Welcome to Idici-Lorani: Failure of Tyranny

Chapter 6: Not Everyone Deserves To Live

Not everyone deserves to live. Some of us deserve death to be wished upon us. Those people are usually pedophiles and other registered sex offenders, but it's not worth killing them; death is a form of freedom for them. For others, death is just the solution to stop their troubles.

January 4th, 2030 -12.32 - Just outside of Le Repos du Marin, Marénda

I went outside. The skyscraper across the street was apparently the very building Dominique Leclerc resided in. I crossed the street, and headed inside. 

Inside, it wasn't that special. It was fairly generic. It looked nice, with a good mix of black, white, and bright wood and brick colours, but I've seen a lot of buildings that reminded me of it. The smell, however, was... nostalgic. It reminded me of the malls in Indonesia. The floors here were marble, and so were the floors in those malls. Same cleaning agents, perhaps? 

I headed for the elevator, and as for any stereotypical supervillain, they live on the top floor. I pressed the elevator to go to the highest floor. Unfortunately,  I couldn't go to the highest floor, because I needed, you guessed it, a keycard. This shitty skyscraper has 45 floors, and I can only go up to 42F. Are they running a shell company up there? I wouldn't be surprised one bit. 

The doors slowly shut, and as tension rised, I did too. I was alone in the elevator, but that's no problem.

January 4th, 2030 - 12.34 - 42F, Idici-Lorani Maritime Tower, Marénda

The elevator slowly came to a halt. The tension kept rising. I entered the lobby of the supposed company that worked up here. There was someone at the desk, but that's it. No cameras, no other security guards, just some lonely dude sitting at the customer service desk. I covered my face with one of those face-covering neck scarfs. I don't know what they're called, but it's something Aiden Pearce from Watch Dogs would wear.

I thought to myself, should I kill him, knock him out, or what? I... need to get rid of him somehow. I walked up to him, drew my gun, and aimed it right at him. He didn't even got the chance to greet me. He shrieked, "What do you want from me?!"
I didn't say a word, and shot him. My Px4 was suppressed, so it wasn't an issue. His body fell to the ground behind the desk, and slowly bled out on the floor. I thought 9x19mm Parabellum rounds didn't pierce completely through the skull! 

Oh, right. I shot him point blank. I don't want to touch that body anymore. His lifeless corpse kept bleeding out over the marble floor behind the desk, but not that I care. I took a keycard that was on the desk, and headed through an employee-only door. I kept my gun out. Everyone in my way will die this afternoon. As paranoid as I am, I can still have some determination, right? 

January 4th, 2030 - 12.37 - 42F, Idici-Lorani Maritime Tower, Marénda

I walked on through. Every guard I saw, shot. Every camera I saw, destroyed. These retards won't know what hit them. Some tried to yell something, but I ignored it. I've become numb to death, but only the deaths of those I don't care about. You're just another inconvenience to me, sorry.

January 4th, 2030 - 12.52 - 43F, Idici-Lorani Maritime Tower, Marénda

I walked up the stairwell, and noticed a guard. He looked... shy. Typical newbie stuff, y'know? I approached him from behind, my Px4 aimed right at his skull.
"Hé, mec, tu fais quoi là?!" (Hey, man, what are you doing here?!) the guard shrieked. He was genuinely scared. Two other guards spotted me holding this newbie up. Why am I hesitating?

I used the kid as a meatshield, and fired several rounds at the two other guards. I only struck one in the heart. Right when I need good aim, my aim just doesn't want to be good. Fuck. 

I moved in. The kid was hesitant, but still followed through. I moved around the guard's cover, and as he was about to radio in a lockdown, I shot him. Right in the head. 

Some deaths... they hit harder than other deaths. This was one of them. Nonetheless, I still have to get rid of the kid. I told him, "Je vais vous donner deux options, enfant." (I'm going to give you two options, kid.)

