Dear Jack

Dear little Jack

By the time you’re reading this it will be your 16^th birthday; you should have questions about why I haven’t been around in your childhood by now, and you can probably figure out why by the time you finish this letter. First I would like to apologize for missing 7 of your birthdays; I would have been there if I had a choice but you will understand why I couldn’t. Secondly I would like to give you the only gift I can give you: an explanation of events; in the form of a story.

Many people do things they enjoy with their friends, some play video games, others shop, some even just watch tv together; but not my friends; no, we robbed banks together. We robbed jewelry stores and moved drugs around, it was fine and I was able to provide for us for a little, but it was all over in one bad heist, the one time when nothing can go wrong, something awful happens. It was a cool January morning when Berlin, Tokyo and I were preparing for a heist, this day we were not being watchdogs for a truck of coke, but we were taking out a bank; we had 30 minutes to get in, bust the vault, and get out of there before the cops could respond. We cased the bank a week before, noted all the cameras and drew maps of the place; D.C. got a job working as a maintenance worker and got his hands on a key card, he was able to get into the camera room and disable the electronic locks, he also destroyed the bandit buster window shield controls so that the tellers cannot hide from us. When our van pulls up to the back parking lot on the day of the heist, I go to the door and pick the lock, Tokyo moves ahead when I open the door and subdues the guard in front of the camera room; after I pick that lock Tokyo opens and takes control of the cameras; he tells us how many guards are on duty and where they are. Berlin enters an alternate way from the side door and drops the guard patrolling it. I wish I could tell you what happened in the lobby but I was busy hauling the thermal drill with D.C. When we have it set up we move to the lobby and see all the civilians on the ground and we move to cable tie them, just so they don’t escape. At this point we started the drill and moved all the hostages out of sight from outside, we keep the tellers behind the counter, it’s easily accessible and we can keep our bags in there until we are ready to leave. Our robbery was going smoothly…until a hostage was trying to be a hero… While Berlin was patrolling the hostages one found his way up and tried to attack him; without thinking Berlin shot him in the chest; everything seemed to slow down as we watched the hostage’s limp body fall to the ground; during that time and the minutes after, while we were just staring at what had happened, we did not realize that one of the other hostages pulled the alarm and called the police. We rush to the vault when we realize the thermal drill had cut through the vault door; but we were faced with a new problem, another door; Tokyo meets us by the door and places shaped charges on the door, effectively blasting it open; Berlin and D.C. run in and start packing money into duffle bags, Tokyo goes to the cameras and I cover the hostages.

Thirty seconds pass then the first responders arrive at the bank, Berlin tosses out bag of cash and I quickly move to it, and place it on my back; I can hear Tokyo announcing how much time is left until the swat team is called in. Moving back to the hostages I can see the flashing lights of the cruisers and the cops slowly surrounding the bank. D.C. throws another bag out and Tokyo calls saying that we have to go now, as we prepare to leave the bank a police officer speaks through his megaphone, what he says will always ring in my head;

“You are surrounded, you have thirty seconds to come out and surrender or we will use force; we have snipers on all the exits, and swat is inbound; just give up and makes this easier for all of us.”

After the officer lowers his megaphone I remember seeing a rifle barrel out of the corner of my eye, then the flash as D.C. fires upon the cops; instantly gunfire is thrown into the building and we are pinned down. I remember how it felt to be in the crossfire, without a gun I was just a target; and with snipers covering the windows we couldn’t move too much; we learned this after Tokyo was shot in the arm. The Swat teams kept running in and rescuing the hostages, soon we had no leverage and the megaphone came on once more:

“You have no hostages left; surrender now and no one else has to die today; all you have to do is come out unarmed with your hands on your head and your mask in your hands.”

D.C. fires again and this time drops the officer with the megaphone, the police had no reason to show restraint now, and they knew that. From his feet to his neck he was covered in a thick olive blast suit; his face was covered in a thick, bulletproof helmet, and his face mask, already threatening as is, had a white skull sprayed on. His thick gloves hugged a machine rifle as he just soaked up the bullets D.C. and Berlin fired, he was able to swiftly kill both and turned to me, seeing that I had no weapon he ignored me for the time being, he looked for Tokyo. Hearing explosions coming from the camera room I try to shrink back into the wall. The Bulldozer comes back, and slowly walks toward me; I can still feel the end of his gun as he hits me across the face with it; that’s where I black out.

