Turn 2
October 25, 2009
9:00 P. M.
Seth’s Home, Portland, Oregon
“Happy birthday to you!”
Remember how I mentioned about being so totally unfeeling? About how I didn’t not view this world the way you average mortals do? It seems as if that callousness extends to more than just my own unfortunate demise, for as the night drew on I found myself absolutely uncaring about my so called opponents…
Opponents. Did I say opponents? Already my mind was slipping as I looked about the crowd that gathered, my friends and what remained of the family that I had made. A former boss here, a retired agent there, a buyer looking at my gun case and a secretary stamping about with cake in her hand. Faceless faces, blank bodies all moving about in a blur that had no meaning, no context, no difference to me.
Which is why I found it odd that I blinked, only to find the clock ringing nine at night. My adoptive daughter, my only heir and connection to the Vantel family, laid upon a velvet chair in our family den with a book in her hand, her albino hair dyed a dark blue as if to match the ocean. Ever careful to avoid burning her fragile, albino skin, she was covered head to toe in a long white coat that matched the one her grandmother used to wear, almost as if she was searching for a connection to a past that no longer existed upon our world.
The book she was reading a journal written by her departed mother. The best indication that something was on her mind. Clearing my throat, finding it parched and causing me to wonder just how long I’d been sitting in front of the fire, I stirred about my throne in our library as I tried to say
“Sherry… I…”
“Hm? Something up, dad?”
The teenager, no more than fourteen now, pulled her legs off the arm rest and placed her slipper covered feet to the floor. Folding her hands into the center of the journal, all too careful to avoid losing her spot, she looked straightly at me with her bright blue eyes, contact lens that hid the red orbs beneath, as she asked again
“Everything all right? Do you need-”
“I’m fine. Fine, fine fine…” I muttered, shaking my head and trying to regain focus. I am in a chair, in my library. I am surrounded by books; I am in front of the fire. It is October, it is my birthday. This is my home; this is my life. “How about you? I haven’t seen you read Sylvester’s journals in a while.”
“Hm? Oh… well, I guess you got me thinking. You mentioned a few stories about her during the party tonight I never heard before. Thought I’d read about them; not too often you tell me something I don’t know.”
Good, because I didn’t exactly have much time left to share anything anyway. “Oh… well. That’s good. Carry on.”
“Dad. You’re hiding something. At first I just thought you were having a sick day, but you’d be in bed by now if you did. You’d cancel the party if that were the case. What’s wrong.”
No reason to hide. “I’m dying.”
“You’re always dying.”
Standing upright, taking that taunting cane that Flow made me use wherever I go (Flow: Because me actually caring about someone’s health is such an offense), I limped over to our grand fire place as I stared into the flames, beginning to ponder if the cheapness of cremation was better serving than the elaborate burial that would simply turn me to worm food.
“No, as in I’m going to die very soon. Heart failure… I spent my whole life worrying about viruses and bacteria, and in the end I get told that I lose because my heart quits. Just my luck.”
I may have done too good a job of mentoring my daughter, so effective at hiding her emotions… or maybe it was a hope, a light she had that I had long since lost. Still, careful to set her book aside, the coat wearing girl that would have been practically melting in any other circumstance left her chair, moving over to my side and hugging me hard as her pretty little face remained stoic, devoid of makeup yet attractive to look upon regardless. Hilarious that her real father had such a damaged face that he was forced to wear bandages in public.
“Well, then maybe it’s time to start thinking about a transformation of sorts. We can give you the FTV, or get one of your scientists to make you a better, synthetic heart. You can be like mother.”
“I… need to see her again Sylvester.”
“Sherry.”
Dam my mind.
“The point remains. I was pist, oh so mad when I heard the news today… but now I’m just tired. I need to go home, wrap up my affairs and make the voyage to the other side. There’s not much left for me here besides you; I’ve burnt every bridge I’ve ever built, tore down every house in which I lived in.
