Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new chapter of Syrenet, Chapter #34: The Canary and the Viper, which I suppose I am being entirely too on the nose about, but eh, I digress. Just like all the last two chapters before this, there is to be a lot that goes on since the end is near... last chapter dealt with Ike and Pit going into the sewers after Shulk and Roy, the fight above ground in Detroit getting worse, Robin getting taken, Midna falling lower underground, Ganondorf speaking to Lucas inside the AI Unit disc, Ike and Pit getting separated, and Roy thinking he was strong enough to take down Ganondorf by his lonesome... Review replies!
Dusk Aura- Wow it's been like a whole year since you've reviewed! Glad to have ya back! I am happy you find this exciting, because I am still cranking things up an extra notch. Huh, only person in the world who is suspicious of our white-haired vice president... because she's too normal? In that case, Roy should be under your eye too.
Metroid-Killer- That should be a catchphrase: 'kicking off even more' since I never slow the roll down on these chapters, do I? You and I had a discussion about Lucas, and I do think you're shooting for the stars a bit higher than you need to. You think Shulk and Corrin are Sheik's biological parents? You might want to revisit some earlier chapters. Oh, yeah, Roy's screwed, and also primitively because his suit, while he can use it, he has to manually log through all the commands instead of having an AI Unit do them automatically... almost like a single farmer planting seeds versus a tractor or something.
CrashGuy01- I am going to say it's a good thing you're processing it in due time. Interesting that the cross-fire is your favorite part, because I suck at action. Preface, Robin is not losing her mind; she's just scared as I am willing to bet a lot of us would be in that moment. You think our trio will die? Interesting... anyone else? And you know me. If they didn't die on screen, they didn't die. Ah, Sheik... interesting you mention her.
This will be another long-winded chapter that will break 10k, so sit down, strap yourselves in, and enjoy Chapter #34: The Canary and the Viper.
Midna has a killer headache. She groans, shielding her eyes from the sun. Where is she? She has no idea. All she remembers is Snake looking at her worriedly, the ground trembling, and darkness rushing up to meet her. It is all Sheik's fault, the blonde losing her damn mind against the Syrenet team, for reasons she still cannot believe. She is lying in a heap of cinderblocks, concrete, gravel, and steel. Her body aches, having fallen who knows how many feet on a slab of solid ground, but nothing seems broken. Pain fills her sore limbs, a tide rushing to meet the sandy shore, as she struggles to get to her feet. Midna wobbles slightly, steadying herself. Where did she end up?
She looks up, and sure enough, she's standing underneath a hole, where above, a good hundred feet at least, is the Detroit cityscape. Her eyes widen at the thought. How is she unscathed? The sky is smoldering now, from billows of smoke spilling into the cerulean sky, hazardous and evil, choking the air and those who breathe it. Midna wonders what the destruction of the city must look like, she can hear the faint sounds of gunfire still, screaming - both pain and trying to instill fear in the enemy - and the quite drumming of bombs exploding. The bombs... her blood runs cold, those bombs were Link Collins invention, sold to Sheik, the only actual device given to them after he had swindled her.
It is an unbelievable thing to the redhead, to get told by Link, who she had tailed for two and half weeks, and the man had been getting accustomed to her company, all of a sudden seeing Sheik Braring, who she hasn't seen in years. They've spoken over the phone for countless hours, using those childish names of Ocarina and Amber, but never, in a million years, did Midna suspect that her friend from forever ago would be the main ring leader in a rebel group currently laying siege to a city. As if she thought she ever really knew her...
Her heart had seized up in her throat, as she stares into the haunting diamond eyed stare from a long lost friend, a ghost who has appeared in front of her. When she asks Link who the client is, all she gets in response is him biting down on a trademark cigar, smiling as large as he can, and saying, "She's got spunk, and fire, and she's also quite the kickass..." which sums up most of the arms dealer's phrasing usually. She has not thought about Boston in quite some time, where everything seemed simple... to how she's ended up here, in a foreign country still in her own country - that is quite backwards thinking, Midna realizes - from simply getting reconnaissance on an alleged arms dealer doing illegal, non-governmental work, to then be fighting off someone she may have deemed as family, falling through subways, and ending up in the depths of Detroit.
It'd make for one hell of an autobiography, or a postcard, she thinks amusedly.
She has been so caught up in her thoughts, that something finally hits her. Midna gags, holding a hand up to plug her nose. The stench is horrendous. She realizes, rather late, the explosion took her section of the downtown street and plummeted her so far, through the subway system, into the sewers. Midna looks back at the hole. She is not going to be able to jump back up, and even if she tried, her hamstrings are killing her. She cannot just sit here however, the agent must do something. There'll have to be another way out, and all she has to do is regroup. Midna will be safe then.
Whatever safe truly does even stand for, at this point. It's all a mystery, and Midna has no idea. She gingerly touches her forehead, happy to see that when she returns her hand back to her gaze, there are not any copper smears alongside her flesh; there's no serious wound to the head, which is good. It'd be worse to be disorientated, wounded, and lost in the Detroit sewers. Now she's just lost. Perfect.
Does she still have her gun? Her mind thinks this, fleeting with panic. She pats herself down, coming up empty. Midna takes a deep breath. She's lost her workout bag, she lost her phone, and she does not have her comm device with her. It is certainly a first for her, being dropped, quite literally, into such a terrible place with no tool other than her grit and instinct to get her out of it.
Where is everyone else? The last she sees of Snake is her boss shouting at her in horror, hands around his weapons, with Robin running away from it all, her body a mere speck of white off in the distance. Everyone else must be back at the headquarters... okay, the trio are perhaps the only ones separated from one another. That's perfectly okay, Midna can cope with this. The Syrenet team won't just leave her... would they?
What did Shulk say one time, all those days ago in the Chicago hospital?
"You're not part of the team, Midna, nor your play thing..." which is a remark that's sure to leave some scars. One commander's opinion certainly is not the voice of the whole group. Midna knows she's valued, and she will not be forgotten in the sewers of this wretched city unless the city itself comes down upon her. Okay... happy thoughts, she tells herself. Thinking of the negative will certainly breed negative.
She pats herself all over once more, nothing out of place, and there's also nothing missing except a few years off of her life from that fall. Midna fell into a corner section of the sewer, at a turn, where both directions lead into the darkness, an incorrigible darkness, and here she is without her equipment to guide her way. The sewer tunnel shakes every now and then, from Sheik's devices, which may just cause the entire city to collapse if that is the goal the blonde rebel leader is aiming for, but for now, it is Midna's escape route.
Midna tilts her head, having looked down.
