—He keeled over once he'd felt a blunt object being rammed into his stomach. Petrus fell to his knees and clutched his abdomen in agony.
“What?” Chuckled the trespasser. “You didn't hear me knocking? Too much kiine? —I smell the aroma, Executive.”
Petrus looked upon the barrel of a plaid, lavender pump-action shotgun belonging to the cloaked stranger, too stunned to say a word. The intruder sighed in disappointment before casually strolling over to take his seat in the Executive's chair and relax his mud-clad boots on the desk. He placed his hands behind his head and exclaimed: “I broke your door.”
“What?” He looked at the gaping depression where the knob had once been installed.
The stranger continued, “Now it’s not really my style, but it’s comfortable, Petrus; you've got some… interesting tastes on display here, pal!” From behind the mask, the folds of his skin creased into a half-smile.
Petrus clumsily and nervously rushed over to slam his hand down on the desk with authority, demanding: “Who are you!? W-what are you doing here?”
In response, the stranger simply laughed and aimed the barrel at Petrus as the Executive backed away, turning immediately pale. The stranger's features changed. He was disgusted.
“Though I don't really need it, a gun can be just as persuasive as a nice suit and impeccable hygiene—OR finely-manicured hands. Let's just say I…” There was a strange pause. “Believe in a better world.” He laid the weapon across the desk and clasped his hands together thoughtfully. “—By the way, who's 'Liz', might I ask?”
Petrus looked away bitterly. “No one… not anymore, at least.”
“Is that so, Petrus? That’s all you can give me after such a long trip?” The stranger pumped the firearm before forcefully setting it back down and clasping his hands together again.
“Well…” The Executive shook in terror as he struggled to speak.
“Right now, Petrus…” The stranger leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “She's SOMEBODY, isn’t she?” He nodded vigorously and ignored the Executive's attempts to respond. “I'll ask you again—but more slowly this time so you can comprehend what's about to happen to you: Who.” He spoke calmly although his temper began to flare. “Is.” The trespasser's body was still… prepared to silence any resistance. “Liz?”
The Executive exhaled heavily as his face was flooded crimson amidst pronounced stuttering. “She was my wife. She's gone—left after we were having some issues.”
“Well shit, buddy…” The stranger rested back for a moment. “We've all been there, haven't we?”
“I… guess.” Joel became slightly more confident in tone. “I wanted to campaign for Zone Executive; she wanted me to step down after being Major so I could help her build a day care. I was supposed to run it with her—a family business.” He stared at the floor dejectedly.
“Adorable.”
“….”
“What happened, Executive Petrus? Let me guess: you hate kids, right? Didn't feel up to the task of taking care of toddlers at home AND in the office?”
“No!” He yelled, feeling disoriented. “I don't have a problem with kids. I—I…”
“You what?” The stranger raised his head up slightly while issuing a dominating glance.
“I wasn't faithful.”
The shotgun-wielding intruder laughed.
“Why is it that all you Citadel people are alike? I imagined the government types would possess a much more refined… mentality.” He looked at Petrus and expressed dismay. “You lack real Beauty… The way I understand it, a man is pushed onto a public pedestal and suddenly he's chasing delusions, grand strategies to be everyone's champion. A man like you, Petrus, you're in the same competition as the rest of them…”
“I’m a public servant!”
“But do you really think you can save them?” He relaxed the weapon back and against his shoulder. “In the end, you weren't able to save your own family—much less yourself. I mean, fuck, Petrus!” He edged in closer. “Did you even try? Was it all just handed to you in the way it goes—huh?” The intruder didn’t skip a beat. “And what's this?”
He picked up the pipe Petrus had carelessly left behind.
“Don’t tou—”
“Your piece” The stranger interrupted coyly. He turned toward the Executive while pocketing the apparatus. “We all have our vices, Petrus. I knew you weren't exactly a righteous type of fellow, but a fiend as well? Tsk.” The stranger stood up and paced around curiously. “Executive, what brought you so low in life? Some people become shells of themselves—and it's to their benefit. Others…” He shrugged his soldiers.
“Look, j-just tell me what you want.” Petrus said, his voice heavy with defeat.
The stranger didn’t reply.
“I said: What is it that you want?!” Petrus strode closer. “Money, drugs, land… —my job? You can have that, too, if you want, you goddamn bastard! You can be Major, Vice Executive—whatever, I'm done anyways!” He moved to get behind his desk, as he’d locked away a handgun in one of the lower drawers, but stopped for a moment to continue ranting. “This career… it's destroyed my life. I don't understand how someone like the President could even keep his sanity in this—this hell!”
Still nothing. The two of them stared at each other for a long time…
“What do you want!?” Petrus brought his hands down on the table as his face turned a hue of bright scarlet. “Who the hell are you?! Am I fucking dead? Is that what this is?!”
Without a moment's notice, the stranger leapt across the table and closed his hands around the Executive's neck. The two of them crashed to the ground with the trespasser positioned on top and screaming at Petrus as he forced the Executive to fight for his life:
“Who am I?” he exclaimed, “I am your fucking salvation, Petrus! I am the only one standing between you and a lifetime in a cell! If they knew what you were a part of…”
Petrus barely managed to choke out: “I-I’m… so—please…” He was losing his will to fight, to breathe.
