Ch. 40: Akira's game: Sins of the Father

A.N.:

Everyone, I am so sorry about the wait. As I mentioned in my profile thingy, I am ADHD and have to take medication to help me function.

Long story short, I got screwed over with my last refill and did not have enough to take even at half dosage until today. I finally got the paperwork straightened out, like this morning, so I am better now.

I apologize for all of this. Since it has been nearly two weeks since I updated this story, I did not have time to get to the lemon. I will make it my mission to get another chapter posted by or during the weekend that will have the lemon.

Thank you everyone for being patient and not attacking me for an update. I have been working on this since Monday but...again...no meds...so yeah. As such, I apologize if this chapter bombs.

Read and review if you want.

As I proceeded up the polished hardwood stairs that creaked with every step that I made, I tried to make sense of what Akira had said. The exit was constant but everything else was always changing. We needed to locate three keys in a building that was likely in Akira's world. On top of that, she had done something to the air to make me "more responsive to her advances".

Her obsession with me was getting worse. I could not tell if it was truly sexual in nature or just an extreme affection. True, Alma's evil from the other universe had combined with her personality and had become powerful enough to somewhat control her much like my Alma's evil had done to her. However, I could sense that Akira really was a sweet little girl at heart. As cliché as it was, she really just wanted her father's acceptance. That, and, of course, to kill us all.

"A damaged girl with daddy issues...just your type my love." Alma mocked beside me to my left.

Keeping my rifle at the ready as I scanned my surroundings in a smooth motion, I replied, "Hey, that is not my type."

She giggled darkly before she said, "A powerful, dark spirited girl that suffered under a physically or emotionally abusive father and a mother that was otherwise unreachable for comforting. Michael, that describes me. She is your type."

By then, we had reached the door at the top of the stairs. Alpha 1 took position on the left-hand side of the fancy marble surrounded, ornate, solid, maple door and Foxtrot 813 took position on the right-hand side of the door. I stood back in front of the door as I prepared to kick it open. Before I did, I replied, "I was attracted to you before I knew all that stuff about you. Besides, you replace girl with boy, and that describes me."

Alma's expression noticeably saddened before she remarked, "It is a wounded world, is it not?"

I sighed before I replied, "Yeah."

Rushing forward, I kicked in the door with my right foot. I briefly moved back to allow Alpha 1 to breach. As my friend rushed through the entrance with his Vollmer Automatic Shotgun at the ready, I activated my reflexes and then followed close behind with my Patten PK470 Assault Rifle up as I was aiming through its scope. Meanwhile, Foxtrot 813 activated his own reflexes and followed close behind me with his Patten PK470 Assault Rifle up at the ready.

Hot, humid air hit me as I crossed the threshold of the doorway. Our booted footfalls changed from armored soles landing on wooden floors to armored soles landing on popcorn, ticket stub, and other miscellaneous items covered worn wooden planks. As I deactivated my reflexes, Alpha 1 called out with a slightly confused tone, "Clear?"

Standing together, we took in our new surroundings. We were by the ticket kiosks of an amusement park that must have been near the shore of a body of water because I could faintly hear the sound of waves crashing against the shore as well as smell the distinct aroma of a shore. The sound of carnival music filled the air as well as the aroma of popcorn, cotton candy, and vomit. However, it was unlike any amusement park that I had seen. The brightly lit wonderland of the typical theme park was gone. In its place was the nightmarish park of a madman's design.

The rides that I could see were twisted parodies of their real world counterparts. The inaccessible "Tunnel of Love" off to our right was themed around a woman's genitals. The "Test of Strength" game placed along the grimy wall to our left was themed after the Medieval Period practice of executing a prisoner with an axe and a chopping block. In the background, I could see the black silhouette of the Ferris wheel in the distance.

Foxtrot 813 complained, "Oh, don't tell me that we have to ride and play these damn things." I turned to the right and looked at him. He looked back at me beneath his scraped and dented helmet that emitted an occasionally flickering green light from the spiderweb cracked visor for a moment. Then, shrugging, he explained, "I hate theme parks...they're too crowded...if something happens there is no way that you could maneuver."

I nodded and then replied, "Let's keep moving. Hopefully, we will get lucky and these...things...are just decorations."

