city might be something more than an idea. Reality is not symbolic: it is humanity that assigns meaning. If enough people believe something to be true, then it becomes true, not because it actually is but because it doesn't need to be. If something is believed to be true, and everyone acts and reacts to it as though it were true, then what does it matter whether it is or not? Truth is relative.
A character can be killed. Or threatened, or argued with, or ignored. There are infinite ways to interact with a character. The human imagination is boundless in certain areas, and this is one of them.
But it's the killing that's important tonight.
Percy saw the explosion in slow motion, and as such wasn't as surprised as everyone else when the tunnel blew in. He had been following a path, of sorts, and this seemed to be a logical conclusion to that. He was pretty sure it was an individual he was following, someone with a knife who left a trail of bodies. Percy couldn't understand it. There was no rhyme or reason to the destruction. How did that fit in, to...to anything?
He'd followed this...person, for lack of a better word...through the city streets, from slit throat to coughed-up blood to gut-stabbed wreck. He had seen every movement from about ten minutes back in time, as though they were printed on the street. He knew this person he was following, mostly because they were going to great pains to let the world know who they were. Blood on the street formed into letters and symbols, a spiraling corkscrew cut into the glass of a storefront window...oh yes, this man was signing everything he did, with a flourish that inevitably ended up killing someone. And then Percy came along a moment after and brought the dead back to life.
It was odd, though, how Percy could never catch up. He was moving in a dream world, people trickling slowly past like centuries down an hourglass, but he never saw the man he was following. Haste was not enough, it would seem: either the man with the knife was moving like quicksilver, or Percy was involved in some convoluted dance involving him passing the man without notice and then running into his trail again purely by accident. Which seemed, at the very least, unlikely.
He'd followed the knife across the city, through hardware stores, gardening supply shops, and the little corner nests of electronics hobbyists. He had passed through computer stores, cell phone boutiques, a bookstore and a coffee shop, and through it all he'd seen the signs of the knife. The dead on the ground, the marks on the walls, the ransacked shelves, the irate young man behind the coffee shop counter who had been complaining about a customer not paying. The knife--that was how Percy was thinking of him now, the man was not a man, just an edge and a handle and a slasher grin--the knife seemed to be incapable of discreet movement. He declared his presence everywhere he went, and signed the scenery with whatever was available. It was like he had a checklist of evil acts and was going down it, putting a little tic mark next to every item. Murder. Arson. Assault. Theft. Jaywalking. The knife even made a point of never crossing the street when the light was green--who does that?
After a while, Percy could see little stories in every scene he came across. The bodies, the marks on the walls, were positioned just so, and if he took a moment to look at them closely he could see what had happened--maybe not the exact details, but the sense, the feel, the part of the story that actually matters...that he could see. That had been left there. If it was by accident, it was a remarkable coincidence, and if it wasn't then it had been done by an artist.
Percy stood before Liberty Tunnel and watched the smoke and flame bloom, rising from the ground like a flower, unfolding in slow motion. If he had ever been to the movies the effect would have been familiar to Percy, but as it was he had to stop for a moment to watch it. It looked like someone had just tossed a bomb into the middle of the street and set it off at random, no rhyme or reason. Then the other bombs went off, blowing out the supports, and Percy saw what no one else did yet, that the whole thing was going to collapse.
He raised his staff and said, "Protect." His voice was like iron, or what iron aspires to be. A shard of a bumper hit his arm with a sound like tic and bounced away. He walked forward, into the tunnel, smoke and fire curving around him like water around a rock. A man was stumbling forward, clutching a ruined arm, sobbing like a child: "Heal," said Percy, and flesh reknit itself. He walked through the fire and it parted before him, as the sea before a prophet.
In the tunnel there was ruin. Lights flickered painfully, illuminating nothing. The street was already shutting down, no further cars coming through, people stopping and staring at the black cloud, wincing at the black sound of the bombs. In the tunnel were cracks, running down the walls, across the floor and ceiling, from which water steadily dripped. The air was filled with smoke, the only light was from the fire and the deranged fluorescents, and in the middle of it all stood the knife.
Percy slowed down, and the scene lost its blurry look, the debris started falling at a normal speed, the shrieks gained unbearable pitch.
"Hello," said the knife. "Fancy meeting you here." And the fires he had set gleamed in Corkscrew Nick's reaper-head grin.
"You," said Percy. "I do not know you."
"Sure you do," said the knife. "We've been in the bar together. We're both in this little game together. You know?"
"I do not know you," repeated Percy. "Your words are strange to me, your face closed, your mind shuttered. And yet I know you better than I know myself. Strange, isn't it?"
There was a pause, for what can one say in response to such a thing?
"What?" said the knife, eventually.
"I used to believe that there was good and there was evil," said Percy. "Then I learned that people could do evil while thinking they were doing good, and after that I knew nothing could ever be certain again. But you, you are evil. I have seen what you have done, and I do not understand how you could convince yourself to do it. I do not understand how anyone could do it, unless they were true evil. You are the Devil, Satan, Bezeelbub, the Lord of the Flies, the Darkness, Evil." He raised his staff above his head.
