Wow, I can't believe it's been three weeks since I last updated this. Unfortunately, those three weeks have been the longest and hardest of my school life. Homework, coursework assignments, coupled with visits to my hometown—I just haven't had the time to update this. But, at last, here it is. Remember to post your comments. Oh, and if you're a long-time reader, I'm going to make a few updates to existing chapters. Enjoy!
Chapter Four
Okay, I admit it—I suffer from claustrophobia. It's not drastic, but I don't like to be stuck in confined spaces if I can help it. Sadly, the occasion called in Deling City, and so I found my self crawling through the smallest of air vents, with generous amounts of slime garnering the steel tube.
I could only assume Seifer had been the one to kill the guard at the front entrance—why any Galbadian would risk attacking an Esthar soldier when their were dozens of backup troops sprinkled around the place made no sense. What made the situation even worse was that Seifer was the obvious culprit—and he was evidently last in the line when common sense was handed out. To find the trenchcoated SeeD, a good sense of hearing was required; as I had no location mapping, I needed to listen for any signs of that bragging voice. Sure enough, as I shifted over a grating in the air vent, voices drifted through the grating. But this wasn't the braggart's dogmatic drawl—they were the filtered vocals of an Esthar elite warrior. Two, as a matter of fact. I retracted so they couldn't see me if they happened to glance upwards, and strained to pick up the conversation.
"You think the sorceress got backup?" the first soldier asked. His comrade, dressed in the same bug-eyed outfit, cocked his head in interest.
"Dunno," he stated. "Don't think she'd go far without her army, but we've mopped up most of the resistance."
"I ordered Delta Squadron to patrol the city boundaries," the other affirmed. "We don't need any loose cannons on this deck, least of all intruders."
"Did ya hear about the intruder?"
"Yeah," the other one replied. I might have been imaging it, but I thought I detected a hint of fear in that processed monotone. "It's gotta be SeeD. No-one else could've got into the city and made it this far, without being killed."
Seifer, you prick, I thought. Can't you ever do a mission without causing trouble?
"Wish I was that good a sharpshooter," the first guard commented. "Wish all of us were. That way, we'd win every war." The guards had a good chuckle about that.
Wow, I'm flattered, I thought, a wry smile involuntarily wrapping round my face. Steady, clicking footsteps resonated through the hallway, metal on metal. The reverberations echoed through another grate further down the air duct. They sounded like the metallic heels of another Esthar guard. The second man turned to face the direction of the sound.
" Did you restrain the hostage?" he asked.
Hostage? Maybe they've got someone with bargaining power…"All done, Private," the new soldier responded. "However, there's been a slight change of plan. I contacted the commander, and he said to inform you of the new plans. You're both being relieved of duty." The two guards stood fast and saluted the other soldier—clearly, they were pretty pleased with the decision. I suspected they'd take their earnings to the Galbadian Hotel's bar. Lightning-quick and without warning, the new soldier's right hand darted over his shoulder, and withdrew a long, gun-metal coloured bladed weapon. Hyperion. In one smooth movement, the traitor plunged his gunblade into the first soldier's torso. The exoskeleton angrily spluttered sparks as the built-in defence mechanisms were severed, leaving the soldier powerless. As he clamped his hand round the wound, thick blood began to mingle with the frayed wires, blanketing their sparkling ends. The traitor withdrew his gunblade with a dragging metallic sound, and swung it toward the other soldier, who was now advancing, shotaxe drawn. He was about to depress the trigger when the blade sliced cleanly through his exposed neck. The ant-like head detached from the body, and connected with the floor, the sound like an accidentally-dropped frying pan. The body drunkenly heeled to the floor, the neck crackling with excess electrical energy. Blood seeped out of the gaping wound, pooling on the thick red carpet.
Holy shit! my mind frantically screamed. What the hell is he DOING! Without hesitation, I withdrew my face from the grating as quickly as I could. Too quickly. Seifer's head swivelled toward the duct, alerted to the scuffing of fabric on steel. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—he saw me…
Seifer tilted the 'blade over his shoulder, and skulked threateningly toward the air vent. I knew that he knew that I was in here, and he wasn't making any concessions. Slowly, he adjusted the gunblade at arm's length, and poked the vent a few feet away from my position. The steel buckled, inverting upwards with the tip of the blade. As slowly as possible without making a sound, I reached to my waist and freed the Beretta 92 pistol I had wedged in my belt prior to the mission. Tilting it through one of the diamond-shaped gaps in the criss-crossed grating, I aligned the bug-esque head with the barrel of the gun. Seifer moved more in my direction, and in a frighteningly fast movement, thrust the blade through the grating, so far that it punctured the roof of the duct. He only needed one more step—
A smash drifted through the red-carpeted hallway, the sharp vibration that of a dislodged ornament, probably a vase of some sort. Seifer's head jerked attentively toward the other end of the hallway. He was on the ball all right. After a few long seconds, he withdrew the Hyperion, holstered it over his shoulder, and sprinted away. I expelled my held breath in a sigh of relief.
