Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new chapter of Syrenet, Chapter #21: Itching to Play. I've been away for awhile, but that's because my senior year of high school started about two weeks ago and we all know how getting caught in the swoop of things goes. As I'm learning how to drive, between four AP courses, swept into two separate periods of theater, and the general whirlwind of chaos that is someone's Senior year, my time for typing has been pretty minimal. Last chapter was the end of Arc 2, and this shall be the beginning of Arc 3. Arc 2 ended with a season like finale that definitely made things seem either a mix of darkness or hope, your pick. A relationship sparked, there's someone's past being unearthed, and a connection was made. Review replies!
Metroid-Killer- Yeah, not providing spoilers has been the worst thing in the world because I really, really want to tell people about the piece for those reading, but I can't as it's stupid and gives away many of the major twists and turns that this story has. Interesting idea about the Automatic Army. Hold onto it, that may come in handy way down the road. Midna is a wildcard, eh? It would suck if something horrible got thrown in the middle of her plans. And ding! You're correct! Zelda is Sheik's mother figure, and then the father is supposed to be Salvatore, a character in Wind Waker, who runs some throwing like game at a carnival if I recall correctly. Purely there for Zelda Easter Egg references.
Dusk Aura- I'm glad you like this story! If you want to see another one where Roy is pictured quite strongly, go and read a piece of mine called Icarus Chronicle! He's not the lead character, but he's one of the eight main stars of that story, and given the fantasy elements of IC, I'd gander that he's stronger than the Roy in this piece from strength alone.
SeththeGreat- *muses* Okay, interesting thoughts, interesting thoughts. Snake and Robin's role as mentors will continue to rise, and both will play a pivotal role in the turmoil to come. Do you think I'll have them end up as a couple, or it'll turn into a macabre deal? Yep, we have a depressing as f story. That's why I constantly think I'm some one track mind, one trick pony where it's just doom and gloom all around even if there's genuine light heartedness going on. Thanks for your great commentary!
CrashGuy01- I just love referring to Syrenet as a TV show. It gets myself amped up and that's odd considering I'm the one writing it but I digress. Midna, Mac, and Roy may be my actual first real attempt at a love triangle if I can pull it off correctly, but then there needs to be true and full conviction on Roy's part. We know Mac is smitten, but Roy? He might need a little bit more convincing. Since Zelda is Sheik's mother, Tetra is her Wind Waker counterpart, or close enough to it and all I do is place characters in universes in unusual positions and pray it works. Corrin was your least favorite? She was one of my favorites, most definitely next to Shulk. But then again they're all awesome characters. Let's just hope they don't die.
I am taking AP Literature and Composition this year, and I think it'll really start to influence how I write from just getting vast exposure to the types of fiction and styles that are out there. Enjoy the beginning to Arc 3, Chapter #21: Itching to Play.
Sheik rolls around in the sheets, legs tangled up in the bedspread as she laughs and wipes away tears. The shadows dance along the crown molding, reaching for the stars and shooting beyond the tallest snowy capped peaks - her shadow is alive, Sheik Braring is a confirmed Peter Pan nearly two hundred years later - till there is no more room to stretch to.
She sits up and spins the charger cord of her phone around her finger, the cellular device stuck between the left crook of her neck as she twirls away. A long lost colleague from years and years past has their voice filling the speaker, and the blonde's soul has elated to new heights. Seeing the caller ID pop up just as she's about to retire is like a child seeing presents under the Christmas tree. Sheik squeals - god, she feels like she's back in middle school with her antics - and seizes the phone with a newfound electric surge racing through her soul.
Her hair is messy, combed neatly after the shower she had taken, sitting in zany waves down the small of her back. The person on the other end has come up with a code name, and Sheik does likewise for her friend - you never know who's listening, and she's going to want to be more safe than sorry by giving away her real name - which, after not talking to her companion for years and years makes her almost sound like a stranger.
"Amber, that may have been the funniest thing I've ever heard you say!" Sheik giggles into her hand.
The voice on the other end is slightly rougher than she's used to, where in times past it was smooth and full of life, as if now everything joyous in the person's world has been sucked out. Her friend sucks in a breath, and Sheik can hear the laughing on the other end. "I've been waiting to say that for quite some time. I'm glad to see it be put into some use," there's a slight pause from Amber, and the sound of a body shifting. "Have you landed in Chicago yet?"
Sheik looks around her room, and then at the phone. "How do you know that I was headed to Chicago? I haven't told you."
She can feel the smirk poking her. "I have friends," Amber says cryptically.
"Can I learn of who those friends are so I may have a personal detail team?"
"It'd be for the best that you didn't," the voice is sullen, as if worried about the possible consequences. "It could cause some compromises on the other end."
Sheik runs a hand alongside the ends of her sheets, fingers splaying up against the nightstand, digits illuminated by a brightness from above. "I wish I could talk to you face-to-face. It'd make me feel better."
"You know that is also for my safety, Ocarina."
The blonde scowls. "Why did we make that my code name?"
"You've always liked the instrument."
"You're not wrong." Sheik's eyes catch it from the side of a high school band room, and the reflective surface stares back at her. The blonde sees her future in the mirror, a possible future with stars above her head, and water tickling at her feet as a shining sun rises over the horizon.
Amber sighs from her side of the world, the sound of boiling water breaking through the quietness. Sheik has never felt this alone before, this... distanced from someone she cares about in her entire life. If what she is planning on doing happens- no, the rebel leader shakes her head, her mouth going dry. She is not going to think about that yet, it'd be for the worst.
"What are you planning to do in Chicago? Illegal activity?"
"That's what the Syrenet team will call it. It's what the news will call it. But it will be for the best," Sheik grits her teeth, the very mention of the governmental organization sending chills down her spine, each syllable coated in a venomous poison.
"You said the same thing about Oklahoma City and yet your group of rebels killed nearly fifty people," Amber chastises.
