December 12, 2009
10:01 A. M.
Willamette River, Portland, Oregon
“So… here we are. You see him anywhere?”
“It shouldn’t be that hard. Qui d'autre que Jack serait aller à la pêche sur un jour de pluie?”
Our man, as Pierre so eloquently described in the language that no one but him friggen understood, was indeed seated on the riverside with a raincoat meant for a man a few sizes larger than him covering a still sturdy body. Jack Wallace, boots just barely floating above the water, was waiting patiently as his line continued to float out in the main river that ran through our grand city, content as could be and whistling to himself as the rain poured down.
Better equipped then us two, though we still had an image to maintain. Umbrellas protected us against the weather, a blue and black parasol that was a leftover of 9 Lives + 1 that we acquired from the defunct Robber Barons. Not so much a vampire thing as it was a Oregonian thing; we rebelled against the government and the weather alike, defying them with suits on rainy days and Hawaiian shirts for serious matters. Hipsters R Us, it seems.
“So… you gonna hang around?” I asked as the two of us drew nearer, the man continuing to fish regardless though he surely heard us. About that point Pierre shook his head, turning away and already heading off in another direction.
“I have matters to discuss with le chef, matters I need to discuss in private. You have your little chat and I’ll come back when it’s my turn.
“Enjoy the company. Dernière fois que vous lui parlerai en vie.”
I might have been picking up on the language. I think I actually understood what he meant… though telling a dying man that it’d be the last time you met someone starts to sound universal across any language the closer to the truth it is. Yes, this would be the last little chat I’d have with Jack Wallace, the second most influential man in my life… though I could only hope that this wouldn’t be as destructive and depressing as my conversation with Alucard was.
Yet I had to face him. Sitting down at his side, staining my suit pants that’d be burnt or given away regardless in about a week, I folded my hands together as the man kept on singing from beneath his yellow rain hood, the only visible sign that the man had noticed me being his lone working Blue eye. The other, a glass fake, moved though not as easily as it’s real companion.
“So. Enjoying our side of the states?”
“Always enjoyed coming to the West coast… though I would have picked somewhere less industrious. You go west to escape the city… not embrace it.” The fisherman replied, reeling his line in as he did. A swift swing of his arms after sent the brightly colored hook out once more, another chance at fame and fortune as it hit the water with a soft splash, a pretty jet joining with the droplets above for a brief moment of pure beauty.
Then we went back to talking, Jack’s attention now almost fully directed to me. “Good to see you again, Seth… how are you enjoying your new found power?”
“Hard to say. I’ve still never killed anyone of my own accord; probably won’t get the chance to either before I die.”
“That’s not something to complain about… a good thing for a man to pass through life without the stain of violence on his soul… even when we do what we do for a just cause, we’re damaged regardless. David, before his transgression with Bathsheba, wished to honor the Lord with a temple… but was forbidden, due to the legions of men slayed at his hands. Righteous or not… death marks a difference that can be seen by even the dumbest of men.”
Well, preaching to the choir here. Even if I did sell weaponry as a business, I never did fancy the idea of taking part in the whole mercenary trade myself. Considered it, fanaticized about it, even lied a few times about killing men or executing them as a sort of self-indulgent pleasure… but it wasn’t true. Never taken a man’s life, and now it seemed I never would.
Except, that wasn’t true now, was it?
“Molly. I killed Molly.”
“No you didn’t… did James tell you that, or did you come up with that yourself?”
Remember how I mentioned how I didn’t want this to be a repeat of my experience with Alucard Caesar? Well, this alone was already proving that I had no idea what the heck was going on. Rubbing my faces, eyes burning as they resisted the tears of absolution, I forced myself to ask
“Did… did Alucard kill her?”
“His name is James… and yes. He did.” The fisherman said, his bob finally sinking beneath the water. Excited, but controlled, the fisherman reeled in hard as I tried to look through the dark and murky water, hoping to catch even a silhouette of the prized catch. I never found out in the end, for suddenly Jack froze and let the hook stop, the fish getting off with ease and swimming away to resume whatever boring life it had thus far lived.
“You let it go?”
“It didn’t weigh more than half a pound… there’s no fun in a lopsided fight… and the only reason why I’m here today is for fun…
“… and to help you let go.”
