Paradox: The Last Day - Seymour's Story

by Rachel Charman

  “Excuse me, sir. Do you know where I can find General Solari?”

  “What?! I- Oh, sorry, soldier. Yeah, he left for DIV. 8 a few minutes before the fracas erupted. Why do you need to know?”

  “I have a crucial report to give him about the one responsible for the riot.

  It must be done in person.”

  The Sergeant considers Seymour for a moment, taking in his soaked appearance before saying dismissively –

  “Alright, well, if it’s that important, hop into an APC. We’ll be off in five.”

  “But where are these APCs headed, sir?”

  “The APCs with the secured inmates are heading to DIV. 6 for execution.”

  Seymour glances over at the scores of DIV. 7 inmates being forcefully crammed into the open APCs on the other end of the crowded lot, and despite not really caring, he says in a somewhat condescending way –

  “It doesn’t seem lawful to execute convicts if it’s not on their charge, sir.”

  “Eh.. Technically not, but the world doesn’t need people like them, y’know? As long as it’s on the down-low, there won’t be a problem.”

  “Er.. Yes, sir. What about the other APCs? Where are they going?”

  “The ones with troops are heading for DIV. 8 for medical aid.”

  “I see. Thank you, sir.”

  Vigilantly entering a nearby overcrowded APC filled with injured, irritated soldiers, Seymour sits nervously on the only empty seat within the confined, windowless vehicle, slides up the visor on his helmet, and surveys the wounded men with a furtive smile. He takes in their battered, bloodied-up presence with a conflicted battle raging on his heart, forcibly catching him between guilty happiness and heady nausea.

  |… Just remember.. Every single one who dies here.. gets me one step closer to victory.. Don’t forget that..|

  Immersed in his thoughts, he distractedly slides his jacket’s sleeve up slightly, and sets his sights once again on his mysterious stygian stigma. While Seymour studies his brands curiously, still feeling at odds with himself, an older-looking soldier with a large bloody gash above his eye sitting next to Seymour watches him as he stares intently. When he notices the old soldier surveying him curiously, he self-consciously slides his sleeve back down, cutting off his train of thought, and addresses the soldier coldly, as the APC begins to drive away from DIV. 7.

  “What do you want?”

  “Oh, just wonderin’ where you got that funny-lookin’ tattoo? Looks pretty badass!”

  Seymour scowls at the soldier darkly, and declares forcefully –

  “… None of your business.”

  “Hell, any business is my business. Am I right, men?”

  The troops within the APC cheer in response to the old soldier’s words. Seymour, however, is not amused, and looks up into his smug face with mounting irritation.

  “Fuck off.”

  “.. Jeez, fine, buddy. Just tryin’ to be friendly to a fellow soldier.”

  The old soldier leans back in his seat, his arms crossed defiantly, but still retaining his smile.

  “Heh.. Used to be a time when troops would respect their superiors. But now..”

  Infuriated by the condescending tone in the soldier’s voice, Seymour looks him straight in the face, and exclaims as vehemently as he can without resorting to shouting –

  “You’re not my superior.”

  “Oh really? Somebody sure think highly of himself!”

  “I agree. I think you need to remember who your superiors are.”

  “Why, you little bitch!-“

  Jumping up from his seat as though he is hit with an electrical shock, with his face a blotchy scarlet, and his yellowed teeth bared in fury, the soldier raises his hand, and smacks Seymour across the face as hard as he can before yelling irately –

  “I’ve served six times in the red zones! I’ve taken bullets for my commanding officers and been elbow-deep in Aozora guts! And who the fuck are you?! You’re just some no-name grunt who by all rights should be on the ground kissing my ass as we speak, or do you need some lipstick first?”