Sheik bites on the inside of her cheek. That was not a fun memory for her. That intrusion, only a few months ago in fact, is due to poor hindsight on her part. Her blood is on fire, seeing the instigators and degenerates on that platform declaring their mission statement - 'We're Here To Help is what it says, in big block letters that the blonde burns away with a lighter - all the while, presumably knowing in the back of their minds, they're all lying. The rebel leader sees through the message on the first day it is announced and gets to planning. With conjoined efforts, three primary teams destined to create havoc inside Syrenetic cities are created. The West, which Sheik is still quite angered at for their stint in Portland, is the most aggressive. The Eastern seaboard is pacifist, their base of operations down and throughout the Sun Belt, as leaders of that campaign felt it'd be too risky to put their group so close to D.C, the safeguard of Syrenet itself. Sheik, who finds herself somehow the main figurehead of a rebel group of nearly sixty thousand people, makes the Midwest group somewhere down the middle. Oklahoma City is to never happen again. She knows the loss of life is an unavoidable concept - someone will die from the opposing side, and she's unable to control a 60k mass of people all at once - but it's Sheik's prerogative to have the heads of all the assholes who take exorbitant numbers of lives.
"That was a mistake," she apologizes. "I let things get out of hand. I don't condone the Western group either, for all the atrocities they commit down the Pacific coast! We haven't destroyed factories and leveled entire cities."
"They haven't either," Amber points out.
"Portland."
"Link Collins had it coming. The guy was a slimy asshole."
"Amen to that," Sheik mutters under her breath. She remembers flipping open the suitcases that were meant to be full of weapons, and her shipment of two hundred is shortened down to only one hundred and forty.
"How many did you lose of that deal with him?" Amber asks, as if she can read the blonde's mind on the other end. Sheik snorts through her nose and can see his smug face breaking through, a cigar between his teeth, the wolf-like gaze he's so good at putting on cutting through her like a knife.
"Sixty guns at least."
"And these were going to be used for what, exactly?"
Sheik pauses, furrowing her brow. She's unsure exactly why Amber's question is stunning her, but she tries playing over the schematics of her reasoning for being in Chicago.
1. Find out what cities in the Midwest that the Syrenet team is heading to.
2. Determine if President Corrin Etch is in the group.
3. Eliminate the Syrenet team protecting her if necessary to get at the leader.
4. End Syrenetic operations.
Her response is less than perfect. "Well... we were going to-"
"Let me get this straight," Amber interrupts her. "You flew all the way out to Chicago, where your rebel friends will meet you, and you bought all of these weapons to then not use them?"
"On innocents!"
"If you think Syrenet is an all-evil organization, do you believe everyone working in the program is someone vile?"
"If they get in our way, they're harmed."
"And what's the long term goal?"
"End the program," Sheik says, voice cold. "I can't exactly explain it to you point blank, Amber. Something about what Syrenet is trying to do does not seem right to me. Offering free technological assistance without having us citizens not pay some cost... it's too good to be true and there must be some sort of catch! Either the entire thing is a bad apple, or just the person running it, and that's Corrin! She's slimy!"
"So, let me tell you what I think you're doing," Amber enunciates every word, perhaps on her end squeezing the bridge of her nose to fuel understanding to her brain. "Since Syrenet seems to be less than a positive and benefitting program, despite you not knowing just exactly what it does, you think that by bringing it to heel, it can end everything?"
"Yes..."
"You don't sound quite too sure."
"Do I have to be?" Sheik snaps.
Amber sighs heavily. "I just don't want Ocarina's name appearing in the news as some martyr to a lost cause when in actuality it was harmless in the first place."
Sheik almost throws her phone at the wall. She wants to scream at the ceiling and let it crumble around her. The blonde swears that she is not going insane, and can see right through the snowy snake and her lies. Sure, and it is not a far fetched idea, that Syrenet is supposed to do some true good, but there has to be an underlying reason to why three sections of the country are in open refusal of the promise that Corrin wants to give them. Sheik keeps the phone pressed to her neck, choosing her words carefully.
"What are you telling me exactly, Amber?"
"I'm telling you to think things through. Do you really have any idea why Syrenet seems to be a villain to you? Do you have any idea what it does for people that are actually good things, no strings attached? And... what are you going to do if you're successful at bringing the organization to its heel? You just gonna down the commander in chief to one knee and put a bullet in her brain?"
Amber does not let Sheik answer that question, as the line goes dead with the jarring noise of static disrupting the calm. Sheik jerks the phone away from her ear with a near disgusted reaction. So much for that avenue. The static gets louder inside the blonde's head, coming from every pore and demanding it be heard.
Sheik Braring throws the phone at the wall anyways.
Midna's brow is glistening with perspiration, the agent bent over a counter as she's unable to reach the circuit breaker. After taking two grand steps into the new spot for headquarters, nothing more than a high rise apartment that fits about eight comfortably, Pit thinks he's some electrical genius and his tinkering causes the power to go out. Corrin's groan is the loudest of them all, and she's whirling on the angel, spouting profanities and insults at the brunette until there is no tomorrow. Robin's gentle hand that pushes the president back keeps Corrin at bay, but Pit's blushing and apologizing and asking to be forgiven for his transgression.
After a game of saying 'Not It!' with putting a finger on the nose to declare your innocence, it falls to Midna as she's too focused on the odd and haphazard shaking of the ceiling fan above their heads. It's going to crash and no one is listening to me! We're all gonna die by a damn ceiling fan! Shulk turns on Lucas's disk to give the redhead some help that wouldn't be a screaming president or director, and he goes to take a nap as he quotes, "Life makes me tired." Robin and Corrin set up a miniature office in one of the bedrooms, locking the door and promising to be out before two in the morning. There is business on the rise, is what both white haired women say in synchronization that one would've thought they were Children of the Corn. Midna rolls her eyes, as it's now just her and the digital boy who has more character and life than the grown men she works with.
"Okay!" she calls to Lucas, rising up a little bit too fast and slamming her head against the table she's underneath. She winces, rubbing the sore spot, turning her head to face the AI Unit. Lucas's disk is sitting on a counter in the corner of the room by the kitchen, the blonde boy's eyes closed shut as he examines the wiring system. "It's kind of hard to see, even with a flashlight!"
"I can't manually turn the system on for you, Midna. You can do it!" he encourages, his voice sounding so sweet and genuine. Midna smiles to herself. How can a grumpy sod like Shulk Roberts get paired with the most wholesome and innocent piece of artificial intelligence in all of Syrenet. She is entranced by the idea of an AI Unit, always wanting to have one in the semblance of a wolf. Something about their power draws her in and fascinates her. But it's a silly notion. She isn't even a Syrenet employee. When the entire thing is over, she has to go back to the boring days of being stuffed inside the FBI's muggy offices with stacks of folders as she performs reconnaissance on low-life people who earned that title tenfold.
