Death

110 AE

Crimson Palace

Former PRD Territory

ζ 17

Death

 

                Is this where my story ends?  I spend my whole life training and testing, and I fail here?  Just because I die does not mean I have to fail.  I must complete my task.  Even if I do not live through it.  It is my duty.  It is my purpose.  And I will not leave this world without fulfilling my purpose.  If I die, I am taking them with me.

                I leave the shed and make my way towards the palace.  I wish I could enter stealthily, as that was my initial plan.  Stealth will take too long though.  I do not know how much time I have.  I need to act fast if this will work, even if that means barging my way in and slaughtering everything in sight.  Well almost everything.  I need to keep Marcia alive.  I hope I do not run into her.  If she is around me when I die, there will not be much help for her. 

                Maybe death will not be so bad.  If I am dead, I won't have any more tests.  I will not have to maintain this meager existence anymore.  If I die I will not have to be anyone’s weapon.  Why have I not thought of death before?  These are enticing thoughts.

                In my haste, I almost forget to admire the grandeur of the Crimson Palace.  A building built to stand as a testimony to a nation’s power.  Even with that nation dead and gone, the palace still stands.  The PRD had some sort of power trip going on though.  The palace is far from modest. 

                I do not have time to appreciate every detail.  My hourglass is short on sand.  I need to move.  I am entering a side entrance once used by palace servants.  I do not care if they have a security system set up.  That might even help to alert someone to my presence and have them come to investigate.  Once I have whoever comes, they can lead me to the others.  That would save time.

                The Crimson Palace is built like a labyrinth.  I assume this was to confuse and stall intruders.  I guess in this instance, I am the intruder.  Unfortunately, I have to deal with that fact. 

                I break down the door into the palace.  The door flies off the hinges with ease.  The resulting collision of the door with the floor creates a plume of dust.  It seems the upkeep on this place has not been the best in the last ten years.  Only four people are here.  There would be no need to maintain all areas of the palace for only four people. 

                As the cloud of dust clears I notice something peculiar on the ground leading away from the door.  Footprints.  Fresh footprints.  In the dust.  This should lead me in the right direction.  Seeing no other leads, I follow the footprints into the palace. 

                The corridor around me grows darker.  Because of the dust and the dark, it is obvious the palace has fallen into misuse.  If there are only four people still living here, then that makes sense.  Of what I know, the Crimson Palace is a massive complex.  The idea was to model the feel and the purpose of the Palace of Versailles in the long gone nation of France.  A place for all the administrative and executive functions of the PRD to take place in, outside of any major city.  The place is all but abandoned.  It does make sense that with its purposeful isolation that the palace still remains an outpost for some.  That is likely to change though. 

                These hallways are a maze.  They would make sense if I lived here, but to the common intruder, they feel like a mess of passages.  Then again, I am not a common intruder.  I am a condemned assassin with a purpose.  And I will not fail. 

                It just occurred to me that this might be a trap.  The footprints seem all too convenient.  Someone must have known I was coming, and from where I was coming from.  Not only is this disconcerting to matters of Polemos security, but it also means I have to be on my guard.  I must expect anything. 

                I come to a lighted room after following the footprints.  In front of me are the doors to an elevator.  The footprints lead right up to the door.  I suppose that is the next step in the path.  I push the call button and the doors of the elevator open up.  No lights on inside the elevator.  I enter regardless.  As I do, the door closes behind me and the lights turn on.  There are no buttons to push.  Perhaps this is a trap. 

                A voice comes across a tiny speaker, an old raspy voice, no doubt aided by the quality of the speaker.  “Ah, it appears that Polemos has finally decided to send me a visit.  It took them damn near long enough,” says the voice. 

                I do not respond.  I have no need to.  “Now why has your Mr. Dragon, or whatever he calls himself, decided to wait until now to kill me?” the voice asks.  I do not answer.

                “That is why you’re here, correct?  I assume you are here to kill me.  I am Dr. Brutus Devivo, and last I remember, Mr. Dragon wouldn’t want me to have my own little personal assassin to play around with.  That is unless he’s gone crazy.  It’s amazing what ten years of solitude can do to you.”  So, this is one of my targets.  Somehow, he knew I was coming.  Maybe not at this particular moment though. 

                “You’re not much of a talker, are you?” Devivo asks over the speaker, “Why would Polemos invest in a killing machine with a personality?  That would be counter-productive.  Oh, but wait!  This time you’re not just out killing.  You have a secondary function this time.  You are here to kill me and two of my ‘house mates.’  But poor little Marcia Rexrode is not to be harmed because, ‘she didn’t do anything wrong.’  That's just like Mr. Dragon.  Dragging morality into the business of killing people.  I say if you kill three out of four, what difference is four out of four going to make?”  Devivo knows too much about Polemos operations.  Perhaps to the extent of paranoia, though in the sense that he is paranoid for his life, I guess he has every right to be, considering I am here.

                “I know why Polemos wants me dead.  I have known for a long time,” Devivo rambles on, “They think what I do is not in humanity’s best interest.  I assure you everything I do is in the best interest of humanity.  Ophelia, Ophelia! They said.  Be of service they said.  Service to what? To humanity?  That’s what I’m trying to do!  They just keep getting in the way, and I feel like I’m the only one staying true to that motto.”  I would say in the ten years after things got quiet on this planet, Devivo lost some of his sanity.

