Paradox: The Last Day - Seymour's Story

by Rachel Charman

  The face of a dead man.

  End of Part 2

  ~Toxicity~

  ~Old Dystas: Oskan District~

  … Hey, kid.. Seymour.. Can you hear me?

  Following a long, lifeless silence, a dull buzzing sound manages to penetrate his mind, and Seymour opens his onerous eyes, despite the searing pain permeating every inch of his body, to find himself lying on a ripped, tarnished red vinyl recliner beneath a dim lightbulb hanging overhead. His hands and right leg are heavily bandaged, with stains of brownish blood seeping through the gauze, and the back of his head sports a thick. He languidly rolls his head to the left, wincing as the wound on the back of his head throbs with pain, and spots a man sitting next to him on a spindly wooden chair, quietly reading a folder with a bright red eXo PRIME seal emblazoned on the cover, and muttering darkly to himself. Trying to get a better view of the man, Seymour tries to sit up, but his body feels too heavy, and he falls back roughly against the seat. The man looks up from his folder with a slightly surprised smile on his elderly, grey-goateed face, and greets Seymour cordially in a gruff, but kind voice and a wave of his wrinkled hand.

  “Heheh… Good mornin’, kid. Rise and shine.”

  As Seymour’s vision focuses, the man’s aged, goateed face slowly comes into better view. It is very familiar to him, like a face he once knew, but hidden behind a thick curtain of wrinkles and scars. Nevertheless, he slowly begins to recognize him, though his body is too exhausted to fully express his complete shock, he manages a weak, but greatly surprised smile once he remembers, and says in a raspy voice –

  “Y-you’re.. alive..”

  “Well, unless you believe in zombies, kid.”

  Grinning amusedly at Seymour’s dazed disbelief, the man grabs a stained white mug off of the messy desk behind him, fills it with water from a metal pitcher, and hands to Seymour, who accepts graciously with shaking hands, and desperately downs the entirety of its contents as fast as he can, making him cough and choke for air. The man sits back down in his chair, chuckling softly as he watches Seymour regain his breath before he gasps disbelievingly –

  “Trace.. G-General Trace…”

  “You got it, kid.”

  Trace leans over in his chair and gives Seymour a tight, one-armed hug, and despite the pain of it, he smiles widely, letting the surprise cede into elation. He grips the empty mug tightly in his bandaged hands, hardly daring to believe himself, though as his vision continues to sharpen, his doubt evaporates, and he stammers light-headedly –

  “I can’t.. I can’t believe you’re alive…”

  “I guess I could say the same about you, kid. How many times have I saved your ass from certain death now?”

  “O-oh, yeah.. I’m.. I’m sorry..”

  “… Eh, don’t apologize, kid. It’s not like you do it on purpose.”

  Seymour looks at his surroundings blearily, but all he sees is an old computer set up at the back of the tiny steel room next to a battered white fridge. Feeling content lying across from Trace in the quiet confines of the small chamber, Seymour’s mind finally catches up with his emotions, and he suddenly realizes something that mercilessly dents his happiness.

  “… Uh, hey… Trace.. If.. i-if you were alive, why didn’t you ever try to contact me..?”

  “Huh? Oh. … Well, I had my reasons, kid.”

  “… Oh.. I see.”

  “I-it wasn’t anything about you, kid! Y’know, they sent me out to Shete to die, and after I heard you became the Commander of the PRIME, well, I kinda thought you’d come looking for me, kid. I did teach you everything I know, after all. You were my favorite little psychopath.”

  Staring despondently into the depths of his stained mug, the memories of his loneliness rush against his bleary mind, making him force back tears as he says quietly –

  “… We had a funeral for you, Trace. You never came back… I really did think you were dead. How was I supposed to know?”

  “Ehh.. Fair enough. I guess we just had different priorities … Anyway, I haven’t had any contact with PRIME since that day. Hell, I’ve barely been in a TerraDome since then.. I only go into Santuc every couple o’ months now.”

