"Vas? Vasily? Where are you man?"
Another car, no sign. He's checked in the seats, under the cars, inside the ferry, back on the topside again, FUCK even the trunks. Nothing. He just... He just vanished...
"Vasily man, are you okay? Please! Say something! Where are you?!" Fisk looked inside the back of the mystery machine, and there was nothing. He closed the door and turned around.
That...
That flag wasn't there thirty seconds ago...
Fisk ran to the railing, squinting his eyes. He read the bright orange message above the Sopranos' looking sailboat in detail. He stepped back, his hands landed on the back of his head. "Oh fuck..."
Fear turned to anger.
"Oh FUCK NO!" He started sprinting down the docks, weaving around crates and corners. He kicked a barrel out of the way onto the final stretch. He hopped from one dock to the other, cutting his time in half, time that was of the essence. Seconds could mean anything between Vasily being saved or not. He had to make it. He couldn't fail him like the others. He couldn't lose the only one who ever truly 'got' him.
He pulled his shiv out as he closed the distance with the boat. "VAS! VASILY! I'M COMING! HELP'S ON THE WAY!" He didn't care if Ivan was there. He'd fight him one on one if he had to. He'd kill that son of a bitch and make it slow too... He sprinted, and shoulder checked his way through the door.
He looked left and right. "Vas! Vas where are you?!"
Then, he saw him. Front and center, in the spotlight of that dim yellow light. Curled up. Broken. Bloody. Oh god, what did that animal do to him?
Fisk found Vasily.
He came just in time.
"Vas?" He already knew the answer to the question that didn't need to be said.
Fisk dropped the shiv. He stepped forward, then stopped. His hands went to the back of his head again. His eyes squinted, as his lips stretched out, curled up. There was a smoker's rasp of a laugh as Fisk's face became unrecognizable to the camera. None of the muscles worked quite right. Lips quivered as if about to sob, then stretched out in a teeth barring grin again, nostrils dilated and collapsing again, forehead wrinkling and flattening. His eyes were the worst. No matter how many times one would replay this scene, you couldn't pin what they were doing. Sure, the eyelids curled up and down, shifting between sorrow and laughter, but behind that, the eyes themselves were incomprehensible. Pupils needle thin, shaking left right left right left right. There was nothing human behind those points. There was nothing natural behind the epileptic mess that was his face in general.
His arms dropped as his head leant back. The wheeze of laughter reaching a barely audible crescendo as the right side of his face began to drip with tears. His body went through that entire process in the span of roughly six seconds upon entering the door.
Instantly, his head dropped. His face was blank. No laughter. No crying, besides the telltale drip down his face. Nothing.
He stepped forward. Forward. Shambled like a zombie. Swaying left and right until he reached Vasily. Got to see up close what Ivan did to him. He fell to his knees. He wrapped his arms around the corpse of Vasily Ivanov, and sobbed silently into his shoulder.
My Pain is Constant and Sharp, and I Do Not Hope For a Better World For Anyone.
oneshot/multishot
My Pain is Constant and Sharp, and I Do Not Hope For a Better World For Anyone.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
The soft golden yellow light that spotlighted the two had dimmed to a dull blood orange. The sun was beginning to set and Fisk hadn't moved an inch from his original spot. Fisk remained, holding Vasily, as if he'd disappear if he'd let him go. As if he hadn't already. The only sounds besides the creak and rock of the boat, were barely audible whispers, Fisk's apologies, pleads, bargains. In time, they too grew silent again.
It wasn't fair.
No matter the situations, they had the advantage. The Respects were the ones who were supposed to win this. They deserved it! They had every right, reason, and plan set out. They weren't supposed to lose, because it wasn't the way things were supposed to be! They were the pioneers, the adventurers, the ones with a purpose in life. They were the ones who could make a change, they were the ones whom put the effort to improve themselves and empower each other, they were the ones who were to own this! They were entitled to it, not by birthright, or by fate, but by drive! They were supposed to thrive in this environment, that's what they were raised for!
It's unfair.
Why? Why must they put the effort in to change things, when they wouldn't be the ones to experience it, yet all these fucking ants and nematodes whom don't appreciate what gifts they were given, whom meander around without a purpose, who take yet another undeserved breath whilst shitting the world up around them rotting alive continue shitting up the world and rotting alive. They were barely sentient! Undeserving of the term human being, yet they get to live, while Fisk has to stand by and watch the rightful victors fall?