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The hallways of the presidential residence were decorated with many attractive features, the sort that a president would own. There were ornate blue and gold vases perched on pedestals, protected by thick cords of red rope—probably connected to the alarm system. Baroque gold-framed paintings lined the walls, portraits of all the previous presidents of Galbadia. Even at this time, I still had an injection of humour, and mockingly levelled Deling's picture in my imaginary cross-hairs. Golden light fittings were positioned at equal distances along the hallway. At the other end, there was a pair of mahogany double-doors—the presidential chamber. Being a betting man, I strongly suspected that the odds for Esthar soldiers to be in there wouldn't pay much. Most likely, the soldiers would take their hostages there, as the doors and windows were bullet-proof, and the walls at least two feet thick. I withdrew the Beretta, crept to the door and placed my ear to it. The president's room was probably carpeted, so most noises would also be inaudible. Clever.
From inside, there was no conversation, merely a hollow silence. But after half a minute or so, the faint rumbles of voices vibrated through the mahogany door.
"Major, I seem to recall asking you to monitor the second-floor hallway." The synthesised voice was deeper; probably deliberate, to signify the commissioner's superiority. "So what are you doing here?"
"Sir, I can assure you there's no trouble on that floor." This soldier was probably lower in the pecking order. Abruptly, my train of thought jerked to a halt. Second-floor hallway. Wasn't that where I came from?
No sooner had I thought this than a metallic swish sounded from the reverse side of the door, accompanied by a guttural cry of pain. Somehow, Seifer had managed to get into the presidential chamber before me. That bastard. Knowing I had no more time to waste, I planted my foot in the centre of the double doors, and they swung open with a splinter of wood. An Esthar soldier on the near side of the four-poster bed heard the crashing sound, and immediately assumed a marksman's stance, shotaxe held at arm's length. But he wasn't quick enough—I slammed my finger down on the 92's trigger, and a single round exploded in the confines of the bedroom. The soldier, hit square at the edge of the forehead, twisted round awkwardly and collapsed onto the bed.
"Irvine," Seifer sneered, the cocky grin beginning to invade his facial features. "So nice of you to join the party. In fact, I ought to thank you. You saved me the effort of polishing off that guard."
"Haven't you killed enough already?" I shot back. Seifer threw his head back, the raucous laugh scrambled through the voice-processor.
"Irvine, a grunt like you could never understand." He placed both hands on the helmet, and carefully yanked it off, revealing his golden hair, which was slightly ruffled from its confines. He absently tossed the helmet aside. I quickly surveyed the surroundings. The bedroom was in utter chaos. It was lit only by two standard lamps on bedside tables each side of the four-poster, as the chandelier had been shattered by buckshot. Crystalline chips of glass littered the white carpet. The commissioner Seifer had murdered was lying in an uncomfortable heap on the floor, his blood soaking into the carpet like a spilt wine-glass. President Edea was kneeling at the end of her bed, and upon seeing Seifer, she seemed to relax, and began to stand up.
"Oh, Seifer," she exclaimed, relieved. "I don't know how to thank you—"
"Shut up!" Seifer yelled, interrupting her. In a smooth movement, he produced a sawn-off shotgun in his left hand, and positioned it two inches from Edea's forehead. "Get down on your knees." Reluctantly, she dropped back to her prostrate position. She flinched every time Seifer shifted the weapon, indicating orders.
"Hey, Seifer," I warned, "she's still a sorceress. You mess with her, she could burn you to a crisp."
"And you can shut up, as well," he retorted, thrusting the tip of the Hyperion toward me.
"Look, Seifer, I know you probably don't want to share it with me, but would you mind telling me what the hell you're doing?" Seifer turned his cold glare on mine, evidently thinking I was a fool.