So this was about me after all. I had a sneaking suspicion since Sherry sent me the instructions that morning that this wouldn’t be a business affair; Jack Wallace may have been one of the most important men in the world, if not universe, but less than a dozen or so people actually knew who he was by face or even name. The man could wander and talk to whoever he pleased; no need for secrecy like Lloyd.
Meaning that his participation in the chess tournament was all to get to me. “Can’t wait for a match tomorrow. Always wanted to play a demi-god.”
“You’ll have to get a raincheck… I withdrew my name today. You automatically advance to the next round.”
“Why?”
“Because I only lose on purpose to women… if it’s a man, I’ll kick your arse so badly that you’ll never want to play again.”
“I would love to see you try.”
“I will… when you’re dead.”
So it returned to that dreadful subject once more. My death, my imminent death, my predicted death, it all revolved around the idea that within a few weeks I’d be gone from this so called mortal coil. It’s not like I was dragging my feet; these last few days were the shortest I have ever experienced, and not just because the sun’s been setting earlier. No, I was ready and happy to die…
So why was Jack here?”
“I watched your duel with Pierre… quite fond of that card game myself. I can’t wait for it to catch on here in this realm… best thing to happen to it since Monopoly.
“But do you remember what your father said, Seth… about parody?”
Not particularly, “No.”
“A shame… that’s the truest gospel truth you’ll ever learn outside of a chapel.
“Life is weird… life is hard… it is lovely and savage, complex and illogical, the totality and nothingness of one’s existence… every reflection, every opposite could be used to describe life…
“But parody is the best word for it. Parody, by definition… is a humorous, satirical, or poor imitation of another subject. It is an actor trying to portray another… an artist’s personal rendition of an another artist’s work.
“Even if you didn’t know about how Personas worked… would you be able to make the connection that I see before us? The line that connects the hook to the rod… that holds Heaven and Earth together?”
Did I? Did I see the connection as he did? Could I determine, with my brief knowledge and life, match an immortal who lived to see eons transpire in multiple timeline, from the fall of man to their subsequent redemption? Could I connect the dots as he could…
…
…
…
“My whole life has been dictated by you and Alucard. I’m no parody; I’m a fraud. I’m just a chess piece upon your board; I do not control my fate beyond that.”
So I failed the test, though it wasn’t as if there awaited any great trophy for me. Shaking his head, Jack Wallace
nearly missed the fish that latched onto his hook. Letting me suffer in silence, the bearded man with the look of a kindly lumberjack reeled in the prey as hard as he could, struggling now in what appeared to be much larger, worthy adversary.
Out came a Rainbow trout, a bit larger than I remembered, weighing probably around ten pounds. Jack, himself an expert, even gave it a weird look as he wondered what to do with it, commenting
“… Steelheads are only supposed to weigh up to five pounds around here… This one’s nearly double that size, more like it came from a lake than a river… I’d love to keep it, but to see the fish around here grow in size like this one would be great as well…”
The decision was made at that point, Jack taking a knife beside him and wrestling out the hook. Without too much trouble the fish went back to the Portland waters, none the wiser for the experience and moving away lighting as the rain continued to beat down, neither happy nor sad even if it had escaped a death sentence.
A lesson that became all the more relevant now. “Seth, I’ve manipulated you just as much as I did that fish… I may have pulled you out of the water, put you in a different part of the river… but where you swam, what you ate, everything you did when you weren’t on my hook… that was up to you.
“A chess piece is a chess piece because it’s every single action is controlled and dictated by me… the piece doesn’t move unless I will it to. You’ve lived quite a life though… even these past few days you’ve done more than most men can dream of.
“… Sherry gave you the assignments, but how and when you did them was up to you… makes you quite a bit more than a chess piece, even if you were imitating another the whole time you did it.”
So we were back to parodies again. How was it I couldn’t win a single argument against these vampires? Did age simply bring that much intelligence? Was experience truly the best teacher a student could have?
“Even if I consent I’m not a chess piece, how am I still a parody? Your point is that I did everything of my own will.”
“You did… but the goal of life isn’t to kill this, do that, make x amount of money or marry y kind of person… life is a parody of two people, and only two people.
“God and Evil.”
Religious discussions with a man destined to be god. Wasn’t this exciting? I almost wondered if it would save me time to just shut up now and let Jack do all the talking.
“Not God and the Devil?”
“You teach a man to be good… but no man needs mentoring in how to be evil. If a man obeys a law, does something kind to others, shares their food, clothing, or money to those in need… someone taught them to do that. Someone showed them the joy there is in being good.