What kind of world is this? Where the useless thrive and the trash outlive the pinnacles? The worst part was, it wasn't all dumb luck. Fisk had to take responsibility for what had happened as well. He wasn't thorough enough, didn't make his message clear enough. He assumed that their first meeting with Ivan was finished, because... he was Ivan. He was only a step above JUNJI in the tierlist of the students, only for the reason that he took care of himself, and that he was only slightly less repulsive. He was still scum, nobody to care for besides himself, nobody who cared for him. He'd did the world a favor, and who would help Ivan? He was a warning to the other selfish bastards who lived for themselves, and stolen everyone's oxygen so they may have continued to exist.
No one would have pitied him when he was gone, nor when he was broken and yet. People did. They were intimidated by the warning, and instead of heeding it, chose to fight back. All the rats, or nah, the expression was crabs. Crabs in a bucket, yeah. All the crabs saw one with a chance of success, and decided to work together to bring the rightful victor down to their level.
Ivan couldn't have done it alone. Rhonda was proof enough of that. They were working together, all of them, to whittle The Respects down. All because Fisk had decided to send the most squeamish to finish the job. All because he thought the announcement would be...
Funny.
Ivan Rodriguez laid low by Keegan Garcia? Only thing funnier in hindsight would be if it were James. There was a soft chuckle. He didn't bother to share what was so funny, the plebs behind the camera wouldn't get it. Vas would've though, he was sure. Fisk leaned back, brushed a hand along Vasily's face.
"Hey..."
"Remember when we had that class project, what we'd done in SOTF 'if it ever happened to us'? How we made up our team, gave each other code names based on playing cards. Bacchia was the Ace of Spades, Keegan the Jack of Clubs, me the King of Hearts, you the Joker, and James the Queen of Diamonds? We ran out of names and Giselle was late so we would've had her as the six of clubs. We had this planned a long while didn't we?"
"Project gave us an A too."
He pushed his forehead against Vasily's, smearing the red F Ivan left. "You think the school knew we'd get picked? That they had this prepared? All those SOTF projects, the ranking systems, the clubs... I think they knew. I think you did too. You were- We were ready for it. Ready to win. Ready to go home, ready to take on the world. It was easier back then. Didn't have to worry about if we actually lost any one of us..."
"It was... Unthinkable. Incomprehensible."
Fisk smiled. "Couldn't happen. We were indestructible. Even if we were picked, that chance was still unlikely. A million and more schools in the US. Couldn't have been us. I was excited for the summer break. My parents were gonna take me to Japan. We were gonna see Tokyo, Osaka, Fuji, Kyoto... I was gonna invite you to come too. Did you know the Disney world up there had a Tron ride? Would've been fun."
Fisk held Vasily's hands. Closed his eyes. Didn't want to leave, but he knew he'd have to.
It wasn't fair.
No matter the situations, they had the advantage. The Respects were the ones who were supposed to win this. They deserved it! They had every right, reason, and plan set out. They weren't supposed to lose, because it wasn't the way things were supposed to be! They were the pioneers, the adventurers, the ones with a purpose in life. They were the ones who could make a change, they were the ones whom put the effort to improve themselves and empower each other, they were the ones who were to own this! They were entitled to it, not by birthright, or by fate, but by drive! They were supposed to thrive in this environment, that's what they were raised for!
It's unfair.
Why? Why must they put the effort in to change things, when they wouldn't be the ones to experience it, yet all these fucking ants and nematodes whom don't appreciate what gifts they were given, whom meander around without a purpose, who take yet another undeserved breath whilst shitting the world up around them rotting alive continue shitting up the world and rotting alive. They were barely sentient! Undeserving of the term human being, yet they get to live, while Fisk has to stand by and watch the rightful victors fall?
What kind of world is this? Where the useless thrive and the trash outlive the pinnacles? The worst part was, it wasn't all dumb luck. Fisk had to take responsibility for what had happened as well. He wasn't thorough enough, didn't make his message clear enough. He assumed that their first meeting with Ivan was finished, because... he was Ivan. He was only a step above JUNJI in the tierlist of the students, only for the reason that he took care of himself, and that he was only slightly less repulsive. He was still scum, nobody to care for besides himself, nobody who cared for him. He'd did the world a favor, and who would help Ivan? He was a warning to the other selfish bastards who lived for themselves, and stolen everyone's oxygen so they may have continued to exist.
No one would have pitied him when he was gone, nor when he was broken and yet. People did. They were intimidated by the warning, and instead of heeding it, chose to fight back. All the rats, or nah, the expression was crabs. Crabs in a bucket, yeah. All the crabs saw one with a chance of success, and decided to work together to bring the rightful victor down to their level.
Ivan couldn't have done it alone. Rhonda was proof enough of that. They were working together, all of them, to whittle The Respects down. All because Fisk had decided to send the most squeamish to finish the job. All because he thought the announcement would be...