  Seymour considers Trace’s frustrated face for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to say anything, then asks gingerly –

  “So, if we’re not in a TerraDome, where are we..?”

  “It’s my son’s place in old Dystas.”

  After considering Trace’s offhand remark for a few seconds, Seymour suddenly realizes that he had just uttered something of great significance in a completely casual way.

  “W-wait, hold on a second..”

  “What?”

  “You.. You have a son?”

  Trace shifts in his chair somewhat awkwardly, then clears his throat loudly and says quietly –

  “… Well, I HAD a son, yeah, but he’s been dead for a while.”

  “… How come you never mentioned him?”

  “Again, kid, I had my reasons..”

  His curiosity piqued, he hands his mug back to Trace, and asks succinctly –

  “Well, what was his name?”

  “... Not important. Look, enough with the questions, kid. All that matters is that you’re safe, right?”

  Seymour nods slightly, wincing from the pain in his head. Trace looks on in concern, and says in a determinedly casual voice –

  “So.. What about you? Are you okay?”

  “Well, besides the pain of being beaten, stabbed and shot? Yeah, I’m just fantastic..”

  “Heheh.. You haven’t changed a bit, kid. But don’t worry. I know you, and you don’t die so easily.”

  “‘Course not. It’s me.”

  Trace grins heartily and punches Seymour playfully on the shoulder, who returns his smile somewhat shyly.

  “Heheh, well, sorry I ain’t got any of that insta-heal ‘Seraph Tears’ bullshit, but you wouldn’t believe the prices they demand from people outside the PRIME! You could buy your own personal hospital for the price of one little tub..”

  “Heh, right. … S-so, how did you find me? Why were you at DIV. 1?”

  Leaning back casually in his chair, with one leg resting on top of the other, Trace rubs his eyes wearily, and begins to explain in a gruff tone –

  “Well, though I’ve got nothing to do with the PRIME anymore, I still correspond with an old acquaintance there. We meet in one of the abandoned labs down in the basement level every couple of months, and he performs a certain, erm, ‘service’ for me..”

  “What kind of service?”

  “Just some.. medical stuff.. Stuff he can’t do here, since only the PRIME has the right equipment.. S-so, anyway, I was there, picking up more info from him, and then I found that little prick Solari beating the shit out of you. I thought I might’ve killed him with that chair, but I didn’t take the time to check.. I just rushed you back here in a stolen APC, and fixed you up as best I could. Any other questions?”

  Seymour shakes his head in a somewhat disillusioned way, he tries sits up higher in the chair, grimacing as he does so, but suddenly he remembers something important, and blurts out without thinking –

  “Can you go back to Santuc, and find some people for me, Trace?”

  “Oh, hm, let me guess. The blonde, the Asian, and what’s-‘is-name?”

  “Wait, yeah, you mean Elena, Sakura, and Gordon? … How’d you know that?”

  “Because they’re already here. They brought us here.”

  “Really? Where are they then?”

  “They’re outside guarding the place just in case any PRIME soldiers show up. When I came running out of the building with you in my arms, the blonde knew exactly what’d happened to you. Almost like she was expecting it.. The others weren’t too worked up. In fact, they didn’t really seem to care about anything. They were kinda like robots… But, y’know, that blonde is pretty into you, I’d say. She was crying the whole way here. She thought you were dead.”

  “Re
ally? … Uh, but no, Solari’s no good at killing me. He’s only good at making pain for everyone.”

  “I remember all too well, kid. … Anyway, that blondie wanted to see you as soon as you woke up, so I’ll go get her.”

  Trace begins to rise roughly from his chair, but Seymour pushes him back resolutely, his eyes overly bright in the dull glow of the bulb.

  “It’s okay, Trace. I can walk, I think...”

  “Hey, nuthin’ doin’, kid. Just take it easy for now.”

  “No. I wanna talk to her on my own two feet.”

