He blinked his eyes open and his brow subsequently wrinkled in confusion. He was fully dressed, including his boots, and laying above the covers on a strange bed in a strange room. He sat up in order to better survey his surroundings, but a shooting pain through his temples hampered his efforts, and he brought a hand up to massage his forehead as his head fell back against the pillow. He noticed then that he felt awful; nauseous, groggy, a splitting headache of course, and at first he couldn't figure out why he'd be feeling in such a way, but then the familiarity of his state caught up with him and he groaned at the realization that he was in the throes of one hell of a hangover. The fact that he had no clue where he was didn't help in the least.
Eventually, he'd collected himself enough to sit up on the edge of the bed, and he took in the hardwood floor, twin bedside tables, walk-in closet and lone bureau while his intensified hearing picked up what appeared to be the sounds of someone preparing breakfast. For a brief moment, he tensed at the feared the possibility that the previous night's obvious drinking binge had caused him to allow himself to be pulled into a sort of one-night-stand. He soon realized with a great amount of relief, though, that if this scenario were true he probably wouldn't be dressed, or above the covers. So where was he, then? It couldn't be a friend's place...he didn't have any friends, only the occasional ally. He couldn't have been captured...Renfro wouldn't treat him this well. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, but nothing came up. Ah, well...seemed he'd have to do a little exploring to figure this one out.
He slowly walked to the door of the room, shaking his head and widening his eyes to try to get back into himself. He hadn't drunken like this in so long...he'd forgotten how awful the morning after could be. He braced himself against the doorframe as another wave of pain shot through his head. Oh, this was going to be a long day.
He pressed himself against the wall as he made his way down the corridor, both as a cautionary measure in case his host was foe (though he strongly doubted it) and as a means of steadying himself. He paused in the entranceway to the main room, which was presently flooded with early morning sun from the large windows typical of the city's high-rise apartments, and whose furnishings, though sparse, definitely spoke of one of great privilege. He walked out into the open, momentarily forgetting to exercise caution and jumped through the roof at the voice that greeted him.
"So you're finally up," Logan commented as he made his way about the kitchen. He chuckled slightly at Lydecker's reaction to his observation. "A little jumpy, are we?" Lydecker nodded slowly as confusion pounded his skull once again. Logan? What was he doing with Logan?
"This is probably going to sound strange," Lydecker began, "but...what exactly am I doing here?"
"You don't remember?" Logan asked, amused. Lydecker, of course, shook his head in response. "Well," Logan said, clicking his tongue, "you showed up late last night drunk off your ass, collapsed in my doorway, and I dragged you into the guest room. You're lucky; for a moment I was considering tossing you in the elevator and sending you back down to the lobby, but I just couldn't bring myself to be so cruel. Besides, I didn't want to miss the opportunity to accommodate someone of your stature." Lydecker cringed at the bitterness in the man's voice as images of last night flooded his memory. The bar, the girl, his arrival at the apartment and then blackness. He mentally kicked himself for putting himself in such a compromising situation and wandered forward a few more steps.
"Yes...yes, now I remember."
"Great," Logan said flatly. "Have a seat." He gestured to the couch and Lydecker gladly took the invitation, thankful for the opportunity to get off his feet. "How do you like your eggs?" Logan inquired. He didn't get the answer he wanted.
"You still haven't forgiven me, have you?"
Logan put on his most sarcastic, arrogant grin and replied, "No, I guess I haven't, and I don't think any of them have either, nor will any of us ever be able to...not completely, at least."
Lydecker sighed heavily and covered his face in his hands. "I explained everything, didn't I?"
"Oh, you mean about your dream, your little vision?" Logan's voice was dripping with bitter sarcasm and it was driving Lydecker crazy. "Personally, hearing that has only led me to believe that you're even more messed up than I'd previously thought."
"You don't get it," Lydecker grumbled. "You can't even possibly begin to understand."
"Maybe not, but I've tried. Believe me, I have tried," Logan insisted. "And maybe this is just my liberal pacifistic side talking, but trying to create the perfect killing machine just doesn't seem like the most productive and beneficial thing you could be doing for society."
Lydecker chuckled. "You haven't tried hard enough. Just imagine all the lives that would be saved, all the money we wouldn't have to waste if we had an army of my kids serving and protecting the country. Think of how fearful our enemies would become of us. Imagine how many we could make...enough that we'd have the whole world so afraid that they wouldn't even dare to think of launching war. Militaristic domination...and ultimately the end of war alto..."
"Oh, c'mon, Lydecker!" Logan interrupted, slamming his fist into the counter. "You of all people should know better than that. The world wouldn't just sit back and quiver, they'd begin developing even more advanced soldiers. I mean...you can't just create some spectacular weapon or train some amazing soldier and expect war to go away. In the beginning of the 20th century, industrialization had brought about all these incredible weapons; machine guns, mortars, flame-throwers, you name it. And you know what everyone thought? They thought that we'd never fight again because no one would be stupid enough to go up against those weapons. Instead, World War I happened and an entire generation was killed. A few decades later, they thought the exact same thing; we'll never fight again, our weaponry is too advanced, no one is stupid enough to make that same mistake. What happened? World War II and us big, clever Americans unleashed leukemia on the planet. People still think like that, they still think that, since nuclear weaponry is in the hands of most every power around the globe, we're not stupid enough to fight, we're not stupid enough to blow up the planet. But ya know something? We are. As much as I hate to admit to it, for the most part, we're a stupid, hostile race, Lydecker, and when it comes to stupid, hostile races, better weapons and soldiers don't end war, they only make it worse." He let silence take over then, watching Lydecker's face as all that had been said began to sink in. He had a feeling he'd delivered quite a psychological blow and was immensely pleased with himself for it. He drew the quiet out a few seconds more, then asked, "Now, for the second time, how do you like your eggs?"
