Leon sat near one corner of the locker-room, donning his armor. In the far corner was Angela and Dan. They were talking a little too quietly for Leon to hear, but as he got himself ready, he watched them thoughtfully.
Leon remembered all the things that had happened over the last five years. It all started when he met Angela. Back then, he could still speak. They weren’t a quick-made match, but after a while, they started to grow on each-other. Then, as things were starting to really shine, a mission against the Fallen went to shambles. A Fallen Captain stabbed him in the neck, cutting the vocal cords. He had survived only because the blade had failed to go an inch deeper, and Angela saved him in the exact nick of time. At the same time, the other member of the group was killed, replaced not long after by Dan.
At first, not being able to speak had been horrible for Leon, but as time went by, the pain took on a different nature. He no longer felt horrified at his inabilities, but at the same time, something always felt deeply wrong. It just got worse when he had to deal with Angela; how he always yearned to be able to talk to her.
Many things have a half-life, fading out over time. Pain is not one of those things; at least it wasn’t for Leon. It never disappeared completely; not even close. It just flattened out at a certain point, and deviated only slightly in response to certain circumstances.
Leon put on his helmet. Immediately he could feel the density of the air. It never smelled good, more like rusty metal. It always left him with a bad taste, but at least under here he could hide, become just a stoic wall. The outside would be more congruous, even if it never truly reflected the inside. People would expect less from him, and his inability to make sound wouldn’t be quite so obvious. He could feel secure inside here.
How introverted Leon had become. How caught up inside himself. Before this, he had been as focused on the outside as anyone. He had been incredibly warm to everyone. Now he was as cold as the armor he wore.
His inability to express his thoughts had made him retreat into himself. Were he able to explain himself to others, he’d be able to unleash a flood of ideas, thoughts and feelings. As it was, he could only formulate those things, develop them, make them understandable to himself. But when you can’t get them across, they’re never really whole.
He could see the world, but not affect it beyond the most superficial means. He was like an astronomer locked into his observatory. Sure he could fire a gun, but he couldn’t explain to anyone why he did it, or what was affecting him, or anything of the sort. He couldn’t offer up himself, only hope that someone would be able to figure him out for themselves. Angela could do it surprisingly well, but nobody else could.
All for one inch of flesh.
The pain was too much, Leon caught himself, searching for some distraction. He turned a little knob on his helmet, and now he could hear Angela and Dan from all the way across the room. He didn’t care much about what they were discussing; he just loved hearing their voices. Their voices. Not his. He had no voice. No voice.
Damn it, he’d started down that path again.
——————————————–
While Dan and Angela were still capable of socializing, Leon usually aimed to try and avoid as many people as possible. He couldn’t just stay in their quarters all day, so he had to find an alternative. As it so happened, he found this alternative in the Final Vanguard.
The Final Vanguard were essentially a last resort group of Guardians designed to keep watch over the City, remaining there in case the Fallen or anyone else dared try to attack the walls. Despite what their name might suggest, the Final Vanguard was truly a dull group, containing mostly those Guardians who had been singled out as liabilities in true combat or those who were seriously injured or unfit for field work. Even so, these weren’t enough to fill out the Final Vanguard; they needed at least a few volunteers. Very few Guardians did so, but those few did so largely for reasons a lot like Leon’s; they just needed an escape. Leon felt safe there; socializing was an option, and if you wanted to be left alone, people would give you breathing room.
Volunteering was on a day-to-day basis, so Leon could keep to himself when there wasn’t any action while still getting to join his comrades-in-arms when the time came. On this particular day, there weren’t any missions planned. This was a day to rest and prepare. Angela pretty much always used her spare time to prepare, whether it was combat practice, purchasing more equipment, or just checking up on the current situation with her superiors. Dan, on the other hand, loved a good bit of rest.
But Leon? He thought. That was all. He just thought. That was essentially the only thing left for him to do now, and he savored every moment he had to just sit and think.
