Chapter 21

"THERE! Someone's making a break for the park!"

Heavy footsteps coming from metal-lined boots were heard from as far as the shopping center as a battalion of Presidential Guards scampered after the shadow trying to flee the area near the Deling City archway. There were fifty-four troops who responded to the call of the Guard captain who earlier was jolted by a blood-curdling scream that came from General Caraway's receiving office.

That scream belonged to Rinoa Heartilly, General Caraway's horrified daughter. The captain saw her with her father's lifeless body in her bloodied arms. His stomach almost turned inside out when he noticed pieces of Caraway's brain and fragments of skull on the floor in the midst of puddles of blood. It wasn't hard to spot the window with the two bullet holes.

An assassin had just killed the president.

And now, the assassin was apparently on the run. Fifty-four soldiers belonging to the Guard Corps were giving chase through the park whose lighting system had suddenly failed. All they had to help them see the fleeing assassin was the bright glow of the full moon. Was the outage a coincidence? Not likely. All assassins made sure they had arranged for an escape route prior to the hit.

And this one wasn't only prepared. He was also laughing.

Come and get me, you twerps!

He was unusually swift and agile. Not one soldier cried out to inform his comrades that he just saw the culprit darting out from a cluster of trees. Two seconds later, another one would claim that he had seen him, running back on the opposite direction. He was fast and clever, and clearly doubling back on his tracks to confuse his pursuers. He didn't even bother to worry about those who stayed outside to close off the park. Even if he escaped the troops in the woods, what would he do against the ones waiting for him to come out?

"Quickly, turn the lights on!"

He heard the command from an officer he'd known to have three daughters. It was so tempting to just shoot the clown. But the poor man had three daughters. He relented. Killing one girl's father was enough for one night. He aimed instead for the lights.

"Dammit!"

One pop after another reverberated, simultaneous with the sound of shattering 5-inch thick lens covers. One by one, the huge spotlights that had the ability to focus for miles died very noisy deaths, killed by slugs similar to the one that punched a hole through General Caraway's head. He wanted his cover of darkness.

But there will be more lights, he thought, until this place turned so bright monsters could see it from the moon. And that disadvantage he didn't need. It was time to blow this joint.

Asta la vista, suckers!

"Son of a bitch!" Hollered another soldier as a swift figure suddenly darted out from the bushes before him. He tried to reach for his sidearm, probably not realizing how futile it was against an assassin who ran like a gazelle. Never mind the running, though. That gun packed enough power to fire a bullet all the way to Trabia.

"Unh!" moaned the soldier as the assassin's rifle butt crunched into his visor and knocked him unconscious. At least he'd live through the encounter. He should count himself lucky.

Not wasting any time, the assassin jumped into the driver's seat of a waiting humvee. It was the type that had a hard top. Good for him. There was a spare helmet on the front passenger seat. Too good for him. Somebody obviously arranged for his escape.

He drove around the park for one lap, occasionally shouting at other soldiers he encountered to try the other side. It made him look like a safety guard. Not one of the mobile units flagged him down.

One sudden turn to the left, and he was gone.

It was already late morning when Irvine woke up to the glare of a bright sun. As his eyes opened, he felt a gnawing exhaustion engulfing his entire body, as though he had just participated in the annual Timber marathon. He tried to lift his arms, they radiated a dull ache. Did he just run using his hands?

"Ohh… What gives…?"

Slowly getting him, he then noticed that he was inside a vehicle. A military issue humvee, he could easily tell. The camp-like odor and lack of luxury amenities that usually came with the millionaire models proved it, except for a radio unit that continued to buzz with indiscernible static. What was he doing here, he asked himself. He couldn't remember what happened the night before.

His right hand felt a cold, metallic object. A rifle butt. The Exeter was right there at the passenger seat. It was soiled badly, as though he had dropped it on dirt. And the hilt had traces of blood on it.

What the hell happened…?

Thinking hard, he then remembered the last thing that he saw prior to losing consciousness. Markkon…? his mind cried out. But there was no Markkon. And he wasn't in a mansion in Winhill. What the hell was he doing inside an army vehicle?

His head ached; a terrible, throbbing ache that felt like his brain was about to burst. Despite the pain, he tried to think hard, to recall what had transpired.