  As the troops in the APC laugh heartily at the old soldier’s words, Seymour calmly stands, his vitreous eyes shining with rage as the troops overzealously haze his words. Without a word, Seymour grabs the old soldier’s head - the old man’s face immediately turns from hilarity to horror - and forcefully smashes it into the thick back wall of the APC, breaking his jaw, and instantly knocking him unconscious. Firmly grabbing the old man’s limp lower jaw, which hangs loosely from one hinge, Seymour puts a foot on the old man’s chest to hold him down, and rips the jaw clean off his skull, spraying blood on his dumbstruck squad as they wordlessly watch, then opens the door of the APC, and tosses the severed jaw out onto the street. Watching the blood leak anew from the gash upon his head, and looking hideously deformed without his lower jaw, Seymour glares coldly down at the old soldier’s bleeding, cataleptic form, and speaks venomously, while the other soldiers recoil in fright –

  “If we’re telling war stories… I’ll refrain from telling you mine. You’d never sleep another day in your life if I did.”

  As the blue-jacketed squad backs as far away from Seymour as they possibly can in such a confined space, Seymour grabs the old soldier’s bloodstained body, and tosses it out onto the street. Closing the APC door with a snap, Seymour sits back down, while the other soldiers continue to desperately draw away from him. As he lowers his visor with a satisfied smile, Seymour’s presence makes the troops too shocked and scared to form words, while the APC gradually makes its way towards the Liberty District DIV. 8 Medical Department.

  ~Santuc TerraDome: DIV. 8 Medical Department (Liberty)~

  The APC pulls into the crowded parking lot of DIV. 8, bathed in the sickening orangey-green glow of Santuc’s muggy city lights, and unloads the battered troops at the entrance. As the backdoor of the vehicle slides open, Seymour breathes deeply, trying to compose himself, and climbs out of the claustrophobic rearward of the APC in silence, leaving behind the terrified soldiers, and enters the towering facility apprehensively.

  The interior of the medical facility is lit with a harsh white light, the high left wall is made entirely of scrupulously clean windows, and everything has an artificial, sterilized atmosphere to it. Seymour approaches the lengthy, black marble directory desk in the center of the spacious, eerily synthetic area, and asks the obese, curly-haired woman sitting heavily on an office chair if General Solari is in the building. She gruffly tells Seymour that he is in a meeting up on the 6th floor. Seymour nods, and heads quietly up the stairwell, with every step echoing deeply off of the cold steel walls. Emerging from the dark, frigid stairwell out onto the harshly lit, whitewashed 6th floor, Seymour prowls the long, empty corridor, subtly listening into the rooms through the doors, trying to catch Solari’s voice within. After a few minutes of searching, Seymour finally comes across a room in which he hears several voices heatedly arguing, and among them is Solari’s.

  I thought you said he was dead, General.

  … I know I said that.. But it seems I was wrong. He was hiding out in Raea this whole time, no doubt waiting for the moment when he could regroup his rebel buddies and start again..

  Are you certain of this?

  Steeling himself, and gripping the strap of the bag with his coat in it tightly, Seymour knocks on the door loudly, and the voices inside fall silent. A helmeted soldier opens the door, and waves Seymour inside. He nods, and enters the dark room, to find Solari, plus several other dignified-looking men, sitting primly along a long wooden table. Seymour sits down in an empty seat anxiously, as Solari nods at him curtly, and says succinctly –

  “Ah, excellent. Now that you’re here, you can add your testimony to the others.”

  “My, uh.. My testimony, sir?”

  “You were one of the SPEC Ops in Raea earlier, correct? You’re Private Marc Jenieille, right?”

  “N-no, sir.”

  Solari eyes Seymour suspiciously,
and asks inquisitively –

  “Then.. Why are you interrupting us, soldier?”

  “I just needed to speak to you about the disturbance at DIV. 7.. In private, sir.”

  “Oh yes, that.. We’ll speak of it in a moment, son. Right now, I must be going to interview an H.V.T. our men apprehended in Raea yesterday.”

  “And who would that be, sir?”

