 |
 |
 |
 |
|
| Author |
Message |
Ravagerrr
Guest
Items
|
 Posted: Sat May 20, 2006 3:22 pm Post subject: Chapter 9: Devil's Luck |
 |
|
:biggrin: Pillbox - Chapter 9
Devil's Luck
7 years ago:
A man lay drunk in the gutter. His bare skin was pale, and clammy, despite the warm summer heat of the evening. Blue eyes stared catatonically off into space, hardly aware they were open. A pool of vomit lay next to him, an expression of the self-induced poisoning he'd been indulging in throughout the evening.
Shirtless, and shoeless, the man's, normally smooth, blonde hair was matted and stained. Tattered and torn, once noble Khaki slacks draped his scraped legs. His lips were drawn tight, and beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. To see him, one might have wondered if death were tapping at his shoulder.
Though he seemed physically out of touch, his thoughts were active, his mind a whirlwind of regret and fury. Pondering the last few hours, pondering the last few years, Tim Hatfield could not accept his fate.
Off in the distance, the flashing lights of downtown Vegas cast blinking shadows into this backwater hole he'd found to curl up in. Dawn would come soon, and he'd have to face the new day, face his life of failure.
Tim had always struggled in life. Always trying desperately to live up to his father's expectations, his father's successes, Tim couldn't understand why the world always seemed to be so aligned against him. Distractions from college had made that pursuit an abject failure. He'd gone into sales, only to fail to sell. He'd opened businesses, only to have them fall to ruins around him. Countless employers had fired him for things beyond his control. Nothing ever seemed to pan out for poor Tim.
Always living with the knowledge that he'd disappointed his father, an oil tycoon with wealth beyond what most men would ever know, Tim continued to strive and push. Eventually, although his father was forever kind and loving, Tim had begun to resent his dear old Dad. He began to writhe with anger at the world's insistent refusal to allow him to live up to his mighty emperor of a father figure.
When his father passed away of cancer last month, he beheld a lifetime of regret. Now he would never be able to stand eye to eye with his Dad, never be able to match him, let alone see his dream come true, to outperform his Father. All hope was lost, but perhaps luck was beginning to turn his way. Being an only child, who's Mother had passed away years earlier, Tim slowly realized that he would soon be the recipient of his father's dynasty.
Timothy was happy to feel his luck turning as he entered the room with that stuffy weasel of a lawyer. Hours later, after his Father's last will and testament had been thoroughly reviewed, Timothy was seething with rage. According to the will, his Father, having rescued Tim from countless gambling debts, had recognized the need for something to be done about the 'spread of gambling addiction'. Half of the estate had been signed over to a non-profit agency committed to the recovery of gambling addicts!
The majority of the estate remaining, the man's properties, had been placed in holding until Tim could pass a review by said agency, stating that he had overcome his compulsion! The last, minimal, fraction was to be entrusted to his son, a measly million dollars. "What an outrage!" cried Timothy, arguing vehemently with the lawyer for hours on end. But the arguments were to no avail. The majority of what remained would be sealed off beyond reach until he dealt with his addiction.
Determined to prove his father wrong, to avenge himself, Timothy took that million, and marched off to the casinos. If his father wanted to deny him the majority of the wealth, Timothy would make up for it with a high roller jackpot.
Long had Timothy dreamed of such a night, fantasized that if he had this kind of cash to work with there would be no possibility of walking away without, at least, doubling it! He had imagined women hanging off his arms and crowds gathering to watch him amass wealth beyond measure.
Although the night went much as he had always thought it would, it ended in a way any rational man would have expected. Roulette spelled his doom. Having doubled his Million, the urge took him, and he had bet it all on lucky number 7. The marble was sent to spin, clattering across the wheel with a joyful tone. As the spinning slowed, his heart leapt... the seven approached. But fate would not have Tim stomping on his father's grave impunitively. The roulette marble clattered to a dramatic finish in... the 6 slot.
The crowd dispersed. The beauties left his side. Crushed, Tim spent the last of his petty cash on the hardest liquor he could find, and occupied the rest of the evening nursing his last friend.
Dawn found him curled up in the gutter, begging to understand why his luck was so terrible, why the world hated him so greatly. Writhing in the throes of drunken misery and violent hatred, he stood from his catatonic state, and began the laborious steps towards his shoddy downtown apartment.
Hearing strong, loud, confident footsteps behind him, he stopped, turning his head to peer down the street. None were there but the birds, pigeons prancing about on the back road pavement.
Shrugging, Tim turned to continue putting one unsteady foot in front of another. Again, footsteps behind him echoed between the buildings lining the street.
Pausing, he turned quickly; sure he would catch a glimpse of the one who followed, only to see... no one. The early morning streets were empty. A car rushed past view in the distance.
