Gannon
Moving my feet forward is like wading through mud. They just don't wanna move. The metal letters on Makatza's office never seemed so daunting. I feel too aware of too many things all at once, like how isolated Makatza's office is. It all feels so intentional, how he's on one of the top floors, at the very back of the building. There's just too many factors making it feel far too perfect.
The cloak—my cloak—feels too heavy on my shoulders. I'd be lying to myself if I said that my outburst a week ago at ordination was a complete farce. Since I first encountered Specialist Gervase, I've seen these things as a glorified ball and chain. Now that I actually have one, I feel like all my very worst fears have been confirmed. Putting on this stupid cloak every morning feels like a crushing weight. Some sick feeling very deep down inside of me knows that this weight will never go away. Minimize? Maybe, if I'm lucky, but it still won't go away. I just know it won't.
I'm at the door. It's already open. I don't want to turn that knob. I don't want to enter. I just want to run. I want to puke. I know what waits for me on the other side. I know there's no avoiding it.
I open the door.
Makatza sits behind his desk. He's laid back in his chair, the hood of his cloak is up, as it always is. He's so relaxed. That's a bad sign. I shut the door behind me and lock it. A muscle in his jaw feathers as I do so. It's hard to believe something as simple as locking a door behind you could make someone angry, that is, if you don't understand the implications of it.
Swallowing back my fear, I stand at attention. I don't want to look at him. It's such a fight to keep my eyes on him. I hope my body isn't shaking. I'm losing it. I'm—
"Approach, Ramirez."
My feet move before I can think. In seconds, I'll know if that was a good or bad decision. Makatza stands, and I have to fight hard against the instinct to flinch. I keep staring into his eyes. I'm challenging a beast. I have seconds before he strikes.
"Apologize." It's a command.
Fuck. It. All.
"I'm... sorry." All too quickly, I tack on, "Next time, I'll make my performance more convincing to get you off your high horse."
CRACK.
Everything stings as I crash to the floor. My jaw doesn't feel right. The pain shudders through me. I open my mouth to cry out, but the popping sound that rings in my ears makes me sick, strangling my cry short.
I don't have a second to breathe. His boot connects with my abdomen, forcing out a gasp of air. It doesn't stop. He doesn't stop. My body doesn't even have time to register the ache or sting before he kicks me again and again and again and—
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Fate Breakers
FantasyThere are many stories about people changing their fate. Some succeed, and others meet a crushing defeat. The consistency is that these people who have changed their fates all were aware of what lied ahead for them. This begs the question, what woul...