Irvine then remembered the voice that talked from inside his head. He recalled the stabbing gaze that Markkon fixed on him, and consequently remembered how his body tried to act on his own. Markkon tried to control his mind, through some force of telepathy. Frantic questions started coming in as everything came back to him. Markkon commanded him to kill General Caraway, claiming that it was the right thing to do to the man who had killed his mother. Irvine almost agreed. With his hatred for Caraway, he had no reason not to.

But he refused. He couldn't kill anyone in cold blood, unless it was some terrorist or dictator a client ordered liquidated. And he certainly couldn't kill the father of one of his closest friends.

Closest friends?

No. Rinoa was his sister. And no matter how much he hated Caraway, he couldn't do that to Rinoa. He cared about her too much.

But… mind control?

Oh no! Irvine's thoughts suddenly blared in terror. If Markkon did try to control his mind and his body through it, could he have succeeded? If he did, would that mean he actually tried to kill General Caraway?

Tried?

The radio!

"Everything is in total disarray here in Deling City as citizens reel from the shocking news of General Caraway's brutal murder. Galbadian troops are roaming the city, hoping to find anything or anyone that might shed light or offer information that might lead to the capture of the shooter. But so far, they have found nothing."

Irvine froze. General Caraway was shot dead.

Could… could it be…

Even in thought, he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. 'Me?' His mind ached to ask. But he was too frightened. What if it was him? What if Markkon had succeeded in controlling him and ordered him to murder General Caraway?

"Hold on a minute, we have a development!" the onsite reporter exclaimed. Noises of frantic crowds mixed with stern warnings coming from cops and soldiers for them to stay beyond police lines. It sounded bad, sounded like total chaos. What was the reporter talking about?

"We have Corporal Eiling here of the Presidential Guard corps assigned to interior residence detail. Corporal, would you care to answer some questions? We've just heard that an operative from Balamb Garden was responsible for shooting General Caraway. Can you comment on this?"

Friggin' hell…

The soldier's voice sounded stiff as he answered straightforwardly.

"There've been eyewitness accounts of the shooter casing the crime scene as early as 9 PM last night. We questioned the witnesses and…"

There was a pause in the soldier's voice.

"And what, Corporal?"

It was obvious he was having difficulty talking. "And… they said it was Irvine Kinneas of Balamb Garden."

NO!

"Irvine Kinneas?" the reporter echoed in amazement. It was obvious he found it hard to believe. "What proof did they have of such claims?"

"They said something about a light brown jacket, cowboy hat, and a stainless steel rifle. I've had a chance to meet Mr. Kinneas, and those descriptions fit him to a T."

"So is it official? Irvine Kinneas is the alleged shooter?"

There was also annoyance in Eiling's voice as he continued. "He's a suspect, that's all I can tell you." After which the noise of the crowd took over again, drowning the reporter's voice as the interviewee seemed to have walked out on him.

But the din didn't seem so loud anymore. Everything seemed to have stilled to a soundless nightmare as Irvine felt himself melting like candle. So…

So Markkon had succeeded. He had won in the mind game. He had turned him into a murderer.

Murderer of his own father.

What… what have I done…?

Irvine shook his head hard. It couldn't have been true. He would never do such a thing. Yes, he had shot targets from a distance, but most of these he only injured. Some not seriously, some quite critically, and some who wished he had just killed them instead of rendering them a paraplegic with a bullet through the spine. And indeed, there had been others whose lives he snuffed on the spot. But these targets were either terrorists, hopeless criminals or latent tyrants and dictators. And these were those whose deaths meant the lives of countless innocents. Even if he had killed, he had done so for the greater good. None who ever received his bullet didn't deserve their fate.

How could he do a thing like cold-blooded, meaningless murder, even if it was General Caraway?

How could he have done such a thing? Even in the name of vengeance.

…

What would this do to his mind?

NO! NOOO!

Distraught sobs filled the vehicle when Irvine broke down. He didn't know what to think of himself. All he sensed was the dirt and the filth, the chilling guilt of one who had just done the most atrocious transgression. What would he do to himself now? How in the world could he face Rinoa and his friends? What would Headmaster Cid do to him? Would they accept the excuse that General Caraway deserved it because he had killed her mother? What proof did he have other than the words of one who clearly meant to destroy them anyway?

Markkon meant to destroy Garden, and anyone who stood in its defense. And he made no secret the fact that he wanted Caraway dead. And now, Caraway was dead. And he had been the instrument. Markkon used him effectively.