He replied, still scared, "P-pitié, mec, ne me tue pas, s'il te plaît!" (P-please, dude, don't kill me, please!)
"Parles-tu anglais?" (Do you speak English?)
"O-oui, un peu... P-pourqoui?" (Yes, a little... W-why?)
I sighed, "Don't bother asking. You're going to comply with me, or you'll be shot like your mates."
"Non, non, non, non, pitié, monsieur!" (No, no, no, no, please, sir!)
"Okay, look. I need you to get me access to Dominique Leclerc."
"Uh, il est mort..." (He's dead...)
"What?" I replied. I was shocked. How did he die?
He replied with a heavy French accent, "H-He's dead."
"Who did it?"
"Je ne sais pas. Est-ce que tu vas me tuer..?" (I don't know. Are you going to kill me..?)
"Not yet. I want you to prove to me he's dead."
He built up some of his courage, and said, "D-d'accord, monsieur. Suis-moi." (O-okay, sir. Follow me.)
I reluctantly let him go, and followed him. Something isn't right. If Leclerc is dead, then... who killed him? Who's ahead of me? Am I fighting alongside an unknown group of rebels? I'm a loner. I don't work with people. I don't like to, not anymore. You, the reader, know why.

January 4th, 2030 - 13.04 - 44F, Idici-Lorani Maritime Tower, Marénda

He led me up the stairwell, right up to the front door of the penthouse. I shouldn't trust this kid, should I? I gripped my Px4 tightly, I'm getting hesitant to shoot people. What's wrong with me? Is it the adrenaline?

He unlocked the door. I raised my Px4, and used him as cover. If this is a trap, I'm taking this kid down with me.

January 4th, 2030 - 13.06 - 44F, Idici-Lorani Maritime Tower, Marénda

The penthouse was a mess. It didn't look like the police had investigated it yet, as there was a profound lack of mess from them. 

I asked the kid, "When did this happen?"
He replied, "I-il y a d-deux heures..." (T-two hours a-ago...)
"Well, shit," I said, "Is police inbound?"
"N-non, personne ne peut savoir que Leclerc est mort." (N-no, no one can know that Leclerc is dead.)
I raised my gun at him, "You better not lie."
"Je ne mens pas, monsieur! Aie pitié, s'il vous plaît! Have mercy!" (I'm not lying, sir! Have mercy, please!)
I lowered my gun again, "I will as long as you don't betray me. Show me his corpse."
"O-oui. Suis-moi." (Y-yes. Follow me.)
I followed him. I kept my eyes peeled for any traps. The penthouse had dead bodyguards and broken furniture littered everywhere. This possibly could'vn't been done by a single person. It didn't look clean or professional, but rather like guerrilla work. I've seen what some guerillas can do, and it's not good. In fact, it's ruthless for my standards, and they're pretty low.

The kid lead me to a bedroom, and as suggestive as that sounds, I don't think he has the intent or balls to do anything gay with me. He opened the bedroom door, and there Leclerc was.
"Gah, what the fuck?!" I yelled.
Leclerc was cuffed to the bed, naked, and dead. He wasn't just shot dead, either. He had his dick cut off and had that very dick shoved in his mouth. I could smell the sweat and bodily fluids from the supposed intensive sex they had from here already. I couldn't see the size of his dick, as it was quite deep in his mouth, but it was definitely below average in length. I'd say like 5 centimeters, give or take a centimeter or so.
"W-was he having a sexfest or something?" I asked.
"Quelle une "sexfest"?" he asked. (What's a "sexfest"?)
"Une fête du sexe." (A sexfest.)
"Oh, merde..." (Shit...)
"Did he have one or not?"
"Le plus probable." (Most likely.)
"Well, shit."
This is unbelievable. Well, having a sexfest at like 1 in the afternoon is. No, 11 in the morning. I'm two hours late. Still, it's borderline insane. There's a reason I will never set foot in Vegas, let alone the rest of the US, and it includes this shit. Ugh.

January 4th, 2030 - 13.17 - 44F, Idici-Lorani Maritime Tower, Marénda

I pulled out my wallet, and gave the kid 200 VD. I told him, "Do not tell anyone I was ever here, or I will do something as disgusting as what they did to Leclerc to you."
He gracefully took the money, and thanked me for it, "Merci, monsieur. Je n'en parlerai à personne." (Thank you, sir. I will not tell anyone.)

Now to get out of this shithole. I'm fucking traumatized now. I took a quick picture of Leclerc's corpse as a gift for Matthias, and left. 

Das wird dir gefallen, Matthias. Ich bin sicher. (You'll like this, Matthias. I'm sure.)