"I don't think you know as much as you think you do," said the knife.
"I have walked your path," said Percy. "I walked behind you and brought back from the dead those you left behind. I healed those you hurt and I undid the destruction you wrought. I know you to be unholy, and so with a word I can destroy you."
"Purge the earth of evil, eh?" said the knife.
"Just so," said Percy.
"Funny," said the knife, in the tone of someone humoring a madman. "And how were you planning on doing that, pray tell?"
"Some call it magic," said Percy. "I have the holy fire in my hand, and with it I can burn you to ash."
The knife listened, suddenly wary. "Well, then," he said. "Magic. Fancy that. You just walked through a wall of fire, so I suppose I ought to believe you. And you've got something that destroys evil. How do you know it works?"
"You are destroyed in a blaze of holy fire," said Percy, "that's how I know it works."
"Well then," said the knife. "Useful. Only kills evil. Yeah." He looked at Percy with something approaching pity. "Look, why don't you just walk away? Guy like you, you don't need to be in this place. Just go. Leave Paradise City. The King can't stop someone like you. You don't want to get involved in this. It's going to get messy."
"Make your peace with whatever god you hold dear," said Percy, clutching his staff tight, "if you have any, which I doubt."
The knife stared at him for a moment. "You really haven't a clue who you're fucking with here, do you?" he asked, in a voice more incredulous than anything else.
"Holy," Percy started to say, and then Corkscrew Nick pushed a button and the roof came down.
End of Part One
Unforgivable Testimony
The file is battered, not through age or use but because it came through Hell itself just for the act of putting it together. Warrants had to be arranged, dates and times noted, pictures taken, questions asked and the answers recorded. Specialized equipment had to be brought in, and specialized people to use it. It took them too long to put it together, but it will work for now. It's a starting point. Something to figure out what happened.
They've kept all the original materials together--the recorder, the security camera footage, the files and the initial reports. They've kept all the evidence. It's all archived on the computer, sitting in neat little folders on the desktop.
The man sitting before the computer is exhausted, inelegantly slumped back from the screen, drained. He's had a long day. His body aches, his mind feels like its stuffed with cotton, and his eyes are itching. Doubtless there are others worse off than him, but he cannot bring himself to worry about their plight just now, for the day has left him with little energy to spare for empty compassion.
The computer is mostly quiet, the fans having settled down after handling the stress of transferring documents. The room is brightly lit by clean white light, to make the work easier, but outside the window it is black as pitch. The lights of the city beyond provide no illumination. There is no sound save for the even breathing of the man and the small, barely perceptible hum of the machine.
The man moves at last, setting wounded hands on the keyboard and mouse. Three fingers have adhesive bandages wrapped firmly around them, one on the left and two on the right: other fingers probably ought to be bandaged, but lack of supplies and time has left them bare.
He clicks twice on the folder marked "FILE 001," and brings up the first of the documents inside.
=-=-=-
______________________________________________________________________________________________
All gods damn you, sir, you and your unreasonable pricing scheme. This is absurd. This is theft. This is blatant highway robbery, taking place on the premises of an otherwise fine drinking establishment. I'll not stand for it!
Well, yes, I did in fact request your best wine. And yes, I did drink two full bottles. And yes, I suppose you did make me aware of the price beforehand, though in my paltry defense I was not paying much attention. I was distracted by the lovely lady serving the aforementioned drinks. Hardly my fault, you must admit--such beauty would catch the eye of even a god of chastity, such loveliness would turn the sun from its path and make the very moon pale with envy--
Ow! Godsdamnit woman, what did you just hit me with, a bloody mace? She hit me with a--your fist, you say? Liar! Ow!
Pah. Fine, I shall pay. But first...I don't suppose you would lower your perfectly reasonable and not at all extravagant I-suspect-you're-putting-your-children-through-college-on-this price if I were to, say, entertain yourself and my fellow patrons with a story?
Well, you know, it's worth a try. And I like to tell stories. You may have noticed.
Ahem.
My name is Emanuel Cazinto, and this is the story of what I saw recently in a place known as Paradise City...
Well, yes, I did in fact request your best wine. And yes, I did drink two full bottles. And yes, I suppose you did make me aware of the price beforehand, though in my paltry defense I was not paying much attention. I was distracted by the lovely lady serving the aforementioned drinks. Hardly my fault, you must admit--such beauty would catch the eye of even a god of chastity, such loveliness would turn the sun from its path and make the very moon pale with envy--
Ow! Godsdamnit woman, what did you just hit me with, a bloody mace? She hit me with a--your fist, you say? Liar! Ow!
Pah. Fine, I shall pay. But first...I don't suppose you would lower your perfectly reasonable and not at all extravagant I-suspect-you're-putting-your-children-through-college-on-this price if I were to, say, entertain yourself and my fellow patrons with a story?
Well, you know, it's worth a try. And I like to tell stories. You may have noticed.
Ahem.
My name is Emanuel Cazinto, and this is the story of what I saw recently in a place known as Paradise City...