He nodded and then, side-by-side with our weapons at the ready, we moved forward. The path was straight until it came to a "T" about thirty yards ahead of us. To our left was a wall made out of closed theme park games and to our right was a rusted fence that had an endless black void beyond it.

The "Test of Strength" game was ten yards down from the ticket kiosk. As we passed it, the ghostly, recorded voice of a man said, "Hey boys and girls, do you have what it takes to silence that pesky political dissident with a single chop? Come one, come all. Don't be shy. How about you three gentlemen?"

We stopped and looked at each other before looking at the game. It continued, "That got your attention. Step right up, gentlemen. Silence the dissident with a single chop and receive ten tickets that you can put towards the first key."

We looked at each other again. Then, I said to Alpha 1, "You're up, bro." He nodded and then approached the game while shouldering his shotgun.

The game announced, "We have a contestant everyone! Let's give him a hand folks!" Canned applause filled the air for a moment. Meanwhile, Alpha 1 retrieved the old executioner's axe from where it had been with its curved edge embedded in the chopping block. The worn wooden handle of the axe was more like a pike with its unusually long length. The head looked very unbalanced with its crescent moon like shape.

"You can do it, Alpha 1!" I looked down to see that Alma had appeared to my right with black cotton candy in her right hand.

Somewhat upset, I asked, "What, you didn't get me any?"

She stuck her tongue out at me before she replied, "Do you really want to eat anything from here, Michael?"

I nodded and then said, "Yeah, you're right."

I looked back at Alpha 1, who was examining the axe. After a few moments, the game asked, "Is the contestant ready?"

Alpha 1 asked with his deep voice, "Rules?"

The game replied, "Using only the axe, you must decapitate the dissident until he is dead. First swing earns ten tickets. With each following swing, one ticket is deducted until the tenth swing. Following the tenth swing, you will only receive one ticket. Any party found to be violating the rules or cheating shall be terminated."

Alpha 1 asked, "That's too easy. What's the catch?"

The game gave off a strange laughing noise and then replied, "Ah, what a clever one you are. The catch, my friend, is that you have to see the individual that you are decapitating. That shouldn't be a problem for a killer like you, A0001. After all, that's all you are: an emotionless killing machine masquerading as a human being but deep down, you know that is all you are...a test tube abomination that can't protect anything that he cares about...only destroy."

My friend laughed with his repeated grunts before he remarked, "It takes more than that to get to me."

The game replied, "Indeed, but perhaps this will..."

Suddenly, two cloaked figures approached from further into the park with a third figure that was restrained. I felt my breath catch in my throat when I saw that the third individual was clad in Replica Heavy Trooper armor. The trooper fought against the cloaked figures but was unable to get free. When they forced the trooper's head onto the chopping block, the game mocked my Brother, "Let the execution commence!"

Alpha 1 demanded, "What is this?!"

The game laughed before it replied, "Don't you recognize your own brother, Alpha 1?"

The rest of us gasped. Omega 1: Alpha 1's brother that had been brutally murdered by the Phase Commander that we eventually threw over the side of the observation deck of the Harbormaster's Tower in Sparta. Alpha 1 remarked, "You lie..."

The two figures forcefully removed the trooper's mask to reveal a face that was nearly identical to Alpha 1's face. The two brothers looked at each other for a few seconds. Then, as I had been expecting, they started to laugh. The game demanded, "What is this?"

Alpha 1 explained, "I think that you need to dig a little deeper into the Replicas. We do not fear death. " He looked down at his brother and then said, "Requiescat in pace, my brother."

He lifted the axe into the air above him. Omega 1 replied, "Requiescat in pace, my little brother." With a single mighty chop, Alpha 1 decapitated his brother and even sliced through the chopping block. The body and severed head instantly dissolved into a strange black goo substance.

Leave the axe where he had imbedded it into the boardwalk beneath the block, Alpha 1 commented, "It takes more than your petty mind games to fool me. My brother was bound by our slave programming. He would not have been able to fight back like whatever that thing was. I knew that it was just a trick the second that I saw him struggling against those two beings. Now, a deal is a deal. Pay up."

The game replied, "Dissident was not real. Con...contest rules have been violated. You shall not receive your tickets."

