Hey all! I'm sorry for the leave of absence on my account for a while! End of year shenanigans and all. I should be back to a regular update schedule for all of my fics. As a matter of fact, it'll probably take less time than usual because SUMMER'S JUST ABOUT HERE! :D
Now then. I'm sure you're all eager to get back to the marvelous misadventures of Max, Izzy, Evil One, and *squints eyes* Prick? Oh, never mind, it's just Dave, ha ha. Anyway, Act 2 of this story begins NOW. It's gonna be EPIC.
Act II
A week had passed since Scarlett's shockingly easy escape from the ETOD itself, and there had been absolutely no sighting of her. While the public was not made aware that there was a murderous psychopath on the loose, but police and military forces were notified. Drones patrolled the entirety of Max's dominion, attempting to track her DNA. Strangely, they found nothing of the sort. Max was growing frustrated, but it didn't really concern Dave, Noah, or Matheson all that much. They each deemed themselves too valuable to be the victim of one of Max's tantrums.
Dave stared out the window of the ETOD in Max's empty throne room, heart beating rapidly as he went over scenario after scenario in his head where everything came crashing down and the blame solely rested at his feet.
Max currently had decided that it would be best to organize the search for Scarlett himself. Several glimpses of her had been spotted, but the drones sent after her had been reprogrammed to kill police or military officers before self-destructing. Her body count at the moment was thirty-three. Thirty-four including Morris. Max had been on the verge of firing the sadistic security guard anyway. Neither Evil One nor Izzy had liked the man one bit.
What perplexed Dave the most was how suddenly Max had started developing some form of conscience. Why should he start feeling bad now? After he'd come this far? Dave sighed and shook his head. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.
"Sir."
Dave turned to see Matheson's bulky figure standing before him. The assassin walked up besides his direct employer and joined him in looking out the window.
"Matheson, always a pleasure," Dave yawned. "How goes the hunt for Scarlett?"
"You know as well as I do that it doesn't matter either way," Matheson said bluntly, staring Dave in the eyes. "But I'd like to ask you a question."
Dave groaned, waving his hand around. "I don't like being questioned. But because you DON'T usually ask questions I think I could make an exception this time around."
Matheson nodded. "Noah's been shifty lately. Why do you trust him?"
Dave furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't follow."
The assassin looked a little bewildered at this. "Sir, I follow all orders I'm given. I'm here because I get paid. Nothing more. Why do you trust him?" He folded his arms menacingly. "Or, better yet, why do you put up with him? Or any of this? Why are YOU here?"
"This is out of nowhere," Dave commented, an acidic tone to his voice. "You been keeping all these questions bottled up? Above your pay grade. You don't ask questions, got it, Max?"
It was quiet for a moment before Matheson replied confusedly. "Uh, my name is Matheson."
Dave tore at his hair in frustration. "Ugggh! There are so many 'M' names for me to keep track of! Max, Matheson, Moreau, Marcus, Morris! Man, I don't get it! I'm sorry, Malthesar."
"Matheson," the assailant replied irritably. "Where'd you even get 'Malthesar' from anyway?"
"It doesn't matter," Dave growled.
"Sir, I just want to know how to do my job effectively," Matheson protested.
Dave scowled and turned to the taller man, glaring up at him. "Well, in that case!" He shoved Matheson backwards slightly. "You do as I say, and you don't ask personal shit! We have a JOB to do, and we should be proud of it!" Matheson stepped back. Dave advanced, emphasizing his points with pokes and shoves. "Not asking stupid, irrelevant questions that don't contribute to your mission! Is that ALL that you're here for?"
"Sir, I saw Noah speaking to someone and I thought I should report–"
"I DON'T CARE!" Dave yelled, his voice cracking. He paused in embarrassment before continuing. "What I mean is...Noah does a lot of things that I don't care about. He speaks more with the people. Keeps his ears to the ground. I trust him."
"I'm not sure if you should–"
Dave groaned. "Just...just LEAVE, okay? GO AWAY! Go...kill someone, I don't care."
Matheson rumbled with anger, curling his fists.