"Thanks kiddo!" she balances the flashlight on her knee with her left hand, illuminating the breaker in a sheen halcyon light. "Okay, can you see the breaker?"
"Yeah, it looks quite broken."
"Gee, I didn't know that," Midna says sarcastically. As much as Lucas is bright, there's a pile of rocks in every other binary zero to every gem in his programming. "There are a few switches, but their writing is faded so I can't make out what it says."
Lucas's eyes gloss over as he zooms his vision in. "They read Outhouse, Kitchen, Bedroom #3, and Main System!" he then frowns, "What type of apartment has an outhouse?"
"Main System?" the redhead bangs her head against the table once more, stifling a swear that would've caused her parents to backhand her with a flip flop.
"I believe so! That'd wire the lights for the entire apartment."
Midna reaches out and flicks the fourth switch back to the right, the colored square shifting from a stalwart gray to a more luminous shade red, that underneath the darkness of the table, represents a cardinal glow. She smiles slightly, thinking of Roy's hair, but then a taste of Mac's lips clash with hers and Midna's blushing heavily, banging her head on the table. The pain flares up from the spot of impact, spreading around like fungal spores, and soon the entire cranial surface is throbbing with a dull pain.
"Dammit!" she swears.
"You okay?" Lucas asks concernedly, his vision returning to normal.
"Yeah, it's nothing," Midna motions at the table. She tried removing it to get to the breaker, which for some odd reason is placed lower on the wall than in the middle, but it is bolted to the wall and there are blisters appearing on her hands by the crook of her thumbs. The redhead rubs the spots tenderly, hissing. "I just banged my head against the bottom of the table a few times. I'm fine."
"Let me see!"
"It's fine, Lucas, I'm fine," Midna insists.
"Please? I care about everyone, and if you're injured, I'd rather you not bleed out."
"I didn't get head wounds-" she blinks, and then chuckles lowly. "You're too perfect for this world, Lucas, I swear," Midna says sweetly, and obeys. She crouches up against the counter, lowering her head so Lucas can see. The blonde wants to run his hands through her hair, just to feel, he wants to feel and taste the beauty of the true human world. It's been so long since he felt the hard metal of a door, or the comforting linens of a bedspread... the pain in his heart subsides only when he wants it to. He's seen genuine love. Corrin Etch and Cloud Gladwell. Shulk Roberts and Fiora Roberts. Oh Fiora, even the clouds mourn for you and the grass weeps as your likes are never to cross this planet ever again...
He examines the head wound. "It won't bleed out, but you should let Shulk or Snake patch it up at least. They're some nasty bumps and cuts."
Midna nods, rising back up. The light above the counter, nothing more than a cap screwed into the roof, pops on, scaring her and causing the agent to jump. She stutters a nervous laugh, opening up the refrigerator. To her dismay - Midna is feeling a glass of Chardon right about now. Rebooting circuit breakers and almost getting concussions is dangerous and thirsting work - all that there is stocked are bottles of water. A wave of plastic continuously flows and for miles she sees the crinkled paper of the label, and the shimmering liquid of life.
She grabs a water bottle and shuts the fridge. "I'll see how I'm feeling and if I feel dizzy, I'll let Shulk check it out," Midna takes a swig, placing the cap on the counter. She notices Lucas staring at her. Not in a creepy way by any means, but with a tilted head and lips parted open. A confused expression is on the AI Unit's face, as if he's trying to solve the world's hardest algorithm and it by chance involves the redhead. "What?"
"I noticed that you're very pretty," Lucas shuffles his shoes on the disk.
Midna blushes herself, placing the water bottle down. "I'm flattered, kiddo. Thank you."
"I've wanted to be able to date for a long time," the blonde says sadly, then he flips his arms over to stare at the pale undersides. "I can't exactly transform myself into a human... so... I just long for what I see."
The FBI agent freezes from going to take another sip. She knows his words all too well. It is a dark and stormy night - at least this story of hers does not turn into a time travelling fantasy, but one of genuine heartbreak - and Midna tiptoes down the stairs of her two story house to the kitchen, as she's craving a glass of chocolate milk, and her six year-old self has not got accustomed to the fact that milk at midnight is not the best thing for bed. Loud, loud voices rise from the living room, which she has to pass to get into the kitchen, and there are shadows dancing in frenzied movements along the wall. The six year-old girl peers around the corner and witness her father, a burly man who could bench press 350, punch her mother square across the jaw. There's no flying of teeth, no spraying of blood, but her mother collapses to the carpeted floors with a wail. Midna watches with fascination, her mind incapable of comprehending that what is going on is not love, but a brutal form of disrespect and the worst type of experience a couple can encounter. However, she's puzzled slightly at how her father then leans down and whispers something in her mother's ear. Her mother responds by shifting her pants - Midna is unable to see that far as the bright living room lights make it hard to see - and then both of her parents are rutting together in a new frenzied motion that the girl turns herself away from as it feels dirty to watch. This is her idea of what love between a husband and wife is.
The next day, she looks across the playground at the boy who's caught her eye forever, as the way his hair curls and the way he smiles makes Midna feel warm inside, and she marches over with a steel lunchbox and slams it against the side of his face. Before she's dragged away, the boy she supposedly likes is ending up with a broken rib and several teeth being ripped free.
Midna jars herself away from the memory.
"I used to long for the wrong type of love," she admits to the AI Unit, who had gone eerily quiet as her mind worked. "Be grateful that you can't experience it, Lucas. It's painful, and it normally does not end well. There are exceptions, but I haven't experienced any of those."
Lucas nods, his face stern and pensive as he's deep in thought, and then his face brightens explicitly. "Why didn't you go with the rest of the guys downtown?"
What the blonde is referring to, is as Midna and Lucas task away to fix the circuit breaker, Snake claps his hands together and asks the gentlemen centered around the room whether or not a bar is calling their fancy. Ike takes to it right away, nudging Marth who is much calmer than earlier on the plane, and soon round goes the agreement where even Mac sullenly says he'll go along just to be with company. The male group, minus Shulk, depart, and Midna knows in her head that all six of those men will stumble into the new headquarters belligerently shouting and shitfaced drunk.
"Well, I got roped into helping you, and I there's plenty more nights while we're here when I can go drinking with them," she answers. Part of Midna's body is aching not only for a glass of Chardon, but also a vodka gin and tonic where the alcohol splashes at the back of her throat with a satisfying burn that does not go away till her neck is on fire with the life of ecstasy and euphoria.
