Season 1, Episode 6 - The Tree Plot XXXVII - "Man in a Suitcase"
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Some time later, workmen had moved enough of the crates within the warehouse for Clayton to see the loading docks. Several trucks had come and gone; Alcyone and Shannen still directed workmen here and there. The whole time, Eos had sat next to Clayton in silence.
Both of them knew it would soon be time to go. Having decided to remain with his friends rather than go for a second chance with Eos, some analytical power returned to Clayton's previously-addled mind. And that just resulted in more questions.
“There’s one thing I don’t get,” he admitted. “You want to destroy New England, right? So why join up with the Restorationists? They’re going to knock it all down, but they’ll build it up again after. It seems to me that you’re much more on the side of destroying it all and leaving it that way.”
Eos’s eyes drifted toward the briefcase full of money. “Who said I’m one of them? I was operating here before Alcyone and Shannen arrived. I’m just a contracted go-fer for them.”
“What’d you get?”
“All the New York Minutes and Staten Suihankis,” she explained. “They came from my sources. The MPs guarding the gated road - they’re mine, too. They transferred here from Fore River. And perhaps I did a little bit of sabotage, too.”
The power outage during the first night here immediately came to mind. “That was you?”
“That was Shannen,” Eos corrected. “What I did that night…well, maybe you’ll find out. If you don’t get killed tonight, that is.”
She was really putting the screws on Clayton, but his answer to her was final. Both of them knew there was any further point in arguing, so Eos stood up and retrieved her briefcase as the two Restorationists approached her. From behind them, workmen stacked empty crates until Clayton could no longer see the loading docks; he was isolated in his corner once more. If he didn't know any better, it felt like this little corner was his whole world.
“Well, you’re a free bird,” Alycone told Eos with a grin. “I’m heading out soon, so it’s time for you to skedaddle, too. We’ll keep in touch, though - your services were very valuable and I’m the type of person who remembers that. Now, don’t go spending all that money in one place.”
The two shook hands once again. Eos glanced back at Clayton - and there it was again, that bittersweet smile. But that’s all she gave him for a farewell. She turned her head and allowed two guards to escort her off the premises and out of Clayton’s sight.
Clayton took a deep breath. Once again, she had walked out of his life. At least he had made the decision for himself this time.
Several trucks started outside, the low rumbling of their engines drifting into the warehouse. Alcyone yawned and stretched. “Well, Shanny boy, it’s showtime. With the State Police using the Machingonne spur line tomorrow, all eyes will be on there for the time being, so I better hit the highway now.”
Alcyone and Shannen didn’t shake hands - they clasped them together, as if they were brothers-in-arms. “Stay here and hold down the warehouse for now,” Alcyone ordered. “And keep an eye on the prisoner. Meet me at the ambush spot by dawn.”
“Tomorrow, we destroy a technological terror that’s contrary to the natural order,” Shannen answered. Her voice was a mixture of passion and discipline - as if someone taught her an ideal which she fully embraced.
That answer seemed to satisfy Alcyone, who smiled and headed off, taking the majority of guards and workmen with her. Shannen took a seat on a nearby crate and wiped her sword as the sound of the truck engines from outside picked up. After a few minutes of mechanical pounding, Clayton heard the sounds of heavy motion - presumably, the trucks were departing off into the night. How many, Clayton couldn’t tell, but there seemed to be a lot. There needed to be a lot if they were to carry that many crates with them.
Once the last truck had disappeared, an eerie silence descended over the warehouse. Clayton had nothing better to do than watch Shannen wipe her sword and listen to the footsteps of the two other guards that remained in the warehouse. The adrenaline from before gradually wore off; as if to answer his growing boredom, one of the guards turned on a radio. Saxophones and guitars dueled in a big band rock song.
“You know, I always hated modern music.” Shannen finished cleaning her sword and held it in front of her to see her own reflection. “I hate everything about modernity. Even more than that. If I had the option, I would’ve told our ancestors to stay in the primordial soup. Yet some bastard had to walk on land, and here we are.”
Clayton grimaced, having heard Charlotte talk enough about modern music in particular and modernity in general to last a lifetime.
Shannen shifted off the box. She swung the sword aimlessly in front of her, watching her reflection shift in the steel. “That’s why the Restorationists got the right idea. They’ll take everything back to the Greeks. Things seemed simpler then. I’m looking forward to it.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them back up and smiled. “We both know that I’m going to kill you now.”
Clayton, in fact, did not know that. He responded to this new bit of information by struggling against his bindings. He blew gusts of wind, earning him a sudden strike to the face by the handle of Shannen’s sword. His lip already started swelling and the iron taste of his blood stung his mouth.
Stolen story; please report.
“I hate your Academy,” Shannen continued, raising a hand. “I hate everything about it. But, I must admit, your Chairman’s talk of torture has me interested. I don’t think there’s any better way to express hatred than torturing a man.”
She snapped her fingers. On cue, the radio switched, changing from big band rock to smooth jazz to late night talk shows to pre-Unleashing songs. Whole stations played nothing but those - it’s not like you had to pay royalties for them. The guard settled on a station which just started playing a song. Funky reggae beats mixed in with relaxed drumming and guitar strumming to form an odd fusion of sound.
“I’d invite you back to my place,” Shannen sang softly as she walked towards Clayton. He saw his own fearful reflection in the sword and tried to escape again, but the bindings held. “It’s only mine because it holds my suitcase. It looks like home to me alright…but it’s a hundred miles from yesterday night.”
