Chapter 23
Pitching Forward
Sun, don't set on us just yet, give us a few more hours in this endless day. A few more hours for us to end this war.
Lord Godo had taken a position he found himself in quite often, standing in the warmth of the sun on the balcony outside of his office. He'd chosen a yellow robe for the day, part of his wife's attempt to try and add a bit of variety to his wardrobe. So far yellow was the only color aside from white that he'd agreed to, anything else would be too drastic of a change at the moment.
"Our scouts reported that the large Shinra camp outside of the mountains is still quiet," briefed Staniv from inside the office.
He'd come to deliver his daily report, though on the particular day he didn't have much to report. That would seem like a blessing to most, but in such an uncertain war inactivity could mean many things; most of them not good. Godo didn't turn around to acknowledge the information, but Staniv knew he was listening, and so from the carved dragon stool in the corner that he tended to favor the general continued.
"Major Podran reports that it's been decided that Chamuri Base is repairable."
Godo nodded silently, and Staniv didn't even bother to look up before moving on.
"And then in the intelligence field; the informant that gave us the information that helped us win at Chamuri Base hasn't made contact for over a week now," said Staniv in a slightly worried tone.
The news prompted the leader of Wutai to angle his head to the side and reply.
"Is that considered a long time?" he asked skeptically.
Staniv nervously adjusted the clasp on his dark cloak and answered, "Not incredibly long, but somewhat noticeable…"
"Patience, young Staniv. I have a feeling that our enigmatic informant isn't worrying too much about having let a week go by without correspondence," pointed out the lord as he ran his strong hand over the cool railing of the balcony.
Staniv's upper body stiffened at his leader's rebuke as he sat up straighter on the stool.
"Sir I wasn't suggesting that anything large was up, I was just letting you know…"
"Yes, I realize that. Don't let it bother you, according to my daughter I tell people to be patient quite often," comforted Godo with a smile as he turned around.
Lord Godo drifted back into his office and picked up an incredibly smooth stone that he'd found on one of his journeys down to the water up off of his desk.
"If a few more weeks go by without any sign of the person you may send out an agent to check on things," authorized Godo.
Since Wutaian resources were very limited, Staniv served as both the General of the Wutaian Army and the Chief of Intelligence; but since there were no intelligence operatives he was pretty much his own boss.
"We don't have any agents to send," stated Staniv frankly.
Godo sighed and turned back to the warmth of the balcony.
"All we need is more resources and we'd actually stand a chance, but instead we're a shadow of our old selves, at our lowest point in history. I would believe that the gods had turned their eyes away from us if the thought didn't send a shudder up my back. These are dark times, and the Shinra know it," said Godo, curling his long toes inwards on top of his thatched sandals.
"That shouldn't be all that surprising though, my lord. The Shinra always strike at people when they are the weakest, they look for the weakest in the pack and go after them. As you said, they can see we're at a low point, and so they've attacked us. They don't like going up against even odds," commented Staniv, standing up to deliver his point.
"They do indeed lack any true understanding of honor; but I'll concede that their military is much more sophisticated and better trained than ours. Our soldiers are just too young, most of them have received all of their training over the course of the past month; not nearly long enough to become a true defender of our country," rebutted Godo.
"Sir most of them haven't even had an opportunity to fight, and there just aren't enough of them to lead an open attack on any Shinra forces…" defended the general with a bit of an edge to his voice.
"Don't worry, General, I'm not trying to question your army. I'm only stating the truth, the Shinra military is better trained than ours. They have seasoned veterans who have been with them since the first war, and that is where our problem lays; the first war. Back then we had a force to rival theirs; we actually put up a fight. Of course in the end they came with the greater numbers and defeated us, but our men didn't give up until the gods finally beckoned them to their appointment with death. They had that fierce determination that you can't train," reminisced the lord as he paced slowly in front of a window.
Staniv knew all of this, he'd served in the ranks with the very men that Godo glorified, but he let his leader continue anyway.
"They were all killed though; Shinra knew that they had to kill them all. That's how they work; they make sure their enemies are crippled beyond help, no longer a threat. We're not going down quite so easily though; we've gotten up off our feet. We've gotten our heads about us and begun to strengthen our arms and legs. We're still weak, but making a fairly fast recovery. Of course they noticed this, and decided that they need to stop us from returning to the way our country should be. Even though we had no intention of ever fighting with them again, they started this ordeal anyway. And so now everyday we have to put our hopes on young soldiers who've never even truly seen war."
