lieutenantantichrist | [17] [Text/Action for Mahogany] - "Whenever You Get Involved, Someone Gets Hurt."

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[17] [Text/Action for Mahogany] - "Whenever You Get Involved, Someone Gets Hurt."

[ACTION]

[In a low-rent corner of Mahogany, there's a real gym. No mazes, no boss trying to fight you in exchange for something they call a badge, no lackeys, just weight machines and a floor covered with rubber mats, the way it should be. Open twenty-four hours, and this late there's no human in this room but Blake. He's in a sweatsuit, gray in contrast to the brown of the Hitmonlee holding pads for him in its upraised paws. The only sound is his harsh breaths and the thump of his fists on the canvas. His shoulders are hunched like a boxer's. His eyes look straight ahead. Judging from the sweat darkening the back of his shirt, he's been here a while.

On the other side of the room, a Snubbull is sitting on the floor, looking at a Gear that's resting on the mats. A Musharna floats beside her. Fifteen minutes of frustration proved that claws are no good for texting with, but she wants to talk to someone. She really wants to.

She snubs softly, so as not to make her trainer angry. The Musharna's eyes show no reaction, but the buttons on the Gear depress. The text that Steve watches appear seems to be accurate, more or less. The transcription might come strange through the dreaming creature. It's close enough for what she needs.]

[TEXT]

Hello lo low hello

Please talk to me.
I want to talk.
I will tell you my favorite story.
He told it to me when I couldn't sleep. His eyes were closed for some of it but I shook his knee and got to hear the end. Without the end it isn't a story.

Once
upon a time there was a girl. She was poor and alone because her parents were dead, and child services didn't exist then, so she had to go to live with her wicked stepmother and do work for her. Hard work, the kind that nearly killed her, but in time she got used to it.

Then one day she heard the prince was giving a big ball. She asked to go, but her stepmother wouldn't let her. So she tried to run off and get a ride to the castle from a knight, but her wicked stepmother had tailled her, and she found her and dragged her off the horse. While she was going, the wicked stepmother threw the knight a gold coin. He held onto it, and he kept looking at it all the time. He kept thinking about the girl.
He wanted to help her, but he couldn't.

The knight went to the ball, and he was going to kill the prince, but there were too many guards around watching him, so he ran away.

Then the knight went to find the girl and save her. The wicked stepmother grazed him in the neck with an evil spell, but he killed her and all the other guys too, even though he got hurt bad. At first the girl was scared, but then she was free and she was okay. She got to go back home to her real parents. The knight was a hero. All the papers said so.

And everyone lived happily ever after.

..........
..........
..........

Tell me your favorite story.
Voice or video if you can.
The words alone are lonely.

Tell me please.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The events that started it all are ancient history, and what I lived through might be ancient history byt the time it all ends. Hatred and resentment do not fade away so easily.

[But the rest of that is starting to sound a little alarming.]

...How can you be absolutely certain who the right guy is, unless you've got dozens of witnesses who saw him torture kittens or condemn random civilians to death?

[No. No, they don't.

Blake isn't looking at the screen. He's staring past his reflection in the window.]

You know if you got the wrong one.

His little kid'll tell you.

...Oh.

[That's. Well. What can anyone say to that?]

Conclusive evidence that turned out to be not so conclusive after all? Car chase or shootout gone wrong?

[Please let it be something accidental, or well-meant but incorrect.]

It should have been him.

[The sweat is turning cold on Blake's back.]

Everything pointed to him. Clear as day. Guy loses his kid, goes nuts, starts blacking out and waking up with little origami figures. Anybody would've thought the same thing. Nobody could've known.

[Jayden did]

I didn't kill him. He's not even dead. But his kid says he is. And I could've.

[The rain down the back of his neck. The two dark shapes emerging from the warehouse. Stand down and Fire, both in his mouth. Waiting. He'd said one, and somebody else said the other.

He shouldn't tell Ash this, Nobody should know the thing that follows him around, floating in the air. That hidden, ugly little secret.

