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So it is done: Price of the power
🕑 Added 2022-12-09 16:12:33 +0000 UTCSeeing that Cinder's armoured limousine was left at the hotel, it was replaced by another inconspicuous vehicle as she went on to visit. Which is supposed to be strange seeing that she’s also a VIP. Then again, it only served as nothing more than a distraction, the way Cinder and her entrusted escorts moved, were by teleporting. In other words, instantaneous movements.
On the one hand, it allowed Cinder, having made a decision, to be instantly in the place she was supposed to be, without the risk of attracting attention along the way. Either from the rare Atlas passersby, or the frequent checkpoints full of frowning soldiers and emotionless robot visors. On the other hand…
Having that last step being instantaneous didn't make it any easier in making it.
Cinder sat still, clenching and unclenching her fists to calm herself, realising that all her lauded self-control hardly meant anything in the face of the only worthwhile test. Was it fear? Or was it simply because she’s afraid that she can't control herself?
Cinder covered her eyes, ignoring her silent escort, who was busy observing the environment. The escort was supposed to be the cover for Cinder – the driver would direct the car through the city, using Cinder's desire to sight see as a cover. Before returning to Cinder’s hotel, at the same time as Cinder returned, allowing Cinder to exit the car.
The agents' job was to ensure Cinder's safety at all times, before they were sent to meet her family and during the meeting, though what happened after… It is not so easily clear-cut – there’s a reason there was some thick black bag with zippers in the trunk. That was their job, one that they would do without question, without looking at what Cinder was feeling or thinking about what she was thinking at the moment.
It wasn't their job description.
Jonathan valued Cinder above all else – that's why he picked the best of the RATS agents to protect her. They were the calmest, best-trained, strong…
And completely detached.
Although, if any of the agents had reached out to her, or offered to help her, Cinder would have turned the help down.
Cinder was not weak.
***
Sunny Day was an ordinary housewife, the kind you could find all over Remnant – she could also admit that she was no spring chicken. Of course, Sunny took good care of herself, her appearance and her figure, trying desperately to keep the wrinkles creeping down her face – sure signs of approaching old age. But the truth was that no one was forever young, and neither was Sunny.
She was not as young as she used to be, but on the other hand, though she was sorry to part with her beautiful youth, Sunny was not horrified by it. She was simply saddened by the awareness that the days of her carefree flirtations and the hungry stares of men, and even some women, are over. But it’s not like she particularly needed those glances, either – she didn't even care that much about physical intimacy anymore. She had outgrown those times – changed flirting for love, sex for children, and amorous suitors for a husband.
Sunny Day was… In a way, she was happy. Not in the sense of waking up in the morning and singing like some disgusting bird that annoyed the working people on their way to work with its disgusting vigour. But rather that she was simply content with her current life.
She was not content with the current situation in her life, though.
The situation in Mantle was seriously affecting life in Atlas, and not for the better either, Sunny could only hope that it would be resolved as quickly as possible. But seeing that the solution wouldn’t just suddenly happen tomorrow or any near foreseeable future – Sunny could say she was content with her life. She was especially content with her life at the moment.
As she finished laying out the dinner she had cooked, setting the plates out in front of her daughters at the dinner table, she glanced at her watch. Kurt was due back in an hour, perhaps a half hour more, depending on whether the bar owner would make him clean up after hours. Not that it was part of the bouncer's duties, but it wasn't a difficult or time-consuming job, bringing in a few extra lien every shift. So, Kurt usually took that extra work himself, especially since the bar had few patrons lately – too few customers to give tips or bribes.
Who would want to wander through Atlas to the bar, facing constant police and military patrols at this hour?
After Sunny set the last plate for herself, she heard a knock on the door and was quite surprised by it for a moment, feeling a mute question arise in her mind. Judging by the fact that she didn't hear the entryway doorbell ring – could it be one of her neighbours? Sunny doesn’t interact with them often, but she'd seen them a couple of times. Maybe one of them ran out of salt or something in the middle of cooking?
Sunny made her way to the front door, opening the door without much trouble or hesitation, relying on the relatively small security of the chain that prevented her door from opening completely. Besides, who wants to harm her? She’s even too poor to attract burglars!
“Who's there?”
A moment later, Sunny heard a sound that she would never want to hear. A sound that was both unfamiliar to her, since she had never heard the one in reality, and yet one that she had heard repeatedly in a wide variety of movies or news reports.
The sound of a gun slide racking.