My brother said, "So, you're saying that your own trick violates your rules. Therefore, you have violated your own rules. I submit the following: you have violated your own rules and therefore must terminate yourself for cheating as your rules dictate."

The game's voice became erratic, "Rules...violated...dissident...tickets...boys and girls...silence...dissident...rules..." The machine suddenly dissolved into a pile of black goo. When the goo had completely vanished, there was a stack of tickets sitting on the ground where the machine had been moments prior. Alpha 1 retrieved the tickets and then returned to us.

I commented, "Well done, Brother."

He nodded as he handed me the tickets. I took them in my gloved left hand and then handed them to Alma. She giggled as she took them. Once Alpha 1 had retrieved his shotgun, we continued forward.

We came to the "T". The path ahead was blocked by a row of closed amusement park games. The right path to the "Tunnel of Love" was impassable due to a fallen hotdog stand that appeared to have crushed a person inside of a raccoon mascot looking outfit. Upon seeing the poor individual, Foxtrot 813 commented, "Damn, what a way to go." The path to the left led further into the park.

As we proceeded through the seemingly abandoned park with our weapons at the ready, I could not help but wonder if this park was somehow representative of Akira's psyche. If it was, somehow I doubted that this "key" was going to be a key at all. In fact, I got the feeling that what we were looking for was likely in the gift shop.

We came to a large house named, "The Haunted Mansion". The exterior was cheesy like any other spooky theme park attraction with its windows that conveniently had silhouettes in them, canned screams echoing from its interior, run down appearance, and fake fog that was lingering around the porch. The alternate paths around the attraction were inaccessible for varying reasons so we had no choice but to enter the house.

However, as we crossed the threshold of the front door, cold damp air hit me. We were now in a cemetery like the ones in New Orleans with the endless above ground crypts that resembled a city of the dead. Taking point, I walked out into the center of the path between the crypts with my rifle at the ready. A dense fog covered the area like a shroud that was so thick that I could only see the faint black outlines of the crypts on either side on me.

The fog amplified my booted footsteps on the square stone path beneath my feet. The area was bathed in a bizarre muted grey as if color was taboo. The already unsettling atmosphere was compounded by the unholy sounds of chanting, quiet screams, and children's laughter floating through the fog-filled narrow streets of the dead city.

I motioned with my left hand for us to move out and then slowly crept forward through the thick fog. The fog seemed to wrap around me as if it was trying to prevent me from moving forward. The endless winding path through the crypts reminded me of my life. Was this really all there was to life? Was this miserable, endless march through the cold uncertainty of the identity of reality with nothing but the monuments of the fallen for company really what life was all about? After all, how could I be certain that any of this was real? Indeed, if anyone ever heard my story, I doubted that they could blame me for losing touch with reality. Perhaps, I had gone mad and this was all simply the warped fantasy of my delusional mind.

Often times, I found myself praying that this was indeed the fantasy of a madman and this Hell on Earth had not come to pass. All the death, all the hardship, and all the perversion of the human condition, what had it all been for? Was the world truly so cold that this was all for nothing? All those people, all the lives tarnished, ruined, and torn asunder like nothing had any worth or value, was that all for the sick amusement of some higher power?

I was not religious. I had lost faith in such things early in my life. However, I still wanted to believe that life was sacred and that everything had a right to exist. I had taken an oath to protect people and their right to exist. I had taken an oath to be the vanguard of liberty and freedom from the fear of persecution and oppression. This military abomination that we called Sparta was a knife in my heart. I was not delusional; I knew that Sparta represented everything that I had sworn to destroy.

How much of myself was I willing to sacrifice in the name of protecting everything that I held sacred? At what point would I become the very problem that I was trying to destroy? We had answered the disgusting, black poison of rage incarnate that sought to kill us all with another side of the human psyche that was just as disgusting and poisonous: worship of the war machine; the reverence of the human capacity for self-annihilation as the mechanical thundering and billowing smoke of industrial factories filled the air as if to challenge the gods themselves and the youth of humanity was corrupted by the knowledge of the feeling of another human being's spilled lifeblood on their hands.

We would win. We had to win. However, when it was all over, what would become of us? A military powerhouse like Sparta had no place in a world that was free from Armacham and Akira. Alma and I had already agreed that we would help whenever we were called upon but that we would otherwise let the world heal on its own. However, my greatest fear was that we would be unable to accept a world of peace and would become a scourge of mankind as we created new conflicts for our own benefit.