Just as swiftly as he’d begun, the stranger ceased strangling Petrus and retired back to his seat in a calm, almost polite silence.
Petrus shuddered while attempting to recover and gazed at the intruder, who responded by issuing a horrifying laugh. A laugh that relieved some kind of hidden tension stored within the trespasser, as he was quite unstable.
“You made that so easy!”
He rested his masked face in his palm for a moment. “You really thought I was going to kill you, didn't you?”
Petrus was in disbelief. “Of course I did! You choked me, basta—!” He broke off into a cough.
The stranger suddenly leaned in and became serious. “You see, Petrus… buddy! Right now, you belong to me and my quaint organization. I will decide when you succeed, when you get promoted, what you do when you get promoted, and even the day of your demise.” He breathed in and out for a second and placed his elbows on the table before interlocking his fingers. “I think it's time for us to discuss what's in our best interests here, Joel. Just hear me out.”
“But you still haven't answered my question…” Joel was out of breath. “W-who are you?”
The masked man reclined for a moment before beginning again. “You see, Big P, before most modern religions started switching things up, adjusting to the average person's needs in life, there were still mythologies back in the day—except to those people they weren't considered mythologies but what you and I would think of as real truths about the world. There was one force from various different cultures throughout the world who always played the same person or creature, no matter what. He was known as one who pervaded—one who schemed and looked deep into the hearts of humans to draw out what was always there to begin with…”
The masked stranger paused before stating: “But I think that's the only truth, Joel. Everything else… eh…” He shrugged.
“I still don't know what you're talking about.” Petrus offered him
a blank expression.
“Executive,” The stranger spoke more deliberately. “I am the one who reaches inside a person and brings out who he or she really is, and it is part of the reason why I believe we were chosen to bring about a new age, together. Human nature is interesting, and it's been my calling in life to build a legacy that can effect change in the Citadel. I have a much more… glorious vision of the Dawn Federation, Petrus. You could consider me something of an enigma, but, for professional reasons, you will refer to me only as Amour; I'm an artist.”
“But why would you help me?” Petrus scratched his head.
“I'm not here to answer all of your questions, Executive; I'm here to tell you that from now on, you will report to me—that from now on, you have a new master. With my help, you can rise above Executive and make a move for a seat on the council.”
“So what, are you like some sort of demon?”
“Not at all.” Amour sneered. “I'm the one demons aspire to be! The man they tell their kids stories about, Petrus—”
“I don't understand…”
Amour was silent for a long time. “This is not something you need to understand—that will come in time. Your life belongs to me now, and I'm giving you a choice: you can comply and move up in the world, or you can refuse and I'll go ahead and kill you right here! I already know you'll make the right choice—even if some of your past decisions were a little….” He took out the pipe to examine it. “You know… —Oh! And that reminds me! —No more kiine. In fact, you won't be doing any drugs at all—hell of a deal right, pal?”
“You can't be serious?”
“Oh, but I am.” Amour stood up from the desk and folded his arms. “We have far too much work to do, and I'm going to need you to be in top shape! Which means…” He slammed his fist down on the pipe and shattered it across the desk surface. He walked to stand before Petrus and spoke again. “The Citadel, like everything else, is temporary—but your standing…” Amour nodded favorably. “We can change that. Make you into your most Perfect Self.” He stood proudly. “But there is one more condition that must be met for you to become worthy, Petrus—and I mean really really worthy, my friend.”
The Executive sighed. “I've only regret. At this point, I'm all ears.”
“Hmm, of course you are!” Amour chuckled. “Why the fuck did you even need to say that? —You'll be courteously allowed the opportunity to escape the people's wrath if you complete the first task I'm assigning you. It'll help you out a lot, I imagine” Amour snickered again before his expression abruptly became vacuous.
“What do you want someone like me to do, Amour? I’m to be prosecuted! It's over for me!”
From the inside of his cloak, Aim retrieved a dark, leather tome which had aged significantly. He handed it to Petrus but before releasing his grasp of it completely said to him: “Page seventy-eight, Joel. Don't you think you deserve a second chance?”
The Executive opened to the instructed portion of the text and noticed a small rectangular object that had been sealed within a group of blank pages and covered with brown wrapping paper.
“What is this? Some kind of dirty gossip? Blackmail?” Joel appeared somewhat excited.
“A mirror.”
Petrus looked at him with a quizzical expression as he carelessly tore away at the wrapping. “Mirror?” He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Why would this help anyone?!”
“Executive,” Amour responded patiently. “I want you to see what's in the mirror for yourself. What I'm about to tell you is quite serious, after all; it could easily mark the difference between life and death for you, Joel.” He paused for a moment. “I want you to look into the glass pane and tell me what you see—but whatever you do, don't look in that place for too long…”
The Executive felt nervous as he carefully took out a miniature mirror from its wrapping. Its black backside faced up, and so he turned it over.