There's all these strange devices up against the side, transparent cubes that are made of glass, and inside them, a bulb. She watches, curiously, as the lights flicker a stunning amber - Amber, this is Ocarina speaking... Amber do you copy? - in a sequence that does not resemble Morse. Occasionally the blips will happen fast, and the entire corner and the extensions into the darkness will be shrouded in an eerie haze of red, before blackening away, but often they're numerous and slow, which Midna interprets to be a warning. A warning of what, though?
The agent is indecisive. There's an exit somewhere, perhaps in both directions should she be so brave. Would these amber lights be a path? Someone guiding her on her merry way?
She switches her gaze left and right multiple times, itching to step forward, when her blood runs ice cold. What is that sound? Midna pauses, when she hears it again. It is very quiet, more than likely an echo of whatever is causing the noise. That means there's someone or something near her making the noise if this is possible. Her body tenses, as she cranes forward to hear it some more, when it comes again.
It's a scream.
The voice sounds masculine.
Midna widens her eyes. No way... that couldn't- it possibly couldn't be...
She hears it again, this time louder, as if the person screaming is throwing more of their voice into it.
"I'm coming!" Midna screams, running to her left in the direction of the sound.
"Roy!"
Shulk does not know how long the walk to the Needle is going to take, with Lucas having gone dark. Every so often the commander tosses his head back behind him, half expecting Roy to run up from the darkness, terrified out of his mind, needing to stay by his partner in crime, but nothing happens. No sound reaches his ears except that of his own shoes making ghastly echoes against the sewer walls. Silence is golden. Corrin would agree with him. He likes silence, Shulk does, as it allows for him to have precious time to think. Unlike having the redhead by his side, chatting up his ear every five seconds.
He has had a long time to think, probably having only been ten minutes or so since he parted ways with Roy at the fork in the path, but these ten minutes have been filled with thoughts unlike any other. His mind dances back and forth between Ganondorf and Corrin, this elusive soul who so hauntingly describes Fiora... he has no idea why this demon would just admit to something like that. He's been questioning for three years straight the identity of his wife's murderer, and here the man or creature steps forward and proudly proclaims it as if he's giving a sermon on a mountaintop. Roy's words make sense, but something blocks the directional flow, as if a pane of glass has diverted the normal thought process. His comrade's logic makes the upmost perfect sense, a challenge is demanded, you go and meet the challenge head on with as much grit as you can muster.
"But good soldiers follow orders..." he tells himself, rubbing his arms.
The mission comes first, it has always come first. He sits down, waiting for her, and he does what she says, what the silver queen tells him to do because it is his job. He's hired, above everyone else, above all the candidates, because she sees something in him. She skips her own husband to sleep with him because she sees something in him, and it fills Shulk with a pride unlike any other. Fiora is something special, he'll admit... but Corrin, but President Corrin Etch has to triumph over everything as she sits on her silver throne. Breaking a glass ceiling will bring everyone else to their knees, to see the awe and power that is Corrin which the entire country, with their stupid rebel groups, have decided to see.
There's a single flaw in Roy's thinking. If he is to perform Operation Glass Ceiling, dealing with Ganondorf will make it so much easier than just bringing two guns to a fight. He'll have everything and more, should the Needle prove to be an excellent ally. The redhead's urgency is weird, he has never seen Roy speak with such conviction on anything. Yes, Shulk does not need to be told twice that he has pined about his wife for three years straight and done nothing about it. He doesn't have the exact right to go in and bring the entire country down. What he needs is a scapegoat, an opportunity, and Corrin has presented one to him all wrapped up in a pretty silver bow.
He's waited to meet Fiora's killer face-to-face for three whole years since he heard about it. What is an extra hour and a half going to hurt?
Shulk is dying to see Corrin's face when this entire mess is over, when he has successfully done what she's asked, being the only person in the entire world to not let her down. As sad as it is to think, Fiora let the president down. She went and got killed on an important mission, and Shulk is puzzled at how his wife could have made such a controversial mistake... his wife had been the best fighter he had ever seen and somehow she dies... it is too upsetting. Cloud has failed her. Mac fails her left and right... Ness is a failure... even poor Lucas, trapped inside Shulk's helmet, is failing the president despite his contributions. However, if Shulk does everything right, then he'll be elevated higher than the rest, singled out like he had been all those days and years ago, a soldier in waiting to now become a commander.
Her hands lace through his hair, fingers knitting hair follicles together, and their touch is warm. Her lips are snug against the area between his shoulder blades, her arms dropped against his while she kisses his neck. They aren't wearing rings, goodness it'd make it too noticeable, certainly he'd suspect, not Shulk, but another man, the he, who had to disappear forever so he could be with her.
"Do you love me, commander?"
"It's whatever you demand..."
"And if I demanded you to kill for me? Would you do it?"
"In a heartbeat..."
Those promises are what has left Shulk vacant. He's enacted on these promises, yet he still feels empty, even slightly vindicated if he's willing to go that far. She holds out her hand, with those temping fingers beckoning him closer, and he's running to her, while his wife's name lingers on his lips, the morsel of tasted wine that clashes with her own lips, and now there's a coagulated mess mixing inside his heart. He isn't cheating anymore, by being with her. She's rotting in the ground, all sewn up from the damage extensively done to her neck.
He is angry, hearing what Ganondorf taunts him with. There's a time and place for everything, and the taunting voice in the ceiling shall have his comeuppance when Shulk is ready.
The commander takes a quick breather up against the sewer wall, his Syrenet suit making clanking noises as it touches the stone. He opens the backpack he had placed on his back, reaching for a canteen of water. He lifts the visor up from his eyes so he can take a drink, when a blipping noise off the side of his helmet goes off. The canteen pauses, halfway from his lips. That noise belongs to when the AI Unit disc is wishing to be removed from the helmet so the commander and his technological buddy can speak to each other. Lucas is probably wishing to come out of hiding after being away for so long.
Shulk places the canteen of water down on the ground next to him, then removing Lucas's disc from the side of the helmet. He turns it on, holding it in his hand so the AI Unit's projection to be standing in front of him. Lucas appears, still dressed in his usual outwardly appearance, hair still blonde, but Shulk notices something erroneous. The typical bubbly air that causes the hub around the projection to shimmer is subdued, a bit more quiet, which usually is not an occurrence that happens unless something is on Lucas's mind.
He does not get in the first word however. Lucas looks about, before returning center, frowning. "Where's Roy?"
"We came to a fork in the road and decided to split up," Shulk answers, lying. He hates having to lie to the little guy, after all they have been to, but he's got to have someone remain alive in the end when the Operation is over and done with. There's too much at stake to even lose the one little semblance of the earlier days that he has. If he loses Lucas... Shulk might actually think of doing the unthinkable. It is one thing the silver queen will not take away from him, after taking all the others Shulk's cared for in his life.
"Is it safe for me to come out now?" the AI Unit shuffles his feet.