Lucas sits down on his disk, and Midna realizes just how small he is in comparison to everything. Pit couldn't happen to program him slightly bigger than maybe a foot or so? The blonde chews on his lower lip, looking to the ceiling fans that spin and spin as if the revolving manner can joy his memory. "I'm confused..."
"About what?" Midna takes another sip of her water.
"You said that you don't want me to experience love as it is painful," he looks at her, giving a thousand yard stare that spikes straight through Midna's soul, a chill running through her body. "If it's been unfavorable for you... then why are you seeking a relationship with Mac and Roy?"
The redhead chokes on her water, sputtering as droplets splatter against the tile. "I'm sorry?"
"If love is painful, then why are you pursuing a relationship with Mac and Roy?"
Midna runs the question over in her head again, and stutters out a nervous laugh. "I- uh, wow, that's quite a question for you to ask. Who told you that I was dating either one of them?"
"Shulk."
"Shulk?" Midna raises an eyebrow.
"He blabs to me about a lot of stuff," Lucas shrugs nonchalantly. "He says that you and Mac are- actually he uses a far more crude word than what I wish to say, but he says it's also called shagging. So you and Mac are shagging," Midna blushes profusely at the innocent boy's words, he doesn't know, he doesn't know what he's saying. "And that Roy is totally cuckoo for you and apparently you may be cuckoo for him."
As the FBI agent is so caught up in the fact an apparent eleven year-old boy ratted out an adult on her nocturnal activities, she doesn't catch the tidbit about Roy and it flies past her ears. "Well, what I'll say to you is that Shulk does not know what he's talking about. If you have any questions about my personal life, you come to me instead. Not him. Cut him off if he starts talking about it, actually."
"But isn't that rude?"
"It's rude that he's talking about my love life behind my back," Midna points out.
"But why do you, then?" Lucas asks, bowling over the redhead's statement on what is rude and what constitutes as generally good conversation.
"Do what?" Midna is not falling for the same trick again, keeping one hand around the water bottle and not bringing it to her lips.
"Shag with Mac?"
Midna lets a groan loose that sinks to the soles of her feet, grinding her heel into the tile as the noise gets louder. She hangs her head low, hair ghosting the counter edge. She wants the lights to bust out again, let the crippling rosy pink on her cheeks fade with the shadows and let this conversation be erased forever from her memory.
"Mac and I- I'm not quite sure what he and I have necessarily. We've only done what you're describing twice. I'm not married to him, and I'm not quite sure if I'd even say we're dating, as I've spoken to him five times tops," she explains. "Mac is very handsome, and besides what seems to be crippling jealousy of Roy, he's what I look for in a guy. He's sweet, funny, strong, brave, and numerous other things! I didn't think anything of him after our first encounter we had, but my mind may have changed. So, yeah... I hope that helps." Midna downs more of the water bottle, the plastic crunching up in on itself.
Lucas nods. "It does!" The two sit in silence, Lucas making another pensive thinking face, and the rising of dread starts to build in Midna's stomach. "I do have one more question, though, if I can ask it."
"Go ahead."
"Does it hurt?"
Midna promptly spit takes all over the counter, dropping the water bottle to the ground with a clatter.
The loud tearing sound of gauze being stripped fills the patches of emptiness in Shulk's bedroom, the blonde holding the thick tape of white bandages as Midna bends her head to show him the cuts and bumps. Lucas looks over at the duo with concerned puppy dog eyes. A bald light bulb swings above them as the proceedings take place. Shulk can't even remember the dream he is roused from only minutes ago. He sees it still, locked behind his eyes, but there's no motion. A still image produces memories, but not tangible ones he can hold onto and taste.
"What did you do again?" he asks Midna, tearing off a strip of gauze and gently placing it against her scalp.
"She banged her head against an underside of a table," Lucas answers for her. "Numerous times."
"The grown woman can speak, Lucas."
Shulk is unable to do anything for the bumps, gently tapping one. Midna hisses, her hands, which are placed on the commander's knees to keep herself steady, digging fingernails in like claws. "Ouch..." she mutters.
"Does that hurt?"
"Like hell."
"I think the only thing we have for head bumps is ice."
"Ice never works," Midna grumbles.
Shulk backs away, letting Midna stand. The redhead gingerly touches the top of her skull, wincing ever so slightly at each poke and prod, pain flaring up and riveting down nerves and waking synapses back to life. Lucas rises to one knee on his disk, a still all too sweet smile on his face.
"How does it feel?" he asks gingerly.
Midna grits her teeth harshly, rubbing the spot over and over again as if her head is a rug. "Still hurts, but I bashed my head against that thing a lot, so I don't know what I'm supposed to be expecting here," she says to the AI Unit, and then to Shulk, "Thank you. It was all his idea."
"I figured," Shulk makes a shrug with his shoulders. "He's... he's able to tell when people need help and comfort, and Lucas always makes sure to be the one who at least attempts to take care of others. Since he can't physically hold things, that makes it kind of hard, but you get the gist."
The redhead smiles abashedly, blushing somewhat. She leans down to look into Lucas's eyes, the AI Unit backing off as if they were together in some sort of stand-off. Shulk watches as his best friend's emotive state flickers between curiosity, fear, and happiness in a matter of three or four seconds. For a moment both human and artificial intelligence are on the same level, one is not smarter than the other, one is not flawless, one is not messy, but equals in the stare that they share. Lucas shuffles his foot awkwardly against the disk.
"And thank you, Lucas, for suggesting Shulk look at my wound," Midna says sweetly, and her womanly motherly instincts kick in and she seemingly places a kiss on Lucas's forehead. Although Shulk has no idea how that must even feel - if there's any intention of touch between a digital computer and a live body as it is - but perhaps one of a ghost running through someone's body, but the feeling they leave behind isn't an emptiness but a warmth, that someone has connected with them.
"You're- you're welcome," the AI Unit squeaks. As Midna leans down, he tenses, but subtly sees her mouth however over his cranial region. He's asked enough people in Syrenet what their actions were: a kiss, and then a blush surmounts to his cheeks. They're tinged with a bright and rosy scarlet, eyes unsure of where to dance and hold onto. His mind is in a frenzied state, as he is able to understand that Midna has kissed him tenderly, but there's nothing coming in to say it's been registered. All Lucas wants is to be loved like anyone else. Comforting and fleeting words are one thing. Touch is another.