                “But that doesn’t matter,” he continues, “Everything I need is already in place.  I already have all the pieces.  All I need is you.”

                Again, I do not answer.  He cannot be referring to me?  Can he?  How do I fit into this?  I am only supposed to kill him.

                “Now I need you to answer a few questions for me before we begin,” Devivo says.  “The way Polemos has you dressed up, dressed to kill, I can’t really tell much about your physiology.  So tell me, are you a boy or a girl?”

                I have no idea why this is necessary.  Devivo is insane at this point.  But this does illustrate something, he does not know everything Polemos has to offer. 

                “You know it’s rude to not answer my questions,” insists Devivo, “Can you please answer my questions?  I feel like I’m talking to myself.”

                This is stupid.  It is a waste of the precious little time I have left.  Perhaps I can find another way to my targets.  I turn away and extend the blade from my gauntlet, wedging it in the gap where the doors meet, attempting to pry it open. 

                “Don’t be foolish.  You don’t think I would have realized you wouldn’t want to cooperate?” asks Devivo, “You don’t think I would have prepared for your no doubt enhanced physiology and abilities?  Why do you think I put those corpses by the front door to meet you?  To tip the balance in my favor.”

                I stop struggling with the door for a second.  “’Oh!’ You say, ‘you’ve found a way to move corpses without dying! You must be a wizard or something.’  I’ve had ten years to wait for this moment.  Moving two dead bodies without getting near them was easy.  Took me five minutes.  Five minutes that ensured that when this time came, I would have your full cooperation, or, you just die alone in this metal prison.  I don’t want to let you die, but I am prepared to let you if you do not answer my questions.”

                “What does that mean?” I finally ask, “I do not have to die?”  I have no idea what he is talking about.  There is no hope for me.  I am a goner. 

                “Just answer the first question,” he says.

                “I am a boy,” I answer.  This is ridiculous. 

                “Right, it would make sense to go with that one,” mumbles Devivo, “How old would you say you are.”

                “I am twenty-one years old.”

                “Ha! That’s funny,” he laughs.  He coughs to regain his composure.  “What do they call you?”

                “I am referred to as Zeta-seventeen.”

                “No that won’t do,” he comments, “With that, you sound like a tool.  A weapon, a gun.  You are not a gun.”

                “I am a gun,” I reply. 

                “Preposterous,” Devivo argues, “Is that what they drill into you?  You are a gun?  You are an AK-47? An M-16? A Zeta-seventeen?”

                “It is what I conclude myself,” I snap, “I am the weapon.  I shoot where I am pointed.”

                “You are not a weapon, you are a human being,” Devivo yells through the speaker, “You deserve a name, not a catalogue number.”

                “Is there any point to this?” I ask.  He is wasting my time.  Why is he even pretending to care? 

                “Of course there is a point,” he answers, “I wouldn’t have waited ten years just to waste this opportunity.  No.  I have planned everything out.  I have prepared things so with your help, my agenda can prevail.”

                “What makes you think that I will carry out your agenda?” I ask.

                “I don’t think, I know,” Devivo answers, “You see, I am adept at manipulating the situation.  The only thing I needed was someone with advanced physiology.  Someone with genetically and biologically enhanced abilities.  That’s what you are, and I manipulated the situation to have you sent straight to me, and now I know my agenda will succeed.”  The elevator starts moving.  I am going down.  Likely to a basement of sorts.

                “You see, you fit as the center piece of my plan.  The glue that holds everything together.  You still need a name though.  Since your ‘friends’ at Polemos seem to be so fond of the ancient Greeks, why don’t we pick something from their mythology.  I have something in mind.  When the gods of Olympus came to power, they ousted the race known as the Titans who were somewhat immortal giants.  Many of these Titans received punishments from the gods.  They punished one in particular with the task of holding the world upon his shoulders.  It was said that earthquakes happen when he shuffled the planet to a more comfortable position.  His name was Atlas.  Do you like the sound of that name? Atlas?”

                I do not see why this is necessary, “I-“

                “I think it fits you perfectly,” Devivo answers not waiting to hear my opinion.  “Because you see, while this is not Earth, you and the Atlas of mythology have much in common.  He held up the planet, yes it is a myth.  You do not hold this planet on your shoulders literally, it is a metaphor.  You will have the ability to decide the fate of this planet and thus humanity.  If you shrug, all Salvation will respond.  Ten years have gone by with little to nothing happening.  You will change that.  In humanity’s twilight hours, you will decide whether we amount to greatness or fade into obscurity.  You are Atlas.”

                The elevator stops and the doors open to a dimly lit corridor.  There are faint shapes moving amongst the shadows.  I am not alone down here.  “But of course, you must prove that you are worthy of the name before you fill it,” Devivo explains.  “I understand that you have a limited amount of time before you are dead, and then you can’t fill the role.  I’d say you have one hour.  I have set up a series of tests for you to run to prove your worth.  If you can reach me before you die, you will become Atlas.  Good luck.” 

                Devivo’s voice cuts out.  All this for a test?  I hate tests.  Fortunately though, I have never failed a test.