But he turned around and left.
Dave sat down, griping under his breath. "Stupid dumbass. Should know his place. Oh well. He'll see what's really going on here soon enough."
Grinning maniacally, Dave pulled out a tablet, pulling up a network of data, statistics, and gambits. Dave swiped his finger across the screen.
"They'll all see."
Max found that traveling incognito was a lot easier when you didn't show your flamboyant purple hair in public and kept your pasty skin covered at all times. And when you didn't use Groucho glasses.
He also found that using fairly normal clothing was a good way to avoid suspicion. Another time he would have demanded that the very same people he walked among kneel before him. He would concoct a grandiose spectacle over the most trivial of things. He'd once commemorated a bottle of suntan lotion for God's sake.
But ever since Scarlett had escaped, he kept flashing back to some of the conversations they'd had. Scarlett had expressed disdain towards him and his style of rule. Max had merely brushed it off at the time. But as he walked through the streets, completely invisible to all around him, he began to see some of the issues that Scarlett, Moreau, and Izzy had tried to get him to notice. He still didn't feel all that guilty about taking over the world. Or for exerting his will over the populace.
But he made a mental note to himself to change his policies to be more open and more free. To supply for the people who had nothing. And to look into the radiation problem.
The people may have a responsibility to you, but as a result you also have a responsibility for the people.
Max sat down at an outside table, examining the stormy skies over Gotham/New York City. He looked around at the people living their day to day lives. Nothing outwardly seemed wrong but he could smell the tension in the air like a lightning bolt had just come down and struck the earth in front of him.
After half an hour of people watching, he rose to his feet and walked back to the ETOD. All anyone saw was a short, nondescript gnome of a man.
It was a somewhat out of body experience for him. Surreal, to not have all the attention focused on him.
A stranger bumped into him and Max turned. "Watch where you're..." he began, before observing the brute of a man looking down at him. Max gulped and continued onward.
As he entered the ETOD, he slipped into the elevator and returned to his personal quarters.
Within five minutes, he exit into the halls with his usual extravagant choice of apparel, smirking confidently. The all-powerful dictator was back.
He adjusted his watch, sorting through all the verbal orders he had put in, muttering to himself. Sometimes it was hard to keep track of those stupid drones. Ah well. Quickly, Max sent out several orders–to start handing out food to people in the cities. The provisions would have to be slow but steady until Max could talk his regular soldiers into supplying the populace as well.
His tinkering was interrupted by the sound of loud whispers from down the hall. Out of instinct, Max opened the door to a broom closet and shut himself in. The light peeking out from under the door was interrupted by what appeared to be two shadows.
"Look, we have to be discreet about this, you can't just go around being so...flashy."
"Flashy? Ha! You really DON'T know me!"
Max put his ear against the door. The first voice was male, but he couldn't place whether he knew the person. The second one was female. Probably Izzy. Max stroked his chin, which with his ear against the door was quite an interesting sight.
The male figure shushed Izzy. "You understand that I'm not supposed to be doing this, right? That I'm supposed to keep my mouth shut about all of this. But I'm not going to sit around and watch everything fall apart."
"Why can't you tell me exactly what's going on here, you don't have your earpiece in–"
"I can't tell you because I don't KNOW everything, got it? And because if I tried to tell you everything, they'd kill me, and then where would we be?"
"So you want me to risk my neck instead?"
"You seemed perfectly fine with this before," the male voice said dangerously. Max gulped. Something was going on. He'd have to have a chat with Izzy after this was over.
It was quiet for a few moments. Then another few moments. The male voice spoke up again. "Hey." Several finger snaps could be heard. "Hey, Izzy. Are you listening to me?"
"What? Oh. Oh, uh...sorry. Kinda spaced out there. Sooooorry."
"No you're not! Listen, okay? Dave has most of the answers. Everything is compartmentalized. If you want to tear this conspiracy apart, I can only guide you tangentially."
"Wha?"