I was actually grateful when I saw the first humanoid figure appear through the fog as it rushed towards us. Aiming through my scope, I fired my rifle at the figure. However, to my surprise, spider leg-like appendages shot out of its torso. It then proceeded to jump from one side of the crypts to the other to dodge my shots as it closed the distance. Activating my reflexes, I began to track the creature while Alpha 1 and Foxtrot 813 opened fire with their weapons.

Even with my reflexes, the speed of the morphing figure was staggering. I missed my windows of opportunity as it closed the distance multiple times. Finally, when it was less than fifteen yards away, it jumped too high into the air and thus, I had ample time to score a solid five round burst in its head. Seconds later, my reflexes deactivated as my meter ran out.

Meanwhile, the figure crashed to the ground as it gave off a wheezing sound. After reloading our weapons, we slowly inched forward to inspect the slain entity. As we approached it, however, it dissolved into black goo that was identical to the goo that we had encountered in the theme park. Unfortunately, the noise had attracted the attention of the other resident entities. Soon, we were surrounded. There were dozens of them. They were on the tops of the crypts and in the pathway on both sides.

While we swiveled around with the muzzles of our weapons held rock steady in our grasp, Alma said darkly, "Michael..."

I replied, "Do it." With a single, powerful wave of psychic energy, she vaporized the humanoid creatures blocking our way forward. Acting as a rear guard, I pushed us forward while firing back towards the pursuing figures as they jumped from crypt to crypt.

Fortunately, minutes later, Alpha 1 called out, "There's a way out." We rushed through the open entrance of a crypt. However, we did not enter a new "realm". Instead, we remained in the cube shaped interior of the crypt. After bolting the heavy steel door shut, I turned around to inspect the space.

The space was about the size of the interior of a storage unit. Up against the walls were three separate sarcophagus-like tombs that took up the entire length of their respective wall. Spider webs hung down from the ceiling and the clammy air of the dark space only added to the eeriness of it all. As I proceeded further into the interior, Alma ignited two groups of candles that were housed in ornate, circular brass stands on either side of the back tomb.

While Alpha 1 and Foxtrot 813 were investigating the other two tombs, I went to stand next to Alma as she studied the altar looking pedestal in front of the third tomb. When I reached her, I noticed that the surface of the flat stone slab of the altar was blank. Along the right side was an old looking leather bound book and along the left side were various items including a piece of red chalk and a small, worn, ceremonial knife. The aged knife blade was inscribed with strange markings that I had never seen before but appeared to be ancient in origin.

The front cover of the book was decorated with a strange red circle that had a series of markings including one that resembled an eye at the top and then an interior circle with three smaller circles in the center arranged in a triangle. Upon seeing the cover, Alma muttered with noticeable bitterness, "The Order..."

I had never heard her talk about "The Order" before but she seemed to be well versed in whatever it was. The disgust in her voice and ominous expression were chilling to say the least. In addition, there was a strange look in her beautiful glowing eyes. The only other time I had seen such a look was when she was around anything related to ATC.

Concerned, I asked, "Alma, what is it? What's The Order?"

She looked up at me. Her eyes were even more mesmerizing than usual as the reflection of the candle flames danced on the surface of her golden orange eyes. There was something special about the flames reflecting against her eyes but I could not quite put my finger on it. She smiled slightly before she assured me, "It's nothing, Michael."

Outside the crypt, I could hear the creatures beginning to mass in an attempt to gain entry. Upon feeling a piece of the ceiling striking my left shoulder, I looked up. The trails of stone flakes falling down from the bland ceiling indicated that they were also on the roof. A loud bang caused me to look behind me at the entrance. There was now a noticeable bulge in the metal door. The situation was dire. We were boxed in.

I yelled, "Alpha 1, cover the door!"

He replied, "Roger."

Just then, a crack appeared in the roof. Raising my rifle, I yelled, "Foxtrot 813, cover the roof!"

As he raised his own rifle, he replied, "Roger that, sir."

Fighting to remain calm, I said to my wife, "We're trapped."

She replied, "No we're not."

