CHAPTER 19
OCTOBER 22ND, 8:00 A.M.
--RAYSHE--
“You should’ve killed them.”
Rayshe gritted his teeth. The Oval Office was dimmed as a hologram projection displayed over the main desk. He stood in front of it; the tarp taped over the broken window was just visible through the projection, a reminder of betrayal.
“They’re obviously out to stop you.”
“They’re just confused,” Rayshe rebutted. Ahnko sighed, shifting her position, having her legs hang over the arm rest of the sofa as she watched him study the hologram.
“You underestimate them,” she said.
“I don’t underestimate them,” he corrected. “Quite the opposite. They’re just confused,” Rayshe repeated.
“Is that so?”
“They’re American heroes. Give them time, they’ll understand,” he trailed off.
“You need to let go of this idolization you have for them,” she advised.
“The weak can’t always comprehend the burdens the strong must do,” he elaborated.
“And that’s why you’re scouting them?”
“I told you, I don’t underestimate them.” Displayed on the projection were profiles of “high-risk” individuals. Those who are considered especially dangerous and could pose a serious threat. Regardless of their allegiance, the U.S.S. was always prepared for the worst. Five of them were of particular interest to Rayshe.
“Francis Tolomongo. Frank…” he read the first profile.
“What’s his little tricks?” Ahnko asked.
“Shapeshifting,” he said with a clenched jaw. Of all people, he suspected Frank to be the last to ever cross him. Much less actually succeed to some degree.
“Let me guess,” her synth voice hummed behind him, “that’s the one who played swiper with your homework.” Rayshe exhaled, grinding his teeth together as he thought about how he could let a traitor in under his nose.
“Don’t blame yourself honey,” Ahnko assured. “How are you supposed to see a shapeshifter?”
“Right…” he mumbled. A headshot of Frank showed on the hologram next to the evaluation.
“Is that him? The real him?” she asked.
“Inconclusive.”
“Mmm, how mysterious,” she said. “Keep reading. I’m interested.”
Rayshe rolled his eyes. Normally he would tell her to keep quiet and let him work. But for a case like this, it might help to keep her caught up and ready. She was dangerous in her own right.
“Frank grew up homeless in Oakland. He made it by stealing, using his shapeshifting to snag a few dollars here and there.”
“Wasted potential,” she commented.
“Not until we found him,” Rayshe added. “We gave him an ultimatum: work for us or go to prison. He became one of our best enhanced for years and in the war.”
“So why would he betray you?” Ahnko asked.
“He went M.I.A. after his daughter died,” he said. “Something must’ve changed with him then.”
“Maybe someone?” she suggested.
“Hmm,” he murmured, considering who that ‘someone’ could be. Most likely, it was one of the others on the list.
“TOM3-E7,” Rayshe said, swiping his hand across the hologram to bring up the next profile. “Tommy.”
“He’s cute,” Ahnko giggled. Rayshe glanced at her condescendingly before returning his attention back to the projection.
“A marvel of engineering that 7 countries collaborated to produce. The first sentient artificial intelligence ever created.”
“My ancestor?”
“Technically, yes.” Rayshe said. “Morphic arms can change into any weapon he wants. Couple that with internal ammo printing and his offensive capabilities are indefinite. Combined with a frame strong enough to survive a nuclear bomb, he was slated to be our ultimate creation.”
“What happened?”
“He took off barely a year and a half later.”
“He escaped?” she asked.
“More like we let him walk out the door,” Rayshe clarified. “No one country could truly claim him. And no one could stop him either. So he left.”
“I like him,” she said. “Hall pass?”
“Enough,” Rayshe commanded.
“I’m only joking, you know that,” Ahnko dismissed him. “Unless- “
“Boone Carter. Canadian born. Fled an abusive home the day he turned 18. Joined U.S.S., military, rest his history,” he read. “Absorbs all forms of energy: electricity, solar, nuclear, maybe even life energy, but just a theory. Utilizes that to fly and shoot the energy back out, in beams or bursts.”