“But to steal, to abuse, to curse and to defile… you can take the best parents in the world and, for no reason other their own self-indulgence, a child will go on to destroy and blasphemies everything their patrons stand for.
“So it is with morality. All goodness derives from God because it was he who instructed us first… but all evil doesn’t start with Devils. It existed in our hearts long before anyone decided to rebel against Heaven.”
I could accept that. What I couldn’t accept, the two of us freezing for a moment as the lure in the water disappeared only to pop back up a few seconds later, “The question still stays the same. Why are we parodies?”
“Because a good man spends his days trying to imitate God… while a bad man wastes his time trying to be the face of Evil. Even if we don’t do it intentionally… we still make up phrases and logos that demonstrate our intent.
“WWJD and CTR… superficial laws and 18+ only… Superman and Darkseid… Holmes and Moriarty… Luke and Vader… it always comes down to the hero and the villain, the prince and the dragon, the crusader and the trickster…
“All life, all literature, all existence comes down to a single theme… how can we be more like God or Evil?”
A simple thought… but still, perhaps it was because it was so simple that it seemed so unbelievable and convoluted. “What of us Personas, then? Sherry’s been getting me into Metal Gear Solid as of late, and if anyone is a parody it’s you, Big Boss.
“The one eyed soldier responsible for killing The Boss? A legendary mercenary obsessed with Outer Heaven? Foxes, Snakes, FOXDIE, Cyborgs, PMCs… your whole world reeks of it. If I hadn’t met you before the games had begun coming out, I would have just called you a parody of Kojima’s series.”
“… If you had, I would have told you I am.”
Was that a confession, or a trap? “What do you mean?”
“Alucard told you everything during your time in that vault. About the instrumentality project, a parody of Evangelion… of personas, a parody of the series Persona… if you met our members you would figure out that Garland is an imitation of Final Fantasy, Gehroh of Dragon Ball Z… even Niya, your secretary, is a parody of Steven Universe, another show that won’t exist for about five years.
“Alucard himself is a walking parody of Caesar, Hellsing, Moriarty, Les Miserables and a dozen other works… and they too are parodies of him, a parody of a parody of a parody in the same infinite time loop that permits life to even exist in the first place… Even Doctor Who is just a parody of our own self-created existence, religion itself relying on the conundrum of a being who always has, is, and will exist…
“All of this to say that everything is a parody. Even if we don’t slap a label on it… doesn’t make the accusation any less true. The difference between us and the courts though… is that we know we aren’t parodying the mortal’s work, but God’s.”
Another bite, the man reeling in hard again as he was finally given a break. A few seconds past and he withdrew another fish, this time of a trout more according to the expected weight of what you’d find here…
Yet Jack Wallace cut it free, letting it go regardless, eliciting me to say “Again?”
“I only bought two tags, and the two I’m taking home are already in my cooler. I try to obey the laws the best I can… I even went so far as to get a license to kill from the President for my work, even if I am above him in status… Heaven operates according to order, and I try to encourage the same here on Earth.
“But the laws, the rules, the conundrums and the paradoxes of Earth… those are no longer your concern. I’ve monitored you thus far… and you still need to take care of two things before you go.
“Two turns before the game ends. The rest of your opponents will be intimidated by me into complying with Sherry’s will… all you need to do is beat them at a fair game, that’s all, before the finale.
“Until then, I have a more important job for you to resolve. A matter that’ll help me out… if you can.”
This might have been the only time the enigmatic man had personally asked something of me. I would have felt honored if I wasn’t so confused. “Which is?”
“I don’t know how time or parodies completely work… I don’t know if I existed before Big Boss, or if Big Boss was a person even before me… even if my world didn’t have religion, it may well be that Christ had come and gone without any of us knowing. Even our instrumentality project… is nothing more than theory.
“But I try to learn what I can… and what I can’t understand is why someone would willingly be a parody of Seto Sears, better known to the public as Seto Kaiba.
“He is an egotistical asshole with almost no friends and reviled by all… but with fame, fortune, and power. Did you choose this life because of material want… or was it something more that drove you to this point?
“Whatever the case is, I would like to know. Take your free days in stride and learn, Seth… pray, think, and ponder… and when you know the truth, come back to me. Then, and only then… do you have my permission to die.”
Times of Peace: Volume 1 of the side adventures to The Mercenary's Salvation Page 64