Midna rises back to her full stride, still smiling warmly. "I'm going to see if I can possibly call one of the guys and join them on their drinking escapade."
"Wouldn't your wound make that not a very smart idea?"
She shrugs. "If I die from blood loss and alcoholic impairment, least I died having fun," Midna laughs, and before Shulk or Lucas can say another word, she flies away with a cackle out of the room, her auburn locks reminding Shulk of blood, and then the color leaves his lips.
He stumbles back, gripping the edge of his bed frame, keeping his eyes bared into the floor as the carpet begins to move. No. No. She's fine. She's not- Fiora isn't- All is- Nothing's good. The walls crumble and collide into each other, and he is no longer able to see Lucas's sky blue halo any longer, but there is now a darkness that sits there, with a cardinal center that flashes, Jupiter's Great Storm paling in comparison to the dastard effect this red light has on Shulk's soul. He closes his eyes, breathing in and out, expecting to hear Lucas's voice break through the dull roar of blood in his ears, but there's nothing.
Just like all the life gone in Fiora's hand at the funeral.
Nothing.
Shulk reopens his eyes slowly, the noise starting to die down. The room comes back to normal, and Lucas is still stuck in his spot, but his frame is unmoving. His lips are parted, and slowly ever so slightly moving apart, hands stilled to the sides. Nothing else about the room seems amiss, as if the AI Unit being lost in thought as caused the entire world to be doused in a gem of amber. The commander looks down at the floor, slightly embarrassed. Here he is having some sort of hallucination and no one around him is capable of seeing anything.
Something about his best friend's state bothers him.
"Lucas?" he asks. "What are you doing?"
The blonde boy blinks confusedly, his eyes shutting rapidly like an eclipse that happens so fast you are unable to see it. He blushes again - Shulk has seen too many people blush far too often the past couple of days. Cupid is busy - and goes back to sitting on his desk, a look of innocence on his face, diamond eyes mirroring the emotion of frustration.
"Midna told me about her and Mac, and now I'm really confused."
"What exactly about her and Mac?" Shulk prods.
"What you told me."
"I tell you lot's of things, bud, and I hardly remember what I ate for breakfast this morning, so you'll have to do better than that," the commander says. That is true, inside Shulk's mind. Lucas's face creases into worry, and the blonde man has the heart to correct himself and say that he does remember, because in actuality he does. He had a raisin bran muffin and two bananas for breakfast because one wasn't enough. Part of him is compelled to lie, as if lying keeps the world balance in check and that no one will start to question him or his motives.
Lucas runs a hand down his pant leg. "It's kind of dirty..."
"It won't faze me."
The boy blushes profusely, biting on his lower lip. "Midna explained why she and Mac have, as what you've called, shagging. Or, in her terms, sex. And that it hurts."
This isn't exactly what Shulk has in mind as what Lucas constitutes as dirty. He sits back down on his bed, shocked about the words coming out of his AI Unit's mind. He's expecting some sort of cuss word, like 'shit' or maybe a longer expletive on why Midna may call the Alpha Commander a 'bastard', but Shulk has his gears grind. He remembers, the first time he got drunk with Roy that morning he had picked him up from the hospital, that he stumbles into the headquarters for a nap and instead spills the beans to Lucas on Midna's nocturnal activities.
It takes the light out of Lucas's eyes, as if what he is hearing is horrifying and should be locked away in a dungeon miles deep beneath the Earth's crust. Shulk is giggling into his bedside pillow back at headquarters, and now looking forward, in hindsight, his words have come to bite him back in the ass.
He leans forward, hands on his knees. "Okay... so now that Midna explained to you about, well, sex... what is making you confused?"
"She tried kissing me, right?" Lucas asks.
"Yes. She pressed her lips to some part of your face. That is a kiss," Shulk defines the romantic action.
"Is she possibly in love with me?"
"Infatuation, perhaps. You're not that hard to fall in love with, buddy," the commander smiles warmly, wanting to reach over and ruffle the boy's hair. Lucas is the child he's never had, the son he's wanted, the prodigal person in the family to bring sunshine and rainbows back onto the Roberts family name as Shulk as gone through and desecrated all that is holy about his upbringing. "It isn't exactly crazy to say maybe Midna Nye is taken by our two foot tall AI Unit. You're a charmer."
"But isn't Midna in love with Mac?"
"It's not what I would call it, but we can go with it."
"So, if Midna is in love with Mac, but also in love with me, does that mean she loves both of us?"
"If you wish it to be that way, then yes... what's the point you're trying to make here?" Shulk looks at his best friend, not quite getting where the boy is taking this interesting road trip of thought. There's much to be desired sometimes in how Lucas's brain works, given he is to be smarter than anyone on the Syrenet staff, but what he's learned from his memories as a human, to what Pit has programmed in, means that what has been skipped over is added through his interactions with other. Again, case in point, such as the act of sexual intercourse.
Lucas takes a deep breath, and then comes the million dollar question. "Since she has performed sex with Mac, and she loves him, and since sex is an act two people make when they love each other, does Midna want to have sex with me since she may love me?" He looks up at Shulk, his commander, his soldier, and frowns. Shulk's facial expression is displaying beyond disbelief, but one out of the stratosphere at the question, where even the stars and gods above are incapable of giving an answer.
"No! Oh good lord Lucas, no! That is not what Midna meant!"
Shulk's laughing so loud he's sure the president can hear him through the plastered walls, where satellites will get record of his joyous expression. Whales in the deep will be amused, and the birds above will believe a hawk is on their tale. Children will rouse from nightmares as the blonde madman laughs and laughs, the airy noise taken by the wind, and then exemplified by Lucas's confused expression of his own, head tilted.
The commander is unable to keep his laugh in, placing a hand over his stomach and wiping at his eyes. He's unsure exactly what has gone on between the two of them in this exchange, but it has been spelled out loud and clear for him that he needs to start censoring himself around Lucas, or otherwise the poor and befuddled boy will take everything he's been told to heart, and that is a disaster waiting to happen, something Shulk can avoid if he keeps his mouth sealed.
And all poor Lucas can do there is sit there and start to giggle with Shulk, his mind entirely innocent.