"I would not have allowed you to speak to me if that was not the case."
Something is being held back, Shulk can see it in the way Lucas's gaze skirts around, not staying in one place, not being centered. What's eating him? "May I ask what happened?"
Shulk takes a deep breath. "Let's just say an unwanted guest decided to taunt Roy and I about our presence here in these sewers. He challenged me to a duel, and I refused. Because of-"
"Operation Glass Ceiling," the AI Unit finishes for him. Another pause, another shifting of Lucas's feet, the boy twisting his holographic shirt in his holographic hands, frowning. "That's actually what I wanted you to talk about..."
This rings all sorts of alarm bells off in Shulk's head. There should be nothing to discuss, given he's set the rules down already, although his AI Unit is quite the curious soul after all. The commander crosses his arms, while the tunnel shakes. It's been shaking more than normal, as he understands the sewer system being below the subway has the requisite shaking and all, but this, this is ludicrous. He blinks, frowning.
"What about it?"
"Are we doing a good thing?" Lucas asks.
Shulk furrows his eyebrows together, mouthing the words his AI Unit spoke. What exactly qualifies something for it to destitute as a 'good' thing? He's been straightforward on what Corrin has asked him to do. Yes, he's left a few copious details out, and perhaps a couple murders, but that is not what he has to worry about right in the moment. Once he's done, and once Corrin rewards him, then everything will be okay. "What do you mean?"
"Well, someone told me..."
That is not something Shulk likes to hear right in that moment. He makes a face. "Someone? Who is this someone?" he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Lucas, your AI disc was off, meaning you should not have had any interaction with anyone, including me. Who would have had access to-"
"Some guy named Ganondorf told me I had to stop you from using the Needle and that it would kill a whole bunch of people and that I needed to ask you about Ness and-" Lucas starts, words spilling out in a stream of endlessness, overflowing Shulk's mind. Several things hit at him.
Firstly, that Lucas is way over his head trying to tell what Shulk should do in anything. Lucas is trapped in his bubble, his holographic projection and a fantasy world designed by brats with wings, yet he has the gall, regardless of the two's relationship to make moralistic calls on him? How dare he! Secondly, the constant bringing up of Ness... what is so important about another digital piece of software? It is not like Lucas spent years and years forging some 'friendship' with the computer program, yet all that consumes the blonde boy's mind is talking about Roy's damn AI Unit. Does his AI Unit just like opening all of these cans of worms? Then the name registers in his mind.
Ganondorf.
The same Ganondorf that spoke to Shulk through the intercom.
The same Ganondorf who murdered the other council members.
The same Ganondorf which is the cause for his wife's death.
And now this winged beast is lurking in places he shouldn't be. Not Lucas. No one can corrupt Lucas.
Shulk's eyebrows crunch together in fury. "Ganondorf?" his voice raised into a hiss. "Lucas, that thing is what taunted Roy and I! Don't listen to a word he says. He's just lying. Ganondorf killed Fiora, and if you're not careful, he's going to kill you too!"
"Like you did with Ness?" Lucas flashes a glare.
"Why do you say that?"
"He told me you killed him!"
"So what if I did? Lucas, I already told you why-"
"But Ness was my friend!"
"Orders are orders, Lucas!" Shulk screams at the AI Unit, his voice echoing off of the sewers walls, dissipating in a faint hiss down into the blackness. A surging tide of rage rushes into the commander's veins, his skin burning in anger, blood simmering, while Lucas steps back slightly onto his disc. "Ness did something he shouldn't have done and so Corrin ordered me to terminate him. Ness came to a conjoined decision with me," he does not want to lie, but lying is the only thing that is going to save his skin at this point in the game, with everyone wanting to jump down his throat like they know any better. "I'm sorry, but I can't just disobey what Corrin tells me to do!"
Lucas falters, closing his eyes. Shulk's body releases its built up tension, his shoulders relaxing. He shouldn't have yelled, it is impulsive of him, and no matter how smart his AI Unit truly is, at the core, he's still a child when looking at the humanistic level, and screaming at Lucas is not going to solve the problem. However, he's not done. Ganondorf is the reason this conversation is happening. How long has he been inside his AI Unit's head, and what has he told him?
The AI Unit shivers noticeably. "I still don't think that Glass-"
"You do not believe that liar, do you?" Shulk throws his free hand up.
"He said that a lot of people will die if-"
"When this is done, a lot of people are going to die, Lucas! The rebel forces are going to be screwed! I can't do it without your help though."
Lucas makes a defied face, sticking his head up in the air, nose pointed upwards, an air of defiance filling his empty space. "I can't go through with this, Shulk. I'm sorry..."
The holographic disc flickers some, before Lucas's projection vanishes, back into the software he goes, leaving Shulk leaning up against the sewer wall, dumfounded. What is going on? What on Earth did Ganondorf tell his AI Unit? Shulk grits his teeth. That doesn't matter, none of it matters anymore except pleasing Corrin and getting the job done, what he had been ordered to do. He looks down at the disc, his rage starting to build again.
"Fine," he says. "I can do this alone, Lucas. If you aren't going to help me, then there's no need to tag you along. You can't sabotage this from happening."
Shulk holds the disc in his left hand, his fingers bending slightly like he's going to make a fist. He hesitates, his lip quivering. At the end of the day, all said and done, Lucas is his son, the child he never got to have. The two have been through years of troublesome fights, shoot-outs, birthday parties, and life in general in D.C and abroad while under Syrenet's helm, yet his AI Unit wants to go searching down paths that will lead to nothing but an endless wall. Fine, if that is what Lucas wishes to do, it is not the commander's place to stop him.
He may regret what he is about to do, but Corrin comes first. No one will harm Lucas, other than Shulk himself, as a parent does to teach their child a lesson. It may pain the son, but it is worse on the parent, a thousand times worse. Shulk swallows any last regrets.
The commander closes his fist, the AI disc crunching underneath his grip.
He puts his fist behind him, dropping the fragments and shell of the disc to the ground.
Shulk steps away from his position on the wall, continuing his journey to the Needle, not waiting to see the pieces hit the ground.
If Lucas wishes to not go along with the rules, then the rules will not let Lucas go along either.
There's always someone else.
Robin has heard of taking blind leaps of faith, but this is an entirely different matter, she'll admit. The vice president is sitting in the back of what she presumes to be a van, men dressed in black and white suits sitting around her like a flock of hens. A blindfold is placed over her eyes so she cannot see anything, and she's too afraid to move her arms in case she's reprimanded. She has seen the secret service detail every day while in D.C, and unless there's been some widespread firing going around and that there have been new agents posted to them, she does not recognize any of the men in the car before the blindfold is put on, and she does not recognize their voices.