For today, he was stationed at East Salman Air Terminal, one of perhaps the least attractive locations to be posted. The place smelled of gasoline, and whoever ran the place had an odd tendency to play music all throughout the building – loudly. Still, you couldn’t fault the choice of music; classics from long ago were prized by just about everyone, and the most treasured of all were those from the mid to late 1900s, specifically the 1970s and 1980s. Such old music was difficult to obtain, but it had astonishing appeal. Rumor had it there was even a black market around such music. Sometimes a piece or two from even the 1930s or 40s drifted in; Billie Holiday songs, for example, were rare but almost divine in stature.
On each side of the Terminal’s walls, positioned three-fourths of the way up, there was a small watch-post with a balcony, supplies, and some sparse furnishings. These would be occupied by one member of the Vanguard each. Leon was posted on the side facing into the City. Even though he didn’t really need to, he left his armor on; the feeling of security, even when unjustifiable, was all too important to him. Stepping out onto the balcony, he surveyed the City. How immense, how majestic, how awesome it was. And yet it was so fragile. He wondered if humanity would really make it. Would they provoke their own demise by waging further conflict with the aliens that had conquered their lands? Would some other new foe be brought down upon us? Could the Fallen be just the Goths fleeing the Huns? If so, it certainly didn’t seem like humanity would have a chance at that point; we’d barely survived the first war, and already the Fallen were posing serious problems to the recent attempts to reclaim Earth.
What would the future hold? Leon couldn’t answer that question – no-one could.
Glancing back at a clock fixed on the wall back inside the room, Leon saw it was 9:03 AM. A little under seven hours to just wait. Wait, and watch. Watch, and reflect.
——————————————–
As it turned out, seven hours felt more like fourteen. When you have nothing to do but reflect, time goes slower. When you keep glancing at the clock, it goes even slower. When you’re stuck all alone, it goes even slower. The combination of these three made time twice as long as usual. For most people, this would be absolute torture. Some had been pushing for the Final Vanguard to put two people in every post at a given time, but due to the already thin numbers of the group, this turned out to not be an option. This was a blessing for Leon: he needed every moment possible to be alone, just reflecting. It was his only real comfort zone; he didn’t feel secure around people, and you can’t spend your entire time out in the field. The alternative is to be alone, and that was what he wanted.
All for one inch.
God, when would he stop hearing that sentence? ‘Just an inch deeper’, he had been thinking all day. ‘I wish I were dead’ is what it really meant, and it hurt like hell. He had to get his mind off that crap, or he’d go insane. But how could he? Distractions were all but impossible, because he couldn’t socialize. He was totally isolated from the rest of humanity. He couldn’t really even communicate with the two closest people in his life, Dan and Angela.
Angela.
Oh god, it hurt. He had to stop, just for an hour. Even that was a feat, one he couldn’t handle.
A knock on the door. Leon nearly jumped, having expected himself to be all alone and uninterrupted for the whole time he was here. He glanced at the clock again. 3:42 PM. The door opened, and a young man stepped in wearing the clothing of a Hunter. He had a thin, sharp face, a buzz cut of brown hair, and olive eyes. He had a slight smile, though it didn’t seem very honest. “Morning,” the man said. “Thought I’d show up a little early, see a bit more of the sun before it goes down.” Something about the man struck Leon as off-putting, almost sleazy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, though.
“Hope you don’t mind me imposing. I don’t usually do this, but today I thought ‘why not’ – after all, nothing to lose trying it once in a while.” Leon didn’t pay much attention to what exactly the man was saying after this, it made little difference. After a while, the man seemed to notice Leon’s strange silence. “Don’t say much, do you?” A sting; why’d he have to remind him? The man stepped out of a tiny storage room of food and drinks, holding a small bottle of beer and a glass. “You a mute or something?” he said as he finished pouring the stuff.
Had he the ability, Leon would have groaned. Instead, he just nodded.
The man froze mid-swallow, his cheeks turning a shade paler. He seemed to take a moment to digest this information and formulate a response. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean anything, I just, uh, I had to ask.”
Bastard. He didn’t have to ask anything. Good thing Leon was still wearing his helmet, otherwise his face would’ve betrayed the seething anger boiling up inside him. He got up, grabbed up his stuff, and walked out the door. A quick ride through the underground metro, and he was back to the Tower, with Dan and Angela.
To Be Continued…
A further bit of sorrow from poor Leon. Nicely done.