Staniv had quietly waited through the speech to reply, and now it was his turn.
"Lord Godo, our men may be young and new, but they've got a lot in them; they'll put up the best fight that they can," praised Staniv.
Godo sighed and turned his back to the brilliant sun.
"Well, if putting up a good fight is all we can ask of them, then I suppose we'll have to settle for that."
****
President Shinra sat back in his large chair, engulfed by its thick covering of leather. One somewhat pudgy hand was slowly unclenching on his massive desk as he emitted a sigh of annoyance.
"Rotterdam is better at playing detective than I thought he was going to be," he observed.
A few feet in front of the desk stood the sinister executives Scarlet and Heidegger; anxious to see how their co-worker would be dealt with by the great Shinra.
"Sir, we need to deal with him before he exposes our secret, though honorable, intentions," warned Heidegger viciously as he shifted back and forth on his beefy legs.
The president just ignored the piggish man and turned his head to the much more pleasant looking Scarlet.
"We shouldn't kill him quite yet, sir. Why not just put him somewhere out of the way, where he can't cause any trouble?" suggested the bleached-blond executive, flashing the president a fake look of enticement.
At this the leader of Shinra Inc. sat up in interest, pronouncing multiple folds of fat under his chin and on the back of his neck.
"I like the idea Miss Scarlet, please tell me more," he asked, looking at her playfully, though he ended up just looking like he was mentally challenged.
Scarlet rearranged her red high-heeled feet aimlessly.
"We could send him off on a 'diplomatic mission', somewhere very far away," she said, dropping all signs of sexual intentions from her eyes.
"Let's send him to Mideel; it's in the middle of nowhere and they can't even talk right out there," said Heidegger, trying to help but failing miserably as he roughly pulled at his beard out of boredom.
Shinra swiveled in his chair by aid of a small motor to look at a large map of the world behind him on one wall.
"Even Mideel is too civilized, besides there are already people there," he pointed out as he pushed the chair back and stood up somewhat laboriously.
The small man walked over to the map and surveyed possible locations. His finger slowly moved around the scaled down version of their world, which spanned an entire wall from floor to ceiling.
"What about Bone Village, sir?" asked Scarlet hopefully.
The president's sausage-like finger came to rest on a small dot near the top of the map with no marks indicating that any Shinra officials had ever been stationed there before.
"Perfect, it's about time we extended our reach a bit. Write a message telling him about all this, say whatever you want; just get him far away from here," the president ordered as he moved back towards his chair.
"What about Reeve? He won't help us against Rotterdam. The police reported that he tried to bribe some of their officers earlier today to find out stuff about the crash site," cautioned Heidegger.
The president stopped before he reached his chair and looked up at the man, steadying himself on his desk which he wasn't much taller than.
"Let him search all he wants. He'll never have the balls to come out with any of it; he's probably been too afraid to even keep talking to Rotterdam lately. He knows his place, he won't try anything."
****
Contrary to what the president believed, Reeve had actually been in fairly close contact with the vice-president lately. He'd even managed to bribe enough different law enforcement officials to gain access to the crash site of the "training accident".
The half completed structure had been utterly destroyed, nothing but a lone steel beam which vaguely resembled a monolith stood. Construction equipment had been mangled beyond recognition and shards of glass were dangerously strewn across the ground. Metal had been melted, crushed and blown into a thousand pieces across an area equal to a city block. And of course, right where they should be, chunks of the three fighters were tossed about in varying states of death and explosion. The only distinguishable parts of the fighters were a few crumpled wings, half of some fuselage and a scrap of metal with the Shinra logo on it. Conveniently enough the pilots' bodies had been burned or blown into many pieces, or had they ever been there in the first place?
It seemed like there was such an abundance of evidence, but in reality it gave Reeve nothing. He knew that there had to be something on the site to prove his theory, yet he had no idea where to look. For all he knew the Shinra forces had already wiped the place clean of any trace.
There has to be something here, Shinra you bastard. You're pretty good at this bullshit but not quite good enough if I've gotten this far…
As he carefully walked over and through the layers of soot and debris he realized his brown leather shoes were getting scuffed and dirty. At the thought he quickly reprimanded himself, much more important things were at hand. Like taking the abusive bastard President Shinra down from his throne, stripping him of his growing power, cutting off his genitals and throwing him into a jail cell somewhere.