Through the small gap that had appeared in the ajar door, she could see the seemingly bottomless black muzzle of a gun aiming straight at her.
“Good afternoon,” A familiar voice came through her ears, breaking down all the barriers of her repressed memory, allowing the memories to spill out. “Miss Sunny. Would you like to have a little chat?”
***
Cinder didn't want to step into the apartment at first – when Miss Sunny’s trembling hands removed the chain from the door lock and let it open, Cinder stood still, letting Miss Sunny see her. To shudder at her gaze – to look into her eyes and to see no fear reflected there.
The four agents around her, however, were not as slow. Like inaudible shadows, two of them stepped forward, passing unhindered like snakes behind Miss Sunny’s back and Cinder heard, a moment later, familiar surprised exclamations, momentarily interrupted along with the crisp sound of girls being pulled.
Cinder had to admit that while the action was unnecessary, one doesn’t need to rack a semi-auto handgun after all, the shock and fear it caused was palpable.
Being at the mercy of the strong is not a good position, isn’t it, Miss Sunny?
Cinder finally took that step, feeling a smile appear on her face as she looked into Miss Sunny's eyes and causing her to take a step back, nearly sprawling on the ground, tripping over her shoes scattered in the hallway.
Cinder almost laughed at the sight of such a thing.
Almost.
The two agents that had gone inside had returned behind her, quickly closing the door behind them, allowing Cinder to walk forward and forcing Miss Sunny to back up.
Cinder was silent at this point, paying no attention to the door closing behind her and the two agents taking up their position, again, behind her. She was too engrossed in looking into Miss Sunny’s eyes, as she took step after step and watched as Miss Sunny fearfully could only back up, trembling.
What are you thinking, Miss Sunny ? Are you afraid that I'll kill you off? Here and now, three corpses, maybe more, what if I order you to burn down this house, your apartment? I'll be better this time, and I'll tie you up hand and foot, so this time you can't escape. Are you afraid, Miss Sunny? I think you are.
When I was in your place, I was very much afraid.
Miss Sunny backed up as far as she could before hitting her back against the wall, and yet she kept trying to walk back, as if trying to push the wall in a way to get away from Cinder. All this, without taking her eyes off Cinder or saying a word.
Cinder paused for a moment, not taking her eyes off Miss Sunny, trying to see all her reactions, hidden or otherwise.
How do you feel, Miss Sunny ? Do you feel anything? Can you feel anything?
Cinder saw Miss Sunny’s face turn paler by the second – how she desperately, silently inhaled and exhaled air, trying to keep her heart from bursting out.
It's called fear, Miss Sunny. It's an unpleasant, sticky, consuming feeling of weakness and powerlessness.
Cinder raised her hand, causing Miss Sunny to cast a look of horror, but Cinder simply waved her hand away, not whatever nightmarish action Miss Sunny had conjured up in her head. No, it would be much worse.
Obeying her silent command, the agent instantly picked Miss Sunny up, clamping her mouth shut before carrying her, like dead weight, to the side. Miss Sunny hasn't even got the clarity of mind to struggle – perhaps fear had fully paralyzed her.
Maybe she'll be dead at the end of the meeting. No problem, fewer things to clean up, that's all…
Cinder felt a smile on her face… She tried to feel one.
There was no smile on her face.
The lack of a smile caused Cinder to frown her eyebrows before shaking her head, shedding her irritation before walking to the dining room where her three tormentors were staring at her in fear. Feeling her power, it served as a silent blade drawn over the heads of the three in the silence, as they lay bound to their chairs, unable to move.
Miss Sunny, she looked much older now. She had changed quite a bit in the intervening time, she had lost the youthfulness from her stern features, replaced by wrinkles. And her gaze no longer looked as strong and cruel as before, but perhaps it was not the function of time, rather it was perhaps the tint of fear, mixed with the terror of realization that caused such an effect.
Amanda and Lee, they'd grown up. The two obnoxious girls were young girls once, how old were they now? A little over twenty, perhaps? The two sat in silence, trembling with fear, but no one dared to open their mouths, realising who owned their lives at that moment and not wanting to attract attention and become the first target.
Can you feel it? Do you feel how, at my command, I can end your lives? Can you feel your last breath coming closer by the second?
Oh yes, Cinder knew exactly what they felt – they felt it, the crawling dread of death.
Shaking like aspen leaves, they cast glances at the silent agents, at their weapons, at Cinder, and then they turned paler, repeating each gesture, getting paler by the second.
