Paradox: The Last Day - Seymour's Story

by Rachel Charman

“Do you want me to stop?”

  Seymour shakes his head determinedly, and Data hesitantly continues incising as stated on Seymour’s instructions, being extra careful not to cut any vital veins.

  ~Santuc TerraDome: Liberty District~

  Two days after leaving the safety of the Raven’s Nest for the streets of Mesa, Elena, exhausted and agitated, finally makes it back to the main square of Liberty, but instead of finding it empty, as she had anticipated, she finds it swarming once again with eXo PRIME soldiers. Though their numbers are clearly enough to break on through to the shelter below the ground, the soldiers have simply set up a makeshift camp, most likely waiting to ambush Seymour as soon as he leaves the Nest. Scanning the area apprehensively from the end of an alleyway, she finds no feasible way to gain access to the staircase without being spotted.

  “Damn Seymour.. You said the PRIME would be off this place.. Well, it has been two days.. But how the hell am I gonna get in?”

  Looking past the fountain, as a group of soldiers pass by, Elena spots a small grate on the ground that makes a strange whirring noise, sucking in the air around it.

  “The air vent! Could work.. But I’ll need a distraction..”

  Once again scanning the area, Elena spies a row of heavily guarded APCs on the opposite side of the square. With a smile, she raises her hands, activates her MFIs, utilizes all her remaining strength, then magnetically picks the APCs up into the air one by one, and sends them flying into the dense crowd of troops, who are taken by surprise, and crushed beneath the falling vehicles. In the commotion, Elena dashes over to the air vent, pulls out Pierce’s info sheet, and swiftly drops it through the grate. Turning triumphantly, she is suddenly met by a flood of bullets racing towards her. She drops below them just in time, and makes a mad dash for one of the alleyways branching from the square, but is thrown to the ground by a nearby mortar explosion, and lands hard on the ground. Shaking her head, she raises it to find nearly a hundred troops crowding around her, each angrily pointing his gun at her head. She covers her face with her hands in terror, waiting for the lethal shots.

  ~Beneath Santuc: Raven’s Nest~

  Data hovers his hand over Seymour’s open forearm, delicately sliding a thin green wire through the space between his radius and ulna, then looks up at Seymour’s set, sweaty face, and says apprehensively –

  “I’m almost done.. You still alright?”

  “Y-yeah.. Just fantastic. Keep in mind, this isn’t the first time I’ve had my arm slashed open.”

  “Sure… Ah, there, it’s done.”

  With a smile at his accomplishment, Data applies the last of the Seraph Tears to the exposed parts of Seymour’s forearms, then carefully sutures the wounds shut, and finally leans back in his chair with satisfaction. Seymour inspects the newly-installed MFIs with curiosity and approval, and tests them by taking the glasses off of Data’s face.

  “Hey!”

  “Heh, sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

  He hands the glasses back with a smirk, and Data replaces them on his face with a tired grimace.

  “So, I guess they work okay? Did I do a good job?”

  “Yeah, you did a way better than good job. I would praise you more heartily, but I’m not so good at it… You’re a lot better at this than me, though.”

  “Well, I had a lot of practice.. I was the FoL’s doctor as well as their intel guy…”

  “Interesting..”

  “Yeah, I-”

  Before Data can finish his sentence, a small slip of pink paper suddenly flies out from the air vent on the ceiling, and lands on the cot nearest the back wall.

  “What the hell?”

  Inspecting the slip of paper curiously with Data at his shoulder, Seymour sees that it has only one word scribbled on it below a squiggly-drawn heart –

  DIV. 6.

  “DIV. 6? What could that mean?”

  “Is this.. what I sent Elena to get? My info? But why would she drop it down the air vent?”

  “Beats me.”

  “Oh, she probably doesn’t know how to get down here.. Maybe she’s up there.. We should go check.”

  “Right, I’m with you.”

  Running over to the heavy lead door with Seymour at his side, Data quickly pulls it open, and together, they hurry up the shadowy stairway, and don’t break their dash until they reaches the top. Data slides the plaque door down, and emerges into the main square with Seymour, to find it packed with eXo PRIME soldiers in the midst of a firefight.

  “Whoa, shit! When did this start?”

  “Elena!”