Eventually, he'd collected himself enough to sit up on the edge of the bed, and he took in the hardwood floor, twin bedside tables, walk-in closet and lone bureau while his intensified hearing picked up what appeared to be the sounds of someone preparing breakfast. For a brief moment, he tensed at the feared the possibility that the previous night's obvious drinking binge had caused him to allow himself to be pulled into a sort of one-night-stand. He soon realized with a great amount of relief, though, that if this scenario were true he probably wouldn't be dressed, or above the covers. So where was he, then? It couldn't be a friend's place...he didn't have any friends, only the occasional ally. He couldn't have been captured...Renfro wouldn't treat him this well. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, but nothing came up. Ah, well...seemed he'd have to do a little exploring to figure this one out.
He slowly walked to the door of the room, shaking his head and widening his eyes to try to get back into himself. He hadn't drunken like this in so long...he'd forgotten how awful the morning after could be. He braced himself against the doorframe as another wave of pain shot through his head. Oh, this was going to be a long day.
He pressed himself against the wall as he made his way down the corridor, both as a cautionary measure in case his host was foe (though he strongly doubted it) and as a means of steadying himself. He paused in the entranceway to the main room, which was presently flooded with early morning sun from the large windows typical of the city's high-rise apartments, and whose furnishings, though sparse, definitely spoke of one of great privilege. He walked out into the open, momentarily forgetting to exercise caution and jumped through the roof at the voice that greeted him.
"So you're finally up," Logan commented as he made his way about the kitchen. He chuckled slightly at Lydecker's reaction to his observation. "A little jumpy, are we?" Lydecker nodded slowly as confusion pounded his skull once again. Logan? What was he doing with Logan?
"This is probably going to sound strange," Lydecker began, "but...what exactly am I doing here?"
"You don't remember?" Logan asked, amused. Lydecker, of course, shook his head in response. "Well," Logan said, clicking his tongue, "you showed up late last night drunk off your ass, collapsed in my doorway, and I dragged you into the guest room. You're lucky; for a moment I was considering tossing you in the elevator and sending you back down to the lobby, but I just couldn't bring myself to be so cruel. Besides, I didn't want to miss the opportunity to accommodate someone of your stature." Lydecker cringed at the bitterness in the man's voice as images of last night flooded his memory. The bar, the girl, his arrival at the apartment and then blackness. He mentally kicked himself for putting himself in such a compromising situation and wandered forward a few more steps.
"Yes...yes, now I remember."
"Great," Logan said flatly. "Have a seat." He gestured to the couch and Lydecker gladly took the invitation, thankful for the opportunity to get off his feet. "How do you like your eggs?" Logan inquired. He didn't get the answer he wanted.
"You still haven't forgiven me, have you?"
Logan put on his most sarcastic, arrogant grin and replied, "No, I guess I haven't, and I don't think any of them have either, nor will any of us ever be able to...not completely, at least."
Lydecker sighed heavily and covered his face in his hands. "I explained everything, didn't I?"
"Oh, you mean about your dream, your little vision?" Logan's voice was dripping with bitter sarcasm and it was driving Lydecker crazy. "Personally, hearing that has only led me to believe that you're even more messed up than I'd previously thought."
"You don't get it," Lydecker grumbled. "You can't even possibly begin to understand."
"Maybe not, but I've tried. Believe me, I have tried," Logan insisted. "And maybe this is just my liberal pacifistic side talking, but trying to create the perfect killing machine just doesn't seem like the most productive and beneficial thing you could be doing for society."
Lydecker chuckled. "You haven't tried hard enough. Just imagine all the lives that would be saved, all the money we wouldn't have to waste if we had an army of my kids serving and protecting the country. Think of how fearful our enemies would become of us. Imagine how many we could make...enough that we'd have the whole world so afraid that they wouldn't even dare to think of launching war. Militaristic domination...and ultimately the end of war alto..."
"Oh, c'mon, Lydecker!" Logan interrupted, slamming his fist into the counter. "You of all people should know better than that. The world wouldn't just sit back and quiver, they'd begin developing even more advanced soldiers. I mean...you can't just create some spectacular weapon or train some amazing soldier and expect war to go away. In the beginning of the 20th century, industrialization had brought about all these incredible weapons; machine guns, mortars, flame-throwers, you name it. And you know what everyone thought? They thought that we'd never fight again because no one would be stupid enough to go up against those weapons. Instead, World War I happened and an entire generation was killed. A few decades later, they thought the exact same thing; we'll never fight again, our weaponry is too advanced, no one is stupid enough to make that same mistake. What happened? World War II and us big, clever Americans unleashed leukemia on the planet. People still think like that, they still think that, since nuclear weaponry is in the hands of most every power around the globe, we're not stupid enough to fight, we're not stupid enough to blow up the planet. But ya know something? We are. As much as I hate to admit to it, for the most part, we're a stupid, hostile race, Lydecker, and when it comes to stupid, hostile races, better weapons and soldiers don't end war, they only make it worse." He let silence take over then, watching Lydecker's face as all that had been said began to sink in. He had a feeling he'd delivered quite a psychological blow and was immensely pleased with himself for it. He drew the quiet out a few seconds more, then asked, "Now, for the second time, how do you like your eggs?"