______________________________________________________________________________________________
=-=-=-
Part One
CONTROL
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter "Motherfucking" 1Hello. My name is Nicklaus Dorcheld. I am my father.
And my mother, and the person who raised me, and the man who gave my father money to go to town and thus meet my mother (who was me). I am the bartender and the sweeper, I am my own child and my own most bitter enemy, in a cycle with no real beginning and no discernable end. I was the man who pulled the pin, and I was the man who caught the grenade. I am the one who is said to have died; I am the one who they say never lived. I went seeking vengeance on someone I didn't know was me and ended up having nasty, wonderful sex with myself, purely by accident, and later I came along with a net and a thousand dollars to set things right. I know where I came from--but who the hell are all you people?
What?
Okay, how the hell did you figure that out? Yeah, I stole that wholesale from a short story I read once. Didn't think anyone would catch the reference. Kudos for that, I guess.
You're not getting the real story, of course. I'm not giving away my secrets that easily. Tell people your life story, you get to know one another, you get to feeling that hey, this person might be redeemable and likable, and one thing leads to another and then you're burning down a hospital and you're laughing in the maternity ward as the cradles go up like fireworks. It's not worth it, is what I'm saying, no matter how good it feels at the time.
And no, you don't get a damn "The End." There is no end. I'm not done yet.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Incident Report 03428
Date: 4.24.10
Time: 17:51
Location: The Gurney Wheel, Paradise City, corner of 4th and Pennyworth
This report concerns the destruction due to gas explosion of the bar known as "The Gurney Wheel," located on the corner of 4th and Pennyworth in Paradise City. It is believed that the gas main situated beneath the building ruptured and ignited, utterly destroying the structure. Several bodies were recovered from the rubble, none of which were identifiable by medical personnel. The owner of the structure has not been seen since; it is presumed he was killed by the explosion.
The former owner has no dependents, relatives, or acquaintances on record: as such, the property will revert to the city unless new information comes to light.
Date: 4.24.10
Time: 17:51
Location: The Gurney Wheel, Paradise City, corner of 4th and Pennyworth
This report concerns the destruction due to gas explosion of the bar known as "The Gurney Wheel," located on the corner of 4th and Pennyworth in Paradise City. It is believed that the gas main situated beneath the building ruptured and ignited, utterly destroying the structure. Several bodies were recovered from the rubble, none of which were identifiable by medical personnel. The owner of the structure has not been seen since; it is presumed he was killed by the explosion.
The former owner has no dependents, relatives, or acquaintances on record: as such, the property will revert to the city unless new information comes to light.
Corkscrew Nick nearly jumped out of his skin when the bar exploded behind him. His first thoughts were something in the vein of "What the fuck?!" and degenerated from there. It took him a while to convince himself that Armageddon wasn't happening in his personal vicinity, though the lack of boiling seas and antichrists riding about might have clued him in sooner had he been paying attention. As it was, though, he was preoccupied with the black smoke pouring out of what remained of The Gurney Wheel. He'd just stepped out, after all; the blast had nearly caught him. If he'd been a little slower, a little more relaxed, a little less eager to be let loose on an unsuspecting city...
It occurred to him, for the first time, that he might be the unsuspecting one. It wasn't Corkscrew Nick happening to the city, it was the city happening to Corkscrew Nick. It was an unnerving, unfamiliar feeling.
Everybody in this town wants you dead, Michael King had said. Everyone. Well, shit. He tried to ignore it, tried to conjure up the red adrenaline thrill of the hunt, but the feeling remained in the back of his head: you against the world, and they've got more ammo than you do.
He checked the gun in his pocket, made sure he could get at it easily, then set off down the sidewalk, whistling idly. He needed a plan. He needed to throw them all off the scent. He needed something big.
And at the moment he needed to stay alive, because holy shit everyone was shooting at him--
Incident Report 03430
Date: 4.24.10
Time: 17:58
Location: Paradise City, corner of Sixth and Pennyworth
Local police departments in Paradise City received word of gunfire and screaming at 17:58 on April 24th, 2010. The disturbance has been determined to have originated somewhere near the intersection of Sixth and Pennyworth, and appears to have involved multiple parties, none of whom were apprehended alive. Several persons were found at the scene by medical personnel and rushed to the hospital, where one of them died: two more were pronounced dead at the scene. The current whereabouts of all those taken to the hospital is unknown, as they vanished from the facility after treatment. Attempts to locate these individuals have thus far proven fruitless.
The following section has been stricken from the official record due to lack of objectivity.
This case is abnormal due to the persistent lack of cooperation between Paradise City police and federal enforcement: a full report was not submitted to the national database until long after the standard time, and the department has shown a remarkable lack of enthusiasm in investigating further into the reported events. When put into context with the department's past record, a consistent history of obstructionism emerges on a city-wide level, bringing
The remainder of this report could not be recovered.