  “Well, it’s not any of your business really.. But, I suppose I’ll need a guard. This man is one sick fuck.”

  Rising from his chair, Solari bids farewell to the other men sitting along the table with a salute, opens the door amiably for Seymour, and together they walk down the corridor to the elevator. While Solari speaks to him, Seymour vigilantly makes sure to disguise his voice, since he knows that Solari would recognize his real voice in an instant if he heard it. As the elevator carries the pair to the highest floor, Seymour notices that his tracer device is hanging from Solari’s belt loop.

  |My tracer! … Should I just kill him here and take it? Hm.. I am interested in seeing who this High Value Target is.. Ahh, I suppose I can wait. He’s not going anywhere. Patience is a virtue, after all..|

  Once the elevator reaches the 20th floor, Solari and Seymour exit together, and continue down the intensely-lit hallway, when suddenly, a helmeted, one-armed soldier comes racing down the corridor, shouting the General’s name shrilly.

  “General Solari!”

  Solari turns to face his hailer, and smiles jovially as he approaches.

  “Ah, Private Jenieille, there you are. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, thank you, sir. Unfortunately, sir, they weren’t able to reattach my arm..”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, son.”

  “They’re going to make me one of those prosthetic ones later, so it’s all good, sir. I just came from I.C.U. for the meeting regarding the H.V.T. we found in Raea, but you weren’t there.”

  “Yes, sorry, son, but I think we’ve given him enough time to rest. We must interrogate him as fast as we can.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Seymour, Solari, and the young soldier named Marc Jenieille enter the brightly-lit room on the right side of the wide hallway. There is only one person within the spacious ward beyond the hallway, lying handcuffed to a white linen-covered infirmary bed; a young, pale, black and red-haired man, who opens his green and hazel eyes slowly at Solari’s approach. Seymour instantly recognizes him with a surge of shock.

  |Adrian? What the- .. H-how could he still be alive?! T-that’s impossible!|

  Watching Adrian as he slowly rouses to his surroundings, Seymour mind works hard and fast, though he keeps his outward appearance neutral to keep from looking suspicious.

  |Does this mean that Adrian found his own cure for the SIN infection? No.. that can’t be… I made it with only one cure in mind, and there’s no way he could ever get it.. But then- Wait… Why is he even here? … Could he.. be looking for something..? Maybe.. Oh, wait a sec… M-maybe he knows where Sam is..! Maybe that’s why he’s here..|

  Solari motions to Jenieille to close the door, and he complies. Seymour listens raptly to Solari’s interrogation of Adrian for a time, surreptitiously searching for any clues as to Sam’s whereabouts, when somebody knocks on the other side of the steel door. A white lab coat-clad doctor enters the room, wheeling on a creaky gurney a bedraggled female patient, whose face is obscured by her tangled mess of jet black hair. The doctor leans close to Solari, and whispers that the patient is being moved to the ward to make room for the influx of wounded soldiers from DIV. 7. He asks if the General could come see his troops, and Solari nods. He exits the room with the doctor, and Jenieille follows in his wake. However, Seymour falls behind, staring at Adrian curiously with an enigmatic smile, his mind working fast.

  |That’s so strange.. I saw him infected with the SIN toxin almost a year ago. I saw the infection ravage him.. He was so close to dying from the necrosis, but here he is, without a trace of it on his flesh. But there’s no way he could’ve survived, or gotten rid of it.. So… How is he still alive?|

  Wanting to stay and ask Adrian about Sam, he remembers he is still in the process of recovering his tracer, and that Adrian’s information would be unnecessary. Reluctantly exiting the room, but still musing deeply, he runs to catch up with Solari and Jenieille, trying to get them alone to retrieve his tracer without arousing suspicion. They enter the claustrophobic, black marble elevator together, and begin to descend to the 1st level, while Seymour keeps his eyes fixed on his tracer, which hangs just out of his reach. After about a minute of travel, a piercing alarm suddenly screams throughout the building, and the elevator stops dead in its tracks with a violent tremor, trapping the occupants inside.

