“The only thing left to do now is to take the seat of authority, Tom. You’ve been rather insistent on it, anyways…”
“And if I refuse? Who will you hurt this time?!”
“I think you'll find it within your best interests to do as I tell you.”
Tomas shook his head. “I don’t think I can keep this up…”
There was silence before the killer spoke once more.
“Your son is only seventeen, correct?” The Executive tensed in response as Amour continued. “Wouldn't you like to see what the little guy is up to? Once you've taken a seat we can begin proper.”
“Damn you.”
The Executive hastily complied and seated himself on a plush, dark pillow adorning the throne.
Instantaneously, two metal braces appeared from crevices positioned next to each of his arms and secured themselves around his wrists. From below, two more braces followed suit to lock in his ankles. One final, larger brace was abruptly triggered and wrapped itself around his midsection. The left armrest began emitting a strange sound following the last brace, and a small, square panel containing a lime green button appeared next to his hand.
“Allow me to give you my finals recommendations as we begin anew. Things will be different here on out—better.”
“…”
“Marvin Gaye was a very talented musician, as you should know by now if you’ve been listening. If only I had a voice like him I would’ve chosen a totally different career path!
“He wrote and produced songs ranging from sensual melodies depicting physical connection to spiritual hymns that represented his unflinching faith. ‘Mercy Mercy Me’ is a shining example of his skill with music, a lamentation about humanity's toxic influence upon the environment in its entirety.
“I find it hilarious, because the jokes on humans…we're all responsible for what happened in the Old World, Tom; this song suits us better than any other. In ‘Mercy Mercy Me,’ Marvin discusses how things have changed because of the damage sustained by the world from constant abuse. He very gently evokes images of radiation polluting our ecology, and he mourns the deaths of animals as a result of mankind’s often selfish actions.
“This ballad is a grim reflection on what we've done to alter the Earth for the worse… how our presence and increasing need to have advanced technology to satisfy our personal wants has led to a more perverse incarnation of existence. Though it's not my favourite and I might not completely agree, it's a close second and deserves its own level of recognition for subject matter ahead of its time! You probably listen to all that electronic drivel they play at nightclubs these days, Tom, and so I thought it necessary to provide you with a little musical education as reward for providing inspiration…”
The television screen flickered on to show several different cameras displaying a series of rooms all connected to each other. In the first chamber, Tomas's son, known widely for his “tough” demeanor, huddled in the corner afraid and burying his head into his lap.
“No!” Gostra shouted. “What have you done—why would you bring him into this!” The Executive became restless against the restraints of the throne.
“Your son, Tomas Gostra Junior, has been wandering around this section for a solid twelve hours. As you can see, there’s an exit but it remained locked until you took a seat just now and activated a mechanism I installed to unlock it. I thought it would be funnier to watch his confusion, but it's actually more of a lighthearted mixture of sad and boring for me.”
“You’re a monster.”
“—Do you know how Marvin Gaye died, Executive? It's a rather tragic tale and stays in my mind to this day…
“There happened to be a night when Marvin's father, Marvin Gay Sr, was embroiled in an argument with his mother, Alberta Gay. He’d spoken to Alberta in a way that sorely angered the musician. Marvin decried his actions and warned his father not to come into his room, but the aging man took it as a challenge and decided to see what would happen if he pressed his luck against his own son.
“In the end, Marvin defended himself before committing to getting the man away from Alberta and himself. His father returned later that night and shot him in the chest with a .38… a gift Marvin had bought him for his birthday. Imagine that, Gostra…” The killer paused momentarily. “Filicide. The murder of one's own son or daughter—perhaps one of the greatest sins a man can commit.
“Tom, you sit in the position of,” Amour breathed deeply and emphatically, “a Monarch. This title is still relevant in within many territories left in the world but had been dismantled to fit the modern society in which we live. As such, ‘Supreme Ruler’ Derek was made to become President. Here, we will find out how much your career is worth to you; that is, if you’re willing to ascend.”
“What do you mean?! What do you want from my son?”
“The television in front of you displays four connecting rooms. I've already informed Tomas Jr. that the first door has been unlocked…”
“Wait! –Wait, let me talk to him—just let me talk to him before you put him through this!”
“Shut the fuck up!”
The Executive spectated anxiously as his son rose to his feet and walked toward the door to the first chamber, which contained nothing beyond yet another door. The young adult fearfully pulled open what he hoped might be an exit—
—And a needle erupted from the base of the throne to pierce Tomas Gostra through the bottom portion of his left leg! He cried out in anguish and slammed the back of his head against the throne.
“A nice touch I added in recently; I hope you like it! The next two doors will produce a similar result as the first one he opened—but don't fret, pal! It'll only hurt for a moment. Trust me, you’ve been through worse!”
Tomas Jr. continued to the next door and hesitated for a slight second.
“It's the final door that I'd be worried about…”
“W-why is that?”