Date: 4.24.10
Time: 17:58
Location: Paradise City, corner of Sixth and Pennyworth
Local police departments in Paradise City received word of gunfire and screaming at 17:58 on April 24th, 2010. The disturbance has been determined to have originated somewhere near the intersection of Sixth and Pennyworth, and appears to have involved multiple parties, none of whom were apprehended alive. Several persons were found at the scene by medical personnel and rushed to the hospital, where one of them died: two more were pronounced dead at the scene. The current whereabouts of all those taken to the hospital is unknown, as they vanished from the facility after treatment. Attempts to locate these individuals have thus far proven fruitless.
The following section has been stricken from the official record due to lack of objectivity.
This case is abnormal due to the persistent lack of cooperation between Paradise City police and federal enforcement: a full report was not submitted to the national database until long after the standard time, and the department has shown a remarkable lack of enthusiasm in investigating further into the reported events. When put into context with the department's past record, a consistent history of obstructionism emerges on a city-wide level, bringing
The remainder of this report could not be recovered.
Item 1: The Gun
On the table alongside other items in the file is an unremarkable pistol, sealed in a plastic evidence bag. It is unmarked, cheap and battered, with black electrical tape wrapped around the grip. On the bag is a sticker noting manufacturer, model, where it was found, and some other details about the weapon, such as the inaccurate sights. In another bag nearby are bullet casings, individually sealed in separate compartments and numbered one through six.
The digital version of the file has pictures of the weapon from every angle, as well as in location where it was found, under a car at the intersection of Sixth and Pennyworth. The driver of the car was dead from two gunshots to the abdomen, the car itself had been pushed to block the road, the emergency brake had been set and the tires had been slashed: all this is noted in the file on the computer.
On the table alongside other items in the file is an unremarkable pistol, sealed in a plastic evidence bag. It is unmarked, cheap and battered, with black electrical tape wrapped around the grip. On the bag is a sticker noting manufacturer, model, where it was found, and some other details about the weapon, such as the inaccurate sights. In another bag nearby are bullet casings, individually sealed in separate compartments and numbered one through six.
The digital version of the file has pictures of the weapon from every angle, as well as in location where it was found, under a car at the intersection of Sixth and Pennyworth. The driver of the car was dead from two gunshots to the abdomen, the car itself had been pushed to block the road, the emergency brake had been set and the tires had been slashed: all this is noted in the file on the computer.
Corkscrew Nick thought he had a handle on things now. For example, he knew he couldn't hope to stay under the radar. Someone had gotten word out--to goddamn everyone--and he was a marked man for every person on the street. That was a new experience for Nick. He was used to people either ignoring him or fleeing, or perhaps advancing angrily. This cool and calculated intent to straight up murder him was new. Kind of novel, kind of interesting, kind of frightening.
He loved it.
He'd kicked off the party by shooting an elderly lady in the head. It had seemed appropriate. Ten minutes later there were five people on the ground, and his gun was empty. He gazed at it sorrowfully. It was cheap, worn, and inaccurate--an all-around poor weapon--but it had served him well in the time he'd had it. Every pull of the trigger had been rewarded by a scream of sound and a thunderous delivery of lead to whatever he had pointed it at, until the end, when there had been only a ridiculous click.
There was probably something symbolic in that.
He tossed the gun aside and flipped a knife out of his pocket. A gun could fail you--jam, miss, break, misfire, run empty--but not a knife, not if you kept it sharp. He liked his knives. And you didn't really need a gun to throw the city into chaos--sure, it made it easy, but it wasn't necessary. For example, this car here, if it were moved into the middle of the street like so and had the emergency brake applied like so and the tires slashed so it couldn't be moved, like so...well, there was a little chaos, right there. One of the arteries of the city, cut off by a fat metal shell. Traffic slows, stops, no one can move in a vehicle for blocks around. Everything's by foot now, police cruisers moldering in traffic. The only way anyone with serious firepower would be getting into the city would be with APCs running over stopped cars.
Or at least that's what he fancied would happen. Reality wouldn't match up to his expectations, he knew. He needed something bigger. Get to Mr. King, said the screen. Be in his office. Be in his head. How did Paradise City work? How could it be made to not work?
Corkscrew Nick put his mind to it as he strode off. He whistled a snatch of music, muttered a fragment of a line--"Tonight the streets are red / The lights are blue and blinding"--and flipped his knife between his fingers. He laughed. "No sign of the good doctor / But the siren's wail and whining / Tell us he'll be found..." The knife leaped through the air, dancing off his fingers.
"I can almost hear the hounds..."
Incident Report 03430, Addendum
Date, Location: Refer to Incident Report 03430
Time: 18:14
After the events of Incident Report 03430, in which several persons were shot by a low-caliber firearm at the intersection of Sixth and Pennyworth in Paradise City, it was noted by emergency medical personnel that the two individuals declared dead at the scene ten minutes prior were now alive and well, having just awoken as from a deep coma. When questioned, they claimed to have seen a man in white leaning over them, though no such individual was seen by personnel at the scene.
