Original story based on characters and material created by Project Aces. The author takes no for-profit ownership of them.
Prologue: High Above The Mucky-Muck
Tours Arkadion II
87 Rue Magdalene
13th Arrondisement, Farbanti, Erusea
19 July 1998
The business carried on by Farbantiennes as rush hour began to set in didn't seem that much different from when the apocalypse wasn't looming above their heads. A grim tension punctuated the din, the acceptance that even though death and destruction was imminent, the only thing to do was take it day by day and hope that maybe they wouldn't be deemed unlucky in the great wheel of fate.
Fifty-odd stories above the commute and just above the haze, someone tried to get the best seat in the house.
Standing as tall as a professional Osean football player but clad in a tailored slate-gray business suit and indigo silk tie that only seemed to make his surly, darker-complexion figure seem even more formidable, the client seemed to take his time perusing every detail of the condo tower's two-story penthouse. The sunlight seemed to be completely absorbed into the crests of his wavy hair as his silvery eyes darted their gaze from one item of furniture to the other, his hands slowly drawing across marble, high-count fabric and polished wood.
One of the building's sales agents accompanied him, a purely secretarial figure who might have literally been half his size but posed twice as much confidence - or at least attention to the routine - to compensate. The two stopped by the eastern viewpoint of the upper floor, in the master's bedroom.
"And here we come to the best view of the entire penthouse: the great Usean sunset setting across the Spring Sea. On a very clear day you might just be able to catch a glimpse of the cliffs of Torchester just beyond the horizon."
The Erusean real estate agent effortlessly kept up a formal smile amidst her hyperbole, showing him around with scripted lines delivered probably dozens of times over. After all, nobody of a pedigree less than royalty or Vinewood A-List, let alone of her buyer's heritage got a penthouse condo on the west side of the capitol's ultra-glitzy 13th Arrondisement unless they had plenty of money to throw around.
At least, not under normal circumstances. The incoming "Act of God" changed their preferences to underground bunkers from sky high condominiums.
"You're very lucky, Monsieur Rijnders." she continued, before trailing off at the end.
"Please, not so loud, I don't want the neighbors to hear," he asserted jokingly, turning to face her with piercing gray eyes. An appearance like his required special skills when it came to shifting identities, and he'd shown some very well-crafted fake identification when he showed up for his appointment. Especially when this was the kind that ultra-luxury properties like this made through connections rather than pamphlets or crudely-crafted World Wide Web sites.
"But of course, of course. Discretion," she replied with a nod, adjusting her glasses as her expression settled. "Still you are either very lucky or very crazy."
"Why's that?"
"Usea is not exactly a buyer's market right now. From here to North Point and even to Sant Mikael," she explained nonchalantly. "The insurance rates are skyrocketing right now even for the studios."
Of course they are, he thought. Any number of large meteors making impact on the planet in the next year could not just instantly vaporize prime property like this - but also chuck its remnants up into orbit to rain down on the other unfortunates.
The man turned back to the window, safe in the knowledge that this wouldn't be his only property acquisition. "Money's not a problem for me. I'm more worried I'm going to have this building all to my lonely self."
"Fortunately, non," the guide continued, trying not to understand his sense of humor. "You are going to have a neighbor."
"So I'm not the only crazy one," he chuckled. "Who am I going to be sharing the cell block with?"
"No. Messieur...well, he was more upfront about his name..." she took a deep breath as if the name she mentioned was obviously that much more important than he was, "Mssr. François Mondeci is someone like you."
The larger man raised an eyebrow. "Really. An enterpreneur, or just plain crazy?"
"A little bit of both. Armaments, precious metals and minerals, diamonds, and a seat on the board of ELE." Erusean Oil.
This caused the man to wince a little. "I suppose he's more discreet about where those diamonds came from than where he throws his money," he grumbled, running a hand through his hair.
"Yes, I suppose he was less forthcoming about those specifics," the guide continued with a slight chuckle that appeared more creepy to him than it really was. "But he's definitely not shy about where he wants to live. He bought the penthouse in Tower 1 last week."
