Ballad of Demise

by Joshua Landeros

  A quick thanks to all the readers for helping a self-published author realize his dream. A thousand thanks to the folks at Literary Titan and Reader’s Favorite for their help in bringing these books to life.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Confessions

  Chapter 2: Survive

  Chapter 3: Dead Set on a Requiem

  Chapter 4: The Valiant

  Chapter 5: Legacies

  Chapter 6: Damnation

  Chapter 7: Fragility

  Chapter 8: Amity

  Chapter 9: Reunion

  Chapter 10: Special Guest

  Chapter 11: Clemency

  Chapter 12: Nitimur in Vetitum

  Chapter 13: Hallowed Battle

  Chapter 14: Freedom

  Chapter 15: Forward into The Fire

  Chapter 16: The Inevitable Flood

  About the Author

  Preview

  The Cast

  William Marconi/ S.S.C. Unit 21: a former member of the UNR’s Super Soldier Forces. The first cyborg to ever defect.

  Captain Joseph Halsey: leader of the resistance group known as the Crimson Angels.

  Sergeant Gabriella Neeson: daughter of the deceased Robert Neeson, former head scientist of the UNR. Co-leader of Crimson Angels.

  Lieutenant Jacob Neeson: brother to Gabriella, and fellow co-leader.

  Alexander Waltz: tech expert for the Crimson Angels

  Airman Patrick Noels: top pilot for the Crimson Angels.

  Private Noah Wilson: Canadian Special Forces, squad leader.

  Nusaybah Jinnah: daughter of Khalid Jinnah, Iranian freedom fighter

  Adar Hamid: Iranian freedom fighter

  Private Brielle Tremblay: Canadian Special Forces, protégé of Alex.

  Private Saskia Tremblay: Canadian Special Forces, second-in-command.

  Chancellor Carl Venloran: unrivaled commander of the United Nation Republic.

  Chancellor Aide James Kearney: personal assistant to the Chancellor.

  Aliss Howard/S.S.C. Unit 3-05: head commander of the elite cyborg fighting force known as the New Rough Riders, as well as the Super Soldier Psychoanalyst (SSPA).

  Marisol Leone/S.S.C. Unit 37: long term servant of the Crusaders, a UNR cyborg branch dedicated to overseas operations.

  Captain Wesley Howarth: head director of the Public Services and Inquires Division (PSID). The government agency is dedicated to investigations and monitoring public broadcasts.

  General Gavin Kane: founding member of the UNR Party and senior member of the Cabinet. First specimen of WP-IV.

  Admiral Armando Montalbán: founding member of the UNR Party and senior member of the Cabinet. UNR Navy Commander.

  Chief of Staff of the UNR Air Force Denis Lawson: founding member of the UNR Party and senior member of the Cabinet. UNR Air Force Commander.

  Chief Secretary of Commerce Matthew Redford: founding member of the UNR Party and senior member of the Cabinet. UNR Economics Advisor.

  Steve Oswald: host of the hit UNR show The Essential Globe

  End of Knighthood Part II: The King’s Move

  The freedom fighters have suffered horrid losses in their failed attempt to best the Chancellor. Although many were killed in the battle, many were also captured, including Jacob Neeson. Will is determined to crash the International Summit in a last-ditch effort to win, but his quest for justice has led him to the darkest place he’s ever been before. He, like every other soldier in this fight, must decide how far he’ll go to see the mission through.

  Prepare for the finale of the End of Knighthood arc!

  END OF KNIGHTHOOD

  PART III:

  BALLAD OF DEMISE

  Chapter 1 – Confessions

  May 3, 2043 – Tucson, Arizona

  “Mr. Greenberg, I understand your concerns. We don’t want to see the plant go under either,” Kearney said into the phone. All over his desk were five-inch binders, nothing in them but pages upon pages of phone numbers and emails.

  “Then you understand why I can’t close the plant down for a day just so Venloran can chat with us. I’m sorry,” the tired voice said on the other end of the line. “Losing even a little of our production time will put us behind schedule.”