  Spotting a beacon of dirty blonde hair shining in the very center of the sea of black helmets, Seymour and Data quickly dash over to the dense throng, vault over the crowd, and, just as the soldiers fire upon Elena, dive in front of the bullets, and magnetically repel every single one back upon the shooters. Taken by surprise, the assemblage of troops falls to the ground in unison; all dead in an instant. Elena takes her hands away from her face, to find Seymour and Data both smiling cordially at her. Seymour pulls her to her feet, and she embraces him tightly, though he quickly pushes her away.

  “Hit a little snag, did you?”

  “Sorta, yeah. But why do you have those MFIs?”

  Seymour looks down at his sutured arms with a slight frown, and admits to Elena resolutely –

  “Because I’m gonna be the fourth man, Elena. It’s easiest this way, wouldn’t you say?”

  “… I.. suppose so… But did you get the message?”

  “Oh yea.. DIV. 6. So that’s where Sam is.”

  Somewhat underwhelmed by Seymour’s reaction, Elena taps her heel on the cobblestone ground disapprovingly as she mutters to Seymour in a miffed undertone –

  “Oh, so that’s what it meant?”

  “Yeah. Is she doing okay? I hope you gave her my thanks?”

  “About that.. Why exactly did you make her have sex with soldiers to get you intel? Couldn’t you have just done it yourself? Er, I mean.. not sex, but.. threatening, or something..”

  “Might as well claim my favors before it’s too late, right?”

  “Wow…”

  Elena folds her arms indignantly while she glares at Seymour frostily, offended by his blasé attitude. In the awkward silence, Data clears his throat and asks tentatively –

  “So, uh, is DIV. 6 our next destination?”

  Tearing himself away from Elena’s irritated scowl, Seymour responds somewhat distantly –

  “Oh, right, sorry. It’ll be mine, yes. But I want you two to stay in the Nest together.”

  “Why?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Well, someone needs to keep the Nest safe, and I need to go get Sam.

  I should be fine on my own, so you two guard the Nest. Got it? Make sure it doesn’t fall back into the PRIME’s hands.”

  “I suppose.. Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Well, take some weapons first. Don’t go empty-handed.”

  “Right you are.”

  While Seymour scavenges the dead bodies of the soldiers for guns and ammo, Elena adds darkly –

  “And be careful.. Something seemed off about the soldiers who were waiting up here..

  They seemed to just act without waiting for any kind of order.”

  “Hmph, that’s strange.. Usually the PRIME is all about sticking to order..”

  “You’re right.. Well, I’ll look into that, but for now, I should go.”

  “Alright.. Just don’t be too reckless. And.. be careful..”

  Salvaging the soldiers’ guns at his feet, and donning as many as his body can hold, Seymour hurries over to the only APC standing upright amid all its destroyed and overturned brethren, and climbs inside. Leaning out the window, Seymour gives one last wave goodbye to Elena and Data, speeds off through the square, and out into the Liberty streets, making his way towards the ruins of the condemned Shelbeck District, which houses the dreaded DIV. 6 SIN Institution.

  ~Santuc TerraDome: DIV. 6
SIN Institution (Shelbeck)~

  After hours of driving in silence, Seymour eventually reaches the dilapidated, unmanned eXo PRIME Liberty/Shelbeck checkpoint; its broken lights flicker on and off, and the whole structure is on the verge of collapse. Passing through a partially collapsed bay, Seymour spots with relief the bright lights of the DIV. 6 institution shining in the distance, and continues wending through the deserted, bombed-out Shelbeck streets in his APC until he reaches the main gate, which he finds to have been completely destroyed, and the surrounding soldiers dashing about in disarray, screaming into their radios and fumbling with their equipment.

  |Hm.. Elena was right.. Something is up with the soldiers… Better get a disguise if I stand any chance of getting in the building..|

  Searching through the equipment in the passenger area of the APC, Seymour finds an eXo PRIME soldier helmet with a genetic profile scanner attached.

  |Perfect! I can use this to find Sam faster..|

  Donning the helmet, and tying his long hair up inside, Seymour checks his weaponry carefully, throws the back doors open, and steps out into the dreary smog-covered ruins. Toting a shotgun just in case his cover is blown, Seymour cautiously approaches the highest ranked amid the low-ranking troops running about hysterically, and taps him gently on the shoulder. The Sergeant turns angrily, and the strangest thing about him is that, breaking a severe PRIME rule, he isn’t wearing his helmet. He glares at Seymour, his eyes filled with exasperation, and his face is red with pent-up anger.