Looking down, I saw her reading the marked page of the book. The writing was similar to the other strange markings. I could not understand any of it but Alma seemed to have little trouble with reading it. As she read, I could hear her muttering to herself in a strange language that sounded dark, almost satanic. When she finished, she looked up at me. I waited expectantly.

She explained, "I am not familiar with this particular spell but it seems pretty straight forward."

I asked, "How long will it take?"

As she reached for the piece of red chalk, she replied, "A few minutes."

Turning back to face the door, I remarked, "Alright, you heard her boys. Let's keep those things at bay."

The two Replicas nodded in confirmation. With our weapons at the ready, we prepared for the creatures' assault. As the seconds ticked by, I could hear Alma chanting in the strange language while she drew something with the piece of chalk. The steel door continued to weather the continuous siege by the creatures for about a minute. However, soon afterwards, the door crashed to the ground, throwing up a light cloud of dust.

Activating my reflexes, I took aim at the humanoid figures as they pushed their way through the narrow entrance. Firing five round bursts, I dropped creature after creature with headshots. Meanwhile, Alpha 1 held them at bay with his Vollmer. As I reloaded, I deactivated my reflexes so that they could recharge. Foxtrot 813 acted as my substitute as he began to fire his assault rifle at the incoming humanoids.

After I reloaded, Foxtrot and I worked in tandem to cover Alpha 1 while he reloaded his shotgun. When he had, Foxtrot 813 reloaded his rifle and then returned to covering the ceiling. Moments later, Alma said, "Michael, I need your hand." Looking down, I saw that she had drawn a strange circle-like design in the center of the slab. I was confused as to why she needed my hand. That is, until I saw the knife in her tiny right hand.

Sighing, I said, "813, cover the door." Then, while Foxtrot was assisting Alpha 1, I lowered my left hand down towards my little companion. Gently, she removed my combat glove and then placed it off to the side. As if she was trying to assure me that I did not need to be afraid, she slowly guided my larger hand in her soft left hand into position slightly over the top of the center of the circle. She then placed the blade of the knife in the palm of my hand and closed my fingers until I was holding the blade in a fist.

As she was about to slice my hand, the stone ceiling around the door caved in. Activating my reflexes, I fired my assault rifle with just my right arm and shoulder to control the recoil. The strange sensation of brief cold and then burning in my left palm informed me that Alma had used the knife. Seconds later, a bright flash of light came over my vision.

When my vision returned, I found myself back in the theme park except I was on the other side of "The Haunted Mansion". Looking around, I saw Alpha 1 and Foxtrot 813 on either side of me. Before me, Alma was examining something in her grasp. Shouldering my rifle, I asked, "What's that?" Looking up at me, she raised the item so that I could see it.

There, in both of her hands, was a simple stuffed raccoon that was nearly identical to the mascot of the theme park. Retrieving a medical injector from my equipment pack, I injected the liquid straight into my left hand. Seconds later, the incision was gone but there was a new scar that, combined with the scar from Titan Station, formed an "X" in my palm. Having apparently lost my glove, I also retrieved a new one from my equipment pack.

As I retrieved my rifle, Alma commented, "I believe that this is one of those keys."

I nodded in agreement before I said, "I wonder what she meant by making me more responsive to her advances..."

She frowned slightly before she suggested, "It may not be what you first thought. I think that I am starting to understand."

Walking forward, I asked, "Hmm?"

As she matched my pace beside me, my wife explained, "Remember how I was in Fairport? Akira has never seen a proper relationship...so...this obsession with you is all she knows. That latent personality of my other self is probably egging her on. However, this...affection...that she has for you...I don't think that it is truly sexual...just a daughter's love that confused and misplaced."

I replied, "I figured so..." Remembering that there were "floors", I looked around. The only nearby attractions that would be considered to be other floors were the Ferris wheel and the rollercoaster. The Ferris wheel, with its rusted exterior that was wrapped with barbwire, seemed nonoperational so I led the way towards the rollercoaster.

Just before the rollercoaster, we came to a round area with a merry-go-round in the center. The ride was macabre to say the least. Instead of a festive, family-friendly theme of happy horses and exotic animals, it was a theme of rot and decay. The animals were horrible quadruped beasts the size and general shape of horses but the rotting corpses were otherwise beyond identification. The merry-go-round itself was bloody and reeked of stale urine.