"Do you know what this woman did to me? Every day I think about my dream, to be the greatest warrior that ever lived. It ain't an impossible goal. But thanks to this bitch, I'm stuck in that no-hoper Garden!"
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to recall you did that of your own will." My reply incensed Seifer even more. But another voice cut in before he could retaliate.
"He's right, Seifer, and you don't want to admit it, do you?" The husky female voice could only belong to one person—Instructor Trepe. To my relief, she held a Glock 17, pointed directly at Seifer's head.
"Quistis, my dear," Seifer frowned patronisingly. "Don't you recall what happened in Timber?"
"Oh yes, I was there, in the TV station," Quistis replied. "But that was your lack of resistance. Edea simply used her psychology to coax your favour. It was your own weakness that betrayed you."
"Shut up!" Seifer yelled again, though more in desperation than fury. He lowered the shotgun in his left hand.
"You don't think I'd hesitate to shoot you, do you?" Quistis inquired. "After all, I'm trained in Salamander weaponry." She was referring to the .50 cal mounted on the SeeD vessels. Seifer put a hand on his forehead, as if nursing an ache there.
"Instructor, I…" His voice faded to a whisper. At this point, I was probably the most perplexed person in the city. Suddenly, the shotgun in his left hand belched flame, and the nearby window was lined with jagged cracks. He threw the gunblade directly toward it, and the tip shattered the glass into a thousand tiny fragments. Seifer darted for the escape route, and Quistis and I both raised our weapons in response. But our ineffectual gunfire merely shredded sections of wallpaper, doing nothing to deter Seifer. He leapt through the open window, and Quistis and I could only watch in horror as he plunged toward the tree-lined mansion grounds.
"We're pretty high up," I commented. "Won't he hurt himself?"
"Not if he's junctioned." Quistis shook her head in defeat. After Seifer was out of sight, we turned away from the window. Quistis tossed the Glock onto the four-poster bed. I regarded her with a glance of annoyance.
"I hate him," I gritted through clenched teeth. "But you probably knew that already." Even in the face of failure, she still managed a knowing smile. I gave Edea my arm, and hauled her to her feet.
"Are you okay, m'lady?" I addressed her with the proper courtesy, but she dismissed it with a weak smile.
"Irvine, just because I'm president of Galbadia, you don't have to treat me any different. Call me Matron, if you like." Clearly, she yearned for the days of the orphanage, where she was surrounded by the undisturbed innocence of childhood. Quistis put a comforting arm round her shoulder.
"Come on, Matron," she said. "We'll get you to safety."
"There's still a few troops in the outskirts," I said. "We ought to take care. I'll protect you as best I can, Matron." For a fleeting second, I thought I saw a tear washing over her eye.
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We managed to get out of the city with a minimal amount of trouble. There were only a few guards concealed behind copses, but there was no need to alert. We didn't need any attention, especially when we were escorting the hostage out of the city. Truth be told, though, Seifer had done such a good job that none of us had anything to fear. Once we reached the rows of presentable suburban houses, usually bordered with palm trees that were silhouettes against the navy blue sky, we knew we were safe.
The vessels were waiting in the stream which ran through Deling's outskirts toward the canyons. Edea was safely boarded onto Squad D's vessel. Quistis and I clambered through the open hatch of C Squad's Salamander,
pinpricks of light from the stars reflecting on its smooth polished emerald metal. The comforting rumble of the engine sounded from the open hatch, and vibrated through the seats, and not long after the three sections of the closing hatch clicked shut. Although I had offered to take up weapon duty, Quistis said that SeeD marksmen had taken out the guard towers on the perimeter.
For the first ten minutes out to sea, neither of us said anything. The mission wasn't the hardest I'd faced, primarily because I'd helped to defeat the world's most powerful sorceress two years earlier, but I still felt strapped nonetheless. I swung my legs onto the glass-topped coffee table in the centre of the cabin.
"What happened to the other members of my team, Instructor," I asked.
"They fled the city almost as soon as you'd left," she informed me. "The Estharians tuned up after you went to the inner city, and laid siege to their truck. As soon as the soldiers were out of earshot, they hightailed it to the vessel and left Galbadia."
"But, Instructor," I said with mocking drama, "That's desertion!"
"Yes, they'll be suitably punished. I don't suspect you'll be going on many more missions with them."
It went silent again, punctuated by the hissing of water as waves lapped the vessel. As I was closing my eyes for a little recuperation, Quistis posed a question out of the blue.