Date, Location: Refer to Incident Report 03430
Time: 18:14
After the events of Incident Report 03430, in which several persons were shot by a low-caliber firearm at the intersection of Sixth and Pennyworth in Paradise City, it was noted by emergency medical personnel that the two individuals declared dead at the scene ten minutes prior were now alive and well, having just awoken as from a deep coma. When questioned, they claimed to have seen a man in white leaning over them, though no such individual was seen by personnel at the scene.
Look through the corkscrew, and this is what you see.
Deep in the recesses of this mind, there is a place where the theories dwell. Here there is a tendency to take things literally, to see and examine what most would not bother to look at, and to reinterpret those things in a logical manner that is deeply disturbing to anyone with a human soul. This is a place where poison wells up like water from the earth, spreading through the mind, burning through it like acid. That which survives the liquid flame is not entirely sane. What was soft dissolves, what was hard becomes brittle, and all the rest is scoured free of what little humanity bound it all together. It is a mind of little vials, twisted in on each other, each containing a drop of the mercury philosophik.
"The unexamined life is not worth living." It does not matter who said the words: what matters is that they have been said. But perhaps something could be said for the over-examined life, some words of wisdom for the man trying to do what he thought was right and yet not knowing the definition of evil. Such a man could shake the world, if he saw the need for it. Such a man could destroy so thoroughly you would find nothing left afterward, and such a man could create with merely a word, spin out of the air something to last forever.
Such a man could poison a city, if he but opened his mouth.
Deep in the recesses of this mind, there is a place where the theories dwell. Here there is a tendency to take things literally, to see and examine what most would not bother to look at, and to reinterpret those things in a logical manner that is deeply disturbing to anyone with a human soul. This is a place where poison wells up like water from the earth, spreading through the mind, burning through it like acid. That which survives the liquid flame is not entirely sane. What was soft dissolves, what was hard becomes brittle, and all the rest is scoured free of what little humanity bound it all together. It is a mind of little vials, twisted in on each other, each containing a drop of the mercury philosophik.
"The unexamined life is not worth living." It does not matter who said the words: what matters is that they have been said. But perhaps something could be said for the over-examined life, some words of wisdom for the man trying to do what he thought was right and yet not knowing the definition of evil. Such a man could shake the world, if he saw the need for it. Such a man could destroy so thoroughly you would find nothing left afterward, and such a man could create with merely a word, spin out of the air something to last forever.
Such a man could poison a city, if he but opened his mouth.
There is a man in the shadows. He is named Perseverance, but he will not mind if you call him Percy. He is bringing a man back from the dead.
It is a sequence of movements that long ago passed beyond memorization and into the realm of instinct. Take the feather from his back--he's so used to the sound that he barely hears the outraged squawk of the phoenix--place it between the lips, say the words, and then the man is gasping for breath and crying like a babe in arms. Percy moves on without a word; he has nothing to say to this man, and in all likelihood nothing the man could say would interest him. To find answers to deep philosophical questions, you do not look to the broken form huddled in a pool of its own blood, for such a figure raises more disturbing questions and answers none.
He is searching for answers. What, for example, is good? What is right and what is wrong? Perhaps he could find answers here, in this place where wickedness burns in the stones, where a virus smiles and mobsters cry, where men in white hold demons to their breasts and even the poor are evil.
Somewhere in this city, there was a man who knew something. That man might not know the answers Percy sought, but he would know something, and that might be enough for the moment. Percy hadn't had enough human contact to distinguish between reliable knowledge and knowledge that was...otherwise, as it were. He was a slate, wiped clean by the acid in his brain, rewritten by a passing stranger.
Somewhere in this city was a man named Michael King, a man Percy must find. Not because it was ordered, not because it was required, not because it was the objective of the game, but because there might be answers. Answers from the King, the voice behind the screen. From the man who seemed to know everything that happened in his city.
What else might such a man know?
Paradise City
Department of Urban Security
4.24.10
WARRENT for the TERMINATION of the following persons:
-Nicklaus Dorcheld, called "Corkscrew Nick." 5'4", white, dark brown hair and eyes. Late twenties to early thirties. Last seen wearing jeans and a black button-down shirt.
-Perseverance, called "Percy." 5'5", olive skin, graying hair, green eyes. Middle aged. Last seen wearing a white robe and turban, with something bloody strapped to his back.
The TERMINATION of these individuals is to be carried out BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY, for the GOOD OF THE CITY.
Department of Urban Security
4.24.10
WARRENT for the TERMINATION of the following persons:
-Nicklaus Dorcheld, called "Corkscrew Nick." 5'4", white, dark brown hair and eyes. Late twenties to early thirties. Last seen wearing jeans and a black button-down shirt.
-Perseverance, called "Percy." 5'5", olive skin, graying hair, green eyes. Middle aged. Last seen wearing a white robe and turban, with something bloody strapped to his back.
The TERMINATION of these individuals is to be carried out BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY, for the GOOD OF THE CITY.
Hello? Hello? Is this thing on? There's a little green light, but what the hell does that mean? It's just a little light, right next to the ON button, that could...mean...anything...hmm.
Well, then. Ahem.