“At least the funeral will be quick. You won’t even have to worry about invitations.”
Perhaps a bit too morbid, but this was the world my young charge lived in. Pulling away, frowning now but careful as to not let too much displeasure known, Sherry Sears moved a hand through her long blue locks that reminded me oh so much of Sylvester as she began to pace away, asking in order to keep herself form tearing up
“How long do you have?”
“Well, since I threatened to take Doctor Matthew’s ear off, I had to make a call to another practitioner to get an estimate… a few years if I take it easy, a few months or weeks if I keep my current life style up.”
“Which you intend on doing.”
Of course. “Sherry, I lived all my life a sickly zombie, trying to do all I could from becoming an invalid stuck in bed day after day. I’m throwing it all away if I rest now.”
“Even if you have nothing else to win? You’re rich, Dad. Most people take it easy once they make thousands of dollars. You have billions though; no reason for you to work anymore.”
“Which is why I’m not going to work anymore. Tomorrow morning I’m appointing you as acting CEO of Products for Patriots.”
Well, those words were just as surprising coming out of my mouth as they were to the young girl beside me. I nearly fell over because of it, my legs weakening and Sherry tugging at my shirt sleeve, as the girl tried to explain away
“Are you nuts? I can’t do that! I’m only fourteen-”
“You are not fourteen, and you and I both know it. You are even older than most of the men on the board; simply put on a little magic show and they’ll quickly fall in line.”
“But… but I don’t want to!”
“Then let your poor father die working away, Tiny Tim passing because of a certain Scrooge. The whole reason I was given charge of you was for this purpose; upon my death Products for Patriots would become your company, just as it became mine upon Gary’s passing. That I give it to you a bit early makes no difference.”
Which is when the girl relented, all too aware of the legacy she’d have to live up to. I didn’t feel particularly swell about it, but were it not for such a contract Sherry would have never been mine in the first place. I wouldn’t have been allowed to spend these last five years with her, the best days of my life being when Sylvester and I…
I can’t keep mentioning her. I have a job to do, and I’ll be dead before I’m finished if I do. Wouldn’t that be a wasted legacy.
Sherry Sears turned away at last, pacing away as she rubbed her hands through her hair again, moving to take a seat where her adoptive mother’s journal still rested as she carefully placed it once more in her lap. Grunting, her shaking paws moving from the blue strands upon her head to her white face, she shook them all as she found herself asking
“Well, then thanks for ending whatever pretend childhood I thought I’d have. What are you going to do then, dad? What will Seth Sears do with the last few months of his life?”
Something grand.
Turn 3
October 26, 2009
7:00 A. M.
Pharsalus Dome, Portland, Oregon
There exist certain trends that seem to repeat in our world, the machinations of an active god or
flower which can be attributed to either filler or a secret play to show their constant participation depending on your view of the morality of our lord. Caesar, duels to the death, games of chance and dusty arenas… all of it comes together here, in what would be my last and great work. Hopefully not a requiem though; this was something I’d like to see myself before I die.
I stood within the chained up and long disused Pharsalus stadium, a basketball arena that often doubled as a spectator’s haven for all types of sports and activities, from dodgeball to a few games of chess played by some of the most intense players in the world. I even hosted a few conferences here, especially when I bought out the place in 2002…
But this was the first time I’ve come since my first and only public loss. Once the world champion, losing to a Mr. Solomon Yameen did little to sooth my ego or my soul, so distraught that I was wheel chair bound by an ailing cough for six months after that humiliation. Some bit of pride returned when I was alerted to his arrest of the pedophilic kind, but in retrospect losing to someone with the brain defect of being sexually attracted to children is probably even more disappointing.
Well, now would be the chance for revenge, my eyes already glinting as I paced around the empty stands. Dirty they may be now; it was high time for a rematch of epic proportions. One last tournament, one last celebration of my self-worth, my superiority above all men before I le-
“So, when Richard arrives, will you be playing him at Chess or at trading cards, Seth? Seems you’re following the path of your persona very closely.”