He began to scream…
10
All Night Long
-
Tavon
-
MY TONGUE REVOLVES IN A SLOW, CONSTANT whirl inside of her. As she involuntarily bites down on her lower lip and struggles to muffle her own voice, I intensify the movement. My eyes remained closed as I move my lips upward in a light kiss before sucking part of her in and allowing the folds of skin to gently slide between my teeth. I hold her in a perpetual rhythm, pausing periodically to allow my mouth to run itself across and appreciate every inch of what had become one of my favourite parts of Aaliyah.
She stops holding back and cries out as I take a break to appreciate her thighs before moving back and beginning all over again.
She’s climaxing.
I lift her legs over my shoulders and anchor my hands behind her neck as she takes me inside of her. We unite for the third time in this position; before I know it, my breathing’s quickened and I feel myself come to a finish—a sensation that seems to last for its own eternity contained within a permanent flame searing through every painful memory.
The two of us gaze into each other’s eyes for a moment, and then I kiss her, grateful for the release, before allowing all of my weight to clumsily collapse on top of her. She doesn’t mind and wraps her arms around me in a tight hug and lets out a satisfied chuckle. I can feel her lips press against my neck over and over again as I rest against her feeling safe for the first time in ages. In one instant, all of the tension drains itself from my very soul; I never even realized I'd had one…
-
I don't remember how much time passed.
“You felt so good.” Aaliyah whispered while running her hands through my hair.
I laughed a little but felt too exhausted to even communicate. “How many times did you—?”
“Enough.” She kissed my head and said, jokingly, “—But don't let that go to your head, lover boy.” She thought to herself for a moment before continuing. “I think this is the first time I've seen you genuinely happy.”
“This is the first time I've seen you not bitch about something—”
“Boy, shut the fuck up; don't ruin a good moment! I'll throw you right the fuck out of here!”
-
Janelle
-
Tavon sat at the edge of Aaliyah's bed and stared forlornly out of the window in her bedroom as it commenced raining in Zone C. His body, drenched in sweat from the two of them, speedily dried thanks to the central air she had in her apartment—a rare amenity in the Mid-City. Some of his wounds from that day had reopened…
I’m bleeding. Did she just ignore it?
He turned to see Aaliyah looking at him with an affectionate expression and squinted his eyes. “What? Hungry again?”
“Nothing.” She smiled. “I can't look at you?”
“You look like you have something important to say…”
Aaliyah shook her head in response but maintained her gaze. “Tch. My mouth ain't always running; it's just that you've got the darkest eyes—and, uh, you’re all cut up…”
Fuck.
“Sorry.” Although he usually healed within a few hours, his wounds had made themselves apparent. “Is the ‘dark eyes’ a good thing?”
“It can be.” She pressed her lips together. “I mean, there must be some reason you look so… so dismal. All the time.”
Tavon inspected her expression for some time without any emotion.
“Heh—here, let me get you a towel and some bandages-”
“I wouldn’t want to get my blood on your st—”
“You already have.” She looked at him seriously before wandering off and returning with a set of gauze and a plush, white towel.
It astounded him that she could meet his gaze for so long without being afraid, that she didn’t question what happened to him, but he felt comforted at the same time. After she’d finished dressing his injuries, Tavon sighed and moved his body over to prop himself against the headboard as he laid next to her. Aaliyah seemed shocked and folded her arms before ex
claiming: “Well, this is a change. I thought you'd just get up and leave like last time.”
Tavon stared ahead emptily. “Do you want me to go?”
She looked down before glancing at him and answering confidently: “No. You’ll stay this time.”
A period of silence followed before Aaliyah spoke again to end it.
“Last time we were together… you threw me for a loop; after that night, I thought: I'll be damned if I ever let that man back into my place.” She scoffed and crossed her ankles. “Ain't this some shit, though—you walked back into my life like you were always there. To this day, I'll never forget that night:
“You hit me up to see if you could grab your stuff, and I told you that was fine. You came to me, and I guess I thought it'd be a crappy move not to let you stay for a while and have a drink. One thing led to another and…” Her voice shook, and she fought back her own trembling. Being close to anyone makes me vulnerable. I won’t be weak. “Look where we are now. You go at it like you haven't gotten any in a long time—I mean, shit.” A guilty smile found its way across her features but disappeared just as rapidly as she went over the memory. “You got dressed and barely said a thing. Wouldn't hardly speak to me until you were at the door, and I wanted to be pissed but there was this… look on your face—the same look you have now, like you'd just found out you'd lost something. You're such a—hey, are you all right?”
Aaliyah had turned her head in time to see a lone tear fall down across Tavon's face.
His expression remained as empty as ever, however, and he responded by saying, “Yeah. It's nothing.”
Aaliyah pulled him into her and held him tightly. She looked at him and said: “Rough day, huh?”
Another tear accompanied the one before it as his eyes met hers. “You could say that.”
She kissed Tavon and hugged him again.
-
Tavon sat at a circular glass table belonging to the apartment and waited patiently as Aaliyah brought him a steaming cup of chamomile tea. She took a seat across from him with a cup of her own and continued to mostly carry the conversation.
Angelos Odyssey Page 16