  “Sir, if I may be blunt, President Howard has slashed your workers’ pay and their pensions have been reduced to crumbs. Your employees are going to have to work nearly double the hours to make what they made last year. I’m calling you because I’m just as pissed off as you are, sir. We’re asking for one day for Venloran to sit down with your workers and talk to them face-to-face. He recognizes that people like you are the lifeblood of this country, and he will fight to his last breath to see you get your fair share.”

  Kearney heard no reply and he feared he’d gone too far. Still, there was no beep signaling the call had ended, so he waited. Not a second into the silence and Kearney was tapping his shoe with a rhythmic pattern. He thrummed his fingers on his wooden desk as well.

  “Okay, son, next Monday, but it needs to be that day for sure. After that, summer orders keep us far too busy.”

  A lightning bolt ran through Kearney’s entire body and he leaped out of his seat. “You got it, sir, done and done. He’ll be there right at opening hours.”

  “Going off what I’ve heard about him, I wouldn’t doubt it. Thanks for reaching out to us.”

  “No, sir, thank you for this opportunity. I’ll let you get back to your game. Have a great night, sir.”

  “You too, son.”

  When the call finally ended, Kearney’s energy went right along with it. He fell back into his chair and let out a loud exhale. He was in the midst of great joy, but it would certainly be hard to tell from looking at him. Kearney raked his fingers through his wavy chestnut locks and gazed at the map on the wall. It was the state of Arizona marked all over with red ink. Big cities were circled, but suburban areas with little more than a park and a liquor store had several arrows pointing at them from all sides. Kearney’s eyes fought to stay open and he welcomed sleep for a flicker of a moment. Not while you’re on a roll. He reached for the mug of coffee at the corner of his desk and brought it to his lips. Lukewarm. I’ll make a fresh brew in a bit.

  Kearney got up out of the chair and stood close to the map. Next Scottsdale—his thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. Ernesto’s probably gonna beg me to let him clean up this place. He opened the door and for once was not the first person to speak.

  “I suppose you know who I am?” Standing in the doorway was a man Kearney had only seen on the telescreen before. The two of them were dressed similarly with white button-ups and slacks, but the visitor’s black hair was neatly combed backward as opposed to Kearney’s debacle. The visitor’s shirt had not one wrinkle while Kearney’s had a coffee stain right on the breast pocket.

  “General Venloran, I—” Kearney noticed the stain and stuttered, “I, I’m—sorry my office is a little hectic. Has there been some mistake?”

  “Only if you aren’t James Kearney,” Venloran answered. He was double Kearney’s age, but with the blazer draped over his shoulder he had a youthful exuberance about him.

  “No, I’m him. I just,” Kearney allowed himself to calm, “I just wasn’t expecting company tonight.”

  “Sorry for the intrusion, but when I heard there was a twenty-year old kid making more than a hundred calls a day and going door-to-door on weekends, I had to see it for myself. May I come in?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Kearney stepped out of the way to allow Venloran’s entry, only to feel shame yet again. There was no chair for the general to sit in. “You can have my chair if you’d like. I don’t get many visitors.”

  Venloran was occupied with analyzing the room before h
im, from the maps and binders to the Bon Jovi poster on the ceiling. He stared at that the longest.

  “You seem very driven, but I understand you dropped out of Arizona State during your third year. Why?” Venloran inquired coldly.

  “My parents put every penny they had into me finishing, but my dad lost his job and they were hurting bad. Those loan companies calling them 24-7. I could’ve gotten my B.A. and went on to grad school, but,” Kearney swallowed a lump in his throat, “I watched your campaign announcement back in February. I saw someone who would help not just my parents, not just my hometown, but the whole country. I wanted my degree in behavioral psychology so badly, but I felt your campaign was a chance to be a part of something that could really change things. I must admit, I’ve never been one to care who’s running for the White House. Not till now.”

  “Looking at how the public has been betrayed again and again, I don’t blame you,” the general agreed. “I myself joined the Army because I despised looking at the state of my neighborhood. I wanted to escape, but I found out you can’t.”