“What’s his case,” she questioned. “They all have one.”
“Miriam Carter. His wife,” he said. “Diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Believed to be from radiation exposure after the nuclear fallout. She was a humanitarian; spent a lot of time in the affected countries.”
“And now she has him on a leash?” Ahnko guessed. “Does anything and everything she tells him?”
Rayshe murmured inaudibly as he scratched his chin.
“Maybe you need to pay her a visit,” she suggested. The idea of a house call to a terminally ill women didn’t sound very tasteful. But not out of the cards for Rayshe. After all, desperate times…
“Laurel Morgan,” he said, swiping onto the next profile. “Sorceress.”
“Uhh,” Ahnko moaned. “What a babe.”
“Will you quit it with that?” Rayshe said sternly, looking back at her. She put up her hands in a mock surrender as he turned back to his research.
“Given up to an elder mage at five years old. She started showing signs of magic abilities; parents wanted nothing to do with it. She was raised in Iceland until she was eighteen.”
“What makes her so dangerous?” Ahnko asked.
“A magic wielder only comes around once a century. Their strength is theoretically limitless. It all teeters on how much they know to cast,” Rayshe explained. “Her allegiance is what concerns me the most. American born but wasn’t raised here. She was vital to Operation Hardwell in rescuing our late president but declined to be recognized for it. Wanted nothing to do with us. Then disappeared when the war started.”
“But she did help save the president,” Ahnko said. “Would she do that if she hated America?”
“That’s what’s confusing,” he said.
“Hmm,” she hummed. “Is that all of them?”
“One more,” Rayshe said, swiping the hologram to reveal the final profile. “Laeotel.”
“Laeotel…” Ahnko waited.
“That’s it. One name.”
“Like Cher?”
“Sure,” Rayshe said. “Goes by Leo. Born off-world on a planet called Hjallarhelm. Can create ethereal duplicates of himself, using them to fight combatants at range, multiple at a time, or over his own body for defense. Wields an axe that has passed every stress test we put it through without so much as a scratch. Slices through even the strongest alloys in existence. Showed up on Earth wandering a desert 10 years ago. All contact with his home world has been met with silence. He’s the last of his kind.”
“What happened?”
“No one knows,” he answered. “Our predictions are a plague wiped them out, with him managing to escape before it got him too.”
“Do you believe that?” she questioned him.
“There’s no other evidence to go off of,” he said. “It’s all we got.”
“I take it then that he is the least loyal to us?” she hypothesized.
“Not exactly,” he rebutted. “He and Tommy worked for Regis many times. Saved him in Operation Hardwell. Fought in the war. All the marks of a true patriot. But he’s not our blood. Nothing can make up for the innate instinct to protect your home. He’ll never have that for us.”
“Why would they work for Regis?” she asked.
“It’s easy to forget in light on his recent actions before his death, but Regis used to be a very respected man,” Rayshe explained. “A righteous and noble leader.”
“His recent actions,” Ahnko repeated. “And those had nothing to do with you.”
“Nope,” he replied with a pop of his lips, unapologetically sarcastic.
Ahnko sat up, leaning closer to the hologram to see the details more clearly.
“His profile is so short,” she commented.
“A ghost,” Rayshe muttered. “We know next to nothing about his origins.”
“And that scares you?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Never.”
“Hmm.” Ahnko relaxed back into her sofa, gently swinging her feet as they dangled over the arm rest. Rayshe stood in silence as he swiped through the profiles, reskimming the contents quietly.
“Rayshe?” Ahnko tried to get his attention. He didn’t answer, still focused on the hologram.
“Rayshe…” she said again. He turned around this time; rather than annoyed like she was anticipating, he looked tired. His eyes hung low, bloodshot, and worn out. Ahnko tilted her head to the side, studying his demeanor.
“You look worked up,” she said.
