Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Ivory Tower ❯ Ivory Tower 6 ( Chapter 6 )

Title: Ivory Tower 6/?
Author: Quirk othe Trade
Series: Gundam Wing
Pairing(s): 2x5, 1x4?
Archive: Yes, please; just tell me where. Wufeiduo.net, makotosagara.net, Thanatos and Dust Bunny’s Under the Couch, MediaMiner.Org
C&C: Please! It can only help me get better.
Category: Alternate Universe/ Fantasy
Rating: at least PG-13, for violence
Warnings in this Chapter: Major o-o-c, plot device characters, dastardly evil plots and demented bad guys.
Disclaimer: I only own the story, not Gundam Wing or any of its characters.
A/N: J.E. Zimmerman’s ‘Dictionary of Classical Mythology’. The deities used in this story are merely twisted versions that I’ve come up with. Watch for notes at the end of the chapters. Sorry for being late, everyone. MediaMiner.Org., sorry for this being so late. I’ve been really busy, and don’t quite have my act together all the way yet. Bane San and Vidalark San, thank you very much. I’m so sorry for the lateness of my reply. I hope this makes up for it in some small way.
Beta-ed by: Mako-Chan!!
Key: (thoughts)
+++
The room looked like anything you would find in a corporate office building, except there were no windows. Overhead, florescent lights hummed loudly, annoyingly. At one end on the far wall, there were several small monitors surrounding a large screen with an accompanying control board to view or listen to anything that might be vital. There were large-scale paintings on the other three walls that were expensive and tasteful, and good carpeting covered the floor. A long table of mahogany dominated the center of the room surrounded by two rows of chairs, with one large overstuffed chair at the head. In this overstuffed chair sat an imposing, irritated, and annoyed man with strong features in a navy pinstripe suit, accompanied by another man with slicked back dark hair in a black suit seated to his right.
“Why isn’t the assignment completed yet? With our resources, time shouldn’t be an issue.”
“A lot of the leads are turning out to be duds, Mr. Barton. And we’ve already brought in several extra investigative teams to help since the beginning.”
“Just how fucking hard is it to find footage of Archetypes these days?!” Barton roared, slamming a fist down on the table. “That damned Freya is always on the news, as are those Hindu gods and Artemis! Artemis, that bleeding heart, ‘Lady of the Beasts’!!”
“Sir, Hell’s apprentice is merely proving elusive. It makes sense, though, as their task is to damn people.”
“Pluto is the sovereign of the Underworld. He’s supposed to be in charge of dead souls. It should make him one of the most powerful Archetypes,” grumbled Barton. “Instead, he’s taking a so-called Western route and dishing out instant karma. Scandalous. Archetypes following popular ideas--- what is this world coming to?”
“I have no idea, sir.”
“That is why I must take over the world. To put things back the way they were meant to be. Everything has a place and should stay in it.”
“That’s contrary to what you just said, sir. No one human was meant to rule the world.”
Barton looked at him sideways for a moment, then stood in an abrupt movement and kicked the chair out from under him. “Did you say something, Septum? Something about being FIRED?”
“N-no, Mr. Barton, sir.”
“The only reason you’re my right hand man is because you’re a power-craving maniac who’s a reasonable sorcerer and therefore able to assist me in my designs, Septum. That’s the only reason I tolerate you. We both know that. Now, you wouldn’t want to lose that precious seat, would you?”
“No, sir.”
“I want footage of Lord Pluto’s apprentice. I want it NOW. FETCH, boy!”
“Yes, sir.” Rising to his feet, Septum made a beeline for the door, gnashing his teeth. (Barton! How dare you?! Just you wait, when the time is right, I’ll slip a knife between your ribs and touch your heart!)
He had just reached the door when it crashed open, knocking him back onto the floor with a bloody nose.
“Sir! We’ve got it! Concrete footage of Pluto’s apprentice--- and the research panned out! It’s a woman!” The man, a slender brunette, had a manila envelope tucked under one arm and a diskette case in his hand. He didn’t seem to notice the man moaning on the floor. “Jezebel, Pandora, all aliases of Adez!”
“Good going, Lackey Number One! Show me!”
“My name’s Smith, sir, not Lackey Number One. We’re currently making up detailed photographs for you, too.” He hustled over to the audio/visual set up and began turning things on.
