CHAPTER 33
OCTOBER 25TH, 1:02 A.M.
--RAYSHE--
Rayshe studied his fingers, slowly forming a fist before unraveling it, just to form it again. Blood dried beneath his fingertips. His knuckles were red. The symptoms of battle; oh how he missed it.
His hand down to his elbows turned into a sharp, charcoal gray blade. It was longer than it was wide, and its edge was stained crimson. A quick flick, and the blood was thrown clean from the blade. His arm returned to normal, with his fingernails now clean.
Rayshe watched longingly through the courthouse window, looking on in awe at Los Angeles on fire for him. His followers obeyed so well. He swelled with pride, thinking not only of his accomplishments, but of the devotees he now commanded. Recognition was not a concern for him: his will was undeniable. Understanding was an improvement: as soon as America could see his goals were righteous and his methods were effective, the resistance would subside. Admiration, the target of Rayshe’s dreams. For people to finally see him for what he really was: superior. Each tower of smoke billowing into the western night was symbolic of his Survivors admiration. It was one to agree with what he says. It’s another to act upon it. Acted on they have. Ideally, everyone would be smart enough to realize his genius and band to him. A collective national effort would be magnificent. Many still wish for hardship and complacency. This civil war was indicative of that. They should be dealt with quickly. Those… terrorists, are making it difficult…
“Mr. President?”
“Speak.”
“We have an update on St. Grad.”
Rayshe sighed. “Yes?”
“Your advisors are waiting for you to begin a meeting.”
“You can’t tell me now?”
“They only told me to come get you.”
Rayshe turned around. Leslie, his secretary, obviously exhausted and distressed. A difficult day for her no doubt. Times like these are not for the average person. A part of him began to feel sympathetic for weaklings. Leslie was one of the better ones. Her mind was efficient. She didn’t deserve this.
“You shouldn’t allow them to treat you like that.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Leslie,” Rayshe slowly began towards her. “You are the only staff member I have that is actually of benefit to me.” Her expression shifted, surprised at his sudden compliments. “Everyone else who’s ever tried to ‘advise’ me is a bumbling idiot who’d be better off subservient to us. You and me, we’re better than them. Not better than me, obviously, but you know that.” Leslie smiled uncomfortably.
“Don’t think your work has gone unnoticed,” Rayshe continued. “I couldn’t imagine how far behind we’d be if it wasn’t for your hard work. Come here.” He held out his arms, gesturing for a hug.
“Thank you, Mr. President.” Leslie cleared her throat. “But I’m okay.”
“No, I insist.”
The secretary trembled, swallowing a lump in her throat. She nervously connected with Rayshe, weakly wrapping her arms around him.
“That’s it.” Rayshe could feel her fear. He could sense how petrified she was. Smart. She should be scared of him. It’s what will keep her alive. It felt euphoric; to make someone feel powerless. A symptom of his strength imposed on a lesser being.
“How would you like to be my vice president?”
Leslie pulled away, stunned. “Mr. President, I…” she stammered. “I don’t… I don’t know.”
“You do know,” Rayshe rebutted.
“I mean, if you want me to, Mr. President.”
“I want you to. I want you to. It’ll give you the recognition you deserve.”
“Right,” she said, staring at her feet.
“Say thank you.” Rayshe stared down at her fiercely, awaiting her gratitude.
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Good job. Now let’s go to that meeting.”
Rayshe and the newly crowned vice president walked together. His cabinet waited for him in a juror’s deliberation room, repurposed for their wartime needs. All eyes turned when Rayshe entered.
“Mrs. Wilson is your new vice president now. Address her as such please.”
The cabinet shared confused glances.
“Right. Which one of you told Vice President Wilson to retrieve me for this meeting?” Rayshe held up an eyebrow as he finished his sentence. As he predicted, no one answered.
“Not that hard. Who told her?” he tried again. “Not a trick question I promise. Somebody asked her to come and get me. Who was it?”
“It was Mr. Quincy,” Leslie chimed in.
“Thank you.” Rayshe began around the table to the politician’s seat. Without another word, his right arm shifted into blade form. He gripped locks of his hair, pulling his head back and slicing his throat deep and clean. Horrified gasps arose in harmony as blood sprayed across the table. Rayshe held his head up, ensuring his work was on display. The dying man gasped, gargling on the blood flooding into his esophagus.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Rayshe tunneled the voices plaguing his psyche into Mr. Quincy’s fading mind. In return, he got a look into the politician’s own. He saw the life he once had. His memories, ambitions, the divorce, the tumultuous college experience. Every detail just as insignificant as the last. Rayshe still took great pleasure in it, sighing in relief for a few moments without the voices. Mr. Quincy should be lucky Rayshe is granting him death. No one wants to end up like Zimmer.
“Now,” Rayshe finally spoke. “Let this be an example. Vice President Wilson shall garner the same level of respect as me. Nothing less, nothing more.”
Rayshe let go of Mr. Quincy’s head. He folded, face smacking into the blood-soaked table before him, his lifeless body slumping into the chair.
“Sit, Leslie,” Rayshe offered, gesturing to a seat. “You can give the briefing.”
Leslie nervously took a seat at the end of the table. Her body shook, tears welling in her eyes over her colleague. Rayshe remained standing over Mr. Quincy’s corpse.
“The targets fled west after the disaster at the NLV,” she began, her voice rasp and faltering. “They took shelter inside St. Grad on the coast, which is where our pursuit ended. There is a sizeable rebel force occupying the fortress, and we don’t have the resources to make an attack with us currently.”
“This is priority zero,” Rayshe added. “I want all military converging here now. Continue.”