Funny.
Ivan Rodriguez laid low by Keegan Garcia? Only thing funnier in hindsight would be if it were James. There was a soft chuckle. He didn't bother to share what was so funny, the plebs behind the camera wouldn't get it. Vas would've though, he was sure. Fisk leaned back, brushed a hand along Vasily's face.
"Hey..."
"Remember when we had that class project, what we'd done in SOTF 'if it ever happened to us'? How we made up our team, gave each other code names based on playing cards. Bacchia was the Ace of Spades, Keegan the Jack of Clubs, me the King of Hearts, you the Joker, and James the Queen of Diamonds? We ran out of names and Giselle was late so we would've had her as the six of clubs. We had this planned a long while didn't we?"
"Project gave us an A too."
He pushed his forehead against Vasily's, smearing the red F Ivan left. "You think the school knew we'd get picked? That they had this prepared? All those SOTF projects, the ranking systems, the clubs... I think they knew. I think you did too. You were- We were ready for it. Ready to win. Ready to go home, ready to take on the world. It was easier back then. Didn't have to worry about if we actually lost any one of us..."
"It was... Unthinkable. Incomprehensible."
Fisk smiled. "Couldn't happen. We were indestructible. Even if we were picked, that chance was still unlikely. A million and more schools in the US. Couldn't have been us. I was excited for the summer break. My parents were gonna take me to Japan. We were gonna see Tokyo, Osaka, Fuji, Kyoto... I was gonna invite you to come too. Did you know the Disney world up there had a Tron ride? Would've been fun."
Fisk held Vasily's hands. Closed his eyes. Didn't want to leave, but he knew he'd have to.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
The orange sunset sky that shone through the dusty windows turned a dark red.
Fisk opened his eyes. It was time to say goodbye. "I'm sorry Vas. Didn't know this would've turned out the way it did. It shouldn't be you here right now. Shouldn't be any of us."
Fisk put his hands in his lap. His knees were starting to hurt. "You know, it's funny. We're on SOTF TV. Never really hit me until now. We always dreamed of this, and here we are. All that imagining and day dreaming, and now look at us. We're there, dude. We made it. We're famous, famous forever. The best faces of this fucking game, and gone so, so, soon. But here we are..."
"So many people will criticize, like they could've done any better, but you did fine. We all did. The odds were just stacked against us, and unfortunately, the drive and will isn't enough to get us to the end. Just because we had a reason that we deserved to win isn't enough. No matter what, history will make us the villains. Just bodies in the way of the hero. No matter the purpose of our violence."
Fisk laughed.
"Heh. You know a weaker man would give up by now. Got nothing left to lose. Just lost his purpose, dead right in front of him. Turn a new leaf until the end. I'm too stubborn for that."
Fisk turned his head, caught a glimpse of the camera. Looked back to Vasily.
"I always had a rhyme and reason for everything I've done. I've always been honest with my intentions. I knew I would commit atrocities because my reason for winning was worth it. Now... I don't have a reason, but I won't change. I'm okay with that. People want a monster, they'll get one. Even without a reason, I'll continue to commit atrocities. Why? I guess I just feel like it. I wanted to cross the Rubicon, but I'll settle for playing the lyre."
"Besides. The people love suffering. The people should get what they want."
"And if Ivan wants to be a little bitch and keep hiding and playing fuck-fuck games with us, that's okay too. If he won't man up and face his crimes, someone else will face them for him. Don't matter who. I'll grab some random and do shit that'll make Crawford's killer blush, and then I'll do it again. Crimes have been committed against us, that all these shitty little ants continue to draw breath while you lost yours is a crime against decency and justice. Their crime is prolonged existence, their punishment is prolonged death."
There was another rasp of laughter. Fisk caught himself.
"You don't want to hear me ramble on about all of that trash do you, Vas? Probably not. I'll let you rest." Fisk pulled his mask out of his armband, and placed it over Vasily's face. He cradled him and lain him on his back. Fisk crossed Vas's arms over his chest, and sat there, rocking on his knees. He inhaled. Got off his knees, stood up.
"I'm sorry I wasn't good enough to save you. I'm... Not so sorry that I'm about to get a whole lot worse."
Fisk made his way into the ship's bathroom.
Fisk opened his eyes. It was time to say goodbye. "I'm sorry Vas. Didn't know this would've turned out the way it did. It shouldn't be you here right now. Shouldn't be any of us."