Cinder watched this process unfold several times before she slowly took a step forward, watching as they shuddered, beginning to pound their limbs, trying to get as far away from her as possible. Their fear finally returning their wits to them
Cinder smiled…
Cinder frowned before slowly raising her hand to her face.
She was not smiling.
That's… Weird.
Cinder shifted her gaze to the three women across from her, feeling anger…
Trying to feel anger.
Cinder felt no anger.
Cinder shifted her gaze to the agent. “The gun.”
A moment later, the agent handed her his gun and the three began shaking their limbs again, all the while not making a sound – afraid to make any sound.
Naive, as if Cinder needed a gun to finish them all off. As if she would deny herself the pleasure of burning them with her own hands.
However, they didn't need to know that.
Cinder raised her gun and pointed it at Miss Sunny.
Can you feel it? Feel the blood starting to pound in your temples? Do you feel your mind grow heavy? I want you to feel it!
Cinder tried to feel the joy of this act…
Cinder felt no joy.
Their life and death is in my hands – I can make that one quick or slow, by bullet or by strangulation, and I can start with any of you.
Cinder wanted to feel joy as she held the life of the three who had made her life a living hell in the palms of her hands.
Cinder wanted to feel joy, happiness, peace…
She felt nothing.
Holding the sight of all three, one sloppy finger movement away from cutting their lives short, forcing them to face their death, waiting for the moment, trembling in fear. It was everything that Cinder ever imagined as she was tortured day by day, waiting for her chance of revenge.
Cinder should have felt joy.
But she didn't.
Cinder clenched her teeth, feeling instead of joy… Irritation.
Why didn't achieving my dreams make me feel happy?
When Cinder lived in the hotel – she dreamed every day of how she would pay them back for the tortures. Every day, every night – she immersed herself in these fantasies when she closed her eyes, between every glance, every dream, and moments in reality, she dreamed of this moment. She imagined how she would hold Miss Sunny, Amanda, and Lee at gunpoint, how they would be bound hand and foot, trembling at her gaze, waiting for the moment of execution. How she would choose between them, salivating at how they would scream and cry, begging her to stop, how she would continue it all the same, until their screams would turn to wheezing and their wheezing to silence.
These thoughts had kept Cinder going – helped her get up in the morning and fall asleep at night. Allowed her to exist every day – replacing her need for rest, food, and entertainment. It was her reason for existence.
Cinder dreamed of this moment – the moment that was already at hand.
So why wasn't Cinder happy at this moment?
Cinder clutched the gun in her hands, then moved it down and shot Miss Sonny in the leg – perhaps it was the lack of whimpering and begging?
The silencer couldn't hold the sound of the bullet completely and the pop of the gunshot echoed around the room, and only her clamped mouth kept Miss Sunny from pouring out a scream. Amanda and Lee screamed next, but the agents caught them instantly, silencing their voices a moment later.
Am I happy? I'm doing what I've wanted to do for so long.
Cinder glanced at the way Miss Sunny’s leg, pierced by a bullet a few moments ago, was beginning to bleed and her skirt blotting in red. Cinder had shot carefully, making sure the bullet would pass without breaking any major blood vessels, but it was almost impossible to shoot a man without provoking any bleeding at all.
The blood continued to spurt out moment by moment, but the outburst began to stop a moment later, like any bleeding that stops quickly, leaving only bloody smears behind.
I'm not amused.
Cinder looked up, feeling a frown pressed on her face at the lack of satisfaction, causing her eyebrows to gather into single points.
Why?
Cinder looked up, finding the nearest agent silently examining the wounded woman, continuing to hold Amanda in his arms, gagging her. If Cinder had raised the gun and shot Amanda in the head, the man wouldn't have even bothered moving. They wouldn’t even utter a sound, even if Cinder had shot him in the arm.
Their life is in my hands, just the way I dreamed… Why? Why doesn't it make me feel good?! WHY ISN'T IT ALL RIGHT?!
Cinder moved the gun again, this time aiming at Miss Sunny’s head. Causing her, unable to blink away the tears that had flowed from her eyes in a moment of pain, to look up, looking at Cinder with fear, with mute pleading, with pain. The way Cinder had dreamed she would look.
SO WHY DON'T I LIKE IT?!
Enraged by the confusing feelings she has, Cinder threw the gun away from her, clenched her fist, and punched Amanda in the stomach. The aura-enhanced blow could have ripped the internal organs of a civilian, but Cinder had been careful in her blow – it would make her lose her lunch at best.
