shiver (FEATURED) | ✓

o44

evanna

The door opens almost immediately after I knock. Our visitor looks bedraggled- confused, like he doesn't know what he's doing here or why he's here. But he manages a word out- and just one is enough to tell me he'll pull through this state and serve us some sort of purpose. I think Bernard is mad to lay a large part of the future of the operation into the shaking hands of a mad traitor, but I've got the upper hand when it comes to Vance. If he's not a friend, he's a game.

"Hello."

"Hi," I say, and walk into the room he's been given; a private quarter beside Bernard's, with a wretched-looking bed, mould between the floorboards, and no windows to look out onto the people that are ready to stand against his father- to murder him, tear him apart, limb-by-limp, impale him on sharp metallic rods; in short, give him the most gruesome and painful death possible, for what he's done to them, to their families, to the world around them. Of course, Bernard's decided on a standard execution- should we win, of course. Julian tried to talk him into something a bit more barbaric, but he would hear none of it. And perhaps it's better that way.

I glance towards the man who now calls this room home, his sweaty bangs falling in strings across his forehead. "A bit different from what you're used to, I bet," I try. Julian's taught me how to do small talk, or whatever it's called. I think it's useless conversation, a waste of air, energy, and time, but if it gets Vance to open up just a little, perhaps it'll be worth it.

"Hm."

So. Not in the mood for conversation, then. I press on. "You're doing the right thing, you know."

He answers with a shake of his head, then lets out a guttural sigh, one that makes the air around him hang with a depressive, hopeless air. "No," he mutters. "Please don't. He's my- he's my father."

The floorboards make echoing creaking sounds as I advance towards where he sits on the bed. The mattress sags slightly beneath his weight. "Just because he's your father doesn't mean he's not a bad person, Vance." I see his shoulders sink, his eyes lower to the floor. I push the door shut; it rattles on its hinges, and I have to give it a hard, extra shove to close it properly. The paint flakes beneath my fingers; I wonder how old this place really is- it must be some remnant from what they call the Ancient World. It's fascinating, really, how they've evolved, to create a world as pure as Tetrahmon, and yet so impure with the fault of human nature, with emotion. Vengeful emotion, anger, stirring up in a world meant to embody pacifist ideals and peace exerted by a driving, almighty force. And yet; there cannot be peace without war, and I am its driving force.

And so is Vance.

There are things I want to say to him- things about his father. I know things now that tie me to Jonathan Jakerrlos; and not in a good way. I know things that expose him to the people around him, the people closest to him. Vance, perhaps. I'm Jonathan's creation; one of his many sick, twisted creations, that will all turn sour and turn against him. He took everything from me, and from a lot of people - and although I don't remember who or what he stole from me, Vance knows. The people sitting in the cavernous hideout of the Red Hand know. Bernard knows. Julian knows.

Vance's hand clutches the wool blanket of his bed, and he finally looks at me. Suddenly, he seems a whole lot older, frailer. "I know," he says quietly. "I've lost so much, Evanna. I don't know what you want from me- I don't know what anyone wants from me-" it's like he's choking up, and I'm here- but I'm not the right person to do something about this.

I clear my throat and place my hand on his shoulder. "All I need is what you know. What you know about your father, what you know about his plans for the city, what you know on Project Chrysalis."

Vance frowns. "Why isn't Bernard asking me this?"

I choose to lie. "Bernard sent me. He needs fast answers and he's busy having meetings to properly prepare the Red Hand for what lies ahead."

"He has time for those people over there but not for the man whose face is now on a wanted poster because of him."

"Trust me," I tell him, "I know the feeling."

"Why you, though?"

I try not to get too offended at the slightly accusing tone. "We've met," I start. Perhaps not under the best conditions and in the friendliest ways, but we've met. "And I'm his masterpiece, Vance. I'll be the face of this revolution, and I need to be prepared for everything."

"You seem very sure of yourself, Evanna." Vance has steeled his expression. I can see the ripple of muscle underneath his cheekbone as he clenches his jaw.

I'm not quite sure what he means. Of course I'm sure of myself. I've slaughtered trained guards like sheep. I've watched a bullet wound to my cheek repair itself within seconds. I shot the President. I murdered their figure of authority- there's a new one, and there'll be more precautions that need to be taken, and I need to be careful, but of course I'm sure of myself. I'll stand beside Bernard and Julian when they raise the red flag, and I'll stand beside them again when they throw the flag down onto the lifeless corpse of Jonathan Jakerrlos. But I don't tell Vance this. There's no need to engrave vivid pictures into his head. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He shifts on his bed, slightly. Shrugs his shoulders, passes a thumb over the bags of his eyes, rimmed with an unhealthy, bleeding red. "There's a saying," he tells me. My hand slips from his shoulder and falls to my side- I cross my arms and listen to him. "Or- at least, there was. That revolutions run in circles. Revolution, democracy. Revolution, democracy.  And on, and on. Tetrahmon was supposed to put an end to that sort of behaviour. Or- well, thinking. The world was an ugly place before Tetrahmon, Evanna. War, strife, hunger, disease- they were the things that reigned. And now..."

"If you really think that Tetrahmon was a good thing you wouldn't be helping us."

"I don't think it's how one should live a life," Vance says quietly. "I'm just trying to get you to understand that Tetrahmon isn't- wasn't-"

"What you were promised isn't what was given," I guess, and accurately so, as Vance nods. He reaches into the breast pocket of his dress shirt and stands, taking my hand. He presses something small and thin, but hard into my palm, then sits back down. "There's everything you need to know."

I open my hand and stare in wonder at the computer chip. This is the answer, right here- this is the answer, in my hand; a small piece of technology that will unravel everything about the past, the present, and the future.