The Executive's son opened the second portal and triggered another needle, which promptly sprung from the side of the throne to cut a somewhat deep gash across Tomas's ribcage.
“If Tomas Gostra Junior gets his hands on the final door, a large needle has been adjusted to aim directly for your heart! Doesn't that sound exciting to you!”
This madness…
“But don’t be too stressed out. The button you see before you is linked to a series of pressure plates below and right before each of the doors. If you happen to press it, the button will activate them all and your son will perish… –but you will live! And once this is over, you're free to go!”
“That's… you can't! There has to be another way! Please—I’ll do anything!”
The boy began to slowly inch toward the next door after stopping to view a piece of paper that had been nailed to the wall that showed off a drawing in crayon. A drawing he’d once given his dad at the age of four, something he kept displayed at his office.
“And there is another way, would you believe it!”
Tomas stiffened. “Tell me! Hurry and tell me now!”
“If you look below the television screen, you'll see a note with the same written speech as the one I attached to the microphone—I hope you can read it! You're actually being recorded on camera via the screen as we speak—” The television quickly switched over to a close-up view of Tomas Gostra's tortured features.
“As mentioned previously, I can go back and edit the video, but it is up to you to say the words I've written.”
“And if I do this?”
Another spike thrust itself through the Executive's mangled forearm, causing him to cry out in agony.
His son was approaching the last door…
“If you comply, the two of you can go home and forget about this whole incident altogether! The video will be published to every social platform used by citizens of the Dawn Federation, naturally, and you will stand trial for Executive Petrus' transgressions… but your son will be safe at least.
“All the m
oney you made from sowing your own brand of corruption in Zone D will end up going to your family if the people decide to execute you. Or… hey, maybe you'll have enough time to flee the country; the options are endless when you’re a fugitive, Tom!”
“Okay, okay!” Tomas shouted. “I'll do it!”
“You'd better fucking hurry…”
The Executive peered over at the television monitor, which now divided into the recording of him and a camera view of his son looking at a series of more pictures drawn in crayon placed along the wall in a series.
Gostra then stared at the note before quickly repeating all that was written on it without thinking clearly about what he was being asked to confess:
“My name is Executive Tomas Gostra of Zone D, and I have a confession to make. Following a lengthy discussion with my staff and some personal soul searching, I’ve decided to inform the public of a series of treasonous acts I have committed against the country.
“… Executive Joel Petrus of Zone B… has been the victim of an attempt to frame him for actions of which he is not decidedly guilty. Concerning the human trafficking incident involving Genod & Portis, I find it necessary to admit to my personal involvement in the situation. Several months ago, I contacted Vice Executive Kasski of Zone B in an attempt to outsource Genod and Portis' business to a Zone other than my own.
“At the time, Executive Petrus was in the process of having a large section of his city be remodeled in order to improve housing for both local agencies and consumers. After speaking to Vice Executive Kasski without the Zone Executive's knowledge, we decided to work together to postpone construction for an extended period of time while misinforming Petrus on the progress of the construction. While Executive Joel Petrus remained unaware of our activities, we executed a plan to have Genod & Portis begin manufacturing and distributing a recreational drug known as “Kiine” throughout the area without interference from the police. We also encouraged them to create a slave labor market that would focus on those possessing disabilities, those who had incurred exorbitant debts, or those originating from a foreign province without adequate linguistic capabilities. After some time, we planned on moving the ‘staffing company’ to an area outside of the country to continue our operations using the revenue generated from our taking advantage of Executive Petrus. I take full responsibility for my part in the entire operation.”
The Executive visibly scowled upon realizing that more had been added and followed with a heavy sigh before reluctantly repeating that portion as well:
“My attempts to frame Executive Joel Petrus should be considered dishonorable by all accounts, and I'll admit that my credibility as a government representative is all… but diminished. I’ve been unfaithful even to the people closest to me and have courted the interests of prostitutes, drug manufacturers, and influential mob bosses in order to generate revenue for Zone D.
“Thank you for your time, and please consider my words carefully…”
The recording of Tomas Gostra cut off after a few more seconds, and the restraints around him removed themselves automatically. He quickly leapt to his feet and tumbled forward just in time as the final spike forced itself through the back of his chair.
Tomas fell to his knees while keeping his eyes on the screen ahead. Tomas Jr. had entered the final room and noticed nothing other than a comic book lying on the ground. The boy picked it up and sat against the wall to begin reading, and Tomas Gostra sighed in relief. The Executive began to cry again and fell back against the base of the throne.
“It appears as though you finally came to your senses, Executive. I have to admit that I’m proud—and, honestly, if you would've blown up your own son I probably would've killed you anyways and found somebody else to lie for Petrus. I knew you weren't exactly a saint, but you at least had enough of a moral compass to do the right thing.”
“Don't talk to me about doing the right thing! Fuck you!”
“Hey, no hard feelings here! It's all just business, Executive. And with that, I feel it’s time to add the finishing touches to this scene.”