Quizzical, Tim called out, "Who are you?" No answer. "Why are you following me?" Still no reply.
Growling, Tim realized he must have been imagining things in his waning drunken stupor. He continued to plod along, adrenalin chasing away the weary burdensome feelings, allowing him to proceed with much wider strides.
Once more, the heavy booted footfalls rang out behind him, seeming to keep pace with his newfound energy.
Spinning, knowing now that he would see no one, Timothy shouted towards the invisible source, "What do you WANT FROM ME?"
A suave, masculine, voice whispered from just behind his ear.
"I want your soul Timothy."
"Wha?", turning to see who had just spoken, Tim was again met with dead emptiness. "You're just my imagination...", he replied.
"Playyy with me Timothy... Give me your sssoul." The voice continued to whisper from behind.
"W-what kind of c-crazy do you think I am?", retorted Tim, waveringly.
"The intelligent kind, Timothy."
Still replying to a voice with no physical source, Tim's eyes darted around, making sure no one was watching, knowing any onlookers would think him insane. Shivers rocked his hung-over body as he quiveringly responded, "I can't think it would be 'intelligent' to hand over my soul to the first voice who whispers in my ear!"
"What do you want, Timothy? What is your heart's deeeeepest desire? I can give it to you, Timothy. I can."
"Y-Yeah, right... and I believe in Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny too!"
"You want to be lucky don't you Timothy? You want to be able to win whenever you roll the dice, whenever you cast the wheel, or draw a card. Don't you Timothy? Don't you?" The voice persisted.
"W-well, o-of course! Who doesn't? Why are you talking to me?"
"Because... you impressed me tonight, Timothy... You spat on your father's grave. You defied his dying wish, and you showed great courage in your bets. Furthermore..." The voice left a pause.
"What? Furthermore, What?" Timothy demanded.
"Furthermore, you only thought you got the wrong number on that wheel." The voice sounded pleased with this statement.
"I-I don't understand what you mean... I lost everything!" Clutching his throbbing skull, Tim cried, "Leave me alone! You're just my imagination f**king with me! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"Timothy," the voice said tauntingly, like a man giving candy to a child, "Timothy, your missing out on a golden opportunity!"
"I don't believe you!"
"Belief is not a requirement Timothy," the voice sounded as if it smiled at this point, "Your agreement to my terms IS"
"What terms? What do you want?" Tim's head felt about to burst.
"I told you already, Timothy. I want your soul." The voice drew out the word soul to last far longer than it should have.
"For WHAT???"
"For Luck, Timothy. I offer you a life you've always dreamed of, a life where you can never lose. Give me your soul Timothy, and you will never lose a bet. You will never fail to draw the right card. Luck will be so prolific for you, you will no longer be known as Timothy. Men and women alike will know you as, Lucky, simply Lucky."
"Would it hurt? Is it... painful? If you have my soul, do I actually get to experience the life your offering me?"
"No, Timothy, it won't hurt a bit. You'll never know its gone. You'll experience every moment with the utmost of clarity. Souls are overrated, Timothy, especially yours. You've already lost it all. I'm giving you a chance to get something out of the deal."
"I still don't believe you. You're just a manifestation of my delusional imagination." Tim began walking down the street, to leave behind his twisted fantasy.
Still the voice continued to whisper behind his ear, "Timothy, if I am just your imagination, if this whole conversation isn't real, then you have nothing to lose do you? You just say yes and nothing will happen, right?"
Pausing in the street once again, Tim considered the proposition. This could be the way to get his mind off pestering him. "Good point," he said, "Fine... Ok, fine... Since it doesn't mean anything anyhow, I'll do it."
"Goooood, Timothy," the voice seduced, "Gooood. Now, proclaim it to me."
Clearing his throat he announced into thin air, "I Timothy Benson Hatfield, swear over my soul to you, in exchange for flawless luck."
_____________________________________________________
Present Day
Tightening the robe about his waist, Mack asked, "Sternheim, I just need to know a few things before we move on."
"Of course, Mack! You're probably stuffed to the goddam gills with questions! Lord knows I'd be f**kin' full of em! Whatcha wanna know, goddammit?!?" Despite his gruff linguistics, the General's face beamed with a wide toothy grin as the door clicked shut behind him, locking the conversation within the room.
"Kape, Sir, what happened to him? Last I remember, he saved my life. I didn't see him in the room here and I need to know he's OK.", Mack stated grimly.
"Ha HA, a TRUE GODDAM soldier, ain'tcha Mack! Thinkin' of others before yerself! That's GOOD, Mack! That's GODDAM good! Kape's fine! He's a bit sick after that poisoned bite on 'is arm, but he'll pull through! He's as tough as a horse that old goat is, and just as regenerative as you will be now!" Sternheim tapered off into a hearty chuckle.
