Race To A Salted Earth - Markus’ Perspective of Percy Sr.
(Pictures taken by me.)
Percy, or whom many know as Dr Percival Merceria, was honestly one of the most peculiar men I've worked with. We had first met each other at a meeting when first recruited into Project LASE (Land, Air, Sea, Electronics Defence Plan) to work on the salted bomb. The first time I had laid my eyes upon him, he clung to the corners of the room, attempting miserably to go unnoticed. I honestly thought he would claw the head off of anyone who'd try to strike up conversation with him, some poor souls being rebuked and rejected by the nastiest scowl one could ever witness.
Near the end of the event I found myself to be quite wary of Percival, having admittedly a near heart attack when I accidentally bumped into him. Fortunately he didn't do anything other than glare at me in an offended manner before quickly scurrying off.
I was rather taken aback that such a talented and gifted man was so ill-mannered in social pleasantries, but then again, many of the greatest scientists had their…..quirks. Percival was relatively young for someone in his field, exceptional in his fast, unorthodox ways of thinking that brought new things to the table. I myself expected his personality to reflect that, but back then, I had simply dismissed it as nerves from the other man.
The next week when all of us had officially moved in to research full time, as with most groups of people, cliques began to form. I was fine on my own - most people on the base came from a Chiendran family, and were instantly clocking my more ‘rougher’ accent, leading to them wanting nothing to do with me outside of work. Something similar was happening with Percival. He was known by all as what some would describe in a derogatory manner a “mutt”, meaning in translation to decent people that he was just half Okosian by blood. Everyone still knew of the controversy his father had caused when marrying his mother-the daughter of a poor farmer.
I noticed however everyone directly antagonising him rather than ignoring him like they did me, and to be fair. He could be the most foul-mouthed, temperamental bastard who would lash out at the nearest person or object that was even the slightest annoying. And to think this man had children and a wife, yikes!
One time, when the water pipes had broken and the emergency reserve had to be used for cooling the core of the reactor, we had to share showers. Percival was in the room next to me and still had a functioning bathroom which he begrudgingly let me use-and after one instance of me taking a minute too long, he began pounding on my door like a mad man, hollering and cornering me when I got out about how I was disrupting his ‘schedule’. He once even reduced poor Greta, one of my assistants to tears when he nearly broke a tennis racket over her head, just because he was a sore loser.
Everyone after three months was sick of his erratic behaviour. Whenever Percival was around, everyone would be on edge, waiting for something to set off his volatile temper. Some of us discussed what to do with him-having such a powder keg of a man in the same room as a nuke would just be asking for a worse Chernobyl or Fukushima. It was an awfully tricky situation as Prime Minister Bernadette favoured Percival, having hand picked him personally herself to work on LASE.
Our solutions were all but inconclusive, only option available being containment. Keeping the man cooped up in his quarters distracted by equations and paperwork would be a better solution than having him handle dangerous materials. It was a shame really, he had a brilliant, enthralling mind, that would allow him to speak magic when engrossed in any topic that caught his fancy.
There was a large twinge of pity I felt for the vile thing at the same time-it was the type you'd feel looking at a beetle flipped on its back. He clearly took enjoyment out of his practical work and was slowly becoming depressed from the isolation he was facing. Percy looked more unkempt as the days went by with an angry, weary cloud above his head. I couldn't bear the silence anymore either.
It would be my unnecessary feelings that would eventually doom me to this hospital, dying painfully. Percival would eventually betray me in a moment of opportunity, throwing me into the fires of Charnock Station. He cared for me in this sick way, even if he had left me to writhe in agony from the radiation breaking my very DNA to bits. But nonetheless.
We began with short, stunted greetings at each other (well, mostly me really) and compliments, either about his appearance or work. As much as I hated stoking the already massively burning flames of his ego, praise seemed to be the foot in the door for me to get along with him somewhat. Not to my surprise, he perked up at positive words, the younger man's pale complexion making it obvious when he flushed scarlet, similarly to a flustered woman.