Evening, Paradise City. Corkscrew Nick here. I'm pretty sure y'all know who I am by now--either Mike King went and told you, or you've seen what I've done--so I'll keep the introductions short. I just want to tell you a few things. Some of them you might already know, and that's okay. Not everyone is as lucky or as observant as you are.
First off, you don't live in a city. Not a real one. You might have noticed. It's like one of the old company towns, with MasonTech Incorporated running the show. This Paradise City, though, it's even worse than that. I mean, it's not even as though MasonTech is a legit company. I mean, come on. MasonTech? Yeah, you got your secret Mason handshakes and whatnot in your dark and smoky room? Why don't you just put up a goddamn sign, something like "Conspiracy Afoot?" Put it in Latin and call it your company motto and there you go.
I'm sorry, I seem to have gotten sidetracked. I was supposed to be chatting about how you're all doomed and how Mr. King should come out from under whatever rock he's hiding under and how all your gods have abandoned you. Let me start over. Need to have my speech down for when I do this for real, you know?
Ahem.
Evening, Paradise City.
The remainder of the recording is unintelligible.
Well, then. Ahem.
Evening, Paradise City. Corkscrew Nick here. I'm pretty sure y'all know who I am by now--either Mike King went and told you, or you've seen what I've done--so I'll keep the introductions short. I just want to tell you a few things. Some of them you might already know, and that's okay. Not everyone is as lucky or as observant as you are.
First off, you don't live in a city. Not a real one. You might have noticed. It's like one of the old company towns, with MasonTech Incorporated running the show. This Paradise City, though, it's even worse than that. I mean, it's not even as though MasonTech is a legit company. I mean, come on. MasonTech? Yeah, you got your secret Mason handshakes and whatnot in your dark and smoky room? Why don't you just put up a goddamn sign, something like "Conspiracy Afoot?" Put it in Latin and call it your company motto and there you go.
I'm sorry, I seem to have gotten sidetracked. I was supposed to be chatting about how you're all doomed and how Mr. King should come out from under whatever rock he's hiding under and how all your gods have abandoned you. Let me start over. Need to have my speech down for when I do this for real, you know?
Ahem.
Evening, Paradise City.
The remainder of the recording is unintelligible.
There is a man in the shadows. His name is Nicklaus Dorcheld, but he will insist you call him Corkscrew Nick. He is killing someone.
It could be said that this was Nick's basic state of existence, that he was never not in the act of killing someone. He was the perpetual murderer, locked into the cycle of death dealt by his hand. It was his instinctual reaction to many things: to that which he didn't understand, that which he saw as threatening, that which was in the way or that which didn't fit into the story in his head. He considered himself a storyteller, speaking with the use of corpses. Bodies were nothing more than symbols, scrawled on the page with a violent hand.
Look at the city through his eyes.
There are countless people that make up a city, each and every one a unique and absolutely unreplicatable person. This is untidy. The human mind cannot contain that much, so it is reduced to a concept. No one says "the millions of people that make up New York City and its surrounding area:" no, they say, "New York." It is a place, a theme, a personality.
A city is a character.
A character can be killed.
This is how Corkscrew Nick thought. He didn't understand that the city might be something more than an idea. Reality is not symbolic: it is humanity that assigns meaning. If enough people believe something to be true, then it becomes true, not because it actually is but because it doesn't need to be. If something is believed to be true, and everyone acts and reacts to it as though it were true, then what does it matter whether it is or not? Truth is relative.
A character can be killed. Or threatened, or argued with, or ignored. There are infinite ways to interact with a character. The human imagination is boundless in certain areas, and this is one of them.
But it's the killing that's important tonight.
Incident Report 03431
Date: 4.24.10
Time: 19:23
Location: Paradise City, Liberty Tunnel
At 19:23 on April 24th, 2010, a bomb exploded in Liberty Tunnel, the terminus of the main freeway entering Paradise City. Seventeen people were declared dead at the scene, with two others dying en route to Paradise General Hospital: serious injuries were sustained by as many as thirty other people. Damage is estimated at $3.6 million, both to the tunnel structure and to the cars caught in the blast. The tunnel was closed immediately, with traffic diverted to Roe Street: despite this, traffic backup quickly built to astonishing levels.
No organization or individual has yet claimed responsibility for the attack.
Date: 4.24.10
Time: 19:23
Location: Paradise City, Liberty Tunnel
At 19:23 on April 24th, 2010, a bomb exploded in Liberty Tunnel, the terminus of the main freeway entering Paradise City. Seventeen people were declared dead at the scene, with two others dying en route to Paradise General Hospital: serious injuries were sustained by as many as thirty other people. Damage is estimated at $3.6 million, both to the tunnel structure and to the cars caught in the blast. The tunnel was closed immediately, with traffic diverted to Roe Street: despite this, traffic backup quickly built to astonishing levels.
No organization or individual has yet claimed responsibility for the attack.
Here the story turns, as though by the turn of a dial. Up past ten, past eleven, to the setting known only as "HIGH OCTANE."
Watch. Soon there will be an ending: soon there will be a beginning.