I raised my left hand and signaled for my men to form a line abreast and we approached the disgusting ride cautiously with our weapons ready. I should have anticipated what happened next. For a brief second, I was slightly ahead of Alpha 1 and Foxtrot 813 as I stepped onto the round platform. However, at that instant, giant walls of flame surrounded the ride's perimeter, effectively cutting me off from everyone else.

As I swiveled around in search of my assailant, the ride gave off an ear-shattering metal screech as it began to turn. As the disgusting abomination gained speed, the creatures began to give off breathing noises as foul black clouds also began to emit from the general area of their nostrils. Moving towards the center of the platform, I turned back to see if I could see my allies.

Not surprisingly, I was unable to make visual contact with my friends. I bumped into something soft and wheeled around to find Akira standing inches in front of me with a smile on her weathered yet youthful face. It seemed impossible that a child's face could be adorned with the unspoken pain of a life that was so new yet so experienced. The haunting silent scream in her eyes surpassed those of even ruthless thugs and hardened soldiers. If it were not for the telltale flare in those same eyes, it would be all I could do to resist the urge to scoop her up in my arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay.

She asked with a sweet tone, "Are you enjoying this game of mine?"

Lowering my weapon slightly, I replied, "It's...interesting...certainly not a letdown. There isn't an exit is there? You are the door and the keys are stuff that you want...like the stuffed raccoon."

Taking a small step towards me, the dark version of my daughter said, "Aw, you ruined the surprise. Still...you are correct Father. The keys are toys that I want. These...things...are as hostile to me as they are to you...otherwise I would be doing this myself."

Confused, I asked, "Akira, you're not afraid of them...are you?"

Her bottom lip quivered briefly before she replied, "They're scary Father...I don't like scary things."

Now even more confused, I smiled slightly before I commented, "Akira, you are a constant surprise...you know that?"

She smiled brightly and put her hands together in the center of her chest. As she swayed slightly on the balls of her feet, she replied, "Thank you. I must admit that I...enjoy...your presence a whole lot more than that other you."

I smiled before I said, "I am glad to hear that...by the way, I have been meaning to commend you for how you sprung that trap on us in NATO Headquarters. It was subtle but effective...the best kind of tactical move. You have tactical instinct...one is either born with that or they're not." She blushed in response. I continued, "However, I have to give you some advice. You have to allow your troops to be more flexible so that they can adapt to new situations. Your positions have been too rigid. Flexibility is important."

She released her hands and cocked her head to the right. Then, she asked, "Why are you giving me advice?"

I smiled slightly before I explained, "Because your real Father didn't."

Her eyes widened for a moment before she regained her composure. Then, she flashed a cruel smirk before she asked, "You know what else my real Father never did for me...or, to be more specific, to me?"

Despite her attempt to rattle me, this time, I saw through her front. I replied, "Love you...teach you that real strength is forgiveness not vengeance...hold you and tell you that you are the most important thing in my world and that I would never hurt you."

Her front faltered and her eyes began to blink more than usual as she tried to think of a way to intimidate me. I sighed before I continued, "Akira...you are a little girl...remember? I know that you think what you saw your Mother doing to the other me was love but it wasn't. Sweetie...love is built and earned not taken." Akira seemed confused by what I said. I continued, "I want to help you."

She smiled slightly before she offered, "Well, there is something that you can do for me."

I replied, "Yes?"

She explained, "The other me...Amara...I want you to promise me something."

I asked, "What, sweetie?"

Her expression saddened as she said, "Please, promise me that you will make sure that she never has a reason to become me."

I was stunned by the request. Before that moment, it had not even crossed my mind that Akira hated herself. I assured her, "Of course, Akira."

She whispered, "Thank you." Then, before I could stop her, she dissolved into a cloud of black ash. I sighed briefly. The more I interacted with her, the more I hated myself. Granted, it was the other me that had created the poor girl, but I still felt responsible. Pushing it all to the back of my mind, I focused on getting the disgusting ride to stop.

Looking around the merry-go-round, I failed to see any mechanical parts that would account for how the piece of scrap metal was able to turn despite being rusted through and covered with all manner of foulness. On a wild hunch, I aimed my rifle at the nearest corpse and discharged ten rounds in the rotting body to see if there was any effect.

