Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new chapter of Syrenet, #10: Collins's Arithmetic. Man oh man, it is time and it is finally here, the chapter that concludes our first arc, Arc 1: The Boston Smuggler. Arc 2 will begin with the next chapter, but lets just rewind to how stoked I am about this particular chapter and that it shows because good lord Link Collins is going to be doing some subtraction here and you'll see his ego and his power go to an unforeseen height. I've run this dialogue conversation you're going to see in my head so many times. A recap, if you will, that Corrin has spoken to her lovely husband Cloud Gladwell, and now it is revealed that apparently Corrin so called 'arranged' Fiora's death. Roy tried contacting Snake about the business that went down between Link and Sheik, and in his panic, used a landline, public directory which alerted the compound to Roy's whereabouts. Link found him and things are going to get serious. Very, very serious. Review replies!
Ike4ever- Now, let's not be hasty. What I have shown you guys of Ike is that he has a big heart for friends and family, and that's basically it. He didn't get to do too much action in the first chapter as I suck at writing action, so we'll see how he is in that regard eventually. It may not be Corrin hasn't found anyone, it's that she doesn't trust anyone. Think about who she has trusted in her actual administration and into Syrenet... she got angry with Robin hiring Mac, something she didn't see through herself. Roy will get his due time eventually, maybe a lot later, but he's the main character. He won't be a wuss for long.
Mr. Squirtle6- I understood you the first time, the elaboration was nice however. Corrin is going to be one of those characters you cannot make a thought on. You want to hate her, but then you want to care about her, you want to feel sorry for her, you want her dead, and those thoughts are going to be running through your head a lot as this story goes by. You're also not the first person to tell me about my eye to detail, which is why I think I do good in school, I'm a name dropper, but then I try my durn hardest to tie everything back in. If you thought Icarus Chronicle was my Magnum Opus, then buckle up dude, you haven't seen anything yet.
SeththeGreat- I have not played a Metal Gear game, that is correct. I have watched one though, the one with the Mantis villain (the name fleets me in the midst of writing this, it was a great game though!) I'm glad you like my characterization of him, I hope he's more than just the muscle who sprouts random things on the side. If you remember how I wrote his character in Teach Me How to Cry, I think of him a lot differently than what the rest of the fandom thinks of him as, and I'm glad we share the same mindset on this.
CrashGuy01- Thanks again for the compliments! I just wish I could write long enough chapters like you do, I don't have the energy nor the patience for it I suppose, at least as of yet. Corrin is going to probably be my favorite character of the story, just something about her. Link is going to show he isn't all just talk this time around, though he has hardly proven he's a coward with the poisoning and all, I want him to be very tactical. Hope this keeps you on the edge of your seat!
Retronym- Hey, surprised to see your face again! How you've been? Well, I don't think I've ever killed the main, main character before in a story besides one that was from my youth, but then again I've really grown and love to twist that knife. Oh sweetie, a week in between updates, sometimes up to two, drives me nuts. A three-four day update difference hurts because my mind just doesn't stop, it just never stops working. Thanks for the kind words!
Alrighty, buckle up and enjoy the ride ladies and gentlemen! A fair warning before I start, this chapter will have some violence. Nothing on the borderline for Rated M stuff or anything, because again, 'Rated T', but, if you handled the stuff in the first chapter, you can handle this. Enjoy!
She stands on the tarmac, smirking at the sleek blizzard coat of paint swooshed across the side of the jet. Corrin places herself on the runway so her feet are angled at the same distance apart from the yellow lines breaking up the strip of black. She does this wherever she goes, purely for symmetry purposes as when things aren't in order, it gets her a little out of wack and no one needs a president who is out of wack.
Then how come you are always out of wack, Madam President? Corrin is not even sure which voice in her head - Link, Shulk, Cloud... all blondes - tells her that.
The silverette looks down the runway to see a limousine pull up and park, and the woman's nostrils flare, knowing for certain who is in that car and how she wants to wring their pruned, perfect little neck. She looks away from the limo, hoping the signs of her distress is not apparent to anything else other than clouds, sun, and grass. Her heart doesn't need people sliding little whispers down her back on why the vice president and president could be having a falling out; Corrin finds the attention rather fun, to be honest, but she's playing a game of chess where one wrong move may cause her the presidency, her life, Cloud's life, and other necessities she wishes to keep close to her.
