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A corpse with open eyes heralds more corpses…
The echoing sound of footsteps on a marble floor in a hallway rang in the ears of a young soldier, this repetitive sound bored him to a point of total desperation. Every day, he would do the same rounds, in the same eventless environment, in the same cold and lifeless atmosphere. He felt like he knew by heart each and every detail of the tiles on the floor, every single imperfection on the walls of this hallway and all little bumps on the columns that decorated the walls. He did not find the irony of his fate as amusing as his comrades suggested it was. Though he was more than honored at being chosen to shine among the the few and proud members of AppolloCorps' Honor Guard, and even though he knew that his comrades in the regular services were more than a little jealous of him, not a day passed without him thinking that perhaps it would have been better for him to have declined this position in the Honor Guard and stay among the regular soldiers. However, he had accepted the offer as soon as it was given to him. So from one day to another, he went from being a rising star in the regular services to being a dumb rookie in the Honor Guard. The worst assignments were given to him, not unlike this one : from eight o'clock in the morning to two o'clock in the afternoon, every day of the week, the Honor Guard, whose main purpose was to protect Director of Operations Alexander Forest, would cover all of the hundredth floor of the AppolloCorps building as the director would go to filling his paperwork in his office on the same floor. This duty would not bore the young man so much if he hadn't drawn the worst spot to guard in the team… to simply twist the knife in the already present wound, he executed his rounds alone, without a partner like all of the other Guards.
The marbled brown on the shining white on the tiles, patterns in the beige collumns, the windows complete with metal bars that led to a vast view of the city and its surrounding junkyards, the songs that he would hum to himself as he executed this duty and the periodic communications he would receive on his radio were the only things that kept his spirit from dying a slow painful death due to a lack of intellectual and physical activity.
But at the same time, he understood completely the necessity of his work : the importance of Alexander Forest's life outweighted by far a simple soldier's boredom…One way or another, the moment another rookie would join the ranks of the Honor Guard, he would get a new spot and would be paired up with a partner while the new guy would be stuck on this spot here. In the meantime , however, the young soldier understood that he had a role to fulfill so that the machine that AppolloCorps could go on functionning like a well oiled engine; he had to make sure that Director Forest stayed safe and sound as the head of AppolloCorps at all times, for AppolloCorps was the main opposition against Craven's Economic Cartel. Of course, Crime Industries and Light Tower also stayed independant from Craven's Cartel, but they both lacked the economical influence and power that AppolloCorps held. If Alex Forest fell, AppolloCorps fell. Should AppolloCorps fall, Crime and Light would follow quickly enough, and if all three of these corporations fell, then Craven would hold all of the world's economical and sociological power in his hands, and the world would belong to Davis Craven.
The idea of a single man possessing so much power inspired fear in the young soldier. Power at such a scale would make the man practically a God in this world, a mortal god, but a god nevertheless. An economical all-powerful being, and in a world where money is power, such a creature would indeed be power absolute. And morally, it was clear to the rookie Honor Guard that such a ruthless and powerful deity could only mean trouble for the world. Craven, had, after all, seperated the cities from the junkyards. The people living in the junkyards existed in miserable conditions, and such a reality simply could not be ignored by anybody with a minimum of morals. Things would probably be much worse should Craven gain even more power; who knew what a man who created the seperation between junkyards and cities all in the name of economic progress would do without any competition to worry about ?
« Soldier Allard, is everything clear in your sector? » rang a voice distorted by the interfering soundwaves on his radio.
« Positive, Captain Watson! » replied the young soldier as he drew the radio and spoke into it, trying to sound as enthusiastic as he could manage « The whole sector is clear. »
« 10-4 ! » answered his superior officer's voice.
« 10-4 and over! » finished Allard.
At the age of twenty-seven, Honor Guard Matthew Allard was the youngest member of his team. His large forest green eyes complete with a constant cynical stare combinesd with his irony induced, slightly crooked smile were usually enough to intimidate most people. The paleness of the color of his skin simply added to the coldness of this man. The color of his hair would be brown had he not completely shaved it off to avoid being being pulled by the hair in a fistfight. Measuring approximatively six feet and 2 inches tall, with a tight, thin, but muscular body due to intensive training in martial arts, every single physical aspect of this man cried out that it was hazardous to get in his way or to get him angry. Dressed in the traditional uniform of all corporate millitary officers, wich consisted of a three quarter cut black jacket, matching pants and tie, along with a white shirt, and shiny black army boots, civilians would fear and respect him for his clothes and what they meant if they didn't already because of the aura he gave away.
All of this to say that Matthew Allard forced fear and respect upon others simply by being present, and it was a fact about himself that he appreciated alot. It was clear that he preferred to inspire respect rather than fear, but with his life experience, one came with the other and vice-versa. Life, according to him, was a chain of fear and respect; all individuals are respected and feared byother individuals as they feared and respected their superiors in return. Such was the law of society, a natural hierarchy to wich mankind has gotten used to.
His round continued : the walls, the marble floor, the songs that he would hum over and over again until Captain Watson's next communication to see if everything was clear. The threat of boredom came back and time slowed down once more.
The fifteen minutes passed by eventually and Matthew awaited with impatience the call from his captain, but only the thick silence could be heard. The weight of this sound of silence only increased second after second that went down without Watson calling him, in his reality where time slowed down at an alarming speed. The weight of silence threatened to pin him down to the ground due to the fact that he had trouble carrying the weight.