“Yeah? Well I am,” he said. “And I don’t have the time, go entertain yourself.”
“You assume that’s what I’m asking for?” she accused him. “That’s what you think of me?” His tongue got caught before he could respond, realizing the fault in his comment.
“No,” he assured. “Of course not.”
“You should relax for a spell,” she told him.
“It’s just apart of the job, Ahnko…” The phone rang, interrupting them. Rayshe leaned over his desk and read the caller ID on the receiver. “It’s Maggie…”
“Answer it,” she said.
“I’m busy. I’ll call her back.”
“It’s your daughter, Rayshe.”
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“I just…” he rubbed the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m on edge right now. I just want to get this over with then- “
“You need to take your mind off things for a little. Answer it,” Ahnko insisted. He stared at the receiver, its tone ringing consistently. Just as his hand reached for the phone, the call expired. He sighed, letting his hand fall to his side.
“Call her back,” she said. “Maggie’s a sweet girl, you’d do good to hear her voice.”
“You’re right,” Rayshe agreed. “I outta take you to see her soon. You’d love her.”
“You think she would like me?” Ahnko asked, as people were not always friendly with robots.
“I know she would,” he assured. “I think the two of you would be best friends.” He planted his palms on his desk, turning off the hologram projector that sat on top as he leaned his body weight onto the table. “I love her more than anything.”
“Why don’t you have her here with you?” she asked. Rayshe exhaled, scratching his chin.
“I haven’t told you the whole extent of her… condition,” he started. “Sometimes, when someone like me, someone with powers has a child, there’s a chance they don’t receive their parent’s abilities properly. Maggie didn’t take to mine. As soon as she was born, she was having major reactions. It’s a miracle she survived.” He stood up straight, staring into the tarp over the broken window, lazily shifting from the wind outside. “She lives in the NLV, the PowerDown bubble that covers the city neutralizes her powers. Keeps her alive. Also meaning she can never leave.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ahnko sympathized.
“Don’t be,” he said. “It’s my fault.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Then who’s fault is it?”
“It doesn’t have to be anybody’s fault.”
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.
“Yes?” Rayshe said, glancing over his shoulder. The front door to the Oval Office opened, and in stepped his secretary. “I canceled the briefing this morning, Leslie…”
“Yes, Mr. President, but this is something different,” she said. Ahnko stared sharply at her, as she always did, off-putting to those unused to it. Leslie awkwardly avoided eye contact as she slowly approached Rayshe, who still hadn’t turned to acknowledge her.
“Hmmhmm,” she cleared her throat. “Foreign intelligence gave me a report about one of your… weather research facilities in the Himalayans?” Rayshe’s posture shot straight. He turned his shoulder, staring bullets are Leslie.
“I wasn’t aware that we had anything out there in the first place,” she continued. “But it seems there was a terrorist attack.”
It was them.
You know it was them.
They took it from you.
And you let it happen.
“What happened?” he said, restraining his rage.
“The report was very vague-“
“What happened?” he repeated. Leslie shrugged, shaking her head.
“There was some attack. The place was destroyed. No survivors.”
They took it from you.
You let them live.
Rayshe gritted his teeth, his eyes were wide open, menacing, and full of rage.
“That’s it?” he said.
“That’s all I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. It’s not your fault,” he said, with a now eerie calmness over him, like a madman on the brink of psychosis. “You can go.”
Leslie swallowed the lump in her throat, subtly nodding before turning to leave.
They stole the piece.
And you spared them when they were right in front of you.
You let your generosity turn into weakness.
The door creaked as Leslie pulled it open. The sounds of her heels striking the marble floor echoed through the hallway outside, gradually growing quieter as she walked away. Eventually, the door swung itself closed, resealing the office from potential unwanted listeners.
“I told you.”
“Shut up, Ahnko,” Rayshe snapped, covering his face with his hands.
“They swooped in and stole the piece right under your nose,”
“I don’t need this right now…”
“And they had it in their back pocket,”
“Could you please just shut the fuck up.”