"Irvine, have you ever heard of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?" My mind suddenly jetted back to dull Science lessons in Galbadia Garden. Our teacher, Mr. Sylveste, was unimpeachably one of the most boring human beings to walk the planet. Students looking for a cure for insomnia couldn't do much better. I vaguely remembered the term, but memories of the lesson consisted of flicking balls of blotting paper toward Sylveste, and flashing grins toward the attractive girls.
"Yeah," I lied, "it rings a bell. Not a very loud one, though."
"Basically, it's a result of traumatic experiences, as the name suggests. Symptoms often include flashbacks to particularly bad events during that time, and general mental disturbance. Sufferers are usually those who take part in wars. In Seifer's case, it's probably due to Ultimecia's control of his mind—as you know from Edea, sorceresses can make you do unpleasant things."
"So you think that Seifer's got this Post-Trauma whatever it's called?" Then, it clicked. Of course. Seifer probably wanted to take revenge on Edea, thinking that she was responible for his disturbance. By killing all guards, including Galbadians, he could get to her, no problem. And dressing as an Esthar soldier was an easy way to get inside the Presidential Residence. I wouldn't have been surprised if Seifer deliberately poisoned that SeeD so he could get in the mission. Across the table, Quistis shook her head.
"Why is it that everything I say sounds like an Instructor? Maybe I should lighten up a bit…"
I shot her a grin from under my hat. "That's okay. I dig serious chicks."
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Amazingly, I'd spent so much time in the nocturnal climes of Deling City that I'd forgotten it was still daytime. Imagine my surprise when we docked on the beach south of B-Garden, and exited the vessel to be greeted by a red-and-gold streaked sunset. It was a nice part of the beach, shaded by groaning oak trees, which cast thick shadows onto the clean white sand. It would make a nice sunbathing spot—if you could defend against the Fastitocalons.
The time wasn't the only thing I'd forgotten. Selphie had gone out of her way to organise a Garden Festival—and it started in two hours' time. And I wasn't going to any party without having a shower. Those stupid air vents made my uniform look like I'd been cleaning Winhill chimneys. I knew I couldn't get too comfortable in the shower—Cid would almost certainly call me to his office for a debriefing. As soon as I rounded the hallway to my dorm, I decided not to be so desperate for missions in the future. The grey boxy cuboid of a hallway that led to the dormitories was usually littered with slackers and idle clowns who dropped out of the field exam, and spent most of their time whining about the next one.
Once I got in the double dorm, I felt a sigh of relief, as I noticed the absence of my room-mate. He'd probably gone to evening study, and you weren't gonna see me getting annoyed about it. I stripped down to my boxers, and stuffed the soiled uniform in the washing-basket. The shower that followed was prolonged, but made those taut muscles ease nicely. My legs were beginning to feel less stiff. I stayed in the shower for about forty minutes, the sweet silence of the empty dorm only disturbed by the soft drumming of hot water on the plastic tray.
I now had even less time to get prepared, so I immediately changed into smarter apparel. I selected a pair of charcoal-black slacks from my drawer, a starched white shirt and a black tie. Normally, I had no trouble dressing myself, but that tie… After five minutes of futile struggle, yanking it in every direction, I left it in an inadequate choking knot. It was practically impossible to loosen, and I knew I'd have hell trying to get it off later, but I had more important things to concentrate on. Coupled with the untucked shirt, I looked like I couldn't be bothered to attend the festival—which wasn't far from the truth.
Just in case, I constructed a report on the mission. Cid was known for springing this unpleasant surprise on his SeeDs, so I preferred to err on the safe side of caution. Obviously, my report was complete nonsense, every detail showing Seifer in an insulting light, and plenty of exaggeration in the combat scenes. The handwriting wasn't much good, either. In fact, it looked so appalling, I merely stuffed it in my uniform pocket, hoping Cid would forget the whole thing.
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There was no argument about it—Selphie had a natural eye for design. The quad was a large dome-like hall, lined with marble pillars, hanging plants, chandeliers and a large tiled dance-floor, complete with marble pillars, leather-topped bar stools and a gold-rimmed skylight. Somehow, with just a few limited resources (and more patience than I'd managed in my entire life), she'd managed to turn it from a dumpy assembly hall into a respectable ballroom. Only a few members of the Garden Festival lined the quad, most attending to the stage or the bar, and Selphie was no exception. She was fumbling with a miniature chandelier, but to little avail. As soon as she saw me, she practically dropped it on the floor. I don't think she expected me to be on time.