Of course I couldn’t be left alone. Turning on my heel, I looked up the stair case to find a familiar mercenary resting upon the gate, the only thing keeping him from tumbling down to the stands below save his own monstrous strength. Dressed in his usual silver trench coat covering plates of armor, a power armor suit called the Centurion system, was Alucard Caesar.
Sherry’s true father, and a strange man for it. Though I had yet to see what lay beneath, every part of his skin from his eyes down were covered in sleek bandages, which he changed fresh every morning. A set of gray hair escaped from his stupid fedora, a terribly retro design choice made by the company I bought the Centurion designs from, that covered whatever scars lay on his uncovered forehead. This was a man I preferred not to know.
“Well. Didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“I didn’t expect to come here either. Imagine my surprise when I turn on the TV and find Sherry wearing a suit, declared CEO of PFP. You certainly bumped up the time tables, and now I can see why.”
“Saves me the trouble of wasting my breath. Do you know how annoying it is to repeat myself?”
“Wrong question to ask a vampire. We tend to deal with that all the time.” Alucard muttered, waving a gloved hand that was thankfully not covered with his usual talon electrical gauntlets, just another product of the arms division of Products for Patriots. Shame I’d wouldn’t be around much longer; it’d be fun helping Sherry design all sorts of new and nasty weapons to ravage the battlefield. Guess I’m more Stark than Sears.
My middle name is Kaiba. What can you expect?
“So. What are you here for then? To congratulate Sherry?”
“Well, partly that… partly to act as a helper. A daughter for your company was the trade, and though I’ll leave it to Sherry to rule I need to start making a few… investments. Pay back a few loans… Shipping something to LA, another little smart bomb to NYC, that sort of thing.”
“Don’t care, don’t want to know. Sylvester kept me out of that half of her life after the so called Mind for Killing case. I have no reason to get involved now.”
The stranger nodded, the tall giant leaning away as he began to pace around the upper track of what was once used to be a road of fast and fattening foods. While I refused to follow with feet, my eyes stayed on him as Alucard’s voice continued to echo down, acoustics so well set up as to permit our conversation to continue no matter how far away he walked.
“Well, I imagine she can tell you all about it once you’re in Heaven. Which, I might add, will be any day now if you do this?”
“Oh, so you figured it out?”
“Of course I did. You managed to swallow your pride when you had Sylvester around, but the second she was gone was the moment you became more Kaiba than Sears. You exist to feed your misplaced belief that you’re better than the rest of mankind, and will do anything now to prove it.
“Which, you’ve already done in all, save for that one scratch on an otherwise perfect career. The former world champion in chess, now retired and known for being the second best in the world due to the small time up setter from nowhere. Apollo Creed, stammering for revenge against Rocky Balboa! Seto Kaiba, convinced he can beat Yugi Moto!”
“Would you stop that prattle. I don’t need you telling me that I’m conceited. I know I shouldn’t be doing it-”
Alucard is an interesting man in that he is an absolute gentleman to woman… and a total jerk and clown to anything else. Laughing hard, the old scars of his battle weary life sounding in his throat through an unnatural cackle that reverberated with the sound of the jolly taunting mercenary, he at least found the decency to eventually quiet down as he went on to say
“Who ever said I didn’t want you to host this tournament? I find it to be the perfect repentance.”
“What?”
If Alucard subscribed to a religion, it was one who’s name I did not know. Crossing his chest and kissing his hand, though I knew he found the concept of the Holy Trinity to be just as distasteful as I now did, the man kept on moving as he explained
“The natural order has been disrupted, almost as if Macbeth has murdered the king and stolen his throne once more. This is a world where the elect of God dominates the domains of the world, where David slays Goliath and Joshua destroys the walls of Jericho. Under dogs be damned, the mighty rule this world!”
“David is the very definition of underdog.”
