[FUTURE / GORE] prologue: upon a shiv's end

[fernando silph]

"do you know why i called you here today, christopher?" a stern tone resides behind the haughty scolding that parts from heavy, freshly licked lips. he smacks the chapped lines with each word, making them seem louder, crisp with a sense of importance - dominant to a tee. there's no need for the boss to face the addressee of his criticism. instead, he continues to lust after his own reflection, swooning over his own narcissism. the pudgy, middle age man before him is a glimmer prospect of success. the second chin that drapes underneath his jaw is a thin layer of success, a proud sign of wealth and fatness, an acute symbol of the privilege to indulge. it goes nicely with the lacy collar that menacing encroaches onto the growingly tight passage. "today's performance was sloppy. you expect people to buy that message?" thick, grubby fingers comb through what's left of his sparse, combed hair. it thins as he ages but the boss has no intention to hide what many consider an ugly trait. a man of his caliber wears the affliction as a badge of pride. it indicates his age - an accomplishment considering his current position. unlike most, he's the personification of his appearance - a rugged opportunist with an eye for talent. "i've already talked to your managers. we're bumping up practice to five hours of choreo." against his own wishes, his eyes turn away to glower at the object that dares to divert his attention. "if you can't maintain the image we want you to represent then we'll find someone who can." straightening out his coat suit is the most threatening gesture he can make. curtis knows well not to disappoint the boss. "the glam-eow's would be happy to be main eventers." curtis fox

[curtis fox]

asdasd

[fernando silph]

curtis should know better than to try and race through the blaring alarm of the impending railroad crossing. it's an unnecessarily hazardous endeavor with a minimal reward. his boss is less than pleased, face scrunching up at the idol's uncharacteristic uproar. insubordination is met with immediate termination. "they're not exclusively you're fans. they like you but they don't need you. they just need someone, anyone, to take their minds off the war. they want someone who supports the boure narrative." curtis may have once been a revered passenger aboard the luxurious hype train but that recollection seems to have hit a miss. now he sits on the tracks bound to a stalled vehicle. having witnessed the rise and fall of his former colleagues he should know that this advancing mass of metal has no brakes. you either move voluntarily or let the laws of physics dictate your fate. "it would be a shame if some of your more impressionable fans found out that you're secretly supporting the league," he lulled. "i don't think we could save you from such a scandal, much less them." whoever gave the idols the impression that they were worth more than a speck of dust would have to be signed as a writer. this presumptuous entitlement that seem to embody every employee was the disgusting firmness that blots an allegedly rare done strip of bouffalant. and, like a cancer, it must be cut. the only question is how long can curtis last underneath the boss' knife? curtis fox

[curtis fox]

sdasdasdasd

[fernando silph]