All of the sudden, it all fell into place. The governor had revealed him dark elements of his past that was designed to make him hate General Caraway. It may have turned out to be true, but at this moment it hardly mattered. Markkon had meant to use the hatred as foothold to manipulate him. And Markkon did just that. Mind control could only go so far if the manipulator didn't have anything to hinge his scheme on. And Markkon had the perfect tool to grapple his subconscious.

He was played and he was played real good. Now, Irvine was a murderer. He had murdered a world leader. He had murdered the father of one of the closest people in his heart. He had murdered his own father.

In weeping, one thought kept nagging him. For what he had done, he deserved to die.

Irvine looked at the Exeter. It felt so tempting to just do it.

"We've received word that the Galbadian Tribunal had issued a strong statement condemning the vile act. Additionally, state prosecutors are preparing a special provision arrest warrant for the apprehension of the main suspect, Irvine Kinneas. One of the six heroes lauded for thwarting two would-be world annihilators, Kinneas is renowned as a peerless marksman, and reports indicate that he was himself a trained assassin responsible for the liquidation of a number of terrorist cell leaders. As we speak, our correspondents in Balamb are trying to get a hold of Balamb Garden Headmaster, Cid Kramer, to hear his opinion on this matter. Please stay tuned as…"

Maybe he should…

He couldn't believe what he just heard. He had always thought of them as overrated hotshots who never really deserved the renown of great warriors despite their exploits. Pure stroke of luck they had and nothing more when they defeated Ultimecia, setting them up as champions in the eyes of a world who was fond of worshiping half-baked heroes. Besides, if it weren't for him, those upstarts would never have beaten Vesta.

But he had never thought of them as walking time bombs. On the contrary, he was the one branded as such. Stupid morons! The world didn't know real skill if it was waved before their faces like a banner. Call him a walking time bomb?

Now who was the one in the news for killing a president of Galbadia?

That stupid idiot!

And he'd heard enough. Sorry Fujin, Seifer thought, bringing the Hyperion down hard on the AM/FM radio to split it in half. A tinge of regret radiated from his mind for neglecting to save the CD player.

He had known problematic. Hell, he was famous for it. Seifer was no stranger to being a loose cannon. There was a time two years ago when he assumed dumb status himself and held the late despot Vinzer Deling at knife point in an effort to offer aid to the Forest Owls. But he never really intended to kill the dictator. Give him a good scare, maybe. Abduction? Yeah, he'd go that far. But actual murder? And in front of Rinoa for that matter? What in hell was he thinking?

Seifer paced across the cluttered remains of what used to be the orphanage's dining room, thinking of what to do next. He thought maybe he shouldn't get involved. If Irvine was indeed the one who shot Caraway, he couldn't care less. Maybe Irvine was a mindless moron. Maybe Caraway did something to him, making him deserve his malevolent end.

But… Rinoa…

She didn't deserve any of this.

He was furious at the thought of the only woman he ever loved being caught in the moment of atrocity that made her witness her father's head being punctured by a hollow proof. Rinoa was no toughie. She became a SeeD purely out of Headmaster Cid's good graces, and she never underwent any special training for hardening porcelain nerves. She was as brittle and fragile as they come, and things like this must have been a million nightmares for her. She wasn't built for this.

Seifer feared what the event must have done to Rinoa. He feared and seethed. If it was Irvine who did this, he will pay.

But revenge will have to wait. For now, he must go to the one person who needed his help the most. She may not want it, he admitted. After what he did to her in Lunatic Pandora, and after how she explicitly told him to get out of her life months ago, Seifer realized that he may just be the last thing she needed to see. His mind warred between the desire to help her and the fear of being rejected.

Seifer almost felt amused at himself. He used to ignore other people's rejections as though getting them was second nature to him. But for some obvious reason, when coming from Rinoa, rejection hurt like a mad truck slamming against his bare chest. Seeing her push him away, even at the hour of her great need, might just turn out to be something he couldn't bear to endure.

But then, where was Squall in all this? According to reports, Rinoa was alone when she went to see her late father. And he had been hearing loose rumors from his posse that things haven't been going well with the two. In fact, they thought they heard faint murmurs about a break up. Could it be?

At the onset, he should feel glad about it. But Seifer just can't find it in his heart to rejoice. Not today. Not when his beloved was currently enduring a crisis.

And with Squall out of the picture, his action should be obvious.

It was. To hell with Cid's orders.

I'm going to Deling City.

End of Chapter 21