He starts again.]

Point is, there's this guy. He was a fugitive, everybody thought he was nuts, but the whole time, he was a hero, doing everything he had to to save his kid.

If there's such thing as parallel universes, there's one where he's dead.

Cause of me.

Edited 2014-07-08 08:52 (UTC)

You say he isn't, his son says he is, and the difference between those two "worlds" would be something you did or didn't do.

[That sounds complicated, even by this world's crazy standards. But that also sounds important, for Blake and the kid if for no one else.]

Could there be other differences between what you've both lived through? Anything that could have made his guilt seems even more likely under certain conditions, or that would have obscured his true motives? If there's such a thing as parallel universes, there has to be a branching point. ...I mean, if the exact same you was faced with the exact same facts in the exact same circumstances, you should have made the same choices every time, right?

[Better to think about the theory behind parallel worlds than to think about how far against the law parents can go to protect their children.]

The way I remember it...

[The rain down his neck, the snipers arrayed around him, ready for his signal.]

We were all waiting, watching the door to see who came out. The killer had to be in there.

But when he came out, that damn journalist was with him. That meant something was weird. Made me stop for a minute, try to figure it out.

If he'd been alone and made a single false fuckin' move...

...It would have looked normal, exactly what you'd expect of a dangerous fugitive.

[Exactly what would convince a cop to shoot a man.]

But he wasn't, he didn't, so you realized there was something wrong with the situation. I'm... not sure you can be blamed for a decision you could have potentially made under slightly different circumstances, thinking you were dealing with a dangerous individual.

[Then again, the fact that it apparently did happen for the man's son complicates that, doesn't it...?]

[A spasm passes over Blake's face.] God, that would be fuckin' nice to believe.

[To keep telling himself something late at night a lot when he's staring at the ceiling, just replace it's not real with it wasn't your fault.

He'd be in good practice. He thinks that one a lot already, anyway.]

His kid blames me.

Somebody else must, too, or I wouldn't be here.

Of course he does. He's lost his dad in probably traumatic circumstances; it'll take years before he can look at the situation with anything that even resembles objectivity.

[If he ever can. If he ever should.]

...That can't be it. Otherwise, the 'you' that actually went through with it would have been brought here instead, if there's any justice in the world.

Hah. You sound like some kinda psychologist. [There's no bitter edge to it, for once.]

I thought he was hallucinating or something. It'd make sense. Half-drowned kid, left standing in water for fucking days by some psycho--

[In a sudden jerking motion, Blake slams his fist into one of the pads held by the Hitmonlee. Then he drops his hands and stares down at the mats on the floor. His hands stay in tight fists.

Ash's voice brings his head up, and he's struck with genuine surprise.

He has actually never thought of that.]

I...shit. You got a point, there.

[His brows draw down again. He can't get out that easy.]

But I'm the same guy. Just with different luck.

...That poor kid. Any possible reaction would have been understandable after that ordeal.

[Ash's hands are fisting, too, at the thought of children being left for days in the hands of a madman like that. At the thought of one child being left for days in the hands of a madman like that.

He can understand why the boy's father must have committed acts that made him look insane to find his son. He understands perfectly.]

You don't just have different luck, you have a different kill count. I'd say that last part matters more than the rest.

[Blake mutters at the floor] No fucking kidding.

[He was lucky the kid never did much besides burst into tears or kick him in the shins. Never even sent one of his animals to try to kill him.

Blake shakes his head hard. He doesn't understand any of this multiple world shit, can't begin to untangle what it means, but what he knows for sure is the guilt is there, latched to his neck like a leech.] He's me. I'd've done the same thing.

Hell, in two different worlds, before that, we both must have been beating the shit out of him at the same exact time.

Yeah, but there's a big difference between beating a guy up and killing him. I mean sure, in both cases it was unwarranted and it'll probably get you a lawsuit. But unlike the hypothetical other guy, you at least still have the opportunity to apologize.

[Which admittedly might not help much with the guilt, but it probably can't make it worse either.]