Without further notice, a section of one of the surrounding walls gave way to reveal that the father and son had been in adjacent rooms!
My son… in this unspeakable place…
“Dad?” Gostra Jr. exclaimed in bewilderment. “Did you do all of this shit?! –Wait, what the hell happened to you—dad?!”
The Executive felt his consciousness begin to weaken; his body failed and consequently caused him to stumble before he fell. His son sprinted in to catch him, attempting to stand his figure up as the man’s life slipped away in those final moments.
“No!” He cried. “You can’t go like this—what did they do to you?”
“… I couldn’t make it. I-I love you.”
-
“What do you think, honey?” Amour’s tone expressed his excitement.
She’s just standing there. She looks enchanted.
“I think… I didn’t expect it to be so…”
“So…?”
“Beautiful.”
She’s smiling. Something about her just-just puts my soul at ease. A great canvas on display before the two of us; my latest project. I was in such a hurry I couldn’t even think of a title for something so ambitious! A father succumbing to his sacrifice while mourned and embraced by his son, enclosed by… not a maze of rooms. What a childish idea.
No! The forest engulfs them! Their forms are trapped in a moment capturing…
Grief. Genuine Grief.
True representation. An artist’s dream.
“Are they…”
“Dead?” Amour chuckled thoughtfully. “No. Just trapped in time, in a moment… something transcendent. Tomas will always border on death but never truly die; his life culminated in something real.”
“They’ll never die? They’ve been made immortal then, Amour! That’s incredible!”
She understands it all so easily.
Amour sighed with relief upon witnessing his wife’s sanguine spirit.
I’m just getting warmed up.
14
Inner City Blues
ZONE D'S CENTRAL POLICE BRANCH was perhaps the most benevolent in all of the Citadel. It was also considered the ideal opportunity for any personnel in the Federation’s lower tiers of law enforcement.
For one, the Zone Police Headquarters was twice the size of its rivals, was complete with buffed hardwood floors in almost every room of the three-story building, and came equipped with a set of moderately clean private showers available to anyone working overnight—and almost everyone worked overnight.
The Dawn Federation had only retained its independence as a country for a few decades, remaining in an almost constant process of internal change and, frequently, exceptionally high expectations of all government employees. The hours required of officers in Zone D were considered the least brutal, however, even to the freshest out of initial training. As an additional perk, overtime was paid out consistently, and this critical bonus to the job had kept employees almost completely satisfied. Naturally, higher ranking officers were privy to exclusive privileges which included personal televisions, occasionally wine coolers, and patented leather “command seats.”
Nearly all top-tier personnel worked from sizable offices taking up the majority of the third floor. On the second floor, the department possessed its own cafeteria only existing thanks to the local government's partnership with a thriving food delivery company within the Citadel. Close to the dining hall were the offices and numerous cubicles belonging to variously ranked members on the force as well as three rooms intended for suspects typically placed under more intensive questioning. On the first floor, the building maintained a series of cells intended for high profile, wealthier offenders expected to only stay for a night before being bailed out by their own extravagant means.
The cells were overseen by a secretary who sat on an elevated platform behind a desk which appeared to tower over newcomers. The day and
night shift secretaries were typically accompanied by two low-ranking officers who happened to be selected from a constantly rotating guard detail. Just next door to the HQ, there was built a more formal jail intended for visitors who were expected to stay for a longer period before either their initial date with the court or further processing into the Citadel Prison.
-
It was past midnight when L was brought in by Officer Lorrie and exactly four hours before Executive Tomas Gostra's “confession” aired on every news broadcasting station in the Dawn Federation.
After typing L's information into his own personal work Kom Cell—which happened to also secretively house what could be considered an embarrassing amount of pornography taking up the majority of his interface—Lorrie was surprised to find that the “suspect” he’d taken in had no prior, known criminal record other than a short stint in a juvenile detention center for tagging a local bridge in graffiti. Lorrie discovered that the young man had turned eighteen only a few weeks ago and became more than a little frustrated after realizing that the self-proclaimed “G” had connections he would’ve never expected…
After removing L's handcuffs and seating him in Interrogation Room A (“Alphé”), Officer Lorrie's conversation with the him turned out to be very brief and more irritating to the officer than helpful in his investigation:
“Okay, kid…” Lorrie sighed, wearily rubbing his eyes before refocusing them to stare L dead in the face with exhaustion having dominated his features.
“Give your… nickname again. What is it, 'K' or 'Little T bitch’ or something?”
“It's 'L', motherfucker! You arrested me so you should know it!”
“Right, 'Little L'—”
“Ain't no 'little' in here other than whatever you packin’, Corporal! Where my attorney at, dumbass? Huh?”
Officer Lorrie banged his fist on the table halfheartedly and started to raise his voice before realizing what L had said. “Corporal? How and why does a street brat care enough to know fucking rank structure? That shit doesn’t even apply to you, kid.”
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