  “Oh, what now?!”

  A panicky voice cries out from Solari’s radio, and he hastens to figure out the situation while Jenieille desperately searches for an emergency exit.

  “This is General Solari! Just calm down and tell me what happened!”

  Sir, the H.V.T. Moreau escaped custody with the other High Value Target!

  He’s already killed a bunch of our men!

  “What?! How did he escape?!”

  We don’t know, sir.. All we know is he’s trying to abscond from the building, and we need backup! He’s tearing through our defenses!

  “Well, what do you want me to do? I’m stuck in this elevator! Uhh.. Hmm…”

  Falling silent, Solari quickly paces around the cramped elevator while the alarm blares around him, and Seymour can almost see the cogs working in his brain as he hurriedly cogitates. Ultimately, he panics, and yell into his radio –

  “Look, just tell my men to detain the target at any cost! We’ll try to find an escape as fast as we can! Don’t let Moreau escape!”

  Yes, sir!

  Solari nervously attaches his radio back to the side of his suit, and desperately smashes his shoulder against the elevator doors, trying to break through, but to no avail.

  “Well, what do we do, sir? How are we going to get out? I tried the emergency exit, but it’s jammed shut!”

  “What?!”

  “Yeah, we’re trapped!”

  Solari chuckles grimly under his breath, and utters in a defeated tone, his eyes gleaming with fervor –

  “Hm.. It seems that we in the eXo PRIME make up the best military force this world has ever seen, yet for some reason, we can’t grasp the idea of building an elevator with an emergency exit that actually fucking works...”

  He puts a hand on the smooth titanium doors, which remain resolutely shut while the strident alarm blares on all around them, and says reassuringly to Seymour and Jenieille –

  “D-don’t worry, men. We’ll think of something before it’s too late..”

  “I have an idea.”

  “Oh yeah? Care to share?”

  Shunting Solari out of the way, Seymour runs his finger down the thin gap between the two doors, then furtively glances at Solari and Jenieille over his shoulder, and asserts confidently –

  “You grab the left door, sir. Jenieille, you take the right. And when I say pull, pull the door towards you as hard as you can. Got it?”

  “Well.. I suppose we could try..”

  The two do exactly as Seymour ordered, and slide their fingers as far as they can into the tiny gap between the two heavy metal elevator doors, mustering all of their strength in preparation.

  “Ready? Pull!”

  The pair pull with all of their strength for a few moments, but the doors are too heavy to be pulled apart by the two of them alone. Solari and Jenieille cease pulling, their strength spent, rubbing their shoulders painfully. Annoyed at the pair for their lack of strength, Seymour pushes Jenieille aside, slides his fingers into the miniscule gap, and after a few seconds of struggling, he wrenches the shining, chrome-coated elevator doors apart, revealing that they are stuck slightly above an exit, with only a small gap in which to slide out. Rubbing his wrists gingerly, a single bead of sweat workin
g its way down the side of his face, Seymour slides out through the diminutive gap, while Jenieille stares after him in awe and admiration; and Solari, with suspicion and apprehension. Despite his trepidation, he and Jenieille follow in Seymour’s wake, emerging onto the intensely white-washed 7th floor, the emergency alarm still blaring deafeningly loud throughout the long, empty corridor. Too curious to contain himself, Solari inquisitively questions Seymour on his surprising strength.

  “That was some display of muscle, soldier.”

  Seymour wipes the sweat off of his forehead without taking his helmet off, and laughs nervously –

  “Oh, well... Y-yeah, I suppose people can do crazy things when under stress, sir..”

  “You don’t say..”

  “Well, it was pretty amazing, man!”

  “Yes, despite what you say, it was quite impressive, for an average soldier, anyway.. What is your name, soldier?”