He could've made some noise, after he was cleared. Pressed charges. But he never did. Hell, I never saw him in person or said a word to him, afterwards.

[Blake had been all prepared to defend himself, and then the fight never came.]

He's not fuckin' hypothetical. The kid's dad is dead for real. The kid told me himself.

Whatever me it's because of, that doesn't change the fact that it's because of me.

...That's like saying that if a mobile suit malfunctions due to specific circumstances, every single unit of that model and the template itself are defective. Would you blame yourself if another you had chosen to become a bank robber at twenty instead?

[Some people would, he knows. But he thinks they shouldn't.]

Would it help if he had pressed charges, or even just left complaints on the precinct's website?

[Blake's voice rises.] I know how fucking close it was!

[The order to fire was right there in his mouth, he can still taste it.]

If I hadn't hesitated for that one goddamn second...

[he trails off and his eyes fall to the mats.

He grunts humorlessly.] If he'd done that I'd still be an asshole, just an asshole out of a job.

Edited 2014-07-18 10:55 (UTC)

But you did.

[Which is the most important part, in his opinion.]

And you can tell the kid why you hesitated, and maybe someday he'll even think to ask someone why the other you didn't.

[Isn't that the first question people ask themselves in this situation? Why?]

...It's not like you get to do your job right now, anyway.

[Blake turns away from the screen, and is now pacing in a tight, rapid circuit. His hands are fists by his sides.]

If that damn lady hadn't been there, if he'd so much as fuckin' twitched...

[He stops suddenly. He stares straight at the phone, whites rimming his eyes.]

He'd be dead. He is dead.

[The cold sickness that he's been trying to drive away solidifies in his gut.]

It's one of those stories where there's a hero and a monster. Sometimes the monster wins.

...But the monster had reasons to believe that the hero was another monster, right? It's not like the monster just decided to act like that for the fun of it. Both had perceived shades of grey, at the very least. Clear cut stories of black and white, of good and evil, don't happen in real life.

[He means for it to come out rationally; if anything, it comes out sadly.]

There's supposed to be, damn it! The good guys do whatever it takes to fight the bad guys! It's supposed to be fuckin' simple!

[His face crumples. Instead of accusatory, it comes out plaintive.]

How would you know?

[Ash laughs. It is not a happy laugh.]

I've seen the monsters attacking my hometown worrying for the orphans in their own neighborhoods. I've seen the heroes protecting my hometown claim they'd destroy enemy civilians if they could. Believe me, the ones calling themselves monsters or heroes are the greyest of all.

[Blake gets a sober look on his face as he's pulled a little out of himself, remembering previous conversations with Ash.] Yeah, you're from the middle of a fuckin' war, aren't you.

If you can't trust being on the right side, how do you know what the hell you are?

[Something desperate comes into his eyes.]

I was a good cop. Everybody said so.

[Except Jayden, but he was just an asshole who couldn't stomach doing what needed to be done, now wasn't he?]

If you can't trust being on the right side, you carve out your own and make that what you are. It's not easy and it upsets people, but that's worth it if you can sleep peacefully at night.

[Ash can't, not always, but that's something else entirely.]

...I'm sure you were. Otherwise, you wouldn't have had the opportunity to decide if a man was to live or die.

[He snorts to himself.] Haven't slept right in a while now. Too quiet.

Too much damn time to think.

[He shakes his head.] It happens all the time, whether or not you're goddamn qualified to go making that decision. Sometimes it happens with dumb kids who don't even have a uniform that fits right yet.

[Ash opens his mouth to mention the music, but stops himself. He can't recall the last time those background sounds registered consciously in his mind.]

...Well, it shouldn't. If even the veterans can make mistakes that cost lives, I don't want to imagine what the dumb kids can do when given that kind of power or responsibility.

[Not that he needs to; he remembers Romary, shielding the enemy commander (keeping their best friend safe) from his gun against all common sense. He remembers himself, charging into battle without a plan, over and over until someone finally-]

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