None of them are Mac, which pains her, that she is used to the boxer's warm voice, where now all the remains of him is ashes. The city of Detroit must still be burning around them, but she is unsure exactly where she's headed. No one in the city except the council, who are all dead, as she remembers, knows of their presence, so who are these men? Her mind automatically fills in the blank, it must be the secret service saving her, but why would they not pick up Snake as well? He's in danger, fighting in a warzone for people he should not have loyalty to, but he's there nonetheless, his honor standing out.
She's afraid to speak. Something creeps in the back of her mind, that this is not normal, that she'd be notified by someone in the vehicle if this had been a rescue operation, and usually only Corrin can make that call. Robin realizes, with sudden panic, concerning Corrin, she has no idea where the President is. Snake wouldn't give her any answers while she had badgered him, about what Ganondorf had told him in the building that would serve as a presumable base for starting off. It must only be a pile of cinderblocks and smoldering rocks now, with the bombs and violence going off. The silverette's whereabouts are unknown, at least to Robin, but she deduces that Corrin is safe. Even when the world is coming to an end, somehow Corrin Etch is able to escape unscathed, while the others are bleeding.
As if she's the reason the world is coming to an end. A puppeteer holding the strings, while the marionette dolls skirt away on carpeted floors, cackling, always cackling. Robin's throat is dry, noticing this as she swallows, which means she's nervous, if her heartbeat is not the indicator. Explosions still rock the car, and she can hear the soft noise of gunshots dying off in the distance. When Robin is seized, the men and the van coming out of literal nowhere, as she turns around, she's searching for Snake, trying to get his attention, looking for Midna's amber shimmer, and there's nothing. Robin does not have the time to look again before the van is peeling away, and her questions go unanswered, her heart rate continues to race, and this very well may be the end of Syrenet's goals in trying to do things right.
It is a lingering thought that haunts Robin as she lays in beds at night, staring at the ceiling, making designs out of the etchings. What would be the reason for the attack on Detroit? The city never even got to have a branch be announced, unlucky as that is. It is going to be Robin's job to introduce the branch, and a thousand possible scenarios fill her head. Someone sniping her from the audience, or choking on her drink... and now with the rebel force bringing down the house, a crisis is averted and a thousand other ones take its place. She can only imagine the PR headache that this will be.
The van comes to a stop, but no one removes the blindfold. She's never heard anyone implicitly say to keep it on, but it has most definitely been implied, since the drive had been in silence. Robin remembers, and this had been such a long time ago now, perhaps the first week of Corrin's term after being sworn in, that the two design plans without the other knowing the specifics of how to keep each other safe in a time when one needs to get out of the situation immediately should they be separated.
Operation Canary.
That is what this must be, though Robin has no idea what it is supposed to happen. She can assume that it means being reached for off the streets in a flash, being blindfolded so she cannot see where they are going. They must've taken her to an airfield, the blindfold a precautionary measure so she does not freak out depending on the carnage around them. She's safe. She's totally safe.
Someone opens the door next to her, guiding her out. Robin steps out of the van, the wind blowing her air, the sky thick with smoke and sulfurous, where she can taste it on her tongue, bitter and choking. She coughs, raising her hands, while the men surround her by the sound of their feet on what seems to be gravel. One of the men takes her by the arm, and she stumbles slightly over the pathway, catching herself before she face plants onto the stone. She's guided back up, starting to shake. She hates not having the ability to see.
There's the creaking sound of a door swinging open, so perhaps it isn't an airport or plane like she guessed. A holding room? A place to hide out and wait for reinforcements or the action to calm down, maybe in a remote location... Robin's nerves are settling themselves with each passing second. Someone flicks a light switch, evident by the flush of light that brings clarity to the vice president for a split second.
Unknown, fully to her, she's in a decent sized room, forty by forty feet, with tables and chairs strewn everywhere. A single chair sits in the middle of the room, almost like one found in a dentist office. One of the men, off to her left, Robin thinks, or maybe her right, she can't tell, tells another to help her sit down. She stumbles over that as well, her face burning a bright red. This must be so embarrassing for them to see. She is sitting against the chair, frowning. The material is weird... she had been expecting hard, solid plastic, not a cushion, and when she plants her feet firmly on the ground, it makes a soft puh noise.
It's carpet. Carpet? She had been expecting tile.
Another stranger, different than the last, speaks into a walkie-talkie. "Operation Canary is ready, Madam President."
A wave of reassurance passes over her. They're in a direct line with Corrin. That's good, that's good.
Something shifts however, when the next noise she hears is the sound of someone cocking back a gun. Her eyes widen behind the blindfold, hands still by her side. That has to be a gun, there's no other explanation. Why a gun? The noise of the room shifts around her, and she can slightly see people situated around her in a circle. The sound of shoes on the carpet trail to exactly behind her, with a man heavily breathing above her.
Robin goes completely still, her breath seizing up in her throat. Something cold and metallic presses up against the back of her head. It's the barrel of the gun. Her heart beats faster in her chest. This is not Operation Canary. Corrin would not have some sort of plan to execute her vice president. This must all be a misunderstanding... it must all be a misunderstanding.
"I need you to stay completely still, Miss Wyndel," the man behind her instructs. "I'm going to count to three, and when I do, this will put you to sleep. It will be entirely painless."
He's lying, she knows it. Beads of sweat start to trickle down her face. If she lifts her hands now, the other men around her will just push them back down. This bullet, he cannot fool her, will be going into her skull no matter what.
"One..."
Robin has heard of people repenting before their end comes. She might as well.
"Two..."
It still must be a misunderstanding...
"Th-" but the man never gets to finish.
The sound of bullet goes off, Robin squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for the pain to come, waiting for the explosion in the back of her head, waiting for the blood to pour down her neck and to taint her hair with crimson flecks, but nothing happens. There's a slight pause, a stasis of stunned silence, and the cold barrel of the gun goes away from the back of her head, someone falling to the floor.
The room must be just as stunned like she is, for the men in the room are unable to register when someone bashes the front door in, steps in, gun in hand, shooting them all dead. Robin screams when the second round of gunfire happens, shaking, her voice rising higher and higher. A third gunshot, a fourth... fifth... sixth, and a seventh, before it all falls quiet.
Something begins to pool around her shoes, and Robin has a damn good idea as to what it is. Her screaming does not cease, someone rushing over to her.
"Robin!" the person cries, their voice masculine. The blindfold is ripped away from her eyes, and Robin continues to freak out, shrieking, batting her arms away at whomever the stranger is. "Robin, calm down! It's me, it's me!" She recognizes the voice immediately, and when her terror lapse passes over her, she's staring into Snake's eyes, the FBI director covered in blood, his breathing shallow. "It's me..." he says again, the vice president trembling. "You're okay now."