Fisk put his hands in his lap. His knees were starting to hurt. "You know, it's funny. We're on SOTF TV. Never really hit me until now. We always dreamed of this, and here we are. All that imagining and day dreaming, and now look at us. We're there, dude. We made it. We're famous, famous forever. The best faces of this fucking game, and gone so, so, soon. But here we are..."
"So many people will criticize, like they could've done any better, but you did fine. We all did. The odds were just stacked against us, and unfortunately, the drive and will isn't enough to get us to the end. Just because we had a reason that we deserved to win isn't enough. No matter what, history will make us the villains. Just bodies in the way of the hero. No matter the purpose of our violence."
Fisk laughed.
"Heh. You know a weaker man would give up by now. Got nothing left to lose. Just lost his purpose, dead right in front of him. Turn a new leaf until the end. I'm too stubborn for that."
Fisk turned his head, caught a glimpse of the camera. Looked back to Vasily.
"I always had a rhyme and reason for everything I've done. I've always been honest with my intentions. I knew I would commit atrocities because my reason for winning was worth it. Now... I don't have a reason, but I won't change. I'm okay with that. People want a monster, they'll get one. Even without a reason, I'll continue to commit atrocities. Why? I guess I just feel like it. I wanted to cross the Rubicon, but I'll settle for playing the lyre."
"Besides. The people love suffering. The people should get what they want."
"And if Ivan wants to be a little bitch and keep hiding and playing fuck-fuck games with us, that's okay too. If he won't man up and face his crimes, someone else will face them for him. Don't matter who. I'll grab some random and do shit that'll make Crawford's killer blush, and then I'll do it again. Crimes have been committed against us, that all these shitty little ants continue to draw breath while you lost yours is a crime against decency and justice. Their crime is prolonged existence, their punishment is prolonged death."
There was another rasp of laughter. Fisk caught himself.
"You don't want to hear me ramble on about all of that trash do you, Vas? Probably not. I'll let you rest." Fisk pulled his mask out of his armband, and placed it over Vasily's face. He cradled him and lain him on his back. Fisk crossed Vas's arms over his chest, and sat there, rocking on his knees. He inhaled. Got off his knees, stood up.
"I'm sorry I wasn't good enough to save you. I'm... Not so sorry that I'm about to get a whole lot worse."
Fisk made his way into the ship's bathroom.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
Fisk stared in the mirror for a solid minute. The rage that bubbled in his chest wouldn't leave, but he was gonna keep it bottled up. He was gonna explode on a person this time, not some inanimate trash, though with his classmates sometimes the two blurred together admittedly. Okay. He was saving his rage for an inanimate object that bled and screamed and wiggled.
Yeah. That described it better.
Fisk pulled out the makeup kit he used for his masks. Blacks, reds, a dark purple, a pastel blue. They'd killed Ivan once, and he came back stronger. With the death of Vasily, Ivan had 'killed' Fisk, in a way. All he had left was James, and were he to go too...
The rage returned.
"Well Ivan, you wanna play games... We'll play them. We'll play them. "
Fisk Bateman was on SOTF-TV.
This was his dream.
"No more point in words, or posturing. At some point, something's gotta give. You pass a threshold and the time comes for actions, not words, and you truly see who you really are."
Fisk Bateman was on SOTF-TV.
This was his dream.
Fisk stared at himself in the mirror. "Perception is reality. That's simply the truth. What you are perceived as is what you are. There's no changing that, not by telling yourself things." He winced as he faced himself, the truth, and the camera behind him. "And quite frankly, I will be real. I know by now I'm perceived as a joke. Can't be anything else, when one man tears his way through all of your friends. I can't change that by rambling at myself or my friends or the camera."
Fisk Bateman was on SOTF-TV.
This was his dream.
"But I can change it." He smiled at the mirror. "And I've already said how I'm going to do that... Do you hear me, Mr. Rodriguez? People are going to suffer..."
"And it'll be all your fault."
"And you think yourself the hero."
"You think the cameras are rooting for you."
"They're not. They just wanna see what you'll do. What I'll do."
"I'm gonna give the people what they want."
Fisk winked at the camera behind him.
"And when I'm done with them, and then you, nobody will doubt what I am, and what you are."
He reached his fingers into the makeup.
"Yeah... I'm a joke all right. You're free to laugh if you want to."
Purple painted jester lips stretched from cheekbone to cheekbone, over paper white face. Black and pastel blue markings covered his eyes, even as tears made the makeup run. A red King of Hearts on the corner of his forehead, his new moniker, out to the world. Fisk smiled in his new face. It felt natural. A new him, like he'd just been baptized. Fisk saw the reflection of the camera in the mirror. He'd figure he'd show them his new face too. He felt proud of it. Fisk started laughing.