Need to focus, revenge comes later.
Of course first he had to prove that Shinra Inc. had blown up three of their own fighters and a promising new building project.
Doesn't seem to make sense does it, pal. Destroying your own property, erasing three human beings from known existence? Bet it makes perfect sense for you though, just like it made sense to taint her with your meaty goddamn fist every night. And it probably made plenty of sense to drive her and your child into hiding, your own goddamn wife.
The thoughts made Reeve stop in his tracks and wince. He noticed that the air had lost its warmth, and he was glad he'd kept his black suit jacket on for the trip.
Focus, he'll pay eventually.
The executive made his way around the site aimlessly until something caught his eye. Reeve quickly walked over to a section of scratched, but shiny metal that was buried beneath a pile of ash. He uncovered it mostly with the sole of his shoe and bent down to retrieve his newly found treasure. As he stood back up he found himself holding a cylindrical, shiny metal object roughly three feet long and heavier than would be expected. It was covered with a thin layer of grime which sank into the creases in the palm of his hand, a fact which he tried to ignore.
It appeared that there was some sort of engraving or writing but the layer of dirt and ash obscured it. Reeve feverishly rubbed it away with his thumb for a minute or so until he could read what turned out be a set of characters engraved in the metal.
"DEM-41387-CR"
"DEM", what the hell is "DEM"?
Shit, obviously "DEM" stands for demolition!
A faulty demolition charge that'd never exploded due to any number of possibilities. The implications were blatant, especially after Reeve's discovery in the Shinra construction database the week before. Shinra had stockpiled extra demolition charges from various projects and planted them all over the site Reeve was presently standing on. And now he had one of the objects in question right in his hand; solid physical evidence. He'd run the serial number through the database just to make sure, but he was willing to bet his life's earnings on the fact that it was one of the "extra" charges.
Score.
It all fit together so well, and was so surprisingly accessible with a little initiative that the executive almost wondered if there was more to it. But as quickly as the thought had come it left.
Shinra just didn't cover their backs. They've got no idea that anyone has any idea about what they've got going. Damn will old Shinra feel this one in the gut; maybe he'll even have a heart attack or something, fucker.
Nurturing thoughts of his swine of a boss dying by increasingly terrible methods, Reeve walked out of the crash site, donning designer sunglasses to shield his eyes from the brightening sun.
****
Ever since I "officially" became a commander, I've had to do some of the most annoying shit. I never knew you had to sign so many damn papers when you're in the air force. Aside from a few sim runs for fun, this is practically all I've been doing, just reading reports and signing documents. I'm so backed up I haven't even had lunch yet. They tried to give me Nairne's old tent but I didn't want anything to do with it. The thing is so creepy, it even kinda smells like him: a mix of booze and greasiness. So instead I hauled the old table he'd had into our bunk tent and set up shop. I've practically lived at the thing since, and that ain't easy. The end of June ain't exactly the best time to be stuck in a stuffy, old tent. But I'll make it through, only a couple more papers to get through. Like this one about…oh you've gotta be kidding me. It says that I'm s'posed to report to a meeting that started ten minutes ago. I'm not even gonna bother read what it's about, not enough time.
I bolted out the door in my basic brown pants/ white undershirt combo, and soon slid to a halt in front of Kahne's tent. I could already hear talking and knew I was screwed. Maybe I can play it like I don't know I'm late, yeah…that's what I'll do. I opened the door and saw Kahne, Arkanian and the head tech; don't really know or care what his name is. Kahne and the head tech sat in metal chairs on opposite sides of the tent, and Arkanian stood somewhere in the middle. All three were in various states of annoyance, Kahne being the worst. A vein was already beginning to show on his forehead, not a good sign.
"Ah, Lieutenant. Good to finally see you, my name is Steven," introduced the head tech.
I don't care what your name is.
A second later, my plan of pretending I didn't know I was late died instantly.
"Lieutenant Highwind, where the hell have you been?" shouted Kahne, more irritated than angry.
"Um, sir is that rhetorical or do you really wanna know where I was?"
He just kept on staring at me.
"Paper work, sir. I was so into it I couldn't stop…" I replied, looking him right in the eyes.
Kahne just shook his balding, sweaty head and turned back to the head tech.
