The Colour Purple Chapter 145: Sandra and Clara, a king of fighters fanfic

The Colour Purple... The King of Fighters '95

This (chapter) fanfiction was originally written circa: [XX.96] (Thank you)

"Which Character are you?"

Note to self: Legacy chapter numbering (32- - -), does not match.

ORIGINALLY CHAPTER 43 - The Berserker Phenomenon.

On July 12, 1987, Konami releases the video game Metal Gear in Japan for the MSX2.

Heidern's eye opened slowly, from an uncomfortably erratic bout of interrupted sleep, then suddenly erupted with a burst of energy tilting his upper body upright. "HHAGH!" He put both palms over his face, trembling with fear and uncontrollable panic racing through his very cold and sweaty body. His body had gone into shock, this much he understood very quickly – and so his training immediately took autonomous control. The man slowly laid down and, while forcing his shaking arms to stop, his mind stretched outwards, trying to feel his entire body in sectional manner, reaffirm the feeling in his legs, his chest, trying to determine if he was bleeding or severely injured while doing a systematic mental inventory of the separate quadrants of his body starting from the feet, then up.

Finally his focus came to his hands that covered his face. He commanded himself, told himself what he had to do. He carefully removed his left palm, and the bright sunlight stung him, making him blink and turn away. He verified his vision was clear and functioning – focusing close, refracting, then… the realization came to him slowly like a dark impending dread.

Heidern placed his left hand over his left eye once again and slowly, slowly, carefully moved his right hand away.

All he could see was white, a plain white blinding light, his heart sank immediately and he felt it drop into and through his back as his blood pressure sank. Then, when he breathed out, the white began to swirl, at first from a chaotic mix of liquid paints, they began to form into individual shapes – then God made the Heaven and the Earth.

That WHITE, blinding light. I think I saw it ONCE before…

Heidern lay on his couch, his clothes soaked with cold sweat – he could see clearly out both eyes, and indeed, to his relief, the sadistic drama, it had all been a dream.

At times of extreme stress - Why must I always go BACK to [THAT] place?

Heidern swerved his body groggily to the side of his couch until he could feel… though apprehensively at first, he did feel his toes touch the ground. Sitting up, straight up. After a few moments he realized the pain that surged all over his body began to subside, and what he was now feeling was but a regular remnant of his now weathered, aged body. He felt under his shirt, and his fingers raced over the flesh underneath it – there was no pain, everything was all right, and all this, though slight, was but a dream that he, as all foolish men do, had already begun to forget.

"Dear. Dear, are you okay?" Sandra knelt in front of Heidern and cupped his cold clammy hands in hers. She jumped slightly, but immediately began to rub them together to warm her husband tenderly.

"Sandra…" Heidern droned.

"Honey. Honey…" Sandra continued to rub her hands over his absentmindedly. She smiled at first, but the glee in her lips slowly folded as it soured and Sandra bit down to prevent her from trembling.

"Sandra?"

A single tear ran quickly down her right cheek before it started to flow down both sides of her face uncontrollably.

"Sandra?"

"H… Hei… Heidern. Hhheii… dern." Sandra broke into uncontrollable stammering sobs. "I thought…"

Heidern, stoic as he always was, simply looked at his wife confused and perplexed, he was completely oblivious to what was going on and had nothing to say at the preposterous sight.

"Heidern, I thought…" I thought I lost you. "They sent that letter. I thought you were dead."

…

1984.

"To the matter on agenda item 7a, Board of Director's inquiry into the dissolution of the Company." The suited old man said, his video image transmitted on the television screen. On a long wooden table, 5 ominous screens faced each other in a makeshift dystopian council meeting. "Ralf Jones." He asked. "So what happened in Rhodesia 10 months ago?"

…

"Ah." Heidern uttered – a syllable that was neither statement, exclamation, nor question. Woken suddenly from a displeasing slumber, he was unsure why his wife sat on the chair next to him absolutely deshelved, hysterical, and with both eyes puffed and swelling from laborious crying. "I…" Heidern began then paused, "What are you talking about?"

"Never mind dear." Sandra said, wiping away tears and finally let a beam of sunshine peek from the clouds. She reached over and gripped Heidern's left hand with her right firmly, tightly, as if she was holding onto the ledge for dear life. "Dear. Have you considered, stopping? Stop working and just come home. Stay with us, stay with Clara and me?"

Heidern tilted his head and looked back perplexed at Sandra. Even while his wife squeezed his hand desperately, it served only as a slight annoyance only held at bay by his confusion. "What are you talking about, Sandra? I can't stop working – my men depend on the Company."

Sandra recoiled backwards, releasing her grip on Heidern and instead curled both hands into fists mid height before placing them on her aproned lap. Her mouth gawked open and closed, mouthing words but utterly stunned she could not voice the words.

"Sandra. Are you listening to me? What is happening?"

"Don't you love me? Don't you love your daughter?" Sandra finally replied with her voice cracking. "Don't you care about your family?"