  Trace continues to laugh gruffly, sits back down, and retrieves his folder. Seymour smiles as he shakily gets to his feet, and finds with relief that he can stay on them. He slowly climbs the partially charred staircase, pushes the metal cellar door open, and emerges into the smoldered ruins of what appears to be a small house at the corner of a scorched, cracked intersection – a sloped road that looks as though it hasn’t been driven on in ages, lying silently beneath the blanket of dreary leaden clouds looming low overhead. He spots Elena and the others sitting in the remains of a twisted, charred playground off in the distance, crosses the empty, desolate street, and approaches them slowly. Elena spots Seymour limping towards them in the distance, and runs to him with a relieved smile stretched across her wan face. Seymour waves with a weak smile, and is thrown back as Elena embraces him tightly. She lets go of him with tears in her bright blue eyes, and, looking back into his hyaline ones, her relieved smile melts into a furious scowl.

  “Why didn’t you let me come with you?! Why did you tell me to go with them?!”

  Taken aback by Elena’s furious chastising, Seymour scratches his wounded head rather shyly, and exclaims quietly –

  “W-well, I can take care of myself, but honestly, I didn’t know THAT was going to happen.. How was I supposed to know Solari was waiting for me down there? … He must be really pissed from what happened back at the police station..”

  “You should’ve been more careful! Good thing Trace was there, or you would’ve died!

  You don’t want to go back to… that place… Do you?”

  Seeing the deep concern in Elena’s quivering eyes, Seymour puts his bandaged hand on his shoulder in a consoling sort of way.

  “Hey, don’t say things like that, okay? .. Come on, I’m tough. I don’t die that easily. Remember what I told you? I’m a Magnispawn. I can take way more abuse than normal.”

  “I know that, but still.. You have to realize that you can’t survive everything, Seymour.”

  With Elena’s hand resting on top of Seymour’s bandaged one, and the angered, fretful look in her eyes, he decides against putting up a fight, and instead says with a sigh –

  “… Fine.. I’ll be more careful from now on, okay?”

  “… Alright, good. Thank you.”

  Elena retreats from Seymour and sits down on the warped rubber seat of a nearby partially collapsed swing set. She swings back and forth a few times in silence, staring stoically at Sakura, who is sitting on a bent monkey bar, and Data, who stands rigidly atop a charred wooden playground in the distance, totally still beneath the thick blanket of dreary grey clouds. Seymour approaches Elena with difficulty, his injured leg starting to buckle from pain, and mutely sits down next to her, feeling the first cold drops of rain splash down lightly upon his head. Elena slows to a stop, turns her gaze to the drizzling heavens above, and says distantly –

  “… Man, I’m really glad you’re up, Seymour. Sakura and Gordon are incredibly boring people to have a conversation with.”

  “I can imagine. So.. how long was I out?”

  “It’s been almost a week. … I was so afraid that you weren’t going to wake up.. Trace said he doesn’t have anything that can help you out though..”

  “It’s not so bad.. I mean, I can take a lot of pain. Compared to some of the other things I’ve had happen to me, that was nothing. Honestly though.. from all the times I’ve taken blows to the head, I’m surprised I’m not brain dead at this point..”

  “Well, all that matters is that you’ll be okay, right?”

  “Yeah… so..”

  Trying not to test Elena’s jangled nerves, Seymour picks his words carefully as he asks nervously –

  “I know you had other things on your mind, but… Did you hold onto the boxes?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Oh, good. Yeah, great, ‘cause I have to get started on building the new Magnetic Force Initiators for Gordon right away, so we can find Adrian and Sam as soon as possible.”

  “Right.. Well, all your stuff’s inside Trace’s hideout, so just go ahead and-”

  Breaking off in mid-sentence, Elena awkwardly turns from Seymour, mutely abandons the swing, and walks back towards Sakura and Gordon, though very slowly, her head hanging low, making it very obvious that she hadn’t said what she really wanted to say.

  “Elena.. Wait..”