"Good, Sternheim," Mack continued, thankful the General had overlooked his slip by calling him 'sir', "but I also need to know what the hell that thing was... that... Demon! I've never seen anything like it! Was it just some creature you folks have designed in your labs to test me or what?"
General Sternheim's face grew dark. "No, son, that was nothing we would have made here. Furthermore, regardless of how gung ho we know you Rangers to be, I'd never put a soldier in needless danger. That, Goddammit Mack, was the real deal, a goddammed beast of the lower dimension. You said it right the first time, Mack. It was a f**king demon who needed to be sent back to the hell from whence it came!"
Mack's face spoke of his shock, with his mouth hanging agape, and his eyes bulging from their sockets. "S-Sternheim, how am I supposed to believe that?!?"
"I don't give a rip if you frickin believe it or not Mack! That's what it was, a GODDAMMED DEMON, a 4th category Assassin Imp as we call em. I've seen em before. You see some crazy s**t out on that battlefield sometimes Mack. If I hadn't been promoted so far up in the ranks, I'd 'ave never known what the hell I'd seen. As it is, I've been given some briefings on the matter. I'll explain more later."
"But why? Why would such a thing attack me? How?" Mack stammered out his questions in determination to repair his cracking world-view.
"THAT, Goddamit, is EXACTLY what I wanna know! From my understanding Mack, never in the history of the Goddammed army have any US soldiers come under direct target of demonic assassination plots! Our world isn't much of their goddammed concern and they usually stay out of our f**kin' business. I guess our plans for you haven't gone unnoticed by the other side! I'm only NOW beginning to realize that our little project here will affect them as well. Not like we were intending it to or anything, but hell, even I can't read the goddammed future, Mack."
"Are they wanting to steal the technologies here?"
"HELL NO, Mack! They could give a rip! They've got abilities that far outweigh anything we've produced! I can't for the life of me figger it out Mack!" The General seemed to become uncomfortable with the moment. "We'll have to watch out for future attacks, Mack. I apologize for your loss of privacy, but we're going to have to bug your room and keep guards on duty at all times. Unless they expend LOTS of their goddammed unholy energies to send in a hell of a lot bigger beast, they shouldn't be able to defeat you now anyhow."
"Ok, Sternheim, I'll accept that for now. I've been accepting a lot lately. About the operation though,” Mack wrinkled his brow in concern, "I was told I was dead? Nothing went wrong right? I mean... I'm huge! Look at me! Is this what was supposed to happen?"
"Haw Haw, Mack," Sternheim lit up again, "Yer exactly as planned! We DIDN'T frickin' plan for yer heart to stop on the table there and you DID give us a GODDAMMED couple moments of fright, but otherwise, seems ya made it through just fine. I figger ya just weren't quite ready. Didn't have enough food in yer gullet."
Mack's stomach lurched at the thought of food. "Yeah... I can tell. Alright General. May I eat now?"
"GODDAMMIT, Mack, I thought y'ahd never ask! Wait here for a moment though, I'll go and get you one of Kape's robes. Should be a similar fit.
The door shut behind General Sternheim, leaving Mack to wonder... if he had stayed to face the Dragon, would he have died? Would he have made it back to his body at all? How could he approach the subject with the others? It would seem that they know more than he does about dimmensions beyond the world he knew. The demon wasn't unfamiliar to the General. In the dream, where was he exactly? Was he actually in the 'lower dimmension', which the General referred to?
_____________________________________________________
In the darkest recesses of the mind, lurking deep in the nether realms, flames leapt from stone outcroppings of a brutal throne room, hideously decorated with skulls and various other body parts in multiple states of decay.
Centered in the room, surrounded by five burning piles of flesh, a throne, carved out of bone and bound with dried skin, was situated between two columns, carved from the stone of deep earth in a tortured litany of painful expressions.
Seated on the throne was a tall, dark, handsome figure, wreathed in flames, draped with a blood red cloak sporting a blackened exterior. His pig red skin, immune to the fiery billows engulfing him, shined with an oily essence.
Surrounding the throne room, emerging from the darkness and the fire, expressions of agony formed a hideously symphonic background music, complete with the rhythmic clank of hammers on stone. A cacophony of gibberings roamed through the music, forming a cross section of noise which melded perfectly into the unholy orchestra.
Emerging from the darkness of the abyss, before the throned Lord, a gigantic lizardly head snaked into sight, followed by an enormous girth. Stones, accepted into the scales as part of the underbelly of the Beast, scraped across the dungeonous surface of the chamber. The Beast's, long, sinewy neck, stretched forward, laying its serpentine head down in a solemn draconic pose of submission before her Lord.