A strange moan came from the abomination and shortly afterwards, it dissolved into black goo. The merry-go-round noticeably slowed as a result. Having discovered the solution, I repeated the process with the four other bodies, reloading after the third and fifth corpse. When the fifth body finished dissolving, the ghoulish ride finally ground to a halt. However, the walls of fire remained.

Annoyed, I said aloud, "Oh, give me a break already!"

I gasped quietly when my own voice replied, "Breaks are for amateurs."

Looking towards the center of the ride, I was dumbfounded when I saw a much cleaner version of myself appear with a significantly less used Patten PK470 in his grasp. He lacked any psychic aura and his uniform was so pristine that his pant legs still had their creases. Not only did he not have our mentor's skull mask, he also lacked any scars on his face. Most noticeable of all was that his eyes were grey like mine had been until I formed the alliance with Alma.

Though not entirely sure why, I got the impression that this version of me was from yet another parallel universe. Somehow, in his timeline, Fairport had never happened, which meant that either Armacham did not exist or something bad had happened to his Alma. When I scrutinized his appearance more, I noticed something that vastly different between us. His eyes did not have the "thousand yard stare" like mine had had just before they were replaced by the glowing golden orange orbs that mimicked Alma's eyes.

The lack of the look in his eyes astonished me. The implications became clear. This version of me had not experienced the incident in South America. His mentor had not died in front of him. He had not killed all those people and lived with the burden of remembering their faces. He had not received the Medal of Honor, mailed it back to the White House, and lived with the humiliation of having it sent back to him.

We stared each other down with around five yards between us. After a moment, he suddenly accused me with a less hardened tone than my own, "Hey, that's Dad's Redhawk." It took me a second to realize that he was referring to the custom stainless steel .44-magnum revolver in my holster. Quickly glancing at his holster, I saw that he only had a standard issue Seegert.

The way that he had said "Dad's" was wrong. There was no hatred or resentment for the man that made my childhood a living Hell in his voice. A mild feeling of jealously filled me as I realized that this version of me had not had an awful childhood and, instead, he had had a loving father. I replied with my hardened voice, "It was the least that dried up, alcoholic, tin soldier could do after what he did to me. Would have taken the Glock too but I couldn't find it after his barbwire wrapped skeleton tried to kill me."

He scowled before he accused, "You killed him?!"

I snorted before I replied, "No, actually I didn't. Wish I had though."

The pampered, loved version of me gritted his teeth together in anger as he raised his rifle up towards me. I found his lack of discipline to be disgraceful. I barked, "Oh put that down before you hurt yourself...tin...soldier. I bet you didn't even switch the safety off did you?"

My suspicions were confirmed when he lowered his weapon and I got a clear view of the side of the rifle's receiver. Like the M16 family of rifles, the PK470 had a convenient mechanism on the left side of its receiver that allowed the operator to switch between "safety", "semi-auto", and "auto" firing modes. Though I could not see the left side of the weapon, I could still make out the little circle, which was the back of the mechanism, on the right side that had the telltale groove that pointed towards which mode the rifle was currently in. Personally, I did not understand the necessity of a "semi-auto" mode because the same effect could be achieved in "auto" mode if the operator simply squeezed the trigger for each shot instead of holding the trigger down.

He remarked, "You are just like how she said that you would be."

I asked, "Who are you talking about?"

The other version of me replied, "Alma Wade, you know, the president of Armacham Technology Corporation?"

All but hearing a gasket break loose in my mind as I tried to come to terms with what he had just said, I demanded with my demonic voice, "What the fuck did you just say?! How dare you say her name and the name of that...company...in the same sentence?!"

He retreated a few steps back with a look of shock on his clean face. After regaining his nerve, he addressed me with a disgusted tone, "I had figured that you would be a little unbalanced or something but now I see that it's true..."

Controlling my anger, I asked with my normal voice, "What? What's true?"

