Reason to be

Time coats itself in ice. The muzzle is tight against my temple, pressing a ring of salvation closer to my brain. The cliché comes true, and all my memories cycle through the darkness behind my eyelids in a silent slideshow.

I watch it all, the shadows and the light; flickering images of joy and pain. I savor each like bites of a last meal. The cycle comes closer to the present, and all that led me here.

To this room.

To this choice.

"It's still a choice," I hear a voice say. It's my own.

The muzzle at my head: a ring of salvation, or one of surrender? Had I fought this long only to do to myself what so many others tried to do?

Why not?

Why not?! My finger tightens.

Like a bad movie, on cue, the phone rings. I grit my teeth.

Another ring.

It's an excuse.

I lower the muzzle. I raise the receiver.

"Congratulations. You're a life saver."

"Max Payne? Benjamin Doubleday again. I'm sorry, my cell cut out. What did you say?"

Lawyers. They're not supposed to keep screwing you until after you're dead.

"Nothing. I'm listening."

"Yes, well. I withheld the last details of Senator Woden's will. Considering his son's reactions…well, you can understand."

"Mm hmm."

"Yes…well, pursuant to Senator Woden's wishes, there is a sealed package in the desk of the study where we met. It is yours to open. Even I am not aware of the contents. And that, Mr. Payne, concludes my involvement. I do wish you well."

I can't come up with anything to say. I cradle the phone. I nurse the gun at my side.

The study. At least I have somewhere to go. It's a start.

I weave through the halls in a daze of apathy. No feeling, just the rote reaction of somewhere to go, something to do.

I'm back in the study, and walk around behind the desk. For the first time I notice that the cherry wood, just like so much of Woden's life, is a façade: dull metal makes up the desk drawer, titanium I think, and where there would be a keyhole, just a black plastic pad with a thumb-sized oval at its center.

I meet it with my opposable digit. It was a good match: the drawer pops open with a click.

Inside, a small manila folder. Inside, a recordable DVD. And through the looking glass, I follow its written command: PLAY ME.

The television in the nearby cabinet ignites into a black screen. Slowly Woden fades into view, sitting behind that same desk, looking like an anchorman about to report on the day's misery.

"Max Payne," his voice is weak, meaning this is recent. "If you are watching this, than I am most likely dead and, hopefully, so are those that did me in." The tone of his voice has a retroactive omniscience: he knew his time was coming, and he knew I would be at the center of it. Ice water begins to trickle down my spine. Woden then began his monologue. That's when everything changed.

"Whether you know it or not, Mr. Payne, I have been one of your staunchest allies ever since the night your family was murdered; ever since you started down this dark road. And though you may rightly point to me as the base cause of that tragedy, I have, in my way, attempted to atone for it in the years since.

"And that is what I need to speak to you about, Mr. Payne. About purpose. About fate. About destiny. Though you may abhor my methods, the bulk of my adult life has been aimed towards one goal: to make a difference."

Doubleday had been wrong. This was Woden's Will, and his last testament. Whether it made any sense, I wasn't sure, but there was something in his voice, and in the way that one eye gleamed that told me that, for probably the first time in a long time, he was speaking without the cover of deception.

Truth. From the Devil himself. Words to be trusted, or feared all the more? He kept right on talking.

"What separates an ordinary man from a legend? The possession of an ideal, and the strength to adhere to, and achieve, that ideal. Mine was to make the world safer, and I allowed nothing to obstruct that goal. Neither man, law or, unfortunately, morality. Someone has to make the sacrifices necessary, so that great things can be realized.

"And so here you are, Mr. Payne. If you are still standing, then all your foes are fallen. Since that dark night, your one driving ideal has been revenge. And if what will happen is what I believe, than you will have achieved that for the second time."

Then he asked the question, the same one that kept the gun heavy in my hand.

"So, now what? What is left for the warrior when there are no more enemies? In Norse mythology, warriors who fell in battle traveled to Valhalla, where they would fight all day in glory, and their wounds would heal, ready to fight again the next day. But where do you go, Mr. Payne? What does the avenger do in a time of peace?

"I do not have that answer for you. But I have a means by which you can find it for yourself. You've had your revenge, Mr. Payne, now you must choose to either make a difference, or lie down and die. You have no other paths left open to you."

My eyes lowered, like being scolded by a strict father. Woden's electronic ghost had cut through the grey haze, turning my world into two landscapes: black and white:

The gun in my hand.

Woden's words promising an answer.

"It is time for you to discover your purpose, Mr. Payne. One beyond the function you have served as executioner. And as my final act, I mean to provide you the means to do so. In my years as a member of the Inner Circle, I have, as you may have noticed, acquired vast resources with which to make the changes I deemed necessary to the world around me. A goodly sum of those resources I have hidden. And, on the off chance that ears other than yours, Mr. Payne, are listening to this recording, I'll simply say this to get you started on your new path: the place of my sweet indiscretions. Goodbye, Max Payne."

The video clicked off. The room was now darker than when I had come in, and the gun felt even heavier.

So I dropped it.

(more…eventually… - CM)