“Then you understand the scriptures no better than these pompous protestants or any other sect of so called Christianity.” Alucard mocked, though I’m equally sure by definition he belonged to that faith himself. “For it was not David who slayed Goliath, but God. The stories of the scriptures are not the random, abridged tales of man vs man but rather the continuous, never ending victories of the Lord and his own games of Chess. God split the red sea, God destroyed the walls of Jericho, God should even be given partial if not full credit for the magnificence of the temple of Jerusalem and every other miracle to ever occur in the Bible.
“Up to the time of Jesus, of course, but by that point we’re getting off topic. Point is that you were supposed to win that bout against Solomon, you the devout Christian and him the disgusting, devilish molester. So, the question then becomes, why didn’t you?”
As if I didn’t ask that question every day. Though I was loath to admit it, I tapped my cane against the metal stair beneath me as I yelled back “Because he was better than me. Nothing more.”
“For being brilliant, you truly are a bore Mr. Sears. I’d take stupid and entertaining over logical and dull any day… assuming there aren’t any lives at stake. Then stupid just becomes annoying.” Alucard grumbled, all too predictive of his own future. “I’m having too much fun at your expense though.
“The rational explanation would be that you lost because Solomon is better than you… which, at the time, was true. I watched that duel for nearly a week after it occurred, analyzing every detail and every move… only to reach the conclusion that he was ever more cool, all but in control of the entire match. It wasn’t a trouncing. Turn eight was when I realized that the game was set.
“But, I also realized that there was something else going on that goes undetected by man. The spirit of the Lord was in the game, as he always is… yet he decided to grace your opponent instead of you. Which leads to some pretty interesting implications.”
“Which you’re going to tell me n
o matter what I say?” I asked, all too knowing of this would be priest. I’d say pastor, but that’s just another word of the theologian’s vernacular that Alucard detested. Giving an appreciative nod, I heard the man say
“One. God favors Muslims more than Christians, which has occurred in the past when the religion as a whole has become corrupt and needed to be cleansed. Given the current state of affairs in this god forsaking country, it’d be legitimate to say we’re just reliving the reign of Suleiman the Magnificent.
“Two. You effed up and failed to alert me or any of your bishop’s priests. Given your general aurora, while you may suffer from the sin of self-assured confidence, you have yet to commit any great error as to rob you of the guidance given you. This is the least likely, but one I cannot rule out.
“Third is what I’m beginning to think to be true. Maybe it’s less that you committed an error, but that Solomon is in fact more righteous than you.”
Absurd. “A child molester. A chomo?”
“Convicted in a court paid off by the Robber Barons.”
What? That little detail was never shared before. “But you said yourself-”
“To goad you. Get a reaction; there is actually zero proof that Solomon himself may have abused any children. In fact, upon conversing with a few friends, I found more proof to discover why the Robber Barons would want to get rid of Solomon than any actual reason to believe he had done the dirty deed.
“Before the Barons were eradicated, they were trying to establish a general hatred of Islamic people in an endeavor to set up a sort of second holocaust, a global extermination of one of the few religions that would not bow to their corporate, capitalistic might. Having the world’s most prestigious Chess player, one who embarrassed rich men like you, was a mark against their plans and an inspiration to all… so they painted him as the devil and threw him in the brig, throwing the key away into the sea.
“I guess you’ve been played yet again, Seth. Bought a poorly made lie and let an innocent man suffer all because you knew it’d make you look better. Really starting to regret supporting the prosecution now, don’t you?”
Then… then all this time, all these years in which… no… NO!
“I’ll leave you to it.”
Alucard was already moving to open the locked gate as I stormed up the stair case, just able to move them out of the way before I came stumbling through. Ignoring the once again laughing demon, I kept on marching on with the beat of my dragon cane as I moved towards the light, all in a hope to escape my sins.
They wouldn’t stop plaguing my mind until I made it to the prison.
Times of Peace: Volume 1 of the side adventures to The Mercenary's Salvation Page 35