He explained, "That you are the evil version of me. Alma said that while there are infinite universes, there are only three versions of 'Sergeant Becket': good, neutral, and evil. The majority of us were neutral but unfortunately, they are already dead in their timelines. She showed me that only two of us are not neutral: you and me. We have seen the...awful...immoral...inhumanly cruel things that you have done. It is clear which of us is the good version and which of us is the evil version. I am the good 'Sergeant Becket'. You are the evil 'Sergeant Becket'."

Now, as I reflect, I wish that I could have seen my own face as I processed what he had told me. I would imagine that it was the most perfect example of a "what the fuck?" expression that the world has ever seen. I was silent for a few minutes as my numb mind tried to process the revelation. I was the evil version of myself? How was that possible? I had never gone out of my way to cause harm.

The things that I had done were indeed cruel at times, I had no delusions about that, but I had never felt any positive emotions other than the satisfaction of knowing that I had not failed or dishonored the true heroes who had paid the ultimate price for the United States of America by failing to demonstrate the same honor, discipline, and courage that they had just because of my petty moral objections. I had been her sword and shield. I had been her soldier to do with as she pleased. Follow orders: that is what soldiers have always done since the very first generation; follow orders without hesitation while humbly carrying the weight of their country's flag on their shoulders.

However, as I continued to reflect, my memories of what had transpired after the amplifier began to play like a movie in my mind. It is amazing how little of one's life an individual will consciously remember until she or he is forced to truly face who he or she is. We can convince ourselves that we are decent enough, but actions speak louder than words. It is our choices that define us, not our words.

With all my heart, I wanted to believe that I had done everything since then with good intentions but what if I had only done them for my own sick enjoyment? What if I was so demented and cruel that I did not realize how evil I was? Yes, at first, my motivation was to enact my vengeance against Armacham. However, before we had even liberated Fairport, I had cast my anger aside as my primary motivation in favor of the desires to protect my new family and to do whatever it took to give the dark haired goddess of both my dreams and nightmares the happiness that she deserved.

I had hated Alma, but, now, I was not only the Commander of the Replicas but also her husband. I had plunged the world into, essentially, a third world war simply for the convenience of having other militaries fight for us while we gutted ATC from the inside out. I had single-handily given Akira the world on a silver platter by running the world's economies and population into the ground just because I had wanted to make Alma and, by extension, our daughter happy.

True, we had been brutal in our methods. It seemed like we and, more specifically, I, had broken nearly every international treaty concerning warfare. Of course, legally we could not be held accountable because we had never formally agreed to any of the treaties. The only reason that I hesitated over certain courses of action was that I had personally witnessed the after effects of taboo methods like biological warfare during those years of climatic turmoil while I was being trained by my mentor. I had learned something from those experiences: scars ran deep and most of them are not physical; the memory of an injustice is infinitely more poisonous than the actual event.

However, it had never occurred to me that what we were doing was evil. Had we become so obsessed with our ideals and principles that we had become morally incompetent in regards to our actions?

Looking at my actions from that new perspective broke my heart. Up until that moment, I had been convinced that I did not need to try to justify my actions in terms of "good vs. evil". As I had told Foxtrot 813 in Hong Kong, I had been thinking only in terms of survival. Morality had not seemed important before that moment. Noticing my reflection in the lens of my rifle's scope, I looked averted my gaze down to it.

I felt the urge to vomit when I did not recognize the monster that looked back at me. For the first time since I had started to wear my mentor's mask, I felt like I was able to see what I had become. I was forced to face the fact that the man that people had called Sergeant Becket and also, by a certain few, Michael was long gone. Now, the inhuman soldier called Mr. Death was all that was left. It was true: I had been the evil version of myself all along.

I admit that I was devastated for a moment. However, then a thought occurred to me: was it really such a bad thing to be the evil version of myself? A cruel smile formed beneath my mask. Suddenly jerking my head back up to look at my "good" self, I began to cackle dryly. As I continued to cackle, my body became enveloped by a red aura.

The weak "good" me did not even attempt to hide his fear as he raised his weapon up with shaking arms. After about a minute, despite my enjoyment of his fear, I stopped laughing and mocked him in my demonic voice, "You can't fight like a Spartan, but let's see if you can die like one...tin soldier." Before he could reply, I raised my rifle and activated my reflexes.

A.N.:

Yeah, our Becket has been the "evil" version of himself all along. Though, since he did everything for Alma, he is more of a tragic character than "evil".