"Indirectly. Now you can't just go kidnap Dave and demand information. Matheson would kill you and dump your body in a sewer without a second thought. No, I'm going to need to convince Dave to lessen security on the bunker. Again, everything is hidden in different spots throughout multiple countries and continents. You're going to be able to do this alone. I might convince Dave to give me the locations of where particular data is being held, but I can only drop the guard levels there so much before I come under suspicion."
Izzy sighed. "Look, Noah..." Max jumped slightly, grazing his foot against the wall and stubbing his toe. He bit down on his lip to prevent himself from crying.
"If you give me a plan, I'm probably just going to try to blow the place up with dynamite. More fun that way, ya know?" A slightly crazy laugh at this, but it cut out shortly, as if it weren't sincere. "But...I don't think I can do this on my own."
"Well?" the voice, whom Max could now identify as Noah asked sardonically. "Who else can you trust?"
It was silent for a few moments before Izzy reluctantly responded. "No one, really. I'm used to just doin' what I say I'm gonna do, not all this crazy-ass two-timing bullshit. Y'all need to just sit down in a room together and speak honestly. Then you can try to kill each other!"
"There are a lot of conflicting agendas here," Noah conceded. "And I know it's hard to trust people. But I'd like you to find someone who is capable of helping you do this, who can keep their mouth shut and genuinely wants the best for this world."
Izzy responded. "Okay then. I'll talk to you later. Banzai!" The two shadows walked away in separate directions. Max exhaled deeply, then noted with surprise that he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath.
"What are you up to..." Max murmured, opening the door to the closet and stepping back out into the open. He returned to his throne room, pondering what he'd just witnessed.
Would Izzy betray him? Maybe. She was somewhat insane, after all. Noah wasn't the most trustworthy person on the block either. But Max couldn't help but feel lioke something bigger was going on. That it wasn't him they were after.
Max sighed, sinking into his throne. He pulled out a tablet and adjusted it so he was viewing the security cameras.
Evil One was walking back into the lobby after his unannounced week-long break. Izzy was back to cartwheeling down the stairs. Dave was furiously scrubbing his hands in the women's restroom for some reason. Ew. Max didn't want to know. Alejandro was sitting tranquil in his temporary prison, merely waiting until Max could find the time to actually discuss in depth whether his story was believable or not. Noah was sitting down and reading, and if Max just hadn't witnessed Noah and Izzy's conversation he'd find it hard to believe that the bookworm hadn't been there all day.
It seemed weird to him that everyone in this building was all connected in some way.
He drummed his fingers against his armrest nervously.
There was quite the web to unravel.
He'd best get right on it.
The room was nicer than Scarlett had anticipated.
While not luxurious and extravagant like most upper class attractions, it boasted television not censored by Max's goons, a comfortable full-sized bed, microwavable food, a decent bathroom that actually had hot water for showers, and of course, knives that were probably meant for cutting meat but were instead probably going to be used for slicing people open and murdering them.
This is, after all, Scarlett we're talking about here. I'm not sure what you were expecting.
The shower had been heavenly. Cleaning out the stench of months of torture and agony was very pleasing. Despite the immature childishness of it, she scrubbed out her tongue for at least five minutes from when she had been forced to kiss Morris in order to escape.
Her hair was clean. Her body odor was gone. Her glasses worked perfectly.
Her smiled stretched her skin like wax as she pulled up her hair into her usual bun. She felt clean for the first time since she'd first been captured by Max's goons.
She'd really have to thank the resistance for doing all this for her.
A snarl escaped her stomach. Scarlett sighed as she examined her skin and bones physique. When she'd first arrived, Darren Moreau had sized her up, looked at her midsection. Scarlett had fully been prepared for a lecherous comment, but had been surprised when all the disfigured businessman had said was that he'd arrange a large dinner for her, and that he was incredibly sorry she'd had to go through all that shit because of Max.
It had been a pleasant surprise.
Scarlett wore rather drab clothing. Casual gray clothes, yet practical enough that she could still stab a person need be. She'd never had a taste for fashion and she knew it. Perhaps everyone else would be all dolled up tonight.