"Then I guess I'm going to have a very nosy neighbor," he chuckled, looking across the room to the penthouse in the floor opposite. The lack of lighting betrayed its temporary vacancy through the sharply contrasting silhouettes of its own modern furnishings. "Heh, I've had worse."
The real estate agent seemed frazzled by the continuous jabs. "What was it you do again?"
"I told you, I'm an investor," he replied with a raised eyebrow. Like the real estate agent, he'd uttered that line so often that even he was starting to believe it. "An enterpren-"
"Ex-military?" she replied, pointing it out like she'd known him for years.
"A couple of wars, yes," he replied with a smirk, "But I do have my own dealings."
"You don't have to be ashamed about it, monsieur, I can tell from your demeanor," she laced her inner victory with the salve of appeasement, "Plenty of soldiers and mercenaries getting rich these days."
And went broke trying to enjoy it like I do. "Hm. I thought you were going to-"
"A sale is a sale, monsieur. We prefer to keep our client list internal," she reassured him.
"And that's correctly assuming I'm a client," he nodded. Unless you still don't smell the bundles of francs wafting into your nose.
He then turned back out to look down at the people milling and cars roaming, his hands in his suit pockets. A slow-moving convoy crept up Rue Magdalene. Military vehicles, a show of security and reassurance to the continent's most formidable republic. But they reminded him of something else, an era he'd finished.
Doing what he'd done all his life, he half expected bullets flying up at him from down there.
Yet now he down at every conceivable walk of life, but he was also high enough up - literally and metaphorically - to not have to worry about them trying to drag him back down.
"Shall we schedule an appointment then?" she asked. She would have sounded more enthusiastic if she weren't shuffling between the company's properties to find something that could sell in a neighborhood now as temporary as a remote village in the mountains thanks to the powers of the universe.
He turned to face her, his smile dancing on the line between confident and downright predatory. "I'll come by to sign the paperwork at your earliest opportunity."
"Thank you, monsieur," she replied, returning his grin with a formal, satisfied smile of her own.
"And I'll be paying cash, unless you need a cheque," he continued, with a low-pointed finger for emphasis.
"Well then-" Her smile brightened a little before a conspicuous beeping noise drew both their attention. "Excusez moi, I have to take this."
"Go ahead," he replied, politely waving her off.
The real estate agent immediately withdrew her cellphone from her purse. She pressed a button that beeped about as loud as the cellphone's ringing through the purse, and immediately ducked out of his line of sight to answer the call. He had always kept up with the pace of technology, but something about seeing a mobile phone that wasn't as long as her forearm made him feel like retiring was the right call, pun intended.
He took the time to resume taking in all the details of his new view of the landscape. The view went clear across the roofs of the arrondisement's smaller towers, out into the Spring Sea that separated Erusea from the Osean landmass. At the height of summer, it would be a few hours yet before he could experience that "famed Erusean sunset."
But he still looked up at the sky, at the few puffy clouds traversing the horizon and the occasional Aerusea jets flying to and from Farbanti Nouveau Internationale. It was the kind of deceptive peace and tranquility observed only by people who had never taken to the sky except perhaps in the comfort of such a passenger jet.
And he began laughing triumphantly, his teeth bared like a monster's fangs.
"Monster" was one of the milder insults he'd received among the cornucopia of insults dealt in who knew how many languages and dialects. But the world needed monsters, and it was not a moniker to fight but one to embrace. The sky that was once his escape from desperation and chaos became his lair. He enriched himself off the terror he instilled into his enemies and the reverence he inspired in those to whom he allowed to hold his leash. And especially the money they gave him.
Now he was buying a penthouse condominium in one of the world's foremost capital cities, indulging in the material excesses that money and a reputation as a monster could buy.
And until the skies he ruled finally fell upon him, he was all but certain his best years were still just over the horizon, past the setting sun.
To Be Continued...