She throws her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. "They tried to kill me, Snake! They tried to kill me..." Robin continues to cry, her tears soaking his back.
"Shh..." he whispers, patting her head, soothing her. "I know, I know. It's okay now... you're safe..."
Snake turns his head, face grim.
While the two hug and sob in the center, around the dentist like chair is the seven bodies of the men. While Snake does not recognize them, he recognizes their clothes as definite secret service agent attire... with the logo, the exact outfitting's... an impossible task for some random killer or group of vagrants to just have handy.
These men are hired killers... hired from the U.S government to kidnap and kill the vice president. Only given by an order, clearly.
Who would order this?
Unfortunately, for Snake, he has no idea.
From the moment Ike is separated from Pit via the subway system falling between them, he's starting to use all the oxygen around him. He coughs into the crook of his elbow, the cough full of dust and phlegm. He thinks he's about to get sick, or in the motions of getting sick, which is not going to be great. Ike stands there between the collapsed stone barrier, pounding his fist against it, shouting Pit's name until his throat goes raw from the yelling. The tremors continue above ground, and in his heart.
This is absolutely insane. Ike can only imagine what the above ground must look like, scorched all over, burnt and tattered, who knows how many people just lying around. There's nothing to do but walk, and there's nothing to do while he's walking except think. Ike has never considered himself to be a scholar by any sort of means, but when he's surrounded by darkness, trying to find a way out, he must admit, there's a certain distinctiveness to it.
He's starting to put the blame on things that are out of his control, now. It is all Corrin's fault for the crew being thrown into this position. It had never been really an issue before, doing Syrenet missions around the globe, but the moment she centers them in their own country, everything goes awry. Ike smiles, in slight nostalgia, at some earlier missions, when he's slightly younger and when his hair is definitely less bluer. There's a three week stint in Geneva stopping a drug-trafficking ring, which involves Ike getting too close to comfort with a knife that traces dangerous lines into his hip bones. He wears them as a badge of honor now, showing them to anyone who cares to listen or see.
Marth does not find them funny, and it's the first moment the two have where they bond. Ike has been freshly cut up, dancing with the devil face to face, grinning all the while as he tiptoes on the balls of his feet around the tiled floor. He's showing off the scars at some bar with other Syrenet employees from other squads, lifting up his shirt for all to see, expletives being passed around, and then...
Someone is sitting in the far corner of the bar, head down, face buried in some book where Ike cannot read the title. The stranger lifts their head up, and Ike is staring face-to-face with a man he's never seen before, but clearly a Syrenet worker since the bar is only for Syrenet agents, no normal patrons allowed on specific Tuesday and Thursday nights. Ike senses judgment in the man's gaze, a beryl blue that rivets him to the core. He senses disproval, and a definite distaste in his actions. The man is wearing a hat, covering his head, dressed finely in a dress shirt and slacks.
After a few drinks - well, more than four - he stumbles over, plopping himself on the chair across from him, propping his feet up. It is the same thing he does all the way back in D.C after Oklahoma City, and the man looks up, glaring at him.
"May you please put your feet down? Is this your home?"
"Have we met?" Ike frowns.
"I'd remember your manners and couth," the man says, "Or rather, lack thereof..."
"I can sense you don't like me very much."
"Oh? Telling..."
"Your name?"
The man closes his book, removing his hat from his head. "Marth Lowell..."
Ike smiles. Marth's hair is blue, just like his own, and he's still getting used to all the stares from people when he's in public. Obviously shades of blue are not natural colors to dye your hair. "I thought I was the only one who had blue hair..."
"What made you want to dye it?" Marth asks.
"Charity," Ike runs a hand through it, expecting his fingers to be smudged in cerulean dye. "You?"
Marth gives a thousand yard stare, locking his jaw, looking elsewhere from Ike's general area. "A dare..." he says, his tone low and haunting. Ike averts his eyes, the darkness does not cancel out the word. He associates dare to be something slightly more slapstick, a bit more comical. This is not the same level. It's worse. "I dyed it on a dare, and I like it too much."
"Same here. You want me to buy you a drink?"
The other man leers his eyes. "Are you flirting with me?"
"No," Ike grins. "Not unless you want me to."
"I'm okay," Marth seems to lighten up some. "Drinking isn't my specialty."
Ike curls a hand around the beer bottle, his eyes clouded with lust and green light. "Then you aren't a real man, my friend..."
"Is that so?" Marth tilts his head up. "Because I don't drink?" the two share an amused glance, before laughing. He pushes the book away from him somewhat. "Are you a commander or just a soldier?"
"A commander," Ike says smugly, crossing his arms. "Appointed by President Corrin herself. Charlie squad."
"Ah, that's great!" the other bluenette smiles warmly, opening his book back up. "I'm a commander as well. Appointed by President Corrin..." and he holds for gravitas. "The commander of Beta squad..."
It is a wound to Ike's heart. That means this guy sitting in front of him has a higher ranking than he does, and is only one level below Shulk. How- how dare... dammit. It just happens to be someone who doesn't like his actions could very well get him fired. "A higher rank than me..." Ike comments. "That must mean we'll be working together a lot from now on, won't it?"
"Such a shame..." Marth makes a clucking noise with his tongue.
Ike laughs heartily. "Man, I like you..."
"Shame for that too..."
He leans back. "I can sense you don't think very highly of me..."
"Oh?" Marth raises an eyebrow. "What gave that away?"
"Your demeanor."
"Figured."
"What am I doing wrong?"
"I've never seen someone parade their injuries," Marth comments.
Ike shakes his head, frowning. "They're not injuries, commander. I went on my first mission leading a squad, danced with the devil, and lived. These aren't scars. They're medals of honor."
Those were good times, which Ike has interrupted when his foot steps down on something, hearing a crunching noise. He frowns, recoiling back somewhat, lifting his foot. He's not in a bar and Marth is not with him. He's stuck in the sewer, finding his own way out, his suit slightly obsolete... Ike's heart sinks.
He had stepped on an AI Unit disc, evident by the color and structure of the several rings. Besides himself, there's Pit, Roy, and Shulk from Syrenet, for all he knows, down in the sewers. His AI Unit, Lyn, is in his helmet. Pit and Roy don't have one, since the technician never wanted one, and there's Ness's sad fate. This only could be one AI Unit, and it can only belong to one commander.
It's Lucas.
He picks up several of the shards in his hands, eyes saddening at the sight.
"Lucas..." he whispers. "What happened to you?"
For a brief second, he's expecting the disc fragments to light up in their blue halo, and for the happy blonde to reappear, but nothing happens. He's all alone, and the mystery still remains.
Ike holds the shards close to his chest.
Whomever did this is going to pay.
It is time Syrenet comes back on the rise.