"I…" Now Heidern was pushed back on his heels, absolutely unprepared for the emotional barrage that ensued, conceivably out of the blue for no particular reason. "I. I love you. You know I love you." Heidern said immediately and feverishly, quicker than he could even form the thought in his mind. But.

…at times of extreme stress, men are foolish.

YOU ARE NOT THE SAME PERSON AS YOU WERE ONCE BEFORE.

But. HE stopped, just as the words gushed out his mouth in a quick panic, he closed his lips and leaned back. Heidern pulled his thoughts and reeled them in. Just the way he said IT. How he said IT so quickly, automatically, and instinctively – as a punctuation in his mind, he felt disgusting and dirty.

YOU DON'T HAVE TO ASK FOR FORGIVENESS FROM THE WORLD ANYMORE.

"Heidern! Please. You have a family now!" You're NOT the same person you were before! All of that is OVER. "If you won't do it for ME, then do it for our DAUGHTER!"

…at these times, men say those three words haphazardly and foolishly, even though they don't know if they mean it. Just so they could free themselves from THAT thing.

HEIDERN, JUST, LET THEM GO. THEY'RE GONE. YOU CAN'T BRING THEM BACK.

"I can't stop. You know that Sandra." Heidern said matter of factly, staring his wife straight in the face as he stood up straight and upright with no emotion in his voice. "I have to keep fighting... Listen to me, if I don't…"

"HEIDERN!" Sandra screamed at the top of her lungs, the shriek interrupted Heidern and momentarily immobilized the man.

Behind him, the door shut. It was not loud, it did not slam, it was just a calm and firm sound that to the man seemed just as deafening. Heidern tilted over his shoulder, Clara had locked herself in her room.

"Don't you LOVE ME anymore? Don't you care?" Don't we make you happy?

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?

What is happening?! What the hell is happening?! "Sandra. Sandra!" Heidern leaned over and grabbed the back of both of Sandra's fists. He placed firm downward pressure and did his best to immobilize them. "Look at me." Heidern pulled her eyes into his and talked very slowly. "Sandra, listen, to me, I don't know what's going on, but you have, to calm, down. Just CALM down… I've been in this house for… and this is what you do?"

Wait.

I've been in this house for…

Wait.

What am I doing here? "Why…" Heidern looked to the side, at the plain drab colours of his familiar living room, looking side to side. "What am I doing here?" The sharp and distinct realization came slowly at first – but reality, a slight bitter pill slowly tainted his palette as reality began to reassert itself once again. "Why am I not in Rhodesia?"

"Heidern!" Sandra shouted, holding back more sobs. "You've been missing for THREE years!"

…

"I call a motion to affirm agenda item 7a…"

"I second the motion."

"...all in favour say 'Aye.'" The man behind the first monitor said.

…

From behind the door, the loud pop music radiated slightly through the cracks. 'Wake me up, before you go go, don't leave me hanging on like yo-yo! Wake me up…' In 1984 the English duo WHAM! Released their hit song that continued to persist for many years thereafter.

You disappeared 3 years ago, the company said you were dead, then you walked through that door. As if nothing ever happened. PLEASE.

What?

The BEAST – part 5.

"If you truly love me, please don't leave my sight ever again, Heidern!"

…

Johannesburg, South Africa, 1985.

'Wake me up before you go-go, don't leave me…' George Michael's voice was cut short when Dr. Brahms pushed the button abruptly and turned off the radio.

"My apologies Mr. Heidern," Brahms said as he took a seat. "Forgive me, they've been playing that song FAR too much."

Heidern leaned back and put his hands over his pressed pants, pushing outwards to his knees. "Can you wipe it away? Make it so I can't remember any of it?"

"Excuse me?"

…so I don't have to go to THAT place again?

"Make me forget." Heidern said, "Forget everything. The war. Everything. So I can sleep."

"Oy..." Brahms scratched his head. "Eh, tell me, Heidern, don't you have a wife and child?"

"I do."

"It's not like a book, Heidern, I can't just rip out specific pages at our leisure."

Heidern said nothing.

"Heidern. Do you love your wife, your child? Your family?" Brahms challenged his patient. "Even if it WAS possible, if…"

"They don't understand."

"Excuse me?" Dr. Brahms leaned in, a bit perplexed.

"They don't understand." Somewhere, along the way, someone, made a mistake.

It was either them…

Heidern leaned back into the wooden seat. It was hard, awkwardly shaped and purposely uncomfortable, but the old man leaned back anyways. He let his weight tilt back and allowed his mind sink to the dark sludge behind him.

Those three words. Said in desperation. I LOVE YOU.

Now that I think of it, it was selfish of me. Because I don't deserve to be loved; no, I deluded myself, and maybe I was the one who used everyone who crossed my life.

…

During times of extreme stress, men say the words "I love you," in order to keep the pressure from crushing them. A selfish, yet natural reaction. In other times, they go [HERE].

