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Scene Title | With Facts and Lies |
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Synopsis | They story's told... |
Date | December 10, 2018 |
The dirty glow of a street lamp reflect dull in a blood-covered knife.
The war was lost
The treaty signed
I was not caught
I crossed the line
A misting rain falls from night-dark skies, turning the glow of the streetlamp into a cone of jaundiced illumination. Half-lit by the lamp, Khalid Sadaka kneels over a face-down corpse, bloody knife in one hand and wallet in the other. He checks the man's identification, wiping the blood off on the corpse's jacket. The tall brick buildings all around are creeping with crawling ivy. Faded neon signs no longer lit once conveyed concepts as simple as Beer and Open.
I was not caught
Though many tried
I live among you
Well disguised
Closing the wallet, Khalid tucks it into his jacket pocket and looks down the alleyway. The corpse's blood flows dark into a nearby storm drain, swirls with grimy sludge from the alley floor. As Khalid comes to stand, another figure greets him in the mouth of the alleyway, stepping in to that yellow light. "He didn't radio in," Khalid is quick to explain, motioning down with the tip of his knife to the corpse. The newly arrived man, dressed in a sleek black suit and face shadowed by an umbrella inclines his head in a slow nod.
I had to leave
My life behind
I dug some graves
You’ll never find
"Wrong place, wrong time. It's a dangerous world." the umbrella-carrying man says coldly, looking from the corpse to Khalid. "I wanted to make amends for our last meeting. When you reached out to us, the only reputation we had to go on was your work with Humanis First, and I was afraid that you'd misinterpreted who we are." He angles the umbrella forward, letting rain slide off of it in a sheet. "Confuse us for who we were."
The story’s told
With facts and lies
I have a name
But nevermind
Khalid says nothing back, just slides his knife into an underarm sheathe inside of his leather coat. "Mistakes happen," Kahlid indicates with a tilt of his chin up into the air. "Why'd you want to meet?" He doesn't bother to ask how he knew where to find Khalid to contact him, he knows their organization, knows how resourceful they can be.
Nevermind
Nevermind
The war was lost
The treaty signed
"A peace offering." As he lifts the umbrella up, revealing glasses and gray hair, the man in the fine suit takes a step forward and produces a scrap of folded paper and offers it out with gloved hands to Khalid. He does not extend shelter from the misting rain beneath his umbrella, however. Khalid eyes the note, carefully snatching it from the extended hand.
There’s truth that lives
And truth that dies
I don’t know which
So nevermind
Dark eyes scan the paper, and Khalid looks back up with one brow raised. "How'd you get this, Freyr?" He tries to hide his interest, but fails. Freyr shrugs slowly, returning his hand into the pocket of his slacks.
And all of this
Expressions of
The sweet indifference
Some call love
"Let's all keep our secrets, for now." Freyr indicates with a brief flash of a smirk. Khalid seemes relieved at the reciprocation. "I know your people are interested in re-acquiring those weapons. So, we provided actionable intelligence. I'd like to think this could be the start of a mutually beneficial relationship."
The high indifference
Some call fate
But we had names
More intimate
Kahlid seems less convinced as he tucks the note into a pocket. "Is that your idea, or hers?" Khalid's suspicion is met by a bark of a laugh, and Freyr straightening his umbrella against a shift in the rain's direction.
Names so deep and
Names so true
They’re blood to me
They’re dust to you
"Please. She's not in charge." Freyr indicates with a feigned smile. "This comes from my father, directly. Consider it…" Freyr inclines his head toward Khalid, "a good will offering. We'd like to discuss a more long-term arrangement in the future, but…" Freyr shrugs softly. "Feel free to check the validity of the intelligence, first."
There is no need
That this survive
There’s truth that lives
And truth that dies
Turning to leave, Khalid pauses to look back at Freyr and affords him a subtle nod of acknowledgement. "If the lead checks out," he agrees, and says nothing more as he slips off into the darkness beyond the street light. Freyr looks down at the corpse, at the blood running past his shoes, and makes a soft noise of disapproval in his throat before stepping into the darkness in the opposite direction.
Nevermind
Nevermind
I live the life
I left behind
A few hours later, by the light of a lantern casting long shadows in an abandoned automotive garage, Khalid Sadaka reconsiders the data left for him. The piece of paper contains an address, Floyd Bennet Airfield, and communication codes for the Military Police's encrypted channel. Khalid pulls his radio out of his jacket, tuning it to the right channel and setting it down on a long lockbox at his side. The radio crackles with soft static.
There’s truth that lives
And truth that dies
I don't know which
So nevermind
Setting the paper aside, Khalid turns to his bedroll and the backpack atop it, retrieving a stack of old papers from inside. Newspaper clippings, printed articles from the internet, and a dog-eared copy of a softcover book entitled A Memory of Tomorrow. Colored tabs stick out from the top of the book, each of them crumpled and twisted from use.
I could not kill
The way you kill
I could not hate
I tried I failed
Fanning the paperwork out from his backpack, Khalid begins sorting the news articles by date. Transcripts of the Albany Trials are included within, with passages highlighted. Crossing his legs and sitting forward, Khalid briefly looks at the date and time on the piece of paper referencing Floyd Bennet Airfield, then looks back to his other project. It's distracting him.
You turned me in
At least you tried
You side with them
Whom you despise
Last to come out of the pile are a pair of photographs, one of a blonde woman taken at the opening ceremony for the Eric Doyle Memorial Children's Library — Gillian Childs. He props the photograph up against the strongbox, then begins fishing through the paperwork for another.
This was your heart
This swarm of flies
This was once your mouth
This bowl of lies
It's an embedded photographer's work from the war, showing a demolished building wreathed in smoke and flames and two figures in silhouette, one dragging the other out of the building. Khalid sets that one up next to the picture of Gillian. Khalid cups his hands at his mouth, staring at the photographs, then looks aside to the note about the weapons shipment. He looks down to a transcript in the stack of papers, the words biological weapon highlighted in yellow, along with nerve agent and unknown composition.
You serve them well
I’m not surprised
You’re of their kin
You’re of their kind
Ultimately, the more immediate problem wins out. Khalid packs up the photographs and the files, tucking them back into his pack and grabs his radio. He switches the channel away from the Military Police band, then turns it off and tucks it into his pack. "Zhao," Khalid says to the air, and a black cat leaps up onto the top of the strongbox, green eyes staring with piercing intensity at him.
Nevermind
Nevermind
I had to leave my life behind
"I found the guns," Khalid explains, motioning to the piece of paper. "I'll get them tomorrow night when they're moved." The cat meows softly, then begins grooming itself, rubbing forepaw against brow and nose.
The story’s told
With facts and lies
You own the world
So nevermind
"Ex-Vanguard reached out too," Khalid adds as a hushed aside, looking to the high windows in the maintenance bay. "I think they want to meet the boss." He says unsure of himself, looking back to the cat which has stopped its grooming to consider the scarred man sitting on the floor. "If this intel checks out, it might be worth it."
Nevermind
The cat says nothing, then jumps down off of the strongbox. Khalid exhales a sigh, leaning back against his pack, eyes focused on the slip of paper that Freyr gave him. Every good deed had a price, and darker deeds often cost greater. But there was a time and place to consider things, Khalid imagines, looking to the lantern flickering where it hangs high overhead. There'd be time to weigh the costs later, Khalid imagines.
The war was lost
The treaty signed
I was not caught
I crossed the line
I was not caught
Though many tried
I live among you
He motions to the distant lantern with one hand and the fire snuffs out, throwing everything into darkness.
Well disguised