Not that Corrin Etch has ever been an expert at playing anything of the sort, truth be told.
Her last glass of wine lingers on her lips like a phantom, Cloud's voice echoing in her ears. She's still upset at the call. Corrin is delighted, elated rather, to hear his voice and then he goes full circle by bringing up Fiora Roberts, as if it is supposed to help lighten the mood. The president is upset enough, she's mourned enough, she's cried enough fake tears to fill a cistern, about the blonde woman's death and it is not a death she needs resurrected all of a sudden. Not now, especially after Snake's urgent phone call on Roy Arcadia's compromised state. The president laughs when she hears the news. Not because she's happy, most certainly not, for the redhead's capture or even towards his presumable imminent death, but primly because the silverette trusts someone brand new and it got her backstabbed. "Looks like Link Collins's favor has been thrown out the window..." she thinks to herself, noticing the sound of heeled feet getting closer and closer.
Corrin stiffens, not looking her counterpart in the eyes. She does not want to give Robin Wyndel, the cheating ass that she is, any leverage. None, whatsoever. She longs for that glass of Merlot. There's plenty of it on the flight, but again, with Link's words reminding her every second, the country does not need a drunk politician, there's plenty of old men who are portly and red faced to fill that spot by the thousands. How lucky Corrin is that those are the people who have to be her closest political allies. Robin stands peachy and perky, then decides to throw the zinger out there as the woman only lives once, and the worst possible thing Corrin is capable of doing is having the vice president killed.
"We're flying to the mansion?" Robin frowns. "It's only an hour and a half drive. Why waste the money and the fuel?"
"I get car sickness," the president keeps her cool. She needs Robin on her side, not fighting for whatever else the woman wants to fight for. All Corrin does is make sure the interest of the nation, with her behest kept in it, of course, is the prime concern of the Etch administration. Anyone who wishes to deny the country its saving grace and future can be nothing but dismal matters to Corrin; a simplistic wave of her hand and they turn to dust, dust that she shall make sandcastles, roads, and skyscrapers out of. "I've had it for years."
"No you don't," the vice president quips back, quiet and low so none of the secret service agents can hear her. Corrin's nostrils flare, her eyes burn. "You're trying to make a statement, I've known you long enough to sense something like that," Robin admits. "Or you're publicly going to humiliate someone. I imagine it must be me given how you're treating me. I suppose I'll have to play my role of apologizing and groveling at your feet. The cameras will flash, you'll forgive me, and we'll go back to being the partners in crime that we always were. Wouldn't you agree?"
However, Corrin wants to interrupt, neither woman truly hates each other. They couldn't live without one another. On the outside, Corrin's fine. On the inside...
The temperature in Corrin's skin cannot be described merely enough by her hands and face feeling 'hot'. Take a sauna raised to the hottest degree metal burns at, then place that in Mt. Saint Helens, then take that and drop it into the Sahara Desert, fry it in Venus's atmosphere, crack open the sun like a sunny-side egg, drop the agglomeration into the star's core, and then let the sun perform a supernova that wipes out all of humanity. That is not even a mere tenth of how angry and boiling did Corrin feel the moment Robin's words left her lips.
She remembers very well, almost so perfect it scares her actually, the day she and Robin met. The woman, her vice president, her 'best friend', is nothing more than a one term senator from a state no one seems to care about, small and pathetic and drawn in, and when Corrin decides that she needs someone sweet to help soften the bitterness embedded in her by a long D.C winter, Corrin Etch takes the weak, meek, scrawny, and incompetent Robin Wyndel and raises her to goddess status. And this is how she's repaid. The nerve. The absolute nerve.
Corrin's left eye begins twitching again. "I know about Mac Sarasota. You know I don't like people going behind my back and hiring people into this administration without my consent. Especially if they're to be guarding my back. What if one decides to kill me?"
Robin does not even bat an eye. "Then I suppose you'll have to be nice to them, then."
"What on earth possessed you to think of doing such a thing?"