  “… Yes?”

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  “.. What?”

  “Can you please go back to Santuc, and find some of that Seraph Tears stuff? I don’t mean to be a pain, but, well, I’m in a lot of it.. I’d go myself, but I doubt Trace would let me..”

  Elena looks back at Seymour with an inscrutable look on her face for a moment, then responds in a very forced cheery voice –

  “Ah, sure, I don’t mind. … Will you be able to hold out ‘til we get back?”

  “Of course I will; they’re just regular old wounds, nothing new. Oh, and take Gordon and Sakura with you. They’ll help you out.”

  “Alright. … Guess I’ll just.. see you in a bit then..”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  On that note, Seymour claps Elena on the shoulder with a grateful smile, turns, and makes his way slowly back towards the ruined home, leaving Elena behind with a sad grimace upon her face as she grabs Sakura and Gordon, and makes towards the APC parked on the side of the road next to the ruined playground. Seymour crosses back to the ruins of the house, descends back into the hideout, and Trace looks up from his folder with a smugly derisive grin.

  “Heheh, did you have a nice touching reunion with your distressed lover?”

  “Nah, she was too pissed about my going off alone back at DIV. 1 that she hasn’t much happiness to spare.. And besides, we’re not lovers..”

  “Right, of course not. Heheh..”

  Seymour glares at Trace indignantly, though he knows he is just trying to razz him, and he tries to let the topic die by declaring succinctly –

  “Look, she’s going back to Santuc with the others to get some of that Seraph shit for me because she’s my friend, not because she’s in love with me.”

  “Whatever you say, kid.”

  Trace suddenly snaps the folder in his hands shut loudly, then unceremoniously tosses it over his shoulder, leans back in his seat, and asks gruffly –

  “So, what’s your plan, kid? And don’t tell me you’re planning on going back to Santuc with ‘em, ‘cause you’re in no condition to go anywhere right now.”

  “No, I know that.. I actually have something to tell you..”

  “Oh yeah? What’s on your mind?”

  “I wanted to tell you before you died, but I was so busy, and I just couldn’t find the-“

  “Spit it out, kid. I ain’t got forever to listen.”

  Seymour sits down on the side of the red recliner, clasps his bandaged hands together in his lap, and says to Trace quietly –

  “Well, you’ve always been like a father to me, Trace.. Keeping me safe, teaching me all that stuff back at the PRIME, and treating me like your own son.. And, well… I wanted to thank you…”

  “Don’t mention it, kid.”

  “A-and, well.. there’s something else..”

  “What is it?”

  Seymour shifts his gaze to the ceiling anxiously, as though his explanation is hidden in the flickering depths of the dim lamp situated just above his head. Steeling himself, Seymour takes a deep
breath, and begins to explain.

  “Alright.. Okay… You know about.. the diffusion, right?”

  “Yeah. And I know you’re the one who caused it.”

  Seymour looks up at Trace in surprise, but his gaze is fixed on the blank computer screen to his right, and is neither angered nor accepting.

  “… Really? .. You do?”

  “Yeah, so? What do you want me to say? You’re a bad boy, and you need a time out?”

  “No, but.. If you know that, then you should also know that I’m planning to do it again.. That’s what those boxes Elena and the others brought back are full of. Equipment to build another Magnetic Force Initiator.. But please understand that I have to do this, and nothing you can say or do will change my mind..”

  Trace remains quiet for a moment or two, still staring absently at the computer screen, then, without looking at Seymour, he says with a slight smile –

  “… The only thing you should change is your clothes, kid. They reek of blood.”

  Trace abruptly stands up, taking Seymour by surprise, seizes a worn-out-looking white shirt from atop a small pile of clothes lying haphazardly on a nearby file cabinet, and tosses it at Seymour with a steely grimace. Completely confused by Trace’s reaction, Seymour looks down at the musty shirt lying in his lap, and tries to say something, but Trace unexpectedly interjects.