[Foreword] "Rise my child, Jenova has much more use of you. Wither now, you shall not."
That voice... That calm yet demeaning voice... It seemed to replay in my head time and time again, almost endlessly. I've yet to piece together exactly what it means. But then, I've only began to make assumptions. Only one man sprang to my mind... One mere man that could give me the first piece of this trifling mindfuck of a puzzle. It was time to visit an old friend. Victor Blood...
{V I C T O R}
[Scene 1] The scene opens in a very nice dining nook. An elderly gentleman sits at the table, the New York Times open widely in front of him. He picks up his coffee cup just as we hear the sound of the doorbell. This startles the man and he nearly loses the cup in his lap. It falls to the floor and he backs to the wall, looking at his watch. Footsteps can be heard and the man's eyes seem to bulge with anticipation, perhaps even a hint of deathly fear. Victor Blood sighs with relief as he views one of his men, Fearinhell, entering the room with a 'UPS' labeled box.
Fearinhell: Package for you, sir.
Blood: Put it on the table and do another perimeter check. I don't want that son of a bitch sneaking up on us.
Fearinhell: Victor, if I may? This is becoming somewhat of an obsession for you. He's dead. You saw it with your own eyes. We all saw it.
Blood: No... I refuse to hear this. My gut feelings have never been wrong.
Fearinhell: But Vic...
Blood: No buts! Now, do as I say!
Fearinhell shakes his head and turns full circle, disembarking from the room furiously. Moments later Victor turns his attention to the small package before him. He opens it and his eyes widen as he stares at a set of photographs. All of his premonitions were proven true. As Victor packs the photos away there's a loud thud. The camera pans to see Fearinhell laying eagle-spread on the floor, his face heavily lacerated. Victor fumbles out of his chair as the responsible figure enters the room. The rogue pulls his hood down revealing the face of a supposed dead man.
[Scene 2] .....Victor slides backward quickly, hitting the wall. The man kicks the chair out of his path as he continues the hunting game. Victor climbs to his knees, hands up and ready to beg. The man takes him by a handful of hair. Victor's eyes begin to tear up, as the worst he feared has become a reality......
Blood: It wasn't... I mean, well...
???: Save your breath, old friend. Cherish it while it remains intact.
Blood: Please, no! You have to understand! I know you can understand! It wasn't my choice. Sutton, please! Jenova...
The camera pans up to the scarred, dirt-covered face of Josh Sutton. A combination of hurt and anger swirl inside of his pupils. He grips Victor's hair more roughly and drags him to his feet, slamming his face down onto the table. Victor falls to the floor in a daze. Sutton looks over at Fearinhell who is beginning to refine his vertical base. Sutton grabs him by the back of the neck and forces him toward a set of cabinets.
Sutton: Make Victor and I a drink. Two White Russians... And don't try anything stupid or you'll find that I can alterate more than just your face. Got it?
Fearinhell stares blankly for a moment, as if taking time to fully understand the severity of the situation. He awakens from his trance and nods indignantly. Sutton reaches down and grabs Victor by the collar of his shirt, jerking him back up into his chair. Blood can barely support himself as he teeters, blood trickling down his bottom lip. Sutton sits across from him, keeping one eye on the lackey and the other on the main objective. Fearinhell places the drinks in front of the two men and sits to the side, attempting to be incognito. Sutton taps his fingers on the table impatiently after a short drink.
Sutton: Let's cut the bullshit and get down to the issues, Victor. You tried to ghost me and obviously failed. Am I supposed to let such an act go unpunished?
Blood: Jenova! Not me!
Sutton lunges to his feet, slamming his fist to the table with anguish in his voice.
Sutton: YOU betrayed me! I looked up to YOU as a father, Vic. I followed you like a fucking sheep. You guided me on every single one of your fucked up whims and when I decided it was time for me to cash in on my own value, you allowed the bitch to ice me as she always desired to do. BUT it didn't work, did it?
Victor breaks down and weeps, burying his face into his hands. Sutton relishes in the sight, taking another long drink from his glass.
Sutton: You will get what's coming to you, old man. You can trust me on that one. But you're... How do I put this... beneficial to me alive as it stands right now. You're going to do me a little favor.
Blood: Wh.. What do you want me to do?
Sutton: Set up a meeting between Jenova and I... I want her entire running crew there... No exceptions. Tell her we can do this the easy way or the hard way... Either way, it will end my way...
As he finishes the rest of his drink, Sutton stands and tosses the glass to the floor, spreading shards. Sutton reaches into his pocket and flicks a piece of paper in front of Victor.
Sutton: That's a new number, Vic. Call it when everything is set up. Remember what I said... No exceptions.
Victor tries to speak reason but Sutton walks. You hear a door slam and the camera pans back to Victor as he gulps. Fearinhell gets to his feet, clinching his fists.
Fearinhell: Im'ma get that sunuva bitch, Victor. I'll call up some of my crew to tail him.
Blood: No! You numbskull, that's what he wants. This situation needs minimal body count, got me? Jenova will take care of Sutton in her way.
Victor looks doubtful even at his own words as he picks up the receiver of the phone and punches in some numbers...
Blood: Jenova...... I have some bad news.
To Be Continued...