“And you let them walk away.”
You let them walk away.
You are failing.
You are losing your goal.
Fix it.
“I’m sick of this shit,” Rayshe said, removing his hands from his face and clenching them tight.
“There he is,” Ahnko commented.
“I’ve let mediocrity lie for too long,” he said, now storming towards the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’m going to fix this.”
Rayshe stomped down the halls, attracting gazes from passersby. Ambient conversations halted as they watched him, acknowledging the subdued frenzy on his face. He barreled down the ornate interior of the White House until he reached the conference room where his cabinet was holding a meeting. He plowed through the door, causing the top hinge to rip from the frame. The assembly of politicians abruptly halted, startled by the sudden intrusion.
“What the fuck have you useless, wastes of space been doing?!” he scolded them. “I gave you one, one simple order. Find the fucking pieces. And you proceed to let one get stolen from me!” His voice reverberated the office as he rage-filled screams pierced the air.
“Mr. President-“
“You!” Rayshe suddenly cutoff a cabinet member right as he was beginning to speak. He pointed at him aggressively, walking up to the chair he was sitting in. “Zimmer? Right?”
“Y-“ Before the man could respond, Rayshe slammed his palms onto his head, holding them down tightly as Zimmer began to scream horrifyingly. His head shot backwards as his mouth stretched wide open, staring at the ceiling and screaming through the abhorrent torture his mind was experiencing. His screams were rhythmic as his lungs emptied completely, pausing to regain breath, only to expel it once again with another blood-curdling scream. Rayshe rolled his eyes, relishing the reprieve from the voices in his head, letting them flood the mind of the unfortunate politician.
“You sit here in these meetings all day long, yet nothing ever fucking happens!” he voiced over the screams of the man that sat before him. The others watched as their co-worker’s mind deteriorated before them, leaving them too horrified to speak.
“DOES ANYONE WANT TO FUCKING SAY SOMETHING?!” Rayshe boomed. “I TOLD YOU TO FIND THE KEY, I WANT YOU TO FIND. THE. FUCKING. KEY.!”
“We have a lead Mr. President!” a woman yelled out suddenly with terror in her voice. “We have a high degree of confidence of the location of-“
“Good,” Rayshe said in a sarcastically chipper tone. Zimmer’s screams were reduced into silent, breathless convulsions as his vocal cords were worn out. “Get on it.” He surveyed the room, making sure to make direct eye contact with each member, with a psychotic grin.
“That means now. Get on it now.”
The conference suddenly adjourned; politicians scurried out, not wanting to become the next example. Rayshe glanced over at the door where a secret service member stood guard, not letting his visage display any hint of fear or weakness at the sight before him.
“Do something about this guy, would you?” he said, finally removing his hands from Zimmer’s head. His limp body fell flat against the glass table with his mouth still agape and his eyes pried open. Zimmer’s mind was gone, his body now merely a shell. The agent pressed his fingers to his ear, mummering into his comms as he approached the newly created vegetable.
They’re useless.
They’ll continue to fail you.
You need to cultivate an army.
One that fights a war beyond bullets.
You have millions that heed your words.
They wait at your doorstep.
Call upon them.
Rayshe stepped back, gritting his teeth, not yet satisfied with his anger. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a new figure enter the room: his secretary.
“Leslie?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. President?” she responded, her composure shaky as she saw what happened to her colleague.
“There’s still a crowd of citizens out on the lawn I presume?”
“Yes, Mr. President. There’s been a crowd outside everyday since that… article. It’s been a divided mob, between your supporters and your protestors. We’ve been keeping a close eye to make sure it doesn’t turn violent.”
“Hmm,” Rayshe pondered. “That’s good.”
“We can have them cleared if you’d like?” she offered.
“No, I want them there,” he said. “There is a podium outside, yes?”
“Correct, Mr. President.”
“I’m doing a speech,” he said, beginning towards the door.