Roy has seen this situation before, and he can say with extreme fortitude that just like before, all the way back with Link, he is not appreciating the scenario. He's sitting in a chair, in some room, mirroring his encounter with the arms dealer, but unlike earlier, he's not naked. The pieces of his Syrenet suit lay in the corner, discarded everywhere, but nothing's happened to it as far as he can see. His arms are behind his back, coiled up in the tendrils of something metallic, he assumes to be wires, but there's nothing physically burning him like before. He can move quite far forward, his shoulders having a large range of freedom, but he's unable to stand, given some wires have locked his ankles to the base of the chair.
Back in the sewers, when the wires had coiled around him before, throwing Roy to the ground, getting dragged through the sewer water knocks him out, cold clocking him. When he comes to, he's stuck like this, and someone standing in the center of the room he's in, up against a workbench. The room is an awkward blend of trash and technology, with computer processors and screens on one side, and the other covered in papers and messes that he is unable to discern from. He knows exactly who is in the middle, observing him, picking their teeth with a toothpick.
It's Ganondorf.
"You know," Roy starts to say, as when has he ever had the first word and it ever gone well in an interrogation, right? "You could just untie me and we fight man to man. Instead of being a coward..."
Ganondorf lowers the toothpick, frowning, weighing his options. A good deal, perhaps, but it is not what he's bargained for. The gemstone in the middle of his forehead, the same color as the lights on the side of the sewer pathways, it is a color that will haunt Roy forever. A color that, should he ever see Midna again, with her scarlet hair, it'll be a battle to not associate the color with such an evilness. Roy has taken a good look at the council member, his body covered in chrome plating, wearing a cape and doublet that is the same shade of nasty brown as the floor. For someone who looks to be so elegant in the way he speaks and dresses, he couldn't have found a better location to live or hold his after hours business? He's a cyborg, which Roy had only ever thought to be from fantasy. Not having something appear to him in the flesh, a half-human, half-robot freak.
The cyborg shakes his head dismally. "You don't seem to understand it, Mr. Arcadia. I asked Commander Roberts specifically for him. Instead, he sends me you, his wasted side-kick. I'm sorry to say I'm extremely disappointed..."
Roy tilts his head to the side somewhat. "Untie me and I'll challenge that disapproval."
"You like gambling with death, Mr. Arcadia?"
"No."
"Then stop trying to antagonize me. It's not going to work."
He breaks a smile, sweat pouring down his forehead, trying to struggle out of the bonds which instinctively tighten around him, as if they're live beings, snakes almost that respond to stimuli. "Trust me, it's my job. To antagonize."
"You're doing an awful job at it..."
"Is this all we're going to do?" Roy sneers. "You're just going to talk to me and I'm going to talk to you until Shulk shows up?"
"He would come for you, wouldn't he? If he knew you were in trouble?"
"Absolutely!" the redhead shouts bravely, but deep down, he kind of knows that this is not the case. After all, it is the commander's prerogative he goes back and saves his skin, to run away from the mission like a little girl and hide in the corner like some damsel. He's a Syrenet agent, for God's sake, picked by the damn president to join an elite circle of government fighters, and someone is going to tell him that 'orders are orders'. Bullshit. It's just an excuse. As far as Shulk knows, though, Roy realizes, the commander probably believes that he did go back for safety instead of trying to forge on ahead.
Ganondorf makes a mocking smile, showing his hideous teeth, stained and it causes Roy's skin to crawl. "You don't sound so sure of that, Mr. Arcadia. I'm tempted to believe you, but don't worry, we are not just going to talk." the cyborg stands away from the spot against the bench, revealing its contents to Roy. There's a power drill, tweezers, scissors, knives of multiple sorts, and all the water in Roy's mouth dries up. This isn't just a holding cell.
It's a torture chamber.
The worst he got from Link had been a stab wound to the leg that healed quite well, slowing his movements only for a bit, because the arms dealer did not know the exact spot to enter the blade. This, however, is a whole other beast entirely. All of the bravado in Roy's voice dies down to a dwindle, a star that had just been a supernova, and what remains is a husk, dry, desolate, with no light.
His sweating increases. "Li- like what? Like charades?"
"No," Ganondorf shakes his head. "Nothing like that," he runs a hand along the bench, giving a creepy smile back at Roy, who flinches. "I can tell what you're thinking. It's just like Mr. Collins isn't it? Tied up, undressed, with everyone watching... I can only imagine how humiliating that must've been for you," the redhead's heartbeat accelerates. How would he know of that? How would Ganondorf, who he has never seen before, know something so intimate? The other men in Link's gang were killed in the shootout, and the only other two people besides him alive were Midna and Snake, with Ness being decommissioned and all. "How did that knife feel going into your leg? You haven't really ever been injured, right? It must have been horrible... wasn't it?"
Roy swallows his fear, trying again to get free. His voice is shaky when he responds. "I- I have no idea what you're talking about..."
"Yes you do. I told you, Mr. Arcadia, I see everything..."
"No one can see everything," the redhead balks. "You're not God!"
Ganondorf tilts his head to the side, like a cat eyeing its prey. He makes a triumphant grin. "On the contrary, Roy," the switching from formal to personal chills the Syrenet agent's blood to ice, slowing all the processes down, his nerves not computing back to him any message other than fright. "I am a god in my own right. A paragon. I've made these sewers my realm! I know my words shook both you and Commander Roberts to the core, did they not?"
"Because you're a murderer!" Roy spits out. "You killed Fiora! You killed his wife!"
"Because she overstepped her boundaries!" Ganondorf's eyes flash back in anger.
"She was pregnant! You murdered them both!"
"Yes, I did!" the cyborg marches right up to Roy's face, gripping him underneath the jaw, forcing him to look right into Ganondorf's stare. "And I enjoyed it, Mr. Arcadia! I enjoyed making that woman scream and beg for mercy because it proved to me my power. It proved to me that I have the ability to make others cower at my very voice, or at the mention of my name!" Roy tries looking elsewhere, anywhere, somewhere that is not in the cyborg's face. Ganondorf grips tighter. "Look at me, Mr. Arcadia," and nothing happens. "Look at me!" he screams, jostling the redhead out of his stupor in trying, looking back, fear reflected in his gaze. "I'm doing it to you now, and you don't even realize it. You're scared, Mr. Arcadia. Your emotions give you away..." He lets go of Roy's jaw.
He hangs his head low, breathing deeply. He cannot believe what he's hearing, that this sick creature in front of him, who certainly isn't human at this point, a beast that does not deserve that kindness of being relegated to the likes of him or Ike or Pit or Robin. Bile forms in his throat, but Roy keeps it there, the flaps burning, as he wishes to upheave terribly. Ganondorf returns to his work bench.
Roy spits some to the floor. "You're insane... you're insane..." he says weakly.