  “What do you want?!”

  “What’s going on here? Why is everyone acting so crazy?”

  “Why?! I’ll tell you why! We have no leader, that’s why!”

  “No leader? .. You mean-”

  “Yeah, that’s right.. General Solari was assassinated by Adrian Moreau.”

  The Sergeant’s startling words wash over Seymour like a tsunami.

  “.. A-Adrian..? Adrian killed Solari?”

  “Yeah.. He slit his throat from ‘ere to ‘ere.”

  The Sergeant drags his finger across his throat dramatically with a savoring smile and a mocking chuckle.

  “I don’t care that that prick was killed, but the PRIME is in chaos with no one to lead it! I mean, just about a couple hours ago, we had a break-in right here, yet nobody is doing anything but shittin’ their pants! They’re hopeless without someone tuggin’ at their leash! Can’t even form a lousy perimeter!”

  “Well, what are you doing?”

  “I’m tryin’ to get everyone’s shit together!”

  “Oh, well, can I get into the facility?”

  “Heh, you can try. Doubt you’ll get past the inner gate without puking, though.”

  “I think I’ve got a good chance.”

  Seymour bids the Sergeant goodbye, and strides on through the destroyed gate, past the flaming wreckage of a devastated APC, and into the shadowy inner corridor, which is strangely devoid of living troops, though there are clear signs of a recent struggle, such as scorch marks along the walls, and scattered, broken pieces of furniture lying everywhere.

  |Could this have been Adrian’s doing?|

  Approaching the tall metal bars of the inner gate to the courtyard, Seymour finds it shut tight and locked. With a roll of his eyes, he simply tears the gate off its hinges with his MFIs, and tosses it aside as if it was weightless. Entering the courtyard, he finds it to be, despite his many years of warfare and bloodshed, the most horrible thing he has ever seen with his living eyes. All around him there are bodies; living corpses, large and small, tainted with the SIN infection, covered in decaying, sickly-green flesh, lying or sitting side-by-side beneath the open roof of the courtyard in feculent shallows of mud, vomit, and blood. Their eyes shine with anguish and despair, and follow Seymour in eerie unison as he cautiously makes his way through the animate necropolis; he switches on his helmet’s genetic profile scanner to distract himself from the deeply disturbing gazes of his victims. The people surrounding him present no genetic signatures, their DNA having been warped by the infection. Though they mistake him for an average soldier, Seymour feels their stares are rather more accusatory than pleading, and he cannot bear to exchange glances. As he wanders around the courtyard, he walks right by a certain someone, but fails to notice him with his helmet on. However, the person: an old man, sitting against the courtyard wall, the flesh in and around a bullet wound from his leg upward almost fully necrotized, weakly reaches forward and grabs the hem of Seymour’s coat as he passes. Seymour looks down at the man in confusion, only to blurt out in surprise –

  “… Trace?”

  Trace lets go of Seymour’s coat, opens his eyes slowly, and stares weakly at Seymour with a painful grimace. His eyes are hazy and unfocused from his high fever, and when he opens his mouth to speak, a small trickle of dark blood runs out of the corner and drips onto his chest.

  “I-is that you, Frank?”

  “What? No, Trace, it’s me, Seymour! What happened to you?!”

  Seymour rips his helmet off and gives Trace a small rousing shake, but, despite the urgency in Seymour’s voice, Trace shakes his head with what looks like a disappointed smile, and stares into Seymour’s eyes with strangely clouded ones.

  “I-I always wanted to apologize, Frank.. But.. you were gone before I had the chance.. A-at least now.. you’re back to say goodbye..”

  “What are you talking about? Trace! Why do you have the SIN infection?!”

  “Y-y’know.. I-I tried my best.. to l-look after him… H-he was just.. ev-even as a kid… he scared me, Frankie boy… Heheh.. H-he’s a demon, y’know… Fuckin’ crazy too… But… H-he sure is… interesting…”

  “Trace, c’mon! It’s me, Seymour… Trace..”

  Trace shakes his head feebly, and puts a withered, carrion-covered hand on Seymour’s shoulder.

  “I’m on my way out, son.. No goin’ back now. B-but, don’t worry; I’m not scared to die..

  … Do me one favor, though.. A-a last request, if you will..”