man cannot hope to compare to the quadrupedal pokemon whose liveliness rest solely on its speed. to combat the skewered favor of nature man made machine. through science, man is able to engineer intellect into physical reality. from the wheel comes the tire, then the cycle, the car, and even the train. the train, a hulking mass of human ingenuity, is the full on aggressor who lust after the prospect to trample curtis - as per the boss' command. there is no victory to be had here. "think? no. i know--" the boss never gets to finish his retort. an ear-splitting bang from the hallway demands their attention. the thud right after wards off their curiosity. perhaps, one could reason that the sound might come from a multitude of things but the answer is obvious. the answer was the only thing capable of diverting the imminent trash crash. what could possibly stop this heap of unruly metal? THE LOCKHEED MARTIN F-22 RAPTOR, A SINGLE SEAT, TWIN-ENGINE, ALL WEATHER STEALTH TACTICAL MONSTER. A BEAUTIFUL BLEND OF STEEL AND FIRE CAPABLE OF LAUNCHING AT A MAXIMUM OF MACH II. UNMATCHED IN AIR, NO OTHER PIECE OF HUMAN MACHINERY CAN MATCH ITS SUPERIORITY IN GROUND ATTACKS, ELECTRONIC WARFARE, AND SIGNAL INTELLIGENCE. CAPABLE OF LAUNCHING MISSILES FROM A RANGE OF 30 KILOMETERS, NO TRAIN HAS A CHANCE TO EVEN ROLL OUT BEFORE BEING BARRAGED BY A FIRE-SHOW OF DEATH AND CARNAGE. NO BRAKES CAN BE STOPPED ON THIS METAPHORICAL TRAIN OF MIGHTY DECIMATION. BOOYAKA, BOOYAKA, DEATH IS NEIGH. and, to a tee, the comparison comes to fruition. the door swings open. fernando already has his target in sight. there's no room to think. bang. bang. there's no trigger discipline. two shots. both find their way lodged into the man's abdomen - right into his center of mass. there's no exaggeration behind the boss' death. the impact of the first bullet sends him back reeling. his body goes limp before he feels the second one. the adrenaline starts to kind in. everything happens at double speed. one of the bullets had punctured an organ. blood enters his airway. he grasp in shock, hastily choking in air as his body spurts out his intrusive blood. it hurts to breathe. the whole scenario is unfamiliar to the boss. he knows nothing but his innate instincts. protect the head. his hands go up to cup his face, feeling the warmth of blood spilt from his lips. it's the only pleasant warmth that comes from his immeasurable pain. fernando is a man of compassion. a single shot straight through the skull ends his suffering. blood splatters over the ground but not in a wild frenzy as depicted in fiction. no, this was real. now fernando's attention turns to curtis - the unexpected anomaly. he was supposed to be alone. a month of obsessive tracking had the boss' schedule down to a science. this boy wasn't supposed to be here. but that's fine. a dead body is a tragedy; dead bodies are a statistic. the raptor never descends. both engine brim full of life. the exhaust makes breathing impossible. curtis finds himself at the other end of a smoking barrel. "die painlessly or live in pain. pick." curtis fox

[curtis fox]

asdasdasdasda

[fernando silph]

the illusion of choice, hobson's choice, is hilarity at its finest. such a simple inquiry provides the most obvious of answers; no one picks death. but the miracle of soliciting an elicit choice belies the natural paradox wherein lies the humor. settle the end of your pistol firmly against another's temple. wait until you see the perspiration drip along their clammy skin. then, announce that you're going to pull the trigger, unless of course, they'd rather you not. in hysteria they'll plead that you not. and, as per your words, you won't. 'see, i gave you a choice,' you jest. good joke. everybody laughs. roll snare drum. curtains. never does the victim question your ability to perform your perceived action. never does he question. all he does is fear for his life. it's biology. never, while pertinent to one's own survival will they dare to press into whether or not the gun is loaded, or even real. ha ha. get it? "name?" curtis' exuberant answer staves off fernando's trigger finger. he never lowers his weapon, keeping it honed on his new acquisition, while working his way around the boss' idle body. a simple reach around places him squarely behind the ceo's computer, giving him access to, in simple terms, everything. curtis fox

[curtis fox]

asdasdasda

[fernando silph]

fernando exults himself as an educated man. in a world where children lack knowingness in exchange for adventure, fernando regards himself as a cut above others. to him it is knowledge, not taming wild creatures for a sense of bonding and accomplishment, that dictates power. so why does such a well-knowing man show such ignorance to the identity of unova's handsome cutie pie? because he is unimportant. fernando does not live by the standards of regularity. the prime time star of everyone favorite concert means nothing to a man who prizes practicality above all. it is the inventor of the personal computer, the pokedex, the theory of gravity, and other such men that fernando value for they are the true idols. they are men to be heralded as the stars for tomorrow, not some inept boy who can twirl to a tacky chime. the noisy clatter of keystrokes seemed reminiscent of said melodies. a brief look over of curtis' page yields nothing of value. fernando is not surprised. instead, he opts to scour into other more pressing matters. "you will not live a free life. your survival is determined solely on your obedience, however unfortunate it may be." fernando treats one of his marked pokeballs like a flashdrive, injecting the small button into the usb slot. "do not expect it to be pleasant." five seconds. that's all the time it takes for his trojan, porygon z, to extract everything he needs before crashing the system internally. it's enough time for fernando to gather himself before departing the scene. adding curtis to his plans doesn't change much. if the boy slows him down then fernando will be more than happy to make an example of his claim. curtis fox

[curtis fox]

curtis pulls out his gun.

"joke's on you bitch. i had a gun all along."



gra ta ta ta ta 

he kills fernando.

it's over.

the deed has been done.

hoenn is saved.