“I’ll call my lawyers and have them get the paperwork started for it, then.” Barton moved to follow Smith, pausing for a moment to knock a maliciously glaring Septum on the head and offer him a handkerchief.
“Lawyers? What for, sir?”
“To change your name to Lackey Number One.”
“No thanks, sir.” He opened up the case and removed the diskette.
Inserting it here and clicking the mouse there, he brought up the menu and went to ‘play video footage’. “Here, at least three different scenarios. This one--- it’s easier to see filtered through a night vision spectrum. Also, this one doesn’t have any audio. ”
The other two men moved up behind him as one of the smaller monitors lit up. It was from an ATM across the street from a nightclub. Everything was in an eerie, night goggle green.
An older man dressed in a dark business suit halted beside the ATM but didn’t go up to it. Instead, he shuffled sideways, and leaned against the brick wall so that only his shoulder was visible to the camera. There was a long pause, and then a woman dressed likewise in women’s business attire approached him until she halted in front of the sidewalk in front of the ATM. She was dressed in white, with her hair in an odd hairstyle that was part French twist, part ponytail due to the sheer length of it, brushing against her rear end. Her lips moved silently, and the man turned to face her. Words were exchanged between the two of them from a maddening four or five minutes, then the woman reached out her hand, palm up. The man offered his own hand, and she took it by the wrist. The man froze, and then began to grimace. Smoke, small and wispy, emerged from where their flesh met, and grew until the man was kneeling in obvious pain. He had one hand pressed to his mouth, biting on his knuckles when she released him. She left him there, turning to the camera briefly with a small malevolent smile on her lips before she went back the way she had come.
“We’re currently working on the image she burned into his flesh. Here’s the second, it’s got sound.” Smith played at the keyboard and mouse, bringing up the second snippet of video. “Pay attention to the reflection in the glass.”
The first image disappeared, and the second came up. It looked like video from a vacation theme park. It was currently in front of a sandwich shop. The sound, when it came on, was tinny and distant, like they had run it through a sound filter to separate and refine it. A family was posing animatedly and being goofy in front of the camera, but like Smith had instructed, they paid attention to the glass reflection.
A small form with bleached blonde hair in flowing pigtails in a white tee and faded cut offs sat on a low stone ledge with her back to the camera, her face reflected in the glass. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but the mouth and face shape was the same. Apparently, today was a casual day; she was licking an ice cream cone. A teenaged punk sat with her, hair styled wildly, clad in baggy jeans and a ripped tee. With his face, he couldn’t have been over nineteen.
“I don’t just want to kill ‘em, I want to make ‘em suffer. Make ‘em suffer the way they have me, ya know?”
“Ah. Since you’re still a bit young, I’ll ask you this, but just once. After all, you’re old enough to make your own decisions. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Huh? Uhhhh…” He looked troubled for a second, and then his brow furrowed. “That sounds weird, coming from you, Adez. Are you saying I shouldn’t do it? Something like turning the other cheek?”
“No. I just want you to be certain.”
“I’m sure.”
“Then I’ll help you. Here. I’ll meet you at this address tonight at one.” She handed him a folded slip of paper. “The rules still stand. One word, and I’ll take your last breath.”
“Yes, Adez.” The boy took off, leaving her until she suddenly just wasn’t there.
Smith began switching to the last clip. “We’re trying to identify and locate these people, but the fact is that we might not. That first piece is from an old tape. We’re still trying to date it. The second was from a vacation tape sent in to a show called ‘Funniest Videos’ ten years ago. This one was apparently filmed last year… “
It was the inside of a car garage, one apparently run by a ring of car thieves judging by the number of dismembered cars visible. They were joking around and picking on each other, apparently trying out a new vidcam that seemed to be operated by someone with no experience with one. Then, something rocked the building and several strands of steel--- unmistakenly from the garage door--- flew across the screen and the men ducked.
There were screams of profanity and awe, and then a familiar face stepped forward, a small girl of about four or five perched in one arm. Everyone stared at her, most likely in shock. White latex encased her body from throat to hip in the form of a shiny sleeveless dress, and from knee to toe as stiletto boots. Half of all that long blonde hair was elaborately piled and curled at the back of her head, the rest falling in longer curls down her back. Stray strands waved about her face. Long white ribbons wrapped around her head and crown before disappearing into all that hair, and more wound around her arms from shoulder to hand. One trailed loosely around her waist. The little girl wore a baby pink dress with white tights and little black shoes. She clung to her, fear evident in her cute, chubby face.