  “D-don’t say that, Trace! T-there’s a cure for the SIN! I-I.. Y-you’ll…

  You’ll be okay..”

  “Nah, Frankie.. E-even if there was a cure.. I-I’m dyin’ anyway.. I just.. wanted to have some fun before I went.. But I.. want to be killed by a soldier, not by some filthy disease.. So, I’m askin’ you, Frankie… I want you to… just.. take me out.”

  “I-I can’t do that, Trace!”

  “Please, Frankie boy.. Y-you can’t let Seymour know.. I d-don’t want him to see me like.. this.. I want him to know.. t-to think.. I went out… with a bang.”

  On that note, Trace takes his hand from Seymour’s shoulder, and lets it fall limply to his side. Seymour stares at Trace, his face white with shock, and observes his atrophied form at length before he reaches back, takes an assault rifle in his shaking hand, and aims it at Trace’s clammy forehead. Through his fever, Trace smiles weakly at the gun’s muzzle, his hazy eyes half-closed, and breathes faintly –

  “M-make sure you tell him, Frankie.. M-make sure you tell S-Seymour.. h-he’s a good kid.. and… that I-I’m sorry.. I lied to him…”

  Trace closes his eyes, becomes silent, and a single resounding gunshot explodes throughout the horrid courtyard, followed by a long, terrifying stillness. Seymour stares at Trace’s lifeless body in disbelief and shock, the rifle gripped tightly in his trembling hand, unable to fathom his actions, while blood runs down his ruined face and drips onto his necrotized leg. He falls to his knees, gazing blankly at the splattered ring of blood that surrounds his former mentor’s head on the wall like a devilish halo, and feels a sudden, unbidden urge to place the rifle to his own head. He tries to figure out exactly what Trace was saying through his fever-induced hallucination, though he thinks he already knows the answer. He reaches forward uncertainly, pulls Trace’s dogtags off of his pale chest from under his bloodstained shirt, and reads the name upon the dented, discolored metal.

  “eXo PRIME – We Shall Never Surrender”
r />   General James Theodore Moreau

  Troop # 7753-9902

  Furious tears fill up in Seymour’s eyes as he grips the tags in his trembling fist, and he breathes through gritted teeth, trying in vain to contain his rage –

  “W-why didn’t you tell me..? You had so many years to… WHY, TRACE?!

  WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!”

  As the surrounding inmates turn their attention angrily to Seymour, he continues to stare disbelievingly, unable to understand why Trace had never mentioned his connection to him. Trace had always said he had despised Seymour’s father, so then, perhaps, Trace, deep down, had despised Seymour as well, because Seymour served as a near-perfect embodiment of Trace’s hatred. But Seymour doesn’t have the ability to hate Trace for lying to him. Trace had cared for Seymour all the same, even if he had never mentioned his familial connection, and he had helped him to succeed in his task, even though he had no reason to. His fury ebbing away into remorseful grief, Seymour gets to his feet uncertainly, takes a shotgun from his back, and fires off a slug with a bang; a grim salute, that echoes despondently throughout the complex. After a few seconds of silence, Seymour leans down, and carefully lays the stained tags down on his grandfather’s unmoving chest.

  “Thanks, Tr-.. James. Thanks… for everything.”

  Letting his loss overwhelm him, his eyes still prickling with tears, he slowly turns from Trace’s body, and reluctantly resumes his search for his sister. In the midst of his grief, he takes one last look back over his shoulder with a sad smile, and gives him a short, respectful farewell salute. Suddenly, the entire courtyard is filled with the sound of rage-filled yelling, emanating from the very end of the north side of the courtyard. Recognizing the shrill voice screaming out, Seymour takes off in the direction of the din, and within minutes, he comes upon a rather unexpected sight. Sam, pale and teary-eyed, holds a gun to Adrian, who has his hands up in surrender; his entire left arm has rotted away into a green-tinged mass of sickening dead flesh, running all the way up to his eye. Just as Sam pulls the trigger, Seymour hurriedly activates his MFI, and stops the discharged bullet in its tracks just inches away from Adrian’s head. Letting the bullet drop from his magnetic grip into the shallows below, Seymour pulls a rifle off his back, and runs up behind Adrian, who perplexedly searches for the source of the interference. Seymour comes up close to the back of Adrian’s head, and addresses Sam quietly, who stares at him in disbelief and terror –