Not Scarlett. To her, this was merely an opportunity to find out the inner workings of this resistance and figure out how to get her footing in it.
Her stomach growled, as if to remind her.
Oh, and also to wolf down food to her heart's content.
A knock on the door and she could hear her former enemy's voice coming through. "Are you ready? We're ready to talk!"
"Of course, Sky," Scarlett called, walking towards the door. She opened it an observed the decade-older gymnast-turned-soldier before her. The two glanced each other over, as if they were both sizing up if they could kill the other without anyone else ever knowing.
Sky gestured to the gun at her belt. "You're lucky we managed to rent out this place," she said. "Otherwise your welcome meal might have been rats or something."
The two began walking towards the dining hall. Scarlett smirked. "By rent out, do you mean take over?"
"Hotel California," as it was called, was actually one of Max's smaller bases near Seoul. Nowhere near California at all. Max had built the hotel on top of the military bunker because he liked the city, which had remained remarkably untouched by the war and nuclear strikes. It was his place to vacation without having to worry about assassination attempts, as every worker in the building was proficient in military training. It had taken time, but Moreau had personally ensured that the base be taken.
Marcus had expressed disapproval that Moreau had only chosen the spot due to its luxury. Sky personally didn't see the problem with it though.
Sky snorted. "I guess. These people had it coming. They throw their lot in with Max, they'd better expect to get their karma in the end."
"Do you think I should get karma for what I did, years ago?" Scarlett asked, a note of passive aggressive amusement in her voice.
Sky bit her lip, putting her hand to her gun. "I don't trust you. At all. You're just as evil if not more than Max."
"So black and white..." Scarlett mused, changing her stance so that it was more casual. "'Evil' is a word thrown around by people who can't see the bigger picture. If you happen to disagree in morals? They're evil. It's moral absolutism at its finest."
"You tried to kill us," Sky repeated. "How is that not evil? Also, I watched the recordings, you actually said you were evil. To MAX!"
Scarlett smirked. "How else to strike fear into his heart than give him what he thought he wanted? He wanted evil, he got it. But as of now?" Scarlett slowed her walk slightly, forcing Sky to adjust her stride. "You don't have to trust me. Just trust my absolute hatred of Max and his regime."
The door opened and Scarlett's face lit up as she observed a wide array of food. Quickly, she took to her seat, and with no regard for manners began tearing at her steak, snarfing it down with a ravenous delight.
Within a few minutes, the entire steak was gone. Scarlett dabbed at the meat juices with her napkin before looking up at the people sitting at the table with her. Moreau was watching her with an indiscernible look on his face. Sky sat at his right, looking on with disgust. Marcus was trying not to pay attention. And sitting somewhat out of the way of everyone else was an Asian girl Scarlett recognized despite the decade-long absence as former Total Drama contestant Heather.
"I should be surprised," Scarlett said, gesturing to Heather, who glared at her. "But I've found that us Total Drama contestants have a great deal of ambition. Explains why I've run into so many of you lately."
"Thanks, I guess," Heather sneered. "I'm not really with them though. I just help fund them."
Moreau cleared his throat. "Heather here has supplied me with weapons only. I provided the soldiers. Believe it or not, this face is actually rather charismatic," he said self-deprecatingly, a slight chuckle entering his voice.
Scarlett faced Moreau, staring at him intently. "I hate Max just as much if not more than you. And, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I have an exceptionally high IQ. I feel as though I could be of service."
"I'm sure you would," Moreau said kindly. "It's just that your track record shows you to be...very unpredictable. How can we expect you to remain on our side?"
"The answer is simple," Scarlett responded. "You can't. I am completely untrustworthy. But I also have a personal understanding of Max, an ability to create dangerous weapons, and overall strategy. If all goes well, I could probably turn away from you and let you rule when you succeed, as long as I have discretion to do as I please as long as it doesn't upset the order."
"I don't like your terms," Moreau snapped. "I understand that you can give us no guarantee that you won't turn on us." He pulled out a gun from underneath his suit jacket, although he hadn't chosen to aim it at her just yet. "But we've been doing pretty well as of late. And it might be better for us to just kill you now and take our chances, rather than trust an asset who–while valuable–would leave me to die with a knife in my back at the first opportunity."