Like Arkanian, I decided to stand and participate as little as possible in the meeting.
"Before you arrived we were discussing some sort of 'secret weapon' we could develop for use in the remainder of the war. So far we haven't been able to come up with much," summarized tech boy Steve.
Secret weapon? This sounds like some cheesy old Midgar war movie.
"Hell, why not build a giant laser beam mounted on a rolling platform pulled by chocobos?" I suggested.
"You may have something there," complimented Steve, and he seemed kind of serious.
Oh come on, there's no way they're gonna go for that.
"You ain't serious…" I started.
"Of course he's not," spat Kahne.
I looked over to see that Arkanian had a bit of a smirk going.
"The actual idea would never work, but the basic principle would. Who says a secret weapon has to be small and well, secretive looking? It doesn't necessarily have to be deadly either," spouted tech man rhetorically.
Leave it to these guys to actually get something out of what I said.
"Well if it isn't deadly and secretive what the hell is the point?" asked Kahne kind of rudely as he pulled out a stained white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead.
"Recon planes aren't deadly or all that secretive in terms of size, but they're still a good card to be able to hold against your enemy," explained Steve.
Kahne seemed a bit less confused but he was prob'ly just pretending he got it.
"Whatever we come up with prob'ly won't end up being used right or something when the time comes. Our communications and decisions suck up in the air when we're busy fighting." I added.
Arkanian nodded, agreeing.
"He's right; it's tough to make good calls while you're busy trying to stop someone from killing ya. If this thing was sent out with us, someone would probably deploy it incorrectly," supported Arkanian.
"The communication system isn't that bad," defended Kahne.
I looked over at Arkanian, who was now standing stiffly and decided to let her take this.
"Sir, if our communications had been better, you wouldn't have lost all those pilots when you made the run on that tower last month," pointed out the female commander.
It was harsh, but I was thinkin' the same thing, somebody had to say it.
Kahne just sat back in his chair and closed his eyes for a minute, blowing out a stream of air in surprise.
"All right, you've made your point. I still don't know what you think you can create that will enhance our communications though," gave in Kahne questioningly.
Arkanian had relaxed a little bit and decided to answer this one too.
"If we could even just have some kind of higher up, commanding officer who could help us with orders on the fly," she suggested.
"Well we could solve that fairly easily if I just flew on the missions with you," persisted Kahne.
No good, pal.
"Then we just come back to the same problem though. You'll be too busy flying to be able to focus on giving orders. We need something where a commanding officer could theoretically have total concentration while in the battle," explained Arkanian.
"I could possibly modify a fighter to hold two people, one controlling it and one along for the ride commanding…" said our resident techie, obviously not getting the point.
"No, that wouldn't work! We just keep talking around the same issue here. A modified fighter would still be just about as vulnerable as a regular one…" reprimanded Arkanian, throwing her arms up agitatedly in the process.
This could go on forever; Arkanian was right, we just kept coming back to square one. Whoa, Square One is a store I went to once back in Midgar. It's got all these toys and models and junk. There was this one really big model of an airship hanging from the ceiling, and it was definitely the coolest fucking thing I've ever seen…
"We oughta make an airship, they're the coolest fucking things ever." I blurted out accidentally.
Everyone just stopped and looked at me like I'd just gone and joined the Wutes, just plain amazed.
"Yes!" shouted Stevie, almost getting a little too excited.
"There'd be plenty of room for a command center, and it'd be much safer than a regular fighter," realized Arkanian.
"But is it feasible?" questioned Kahne.
"I'm not sure, but I can draw up a plan right away. It should work if I'm thinking about it right," answered Steve anxiously.
"You can head up the project since it was your idea, Highwind," said Kahne, turning towards me.
Oh come on that's just what I need, more to do.
What a great way to spend the summer.
****
Deep inside the growing beast of Shinra Incorporated lay its gnarled claw that no one liked to talk about because of its sheer hideousness. No one spoke of this feature, but they all silently acknowledged its deadly presence: the Turks.
It was shaping up to be a rather nice afternoon in Midgar, but the tanned man with his black ponytail would never have known that. His office had no windows for security reasons, in fact his office was lacking in many amenities. It consisted only of a small gray metal desk, which was empty and a scuffed folding metal chair. On one corner of the desk was a basic laptop and overhead hung a very simple pull-chain light bulb. This was all the man needed, for he tried to spend as little time in the room as possible. He really only used it to receive messages off of his laptop.