"Your Unholinesssss," she began, "the human of prophesy still livessss"
"Yes, my pet, I am aware. The Imp failed and is now being severely punished." The master's voice was strong and smooth, seductively masculine and dripping with charm.
"I pursued the human in the dream realms, Milord, but he escaped me there. I fear he will now receive the training he needs to face me in his own realm."
"You FOOL!" The Darklord rose in fury, flames burning brightly, billowing out in a frenzy to match his wrath. Lunging from his throne he savagely kicked the Beast's head with a heavy steel boot. Head thrown to the side, the Dragon winced in pain, but maintained her submission, averting her eyes to the bloody stones under his feet. "You risked your own HIDE!?! I'm counting on you to rise to destroy these pathetic creatures and you go gambling with your PSYCHE?!? I promise you an ETERNITY of TORMENT and MISERY if you betray the plan again!!!" Flames sprouted forth from his eyes, searing heat penetrating through her scaly hide.
"M-many apologies, sire! I am a wyrm at your feet, sire!" She bubbled forth in her surrender. "Sire, I have but a small nugget of information for you that I hope shall redeem me in your sight!
"Speak, Wyrm!" He calmed a bit and slowly returned to seat regally in his throne.
"Sire, I searched his heart and mind after he escaped me... he has a sisster, one dear to his heart." Smiling wickedly, the Dragon delivered her secrets.
"Really? YOU THINK I DO NOT KNOW OF THIS ALREADY WYRM?!? While you were wasting your time in the human's mind, I was a thousand steps ahead of you! While you were beginning to divine his possible role in the future, I was already responding! The Imp was nothing more than a show, a WARNING, something to let him know my realm exists! If I wanted him DEAD I would have KILLED HIM. You think me a FAILURE???” His thunderous voice echoed off the cavernous walls of the throne room, the earth beyond rumbling in response.
Quivering in terror, the Beast pled for his forgiveness, "I a-a-apologize, Great One, Morning Star, Most Beautiful Lord of Darkness and Light! Please have mercy on this poor creature! I didn't mean to doubt you!" Her panicking vibrations shook the cavern in return, stones cracking beneath her clawed feet.
Dropping back into his seductive, honey sweet, rich voice, he replied, "I suppose it IS far fetched to think that the human could have devised the means to destroy you in the dream realms, but nevertheless, he IS prophesied to be a thorn in our feet. Recklessness will not be tolerated."
Sighing a breath of black wind, he continued, "Yes, my pet, I know of Brenda, the human's sister. I've been working on her for over a year now. She is playing right into my hands as we speak"
_____________________________________________________
Breakfast, for Mack, was a hearty meal of ten omelets, five cheeseburgers, a loaf of bread, lightly toasted and smothered with butter, and a side of 40 ounces of steak. Groaning in delight as Mack wharfed down his meal, Sam Link nervously took measurements of blood pressure, body temperature, and a host of other medical tests.
Little conversation took place at first. Mack continued to be baffled by the strange appearance of those shady men in black sunglasses, delivering him a steady stream of foods, then strangely disappearing once he turned away from them.
Seated at his brass table, in the center of a modest cafeteria, Sam, Natalia, Sternheim and Sydney discussed his medical condition, explained to him exactly how the process had gone, continued to discourse on Kape's improving condition, and thanked him for the manner in which he handled himself during the Imp's attack.
Mack had little time for response throughout the initial discussion, as stuffing his face became a panic driven drive for survival. He could vividly feel the food sliding down his throat, through his innards, into his stomach, being absorbed, categorized and distributed throughout his body. Amazed at his newfound internal awareness, he was distractedly musing upon the location of his last bit of cheeseburger when Sydney turned to ask Mack, "So, what now, partner? We're prepared to show you the rest of the show here. We'll need to start your training soon as well. Furthermore, you haven't yet seen the rest of the compound."
"C-can we t-tell him about the Pills now?" stuttered Sam through his thick spectacles.
"I suppose we can," replied Sydney, eyeing the General and getting a nod in approval, "but that's not the only pleasant surprise we've got in store for you, Mack!"
Mack heard Natalia mutter under her breath, "Certainly is not!"
"So Goddammit, Mack," sounded the General, "Whatcha wanna do now? You wanna get an explanation of the Pills, see the rest of the compound, get a briefing on the kind of toys yer gonna be using, start yer training, or ask some more goddammed questions?"
"hmm...", thought Mack in return. As his stomach contents dispersed throughout his bloodstream, he pondered his options.
|
|
| Back to top |
|
|
|
 |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum
You cannot vote in polls in this forum
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