…

Heidern placed his left hand over his left eye once again and slowly, slowly, carefully moved his right hand away.

1944.

…Ofcourse…

[Here] I am again.

The shrill yet penetrating sound of the air raid sirens emanated from the bullhorns placed on top of tall iron towers. The actual sound was neither imposing nor fearsome, but their distinct desperate meaning was what instilled a complete and paralyzing terror.

{After all I've done could I delude myself to believe I could have even a semblance of peace? I think I truly, did, feel happy that time, and Sandra was simply the closest person around, so I determined foolishly that she was the cause of it all.'} Was it from traumatic brain injury now? Heidern's memories begun to jumble anachronistically out of sequence…

The air raid sirens stemmed and silenced into a slight hum, only to have it replaced anachronistically to that pop song… 'You got a jitterbug… my best friend told me what you did last night… wake me up…'

"Hey BRUV!"

Heidern sat in a wooden chair, his jaw hanging dislocated teetering on his face.

"You." Heidern snarled. He was barely 13 yet again. In 1944.

"Bruv," The blonde haired boy jeered while looking to the side aloofly at his battered enemy next to him. With no more energy and now with a clear understanding that death was close and inevitable, "Why don't we forget all this? Let's just walk away, and live like normal people?"

Heidern scowled in response. Then a sneer and sly chuckling that hurt his face and insides simultaneously, ensued. "Only YOU understand me, Royal British Knight."

[HOHN.]

If we were even able to walk away, and forget ALL of THIS; Then it would have been a [TRAVESTY], a mockery of everything. …and every one.

…

Two boys, wanted to become the strongest in all of the world.

Dwell in a lasting happiness. To end all war, and to speak to the dead. Though their methods took them down conflicting paths…

Unfortunately for them, destiny found them placed in opposite sides of this war.

…

A hundred bodies, both German and British boys littered the ground around them, like flowers, blossoming in a red eruption that painted the world, beautiful even if just for a moment.

April 1, 1944. Pforzheim, a town in Southwestern Germany.

"We were borne for fighting, my friend." The Boy Knight smiled softly once again, relaxing on his wooden chair, in the middle of that war torn town square as if they were leisurely waiting on the front lawn of their perfectly manicured houses. Waiting for the Goddess of destiny to pass judgment unto them, without their ability to interfere.

…AND even in the slow silent pauses in between, if G_O_D gave us an opportunity for a peace, we do know that those things were just a distraction from IT.

…and even our slight glimpses at happiness would become illusions, because those would lead to the same thing. Unable to escape the horror of fighting.

"Com'mon, let's see this through to the end, Bruv. Don't die." Knight reassured with his immature smile. A smile that was confident that it could live forever.

It is ironic that we had to meet each other under these circumstances…

It is clear – we do not deserve to be happy. Even when presented with the most virtuous of intensions, EVERYTHING we touch turns to PAIN.

…perhaps in another life, if I met you then, instead of now… could we have become FRIENDS instead of ENEMIES?

In 1944. WE witnessed the END of the world.

"Only YOU understand me, Royal… British… Knight." Heidern returned the look.

A hard and resounding CLACK. The United States Army Force bombers flew through the air, dropped their payload and enveloped the entire world in white silence.

Before all the German teenaged boy could see was white, a plain white blinding light that turned his bloody brown shirt into nothingness.

…

Wait. Wait for me. Words formed silently on his mouth. Let's keep on fighting. Because, this is the only thing we can do. "See you again, alter."

…

1987.

"Heidern!" Sandra shouted, holding back more sobs. "You've been gone for THREE years! And you just walked in the d…"

SSCCHCHHRRRRRREEEKKKKK!

…

1990.

Cold aluminum chairs momentarily rattled in place as the room shook from the sudden, short and instantaneous TREMOR. Then silence.

Even when clouded by the sweet miasma, reality eventually reasserts itself.

Rugal's right arm was folded in a firm L shape, blocking Heidern's attack just by the crux of his bicep, petrifying it in place. A drop of black blood fell to the ground, and above it Heidern's feet convulsed uncontrollably before finally slithering to a calm stillness, the monster's toes floated unmoving now, floating just an inch above the ground.

With one slashing glance, Rugal Bernstein's left hand painted a centrifugal starburst pattern of black blood on the floor, to be punctuated by Rugal's severed right eyeball bouncing on the ground.

Chapter 145: Sandra and Clara

"Page 2 has the account number in UBS in Switzerland. It has Heidern's [remuneration]. You may distribute to his family or do with it as you please. That is all."

"Director W?" Clark said, a bit confused holding an old tattered notebook in his hand.

"If you know what this means, then do it."

Clark locked his feet together, and with a scowl in his face put his right hand over his forehead in a firm salute, "Understood!". He curled the notebook in his left hand, and slowly his stoic scowl curled into a slight smile. "All debts MUST be repaid."

…

25 yards from where Rugal stood, was a single peculiar, lit candle in a glass decorative jar.

Can you speak with the dead?