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Half Measures



 
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Gideon Abernathy

Winter.

Gideon had always wondered what season would claim him. This seemed the most fitting, as the ground squelched submissively beneath his feet. It was wetter in the Redwood forest, the air cool enough to nip at any bare skin. The branches twisted ominously high above him, weaving a tale of morbid interconnectedness, a constant tangle of lives broken and reformed. They were heavy with the rains of California midwinter, and he felt comforted by the gloom.

Even so, he spent little time outside, venturing out in the evenings to avoid the questions and proddings. The Grove grew restless, he could feel it, but it was no longer in him to care. Every now and then, he would address them, speaking of a need for reflection; it was the most honest he'd ever been with them. Somehow, they drew peace from the words, falling into line readily. It had always been that simple to convince them, and he mused, momentarily, if he was really so awful for taking them with him. But it was a passing thought, gone just as quickly as it had come.

The house was meticulous. He'd always been that way, careful and clean. Perhaps it was borne out of a need to never leave a trace behind. That, in and of itself, was his only real regret; leaving traces of himself behind. In Eiji; in Quinn; in his son. Yet, they were his greatest feats, pieces of a life well-lived.

One might expect him to be sorrowful; he wasn't.

A month had passed since she had left with their son. During that time, he was enveloped in a calm he'd never experienced. The deafening quiet of the house pulsed around him, breathing the memories of his life into his ears, and he reveled in each one, no matter how painful. Every kill, every moment of humanity, they were all remarkable. Going through them the first time, he felt very little; now, staring his death in the face, he was given new eyes.

On the kitchen table, he'd set two glasses and a bottle of Suntory whisky. There, the proverbial olive branch would sit until the arrival of his only friend, acting as a place to set duty and conscience aside, if only for a time.

Gideon welcomed Eiji and what his final visit would entail.
January 31, 2019 08:25 pm

Saito Eiji

"Sir, we're approaching the perimeter."

Eiji looked up from his feet for the first time in hours, finding the eyes of his driver trained upon him expectantly. The vehicle lurched to a stop within an outcropping of broad Redwoods, hidden from the direct sight of anyone that traversed the trail... It had taken some time to find this place, even with the waypoint that had been left for him in the ruins of the Flock. The loamy, fertile soil ate its way up to his shoelaces as he emerged from the transport. The air here was clean, unpolluted by industry... Yet, when he cast his eyes towards the tangle of foliage beside them, he couldn't sense a single kami. A place like this would normally stare back, but the beings that populated this forest must have retreated deeper into the Redwoods, reluctant to be so near to what lied ahead of them.

The others soon joined him, firearms primed and in hand. It would only be a short hike for them from here, before they reached Shepherd's Grove. Eiji didn't need to review their plan of approach, these five that had elected to come to this purge with him had done this before... They were a dozen strong with their last endeavor, but half couldn't cope with Eiji's 'scorched earth' approach. They didn't understand that even the children would grow into something malicious over time, should the perverted seed planted into them by the cult be allowed to bloom.

The community appeared on the horizon just as the Sun began to sink below the treeline, bathing the clearing in a pale tangerine light that normally let the denizens of the Grove know it was time to return home... Still, some lingered. They'd be finishing up their tasks in the fields, splitting their wood, hauling their fodder. Gideon must have had a lot of faith in the placement of this place; there didn't seem to be any guards posted anywhere. He brushed his fingertips across the scar that followed the contour of his cheekbone, and grimaced.

He made this grim business too easy for him.

Eiji waved a hand forward, giving his men leave to advance. It wouldn't be long after that the flicker of muzzleflash and the scent of spent shell casings filled the air. A pair of the agents moved house to house, kicking in doors and tearing the folk from their homes, to be executed by the men that waited outside. The frosted gardens were sure to be fertilized for the coming Spring, as they were soon flush with the remnants of their caretakers.

He split from the group, ambivalent to the pleas and screams surrounding him as he honed in on his destination. It was separated from the rest of the homes by a short jaunt, but otherwise looked no more grand. The lights were on, and the door was unlocked. Eiji couldn't help but pause for a moment as he gripped the doorknob, building his resolve. This was it.

The Suntory on the table like a jab in the gut. He'd gifted Gideon a bottle of his nation's pride as a housewarming gift years back, before he'd grown in ambition. In a way, that bottle would be the last knife Gideon would ever plunge into someone. He sank into the chair next to him, and reached to pour them both a glass of the aromatic spirit.

"Sorry I didn't knock."
February 02, 2019 08:01 pm

Gideon Abernathy

They arrived in a blaze of gunfire.

Gideon lifted his head only slightly, unperturbed. His blackened gaze drifted shut as he reveled in the violence. The screams, silenced as quickly as they were rendered, were music to a soul that craved carnage. Some of these people he'd known since birth; how suitable, then, that they'd travel into death with him.

Something kept him glued to the chair at the kitchen table, and his eyes roved over the bottle at hand before sliding closed once more. As much as he wanted to see the spectacle firsthand, there was a danger in moving from his position. They killed men, women, and children, but he was a marked man, and he would die by only one's hand. Idle, shifting fingers reached up to trace the scar that had been carved into his cheek. It was an odd comfort he took from it, and he nodded to nothing in particular.

It felt like an eternity before Eiji joined him, but even then, Gideon remained a statue. The amber liquid poured from the bottle and into each glass created a quiet melody that was loud enough to drown out all else, at least to his ears.

Sorry I didn't knock.

A laugh, low and level, brought stone to life, and Gideon shifted to set his sights on him. "You were always welcome." He took the drink up to his lips before a thought had him tipping it slightly in a silent toast. It was a show of thanks, for indulging him. The liquid touched his tongue, and the fire sparked a slew of memories that accompanied the taste.

Most involving Eiji.

The glass clinked as it returned to the table, the hand guiding it deceptively steady. "I didn't mean to take you from your men, I just wanted a final drink with the only person who ever understood me." He didn't deserve this act of kindness, especially not in the wake of such a massacre, but he also didn't believe he was wrong in thinking they both might need it.

"If you don't mind me asking..." Another indulgence, and Gideon cast him an apologetic smirk. "What changed?" It hadn't been that long ago since that night in the shed, Eiji, his father's captor, and Gideon, taking each day with the Flock one at a time. He had dropped his knife, offering himself up to put Eiji's conscience at ease; Ota had kept a meticulous dossier on him, he'd had everything he needed to wipe Gideon off the earth, guilt-free.

"Why now?" There was no hint of accusation or irritation; he simply... cared.
February 02, 2019 09:02 pm
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