“Just now, two insubordinate military regiments have arrived at St. Grad and increased their numbers.” Leslie’s speech became more correct as she pushed past her fear. “We have since installed a perimeter around the base. No one else is getting in. They’re stuck with what they have.”
“What do they have?”
“Besides the automated defenses on base, several thousand soldiers, a dozen heavy armor, no air support, and three specials. One was observed leaving, heading east shortly after they arrived.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Vice President, I’ll take it from here.” Rayshe took control of the meeting, moving to the front of the room to address his cabinet. “Perfection is required. I will accept nothing less. They killed my daughter. They stole what was mine. Their treason extends beyond any precedent this country has ever seen. I want, need, to see them brought to justice. I need to feel their life escaping them with my bare hands. They spark my rage, torment my soul. I cannot fail. Which is why I can’t be consumed by it. We will not act out of haste. It’s as you said, we don’t have the resources with us to launch an assault. In order to be perfect, we must strategize properly.”
“Excuse me, Mr. President?”
“Not now.” Rayshe quickly shot down a cabinet members question. “Another factor is The Pieces. They hold two of them, and they are the priority. Call it 1A. Killing them is 1B. Too brash an assault, and we risk damaging or destroying it. That means no large-scale artillery or air strikes, only precise weaponry. On top of that are the refugees. They must remain alive. They are ensuring they do not destroy The Pieces before we can get them. They are smart enough to realize the only reason we do not obliterate them is because of the relic. If it’s destroyed, it puts the civilians at risk. Same goes for us. No civilians, the incentive to keep the Pieces intact is gone.”
“How should we proceed, Mr. President?”
“Fortify the perimeter around St. Grad. I want eyes on them at all times. I want to know everything they do. Every time they eat, every time they piss, every time they fuck. Send words out across the country. Rally our army. That includes the military and the civilian population that have taken up arms for us. Have all of them come here to Los Angeles immediately. Again, I want that perimeter tight. You understand me? I will not let them slip away with The Pieces unseen. The seaside port is a concern…”
“Sir, our naval vessels in the Pacific have aligned with the rebellion.”
“Damn it all to hell,” Rayshe cursed. “Alright. We’ll need some of that heavy artillery then. If we see the ships on approach, I want them blown out of the water immediately.”
“Is that all, Mr. President?”
“Give time for our forces to build up. I want as many as we can possibly get but we cannot waste time. I have not forgotten the bigger picture. Boreas arrives on September second. This needs to be taken care of before then. We will launch the assault in seventy-two hours. Send a message into St. Grad. Inform them of the time they have left. Propose an agreement: if they hand over The Pieces, and Leo, Laurel, and Tommy turn themselves in, we will spare the refugees. Someone write that up. Add more words into it. Fluff it up, make it look better, whatever. Their heart for the innocent will be their downfall.”
“Mr. President, what about the special that fled east?”
“Leave Carter to me,” Rayshe stated. “I’ll handle him myself.” Out of the corner of his eye, Rayshe spotted his recently absentee lover. Ahnko stood out in an adjacent hallway, peeking in through a cracked open door.
“Get to work,” he said, his attention distracted. He quickly walked across the room, meeting the droid face to face.
“Where have you been?” Rayshe demanded.
“I was away, taking some me time,” she said. Her voice was soft and innocent. She gently stroked his shoulder, trying to comfort him. “I came as soon as I heard about Maggie. I am so, so sorry Rayshe.”
He had managed to suppress that thought for a time. It rushed back to him. His jaw clenched together. His eyes wandered out of focus.
“Oh, my sweet, sweet man,” Ahnko cooed, embracing him tight. “You don’t deserve this.”
Rayshe felt empty. Her company was usually pleasant. Now he felt nothing. Much of that came from recent events hanging over him, casting a shadow across his mind. But also in part by her strange disappearance. Taking some “me time” wasn’t out of the ordinary for Ahnko. But unannounced and so suddenly. Especially at the time it happened. She wasn’t telling him something. What that was, Rayshe was unsure. All he knew was that he needed revenge. He needed those Pieces back. Ahnko was more than capable of helping that come to fruition.
“Ahnko,” he called her attention. She looked up to him, planting her chin into his chest.
“Yes, my king?”
“Will you help me get my revenge?”
She paused for a moment, her head tilting to the side. It almost looked like she was trying to smile. A cruel, maniacal smile.
“I will tear them limb from limb for you.”
“Good,” he said.
“Is there anything else… I can do for you?” She spoke coyly. Of course she suggests that.
“I would like some time alone, actually.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Rayshe confirmed. “Just leave me be for a little. I need to think.”
“Okay,” she agreed, rubbing his back before walking away. Rayshe approached a nearby window, resuming his appreciation of the burning city.
There was nothing he wanted more. There was nothing he has ever wanted more. Taking a life isn’t always enjoyable for him. Sometimes it was a chore. But when he takes the life from those people, it will be the greatest feeling anyone has ever experienced. Just the thought of it made him shutter with pleasure. He imagined it thoroughly, planning what he would do, plotting a specific execution for each one. It irked him that Tommy would not suffer like the others. His components won’t bleed like flesh, so he’ll just have to get creative.
There was nothing he wanted more. He looked down at his arm, drenched in the blood of the unfortunate Mr. Quincy. Forming his blade once more, it dripped similarly. Rayshe imagined it as the blood of those traitors. He would bathe his blades in it. He wondered if Tommy would leak oil. He will bathe in that too.
There was nothing he wanted more. The three day wait seemed like an eternity to him, but necessary. This must be done right.
His time wouldn’t all be spent waiting, however. He did have a runaway to tend to.
Boone was in Chicago. His wife finally kicked the bucket. That much was apparent. It was time for Rayshe to pay him a visit.