Now I am writing this letter as per my last request, son, by the time you’re reading this I will be long dead, but if there is something you take from this is to be careful who you have as friends.

Love,

Your Father, John

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Ere the break of day, the torch burned in hand.

The fire, deep red, tainted with their head.

The ash carried the story of him, and

reminded her of what was left unsaid.

 

Their home, like torches, burned throughout the night.

Determined by her unspoken desire,

He went out to destroy her only blight,

His ire, was hotter than the fire.

 

Only her whim gave him cause to be,

Bringing him out of his deep depression.

All these acts committed, she cannot see,

He felt truly close to his obsession.

 

From his depressing past, he was stressed,

Until all his feelings were meshed.

Runner

            Looking out I can see the helicopters’ blades slowly pick up speed as their pilots wake up and warm their vehicles. Soon enough the night’s patrols come in and land their crafts; I look across the rooftops and grip my satchel, leaving the overlook I set off to complete my job. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, I make my way through the city; it isn’t till I pass the third checkpoint that I hear the helicopter’s hum and feel the pressing of the wind on my body. I quickly scan the area, and see the fourth checkpoint’s green window frame; dodging bullets and grenades, I dive into the open window, without stopping to catch my breath, I change directions and jump out of the westernmost window. As I exit the window frame the helicopter passes and, realizing that I don’t have enough speed to make it across the road, I grab onto the landing skids and swing myself through another, green lined window. The helicopter passes and searches the empty building, as I hide in the opposite one; after an hour the helicopter gives up and returns to its patrol, when I am clear of it, I climb the fire escape and continue to my destination. When I arrive to the apartment building, I look for my sign: a window opened with a red poinsettia, turned three degrees south of the rising sun. When I see the flower I carefully climb into the building and see my contact waiting by his television.

“Perfect timing, the news is about to start,” the figure says, slowly standing, “what did you bring me?”

“On behalf of the Mojave Express, I, Ocelot, present you with this letter,” I say as I pull a small piece of paper from my satchel, “I was told I would receive payment from you.”

“And you will, once I get the letter,” the figure says, stepping closer.

“Payment now or now letter,” I say, reaching behind myself to grip the pipe tied to my belt.

“If you must, then I can still arrest you. If not for treason, then for trespassing.” The figure says, drawing a military grade stun-gun, “I will get all of your little courier buddies arrested to, then executed.”

            Hearing this I jump at the gun, smashing his hand with my pipe, shocked by what happened, my contact leaves himself open and I take advantage of this, by slamming my pipe into his jaw and grabbing his arm behind his back I effectively grapple him.

            “Whom do you work for? The Crimson Snakes? The Steel Soldiers?” I ask, pressuring my pipe to his neck, “Tell me.”

            “No…The military.” He says, struggling to escape my grapple, now I can clearly hear the helicopter rotors below the window line, annoyed I bring my hostage to the window and force him over, careful to not let him fall out.

“Tell me why you were ordered to arrest me, and how did you get a hold of my information.”

“President Kimball ordered the arrest of all persons whom are suspected of suspicious activity.” He says, trying to escape and get away from the window and helicopter blades.

            “And how did you know how to set up my contract?” I ask, pressuring him further out of the window.

            “You know your little girlfriend Cathrine?” he says, smiling wickedly, “We got it from her.”

            “What did you do to fox?” I ask, forcefully pulling him back in, just so I can hit him again with my pipe.

“So much; first we beat her, then electrocuted her, broke her limbs, starved her, drew her, and now she is set to be gutted.” Full of rage, I send his head into the wall, and my metal into his shoulder,

“Go ahead and finish me, we can add murder onto your sentence.” He says, though blood, and teeth.

            “unlike you, I am no murderer.” I say, releasing him with a kick.

            “Last mistake” I hear as I feel a sharp pain in my side, I look down and see three metal prongs in my flesh and as the current flows I black out.