Which may turn out to be false. Lucas's mind is not to stay innocent for too long.
The sounds of chinking glasses fill the illuminatingly lit bar, the cacophonous and boisterous cries of six men clanging together like pots and bans. The clocks around the bar signify that is nearing midnight, and the wild group of six Syrenet employees have managed to run everyone out of the bar. Both bartenders shake their head as the buff bluenette on one end bangs the counter down with his fist and demands for another round. Then a shouting match from one end to the other resumes, a cheeky redhead with hair roaring like an erupting volcano, demanding that there be no more drinks poured for Ike Forgenson, as he's had enough, and in Roy's own words, "Soon he'll be pissing himself that he can't stand straight!"
All through it all, FBI director Snake Karlo sits at his bar stool, head in hands as he groans for the catastrophe he's created here. He's been drinking with FBI employees for quite some time, but apparently the Syrenet men take it one step too far and somehow clear out an establishment. Snake's gun - he's the only one who brought his weapon with him, alongside the badge in case some legal issues arise - claps against his hip, a constant reminder of the obligation he has to the five other gentlemen alongside him.
On his right is Mac, the man partaking in conversation, but his skin is still bright and not flushed red with the buzz of alcohol or the drugged euphoria of madness and insanity caused by vodka tonics and margaritas. He's laughing with everyone, but in his eyes Snake can see the partial disgust, as he knows the secret service agent's been in this sort of predicament before. Throes of people screaming at the top of their lungs, amber yellow streams flowing freely, a slipped foot off of a table, a crash, glass on the floor, blood, and before anyone can register what has happened, chaos has taken the bar into a choke hold.
Sitting next to Snake on his left is Marth, the wiry bluenette reaching across the bar for his fifth beer, but the FBI director takes it from his grasp before the Beta commander can put his lips to the glass. "I think that's enough for one night," the older man pats Marth on the back, giving the drink back to the bartender. As it passes underneath Mac's nostrils, the man's face switches to a grim puke green, and for a second Snake thinks they're be bile and vomit spreading all over this lovely mahogany counter.
"You're- you're no fun..." Marth whines, rubbing his head up against the inside crook of his left arm which is sprawled out underneath him.
"I don't want anyone getting killed," Snake nods curtly, and continues to drink the rest of his iced tea. Though it is his idea in the first place, the Syrenet ragtag team has been at the bar for almost four hours, and it doesn't seem like the fun times are going to stop unless divine intervention from up above swoops down and gives a holy decree. Corrin's words to Midna's question at the conference a few days earlier hits him like the striking of a bell.
You're representing Syrenet. Do not tarnish our reputation before we even get a foothold in the ground.
Snake rubs at his face and gives off a loud groan. Mac looks over in concern, then chucking slightly as he brings the straw in his glass of water to his lips to take a sip. "Are you just know realizing the problem you've caused?"
"Yes. And I sorely regret it... Even more than my first wedding, and that did not end well."
A hand clamps down on Mac's shoulder, and the secret service agent jumps, almost punching poor Pit in the face who was the one behind him. Mac reels, pausing as his fist is a few inches from the technician's face, and he freezes. Pit's expression does not flicker, or give away any sort of registry to anything. All he does is blink. Pit has a beer clenched sloppily in his left hand, gesturing wildly with it as some alcohol splatters to the floor.
"Why aren't you drinking anything, Mazzzzz..." With Pit's lack of composure and slur, the name of Mac changes to Ma with an extra Z added to the end, drawn out like a snake hiss.
"I was an alcoholic before I joined Syrenet," Mac answers. "I just got out of AA only a few years ago, and I've been cold turkey ever since, Pit. So, I'm not drinking, because that pathway caused me too much trouble."
"Mood killer..." Pit mutters to himself, stumbling past Snake and falling in between Marth and Ike who are bent over the counter, crying hysterically about some joke between a zebra and a giraffe walking into a bar. A natural classic.
Over at the end of the group of six is Roy, who's seat is looped around the bar counter so he can look at the three idiots in the far corner laugh their hearts out. Snake's more than sullen expression causes him to worry, as the FBI director is someone who seems to have their emotions mean serious things. He's still surprised that Mac even agreed to go, and even sit so close to the redhead, unsure of where he stands because of Midna being a deciding wedge between them.
He is not as intoxicated as the lovely trio Ike, Marth, and Pit, but the redhead has tossed back a two shots of double whiskey already, moreso taking a gander at the dart board and proving that his hand-to-eye coordination is the best in the business. Roy's limit is at three shots, the third shot glass clutched in his left hand as he moves it about, but unlike Pit, it is staying in the glass. His cheeks are slightly burning with the flush of alcohol, but the images in front of him are not wavering, and the colors do not seem brighter than the sun itself.
"Sorry that we've caused a ruckus," he calls across the bar to Snake and Mac, to whichever will react first.
"I'm just getting serious cases of deja vu..." Mac murmurs. Roy notices that there's a slight edge to voice, frowning slightly, but he doesn't say anything.
Snake smiles warmly, shrugging. "I was the one to suggest it, so I am to be the one to pick up the pieces." As soon as he speaks those words, the phone in his pocket buzzes. The FBI director pulls the cellular device out, peering at it. He's had a single beer to drink, and bought a hamburger to go with it, so he's absolutely fine. The message is from Robin, and it seems to be drawn out and typed in a way that only the vice president can detail messages.
It reads, Sorry to interrupt any of the fun you're having. Corrin and I have been discussing some of the events we have planned out while we're on this trip, and then Corrin realized what time it is. There's a big day planned tomorrow and she'd like all six of you guys back to the apartment so the hangovers can subside before the afternoon. Corrin is glad that you're the only one who brought a weapon, as if any of the other guys who must be intoxicated at this point had a weapon... who knows what consequences we'd be enduring. Walk safely, and don't let any of them drive. Be back before one, or Corrin will probably kill us all.
The FBI director looks up from his phone. "Okay boys! The president personally has told me that our asses need to be back at the new headquarters before one o'clock or we're all dead."
A loud groan comes from the party trio. "She's a witch!" Marth howls. "I just had a panic attack earlier today! Now I want to have some respite and fresh air and she throws it in our faces that has to ruin our fun. Screw her..." the bluenette scowls, clunking down Ike's drink that he had stolen and nearly falling off the bar stool.
"Hear, hear!" Ike exclaims, the stupidest expression plastered on his face.
