Interlude 4: For The Man Who Has Everything
Have you ever felt like your entire life has been a waste? That what you're doing doesn't actually matter, and never did?
I find myself feeling that quite frequently. Whether it's my job as a glorified propaganda officer on the "news", or dealing with the two-faced snakes of the nobility.
I shouldn't feel this way. By all rights, I'm as big a winner as you can get under Britannia's system without actually being nobility. And if you're rich enough, even that's possible too.
I'm young, attractive, comfortably well off. I work in my dream industry. I don't usually have trouble finding female companionship, even if meaningful relationships elude me.
I'm the executive producer of Hi-TV News, for God's sake! And yet...
I became a journalist to report the news. I wanted to see history being made. Maybe even make it myself with my reporting.
The great Britannian journalist, Edward R. Murrow, once gave a lecture at the journalism school I was attending.
And I? I was lucky enough to get his attention and ask to speak with him.
After a few drinks at a high class bar, he confided a secret about the system to me.
"Son, Britannia's propaganda machine is a work of art. No other country in history has anything close to the self-perpetuating myth that is the Britannian ideology."
At this point, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, "The problem is, journalism is tied into that system and is meant to support it. You'll never be able to report the truth. Only the 'truth' as it serves the state."
He sat back in his chair and sipped his whiskey before continuing.
"So if you want to be a journalist, you need to be willing to accept that. Because under Emperor Charles zi Britannia? You're either part of the system. Or..."
At this point, he sighed and looked me in the eyes. And I swear to god, that's when something deep inside me died.
"Or you're part of the problem. And the state has a way of making problems go away."
I've never forgotten the look in his eyes that day. The look of a man who's watched his dream be twisted and mutilated into something unrecognizable.
A man who had lost the entire meaning of his life.
Edward R. Murrow died later that year in a car accident. I never saw him again after that day.
I've wondered, sometimes. Did he choose to kill himself out of despair? Was he assassinated after discovering something that should have stayed buried? Or was it just a stupid accident and random chance?
I sigh as I walk into my apartment. Honestly, the only thing that's at all interesting anymore is the name on everyone's lips. The one her Highness Princess Cornelia is hunting.
I pour myself a glass of whiskey as I ponder what I should do. If only Fate would give me a sign...
My cellphone rings. Goddammit. I swear if Jeff smashed another camera...
I take the call after putting on a headset, "Reid. Talk to me."
"Good evening, Diethard Reid."
I freeze in place. No. No way. Is God actually listening?
"Speaking. May I ask who's calling?"
A malevolent chuckle from a familiar synthesized voice is my answer.
"Come now, do you really think I'm going to say that over an open line? There is a unmarked phone outside your door. When it rings, switch your headset to that. That phone contains a scrambler to prevent eavesdropping. Or, you can hang up and not take the call. Which I'll take as a refusal."
I snort. As if. Talking to him might be treasonous, depending on the conversation. But I didn't get to be an executive producer by being a coward.
"I understand. I'd like to continue the conversation," I say with conviction.
"Even if it means your life? This isn't a game, Mr Reid. この状況は危ないだ。" (This situation is dangerous.)
I can feel myself grinning as he says that. Few if any Britannians speak Japanese. It's not a prank.
"I'm not afraid of danger."
I can almost feel the demonic smile over the phone as he says his next words.
"You will be."
I calmly walk to the door, shivering with excitement as I pick up the aforementioned cellphone.
After hooking up my headset, it almost immediately starts ringing.
"Very good. Now we can speak freely. Sit down on the chair facing the window. You can bring your drink with you."
I take a small sip as I relax into the chair.
Only to freeze as a red dot traces its way up to my forehead.
"As you can see, one of my associates is observing you. They are an excellent shot and should you attempt to flee, you won't get very far."
Despite the danger...I can't stop smiling. This is exactly what I wanted! Real news! Real events! Not propaganda and mindless drivel!
"First question. Do you believe that you're actually doing journalism in your job?"
I shake my head, "No. Britannian news is propaganda for the state. I learned that from a great man I once met."
I hear an approving hum at that answer.
"Who was this great man?"
I look up as I remember our final conversation.
"Edward R. Murrow. I met him years ago at journalism school."
"Well, now. That was unexpected. You have unexplored depths, Mr. Reid."
I nod, "He taught me a lot about this business. I wish I'd known him better."
"Next question. What do you really want?"
I see the red dot move to my heart.
"And Mr. Reid? Don't lie to me. If you do, my associate will not kill you. They'll leave you for ME."
Some people think that he's just a lunatic in a mask. That he's nothing but smoke and mirrors.
"I want...to see history being made. I want to see something new. Something that hasn't been scripted as opiates for the masses."
I know better. This man is a force of nature. There's never been anything like him.
"Hahahaha! So you tire of bread and circuses?" his mocking laughter responds.
I take a sip of the whiskey, hearing the ice clank against the glass, "Have you ever done the same thing, day after day, praying for the monotony to end? That's been my job, aside from the occasional hit piece on the Viceroy's enemies at their behest."
He's quiet now. I'm not dead yet, so I suppose that answer was good enough.
"More than you know, Mr. Reid. More than you possibly imagine. One final question, then. If you were offered the chance to be on the world stage, to see a revolution being borne, to witness the eradication of the old world, and the shining birth of a new."
I hear footsteps behind me.
"Answer me without moving, Diethard Reid. What would you give to see that miracle? What price glory?"
Even without being able to see him... His sheer presence fills the room. I thought he was impressive over the phone, but that voice...
I take a deep breath and say the only truth I know.
"No price is too great. I would give anything and everything I am to be able to see and report such a miracle."
"Turn your gaze, Diethard. For your miracle has come."
I turn...and just as I hoped...he's there.
Terrifying in his presence. A figure of supernatural charisma.
The man who has claimed the title of Demon King.
ZERO!
He holds out a sword upright, in a pose that all Britannians know.
And because of that, I know exactly what to do as I kneel. For when one is before a King, one must naturally supplicate oneself.
"Diethard Reid. Will you give your will, your heart, your soul to my cause?"
I look at him, a smile upon my lips, eyes gazing rapturously at him.
"Yes. I need to see it. I need to see the chaos you'll bring. To see the exciting new future!"
He points the blade at me face.
"Chaos is but a means to an end. And my end is JUSTICE. And to do that, I must destroy and recreate this accursed world."
Yes! This is it! This is the culmination of my career! My magnum opus! Not just a man, he truly is a demon king! The one who will change everything!
"I will swear my allegiance to you, Your Majesty. Your cause is mine. Just let me see the new world!"
He taps both my shoulders with the blade.
"It is done. Welcome to the Black Knights, Diethard Reid. But know this."
He holds the blade against my neck, drawing a drop of blood.
"If you betray me, if you turn against Justice, the torments of Tartarus shall pale compared to what I'll do to you. You are now MINE."
As I expected, a deal with the Devil. But, unlike Faust, the terms are far less onerous to hold to.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Hail Zero, Demon King of the Sixth Heaven."
He sheathes the blade and sits down in a chair, "We're going to have a long chat about what I want from you. You're going to be doing a variety of tasks for me, some familiar, some less so. And I ask for nothing less than your best."
I grin maniacally as I pour him a glass and hand it to him.
"I think this is the beginning of a fantastic working relationship," I say as I clink glasses with him.
"Likewise, Officer Reid."