"Until Max is dead you have my full support," Scarlett affirmed.
The gun was now pointed at her. Heather folded her arms, cautiously observing the situation. Scarlett didn't even flinch.
Moreau scoffed. "And after he's dead? You have ambition, same as the rest of us. You'd turn on us in a heartbeat."
"Would you really shoot me?" Scarlett asked calmly.
"Ask Max," was his cold response.
Scarlett looked up at the ceiling, where she found a video camera observing and recording every word. "You really do like to record things. Conversations. You like to analyze people, break them down. You know how to work people and you're frustrated that I'm not immediately folding to your will like most everyone here has already done."
For the first time since the beginning of the conversation, Moreau's confident mask slipped ever so slightly. He put the gun down. "So what? A leader has to be charismatic and know his men. And his enemies."
"You want to be remembered," Scarlett stated simply. "If you fail and die a horrible death, you want someone to eventually scavenge through your organization and find these tapes." She smiled wryly. "Make a documentary. Paint you out to be a hero. You want a legacy."
"Who wouldn't?" Moreau responded, his usual verbal edge dulled slightly. "No one wants to feel as though their life had no meaning."
"The difference between you and I," Scarlett yawned. "is that while I have goals, I don't care about public show. I don't care about leaving my own mark. All I care about is my own personal goals, and whether or not I reach them. Why haven't you sent assassins after Max yet?"
"Because that would only leave a power vacuum I'd be unable to fill," Moreau exclaimed, teeth grit. "I can't just step in to power!"
"Why not?" Scarlett asked. "If Max dies, he has no heir to the throne. All you'd have to do would be to step in and quell the riots. Make a few pretty speeches. Then make your changes. The people will love you...and the world will be yours."
The room was quiet. Moreau scowled, drumming his fingers against the handle of his steak knife. Marcus looked amused. Sky glanced worriedly back and forth. It was likely that she hadn't seen anyone so easily debate with Moreau and possibly come out on top. Heather yawned.
After about ten seconds of silence, Moreau let out a low noise in his throat. "Very well. We have an assassin on deck who would be more than happy to take him out. Max is careless enough that it should be easy. Sadly, it's too difficult for us to move troops in. Max amped up security. He'd have to be in on his own."
Scarlett smirked. "Very good. Who is he?"
"We call him the Butcher," Moreau responded. "I think he'll do nicely." He stared intensely at Scarlett. "You are dismissed. I hope you enjoyed your meal."
Scarlett rose, curtsied, and left the room.
Moreau turned to everyone else still inside. "You are all free to go as well."
Warily, Sky and Marcus stood and left.
Heather remained, filing away at her nails.
Moreau sighed deeply, slumping in his chair. "If you give Scarlett any weapons, I want you to lock it at all times unless she's going up against the enemy."
"You don't trust her?" Heather asked faux-casually.
"I'd rather just shoot her now," Moreau admitted. "She wants to wrestle control away from me. But she still could prove useful."
"Well, she has personal investment in the cause," Heather smirked. "Just like I do."
"You never tried to kill anyone."
Heather made a so-so sign. "That doesn't matter. I'd like to kill someone now. I want Max and Alejandro dead for what they did."
Moreau smirked. "You have standards, then."
Heather scoffed. "I competed to win a million dollars. They committed a genocide worse than the Holocaust."
The businessman nodded. "True. But anyways. Back on topic. Scarlett must not be given one inch of freedom. I'm giving out the order tomorrow that if she's anywhere she's not supposed to be, shoot her on sight."
"Do you think she could undermine you?" Heather asked wryly.
A dark look passed across the visionary's face. "It's entirely possible," he spat. Stretching, he rose to his feet.
"But I plan to beat her to the punch."
And with that, Moreau picked up his gun and left the room.
While this chapter is mostly talk, it is ALL setup for events to come. Thank you all for reading, and be sure to leave a review if you enjoyed it!
I'll see you all soon!