Some of the men recovered enough to whistle and make jokes, being loud enough to drown out what she said to the little girl, who nodded in response. One or two of the men paled and ran to the back of the garage. Amid catcalls, she put the little girl in the back seat of a nearby car that had yet to be cannibalized. The windows iced over thickly, at which the men grew quiet and began to back away.
The men who had run to the back emerged with guns and started yelling, while the others began running toward them, presumably for more weapons. The camera went with them.
She slowly advanced, and as she did, her eyes, glinting strangely, overflowed with crimson tears shot through with gold, three separate trails sliding down each cheek. Her mouth twisted in a grimace of a smile.
Bullets flew.
A gun appeared in her hand. It was white and gold and small, and the things she did with it were not things that normal guns did. Normal guns went ‘blam’ and shot bullets. This gun… did not. It SANG, and HUMMED and emitted bits of red light that… immobilized some people. It broke some of them into tiny little pieces, and others it blew a hole through, big, medium and small holes, holes that just did not belong in the human body. Everyone was screaming.
The camera fell to the floor.
The ones still moving, the ones still fighting back, began screaming louder when she put the gun away and started using her bare hands. They moved out of the camera’s range as white went scarlet.
The floor was already awash with a sea of reds, deep burgundies, lush cherries, and candy apple reds, ones that should not be seen outside of a slaughterhouse, especially if you were a vegetarian.
The picture abruptly went to snow with a smashing sound.
“Adez is a hands-on homicidal type, by the looks of things.” Smith clicked the mouse, and then turned to face the other two men. “From the way she holds the gun, it appears to be modeled on early ladies’ guns (1). Notice, her so-called trigger finger remains along the barrel, though there’s not enough detail in the film to tell what the gun actually looks like without in-depth analyses. Also, the gun seems to be plasma or energy based.”
Septum was shaking faintly. He turned to their leader, voice muffled behind the handkerchief. “THAT’S Pluto’s apprentice? Barton, how are we supposed to---“
There was a fierce grin on Barton’s face as he stared up at the empty screen. Lust- blood or otherwise- gleamed in his eyes. He had the look of a fanatic who had just seen his own personal god. He whispered, “Perfect. She’s PERFECT!!”
“Mr. Septum, what happened to your nose?” Smith asked.
“YOU did, you idiot! By BUSTING through the door like a BUFFALO!” he screeched, glaring at him over the blood stained linen in his grasp. He turned back to Barton. “Neither of us are strong enough sorcerers-- Barton, how are we supposed to control something like that??”
“The spell I acquired from the Vatican for a small fortune,” he replied, his grin getting wider. “A spell said to have been used by King Solomon himself to control demons to do his bidding, demons of earth and hell that he commanded to build his temple (2)!”
“But sir, there is no hell,” protested Smith. (If he starts laughing manically again, I’m SO finding a new job…)
“There is so a Hell!! Pluto and his apprentice prove it!”
Smith rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Mr. Barton.”
“I DO say so! Septum, get ready! We’re summoning Adez, the true demon of Hell! We will get her to awaken Endymion, which will draw Selene and her moon close to earth and as the oceans rise up to engulf the world, we will seize power!! ”
“Mr. Barton, you’re spitting again…”
TBC…
(1) In the eighteenth, nineteenth century, a few upper crust, high society ladies carried small, ornate pistols that carried between one and four or five shots, which had concealed triggers. Usually, the trigger was hidden in a pattern on the barrel of the gun, like a jewel or eye of a bird for example. Primarily, it was to fend of a single robber or purse-snatcher, and the concealed trigger was thought to keep the robber from using the gun on the owner. I believe most of these types of guns are custom models, and depending on their condition and maker, can be worth a sum of money.
(2) There are some crazy theories out there, folks. I can’t recall the text, but I have read this theory. Supposedly, King Solomon commanded daemons to build the temple of Jerusalem because mortal hands could not make the House of God, or something like that. ‘Demon’ is a corruption of ‘daemon’, which basically means ‘spirit’, and can be either good or bad. In some cases, it has been interpreted to be spirits that occur in nature. If anyone can tell me the name of the book it’s in, give an email, please, though it may be in more than one book. For anyone who takes offense to this reference, chill. No offense was meant; I’m just trying to demonstrate that Barton is a few monkeys short of a barrelful, so to speak.