  The two of them shared a moment of solace.

  “I’m here to offer you a job as my right-hand man. My campaign manager just quit for reasons I can’t specify, but someone with your dedication would be ten times more. Would you be interested?”

  “I’d have to leave Arizona?”

  “Yes.”

  A million thoughts raced through Kearney’s mind. His parents. His empty bank account. Gilbert won’t like this, either. Kearney thought of all that and more, but he had already made up his mind.

  ***

  October 23, 2065 – Wachapreague, Virginia

  Wachapreague was a seaside town. At its peak, it had had a population of less than six hundred. Off its shore was Paramore Island, which had, decades ago, had a population of half that. Now only one house remained on the entire island. This was the abode of the Chancellor of the UNR. His home, along with a helipad, were located close to the center of the island. The exchange at Washington D.C., where he’d confronted Jacob and the others, had taken place only an hour earlier.

  On the eastern most coast, facing the Atlantic, sat two men on the beach, their feet right at the surf. The night brought with it a chill, turning the water absolutely frigid. A hundred feet to their left was an abandoned house right at the water’s edge. On the beach itself was a rusted and prehistoric commercial fishing freighter. At their distance, the structures were far off but no less haunting.

  Kearney had never been one for horror films, but seeing that derelict house on its stilts above the water was unnerving. He imagined ghosts were watching them from the windows with grim expressions.

  “You ever go inside that house?” he asked. Venloran sat beside him in the sand. Only at Kearney’s question that he peered at the derelict property.

  “Yeah. A lot smaller up close. Single bedroom and no porch,” Venloran chuckled, “or maybe it was washed away years ago. The floor creaks just like you’d expect from a haunted house, too. Janet was so scared she never went back inside.”

  His smile faded. Under the moonlight, Kearney could the silver in Venloran’s combed back hair. His mustache had avoided it so far, but they both knew it wouldn’t last. The sea water sprinkled their legs, both of their slacks rolled up above the knee. Kearney couldn’t escape the thought. He was now as old as Venloran had been when they’d first met in his office over two decades ago.

  “And she calls me a wuss at times,” Kearney joked. Venloran brought his hands to his knees, lowering his head. The comedy went over his head.

  “You were right, Kearney. I knew the cost would be high, but when will this end? I’ve gambled, and Unit 21 still slipped away. The time will come when the die will have to be rolled again.”

  “The Crimson Angels are to blame for this,” Kearney argued, “for everything. They turned Unit 21 against us. They killed those people. They’re animals!”

  “I was a soldier long before I was a general, let alone the Chancellor. A good soldier obeys, but sometimes people want more. They break away from the current. Is that not what made us revolutionaries? The Crimson Angels see themselves that way, but they lack direction.”

  “Does Unit 21 ‘lack direction’? Is he somehow justified? If there is a hell, he will be there for all he’s done.”

  “And yet he’s more like me than I’ve ever wanted to admit. He lost it all. Maybe even more than me. That’s something, isn’t it, Kearney?”

  Kearney wasn’t ready to accept such a stance, even from his Chancellor. Unit 21 is a killing machine, nothing more. We’ve seen the bodies since April to prove it. Krenzler, Major Johnson, the Chancellor if we’d let him. He slaughtered Unit 18 and 23. Kearney exhaled and then took in a whiff of the salty air.

  Kearney got to his feet, brushing the sand off his pants. “It’s almost two a.m., sir, and you need to get some sleep.”

  Venloran rose to his feet, but he did it in a much slower fashion. His joints are flaming up. I knew twenty years could change a man, but…Kearney had never envisioned his Chancellor in such a state.

  Venloran got to his bed shortly after. He sat at the edge of his mattress dressed in his pajamas, exhausted yet fully wake. His body ached, and he felt a deep pain residing in his body. Inches away was his dozing wife. Her curly hair and exposed neck would normally be tempting, but it wasn’t in him. All he could do was rest his feet on the carpet and stare at the darkness of their bedroom. To finally get to sleep, he resorted to a pill and a glass of water.