            My head is cloudy as a bucket of ice water is thrown on my face,

            “I am only going to ask you this once politely, who are you?” A familiar voice asks, familiar, but unknown who it belongs to.

            “If you want me to talk, then you better do your worst, then maybe I will talk.” I respond and a heavy fist meets my jaw thrice, before the voice asks again, but this time much angrier.

“Who are you?” I spit a bloody tooth at him as my answer, “not talking then?” He asks, getting a cattle prod, “don’t worry, I can fix that.”

            As I am tortured, I cannot help but let out a psychotic laugh as the voice and his minions try to pry my name using violence.

“You done yet?” I ask, spitting another bloody tooth out, “I can go like this for days, this is actually quite fun; we haven’t used the salt in a while, mind pouring that on my wounds.”

“You’re psychotic.” The voice says, stepping back, “utterly psychotic.”

“Psychotic?” I respond, looking into the man’s face, whom I recognize as ‘President’ Aron Kimball, “or determined to make sure you don’t get even the time of day from me?”

“We will get what we need from you, somehow.”

“You could always be polite, we haven’t tried that yet? Just punching.” I recommend. Aron sits down across from me and, as if humiliated, asks for my name, “Much better, my name is Ocelot.”

“Ocelot?” Aron asks getting closer, “tell me your real name.”

“I don’t have one.” I respond.

“You have a name now tell me.” Aron angrily demands.

“I have no name, no past, and no future, at least of my own design.”

“What are you talking about?  Everyman has their own future. And a name.”

“A future of what? Domestic Slavery? Oppression? Fear?” I say, raising my voice, and noticing that the leather straps that hold me down are wearing out from the stress form the torture, “You control everything, from when we are born to when we die, no citizen can even think their own thoughts without being arrested and executed, we are all slaves for you.”

“If you have no future why do you run then? What will it accomplish?”

“Tell me Aron, why do you eat, sleep and breathe?”

“To survive.” Aron responds.

“That is why I run, to stop means death for not myself but for the idea of a free city; I run not because I have to, not from anyone, but for freedom and to end your reign of oppression.” I say, staring him in the eyes.

“You know as much as anyone that freedom brings uprisings, chaos, and death; by controlling them I am saving them.”

“Freedom is life, imprisonment is death!” I yell at Aron, as he hits me, I start laughing, “You know, what I said about not having a future, well I did not tell you the truth entirely; What I said was if I stood around and waited.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Aron asks, getting closer.

“Only the weak wait for their future, the strong make their own.” Breaking free form the binding leather, I punch Aron in the face and thrust my knee into his gut. As he slowly gets up I pickpocket the cell keys and throw him into the wall opposite the door. I then run to the door and kick it open, locking Aron Kimball in behind me as I start to leave the cell block.

“This prison seems to be broken up into 8 blocks, A-H.” I say to myself, “I guess I should look for Fox, hmmm…the warden should have the master list.” I see a ventilation shaft a few inches off the ground, I carefully climb into it and head off towards the Warden’s tower.

Eventually I reach the center of the prison with the Warden’s tower, it is lightly guarded with only three guards, but each has a rifle and a bandolier of brassed ammo; I look around for a weapon or a way around them but all I see is a rusted pipe clinging onto the wall, I try to rip it off but make too much noise and lead starts to fly through the vent, knocking off the cover and forcing me to press myself down. The Bullets suddenly stop flying, I wait a moment before snaking up to the edge and looking down; the guards are being held up by some masked men.

“Ocelot you can come down now, the guards are subdued.” A loud voice calls out to me and I see Fox in the tower waving to me. Smiling I jump down and run over to the tower, “You must really like me to come all the way out here to rescue me.” Fox says, hugging me.

“You know I don’t care for other’s company.” I respond, pushing her away, “people get in the way of missions.”

“So you didn’t send these men?” Fox asks, confused, “then who did?”

            Suddenly the iron doors burst open and an army of the masked men rush in, securing the area, followed by a tall, stern looking man.

“Solidus!?” we both say in unison, surprised by the legendary courier’s appearance.