"Irvine.." she said reluctantly. "I didn't think you'd be back this early."
"Yeah, they let me off my leash," I smirked. "Didn't go so well though. No thanks to that fucking Seifer."
"What happened? I thought he wasn't going…"
"Yeah, he only joined Nida's squad at the last minute. I think their usual guy had to go to the infirmary. Anyway, he went completely nuts, killed pretty much everyone—didn't matter which side they were on, and then threatened the President. Quistis and I confronted him, but he wouldn't listen. He fled the place in the end."
"He doesn't listen to anyone. I'm not surprised he caused you trouble." There was a moment's pause. "How is Matron?"
"Oh, she's holding up OK. Not sure she likes her new job as President of Galbadia." I thought back to the parade, two years ago. "Rule states that whoever murders the president becomes the successor, so it's unlucky that she was possessed at the time."
She turned away, possibly not wanting to continue the conversation. "Listen, Irvine, you can't come to my dorm this evening."
"Why not?" I was puzzled.
"It's been a really long day. I just wanna crash out at the end of it."
"Oh, come on. I only want to talk. Please?" I pleaded. "Like, don't you want to know how my day was? What I'm doing tomorrow? The breeding habits of the Caterchipillar? Surely you want to talk about something."
"I'm really tired. And anyway, I haven't got anything interesting to talk about."
"Strikes me you're just making excuses for the sake of excuses." Selphie whirled around, an angry frown darkening her little face.
"Do you have any idea what I've been doing lately? Do you really think I've got time for this?" She continued to fumble with the chandelier, but wasn't actually doing anything.
"It's not like I'm forcing you to!" I exclaimed. With Selphie, I'd never been quite sure if my feelings were reciprocated. I knew she didn't dislike me, but perhaps my flirty nature and charm were too much for a solid relationship. Still, she was always kind of strange. She swung from top of the world to the bottom of a trashcan in a matter of hours. Maybe I just didn't understand her.
"I haven't seen you at all for the last week," I complained. "We're supposed to be in a relationship here. Don't you know what that means?"
"You don't know anything about the meaning of a relationship," she said darkly. It was like an emotional knife thrust into my ribcage. The bitter silence was shattered by the intercom, announcing Cid's intrusion. It was almost perverse—I'd never been so glad to go to his office.
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The debriefing was as grim as I had expected. While not condemning me for losing track of the rogue Seifer, he firmly reprimanded me for my lack of judgement when facing off with him. Seifer was now a danger at large, primarily thanks to myself. However, any fingers pointing toward me had to go in Quistis' direction, too.
"Now, Irvine," Cid mused in his fatherly tone, "you say you left your squad voluntarily, as an attempt to halt Seifer's rampage. Is this correct?"
"If I said it wasn't, I'd be lying," I confirmed.
"I think you could have used a little more reservation," he replied, wagging a finger. "Okay, I admit, I permitted the use of live ammunition, but I wasn't expecting you to shoot off more rounds than the Sorceress War."
"Sir, I didn't kill anyone who didn't threaten my wellbeing," I answered defensively. "It was all in my course of action." Cid seemed to mull over that for a few moments.
"Sir, I can confirm that Irvine used tactical thinking and responsibility in his actions," Quistis broke in. "He did a very good job in protecting his team-mates, and acted with their best interests in mind. He obeyed orders that he was given, as well." Good old Quistis. She never lets me down. Somehow, Quistis must have been watching most of my actions.
"And as for you, instructor, I would have expected more of you," Cid scolded. "You know how temperamental Seifer can be." Quistis seemed to hang her head in shame. "I am not going to punish either of you, as I know from past experience what it's like to handle Almasy. But something must be done about him.
We both stood fast and made for the exit, and silence descended over the office like a fog, as Cid lowered himself into his office chair. But I heard a voice as I was passing through the door. "However, Irvine, I would like you to do one more thing for me today. It concerns the Garden Festival."
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The music was awful, I noted, as it always was. It was now half an hour or so into the Garden Festival, and as usual, my ears were being abused by faceless ballads and whining teen rock, courtesy of Zell's group. Thankfully, he was a pretty good bass player. Still, I almost wished someone had slipped alcohol into the fruit punch I was sipping—sipping it because it was too watery and flavourless to take in large doses. At least the bar stools were comfortable. I signalled to the bartender to get me something harder, and he reached up to the top shelf of the drinks rack built into the wall behind him, retrieving a bottle of amber liquid.