"Perhaps the fact I actually want the president of the United States to be guarded by a competent man!" Robin snaps, turning to the silverette in question. "Did it ever occur to you that people on Capitol Hill, and the people outside of the white safehouse we dwell in actually don't like you? All the guys you picked to be in your secret service can fire a gun very well, but don't do any speaking for themselves nor can they stand in man-to-man combat. So, in fairness, I dropped someone into the male entourage of black suits and white business ties to help you that can use a pistol and their fists. I am so sorry for having bruised your ego."
"It's not about my ego?"
"Then what is it then, Corrin? I'd be delighted to know," Robin snaps again, and then more soft, "I do care about you, you know."
The woman blinks, and the anger recedes out of her in a flash. Robin's answer makes sense, logical sense, and for the first time someone in her administration may have done something on the betterment of the one leading it, not for their own selfish gain. Corrin's eyebrows furrow back together again, she's not letting her vice president off the hook that easily however.
"I know you spoke to Marth Lowell last night." she rocks on the back of her heels.
"Yes. It shouldn't come to you as a surprise. The invoice crossed your desk, but you were busy orchestrating that treaty between Kenya and New Zealand, so I took some of the trouble off of your hands."
"What did you talk about?"
"Nothing of your concern."
"As president of this country, I imagine anything happening under my administration is my concern, so yes, Robin, it is impotent for me to know about it." Corrin's eyes flash dangerously, akin to that of a viper. She clenches her left hand into a fist, wanting to launch herself on that tarmac across the black paint and pummel her best friend for all it is worth. Maybe she's just on her period and everyone and everything is upsetting her. Not the most unlikely of thoughts. This passes Corrin's mind momentarily, before blinking. That couldn't be it. Corrin Etch is just this way and everyone will have to deal with it.
Robin looks her superior in the eye, her own gaze matching nothing less than that of distanced caution. "Marth told me that he, Ike, Shulk, and Pit are tired of being confined to the headquarters here in D.C till the next mission you assign them. He asked if they could have the weekend off and stay somewhere. I let them go and stay at Cloud's little place out in Norfolk. With him flying in for the dinner this weekend, it is unoccupied and no one will bother them."
The twitching of the eyes resume and Corrin wants to scream. "You're just letting my employees stay on my husband's property?"
"What's the worst thing they're going to do? Burn the place down?" Robin retorts. In actuality, that could be the worst thing. Give Ike and Shulk one too many beers in their hands, a cigarette or cigar, and enough country music, they'll have all of Yellowstone National Park burned down before anyone could scream the word, 'fire'.
Corrin leans into Robin's crook so her words go unheard. "As a reminder, I'd simply like to have anything done in this administration to at the very least be mentioned to me and not by some television news station."
"Loud and clear, madam president," the other silverette quips a smile.
"God, I hate you Robin Wyndel..."
The president, despite her stoic and enraged appearance, breaks a grin as well and the two ladies laugh heartily. Their voices warp together into the air like a harmonic note played by an orchestra in an abandoned concert hall, like those in Sydney, Australia. Corrin places a hand on Robin's shoulder. She has no reason to be this upset over a few executive decisions. It isn't as if Robin Wyndel went and launched all the nuclear missiles towards the moon or something outrageous like that. Corrin's skin bristles back to that of the cold air outside, and for once in quite a long time, she's content.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes. "I think that this week has been very stressful. I've been getting accounts from Snake in Boston that Roy was compromised and I blew things all out of proportion and-"
"Everyone makes mistakes..." Robin says softly. "It's just that some are easily forgiven over others. Remember that."
The vice president breaks away from her spot, going to climb up the steps leading into the jet, leaving Corrin behind to stare ahead with a look of bewilderment. Everything has been an upside down rollercoaster at ninety miles per hour, and Corrin's starting to realize that perhaps the world doesn't play by her rules anymore. Perhaps it never did.
The thought of that sickens her, but it does something else it too, something that brings Corrin to her knees as she climbs up the steps, secret service agents running forward to help their downed leader, their downed queen.
The thought of the world never playing by her rules sickens her.
It terrifies her.