Watch. Soon there will be an ending: soon there will be a beginning.
Percy saw the explosion in slow motion, and as such wasn't as surprised as everyone else when the tunnel blew in. He had been following a path, of sorts, and this seemed to be a logical conclusion to that. He was pretty sure it was an individual he was following, someone with a knife who left a trail of bodies. Percy couldn't understand it. There was no rhyme or reason to the destruction. How did that fit in, to...to anything?
He'd followed this...person, for lack of a better word...through the city streets, from slit throat to coughed-up blood to gut-stabbed wreck. He had seen every movement from about ten minutes back in time, as though they were printed on the street. He knew this person he was following, mostly because they were going to great pains to let the world know who they were. Blood on the street formed into letters and symbols, a spiraling corkscrew cut into the glass of a storefront window...oh yes, this man was signing everything he did, with a flourish that inevitably ended up killing someone. And then Percy came along a moment after and brought the dead back to life.
It was odd, though, how Percy could never catch up. He was moving in a dream world, people trickling slowly past like centuries down an hourglass, but he never saw the man he was following. Haste was not enough, it would seem: either the man with the knife was moving like quicksilver, or Percy was involved in some convoluted dance involving him passing the man without notice and then running into his trail again purely by accident. Which seemed, at the very least, unlikely.
He'd followed the knife across the city, through hardware stores, gardening supply shops, and the little corner nests of electronics hobbyists. He had passed through computer stores, cell phone boutiques, a bookstore and a coffee shop, and through it all he'd seen the signs of the knife. The dead on the ground, the marks on the walls, the ransacked shelves, the irate young man behind the coffee shop counter who had been complaining about a customer not paying. The knife--that was how Percy was thinking of him now, the man was not a man, just an edge and a handle and a slasher grin--the knife seemed to be incapable of discreet movement. He declared his presence everywhere he went, and signed the scenery with whatever was available. It was like he had a checklist of evil acts and was going down it, putting a little tic mark next to every item. Murder. Arson. Assault. Theft. Jaywalking. The knife even made a point of never crossing the street when the light was green--who does that?
After a while, Percy could see little stories in every scene he came across. The bodies, the marks on the walls, were positioned just so, and if he took a moment to look at them closely he could see what had happened--maybe not the exact details, but the sense, the feel, the part of the story that actually matters...that he could see. That had been left there. If it was by accident, it was a remarkable coincidence, and if it wasn't then it had been done by an artist.
Percy stood before Liberty Tunnel and watched the smoke and flame bloom, rising from the ground like a flower, unfolding in slow motion. If he had ever been to the movies the effect would have been familiar to Percy, but as it was he had to stop for a moment to watch it. It looked like someone had just tossed a bomb into the middle of the street and set it off at random, no rhyme or reason. Then the other bombs went off, blowing out the supports, and Percy saw what no one else did yet, that the whole thing was going to collapse.
He raised his staff and said, "Protect." His voice was like iron, or what iron aspires to be. A shard of a bumper hit his arm with a sound like tic and bounced away. He walked forward, into the tunnel, smoke and fire curving around him like water around a rock. A man was stumbling forward, clutching a ruined arm, sobbing like a child: "Heal," said Percy, and flesh reknit itself. He walked through the fire and it parted before him, as the sea before a prophet.
In the tunnel there was ruin. Lights flickered painfully, illuminating nothing. The street was already shutting down, no further cars coming through, people stopping and staring at the black cloud, wincing at the black sound of the bombs. In the tunnel were cracks, running down the walls, across the floor and ceiling, from which water steadily dripped. The air was filled with smoke, the only light was from the fire and the deranged fluorescents, and in the middle of it all stood the knife.
Percy slowed down, and the scene lost its blurry look, the debris started falling at a normal speed, the shrieks gained unbearable pitch.
"Hello," said the knife. "Fancy meeting you here." And the fires he had set gleamed in Corkscrew Nick's reaper-head grin.
"For the first time she saw its eyes. They were red, and as mad as hell. Anything with eyes like that could kill anything it wanted because madness, true madness, can drive a fist through a plank."
-Terry Pratchett, Men At Arms
-Terry Pratchett, Men At Arms
"Destruction cometh; and they shall seek peace, and there shall be none."
"You," said Percy. "I do not know you."
"Sure you do," said the knife. "We've been in the bar together. We're both in this little game together. You know?"
"I do not know you," repeated Percy. "Your words are strange to me, your face closed, your mind shuttered. And yet I know you better than I know myself. Strange, isn't it?"
There was a pause, for what can one say in response to such a thing?
"What?" said the knife, eventually.
"I used to believe that there was good and there was evil," said Percy. "Then I learned that people could do evil while thinking they were doing good, and after that I knew nothing could ever be certain again. But you, you are evil. I have seen what you have done, and I do not understand how you could convince yourself to do it. I do not understand how anyone could do it, unless they were true evil. You are the Devil, Satan, Bezeelbub, the Lord of the Flies, the Darkness, Evil." He raised his staff above his head.
"I don't think you know as much as you think you do," said the knife.