The man had come into his office after a rigorous workout down in the weight room and a quick shower to check for any new directives from the higher-ups. Normally most orders came from Scarlet since she led the Weapons Dept. and the Turks fell under that category. As the man clicked his way into the message system he found that there was a new message, but not from Scarlet. Its sender was labeled only as "Military Command". The text that followed prompted the man to close his eyes for a moment and lower his head, which caused a drop of water to slip off of his glistening black hair onto the keyboard below.
When he opened his eyes he read through the brief message once more before truly absorbing its importance. In two sentences it asked him to do something that could put a stop to potential volumes of history and wisdom.
"Eliminate Godo by any means necessary. Preferably with minimal extraneous loss of life," it read.
The writer hadn't even recognized the great man's title, Lord Godo. Tseng was being asked to murder the leader of his native country. He knew one thing right away: that he couldn't do it himself. He'd have to get another operative to take the mission, and it would be quite complicated. He hastily shut his laptop and stood up, shuddering as he walked out of his office into the main room. The main room was a bit more interesting than Tseng's office, but still fairly sparse.
In the center of the room was a large, round metal table with built in benches that'd been stolen from a local park and repainted black. The common theme of the room was dark and metallic with the walls a faded black color and the floor and ceiling panels gray corrugated steel. The other main fixtures of the room were a curved red couch, accompanied by a sizeable flat screen TV, a computer terminal with a vast database of top secret information, a recessed wall with an opening and closing panel that housed a varying selection of killing devices, and a hallway out to the rest of the building. The room also held a few other flat surfaces, which the new replacement Reno had already begun to fill with heaps of assorted junk; ranging from dirty magazines to hamburger wrappers.
Tseng sat down on the combo table-bench with his back leaning against the table and thought once again. He refused to do the mission, though he would be the logical choice because of his anonymous Wutaian features. The mission would take time as well, he couldn't be away from the base for so long. An operative would have to become slowly swallowed by the society to even have a chance to get close enough to Lord Godo; it could be at least a month if not more. Two operatives might even be necessary, it would be a costly mission indeed. Lio was the obvious first choice since he was half Wutaian, but who would be the second? Both Rude and Reno were relatively new, though Rude was more experienced by a couple of months. He'd had his chance to prove himself on a mission already though, with a weapon that he detested at that. Reno seemed more charismatic, more able to blend in socially, but could he keep himself in check?
A moment later Reno and Rude returned from their training session in the fitness room. Reno was obviously annoyed and slightly angry, while Rude was calm, though it seemed his patience had been taxed a bit.
"Who cares how many of those fucking weights I can pick up? I can pull myself up and that's all that matters. Besides, I can run faster than you," complained Reno as he dropped onto the couch angrily.
"They're different things; what good does speed do when you're jumped? You have to force your opponent off before you can use your amazing speed to run away," rebuked Rude, rubbing a corner of the towel hanging around his neck over his bare head.
Tseng emotionlessly turned to face the two of them, tucking his legs under the table in the process.
"You are both wrong. Upper body strength and speed, among other attributes, must be at their full potential before you can be at your maximum performance outside," corrected Tseng, gesturing towards an outside wall.
Reno just snorted in dismissal and turned on the TV as Rude came over to sit across from Tseng.
"You look mentally worn out, Rude. Which is surprising because I thought you two could work together; or so you told me," probed the leader.
A mix of slight embarrassment and disappointment in having lied to his boss washed over Rude's face.
"We could, and we did," replied Rude vaguely.
Tseng's eyes studied Rude's intensely.
"Rude, you're a horrible liar. I know there's more to it than that but I don't really care to hear about it right now."
"Yes, sir. I know; and thanks"
"Well whether or not you two can get over your little spat notwithstanding, is he ready for a deep infiltration mission?"
Rude seemed surprised that Tseng was actually asking him for advice.
"I haven't been here that long…" protested Rude.
"If you couldn't do this job you would be gone by now. You know the answer, just tell me."
Rude glanced over at Reno quickly, who was drifting off in an awkward position while struggling to keep his focus on the TV.
"No," stated Rude quietly.
This confirmed what Tseng had already begun to expect.
"Alright, you and Lio are going to Wutai tomorrow," said Tseng quickly as he got up from the table.
"What's the mission?" asked Rude, startled.