Light streams through several open windows of a room that Roy does recognize, the redhead waking up with a groan. He opens his eyes, blinking, the world around him drowning in a widespread greyscale blur. He can make out a few blobs, several things he presumes that are people, holding black machines which Roy deduces to be guns. Shifting his gaze directly forward, a blur with a mass of blonde slowly walks up to him, and then breaking through past that is a cloud of red akin to his own, and then his heart begins to beat.
The grim figure of Link Collins breaks through first, and before Roy utters one word, the weapons dealer has punched him square across the jaw. Roy coughs, reeling back, trying to lift his hands up to defend himself from the other man's attack. His heart sinks when his limbs do nothing but struggle against the bonds pinning him down, the redhead's arms and legs tied to a wooden chair. This is all too familiar. He's seen enough movies to know how this'll end.
"The pretty boy is finally awake. About time," Link growls through gritted teeth. "I thought we were going to have another fairytale of Sleeping Beauty on our hands."
"S- sorry to disappoint..." Roy murmurs back slyly. For his courage and stupidity, Link socks the Syrenet officer underneath the jaw.
Roy's head is pounding, and all he can remember previously is Link's booted foot connecting with his face, the coldness of tile, and the unwelcoming fear of a black void where his mind lingers into an unconscious state. Link grimaces, turning around, nursing his knuckles. In the back, out the corner of Roy's eye, is Midna, the woman is standing impervious and tall, face devoid of all emotion, eyes suggesting nothing but impasse. Roy cranes his neck around the room to find himself in something almost like a hanger. The roof stands spacious and tall, the chilly gusts of air causing Roy to realize he's shirtless and he's missing pants as well, save for his underwear. He swallows. This isn't good.
On his ride lies a window, many frames dipping together in a reflective pool of diamond surfaces. Outside, perhaps a good quarter of a mile away, is a building, high rise, cracked, and painted a rugged Earth brown. It is all Roy can see from the window, and he tries looking to the right, but something prevents him from doing so. He's not liking very well the notion of not having a shirt. He strains against his bindings, Link walking up to him slowly, ever so slowly, booted soles colliding with the stark tile, a tiled floor that is covered in oil stains, crimson copper stains that Roy presumes to be blood, and other stains he cannot identify.
There's another chair in front of Roy facing him, though it is unoccupied. Link grabs the back of it, spinning it around so the back is facing Roy, and he sits down. The redhead tries to match his gaze, but all he sees in Link's disposition is fury, unmistakable rage and pure anger that sooner or later is going to spill all over this good Earth and all over poor Roy.
Link places a hand underneath Roy's jaw, forcing the redhead to stare at the ceilings, which is covered by blades hanging down, probably no more than five feet or so away from the Syrenet employee's skull. The weapons dealer removes his hand from Roy's jaw, going back to circling the chair and pacing. His henchmen and lackeys are all holding guns, some with knives and grenades at their belts. Roy Arcadia is no longer in Kansas, he knows that one hundred percent in full.
The blonde claps his hands, and so it begins. "Y'know... if the movies and the books have taught you one thing, it is always the new guys who come in who then stab the villains in the back. Isn't that the truth?" he asks, glaring at Roy, his voice jubilant despite his body proving an emotion otherwise. "The villains place their unguarded trust in the newbie who is now working for the FBI or the Kremlin or God knows what, anything the man in the sky can conjure up! However, in my life, I've been backstabbed and betrayed by those who are long term allies and friends. My brother, my sister, a little girl who I used to play with when I was six... even my own mother. Put all of that in the past now," Link opines, grinning. "I find the movies to be sprouting out just a bunch of bs! No brand new person is going to show up and rip the carpet right from underneath me... but look at how wrong I've been now, haven't I? Damn Roy Arcadia, who hasn't even known me for more than two days, betrayed me and the entire compound that works for me. It looks like the movies and books we all see got something right! Who would have even guessed! It certainly never occurred to me!"
Roy knows that what he's about to say isn't going to help the situation, he's never actually been known to help any sort of situation, but nonetheless he goes for it anyways because Arcadias are bold. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
An unreadable emotion flickers across the arms dealer's face. "What was that, Mr. Arcadia? I didn't hear you. Speak up, please," he leans into Roy's comfort space, the redhead's exposed and bare skin bristling contact between the two like a thousand gigawatts of electricity spurring between the men. "I want my entire compound to hear you! I want the whole world to hear what you said! REPEAT IT!" he growls, grabbing Roy by the sides of his face, bringing him close so the redhead can look straight into Link's unrelenting stare of terror.