Snake and Mac lock eyes, both men rolling them. Roy considers finishing the rest of his drink, hand hesitating, but he gives it back to the bartender. The FBI director hops off of his barstool and goes to the redhead. "How impaired are you?"
"I'd be confident in saying I wouldn't trust myself in driving a car, but I can walk fine," Roy nods, eyes alert, but slightly dulled with an amber tint.
"Can you make sure Marth doesn't walk into a fire hydrant?" Snake asks Mac, the secret service agent nodding, although he certainly does not seem too happy about that.
"I'll help Pit. He's the least intoxicated out of all of them as he has really bad tolerance to this sort of stuff..." Roy says, and goes over to the technician, looping an arm through the angel's crook, the guy so buzzed he doesn't even notice.
"And since Ike is the biggest, and I'm the strongest of you three, I've got him."
The sober men split ways and each tag onto a buddy. Snake waves at the bartender with a hearty wave, the man rude enough to not wave back as if that is actually hurting the brunette's feelings, but all the same a kind gesture wouldn't hurt. He shrugs noncommittally and pushes the door back to the outside open. Mac leads Marth through, Marth stumbling this way and that, bumping into Mac's shoulder every once and awhile, but the secret service agent is having a pleasant conversation about the thickness of jellies and jams with the bluenette, so all is good in that corner.
The warm air of Chicago hits Snake's arm, like a sudden blast of heat, and the hazy sky of Tehran and the smoke stacks and cobblestone streets of Casablanca hit him, the smells of exotic dough filling his nostrils like old times sake. The sextet of men - although one can hardly call the group musicians - hobble along the empty streets, seemingly enough the eerie quiet bothering Snake has chills slide down his spine.
It's quiet out. Too quiet.
"You'd think there'd be slightly some more buzz out here," he mentions aloud to Mac and Roy. "It's downtown Chicago, it isn't super late out, and we just came from a bar. Am I the only one noticing this?"
"It's oddly strange, I'll admit," Mac agrees.
"Perhaps there's a city-wide holiday going on tomorrow that everyone needs to be alert for," Roy guesses.
"The whole city?"
"It's a suggestion."
Ike rouses up against Snake's left shoulder, murmuring something into the director's neck. Warm consonants flutter hazily towards the street lamps, a strange homely feeling washing over Snake, and he stirs, nudging Ike's head up so it isn't depilating him from leading the bluenette forward. Snake's gun nudges against Ike's waist due to the movement, the bluenette grunting.
"Dude, is that an erection?" Ike slurs, his voice half disgusted.
"No, Ike, that's my gun..." Snake whispers.
Suddenly, the added and extra weight of Ike vanishes off of the director's shoulder. One minute, there's pressure of a two hundred pound grown man weighting heavily on one side of his body, and the next, nothing. A pained cry fills Snake's ears, and he realizes that there are people leaping out of the shadows in the crevice of buildings, unable to be seen as the light is not covering them.
One man is wrestling Ike to the ground, the bluenette's intoxicated state leaving him helpless to really fight back, the foe wrapping his leg around the larger man in a headlock. Ike sputters, trying to wrench the man's leg off so he can breathe, the leg tightening and tightening like a boa constrictor. The rest of the group is struggling as well. A group of four guys swarm Marth and Mac, one bashing the other bluenette in the face repeatedly with his fists, downing Marth up against a lamp post. Marth goes limp, his head colliding into the metal hard enough to knock him unconscious. However, as the four then do with a lack of prepping, attack Mac.
The secret service agent, who although does not have his gun on him - in hindsight, Mac is taking the weapon with him everywhere - his fists can do enough talking. He swings left and punches a guy in the jaw, throwing him against the side of a building. One tries grabbing Mac's arms, wrenching them behind his back while another takes potshots at his stomach. Mac groans in pain, his face turning murderous as he bashes his head back against the guy holding him down. There's the crack of bone, Mac must've exerted enough force to break the appendage, and he wrenches the guy at the one who had punched him, throwing both to the ground.
Snake watches in fascination as Roy has placed Pit on the ground and is protecting him, fighting with his fists against a foe who pulls out a switchblade. The water in the director's mouth goes dry, and he rushes forward to be blocked by a foe much larger than he is. Roy ducks as the man swipes at his head, the redhead pummeling into the guy's stomach. His foe lets out a gasp of pain as Roy tries wrenching the knife free, it slashing down and cutting his arm. The redhead swears heavily, however not having any time to look at or address the wound unless the next stab is in his stomach and he bleeds out. Roy blocks another swipe of the knife with his wrists crossing together, the blade between his spaced fingers, before wrenching the knife over to the side which clatters against a stone building.
The director sees an opening, as Mac is starting to take every other person who dares challenge him with swing after swing, to the guy in front of him that is much larger. This guy is clearly the leader of the attacking gang, whomever they belong to. Snake pulls out his gun, firing a single shot into the air. Everyone, including Roy and Mac, duck, terrified at the sudden loud noise. The burlier guy in front of Snake freezes, and that's his chance.
He goes for the taller man's backside, slamming the butt of the gun into the guy's neck, causing the foe to hunch over. Snake grabs the man by the throat, pinning him against him, pressing the cold barrel of the pistol against his head.
"Everyone stand down!" he roars.
All the action ceases. Ike's attacker lets go of his hold, pushing away from the bluenette who is swearing. Mac lowers his fists, breathing ragged, and he goes to Marth, checking his pulse. The secret service agent's face is grim, closing his eyes sadly. Marth is unresponsive, but his chest rises and falls. Roy winces as he examines his cut, going to get the knife on the ground, still pointing it at his attacker. Pit gets to his feet, still rubbing at his eyes. Snake tightens his grip, pressing the gun deeper into the guy's temple.
"What's your name?" he hisses at the man stuck in his chokehold.
"Go to hell," the guy growls back.
Mac sucker punches him, and a few of the other men stir. The guy Mac punched reels, trying to throw Snake off of him. The FBI director is not playing any games. "You or anyone else tries playing some funny business, I have a bullet for them. I already shot arms dealer Link Collins for threatening two of my agents. How do you think I feel about a group of nine guys threatening five? What. Is. Your. Name?"
The guy refuses to answer, Mac readying his fists. Snake cocks the gun, and the man in his arms jumps. "Zant! The name's Zant!"
Snake grits his teeth. "Well, Zant, do you happen to have any idea who we are?"
