"Ultra Imfirmitatibus Meis"
Chapter 10
"Hidden beneath the Ice: Duty."
'This is it.' The newly appointed British Government thought to himself as the problem he's expected to solve, was being presented to him by one of his country's Generals. 'The final trial… the hardest of challenges...'
"...the villagers have all been identified as either sick or carriers of the aforementioned disease, sir. In addition, the medical investigation concluded that there is no known cure for what's ailing them, nor will one surface before they all succumb to the symptoms."
The man reading the report sounded mechanical and monotone, as if he was discussing the weather and not the fate of hundreds of innocent human beings that just happened to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time.
But Mycroft knew better.
He saw the signs: the subtle shaking of his left hand, the tiny beads of sweat coating his forehead…
They all pointed to once conclusion.
Some of those unfortunate souls… were related to him.
Wife, sons, daughters… parents… friends and distant relatives…
And he was about to leave their fate in the hands of an inexperienced child, not nearly old enough to have such a heavy burden placed upon his shoulders.
He didn't trust Mycroft's judgment.
That was okay.
Mycroft didn't trust it either, not after what happened to Rudy.
Quite honestly… he was surprised the queen even decided to let him keep the position, since his negligence was the reason Rudolph wasn't with them anymore.
He should be thrown in jail for the murder of a relative, with the key to his cell thrown out the window and never retrieved.
But he supposed facing today's agenda was a more fitting punishment than anything else, really…
After all… this is where the boy must be sacrificed, so that the man can emerge from his ashes…
And be the hero they need him to be.
'Do what must be done.'
"What are the symptoms of the illness, General?" The Prime Minister sitting to Mycroft's right, asked, voice grave and hollow.
"The symptoms include: extensive internal bleeding, abdominal pains, rotting of flesh and severe paralysis."
The queen sighed, her proud features schooled into a mask of concern and sadness.
"Such grave conditions… It would be inhuman to let those poor people suffer them longer than they have to " She whispered shaking her head. "I believe we all know what we must do."
She made it sound so easy…
Perhaps because it wasn't her signature signing those damned papers.
It wasn't her conscience that was going to be weighted down by those deaths.
She wasn't going to be blamed and cursed left and right by their relatives.
She wasn't going to have to face any of this.
But Mycroft was.
And the prospect was already making him feel sick.
"Wait!" The General cried, once he noticed the boy's hand reach out towards the pen. "T-There's still a chance they can be saved! Just because doctors don't believe they'll find a cure in time, doesn't mean they won't!"
That argument was pathetic, and everyone knew it.
It was desperate plea made by a desperate man in a desperate attempt to protect those he cared about.
It was pointless, illogical and, frankly, quite cruel.
They were already dying, so why continue to prolong their suffering if there are means to soften their transition to the other side?
Sentiment.
That was why.
Sentiment and a fool's hope.
Two things young Mycroft Holmes decided to stand behind in this helpless situation, despite his mentor's teachings to do otherwise.
Because he knew that, had it been his family…
He would have done the same.
So he prolonged the mass genocide for another few days, instructing the best doctors to abandon their researches, and work on the antidote.
'You did the right thing.' Mycroft's heart told him.
But his mind, the biggest ally he's got, only whispered:
'Oh Mycroft, Mycroft… Do you not realize what this mistake will cost you?'
He didn't care.
It mattered not at the moment.
All that mattered was that he didn't have innocent blood on his hands, that he could prevent.
He'd trust his heart this one time.
'Uncle Rudy...it happened again.'
'What did, boy?'
'I failed.'
He's back here again.
Looking at the gray stone before him, flowers in hand and hollowness where his soul once resided.
He can't remember the last time he went home.
He can't seem to be able to leave this place...
He's haunting this grave like a ghost.
Mycroft snorted.
How ironic.
Though one might say he's simply returning the favor.
Those that died… who he sent though personal hell before their passing, had been haunting his dreams ever since he memorised their faces.
He didn't mind though...
It's not like he didn't deserve it.
He knew what would happen, it wasn't something he did out of stress and anxiety.
It was a fully conscious decision on his part.
He thought the gamble would pay off, that by postponing the massacre and giving the lab boys more time, the infected would have a chance of survival.
It would be a miserable life, filled with pain and expensive rehabilitation, but at least they'd be alive.
He acted out of compassion.
He acted human.
And it was that action that cost him his newly acquired position.
The Government doesn't need sentimental fools at it's wheels.
It needs people who will do what needs to be done.
And if this was going to work, Mycroft cannot be a fool anymore.
He didn't know how to do that, though.
His teacher died before he could tell him the way to get rid of his instinctive 'caring'.
Do what needs to be done.
Those words echoed again and, for a second, Mycroft wondered.
Do those words hold the secret?
Do they show the way to becoming a vile, unfeeling monster able to sacrifice thousands to save millions, without batting an eye?
Was saying those words on his deathbed his mentor's way of guiding him through this dilemma?
Perhaps.
But alas, those are but mere guidelines. They tell you what mindset to be in when confronted with a decision that is going against your moral code: Do what needs to be done, regardless of it clashing with your moral compass, or not. There is more than one life on your shoulders.
But they don't tell you what to do when the dust settles and you're forced to face the consequences of your actions.
Mycroft's stared at them now.
Each engraved name carrying more behind it. Family, friends... strangers just met earlier that day.
They're all suffering now...
And they can't even know the name of the man-boy-responsible for all that pain.
Mycroft stared and stared and stared...
Until his eyes burned.
This was supposed to be his life now.
Constant hard choices.