The redhead repeats it. "I'm sorry..." God, is Roy Arcadia a running record?
Link drops the chair back onto the floor, wiping at his face, nearly laughing. "Do you hear that, boys? The scared, helpless little kid from D.C is apologizing!" he turns back to Roy, scaring the boy half to death. "Apologies aren't going to save you now..." he hisses. Roy's chest rises and falls steadily with every passing breath. Link goes back to pacing. "To be fair, Mr. Arcadia, I am not a fan of bloodshed. It has never been my thing, so I get other people to generally do it for me. I also said that I am not a lying man, I'm very honest with my clients and they with me. However, I like to expound upon my rules at times on those who break my trust. So, the whole thing about bloodshed... is a lie, at least for you. Your blood will be spilled, and I'll enjoy every second of watching you suffer and squirm!" The man's eyes brighten to inexplicable heights, but he notices Roy's terrified, panicked expression and it sinks, feeling a moment of pity for him. "Last night, when I poisoned you, you really did say nothing incriminating at all on anything. All you did was mention this brown haired guy who you didn't like and that he scared you. I took it for an abusive dad or brother, or a lover or something, it could've been anyone and anything, and that's between you and whomever the guy is. However, I think you were referring to Mr. Snake Karlo, weren't you? Do you not know Snake Karlo? Y'know, the damn leader of the FBI!" Link roars.
Roy wants to shield his eyes from the anger, he needs to get out of here and back into the safety of D.C. "Yes..." he says weakly.
"I don't want to spill your blood first, at least," the blonde gives a slight frown, stopping it immediately as frowning causes wrinkles, and Link Collins hates wrinkles. "I like trying the diplomatic approach. The world is built on both diplomacy and violence, after all. So, this is what we're going to do.. you listening?" Roy's head lolls around on his shoulders, trying to shift around in his bindings. "Some simple good cop versus bad cop, the easy way or the hard way. We'll do the nice ole' game of good cop, easy way..." Link says, a grin dancing across his face, one that suggests perhaps the man is not entirely sane. He swivels on his heel towards Midna. "Give me the disk, please."
Midna reaches into her pocket, throwing the arms dealer something that Roy cannot make out. Link catches it, placing it on the floor between the two chairs out at an angle so everyone can see it. A familiar sky blue light appears from the disk to the redhead, beads of sweat starting to role down. His heart begins to slam against his ribcage, and soon the pixelated form of Ness Morrison, Roy's AI Unit comes into view. Ness is standing in the center of the disk, arms crossed over his chest, and instead of his gaze being directed at Roy which the redhead expects, it's pointed towards Link, full on murderous.
"No," Ness says. "Absolutely not."
Link feigns an expression of confusion. "I haven't even asked you anything."
"I'm smart enough to know an interrogation when I hear one. I imagine you don't know anything about Syrenet technology, Mr. Collins, but I can hear all and see all if I technically choose too," the AI Unit's eyes flash, and Ness lifts his head up as if to muster a challenge. "Whatever you have planned, it won't work. May as well not even try."
The arms dealer grits his teeth, leaning in low. "Listen here you little wretch, I'll-"
"You'll what?" Ness interrupts, eyes flaring. "You'll hurt me? I am a hologram, if you have already forgotten. I cannot be injured in any bodily way. You won't get me to tell you what I helped Roy sent out, and you can't threaten me for answers. There's nothing you can do. I won't betray Roy, and he won't betray me."
Link looks debauched for a moment, thrown off by the sudden spark that festered deep within Ness's soul. He's been at this a long time, even for his youthful appearance with the hair and clothes. He will not betray his foundation, his home, his life, for some lowlife guy who cannot keep his word to one single person. The blonde walks around, shaking his head, muttering to himself. Roy tries stealing a glance at Ness, anything to get his own ally in the room's attention, but Link has a moment akin to an epiphany, smirking at Ness. "That's where you're wrong! I can't injure you, that's right. But, I can hurt Roy. All I have to do is ask you a question, and should you or him not answer it, he gets hurt. On and on I'll do this. But, I will make sure our precious captive doesn't die, no. I need him alive. If he dies, then who will I have to hurt? Oh, thank you, you stupid piece of programming!" Link coos low in his throat. He reaches behind his waist for something, and Roy's eyes widen to a new size that he didn't think was ever possible.