After months of ramping up our interactions, he began to quickly attach himself to me, much like an urchin. Invasive and unpleasant. Percy was….nicer now, but he never really shook off those terrible mood swings of his. He would either throw and destroy the nearest things and holler-or on more rarer occasions sob hysterically and hit his own head repeatedly like a child having a fit. He really would have benefited from some kind of psychiatric help to manage his outburst, but I feel he would've throttled me if I even tried alluding to it during the duration of our strange friendship.
He had confessed many things to me in those rare moments he was shedding real tears-usually when inebriated. One particular thing he ranted about which stuck to me was the total despair, and pathetic self-pity, when he spoke of how insignificant he felt. It wasn't hard to tell to be honest, the man practically oozed self loathing out of his skin.
It wasn't all gloomy as mentioned however. I got to see the more pleasant parts of him. There'd be rare glimpses of what he could've been if not a miserable man who was universally disliked by nearly everyone. I witnessed his more pure, childish self, everyone had it inside of them. Even someone as wrapped with narcissistic snake skin like Percy had it in him, though sadly, to my complete devastation it did not make him a good man at all. Maybe that is why I write of him in such vehement hate now-he held such a capacity to be wonderful, yet didn't choose so.
The person I feel the most sorry for is his daughter, little Anna. I never knew the family personally. Percival alongside Anna had a son and wife, Percy Jr and Snježana, or who most people know now as Tomislav. He rarely mentioned them, but when he did so, it was nearly always in a dismissive manner or in a complaint with a nasty snarl, once in a blue moon he would be maybe proud about one of his children's achievements. Percival at the beginning was very affectionate to his daughter in this way, he treated her like he did LASE, something to be built, corrected and utilised upon the world, it was perhaps the closest to light I saw within the man. I couldn't say the same for his son however. Percival really seemed to despise his own son after the boy passed the age of three. I could feel utter disdain in Percival's expression whenever he spoke of Percy Jr, of how slow he was, or stupid. The child clearly had a disability of some kind, much like Percival's sister Clara, yet he was so cruel about it. Many parents were justifiably strict with their children to ensure they grew up to be functioning adults, but what Percival's discipline constituted of with Percy Jr was disturbing at worst and dubious at best. One time he had drunkenly bragged about force feeding the boy until he had been sick all over the dinner table-in order to make him grateful.
I was almost jealous at the fact Tomislav and his son managed to get away from Percival. Poor Anna was left behind though-and I witnessed her painful metamorphosis of an inquisitive, kind girl, into a bitter, spiteful woman who held the worst qualities of her father. Maybe I should have intervened earlier by saying something to save her, save them all even if it meant grappling with Bernadette herself. I suspected that Percival laid hands on Tomislav, alongside both his dear children, and my suspicions turned out right years later. Back then in my foolish mistake I dismissed it as something private, to be sorted out behind doors and dealt with in the most discreet manner possible. That is the weakness men had, willful blindness to his fellow brother's abhorrent sins. If someone had just done something sooner-I would weep in regret and fury, but my eyes have been rendered null.
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Markus is honestly one of my favourite characters to write aside from Tzipora, even though this is my only time writing him lol. Felt like experimenting with first person this round to write about the relationship between Markus and Percival Sr, first person for me is surprisingly fun to write as I can get into the character's shoes and act in the way I laid their personality out. The dynamics of ethnicity/skin colour in this case interests me too, Percival Sr and Markus are the same in the eyes of Cheindran people-dangerous at worst and at best held at arms length, yet Percival's appearance of being fair skinned with a Cheindran father allows him more privilege, while also being simultaneously abused by those who look down on him for being an 'impure' human product due to his Okosian mother-its a large reason the man is the way he is (half insane) in the text. Markus, in contrast, is visibly darker skinned with a mentioned accent that makes him stick out, affording him with no sense of equality by Cheindran people even if he is Percy Sr's equal in smarts. Theres also the dilemma of betraying ones own country too-both characters are working towards making a cobalt/salted bomb that could potentially completely devastate their country of origin, Okos.