"Hurting people and causing trouble. Isn't it always?"
****
There must have been a concise mood amongst the Shinra command chain, because like Tseng, the message Rotterdam received on his laptop was also merely two sentences long, yet very important. Though unlike Tseng who had no idea whom the sender had been, Rotterdam's was labeled as being from Scarlet.
"Under our new diplomatic expansion program you've been indefinitely assigned to the settlement of Bone Village. Transport will arrive at 3:00 on the East Landing Platform," it read.
The second the vice-president's brain finished processing the message his stomach sank. He knew that from Bone Village he'd be useless, and rather helpless too. He actually wasn't even sure that he knew where Bone Village was, aside from very far away. It was obvious why they'd send him off; he was too near to unveiling everything. He knew what the puzzle was supposed to look like, and he had most of the inside pieces in place, but a few stray edge pieces were missing. All he needed was some solid proof; something to substantiate what he knew to be reality.
As he got up from the leather couch where he'd held his laptop in his flat he felt a slight breeze against his exposed chest. He walked over to a large black, metal-framed casement window to push it open to allow more air inside, donned in his wrinkled dress pants and a white shirt that was both un-buttoned and un-tucked. The wind intensified and ruffled his short hair as much as it could, but he didn't move away from it, instead letting it flow around him.
The city was bustling even in the high-end sector that his flat was in, though most of the people probably didn't even know the truth behind the war. They never doubted their president for a second, instead just accepted his words as the truth. They had no idea how the whole mess had been started, but if they heard the truth would they even believe it? If he exposed it all, would Rotterdam just be passed off as some crazy usurper and then locked away in a black pit of a cell, or would the people realize that their leader had lied to them? Would they realize that he was nothing more than a short, fat, rich man with an incredible lust for money and land?
The news would be twisted to make things look like Rotterdam had been out for the presidency; no one would ever believe him.
It was barely worth the effort, the attempts at secrecy, working overtime sifting through files and passing his tiredness at work off to his co-workers as a slight case of insomnia.
Reeve would probably be glad for the whole ordeal to be over too, no matter how much he loathed the president. Although he had left a message on Rotterdam's answering machine in a slightly unintelligibly excited tone about having some sort of physical evidence that had matched up with previous research when he ran it through a database. Rotterdam had found some slight joy in the news but knew it wasn't the end. He also knew that even though Reeve had had the courage to traverse the crash site and do some research, he was still probably constantly in fear of losing his job, his chance at a decent future. Rotterdam had no such worries; he had no family, no prospects and of course no love for his work. If he was fired the next day he would be thrilled, for then he'd no longer have to furtively conduct his investigation. But of course then he'd be completely vulnerable to Shinra's secret police, and that would be the end.
He knew that he didn't want to go that way, that was one thing he was resolutely certain of. He still had enough dignity to not want to be shot in some grimy back alley, and tossed in a dumpster to be forgotten and erased. Ideally he'd like to be in control of when he died, but that was of course nearly impossible. As the thought passed through his head, Rotterdam placed his hands on the windowsill and leaned forward slightly out into the blustery, relentless world outside.
I could just let go right here; drop ten stories to the ground. I'd be in control of my death; I'd keep some honor to my name. And it'd all go away, the whole mess would no longer be my problem. Let someone else deal with it, or don't do anything about it at all.
Just get it out of my life.
All it would take would be to lean out of the window enough to tip out. Nothing rapid or violent, just gracefully ease out the window.
The vice-president tucked the front portions of his gray sock clad feet up under a dormant heater running beneath the window and slowly jutted his body into the rays of the sun. He tried not to look down, but it was predictably useless. Directly below his window was what looked like a mother pushing a young baby in a stroller. If he were to fall out of the room he'd wait for them to pass, they didn't need to be involved. The baby had dropped something though, they stood in his space longer than they needed to.
His body needed to be flush against the concrete, that space was reserved for him. He leaned out the window more, as if to yell at the woman below.
Move! Go! Fucking go! I need to be in that spot, I'm late for an important appointment. Just let me go for fuck's sake!
His body was almost perpendicular to the windowsill now, his shirt blown open around him. He could feel the strain on the muscles in the back of his legs as his feet became the only things holding him inside of his flat.