Shannen raised her sword. “Now, let’s see…how do I go about torturing someone?”
She raised her sword, pointing the tip at him. First it was his nose; then she stepped in time to the beat, switching up the angle. Clayton bit his lip to hold down the fear as she placed the sword tip at the corner of his mouth; the steel felt cold.
Right as the chorus kicked in, Shannen withdrew her sword, then plunged it through his shoulder. Clayton swore under his breath, trying not to give her the satisfaction of screaming out. Electric jolts of pain shot through his body; blood trickled from the point of impact. With a flick of the wrist, Shannen twisted the sword, tearing tendons and muscle and skin. Clayton yelled this time; sweat streamed into his eyes as shots of pain erupted out of the shoulder and into his torso and head.
Shannen withdrew her sword, taking blood and chunks of flesh with it. “Hmm…I guess I already stabbed you through the stomach during our fight, so maybe I oughta switch it up.”
She slammed the sword into the ground. “Kenjutsu Fire Style!”
Clayton pressed himself against the metal beam, away from the flickering flames covering her sword. Shannen raised the sword and twirled it; the fire trailed behind it like a comet tail.
Shannen raised the sword over Clayton’s wounded shoulder. The flames licked at his face; his hands trembled and he could barely see through the sweat and tears. With a grin, she pressed the sword against his cheek; Clayton screamed this time. The sword burned furiously hot, melting flesh and hair. She shifted the sword backwards, alighting his ear. Continuous waves of pain cascaded through him; he struggled immensely against the bindings, but they held tight.
“Shit,” he swore out through gritted teeth. He blew out a gust of wind since he needed to do something, anything, but the wind only intensified the flames. The burning sensation closed in on his good eye; his gritted teeth gave way to hyperventilation.
Apparently satisfied, Shannen withdrew her sword. Clayton kept his head down, too weak to raise it. Bile arose in his throat, feeling just as hot as the lingering heat on the side of his face.
Shannen did a little hop-step in time to the music. “You’re lucky. I don’t have bamboo shoots or rats. Just my sword. But I guess that does the job.”
Clayton didn’t raise his head. “Please…stop.”
“Stop?” Shannen repeated. “Did your Chairman stop when he tore down my home?”
He spoke slowly. “I had nothing to do with that, though. You’re going to torture me for it?”
After a moment, Shannen shrugged. “Sure.”
More tears emerged as Shannen raised her sword above her head. “Maybe we should how removing a finger or even a whole hand feels like-”
“Ice Beam, Go!”
A ray of ice rocketed through the warehouse, right towards Shannen. She raised her eyes in surprise, but the angle turned out to be off - the ray flew past her and struck a wall.
“I knew I should’ve gone first!” Coleridge yelled out. Shannen’s eyes, full of annoyance, darted toward the sudden invasion. Coleridge and what’s-her-name entered somewhere near the front, but due to all the crates, they remained invisible. A burst of gunfire echoed through the warehouse; the rumbling of earth answered it, and then the gun fell silent.
Shannen groaned. “Stay right here,” she warned Clayton (but it wasn’t like he could do much else). She walked off, fiery sword in hand; the flames intensified in heat and size when another gun was silenced.
A sudden rescue didn’t do a whole lot to lift Clayton’s spirits. I’m a Class 5. If I lost, what can they do? He had no desire to see Coleridge and what’s-her-name end up tortured as well.
“Goddamn that’s hot!” Coleridge cried out somewhere in the warehouse. The sound of ice rays and earth rumbles mixed with the cracking of crate wood and screeching of destroyed mechanical equipment.
It’s hopeless.
“Buddy, it’s me,” Rab whispered as he emerged from behind a nearby crate.
Slowly, Clayton found the strength to raise his head. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
Rab looked around, then darted over to Clayton’s beam. He held a pocket knife in his hand and started sawing through Shannen’s knot. “You showed me kindness earlier tonight. After putting Lil Rab to bed, I went to check out the warehouse. There were more guards than usual around it, along with some of the MPs that usually protect the gate."
One of the thick ropes snapped from the knife. “I was worried,” Rab admitted. “But then a whole load of trucks came in. With so many people, I decided to run from the warehouse. Sorry about that. I decided to check around from where we came in and ran into those two kids from before. They were worried about you.”
An errant beam of ice took out an overhead light. Sparks drifted down towards sounds of an escalating battle.
“Me?” Clayton repeated. His shoulder and face still ached with immense pain. “I’m not worth rescuing.”
“Nonsense,” Rab answered. “Everybody’s worth something.”
The last rope snapped. Though the newfound sense of freedom did little to dull the pain, Clayton could finally slump his whole body over onto the ground.
“Jesus, what’d she do to you?” Rab muttered. He knelt down to help Clayton back up.
“I can’t fight,” Clayton mumbled. “I messed everything up tonight.”
Rab answered his whining with some classic shantytown wisdom. “Quit your bitching. Let’s go mess up the woman who tortured you. She didn’t cut your balls off, right?”
Clayton’s gonads were still intact. And perhaps that meant his spirit was as well.
When Rab extended his hand, Clayton took it. He turned down the offer to run away; that meant consequences in the form of torture. But it also meant he chose his friends at the Academy, friends who came back for him after he left all of them behind.
Rab brought Clayton to his feet. The two men clasped hands, then moved towards the battle.