"The Syrenet assholes!" a guy growls, the one by Roy. The redhead brandishes the knife threateningly, ready to swipe if necessary.
The FBI director wants to point his pistol at the idiot who dares to speak, but Zant seems testy and Mac may not have enough time to reach Snake before something drastic happens and the gun is taken from him. "You attacked Snake Karlo, the director of the FBI, gentlemen," he enunciates, making sure to eye every man down. "I don't think President Corrin will be happy to hear that her elite men were nearly killed by some hoodlums. Who hired you to ambush us?"
Zant spits at Snake's feet. "As if I'd tell a government idiot-"
Snake slams the gun against the guy's neck, a howl of pain coming from the captive. "WHO HIRED YOU?" he roars.
"We don't work for anybody," Zant spats. "We're part of the rebels! The rebels meant to overthrow you! And we will too!" the captive hisses.
"And how's that going to happen?" Mac taunts. "You very well can't do anything if you're dead."
The FBI director does not have time for games. "I'm going to let you go, Zant, and you take your posse and leave me and my team alone. If you try attacking me or anyone else here now or ever again while we're here in Chicago, I'll have named bullets for you. Do you understand?" No response. "Do. You. Understand?" Snake twists Zant's arm. "Answer me!"
"Ye- yes..." Zant croaks out, the constant pain bringing the man nearly to his knees.
Snake tightens his grip again, feeling the bulb of the Adam's apple coarse against his hand, Ike starting to wake from his chokehold, seeming to become more awake. "You tell whatever bastard who sent you that I am ready for any rebel scum who tries to stop our project here in Chicago. If they wish to stop us from helping this community, unlike you guys who are causing chaos, they're more than welcome to be on the battlefield. Instead of sending their peons and acting like cowards from some dark room. Will you do that?"
"I will," Zant agrees.
"Good," Snake nods. He lets go, pushing Zant as strongly as he good. Mac gives resounding glares to the other men situated behind Snake who aren't in his line of fire, Roy pulling the knife back out. "Now get the hell out of my sight or I'll start shooting," None of the men react. "Now!" Snake fires another warning shot.
The ragtag group of rebel attackers flee for the hills, some injured, others walking off scot free. Zant stumbles away, and soon the bodies mesh back into the darkness, and their rancid stink is gone from the area. Snake exhales heavily, an enormous load of pressure releasing off of his shoulders. When he fought Link's men in the plant, he knew in his mind that most of the fighters wouldn't actually kill him, Midna, or Roy. With the rebel forces here, however, he knows that since even one of them was armed beyond simple fists, blood was to drawn, and lives were to be lost. Snake places his gun back into the holster.
He marches over to Ike, holding out a hand. Roy goes over to Pit, talking in hushed tones as the world continues to spin for the technician. Mac goes back to Marth and checks his pulse.
"How is he?" Ike asks worriedly, crease lines furrowing into his brow.
"Marth's knocked out," Mac admits. "No broken bones or a concussion, but I'll have to throw him over my shoulder." The secret service agent picks up Marth like he's a sack of flour and lugs him over his shoulder.
"That was insane," Pit exhales shakily, rubbing his arms.
"How's the cut?" Snake looks at Roy, who is examining the wound, leaking a steady crimson, but it doesn't seem that bad.
Roy's face is perhaps more creased than Ike's. "I'm okay. Nothing a few stiches or bandages that Shulk couldn't fix. You?" he regards to Mac.
"My fist hurts. From breaking that guy's nose."
"Snake?" Ike looks at the director, the room still spinning, the world still gray.
The director doesn't respond. "Snake?" Roy urges, stepping towards him.
The brunette looks confused, brow furrowed together as he tries to think. He keeps a hand on the gun, looking around warily at the shadows nestled in the corners. "How did any sort of rebel force know that we're here? We didn't say anything, or announce it on the media," he gives another gaze, eyes frightened like a deer in the headlights. "Let's get out of here. Nothing good happens if we stay."
The group of six begin to run, and above them, a blood moon shines in the sky.
From afar, a man counts the end of days, and from nearby, a woman sits in her hotel room and cries.
It seems that the whole world is itching to play.
And there we are ladies and gents! Holy cow, that was Chapter #21: Itching to Play. I swear to you guys I'm not trying to make these chapters so long! It just seems like the beginning of Arc 3 is as long as the end of Arc 2, so quite an explosive 'opening' eh? There are a few things to cover, but mainly this was a chapter to determine who has a big role, and who doesn't, but since everyone is one place together we'll be getting a lot of hash.
Who do you believe is Sheik's contact, 'Amber'? If you think hard about it and connect it to what Snake now says at the end, it'll help. Do you have any more thoughts on Sheik's parents, and is there some sort of hidden story I'm alluding to. What I'm going for with her character, is that she is a hotheaded idealist who wants to make a change, but she hasn't thought all too much about it.
Lucas is going to be playing a bigger role in these next two arcs, something I'm quite excited for. It also is fun to have some shameless comedy about sex with his innocence as I think he having a friendly relationship with someone other than Shulk can make the world a better place, and happier. Do you agree with Midna's view on love? Her character is going to be quite at war with herself on more than just romance, but that'll come to pass.
It seems like there is much more in life that causes Shulk to be reminded of his wife. Fiora's demise will be cleared eventually, in time, but it'll happen later, a lot later. Lucas wanting to feel human emotion is something that is quite hard to represent, but I'm trying my best. He wants what everyone else doesn't have and it is bothering him to the point he is easily distracted. He had a true friend in Ness, another respective AI Unit, but here there is nothing else but Shulk who cannot necessarily sympathize with him.
Originally, this closing scene was to be the first scene, which would pull out the punches way too early. I want to represent the male dynamic between the six guys + Shulk this arc, as this is where the main comfortable interactions take place. Having Mac and Snake be the designated drivers is fun. I'm trying to get Roy some boosted confidence here, so we're all on a clean slate. I also haven't gotten to show Snake's leadership, so this fight actually was fun to type, I loved it. Are the fates of certain characters at stake, you think?
I have to go, so thank you very much for reading! Please review and let me know what you thought! I'll be posting Chapter #22: Ferocious and Frozen, sometime next week and everything else will culminate. Sorry that this chapter was so long, since I haven't been here in a long time. Have an amazing day! Love you all! Bye!
~ Paradigm