Cindy
*sigh* ud know this if u read the silmarillion...
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- Feb 28, 2018
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05:30 AM, CITY 45 LOCAL TIME
CITY 45 CITADEL, FLOOR 228F: ADMINISTRATION RESIDENTIAL AREA
⠀⠀⠀⠀A cold, inhospitable chime softly resonated through the dimmed chamber, pulsing endlessly to allure Vincent from the comfort of his satin sheets. The alarm stopped as he stirred to life, and several panels lifted up from the windows in sequence to illuminate the undressed and unrested administrator in dawn's light. He sat up, still entangled in both the bedding and the horrors of the subconscious. Like an alcoholic who had created a routine to deal with the frequent hangovers, he pushed off and staggered towards the wardrobe.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Despite the structure that housed it, the room was well furnished in human comforts. The floor had been replaced with a deep red carpet, smaller walls standing in front of the larger ones to draw up the illusion of a homely environ, decorated in art and lavish luxuries to coo him into associating his position with comfort.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Beyond the threshold of the citadel windows, a thousand meters below, the entirety of the city was gilded by the sun's rise. The lights between the streets were far more distinguishable than individual buildings, carved up into sections by the Combine's walls throughout. Further beyond, specks of maritime traffic could be seen traversing what remained of the Gulf of Finland, meeting the harbor erected upon the recently exposed shorelines. It was a sight few would ever see, and yet, Vincent hardly paid any mind to it.
⠀⠀⠀⠀When he was placed into office, Vincent was firm about one thing to the rest of the administration staff: No aides. He would not be assisted in getting dressed, no one would cook his meals for him or remind him of his obligations in the day. He refused to benefit needlessly from his position because he did not believe his position was a reward he earned through fealty to the regime. He was not honored by it. Rather, it was a job- an important one that depended on his delicate discretion. Because at the end of the day, when all of the dark deeds he is expected to execute on behalf of his masters, Vincent Cvirka was like any other beneath his thumb: He hated the Combine. Perhaps more, he thought, than most others. But he would play his part to ensure the survival of humanity, himself, and...
⠀⠀⠀⠀He had nearly forgotten the date. Vincent hastened to his personal desk and keyed the terminal beside it, still only in his boxers, to affirm his suspicion.
⠀⠀⠀⠀August 4th.
⠀⠀⠀⠀He scrolled through his itinerary for the day to find a gap, a window, anything. The agenda was chock full of meetings, public appearances, and just sheer bureaucratic nonsense. In another life, he would have immersed himself such political functions. Back then, he was doing his duty for the people because he enjoyed serving them. There was little joy to be had being party to the Combine. Regardless, he found a moment in the day where he had no obligations for a period of three hours. That was enough, he thought.
⠀⠀⠀⠀So he got dressed, fastened the buttons on his coat, and put on his cufflinks. He needed one last thing, and as he approached the vanity mirror, he did his best not to look into the reflection to avoid the terrible discomfort that would follow if he were to gaze into the dark, abysmal socket where his left eye once was. He slid on the half-mask that completed the missing portions of his face that the Vortigaunt had taken from him, put on his glasses, reviewed his appearance in the mirror briefly, and left.
02:56 PM, CITY 45 LOCAL TIME
MINISTRY OF CIVIL PROTECTION OFFICE
⠀⠀⠀⠀"And while I'm sure Infestation Control believes it to be in our best interest to keep Civil Protection from entering the quarantined areas, I strongly urge you to consider..."
⠀⠀⠀⠀Minister Volkov droned on, and on, and on. Vincent did his best to look attentive, but today, his mind found itself elsewhere, far from the politics of his office. Volkov's words, which Vincent was sure that the minister loved the sound of, no longer reached his ears. His eye wandered the decorations of the Minister's office with a mental putz. There were many places he'd rather be right now, especially one. What didn't help matters was the large portrait that was framed behind Volkov's desk- a portrait that Vincent had seen in many an office throughout the city.
⠀⠀⠀⠀His own portrait.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Vincent knew it was no sign of reverence to him, but rather a hopeful lust that he might favor those beneath him more if they feigned respect for him. Were the administrator someone else, their portrait would most certainly fill the halls of the administration. He knew how much those beneath him craved power in the administration. In this world, power was safety from harm.