Ganondorf clucks his tongue in disappointment. "On the contrary, Mr. Arcadia, I like to call myself a visionary, just like you call yourself a warrior," he turns back around to his captive, "Which you have done an awful job at showing me. What did you think was going to happen walking down into my sector, without help, clearly disobeying my rules?" a pause, filled with silence and Roy's ragged breathing. "You wanted to be a hero, I understand that. Stand up to your commander who bosses you around, where you thought there had been something there, a friendship maybe. Bring revenge and vengeance to a murder of a woman you've never met. I've seen it all before, from men and women lesser than you, and those greater than you," Ganondorf sighs. "However, you've... you thought foolishly and with your emotions. I don't allow idiotic people in my kingdom, Mr. Arcadia..."
"Then teach me how to think smart..." It's worth a shot, and half of it comes from being a terrible joke.
The cyborg frowns. "You seem unable to be taught. You're too stubborn, I see it in your eyes," and he claps his hands together. "No, Mr. Arcadia, I cannot teach you anything. I have to punish you for your insolence, and your stupidity," and Roy's skin covers itself in goosebumps. "In time you'll understand what I'm doing, but for now, it will hurt. A parent has to punish their children."
"I am not your child!" Roy shouts.
"No, you aren't, you're right," Ganondorf smirks. "Not yet." He begins to pace the room, walking around and behind Roy's chair, all the hair on his arms standing up on end. Roy does not like being unable to see his attacker or torturer head on, a tactic used wisely in these sort of scenarios. "After I had my copies slice the throats of the other twelve council members, which I'd say has been my best trick," he applauds himself, "I had told your president, your Madam Corrin that there was more like me. More of us, these cyborg humans, half Syrenet, half man..." another pause. "It was a white lie. There's no one else like me right now in the world. Just me, and that's what makes me special, Mr. Arcadia..." Ganondorf walks back to the bench, eyes alit with a rapturous fire. "I must say thank you for being here for this! Fiora was my first trial and error, my first attempt at making something beautiful, but it ended up going south, and I've learned from my mistakes," his hand picks up an iron rod that's resting against the back, and then one of the knives. Roy begins to tremble in his bonds, Ganondorf approaching. "You'll be the first success story, Mr. Arcadia. Fiora screamed when I began cutting her up and inserting Syrenetic technology. Will you be the same?"
Roy shakes back and forth, trying to get loose, his words failing to come out, until they do in a blubbering mess. "No, stay away from me! No, no nonononononononononono..."
Without warning, Ganondorf grips Roy's right hand, turning it over so his palm facing the front, lining the knife up to the underside of his pinkie. Roy is trembling, crying, pleading for mercy.
There's a slash downwards, scarlet spews everywhere, and the Syrenet agent's body arcs off the seat, his plead twisting into a terrified scream of agony.
Sheik will admit that she did not expect to see anyone else down in the sewers. Yes, she's seen the explosions and the giving way of the ground causing people to fall below, but she assumes it's to their deaths, from which no one can clearly recover. It's her fault, when she miscalculates one explosion, that brings her section of the Detroit downtown to crumble as well, and she falls into darkness, landing unharmed in a collection of furniture from a nearby furniture store that fell before. The carnage is evident, the fighting still on-going, and the number of casualties too great for her to think about. Everything fell apart in the middle, as she's consumed by greed, madness, and a need for vengeance.
However, she is surprised to now be standing in one of the tunnels, pressing a blade up against a man's neck that seems very familiar to her, someone she's seen before, but she cannot place her finger on it. He's handsome, she'll give the stranger that, his hair an odd shade of brilliant blue. She has him pinned against the wall, his arms out, his right hand loosely holding onto the barrel of a pistol that she has locked with her left arm so he can't get a finger around the trigger.
"Who are you?" she hisses. There's no answer. Sheik presses harder, the blade dangerously close to his Adam's apple. "Tell me or I'm slicing your throat!"
"Ike Forgenson," the man yelps, "Syrenet commander Ike Forgenson!"
Her heart elates. What are the odds of running into someone else in the sewers, and then to have them be a Syrenet member? It clicks with her, then, who he is. He's the same fellow she saw in Oklahoma City alongside the other commander, and then he's in Chicago as well, one of the people on the personnel team. Is it her lucky day? It very well may be so. What would he be doing down here, though? He does not look injured, which Sheik is unable to attribute to herself, being banged up via all these sort of cuts and slash marks, bleeding from some, dust caking her forehead, her blonde hair which had been tied back now in shambles, and she smells of smoke.
She hesitates, wanting to kill the man, this Ike, here and now. He's at her mercy, and she very well could if she wanted to. Hasn't this always been her goal? To stop Syrenet from completing their goal, from getting branches off the ground, and most importantly, from not letting them have access to the Needle? Why else would they be in Detroit? Sheik doesn't lower the knife, and she does not lighten up on the tension, but she does not bring her hand across his throat to make the finishing cut. She pauses, biting down on her lip.
The message from the beginning had been to end Syrenet; it's a clear cut goal. Then her package in the mail arrives and everything becomes confused. It's moreso now an attempt at ending anything from ever taking place, from letting Corrin get what she wants. Sheik is not fooled by the smiles and the public speeches, there's an evil hidden in that woman's eyes, who has kept it inside, so very well guarded for so long, that it will come out eventually when the president thinks nobody is watching.
How far does the corruption go? Would Corrin let anyone know anything? At all? She's not so sure the silverette would, and it's giving her a headache. Along the way, things have turned from bad to worse, things have been jumbled up and lost in transition. What did she tell Midna, her Amber, that one day while in the hotel lobby eating breakfast? Syrenet had just been a ruse for something crazy... like mind control, and with further reading on the Needle, it comes to light more than ever.
Sheik curses to herself. Things could get uglier still, but there's no turning back from it now.
"I'm not going to kill you," she says, and Ike's shoulders visibly relax. "I just want to talk. If you put your gun up, I'll put my knife away. Deal?"
"Deal..." Ike says, and she removes her grip, placing the blade back into its sheath, the Syrenet commander putting his weapon back into its holster.
Now, it's time for some digging.
"I'm sorry for doing that."
"Who are you?" Ike asks.
It's another path to cross, another decision that could very well end with Sheik having a snapped neck by the time this is said and done. Again, she's paved the path to hell all by her lonesome, with the destruction she's caused, she's ready to face her end, but not before Corrin is brought down in flames by someone else or by her own hands, the hands the president would least expect.
Sheik takes a deep breath. "I'm Sheik Braring."
She watches the bluenette frown, processing the name, and it hits her like a punch when the face transforms from confusion to realization to a surge of anger. The blonde is caught off guard, just slightly, when Ike's face distorts into a snarl. He grabs her around the throat, slamming her up against the sewer wall. Sheik's back is coated in a slime that she does not want to know where it came from. "What?" the man roars. "Do you have any idea what you've done? What you've been doing? My friend is in the hospital and he'll never walk again because of you!" Ike screams, tightening his grip.
