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xp_logsPhillip goes to confront his father.
Security around the President was tight; several heavily armed Magistrates at the elevators and the door to his office. However, nothing got through security like a personal invitation, which Phillip Moreau received when he reached the top of the elevator. He’d been in this office many times, including days after it had first been opened, and the smell of fresh paint was still redolent in the air. His father was proud of it – said the view helped remind him of the bigger picture and how everything was tied together in their small country.
Now, wearing an orange prison jumpsuit and a baggy Magistrate jacket, he was walked down the hall at gunpoint. At the door, they started to frisk him, but there was a buzz from inside.
“No need for that. Just bring him in.”
The door opened and closed behind him. Inside the office, two of the President’s bodyguard stood, having replaced their normal sidearms with automatic rifles. He knew them both; Alan and Geoff, and had a repress a bizarre urge to wave.
David Moreau stood looking out the window, at the smoke that rose from Hammer Bay, his arms clasped at the small of his back. He stood there silently as Phillip approached the desk, and only when he choose to stand with his hands on the back of the chair did he turn around.
“Phillip.”
“Dad. It’s time to end this.”
“I agree. The terrorists will surrender, and when they do, we’ll make no mistakes this time.” David said, taking his seat behind the desk.
“We both know that’s not the truth, Dad. We’re making mutant slaves because it makes our economy able to match larger nations. Because you and uncle Thomas have some insane dream of becoming the King of Africa or something!”
“Watch your tone, Phillip. I had hoped that a few months in a cell would have taught you some lessons about when to be quiet and when not to. I suppose I was wrong.” David sighed. “We are at the corner of the world, Phillip, huddled next to a ticking time bomb. Africa remains poor, unstable, and is being systematically looted by multi-nationals and foreign nations. In a few decades, it will be an overpopulated shell, with nothing left but grinding poverty and hardships that would tear your heart it. I know it will because that’s what Genosha was when I grew up. I remember when starving to death happened in Hammer Bay, in the shadow of the Assembly, and everyone being powerless to stop it. That’s what is happening over there, son. They are powerless, because they lack the industry, the order, and the unity to do anything about it. We can change that.”
“Through conquest with a slave caste? Dad, even I know what history says about those plans.”
“Not be so naive. What is happening in Genosha will soon enough be happening in other parts of the world. We have the advantage of doing it now. In a year, we’ll have enough mutates to expand our crown corporations into the mainland. Unlike the others, they will come with political aide as well. In five years, we can have the strategic foundations in place for a Pan-African alliance, backed by resources managed by Genoshan companies, military response backed up with the GDF and infrastructure programs backed by mutates laying roads, irrigation systems, waste management and clean water facilities. We can turn the African Union into a major power and lift the misery of millions from them.”
“All controlled from this office. You might have humanitarian ideas wrapped up in this, Dad, but this is about power. And now you’re willing to kill hundreds of Genoshans because you’ve been caught at your game.” Phillip said. “Take back your threat. Stand the GDF down before more people get killed.”
“I never thought you would be a traitor.”
“Traitor? You took everything that Genoshans sacrificed for decades and turned it into a cheap labour program for your own empire! Who’s the damn traitor!”
“You don’t understand, Phillip.”
“Rescind the order! Stand everyone down.”
“Never.”
Phillip reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol he’d taken from a dead Magistrate at the prison level. He leveled it at his father, as tears threatened his view. “Rescind the order, Dad. They aren’t just mutants. It’s Joseph and Jenny and all the people who did this for us. People! I won’t let you hurt them.”
“Put the gun down, Phillip.” David said calmly, as his bodyguard trained their weapons on him. “Put it down, son.”
“Rescind the order.” He cocked the pistol, tears now coursing freely down his face. “Dad, please, this isn’t you. You’re not a murderer.”
“Put the gun down.”
“RESCIND THE FUCKING ORDER!”
“No.” David said sharply, leaning back. “No. Never.”
Phillip fired a single shot, snapping back his father’s head as it hit between the eyes. David Moreau went over backwards in his chair, and Phillip had time to close his eyes, and mouth Jenny’s name one last time, before he was cut down by automatic weapons fire.