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
Rayshe walked swiftly down the halls of the white house. He stormed his way to the front, stepping out onto the exterior patio and down the stairs onto the perfectly cut grass. All that separated him between the masses was a large green hedge. Security panicked as they watched him move towards danger, scrambling to act.
The buzz of the crowd grew louder as he approached the hedge. Their voices were incoherent as they overlapped with each other. They assembled outside the White House daily, all to argue their beliefs to strangers. They raise their voice and their fists to each other just because they disagree. It was volatile. But most importantly, weaponizable.
Now at the base of the hedge, Rayshe leaped over, appearing in front of the crowd who were now stunned at his sudden appearance. Thousands of voices shouted, some singing his praises, the rest revolting against him.
He walked up to the wooden podium that stood in the grass, centered in front of the crowd. Rayshe stepped up to it, placing his palms against the flat top, mulling his jaw as he studied the mob. The people’s intentions were unrecognizable, all appearing livid as each person tried to scream louder than the person next to them. This was exactly what he was looking for out of his citizens. Passion and anger. Powerful emotions that, when applied correctly, can be very effective.
He stood silent, letting the crowd continue their screaming. The mass of bodies was held back by a meek waist high wooden barricade. One that could easily be passed, yet no one did. Whether it was out of fear or reverence, it still meant that Rayshe had a hold over these people. They settled for leaning over the top, shouting until their faces turned red, waving around signs, exclaiming either his heroism, or his terror.
The noise began to die as people began to see that Rayshe was waiting to speak. Soon enough, only ambient mumbling remained, leaving the spotlight on him. He exhaled, his breath passing over the microphone, faintly playing through the speakers.
“I’ve thought for a long time about what I would say to you,” he started, his voice echoing through the outdoors. “I appreciate my supporters, who have been out here day in and day out. I also appreciate my critics, who help me to become the best leader I can be.” Feet shuffled in the crowd. People pushed and shoved, trying to get a clear look at their president.
“But enough of the pleasantries,” he continued. “Allow me to address the elephant sitting on the lawn.” Rayshe took a deep breath before he continued.
“Days ago, rumors spread about me. Rumors, claiming that I intended to disgrace the hard work of our late President Regis. Rumors, claiming that I intended to start a war with Boreas. Rumors, that spread like wildfire through our great nation, and sullied my position.” The mob waited anxiously for his rebuttal.
“Those rumors are true.”
Collective gasps echoed. Citizens stirred, unintelligible words grew louder as unsuspecting and innocent Americans just listened to their leader confirm warmongering conspiracies.
“But these rumors,” Rayshe began again loudly to shush the crowd. “These rumors have a fatal mistake. These rumors claim that I am a monster, a monster searching for violence. These rumors claim that I intend to put American lives in danger to fulfill my own selfish agenda. These could not be further from the truth.”
Cameras rolled, lights flashed, microphones recorded. The whole nation was watching.
“I understand the responsibilities that I have shouldered. I understand my obligation to this country, and my obligation to you. I am many things. Selfish is not one of them. Everything that I do, everything that I aspire to accomplish, I do it for this country so that it may be better than it was the day before. Sometimes, these goals require difficult decisions. Sometimes, these aspirations, these dreams, lead us to do things that we don’t want to do. All the time, these dreams require hard work, strong people, and even stronger minds. Like our fathers and their fathers before them, this country was built by hard work, strong people, and stronger minds.”
Rayshe detached the microphone from its stand, dragging the cord out as he stepped from behind the podium and walked in front of it, now standing directly to the crowd.
“When a society of great men and women dreamt of a free, independent world, they locked arms and fought for what was right. When this country faced down the tyranny of evil, when it wished to take what was bestowed to us by our founders, we locked arms and fought for what was right. When this country faltered, when it wavered in the face of adversity, visible or invisible, we locked arms and fought for what was right. And what is right and will never be wrong is the right to live a happy, healthy, and prosperous life.”
