THE URGE TO LAUGH is insane. it’s fucking SURREAL, it’s awfully hypothetical but it is always there nonetheless — right under her voice. all she needs is the right push — the right touch — the perfect timing — && she breaks beyond the point of salvation now. driven on edge: WRATHFUL. wrongly defeated while the VICTOR of their little game of cat && mouse triumphs in a disgusting DELIGHT. he has taken her into captivity to his own device then: the fucker just has to drug her out of her mind, knock the light out of her, && transferred her to his bunker like a goddamn prized possession. slowly, as time forsakes her poor memory, she can barely remember any of it — if not, all of them: her family, the Seeds, the outburst of the cult, the incident, the encounters, the bliss, the ranch, her failed mission, John Seed himself, how it begins falling apart:
Nick Rye is — was a good friend at heart. when she first repositioned herself to Holland Valley under Sheriff Whitehorse’s command, he was the first to welcome her with open arms. lying be pointless: the locals there were warm && generous, they were UNBELIEVABLY kind to her despite her bloodied history — but Nick was different. Nick && Kim && their unborn little one were Mercy’s mercy. countless of times: they HELPED her, ADORED her, SUPPORTED her in their own special ways, without any conditions — as if KINDNESS itself runs in their blood from birth. at this foreign land, where she was a STRANGER to all, they were the very PEACE she finally found. she loved them, as they kindly did so in return, && she couldn’t let herself watch them torn in misery at John Seed’s havoc. the Carmina was Nick’s pride. it was his inheritance from his father, a prized treasure passing from generation to generation — a jewel he could never afford to lose. && when he did, he was absolutely furious. she was there in time just as the Peggies were at his doorsteps. John’s order, she presumed. no matter. she didn’t think much of it when she dislodged her M249 && shot the horde down one by one. she didn’t think much of his request either, when he asked her to retrieve dear Carmina.
that was where she found herself. Seed Ranch. she'd crept in from the back, emerged from the forest, past the peggies on their dutiful patrols. first, she peered through the wicked lens of her scope to locate the airstrip, once she did, she quickly climbed a ladder to the roof of the plane hangar, used a zipline across to the roof of the main house and dropped silently onto the balcony below. the Seeds never locked their door, jesus. she slipped inside easily. too easy. this is Seed Ranch. John Seed's home probably, if he even lived here. she should have gotten herself out of the fucking residence the moment she found Carmina, Mercy reflects bitterly, but her WRATH got the best of her. she'd liberated countless of outposts, one more wouldn’t mean anything. && if anything at all: it only strengthened the Resistance furthermore. she'd done it before, she could well do it again.
no one was in the house. she could use this as an opportunity to get the best angle: disabling the alarms, all the while taking out as many peggies as silently as she could — not the best at the moment, but it was all that she’d got. her plan set up perfectly so, everything was ready to execute. the QUICKER, the BETTER. && Nick’s dorky smile once she delivered his plane back to him made her smile. standing on the internal balcony however, as she surveyed the large room beneath her, her curiosity bested her. cult paraphernalia, classical novels, short pieces of writing, books, so many of them per se. below her stood a large table with a telephone. there was a flashing light to it, indicated a voicemail message. for him? then Mercy did something she deeply regretted: she slipped downstairs && pressed play.
“After all the atonements, all the confessions, and all that you have done for me and Eden's Gate, it's not enough, is it John?” Joseph Seed, she remembered, The Father. his voice alone always sent a chill down her spine every time. she tended to listen as the message went on, but — Gods do hate her, don’t they. before she could collect herself, she heard heavy boots behind her. then one hand grabbed her around her waist, while another held a musky smelling cloth over her mouth && nose. warm breath against her ear, && a single, silky word.
❝Gotcha.❞
to where she is now. bruised, tired, beaten, wounded like a caged beast: the unforgiving pain throbs in her guts like fire. so deep && warm, so MENTALLY arduous, so fucking AGONIZING too — she’s lost. but he is, too. defeated. because John can’t kill her. he isn’t allowed to under the influence of Joseph Seed. watching him going crazy, fuming, yelling at people from down the hall, knocking things over as he passes is absolutely ENTERTAINING. all because she won’t CONFESS. he is furious from times to times, even going as far as storming into her cell, with four guards, instructing them to hold her down while he yanks her shirt halfway upward her back && carves the word PRIDE into her burning flesh, ranting senselessly about her pride and how it is stopping her from confessing. he’s done that. still, she won’t yield to him. she won’t confess. && here he is, ANGER conspicuous in his eyes as he glares down at her, she stares at him in response. MOCKING him wordlessly. ❝How hopeless of you, John. Joseph will be fucking disappointed, don’t you think?❞