The rebel leader starts to choke, clawing at Ike's fist, but it is as if a kitten is scratching at a brick, there'll be no damage done to it. Scarlet spots fill her vision, and the already dwindling light of the tunnel begins to recede some more. This is not how she goes out. Sheik expects it to be a firing squad, or lethal ejection, or maybe just dying in her damn sleep if she's so lucky, but not getting the life visibly choked out of her by a man with outlandish hair in the worst place on planet Earth.
"I- I can explain..." she barely croaks out.
"Oh, can you?" Ike challenges. "You can explain being a terrorist?" he lets go of her throat, Sheik collapsing into the sewer basin. She coughs, sucking in breaths as fast as she can, wiping at her mouth. She can go for the knife, as she still has it, and this Syrenet commander can kill her, as much as he wants, they're both able, but she's promised, and it's one thing Sheik Braring does not do is go back on her promises. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just shoot you and be done with it?"
She sits down, flipping herself around. There isn't a real answer that she can give, nothing entirely full of sense. Sheik has been expecting death for quite some time now, surprised that it still hasn't happened, given the circumstances. If anyone is going to kill her, it'd be Midna, most definitely. "I can't," she coughs, letting out a shaky breath. "I can't give you a reason to spare me, at least not one you'll believe..."
Ike has a hand on his pistol, the sneaky bastard. He hesitates from unlatching it from the holster, and just shooting a silver bullet into her brain. It'd be a lot faster than discussing terms with her, that's for sure. "Try me. Entertain me, Sheik, on why you've killed hundreds of Americans and Syrenet workers for some rebel plan..."
Sheik actually cannot believe she's even gotten this far. She must be a great salesman. "The branch you work for, Syrenet, is not what you think it is. Not fully."
The commander scoffs, his laugh echoing along the pipes. "Are you shitting me? That's the best you can come up with?"
She struggles to stand, wobbling some on her feet. "I'm serious! You're a commander. Tell me, exactly, what you think Syrenet is. What it's supposed to do."
"Well, it's not like anyone knows because we've never gotten the chance!" he yells back. "You've been destroying all our attempts!"
"Answer the question..." her head is killing her.
Ike falters some in his step, having built another rouse of anger from Sheik's condescending question, the nerve of it all. "Syrenet is an organization adopted from British principles, put into place by President Corrin Etch to exist as a crossbreed between militaristic and espionage purposes, then it delves into providing technological services to citizens. AI Units that act like house computers, providing firearms... things like that."
She has to laugh. It's such a trained answer. "And what if I were to tell you that all of it is just a ruse?"
"I'd call you crazy."
"How'd you make that answer up?"
"I didn't make it up," Ike argues, furrowing his eyebrows together. "It is the formal statement written by President Corrin in our initiation and-"
"First problem," Sheik interrupts. "She lied to you. Your Syrenet group, while you think will be helping out the country, would only alienate us. She'd be a dictator."
The commander hangs his head, bringing a hand up to run through his hair. He laughs. "You're out of your mind. You are out of your damn mind, Sheik."
She reaches into her back pocket. From all those days ago, back in her apartment, when a package mysteriously arrives at her door are several pieces of important documentation. Sheik keeps them with her, the secrets of the world, what Corrin Etch wishes to hide from America because it'd ask all the wrong questions and bring up pieces of her past that the silverette witch does not want getting out to the public as general knowledge. The blonde has the documents with her everywhere, having made multiple copies for reasons like this, and now she gets the exact opportune moment to execute it.
"One day, I received a package, and this was in it," she holds it out for him to take. Ike looks at it with precaution. She sighs. "It's not poisoned. It's not a trick. Take it."
He accepts it gingerly, taking his hand off of the butt of his pistol. The itch to slice his throat returns, Sheik's fingertips twitching, but there's been enough bloodshed on her hands that something has to stop eventually. "What is it?"
"A birth certificate," she says. "My birth certificate."
There are rain clouds scheduled on the forecast, Sheik clutching the phone closer to her neck. Her father, Salvatore is on the phone. It's been a long time since the two had spoken to each other, for some reason she likes alienating herself. "I want to ask you a question," she says.
"Anything sweetheart. What's the matter?" Salvatore asks.
Sheik's mouth is dry. "Are you really my father?"
"I- what do you mean, Sheik?"
"My name isn't Sheik, is it, Salvatore," she understands, to her father, or whomever the man is, that this must be a lance through the heart, using his first name instead of the same term of endearment she's used her entire life up until this point. "It's Samantha..."
Ike's brow in still stuck in confusion. "I- I don't understand..."
"It's a birth certificate," Sheik says again, taking a deep breath.
Then, the hammer stroke that puts the nail in the coffin.
"My name is not Sheik Braring, commander."
"If that's not your name, then what is it?"
"It's on the certificate," Sheik shudders, then saying it because she knows Ike still won't put the pieces together.
"I'm Samantha Gladwell, the daughter of New York senator Cloud Gladwell, and the President of the United States, Corrin Etch."
And the plot takes another downward spiral! Man, despite all that has happened in previous chapters, I still think this one here might be the most eventful, and it certainly has brought the house down. My heart is racing, that I wrote this in about six hours, maybe a bit less, between two days, and woo, it's such a rush. Let's dissect this some, shall we?
Midna is alive, in the sewers like half the damn cast, and she's heard Roy screaming. Lucas and Shulk fought, and he's effectively crushed the AI Unit's disc. Unless Operation Canary was exactly what happened, someone tried murdering Robin, which has been a twist I was waiting for. Ike found Lucas, meaning he, and now Sheik, are in Shulk's vicinity. Roy is screwed, Ganondorf has some intentions... and the one of the multiple plot twists that I've been waiting for since the very beginning with Sheik's character, and the subtle hints from there on... she's Corrin daughter, the one Corrin had with Cloud prior to the presidency, and the same child, this Samantha put up for adoption. What else is in that documentation that she mentioned? Does it spill some insight into Sheik's character at all? Is she just a terrorist, or something more?
This is the reason why the arc here is my favorite of the four, because it is just so explosive, I can hardly control myself. We've just reached the halfway mark, with the next chapter, Chapter #35: Ghosts of the Past, which, I shall say, prepare to have your foundations completely brought down if this chapter didn't already do it. Who's safe you think, who's on the chopping block, and can you believe that I actually wrote a chapter without Corrin in it? I'm devastated.
Please review! I'd love to hear what you all are thinking, reactions and whatnot, and speculation is always great. Six chapters left, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all so much for reading! I love you all so much! Bye!
~ Paradigm