  Chapter 2 – Survive

  October 23, 2065 – The Allegheny River

  A raccoon rummaged the shoreline for anything it could make a quick meal of. The night air was alive with the call of frogs, and the little hunter was sure they were nearby. They would be small and slippery, but they also couldn’t do much once in the grasp of the almost as agile mammal. Going by sound, the raccoon began to near its next meal. Before it could focus on closing in, though, a different sound was picked up by its acute ears. Splashing from the river.

  The raccoon inspected the noise, only to be sent scurrying back to the forest as a large creature clambered to the shore. The frogs also scattered, ending their mating calls and leaving the night without a song. The creature that had arrived pursued no other animal. This newcomer was just as much the hunted as they were.

  Patrick was on all fours in his water-logged flight suit. His whole body ached from the excruciating swim. Worse yet, the passing wind made him shiver and his teeth chatter. Feels like I’m inside of a fucking freezer. What he wanted more than anything was to curl up into a ball and wait for the sun’s rays to warm him. Whilst he entertained the idea, his logical side was quick to put it down.

  Dawn’s pretty far off, he reminded himself, but resting is still an option. He was laying in mud and reeds, a fine bed for his purposes.

  All thoughts of recuperation vanished when he heard the sound of helicopter blades. Instinctively, he felt where his handgun should’ve been, but he came up with nothing. Probably at the bottom of the Allegheny, just like the Peregrine. It was the only flag he needed.

  Patrick bolted into the forest. His soggy socks squeezed water between his toes with each step and his leg muscles still burned from their earlier exertion. Push it, asshole! he told himself this over and over again. He could hear creatures scurrying to get out of his way.

  Despite all his running, the sound of the helicopter blades did not get farther away. Oh, God, please, please! Not again! His lungs wheezed and his muscles cried out for him to stop. His clothes felt heavy on him, weighing him down. No time now. Just keep going.

  His peripheral vision dared him to look back, and he couldn’t stop himself. He thought he covered a good amount of distance, but it was hard to tell within the confines of the endless trees. His already strained heart almost stopped: a bright searchlight was combing the shoreline where he’d just been. Please, help me!

  Patrick thought back to the day the UNR had broken down the
door to his quarters and dragged him helplessly out of bed. The day he’d witnessed countless soldiers being shot on sight, and the last day he’d seen Robert Neeson alive. Back then, he’d assumed it was his last day on Earth. He would’ve been right, too, if not for the intervention of the cyborg Will. This time, conversely, he was on his own. The last time he’d seen his friends they were being hunted down like dogs. Just like before. No one was coming to save him. He ran with all he had left.

  In his attempt to go even faster, barely giving his eyes time to make out his surroundings, Patrick’s shoulder collided with a thick tree. The sturdy wood didn’t break or even budge, but the same couldn’t be said for Pat. His weakened body crashed to the leaf litter on the ground, where he felt more pain.

  His heart was beating out of control and the shadowy forest was now a slosh of images. He still knew the warmth on the side of his head had to be blood. Pat also heard footsteps crunching down on leaves, definitely not more than a few feet away. While lying there so helpless, he had the most despondent of thoughts: Maybe they’ll just shoot me on sight. His body was in agony, and so he no longer cared. If the others had gotten away, he took solace in knowing his death had accomplished something. He closed his eyes.

  ***

  Detention Center Cell, UNR Headquarters

  The Detention Center had been repaired down to its finest details after Unit 21 had bloodied its halls. The Wolf was, ideally, far away from the location, but ever since the refurbishment there were now double the soldiers present.

  All the additional security in the country can’t hide what happened here. These levels are cursed, Damien contemplated as he trekked down the hall. On the floor beneath him was the esteemed General Berenger and seven doors down was the yet another former Cabinet member. He approached cell no. 0221 with all the trepidation of a man marching to his own execution.

  The soldiers at the door instantly recognized him and saluted.

  “Head Director, sir!” the lieutenant greeted. “We weren’t expecting you. Have you come to watch the show?”