“Hello children, you have a nice time in Château le Locker?” he asks, sarcastically as he reaches the tower.

            “How did you find us?” I ask, shaking the hand of the fastest courier to have lived a man’s life.

            “I followed the helo as it passed my route, I saw you unconscious and decided to help, so I gathered the rest, and here we are.” He says, smiling to be out of his mundane schedule, turning to face the corridors he says, “This place contains all our runners, it was designed to interrogate and murder us.”

            “When you said you gathered the rest…what do you mean?” Fox asks, looking towards the masked men, “who are those men?”

            “There is one thing only I can do, what you see here is every courier in the time zone, both ours and where you are right now.” Solidus responds, lifting his overcoat to show the Mojave Express insignia, “The steel soldiers, Crimson snakes, even the Scarlett Herons all joined to reclaim their couriers…but there is one problem.”

            “What is this problem? You have men, more than there are guards” Fox responds, motioning over to the guards.

            “That switch will cut the power to every cell, they will open, but the alarm will sound, alerting every guard; we don’t have much of a chance against every guard in the prison, plus we are underground, so an escape is…complicated, but not impossible, however if we don’t pull the lever we can escape and comeback with more men, maybe more guns even.”

            “so we decide if we fight or run?” Fox asks, spitting on the floor, “Ocelot?”

            I stand there, pondering my options, “So I decide life or death?”

            “More like death in a prison cell or in battle, you don’t know these men, and you won’t, but you have to decide to leave or to fight” Solidus replies, looking into my eyes, “you have to choose, you can’t run away from this. I close my eyes and reach out to grasp the lever, inhaling deeply I open my eyes slowly,

            “Freedom is life Imprisonment is death.”

Alone- by Eric Vasold

Alone

            In the concrete and in the air, corruption lies heavy, poisoning the lives of us common citizens, but lines the pocket of the priests and the chantry. I frequent the chantry enough to know this: priests eat like kings and live like gods; off of the donations of the poor and sick, forced onto them by the very priests that ‘save’ them. This life style and worship made my country’s most notable landmark, the Lasting Wood, to become old and twisted, even the church forbade entry into the very wood that was said to bring one closer to the old gods. If one was to enter the wood and go against the church, then god was said to punish them and forsake them in the wood; but I, Jörg, son of Bjön, was taught not to listen to what priests say, but only to what I hear from the gods themselves, so I trekked into the forest, deep from the chantry’s lies and greedy prophets.

            The tree’s twisting and choked branches try to hide, from the outside eyes, the secret treasure within, the truth about the chantry and church. In the dirt and in the wood, uninviting spirits fly forth, trying to impede my advance into the wooded heart; within the heart lies a small clearing, with an awkwardly shaped stone in the center, a place of forsaken beauty that even the gods themselves could forget about. I sit upon the stone and slowly make a small camp, careful not to disrupt anything more than I require to, I would pick fruit from the soil for food and collect rainwater in the stone’s indentations. As the hours passed into days and those turned into weeks, I could feel and see the forest change; and after the first year the forest looked completely different: the creeping branches no longer choked each other, but instead cascaded around, almost like they were playing; and the warding spirits that were unwelcoming were simply crickets, crickets playing an inviting song to their guest; and even the rock I sit upon looks more like an eye than a rock itself, as if the gods are always watching me.

            In the dark soil and in the lush trees I could see why it was forbidden to stay in the wood: the tranquility and peace took one closer to the gods and their messages, and in doing that led many to leave the church to worship on their own, which in turn led to less donations to line the pockets of the priests and chantry. It took two years to learn the truth, two years alone, two years to notice all the greed and corruption that was shown to me every day, I never questioned it because the church kept telling me they were the gods’ messengers, and would cast out anyone who disagreed. I knew I had to change this cycle and break the chain of command, putting the gods back over the churches, so I started a church of my own, without walls or power or even simple utilities I would need no donations; using the light provided by the gods themselves I would teach others how to see this truth, and eventually overcome the chantry and their lies; because all those too poor to continue living under the priests’ lies and those whom think the gods have abandoned them can seek out the church of the Lasting Wood of The Gods, and no longer live alone in the darkness.