Constant weighting lives against lives. Which ones are worth protecting, which ones he can afford to sacrifice...
And the constant… crushing… guilt.
It consumed him, ripped him apart from the inside...
It hurt more than any physical wound ever could.
...
Mycroft shook his head sharply, hands squeezing into fists.
This needs to stop.
He cannot act like a sentimental buffoon every time he was faced with such a dilemma.
What was his job, if not making the hard choices and doing what needs to be done?
His hands shook.
There will be more cases like this… where, in order to protect his country, he'll have to play judge and executioner with the lives of innocent people.
He has been trained for this very thing, ever since he was six.
His hands were made to be covered by the blood of his people.
No sacrifice was deemed too great, when it came to the safety of Great Britain.
His vision got blurry.
Was he crying?
Rudy made sure he knew what he was getting into… this wasn't a surprise revelation... It shouldn't be affecting him as much as it did!
He… he had to get rid of those 'feelings'!
They were clouding his judgement, obscuring his logical thinking, making him weak!
Squeezing his fists so hard blood began dripping from the cut skin, he continued to glare at the massive tombstone before him.
Being human and compassionate already costed him more than he was willing to pay once...
He cannot let this happen again.
Mycroft growled and kicked at the ground, angry at himself.
He already knew that.
All this thinking brought nothing new to the table.
Mycroft still doesn't know how to prevent himself from drowning in guilt with every mass murder he has to sign...
And his hands can't seem to stop shaking.
The boy cussed, shaking the tears away.
There was no solution, no clever trick, no way around it.
No matter how he looked at it… there was no way he could continue with this carrier.
He's...
Too human.
And that could have been the end of it...
The young boy would have been taken down from his government duty, until he grew old enough to perform admirably, and maybe, things wouldn't have ended the way they did.
But the world really needed the Iceman...
And, since the only person who could teach young Mycroft how to become one, was dead...
"All lives end, all hearts are broken..."
His mind decided to create its own.
Mycroft froze.
Someone was speaking.. .and yet there was no one at the cemetery besides himself.
"Caring is not an advantage."
He turned around abruptly, sharp eyes seeking the one that spoke.
But there was nothing to find...
"W-Who are you?" The boy's voice shook despite his best efforts to hide it. "Where are you hiding?"
For a minute nothing responded, making the child fear for his own sanity, but then..
The voice spoke again.
"You need not fear me, young one, for I am but a humble servant to your cause."
The voice didn't sound threatening, but emotionless and cold.
Like an ice statue.
"Why can't I see you, then?" Mycroft continued to look around, squinting his eyes to see better.
"Do not strain your eyes so youngling, for you will not see me thanks to their use."
Mycroft frowned.
That didn't make sense...
"What do you mean?"
"I am not a physical being, dear boy, nor am I present in your plane of existence."
"I don't understand..." The boy's head was beginning to hurt. "What are you then?"
"Quod sum eris."
"..." Mycroft's breath hitched in his throat.
The translation wasn't difficult to obtain.
"I am what you will be."
And just like that, the masterless student has acquired a teacher that will stay with him for the rest of his life.
Giving Mycroft the guidance and advice he needed, and quickly transforming the boy into the confident, strong-willed, no-nonsense leader England needed to survive.
Everything seemed to be going swimmingly since Mycroft's return from the cemetery that one fateful day.
The decisions he made rarely ended in catastrophe, additional lives were no longer getting lost in the crossfire, and politicians were slowly learning that Rudolph Holmes's heir wasn't someone to be pushed around.
The Queen was happy.
The senators were happy.
And the Englishmen were satisfied.
But it all came with a price.
One far too internal for the naked eye to see.
For Mycroft's training was none to gentle.
It was a particularly difficult decision, one that crushed the poor boy under its proverbial weight.
He had no idea what to do, and time was running out.
"Get up."
Came the cold response of his master.
"I'm... trying." And really, he was, but… he wasn't good at buffering his conscience yet.
It still screamed.
It still hurt.
It still existed.
"Not hard enough. Get up."
"I can't."
The weight was too much.
All of this was too much.
And, by God, it hurt.
"I don't recall giving you a choice. Get. Up."
"I can't! I… I really can't!"
He struggled and pushed but to no avail.
The weight this time was too great.
"I said Get. Up!"
"I already told you I can't!" Why won't the man help?
"You either get up on your feet… or everything around you, burns."
"It's… too heavy. I… I can't do this on my own. You have to… help me."
Admitting defeat.
Like a beaten dog with it's tail between its legs.
His master won't like this.
"No." There it was, the disgust and disapproval.
He's going to have to deal with this on his own.
"Why?"
"If I were to help you now, you'll never stand on your own."
Logical. The student must rise above his weakness. No good will come from his teacher to keep on helping him.
"I can… learn in time..." Though convincing him was near impossible, Mycroft had to try at least.
"Rudy is dead, boy." Came the harsh response. "Time is the one thing you DON'T have."
Once again, his mentor was right.
The decision had to be made now.
"All lives end..." Mycroft echoed his mentor's words as his hands reached for the paperwork.
"All hearts are broken..." He read the paper again. Mission report. Asking whenever or not they should sacrifice fifty agents in a decoy operation in order to protect those who already got behind enemy lines.
Those people had families, friends, loved ones...
And he's sending them to their deaths.
"Caring is not an advantage."
He gave the signed papers to his secretary, who immediately rushed to deliver his orders to the lead Agents.
His mentor hummed in approval.
The attack was a success. The double-agents secured, and the information obtained.
He knew he did what needed to be done.
By all acounts...he won.
And yet he still felt as if he had lost.