Rayshe began to pace left and right as he continued his speech.
“We are blessed to live the lives that we do, and there are others that were not so lucky. We have been graced by the hard work of those before us which allow our great nation to provide a great life. But this world, the evil that lives in it, tried its hardest to knock us down. When I wake up in the morning and I look at this country, I see a country that is wavering. I see a country that has struggled in the aftermath of a devastating war. I see a country where mothers and fathers struggle to provide the life they dreamed of giving to their children. And I also see too many struck by illness, by poverty, that we can’t do enough to save. Show of hands, who has felt that their life has been a gauntlet of challenge, has felt that their home isn’t the haven that it once was.”
Rayshe looked at the crowd; citizens looked at each other, unsure if his request was rhetorical.
“Please, show of hands,” he clarified, putting up his own in demonstration. All hands were raised.
“But when I lay my head on that pillow at night, when I close my eyes, I see not what this country is but what it could be. I see the potential of this great nation of ours to return to the life of yore, that it may be restored to its former glory. I wish for nothing more in my life. So when the power to make my wishes come true is entrusted to me, I get to work. And sometimes the greatest wishes require the hardest sacrifices.”
Rayshe paused, staring at the crowd, studying the faces of every person he could see. Their expressions were changing. They were understanding.
“Are you happy with the life you have right now?”
A volley of uncoordinated no’s arose from the crowd.
“Do you wish that it could be better? That it could go back to how it was years ago?”
A volley of more organized yes’s arose, louder than the nays from the previous question.
“I am not happy with the life our Americans live right now. I wish that it could be better, that it could go back to how it was years ago. Do not judge a man by his actions but by his intentions. Do not judge me, by my actions but by my intentions.” His cadence sped up, his volume rose as he drove his point across. So, yes. Yes. The rumors are true. It’s true that I want to be the best leader that I can be. It’s true that I am willing to make the hard choices to realize this ambition. It’s true that I am willing to fight for this ambition. It’s true that I am prepared to make sacrifices for this ambition. It is true that I am willing to go to war for this ambition.”
Another gasp arose, this time much more subdued as the majority has shifted in his favor now, leaving only a modicum of devout objectors.
“Am I wrong to assume that you are too? Am I wrong to assume that you want what I want?”
“No.”
“Am I wrong to assume that you are willing to make the hard choices to realize our ambition?”
“No.”
“Am I wrong to assume that you are willing to fight to realize this ambition?”
“No!”
“Am I wrong to assume that you are willing to make sacrifices to realize this ambition?!”
“No!”
“Am I wrong to assume that you are willing to go to war to realize this ambition?! That you are willing to do whatever it takes to secure a better future for our children?”
“No!”
The crowd was nearing a boiling point. Emotions rose to a peak. His speech riled up the thousands in front of him, prompting an even stronger opposition from those who remained unswayed.
“So let me ask you this again: are you happy with the life you have right now?”
“No!”
“Do you wish that it could be better? That it could go back to how it was years ago?”
“Yes!”
“WILL YOU FIGHT WITH ME TO SECURE THIS FUTURE?!”
“YES!”
The mob turned rampant. The cheers and applause were deafening. They jumped up and down, bashing into each other like it was a mosh pit out of control. The objectors fought back, pushing and shoving, screaming back at the vivacious ensemble of Rayshe’s newest soldiers. Soldiers that fight a war on the civil front.
Good.
Good.
Now, they will fight.
Until there is none left that opposes you.
Until there is only loyal disciples.
Rayshe scanned the crowd, letting a smile creep on his face as he watched his followers fight for him. Even as the mob spiraled into violence, even as a riot on a scale that America has never seen before was brewing, he couldn’t help but smile. He turned back to the podium, reattaching the microphone onto the stand. He saw his secretary there now, watching in horror as she saw history unfold before you.
“Mr. President,” she said worriedly. “I think you started a civil war.”
Rayshe merely rolled his eyes, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Have faith.”