"I have walked your path," said Percy. "I walked behind you and brought back from the dead those you left behind. I healed those you hurt and I undid the destruction you wrought. I know you to be unholy, and so with a word I can destroy you."
"Purge the earth of evil, eh?" said the knife.
"Just so," said Percy.
"Funny," said the knife, in the tone of someone humoring a madman. "And how were you planning on doing that, pray tell?"
"Some call it magic," said Percy. "I have the holy fire in my hand, and with it I can burn you to ash."
The knife listened, suddenly wary. "Well, then," he said. "Magic. Fancy that. You just walked through a wall of fire, so I suppose I ought to believe you. And you've got something that destroys evil. How do you know it works?"
"You are destroyed in a blaze of holy fire," said Percy, "that's how I know it works."
"Well then," said the knife. "Useful. Only kills evil. Yeah." He looked at Percy with something approaching pity. "Look, why don't you just walk away? Guy like you, you don't need to be in this place. Just go. Leave Paradise City. The King can't stop someone like you. You don't want to get involved in this. It's going to get messy."
"Make your peace with whatever god you hold dear," said Percy, clutching his staff tight, "if you have any, which I doubt."
The knife stared at him for a moment. "You really haven't a clue who you're fucking with here, do you?" he asked, in a voice more incredulous than anything else.
"Holy," Percy started to say, and then Corkscrew Nick pushed a button and the roof came down.
The footage is from a security camera high on the wall, sweeping over a room of other cameras. A vast network comes together in this room, where serious men stare at screens and press buttons to sound alarms and file reports. In the room above was the center of the spider's web, where all the data from the security room was made known to one man; here, in this room, was the work that made the city run, that kept the city secure.
On the big screen was feed from a camera in Liberty Tunnel, blurry and divided down the middle by a crack in the lens. On it a man in black faced off with a man in white, amid scorched and cracked ruin. The man in white raised his staff: the man in black pushed a button in his pocket, and the screen went black.
The men in the security room watched the screen solemnly. When it remained dark, they stirred.
"He's blown Liberty Tunnel," said one, disbelieving the evidence of his eyes.
"Yes, he has," said another, a man with a shiny badge on his chest. "And just how did he get so many explosives?"
"Theft, sir," said a man at a nearby computer. "He stole electronics, detonators, fertilizer, propane tanks..."
"He brought down Liberty Tunnel with improvised explosives," said the man with the badge. "Fucking wonderful. Fucking nutjob. All right people, stand down. Red shift, keep an eye on the tunnel--get some men down there clearing rubble. I want to be sure they're both dead. Everybody else, back to stations. That explosion will have attracted some outside attention--I want people manning phones and intercepting any transmissions out of the city. Get on it."
The remainder of the security footage is of routine operations.
On the big screen was feed from a camera in Liberty Tunnel, blurry and divided down the middle by a crack in the lens. On it a man in black faced off with a man in white, amid scorched and cracked ruin. The man in white raised his staff: the man in black pushed a button in his pocket, and the screen went black.
The men in the security room watched the screen solemnly. When it remained dark, they stirred.
"He's blown Liberty Tunnel," said one, disbelieving the evidence of his eyes.
"Yes, he has," said another, a man with a shiny badge on his chest. "And just how did he get so many explosives?"
"Theft, sir," said a man at a nearby computer. "He stole electronics, detonators, fertilizer, propane tanks..."
"He brought down Liberty Tunnel with improvised explosives," said the man with the badge. "Fucking wonderful. Fucking nutjob. All right people, stand down. Red shift, keep an eye on the tunnel--get some men down there clearing rubble. I want to be sure they're both dead. Everybody else, back to stations. That explosion will have attracted some outside attention--I want people manning phones and intercepting any transmissions out of the city. Get on it."
The remainder of the security footage is of routine operations.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
-"Invictus," by William Ernest Henley
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
-"Invictus," by William Ernest Henley
______________________________________________________________________________________________
End of Part One
CORKSCREW
=-=-=-
=-=-=-
Commentary
At the end of Part One:
Okay, so obviously this isn't everything to the story. I don't like posting things in fragments, but I'd already gone over the usual deadline and was only halfway done, so I thought I'd put up what I had. Partly to give everyone eagerly awaiting the finals something to read, partly to say "Hey, look, I'm working on it!" Sorry about taking so long, and about writing so much: once I started, I found it hard to stop. Part Two will probably be at least as long as Part One, make of that what you will.
I reserve the right to edit bits and pieces of this at any time up to the posting of the conclusion.
At the end of Part One:
Okay, so obviously this isn't everything to the story. I don't like posting things in fragments, but I'd already gone over the usual deadline and was only halfway done, so I thought I'd put up what I had. Partly to give everyone eagerly awaiting the finals something to read, partly to say "Hey, look, I'm working on it!" Sorry about taking so long, and about writing so much: once I started, I found it hard to stop. Part Two will probably be at least as long as Part One, make of that what you will.
I reserve the right to edit bits and pieces of this at any time up to the posting of the conclusion.