His impulse took over and Matthew drew his radio once more : « Captain Watson, this is Guard Allard, is everything clear in your sector? »
Awaiting his superior officer's reply with anxiety, Matthew's pace increased as he walked arounfd in a small circle. No answer.
« Captain Watson, do you read me? » he insisted.
The infinite silence continued on.
« Guard Raphaelson, this is Guard Allard, do you read me? » he barked into his radio to one of his comrades.
Nothing.
« Guard Hedges? Guard Hanson? Anybody… answer me! »
Complete radio silence.
Never before had such a situation happened to him before and panic threatened to wipe his mind clear of all of his training. His heart beat wildly in all directions as he felt salty cold sweats dripping down from his forehead and made a new home for themselves in his eyes,forcing him to close his eyes for just a moment. He wiped his forehead with his jacket and drew his gun from under his jacket. Panic left his soul and mind slowly as his training came back to him. Putting the radio back in his pocket, Allard threw a quick glance at his handgun, a golden chromed 9mm sidearm; all gunsmiths agreed that this particular model had no other special characteristics other than its prestigious looks, but it was the prestigious look that had made it the standard gun model for the Honor Guard. Looks would only get him so far, but this gun was still functionnal and it was the only one he had at his disposal for now, so it would have to do.
Matthew ran along the hallway, gun in hand as the deafening echoes of his feet hitting on the marble floor that bouced along the walls and the collumns threated to drive him violently insane at any moment. At the end of the hallway, Matthew covered all possibilities of danger lurking around the wall and when he knew he was clear, he started running again. Far away in his field of sight, Matthew felt his blood freeze in his veins as he perceived something he prayed wasn't what he thought it was. But as he got closer and closer to what he saw, his greatest fears were confirmed : two corpses, two masses of lifeless flesh that once embodied his comrades, Guard Raphaelson and Guard Woods., lying on the floor in ever expanding pools of blood. Blood stained the walls of the hallways as bullet holes let blood flow through to the ground the life liquid of these two veterans. Part of him wanted to stay with his comrades to see if he could do anything for them, but another part knew that duty far outweighed desire, and his desire to help comrades that no longer needed help was not the to succomb to his duty towards the corporation as a whole. He continued to run towards the director's office without giving his fallen comrades a second glance.
The rookie Guardsman kept his way and turned to another corner, covering hiself before exposing himself to more risks. The only thing he saw were two more fallen Guardsmen lying on the floor , in front of the director's office. A little further away was another dead Guardsman, lying face first on the floor , in another expanding pool of blood.
The door to the director's office was half open, or half closed depending on how one saw the situation, but the fact was there, someone managed to go through the honor Guards and got access to the director's office. Perhaps it wasn't too late, perhaps it was, but he had to risk it.
Matthew rolled on the floor, gun in hand, ready to let a wail of bullets take out any danger that Alexander Forest may be facing.
But there was no sign of danger in the office. Anything that had been here in the office with Alexandr Forest was now long gone. The Director himself was lying down, face on the side on his wooden desk and an arm hanging to the side of the desk. A pool of blood saturated the desk, staining all the paers the man was either reading or writing, blood was carried on his arm and fell to the floor forming another puddle of scarlet liquid as his eyes stayed wide open in a horrible grimace that had been locked in the face of surprise and death.
The drumming of the blood in his veins made his ears ring and reality was different now, there was oly him, the corpse that was once Alexander Forest and the duty he had failed to complete.
Allard checked the director's pulse only to find out that he was checking on a pulseless still carcass. This lifeless mass of flesh did not matter anymore, it was only a symbol of his failure and of the world falling into a power hungry madman's hands. Matthew's reality crumbled around him. Reality was a concept so far behind him tht it felt like nothing more than a myth, the myth of an uthopia that would never be.
Alexander Forest, principal rival to Craven's Economic Cartel, director of AppolloCorps, employer of millions of hardworking men and women on this planet, was dead.
Lord have mercy on his soul, thought the young soldier as tears burned down his cheeks, as well as ours, may a miracle save us from the hell that Craven will turn this world into.
The young man let his gun fall to the floor and drew his radio once more. Every word he wa about to speak would be burned into his consciousness for weeks: « Internal Security, this is Honor Guardsman Matthew Allard, send a team to the hundredth floor this very moment…Director Alexander Forest has been murdered…»
A short moment of radio silence followed, to be interupted by a short message : « Acknowledged Allard, we're sending you a team right away. »
Feeling his muscles give away under him, the Guardsman fell on his knees and sat in the pool of blood. In front of him, the director was haunting him with a dead man's stare, blaming him for his failure and for the people he had failed. Matthew closed the director's eyelids and closed his own eyes, trying to catch his breath, but even with his eyes closed, in the safer parts of his mind where nobody could touch him, he could only see the director's empty and lifeless stare.
A dead man man with open eyes sees more dead people in the near future. That, was the old wives' beliefs… And somehow, Allard didn't have trouble believing in that at all right now…
The words kept on ringing in his head as the eyes kept on staring at him in his mind : Director Alexander Forest has been murdered… Director Alexander Forest has been murdered… Director Alexander Forest has been murdered…