The blonde traces the edge of the knife he pulled from his waist along the underside of Roy's jaw, the redhead whimpering and struggling against his restraints once more. Link leans his head back and laughs, going to the second chair, pulling it closer and closer to Roy, so close almost that they're touching forehead to forehead. Ness swallows. "Look, I know you're desperate, but... but we can talk this out-" the AI unit rambles.
"Let's play a game! That sounds fun, right? Come on, we'll play a game!" Link's eyes are feral and wild. "I ask Mr. Arcadia here a question. If he doesn't answer me, I stab or cut him somewhere that'll produce just enough pain that it elicits a response! Sound fun?" Before anyone on either side has a chance to speak a single word, he's made the executive order. "Sounds brilliant!" he licks his lips. "Alright, Mr. Arcadia. Maybe you don't work for the FBI, as there's always loopholes and perhaps you're just a hired hand. Who's your actual employer? And don't say God or something like that, because it's bullshit."
Roy looks away. "I can't tell you."
Link flashes a look at Ness, who is eyeing everything.
"Who's his employer, machine?"
"I'm not telling you," Ness sniffs.
The blonde looks back at Roy. "Who is your employer, Mr. Arcadia?" Roy does not respond. Link flashes Ness another look. There's no response from the AI Unit. The blonde lets out a groan. "Now, this isn't very fun!" he leans forward and slices the knife down the underside of Roy's jaw, up near the crook of the ear to about where the skin meets Roy's Adams apple. The redhead's breathing begins to quicken, and he's wincing as the thin, yet damaging crimson line starts to leak blood. "Ooh, that looks nasty. You want something for that?"
"You don't have to do this!" Ness shouts, face paling.
"Oh but I do, you freak of nature!" the weapons dealer screams back at the AI Unit. His gaze falls back on Roy. "Next question! What did you tell the big bad boss Snake Karlo in D.C?" Silence passes over the trio. "Nothing?" Link steals a glance at Ness, the Syrenet device unmoving, unsure exactly of what to do. "Ah, the answer was supposed to be, 'I'm sorry Mr. Collins, I only said this and this.' Maybe this'll stir your memory, Mr. Collins!"
The pain is unbearable as Link drives the knife straight into Roy's leg. The redhead lets a scream leech off of his lips, cardinal matter spewing everywhere onto the tile. Ness looks away at the horrifying noises, and even Midna stirs somewhat in her spot. Link throws his head back, hair flowing with him. "Come on Mr. Arcadia! I don't want to injure you!"
Roy begins breathing out of his nose, trying to not focus on the fact a weapon has placated itself into his thigh. "Please don't..." he pleads.
Link turns around to say something quick and snarky when a loud, disturbing shriek breaks the glass on the window, causing all the men and women in the room that are standing to fall to their knees. The blonde yells out, and when Roy recuperates from the shrill noise, his eyes catch onto someone standing atop the brown building off in the distance, the pain in his leg evaporating. At a second look, Roy discovers that the building isn't even half a mile away from him, but moreso like thirty yards, hardly a distance where one couldn't hear each other.
Off in the distance, Snake Karlo is lying on the roof of the building, a sniper rifle crooked underneath his elbow, earplugs stuffed in his ear, a stereo system which he used to create the discordant noise by his side. He grabs for the megaphone by his side, speaking into it, before realizing it isn't necessary. "Mr. Collins! I'm so sorry to have interrupted your interrogation slash torture session, but I'm afraid the man you're mutilating in there is a confidant of mine who's true boss wants him back, unspoiled, and well, you're ruining her favorite worker. We don't want the mother's wrath to fall down upon us, do we?"