He couldn't stop, couldn't help himself.
"BUT YOU'RE THE PUNCHLINE YOU BASTARDS!"
Fisk ran outside to the dark red-dark blue night, as the dying light of the sun faded away, laughing the entire time.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, GRAB YOUR POPCORN AND CONFECTIONARY CANDIES AND PREPARE TO BE SEATED!"
He gave a dramatic twirl and flourish of his hook upon the docks.
"THE INTERMISSION IS OVER, AND THE MAIN EVENT IS ABOUT TO BEGIN, COURTESY OF IVAN RODRIGUEZ!"
'LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS, PREPARE YOURSELVES, FOR THE SHOW OF A LIFETIME!"
People wanted to laugh at Fisk? That was fine. He'll laugh with them. He'll keep laughing too when they start screaming. He'll laugh harder, so he can be louder too.
"TONIGHT, THE RESPECTS BEGIN THEIR COMEBACK TOUR!"
If they died in the end, they died. Didn't matter to Fisk anymore. If he couldn't be remembered as the one who'd freed his friends, he'll be remembered as the scariest, most dangerous bastard in the history of SOTF. Glory or death. Death before dishonor, dishonor before irrelevancy, after all.
((The King of Hearts continued elsewhere.))
Yeah. That described it better.
Fisk pulled out the makeup kit he used for his masks. Blacks, reds, a dark purple, a pastel blue. They'd killed Ivan once, and he came back stronger. With the death of Vasily, Ivan had 'killed' Fisk, in a way. All he had left was James, and were he to go too...
The rage returned.
"Well Ivan, you wanna play games... We'll play them. We'll play them. "
Fisk Bateman was on SOTF-TV.
This was his dream.
"No more point in words, or posturing. At some point, something's gotta give. You pass a threshold and the time comes for actions, not words, and you truly see who you really are."
Fisk Bateman was on SOTF-TV.
This was his dream.
Fisk stared at himself in the mirror. "Perception is reality. That's simply the truth. What you are perceived as is what you are. There's no changing that, not by telling yourself things." He winced as he faced himself, the truth, and the camera behind him. "And quite frankly, I will be real. I know by now I'm perceived as a joke. Can't be anything else, when one man tears his way through all of your friends. I can't change that by rambling at myself or my friends or the camera."
Fisk Bateman was on SOTF-TV.
This was his dream.
"But I can change it." He smiled at the mirror. "And I've already said how I'm going to do that... Do you hear me, Mr. Rodriguez? People are going to suffer..."
"And it'll be all your fault."
"And you think yourself the hero."
"You think the cameras are rooting for you."
"They're not. They just wanna see what you'll do. What I'll do."
"I'm gonna give the people what they want."
Fisk winked at the camera behind him.
"And when I'm done with them, and then you, nobody will doubt what I am, and what you are."
He reached his fingers into the makeup.
"Yeah... I'm a joke all right. You're free to laugh if you want to."
Purple painted jester lips stretched from cheekbone to cheekbone, over paper white face. Black and pastel blue markings covered his eyes, even as tears made the makeup run. A red King of Hearts on the corner of his forehead, his new moniker, out to the world. Fisk smiled in his new face. It felt natural. A new him, like he'd just been baptized. Fisk saw the reflection of the camera in the mirror. He'd figure he'd show them his new face too. He felt proud of it. Fisk started laughing.
He couldn't stop, couldn't help himself.
"BUT YOU'RE THE PUNCHLINE YOU BASTARDS!"
Fisk ran outside to the dark red-dark blue night, as the dying light of the sun faded away, laughing the entire time.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, GRAB YOUR POPCORN AND CONFECTIONARY CANDIES AND PREPARE TO BE SEATED!"
He gave a dramatic twirl and flourish of his hook upon the docks.
"THE INTERMISSION IS OVER, AND THE MAIN EVENT IS ABOUT TO BEGIN, COURTESY OF IVAN RODRIGUEZ!"
'LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS, PREPARE YOURSELVES, FOR THE SHOW OF A LIFETIME!"
People wanted to laugh at Fisk? That was fine. He'll laugh with them. He'll keep laughing too when they start screaming. He'll laugh harder, so he can be louder too.
"TONIGHT, THE RESPECTS BEGIN THEIR COMEBACK TOUR!"
If they died in the end, they died. Didn't matter to Fisk anymore. If he couldn't be remembered as the one who'd freed his friends, he'll be remembered as the scariest, most dangerous bastard in the history of SOTF. Glory or death. Death before dishonor, dishonor before irrelevancy, after all.
((The King of Hearts continued elsewhere.))
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.