The shock of pain blurred Amanda's vision and mind, causing her to struggle in mute shock to catch air, to expand her lungs, to force her diaphragm back into action. Pain and panic and confusion flooded into Amanda's eyes as her vision faded for a moment, causing her mind to freeze and panic, trying to grasp at any way to escape in a moment of chaos and terror. The scene was just as Cinder had once dreamed.
The feel of soft flesh beneath her knuckles, the supple abdomen crinkling under the impact of her fist, the slight, barely perceptible warmth of her body, the vulnerable and weak life held in her hands. If she only punched just a little to the side, a little harder, and Cinder could have torn Amanda's liver, or her spleen - with a punch. If she wanted, she could burst her kidneys, or even her intestines, leaving Amanda dying, choking on her own shit.
I've always wanted to do that…
Amanda tried to make a sound again, a cry of pain or even plead for mercy, but the agent clenched her jaws, turning the probable scream into a whimper. The sudden burst of violence, causing waves of fear and panic in the minds and eyes of Lee and Miss Sunny.
But I don't like it.
Cinder slowly, centimeter by centimeter, withdrew her hand again before she froze, looking at the way Amanda trembled before her.
Cinder felt her face fill with anger against her will.
I hate you. I hate you all. You've made me weak!
Cinder turned toward Lee before placing her hand on her left cheek, a motion that made her jerk as if struck. The deceptive softness of the act didn't matter when Lee had seen what Cinder had done before.
After a moment, Cinder felt Lee, expecting pain or a blow, calming herself, just a little, for a moment, realizing that this touch of Cinder's didn't hurt.
Naive stupidity, did she forget what her Semblance was?
After another moment, a scream escaped through her forcibly clenched teeth, and Lee’s feet rocked on the floor, trying futilely to escape the red-hot touch of Cinder's semblance.
Can you feel it? Feel your flesh charring moment by moment? Feel your mind trying to grasp for an opportunity to escape, but not finding one? The panicked realization that the next second of pain might be your last? At how your psyche break down, waiting for the moment of death? I felt it, every day, and dreamed of making you feel those moments as well, of making you suffer, of making you cry as I did, of biting your teeth until they cracked from the exertion.
A finger, covered in an aura of molten fire and pain, plunged into Lee's flesh. Millimetre by millimetre, it plunged inward, as flesh, charred to a black crust, began to change into a dripping black liquid, flowing down the girl's cheeks and…
I don't like this.
Cinder froze, still holding her finger over the charred flesh that was beginning to cool quickly.
Why don't I like it?
Cinder yanked her hand away from Lee as if she were a leper.
WHY DON'T I LIKE IT?!
Cinder clenched her fist, looking at Lee.
She gasps in pain – but her scar won't be noticeable. When her dead charred flesh is cut off, all that will be left is a small dot that cannot be seen without knowing that it is here. More needs to be added. A mark for life. An ugly stain, a nasty blot, an eternal stigma…
SO, WHY DON'T I WANT TO DO THIS?!
Cinder pulled her hand away, then slapped it across Lee's face, causing her to snap her teeth with a reverberation of pain inside her skull.
THIS PAIN IS NOT ENOUGH FOR WHAT YOU DID?!
A spilled plate of food, a small squashed couch, a destroyed pair of shoes, a picture on the wall, a ring on my ring finger, makeup lying on the table…
WHY DID YOU CHOOSE TO TAKE AWAY MY PAIN AND MY HAPPINESS?! IT WASN'T ENOUGH FOR YOU TO ROB ME OF MY HAPPINESS – YOU DECIDED TO ROB ME OF EVEN MY HATE?!
Cinder felt a slightly warm, salty liquid run down her cheek in a single drop.
Why? Why have I wanted your pain for so long, wanted this moment for so long, and now… I feel no joy. Why?
Cinder sucked in air with her nose, shifting her gaze to Sunny, seeing the moisture gradually begin to accumulate in her eyes.
Why is there nothing… Why is there no joy and no sadness? Why do I feel nothing when I look at you? Why have you deprived me of that?
Cinder sucked in air again, then again and again, feeling her breathing begin to break, her lauded self-control begin to crumble, her hands begin to shake, and her eyes begin to pinch tears.
This is wrong! I am not weak! I am not weak! I am not weak!
