GOLDENEYE: GOOD FRIDAY

THE INTERMISSIONARY

PT. I

I watch as my father enters his study, a big room with books he almost never reads. Soundproof material lines the walls. Marble pillars sit in the corners, and stone statues adorn the area near his desk. An orange leather couch rests across the room, surprisingly dirty for such a rich man. He never did want to clean it. On the contrary, there's also about 32 vinyl players in the room, all in boxes in a corner. According to him, it's for a hobby me and Jackal do, fixing up old boomboxes and vinyl players and selling them for a profit. In reality, we've never sold a single player, and that's for good reason. That we'll see in a moment. We? Me and Jackal, of course.

Speak of the angels, I feel my pocket rumble strongly. It's my pager, a silver, plastic box with a slide-out keyboard and a small keyboard. I checked it, and as expected, it's Jackal.

"BE THERE IN V. SET THE SCENE AND LOCK THE DOOR BEHIND YOU. GLORY TO THE ONE ABOVE.

I smile, giddy with excitement. Of course, I chose the person, but the method was Jackal's idea. He worked at a chain tech store and fixed boomboxes and vinyl players, but got laid off like two months ago when the store lost a bunch of money. It might have been out of guilt of knowledge, but the manager took Jackal under his wing, teaching him how to work speakers, radio signals, and all of the sort. Thankfully, the poor manager's knowledge won't go to waste.

I walk in, putting my pager in my jeans pocket. "Yo dad, Jackal said he's coming in a couple minutes." He acknowledges my presence with a simple 'Okay' and goes back to doing paperwork. Paper and signatures, signatures and paper, the most basic job a human being can get. For such a lavish lifestyle, he doesn't do much does he. Never mind that, I have a job to do. This has to go right. It will go right. I'll make sure of it. After that non-interaction, I finished setting up all of the speakers, and inserted the same bootleg tape & disk in each. As I put the first one in, I looked back at the Governor. He's still silent, stuck in his own tabloid world. I finished up quickly, and I heard the doorbell ring. Jackal. "I got it!" I rushed over to the door, but my dad stopped me on my way out.

"Den. I just wanna let you know that even though I can't see you much these days, I still love you. You're the best son I could ask for." He smiled at me, a truly innocent smile. For a second I almost felt bad for the incompetent man. How could I do this to him? And what would my family say when they found out. I wouldn't want anybody to see me like this. This has to be perfect. I hugged him. But it didn't feel right. Did he know something? Was he in on it? Am I being watched? Are you watching me? Has someone betrayed me?

"Thanks dad. Love you too." The empty words struggled their way out my mouth as I left him to be. I paged Jackal, fingers trembling. "HAVING DOUBTS. GIV ME SM ADVICE." A thought struck me. If I didn't do it right now, what happens later? The Governor's death would cause chaos, and a scapegoat is great for marketing. This is my best chance. I took the keys I picked when I hugged him, and locked the door, hiding under the windows. I heard the first speaker turn on. No going back now. I shoved my doubts out and watched as the Governor went over to turn the speaker off. A second one turned on. Then a third. And fourth. It was already really loud out here, even with the sound proofing on the walls. I heard the doorknob shake wildly, getting pushed. That fat fuck won't be able to get out of the room. He's done.

"HELP! SOMEONE! DENNIS!" He yelled out in suffering, banging the door. More speakers turned on. I had to close my ears, and for a second I had a horrible thought— the glass! We forgot the glass! He could break the windows with a chair! But my anguish was answered by no-one else but Jackal. A pair of earmuffs slid across the floor. With no hesitation, I put it on, fumbling with the strap. "Jackal? You got a knife or sum'?" The muffs— scratch that, these are more like some pilot headsets or something— came with a microphone. "I got it! Can't believe we forgot about the windows!" In his right, a metal blade hung tight, and in his left, a remote with a dial. He had fashioned together some kind of remote with a radio signal that gets stronger the more you tune the dial. Clever, even for his standards.

As we expected, the glass window splintered into shards from a wooden chair, and a fat figure, bleeding from the ears, vaulted out of the room. He rolled out, crawling my way, and I couldn't bring myself to look at his face. I had to run. Why am I such a pussy? I can bomb a dog but I can't kill my dad? What kind of leader am I? Jackal picked up the slack and I heard the sound of flesh, penetrated, before groans, before silence... Jackal looked at me, but I refused to show my face, and wrapped my eyes with a scarf. He came closer, his palm cupping my cheek. With delicate hands, he unraveled my scarf off my face. I looked into his soft, coffee brown eyes. His face was the one thing I needed to see. He's my therapy, my best friend, and now... my partner in crime.

"Here's some advice."

"What", I asked.

"It's too late for doubts."

PT II.

I have to do this. It's my duty. For my country. For justice.
For Governor Collins.
For Amahia Scott.
For Sergeant Peters.
For Jeremy.
For everyone.

Today is November 16th, 1989. My name is Douglas Collins. I am 47 years old. I am the police chief at the Vermont Police Department. The father of my boy, the late Jeremy Collins. And most of all, I will be the person who brings this madman to justice.

I don't know who Goldeneye is. All we know is that it's a murder cult who wears golden masks, and that we've lost four people to them. Four human beings, and their life was stripped away from them, violently and slowly. Besides that, I don't know what they do, or how they do it.

But I will soon. I've found a link into the cult, through a young man, Toma Argent. (Despite the name, he is identified as a male.) Tomorrow, I will go be recruited by the group. Toma has formed an... intimate link with the leader over the last few months, however he refuses to tell who it is. He believes that we will directly arrest the leader, and while annoying... he is right.

If I die, I won't let my life be wasted in vain. Justice will be brought. For my grieving wife. For all the grieving families.

And for my son, Jeremy.