I should have exercised more, gone running around this damn neighborhood. I would have become fat and demented just like him. Power-hungry, greedy, evil, old and disgusting; I would be all these things as I rotted in an office. I would never become president, I would watch that fuck Rufus make his inauguration speech as I sweated in the back corner. I'd never even find anyone I loved, reducing me to having sex with filthy whores in my king-sized bed, using all of my ill-earned money. Hopefully the drinks would eventually kill me, or maybe too many pills, or a gun to blow my brains all over my fine silk bed sheets.
The woman and her child had finally moved on, the scuffed gray square of concrete was open. It was Rotterdam's turn, his appointment was up.
The time for his appointment had finally come, the doctor had been running late, but now his door was open; all Rotterdam had to do was step inside. Step inside to die.
Or in the present case step outside.
Rotterdam gave the doctor a quick nod and finished the sentence he'd been on in an article of an outdated health magazine about acrophobia-- the fear of heights--that he'd found on one of the fake-wood end tables.
All over in a second, so easy, so quick…
The wind buffeted his unshaven face and swirled around him furiously. He hung out even further into the sky.
He stood up from his chair in the waiting room.
All he had to do was let go of the radiator. His legs burned from the strain that they were so unused to. They begged for a break, they'd had enough of a workout for the time being.
Yet the final step of letting go was much more formidable than he'd anticipated.
He knelt down to tie his shoe in front of the red, upholstered chair; single knot, no a double knot.
Quick, easy, all over in a matter of seconds. The wind will probably feel nice… Yes, it'll feel incredible, washing over me. Now only a simple matter of gravity, let go and it'll pull…
Both shoes were tied tightly, he was ready; he stood up and began to walk towards the door.
His feet started to slip off of the radiator as he felt his body tilt forward.
It was happening, he was going to his long awaited check-up, it was his turn, time for his appointment. The doctor smiled and extended his hand to be shaken; the fingers appeared to be long, knobby and skeletal, like bones.
Greetings, Dr. Death.
It'd all be over, all the bullshit of life left behind.
"Mr. Rotterdam!" came a voice from outside the door to his flat.
His heart almost stopped dead as he felt the overwhelming sensation of his body pitching out into the air. His arms reflexively shot up from his sides to grab the wooden window casing on the wall inside.
With a burst of strength that fully broke his trance he propelled himself back into the room and slid into a disheveled heap; halfway onto his thick carpet.
A trio of knocks came.
"Mr. Rotterdam, I'm here to take you to the transport."
The man's middle-aged heart raced inside of his chest as he exhaled a massive burst of air from his panicked torso. He could feel his shoulder blades and head aching from the impact with the hardwood floor between the window and the carpet as he closed his eyes.
"Mr. Rotterdam, sir are you ready to go?" shouted the courier anxiously.
No, I am not ready to go.
Note - It's been way too long, something like six months I believe. Like I said in my earlier post, I don't know what my problem was. The chapter was just so goddamn boring, and I think I may be one of those people who gets depressed in winter; who knows. The point is, I sort of had my reasons, though they weren't all that good. As for the chapter itself in terms of writing and such I think it came out fairly well in the end, though I'll still always hate it with a burning passion. I've decided to try something a bit new with inserting italicized first person into any scenes that need it rather than my old method of funkily throwing something into the middle of a paragraph that was really more of a thought than a narrative. And also, before anyone says anything, yes maybe Rude talked more than you're used to, but I'm one of those people who hates the silent Rude stereotype, and so I figured he could use some decent lines. Finally, the Rotterdam scene; hopefully you understood what was going on, and hopefully it seemed relevant to the rest of the scene. That was a tricky scene to do, though I think it all tied together well in the end. And now the constant issue of grammar; Kiyara says some of the grammar in here is atrocious, and I believe her. Do I care all that much? Not really, I never paid attention when we did grammar in school, and I still don't today. I'll probably address grammar issues in a final rewrite, but for now, deal with it.
Lastly, for a while now I've been itching to write an original story. I've just been feeling the constraints of fanfiction too much. I've decided to take a bit of a break from Sun, though it probably won't be any longer than any of the gaps there've between chapters. In that break I'm going to start up my lovely new original story, because I just want a bit of creative freedom. Now don't get me wrong, I love Sun but I need a break. So keep your eyes out over at fictionpress.net for a fantastic new story by yours truly. Until then, thanks for reading thus far and I'll have another chapter done for this hopefully not incredibly far off into the future.