Cinder released her Semblance, feeling her hands return to normal again, as she started to wipe away the tears with her hands, trying to scratch her eyes out, if that was the price of her to stop crying.
To be strong, to be strong, to be strong!
Cinder sucked in air greedily, feeling snot starting to run down her face, trying to close herself off from this world with her hands.
Please! I won't be bad anymore, I won't be mean anymore, please, I just want to feel joy! I've dreamed about it for so long, I've wanted it for so long – why don't I feel anything! No pain, no joy, no fear – why, what's wrong with me, why did this happen, I just want to feel something! I just want to be… I want to be… I want to be normal… I want to be happy… I want to love and cry, rest and kill, anything, please, I just want to feel something… I want to be normal.
Cinder rubbed her eyes, feeling her sleeves soak up tears that seemed to be endless.
“Why?” The one question that consumed Cinder's mind burst out after a moment. “Why me? Why did you make me like this? Why am I like this?”
One of the agents, whose identity Cinder could no longer make out through the veil of tears, moved his hands slightly, allowing Miss Sunny to open her mouth and answer through the pain of her bleeding leg. “I… I'm sorry…”
“WHY?!” Cinder lunged forward, not listening for Miss Sunny’s words. She then grabbed hold of the woman's neck with her hands and shook her side to side, causing her to hit her head on the back of her chair. “You are not sorry, you have never thought about it, you have forgotten about me – but I have not forgotten, I remembered, I remembered every day, every hour, every second, so WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!”
Cinder shook her hands again and again, making Miss Sunny shake like a rag doll, shake after shake, again and again, even until the agent chose to take some distance, letting Cinder and her victim some space.
Cinder punched and punched and punched again, and punched harder. She punched until the floor began to crack under her onslaught, until she collapsed, until the tears flowing from her eyes mingled with Miss Sunny's blood, until, with another punch, she realized that Miss Sunny was no longer twitching. In fact, for the last few seconds, she wasn’t even punching the woman, but the floor instead.
The blood spreading beneath her was unmistakably Miss Sunny’s, but she was instead nearby, laying on a broken chair. Miss Sunny was still breathing, but she wasn't saying anything else. The torn skin on her head, the torn shreds of hair and blood, was the proof of what Cinder had done, so little and so much.
Cinder realized why she was no longer holding Miss Sunny – she had thrown her away from herself when Cinder could no longer hold back her punches anymore.
She had lost consciousness, no more than that. She'll wake up, she'll vomit, and she'll be bedridden for months, but she'll survive – but she won't survive anything else, there will be nothing more. It will all end here – her living. Or her death.
Cinder recoiled, looking at her hands. Bloody. Full of strength. Full of power.
Trembling…
“I feel nothing,” Cinder raised her gaze, empty, devoid of any emotion, to the crumpled up Miss Sunny. “No happiness, no pain, no anger… Why did you make me like this?”
Who am I?
Killing is wrong, Cinder.
Cinder felt a memory rise from the depths of her mind.
Jonathan stared silently ahead. Pondering. Thinking. Cinder didn't dare – couldn't – had no right to interrupt him. He had been pondering just like this before he…
No, Cinder, killing is bad.
Cinder slowly felt the emptiness in her soul slowly begin to fill. Drop by drop.
Every day. Every minute. Every moment spent.
If I was just normal. If all of this didn't exist, if I felt joy killing you – or sadness, if I could just find meaning in it all.
Everything would be all right.
Cinder suddenly realized that the voice in her head didn't sound like herself.
It's going to be okay, Cinder. I'll save you. I'll get you out of the hotel – I will do everything in the world for you.
You're strong, Cinder. You are stronger than this, the strongest…
Cinder looked up at Miss Sunny’s bloodied face again, then turned around, stepping to the dropped gun, ignoring the still dry tears, the bloody hands and the fear in the twins' eyes before she gave it back to the agent.
It's not a law or a prohibition. It is simply the truth. Killing is bad, not because someone decided to do it that way, but because it is.
Jonathan did it this way.
Jonathan is a magician. He changes the world. He made it that way.
Cinder turned around before uttering the last words that the trio would ever hear of her.
“Shoot them all.”
A moment later, three hushed claps rang out behind her and Cinder raised her hand to her sleeve, where the teleportation seal was drawn.
Cinder felt no joy in killing them. From their pain. From their torment. Killing was bad.
But some things, even as bad as they were, were not wrong.
Comments
Bob
"Will i kill them, wont i kill them" ahh the classic Cindere