⠀⠀⠀⠀And while he could not judge them, the sight of the massive painting standing tall before him filled him with a gross discomfort. It was not a depiction of a formidable leader or a great man, but a deeply saddened one who was ruthless for all the wrong reasons. He was locked in to that image of power in the minds of the people; a tyrant who shut off power in malcompliant districts to punish them for their retaliation and make them freeze to death in the midst of winter or executed opposition within the administration that would threaten his control over the city. Someone to fear. To them, he could be no one else.
⠀⠀⠀⠀He had given up on trying to justify his cruelty. Once, he told himself that it was to simply persuade people into thinking for their own safety, and to accept the Combine's embrace. Now, he just tells himself the same thing, over and over: 'It had to be done.'
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Do you agree?" Volkov's voice suddenly and harshly pulled Vincent back to the real and into the seat at the end of the Minister's desk.
Vincent blinked. "I will have to see what can be done," he responded, clearing his throat quietly as he rose from the chair and straightened his jacket. "Thank you, Minister."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"No, thank you, Administrator. Long live the Beneficiary."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Long live."
⠀⠀⠀⠀As Vincent left the Ministry of Civil Protection's offices, the rest of his personal guard was waiting for him outside the Combine armored car. He overturned his wrist for the time: Three-oh-four. He was on schedule.
⠀⠀⠀⠀He clambered into the vehicle, and his entourage of transhumans followed. When he was seated, he leaned forward and caught the attention of the driver and slipped him a piece of paper from his pocket.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Change of plans." Vincent stated. "Take me to this address."
⠀⠀⠀⠀The cycloptic helm gazed into the directions on the slip briefly. "This isn't on your schedule, Administrator." The elite's voice contorted through the helm. "We won't have that route secured for your safety."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"I know, but it's fine. After all, the rest of my guard is there right now, right?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Correct."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Then let us be off."
⠀⠀⠀⠀The soldier hesitated briefly, as if calculating some unseen equation in its head. Then, he reached for the radio in the vehicle.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"This is EVENINGSTAR-1 to Overwatch. Deviating from scheduled route, enroute to District 10."
⠀⠀⠀⠀Immediately thereafter, the vehicle hummed to life, and pulled off the curb and back onto the cobblestone road. The rest of the motorcade followed in suit.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Vincent's eye followed the passing of Russian architecture as the armored car went along. It was the glimpses into ordinary life that he had come to crave in his position, and so it was only natural that, whenever he was so low to the ground, he would take advantage of the moment and indulge his imagination. Overwatch had always exerted a sense of paranoia over his safety, but it was these transitory moments that he felt the most at ease. On occasion, he would, if only briefly, look back into the car to be met with was the emotionless, featureless masks of the soldiers. Soldiers who were not concerned with the safety of a person, but an asset to the regime. He was acutely aware of the nature of this relationship, and though it made him weary in some regards, he knew that as long as he was valuable, he would keep what mattered most to him safe.
⠀⠀⠀⠀While sightseeing through the vehicle's window, Vincent's eye caught onto something.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Wait- Stop right here," he ordered. "By the shop there."
⠀⠀⠀⠀The driver did as asked, but turned its singular red eye around to meet the Administrator. "Sir?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀"I'm going inside. Wait outside the door."
⠀⠀⠀⠀The detachment of guards opened the car door for him and placed themselves on both sides of the shop's front entrance. One of them reached for the door and opened it as well- the door ringing a small bell as Vincent stepped in. As soon as he entered, the door closed behind him, and the smell of natural fragrances ambushed him, having had almost forgotten what they smelled like. Throughout the shop, various displays of flowers rest in their soil beds, the sun's glow glazing over them through the windows. Roses, sunflowers, daisies, even orchids. As he slowly encroached further into the store to inspect the merchandise, a shrill voice rang out from the back.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Just a moment! I'll be right with you!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Not a problem." Vincent turned to reply vaguely in his direction, then back to the flowerbeds. The sight of orchids had unpredictably touched an aged memory of his: The gardens outside the embassy in Moscow, almost twenty years ago. And though it was impossible for them to be the same flowers, he treated the reminiscence as if visiting an old friend.
