November Topic: Mercy
*locked*
In a life where pretense is part of one's profession, one does everything not just once but several times. Of course I was in situations where my chosen role demanded a plea for mercy. In what you could call reality, I never did, except once. On other occasions, thankfully rare, when I found myself in a weaker position and in need of someone's goodwill, I made sure to offer bargains. Or common sense.
But once, I asked. The people in a position to grant or refuse said mercy were a less than ideal audience. They were the senior partners of the Alliance, and hadn't gotten that position because of their kind hearts and sense of fair play. My wife Emily was suffering from cancer then, and in a conversation with a friend had revealed she knew that my position at Credit Dauphine was a cover, that I was leading an organisation named SD-6. Emily, of course, believed that SD-6 was a section of the CIA, but still, the Alliance directives were very clear. More than clear. I had executed them myself repeatedly.
"I feel rather awkward sitting here asking you to allow my wife to die of cancer," I said, in London, half a world away from her, trying to remember how any other persona I had ever embodied would plead, for this was what I was doing, pretense at dignity aside.
"Arvin, the agreement is simple," Christophe replied. "People with any unauthorized information regarding SD-6, or any SD cell, must be eliminated."
I thought of Emily and her fight against death, unwavering, every hour of every day, despite the terrible pain she was. Ever since she was first diagnosed, I had tried to adjust myself to the fact I would lose her, but I could not. I could not. Taking away even an hour she could have otherwise - the idea was unbearable.
"My wife is being eliminated," I snapped. "By cancer. And the pending bone marrow biopsy report will merely inform us as to the number of days she has left. Days she will spend in an SD-6 hospital where information can be contained."
I collected myself and became calm again. I listed figures, I argued like the lawyer I never was, but in the end, we all knew what it came down to. I was begging, like any pathetic captive ever taken.
They did have mercy, of a sort. They approved my request. "Due to your wife's illness," Christophe said, and the warning was clear. Not a day later, the doctors told Emily her cancer would go into remission. I knew then what I had to do, and it was neither another round of begging for mercy nor fulfilling the Alliance directive. If you want to know when I decided to betray the Alliance and bring it down by using the tools fate had given me: it was then.
Mercy is only ever temporary. I never made the mistake of extending it myself.
In a life where pretense is part of one's profession, one does everything not just once but several times. Of course I was in situations where my chosen role demanded a plea for mercy. In what you could call reality, I never did, except once. On other occasions, thankfully rare, when I found myself in a weaker position and in need of someone's goodwill, I made sure to offer bargains. Or common sense.
But once, I asked. The people in a position to grant or refuse said mercy were a less than ideal audience. They were the senior partners of the Alliance, and hadn't gotten that position because of their kind hearts and sense of fair play. My wife Emily was suffering from cancer then, and in a conversation with a friend had revealed she knew that my position at Credit Dauphine was a cover, that I was leading an organisation named SD-6. Emily, of course, believed that SD-6 was a section of the CIA, but still, the Alliance directives were very clear. More than clear. I had executed them myself repeatedly.
"I feel rather awkward sitting here asking you to allow my wife to die of cancer," I said, in London, half a world away from her, trying to remember how any other persona I had ever embodied would plead, for this was what I was doing, pretense at dignity aside.
"Arvin, the agreement is simple," Christophe replied. "People with any unauthorized information regarding SD-6, or any SD cell, must be eliminated."
I thought of Emily and her fight against death, unwavering, every hour of every day, despite the terrible pain she was. Ever since she was first diagnosed, I had tried to adjust myself to the fact I would lose her, but I could not. I could not. Taking away even an hour she could have otherwise - the idea was unbearable.
"My wife is being eliminated," I snapped. "By cancer. And the pending bone marrow biopsy report will merely inform us as to the number of days she has left. Days she will spend in an SD-6 hospital where information can be contained."
I collected myself and became calm again. I listed figures, I argued like the lawyer I never was, but in the end, we all knew what it came down to. I was begging, like any pathetic captive ever taken.
They did have mercy, of a sort. They approved my request. "Due to your wife's illness," Christophe said, and the warning was clear. Not a day later, the doctors told Emily her cancer would go into remission. I knew then what I had to do, and it was neither another round of begging for mercy nor fulfilling the Alliance directive. If you want to know when I decided to betray the Alliance and bring it down by using the tools fate had given me: it was then.
Mercy is only ever temporary. I never made the mistake of extending it myself.