After previous head Wimbly Donner was expelled from SeeD, Selphie took up the mantle of Garden Festival Committee Leader. One thing that didn't really change in the transition was the lack of helping hands—both leaders basically organised the whole thing themselves. The festivals were an annual event organised to celebrate the inauguration of new SeeDs. I remembered mine from the previous year—well, up until the part when I got onto the Anacondaur Brew. Disgusting stuff.
Anyway, before Selphie came along, the festivals only took place once every year, and all efforts were poured into that one event. Now, they took place almost quarterly, as the turnout was usually very high, producing more income for further festivals and winter vacations. I made the mistake of going on a Winter vacation once—I spent most of it in bed with some hideous illness.
I quite liked the festivals in spite of the ghastly music. They had a nice party atmosphere, everyone who turned up seemed relaxed, and most of those were willing to let a dance take precedence over their daily routine. Unfortunately for me, though, I wasn't there to enjoy myself. This festival was simply a society function set up to trap some untoward visitors. I wasn't really sure why Cid wanted to have a "friendly" word with them—Seifer's moronic actions had invited enough attention toward Garden from other nations. But, of course, he had his reasons. "You know, I'm not sure why these people are interested in the Garden. I'd be able to understand if they were White SeeD members, or from Galbadia garden, but they don't seem to be affiliated with anyone. I'd quite like to know what they want. Are you listening, Irvine?" The answer to that question, seemingly, was no. But I knew enough about Cid's conditioning to agree on the mission. Handy, then, that the Garden Festival was so close.
The worst thing about the mission was that Cid weighed me down with unnecessary gadgets. Smoke generators, x-ray glasses, blowpipes disguised as fountain pens… it was enough to make me wonder why I didn't go off into the Trabian wilderness and live a quiet life instead.
Another half-hour or so passed before my boredom was cut short. It had taken me far longer to notice, amongst all the clamour, that Selphie wasn't present. It wasn't like her to disappear in the midst of her great creation. Never mind, I thought, as someone spooned the lukewarm punch into a cut-crystal glass, she probably needs some time on her own.
From my position at the bar, I saw someone enter the quad out of the corner of my eye. It was a bald, stocky man clad in an impeccably pressed white tuxedo. Luckily, I was wearing the glasses Cid had given me, and so I surreptitiously darkened the shade. To my shock, not only was he one of the two visitors I was looking for, but he had a .45 slung in a holster under his left arm. The hammer wasn't down, but the safety was off, and I got the impression the intent was to cause harm. Making my excuses, I left the bar. I had already figured out a mental contingency plan for this, and I headed out the exit doorway. There was a dark blue, unlit hallway just outside the quad, its walls lined with antique paintings, mostly of high-achieving SeeDs. It led to a balcony lined with creepers, a perfect vantage point for my plan. Once I was up there, I leant up over the curved rim. The guest had taken up residence next to a pillar, a half-full glass of punch clutched in his left hand—obviously keeping his right hand free to take the gun. He stayed there for a few drawn-out minutes, which wasn't very entertaining for me, I can say. But finally, when his punch was finished, he heaved himself up from his backward-leaning position, placed the drained glass on the bar-top, and headed for the exit.
Oh, so you're finally going? I thought I was going to fall asleep… Leaping down the stairs two at a time, I reached into the folds of my blazer and produced my trusty Beretta. If I could reach the quad entrance before he did…
…and, sure enough, he was just striding toward the stairway leading to the main hall when I burst out. The look of surprise on his smug face was extinguished when the barrel of my 92 clubbed him round the head. He sagged to the floor like a sack of potatoes. I reached down and grabbed two fistfuls of his dinner suit.
"Boy, have we got some catching up to do…"
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Phew, finally got that done. This chapter was going to be a bit longer, but I decided to cut it short. As I said before, I like cliffhangers. More action to come in the next chapter. Who is this guy? More to the point, where's the other one? And what are they doing here? All will be revealed.
Just a few short notices. This chapter is inspired by some other material, namely Metal Gear Solid (crawling in air vents and stealth) and Die Hard (that bit when Seifer is prodding the air vent with his Hyperion.) Also, I got the bits about Zell's bass playing and the Salamander vessels from Peptuck's Gunblade Saga. Much respect to him.