⠀⠀⠀⠀The shopkeeper eventually rushed out from the back room, a southeast Asian man with a short stature. He turned the corner to meet eyes with the Administrator and gasped. "Y-You are the man from those screens," he pointed. "You are Administrator Cvirka!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Just Vincent, please." he replied through a soft chuckle. "Today, I'm just looking to purchase some flowers from you."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Oh, oh yes!" the shopkeeper replied, bowing and nodding. "I would be most pleased to help you with that, Administrator! What- erhm, what is the occasion, may I ask?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀Vincent could not tell whether his respect was somehow genuine for him, or just from a tired, scared man who feared the amount of attention that had just walked into his store. So he did the best that he could under the circumstances to alleviate any possible discomforts. "An anniversary. I'm looking for something a little on the romantic side."
⠀⠀⠀⠀The man smiled from cheek to cheek. "Aha- You have a special woman you're seeing tonight, yes?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀Air flushed through Vincent's nose in amusement. "Of a sort, yes. But I confess that I know very little about flowers."
⠀⠀⠀⠀The shopkeeper quickly approached one of the flowerbeds, muttering quietly to himself between hums. "Leave that to me- aheh." He began to put together a combination of dark red flowers, making them into a bouquet to show to the Administrator. "What do you think, hm?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀Vincent leaned forward to accept them, reviewing them in his hands. "They're very beautiful. What are they?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Carnations," he piped up. "Very appropriate for such a celebration."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"And how much are they?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Oh, I don't know how I feel about charging you for--"
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Please," Vincent affirmed. "I insist. How much?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀The armored car door closed behind Vincent, a newly purchased bouquet now lying in his lap. As soon as he was seated, the vehicle began again and headed toward its destination. The moment he had been waiting for all day was finally happening. The motorcade continued through various sections of the city, until it eventually slowed down to a stop before a residential block that had been sealed off with a lock. Vincent took a deep breath and stepped out from the vehicle, straightening his jacket and fixing his hair with bouquet in hand. One of the soldiers among his guard waved their hand across the lock, turning the light from orange to green, and opened the door for him.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Vincent and his accompanying guards arrived at the fourth floor, where they arrived upon another door with a lock- the only inhabited assignment within the entire block. Beside the door were two more guards that acknowledged the Administrator's arrival.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"EVENINGSTAR-8 to Overwatch: Disable audio and video surveillance at Residential Block 43," one of the guards called in. They then nodded to the Administrator in confirmation and opened the door for him. With a deep breath, Vincent stepped through, and the door closed and locked behind him.
⠀⠀⠀⠀The a strong smell invaded him as he settled into the apartment. Slowly, he moved out from the entryway and into the main room, eye scanning throughout the many white walls of the apartment. Plastic covered the floors and oil paintings on canvases cluttered the room in abundance. By the window, a man in a white shirt speckled with paint sat across from a canvas affixed onto an easel, slowly stroking its surface with brushwork. Vincent stood at the far end of the room, swallowing all of the words he had prepared as the moment came over him.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Hello Ivan."
⠀⠀⠀⠀Ivan slowly turned his head from the easel, reciprocating the greeting with a faint, forced smile before returning to the piece. It can only be assumed that Ivan's smile quickly dissipated when he returned to the painting. It depicted a child, cowering from what appeared to be a civil protection unit who was then being shot by a third individual. The blood spraying out from the back of the unit manifested in the shape of red doves fleeing out from him.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Vincent approached to get a better look at his work, only to stop as he caught sight of it. A frown spread across his face that he couldn't avoid surfacing, causing him to turn away in attempt to conceal his dissatisfaction. He collected a jar, filled it with water from the kitchen sink, and placed the flowers from the bouquet into the jar. He returned to Ivan, placing the flowers on the windowsill in front of him before reaching to softly embrace his head with his hands and bestowing a kiss into his short, brown hair.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Do you..." Vincent trailed off for a moment, reasserting himself with a deep breath. "Do you know what day it is?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀Ivan nodded.
⠀⠀⠀⠀A quiet 'ah' escaped Vincent. He recoiled slightly, standing back upright. "Well, I have just over two hours. I figured we could spend a little while together."
⠀⠀⠀⠀No response. Ivan continued to stroke the brush across the canvas to complete the picture- a picture that would call for his death in any other situation, were he anyone else.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Vincent cycled through possible ways to continue from there. Things he could say to try and comfort him, seduce him, anything to try and get Ivan to pull his attention away from the painting and onto him. He realized quickly that he had been disillusioned by his anticipation for this moment, lying to himself like there was to be any other outcome. But a lack of options for things to say began to foster a frustration within him, which boiled over into Vincent reaching forward, ripping the brush from Ivan's hand, and throwing it across the room with a clatter. The paint off the brush tip struck the white walls in a small streak of black.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Ivan did little but flinch and lean back in his chair, resting his hands in his lap. He lowered his head and looked to his feet.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"When are you going to stop with those paintings?" Vincent begged, his voice growing in volume the more he spoke. "Why can't you understand that I'm trying to help you? Why?! I pulled you off a train that was heading for Nova Prospekt and you still won't stop!" Vincent paced around him in stomps, his eye solely fixated on the silent artist.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Nothing came from Ivan. It was as if his soul was missing, drained by the enclosure he had been placed in by his lover. His bottom lip occasionally curled beneath his teeth, but he did little else. In the final analysis, his stalkeresque depiction of emotion made his cancelled visit to Nova Prospekt ironic.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Vincent stood silently over and behind Ivan's chair, his hands on his hips as he attempted to regulate his breathing back to a calm. At which point, he carefully placed his hands on Ivan's shoulders.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"I know you're unhappy, my love." Vincent hushed, softly massaging the spaces between his shoulders and neck. "I know that I've caged you in this place. But the world out there... I don't need to say that they'd kill you. You know how dangerous it is. I just... I just do not understand your insistence on this. We have to be careful or else we endanger ourselves to their evil."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Your evil," Ivan corrected.
⠀⠀⠀⠀It was Vincent's turn to flinch. He was stunned to hear that from him of all people.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Ivan reached up to softly clench one of Vincent's hands before he could pull away. "Of course I know how dangerous it is out there. But playing along for our safety isn't worth staying silent. You're just helping them kill us."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"I disagree." Vincent rejoindered immediately. "Speaking up isn't going to stop the Combine in any meaningful way- They'd just replace you, replace me. The only thing that would change is that you'd be dead."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"I will never stop speaking the truth. We have to encourage others to act, not be complacent until they die. If I die to inspire, then I die."
⠀⠀⠀⠀Vincent's lips trembled. "No, no I can't. You can't. I won't let you die. I won't let them kill you."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Is living in the confines of a pretty prison cell any different from dying? Are you trying to save the satisfaction of killing me to yourself?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀"That's not what I'm doing," Vincent pulled away from Ivan's grasp, walking just a few paces off from the chair before turning back to him. "There are better ways to do this. We have to work within the system to—"
⠀⠀⠀⠀"I am so tired of hearing you say that, Vince."
⠀⠀⠀⠀Vincent bellowed a sigh. His head hung low from his shoulders, fingers tapping the lengths of his pockets. "I'm sorry, Ivan. I just can't let you endanger yourself. I'm sorry."
⠀⠀⠀⠀When Ivan did not reply again, he reluctantly began to accept that as his sign that he should leave. He slowly slumped toward the door, carrying the weight of his broken and irresolute heart with him. He raised a fist to the door but paused before he could knock, if only to look at the back of Ivan's head one more time in his chair. There were many things he wanted to say, 'I love you' being the foremost of that list, but he had neither the strength nor the courage to muster it in the aftermath of their conversation.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Vincent stepped outside the residential block and paused in front of the armored car door, stricken with a sadness he somehow thought he could avoid at the start of the day. Instead, he felt that he was more distant from Ivan than he had ever been, even more than he already was isolated in his black tower. He stepped into the vehicle, and from Ivan's prison, began his journey back to his own.
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