Confetti fluttered through the air, coming down on streets packed with celebrating people singing joyfully. "Happy World Peace Day!" somebody yelled at the Major as he watched the proceedings from the sidewalk through lidded eyes.
"Ja. Danke," he said, teeth gritted. However Adrian Veidt had accomplished this atrocity, the Major was going to utterly destroy him for it.
It was the window opening rather than the door that had waken Raven up from her slumber, and she sat up startled. "I heard you needed a jailbreak." were the only words uttered. And it was all she needed.
He makes it his business to have nothing. What you don't have can't be taken away from you. He's rich but owns little aside from what he needs to continue the charade: the suits, the ties, the expense account, the offensively expensive trappings of a busy CEO who enjoys life to the fullest.
Which he doesn't, of course. What's there to enjoy? Everything is transient. Nothing is sacred. He's here as a businessman to charter your souls from your bodies and make sure they find rest with those below. It's been centuries since Balthazar has felt the satisfaction of a job well done. There's nothing. He is nothing. Just a little cog winding down the tick-tock springs of an infernal engine. He owns nothing so that nothing may own him... but that's not for him to decide.
Still, there are things-- memories, moments-- he keeps locked in his mind that are, you could say, precious to him. His first kill. The slickness of blood over his hands in the dark
( ... )
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"Ja. Danke," he said, teeth gritted. However Adrian Veidt had accomplished this atrocity, the Major was going to utterly destroy him for it.
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epiphany
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Not strong enough to keep him from Gluttony in a locked room.
He curses a few times, screams a bit, and then he, like all the rest, is gone.
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Which he doesn't, of course. What's there to enjoy? Everything is transient. Nothing is sacred. He's here as a businessman to charter your souls from your bodies and make sure they find rest with those below. It's been centuries since Balthazar has felt the satisfaction of a job well done. There's nothing. He is nothing. Just a little cog winding down the tick-tock springs of an infernal engine. He owns nothing so that nothing may own him... but that's not for him to decide.
Still, there are things-- memories, moments-- he keeps locked in his mind that are, you could say, precious to him. His first kill. The slickness of blood over his hands in the dark ( ... )
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