Security around the President was tight; several heavily armed Magistrates at the elevators and the door to his office. However, nothing got through security like a personal invitation, which Phillip Moreau received when he reached the top of the elevator. He’d been in this office many times, including days after it had first been opened, and the smell of fresh paint was still redolent in the air. His father was proud of it – said the view helped remind him of the bigger picture and how everything was tied together in their small country.
Now, wearing an orange prison jumpsuit and a baggy Magistrate jacket, he was walked down the hall at gunpoint. At the door, they started to frisk him, but there was a buzz from inside.
“No need for that. Just bring him in.”
The door opened and closed behind him. Inside the office, two of the President’s bodyguard stood, having replaced their normal sidearms with automatic rifles. He knew them both; Alan and Geoff, and had a repress a bizarre urge to wave.
David Moreau stood looking out the window, at the smoke that rose from Hammer Bay, his arms clasped at the small of his back. He stood there silently as Phillip approached the desk, and only when he choose to stand with his hands on the back of the chair did he turn around.
“Phillip.”
“Dad. It’s time to end this.”
“I agree. The terrorists will surrender, and when they do, we’ll make no mistakes this time.” David said, taking his seat behind the desk.
“We both know that’s not the truth, Dad. We’re making mutant slaves because it makes our economy able to match larger nations. Because you and uncle Thomas have some insane dream of becoming the King of Africa or something!”
“Watch your tone, Phillip. I had hoped that a few months in a cell would have taught you some lessons about when to be quiet and when not to. I suppose I was wrong.” David sighed. “We are at the corner of the world, Phillip, huddled next to a ticking time bomb. Africa remains poor, unstable, and is being systematically looted by multi-nationals and foreign nations. In a few decades, it will be an overpopulated shell, with nothing left but grinding poverty and hardships that would tear your heart it. I know it will because that’s what Genosha was when I grew up. I remember when starving to death happened in Hammer Bay, in the shadow of the Assembly, and everyone being powerless to stop it. That’s what is happening over there, son. They are powerless, because they lack the industry, the order, and the unity to do anything about it. We can change that.”
“Through conquest with a slave caste? Dad, even I know what history says about those plans.”
“Not be so naive. What is happening in Genosha will soon enough be happening in other parts of the world. We have the advantage of doing it now. In a year, we’ll have enough mutates to expand our crown corporations into the mainland. Unlike the others, they will come with political aide as well. In five years, we can have the strategic foundations in place for a Pan-African alliance, backed by resources managed by Genoshan companies, military response backed up with the GDF and infrastructure programs backed by mutates laying roads, irrigation systems, waste management and clean water facilities. We can turn the African Union into a major power and lift the misery of millions from them.”
“All controlled from this office. You might have humanitarian ideas wrapped up in this, Dad, but this is about power. And now you’re willing to kill hundreds of Genoshans because you’ve been caught at your game.” Phillip said. “Take back your threat. Stand the GDF down before more people get killed.”
“I never thought you would be a traitor.”
“Traitor? You took everything that Genoshans sacrificed for decades and turned it into a cheap labour program for your own empire! Who’s the damn traitor!”
“You don’t understand, Phillip.”
“Rescind the order! Stand everyone down.”
“Never.”
Phillip reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol he’d taken from a dead Magistrate at the prison level. He leveled it at his father, as tears threatened his view. “Rescind the order, Dad. They aren’t just mutants. It’s Joseph and Jenny and all the people who did this for us. People! I won’t let you hurt them.”
“Put the gun down, Phillip.” David said calmly, as his bodyguard trained their weapons on him. “Put it down, son.”
“Rescind the order.” He cocked the pistol, tears now coursing freely down his face. “Dad, please, this isn’t you. You’re not a murderer.”
“Put the gun down.”
“RESCIND THE FUCKING ORDER!”
“No.” David said sharply, leaning back. “No. Never.”
Phillip fired a single shot, snapping back his father’s head as it hit between the eyes. David Moreau went over backwards in his chair, and Phillip had time to close his eyes, and mouth Jenny’s name one last time, before he was cut down by automatic weapons fire.
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