The blonde goes to retrieve the knife from Roy's leg, who is watching the chaos unfold with wide eyes when the click of a gun behind him causes him to stop. Link turns around to see that Midna has a pistol pointed for his head, point blank. All the other men in Link's group stand still, stunning blurs of action happening before them. Midna cocks the gun evidently so Link can hear it. "Don't even think about going for the weapon, Link," she warns.
Link breaks into a raucous laugh. "Wow! Not only do I have one traitor, but my most trustworthy worker in the entire compound is one too! Whose payroll are you on, Midna?"
"Mine!" Snake owns up to it. "Now, you do anything rash and either her or me puts a bullet into your skull. Is that how you want to die, Mr. Collins? Being shot in some hanger in the middle of nowhere because you couldn't put your pride on the shelf?"
"If Midna is yours, then who does Roy work for?" the blonde demands, eyeing both Snake and Midna carefully.
"Syrenet," Ness answers, eyes going to Roy who's been tiring out, his own eyelids starting to droop. "I'm surprised that I wasn't the immediate giveaway. What other government spy anywhere in the country or the world has AI Units at their beck and call? He's on President Corrin's payroll, and you've disturbed the wrong hornet's nest."
"Come on Link, give it up. I've known you for a long time. I don't want to see you die this way," Midna pleads.
"If you drop the weapon now, we won't harm you," Snake reasons.
"And instead I'll have to kiss Corrin's fat ass and beg for my life?" Link's eyes burn with hellfire.
"It's better than death."
"Please, don't do this..." Midna pleads once more.
"Fat chance!" Link snarls.
He reaches for something at his waist, a grenade perhaps, but that's the last thing Link Collins will ever do There's the sound of gunfire. Roy squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the impact of a bullet if one is to come his way. He feels the knife get removed from his leg, the sound of a dying animal spilling out from his throat. When he opens his eyes, Snake is marching forward from his perch on the building, sniper rifle smoking. Link is lying in the middle of the room, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, a pool of crimson spilling out around him. Ness closes his eyes, squatting down, throwing his hands over his ears.
Midna is holding the knife, the stained blade held firmly in her hands. The other guys in Link's group snarl, launching forward. Roy gets pushed back by the redheaded woman, who launches forward into the fray. He cries out, head hitting concrete, and the lights pop out.
He loses consciousness for the third time in two days to the sound of Midna screaming in pain, Snake crying something out in rage, and the raucous hail of gunfire to be the orchestral hit to it all.
I don't know the last time I've written something so tense and intense for that matter, ever. Well there we are ladies and gentlemen, Chapter #10: Collins's Arithmetic, finished in all but name. That was also the end of Arc 1. Surprised, eh? Midna Nye, Link's trusted hand, isn't actually who she says at all but it is an FBI agent, which I bet none of you saw coming. (I hope it wasn't cliché, I really do). And yep, Link Collins is dead, which I apologize for, but I didn't feel like stringing along his storyline when it didn't have much to go. He's a pseudo villain, as the real one has yet to appear and won't for quite some time. Let's back it up to Corrin and Robin's conversation first, however. Our president and vice president do not get along. Robin finds the former to be quite too vicious for her taste, but there isn't much she can do about it except provide damage control for the destruction Corrin leaves in her wake. Corrin is either really crazy and off her meds, or she's this way and only cares about herself, but I don't think anyone has found that to be a surprise. Back to the second half of the chapter, I am happier than I expected I would be at how this turned out. You all know me and how I love my villains more than anyone giving a monologue, but still following through with their punishment. I hope this wasn't too gory, as there won't be many scenes like this one with a character being tortured the way Roy was, poor boy. He'll get his chance though. And awww yeah, Snake to the rescue! Who predicted that? He has arrived like Littlefinger with the Knights of the Vale from Game of Thrones, ladies and gentlemen and he shall take no prisoners. I understand that events may have happened to fast for your mind to process it all, but I probably won't update again until Sunday or Monday with a much lighter chapter in terms of content, where you shall see the male Syrenet group relax and be, well, themselves. Thanks so much for reading! If you liked the chapter, please review and let me know what you thought! I hope to see you all again soon for Chapter #11: Tinsel on the Porch, starting Arc #2: The Shadowed Game of D.C. I love you all so much! Bye! Have a great day!
~ Paradigm of Writing