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Brooding (or The Turning Point)

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Brooding (or The Turning Point)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Treize Khushrenada on Sat Feb 24, 2007 12:25 am

The office itself was absolutely dark. Even the lights from the city below seemed not to reach the penthouse walled window. Treize Khushrenada sat in this complete darkness, wearing an earpiece through which reports were being issued to him one after another. Eyes closed, he took each of them in, sealed in his own darkness within the darkness, uneasiness building inside as he heard each word.

Things were not going well. No, that was a significant understatement. Things on all fronts were falling apart. Military forces were breaking down, political control was being usurped and the reins of the era were being taken softly but blatantly from his hands. Everything was getting out of control.

His own personal guard was being spread too thin with every passing day and operation. He needed desperately to call them back to the city, to utilize those forces in his coming endeavor, but now that seemed impossible. It almost appeared as though the Thirteen were purposely placing him in such a cornered position, denying him aid to watch him squirm; to see how he would react. And then there was Zechs.

He had not heard from the ace pilot for a few months now. He was beginning to worry. Another understatement. He had been worrying since the first day Zechs had left his sight to go into hiding from the Thirteen. But it had to be done. After all, a dead man is supposed to remain buried. The sight of him might upset the living, and set old grudges back into motion.

He sensed something growing in the backrooms of that assembly of thirteen. The way things were going, with the road events had taken recently, this was not a natural course. For everything to wind up as it was now, for him to be placed with his back to the wall as he was, took an enormous amount of predetermination no insurgent force was capable of. It was deus ex machina; nothing else could explain it.

The final report rang through his ears; a particularly harsh one. Ripping the earpiece from his head he hurled it across the room, hearing the slight crack as it struck the wall somewhere among the shadows. His head slumping down to his desk's surface, he buried his face in his arms, jaw clenched tightly.

For all of his connections and resources that he had had only days before, his actions now seemed to be confined to the city. He would have to make due with that current situation. Already Treize had arranged for an attack on his most formidable enemy presently residing there. This would be carried out very soon if orders were followed as he expected them to be.

But what of his ideals? His hopes and dreams? Hidden away now, all of them were, in locked drawers that would perhaps never be opened again. To open them would remind him of what he could not do.

There was still one small thing he could do, however. Head still buried in his arms, a hand extended into the darkness until it fell on a small panel about the size of a shoebox lid. Those fingers traced the outlines of a number of buttons, stroking them gently at first.

It seemed he had enemies on all sides now. The organizations that had been behind him all along had subtly revealed their true intentions, and they did not include him in the future planned for the world. His opponents in Wing City, Metro City and the world at large were just as they always were, and the one person he thought he could count on for anything was nowhere to be found.

It was a few moments before he noticed the dampness of his sleeve, and a few moments more before he made the connection. He tried to stem the flow of tears before they reached the point of no return, but for whatever reason he was unsuccessful and flow they did. His shoulders shook with each sob as the crying grew more vocal; more desperate. It had been so long since he had cried that he had no idea how to control it, or even if there was a way.

Beneath the sorrow, a layer of anger was forming: anger at those who opposed him, who thought him no more than a violent criminal. He was no such thing. He had his idols to protect; his morals to stand by, just like they claimed they had. And now he had even been stripped of those by the people who claimed to act out of justice and righteousness. Self-righteousness was all it was, and they would pay for it. They would pay for all of this.

His hand rising from the buttons, it quivered with his crying until, possessed with a steely resolve for a fraction of a second, it slammed down again. As each button was pressed, as his hand was raised again and slammed down time after time an explosion went off somewhere in the city. No district was safe from the carefully laid detonators, and he cared little for who he harmed in the process. He was beyond that now; so far beyond that. Eruptions serenaded his pitiful tears as Treize Khushrenada continued to cry.

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Treize Khushrenada
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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby SWAT-Calibur on Sat Mar 03, 2007 3:36 pm

((Can you explain the "Thirteen" and what all this is about?))

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Treize Khushrenada on Sun Mar 04, 2007 2:43 pm

(See the topic "Pantheon" in Multiverse.)

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Treize Khushrenada
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Member for 13 years
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