Earlier tonight, I received a call from Lucien informing me that he wants to see me in his office first thing Monday morning. I don't know the reason, but he didn't sound happy, so maybe he's heard some of the rumblings about me from my coworkers. Perhaps they've told him of my eagerness to be done with this hellhole and he's going to fire me. It wouldn't be the worst thing to be honest, as after five years of this bullshit, I'd rather be destitute. I mean, I only took this shitty job in the first place to support my family, but I no longer have one, so why am I even still here? Just to keep paying the utilities and rent for a place where I'm all alone, swallowed up by silence and despair? I really should be dead, but I'm too unlucky to even be granted that. However, I gotta admit that I must've been some kind of pest in a past existence, because misfortune has showered me in so many ways. Like, perhaps I was a mosquito, wasp or a cockroach that came in contact with the Pope or someone else ordained by God. Maybe I was a tick? Eh, whatever I was, I'm certainly paying for it in this lifetime.
***
It's Monday morning now and I'm up, earlier than usual, doing my daily routine. I have neglected to shave today though because the stubble on my face fits my current mood. I also don't feel like picking out my hair, so I'll just waltz into the office with this nappy-ass afro. This depressed state I've been in has made it difficult to operate as usual, but I ultimately shake myself free and do what I have or need to do. However, today isn't one of those days. I had originally scheduled an appointment with my barber, Kirkland, for tomorrow, but learned at the last minute that he had been chosen to participate in this month's VisceraFest. Sometimes, it seems like the Vermouths are systematically wiping out people I know, value and depend on.
If I didn't mention it before, the VisceraFest is a monthly thing. Well, a six-month long event to be precise. People come from near and far to participate, hoping to make it to the grand finale: the VisceraFest World Tournament. For the past five years, there have been over a thousand entrants, but only a select few have secured top spots. Pretty much, whoever wins overall in a specific month, gets placement. Like last month, José Papua— a contestant who goes by the name of Pizzakrust— won. For someone driving in a clunky, old, white Mazda pick-up truck with a rusted pizza place emblem on the top, he certainly cleaned house.
The mumblings around town and the office are that José entered to get revenge on the Vermouths for shutting down his family's restaurant, Papua's Pizzeria. Like with everything else in Rivercrest, the Vermouths did away with whatever they deemed unnecessary, or anything that may reek of competition in the slightest. While the popularity of and interest in Papua's had waned over the past decade or two, it was still a staple in Rivercrest. I had been there a few times as a youth, but don't remember much about it aside from it being reasonable in price. With the emergence of much larger restaurant chains and businesses, like Junior Boom's Pizza Emporium, Papua's began to see less patronage. I had assumed their doors were shut long before the Vermouths arrived, but it seems they'd been chugging along still, albeit in a hampered state.
***
I'm finally at work, sitting outside Lucien's office, waiting on him to call me in. His secretary, Annalise Sheffield, has been staring holes into me with her big, ocean blue eyes while smirking and twirling her curly, blonde hair. She had twirled it so tight that I thought she'd cut off the circulation in her finger. Like, I could've sworn it was turning purple, but it may just be my nerves. While I am hoping that Lucien will let me go today, I have a fear it may be a step in a worse direction.
"Ms. Sheffield," Lucien says, his voice blasting through the intercom. "You can send Fleetwood in now."
"Right away, Lucien," she replies with a slight giggle. "Mr. Reever, you heard the man. You're up."
"Uh, yes, of course, right away." I sputter, unable to hide my nervousness. Her tone with me was a bit snotty, as opposed to the amused look on her face. I believe I am right to assume she knows more than she's letting on by appearance alone.
"Morning, sir. You wanted to see me?" I inquire as I enter the room through the stained-glass French doors. An odd choice for an office, but Lucien is eccentric like that.
"Yes… yes, I did, Fleetwood. Have a seat, would you?" Lucien gestures towards a rickety gaming chair in front of his desk. It's never been here before, so I take it the piece of shit was brought in on my accord. Nevertheless, I take a seat. The chair wobbles a bit as I patiently await the "verdict". Obviously, Lucien is pissed.
Unlike Vesper, Lucien resorts to lots of passive-aggressive behavior and nano-aggressive slights when he's upset. These can range from extending an employee's hours, to pointing out a person having dirt under their fingernails and punishing them based on that alone. He's remarkably astute and fastidious, despite the bloodshed and chaos surrounding him. Actually, that's probably why he's so hard on the Remains crew when it comes to clean-up. Speaking of which, being assigned to the Remains was one of those aforementioned slights for me, solely because I miscounted the kills for Splinterwing a year ago. He never forgave me, though Splinterwing was calm about it. It didn't matter to him since he doesn't keep count, all he cares about is making the kills. His motto is "Whether ten or a thousand, I'm doing my job." It always struck me as odd that he referred to it as a "job", but again, it's something I shouldn't at all be surprised about. Nobody around this place is normal.
"So………Fleetwood, it's been brought to my attention that you're tiring of your current lot in life and that the day-to-day functions at San Belfegor are………eating you up inside. May I ask exactly why that is?"
"Well, uh, I mean," I start, stumbling over myself. My hands are feeling clammy and my chest is tight. I expected him to bring this up, but didn't expect him to jump right into it. He's never been this straightforward before, so something is definitely amiss here. "I don't see any other way to put it except that the violence is tough to deal with it. The excessively extreme content is………uh………not easy on my stomach. I'd be happy if I didn't have to see another mutilated body ever again."
"Hahahahahahaha!" Lucien mirthfully roars. "You've been here, what, five years? It's just now getting to you?"
"Well, no. It's always gotten to me," I retort. My distress is probably more visible now. "However, I can't keep fighting the ways it's messing with my mind. These conditions are not good for anyone to be in."
Lucien cackles even louder this time, kind of shaking the room. "Fleetwood, you're a valued member of my organization, but I think you need a vacation."
Now I'm feeling really weird. What does he mean by a vacation? I mean, I know what a vacation is, but the accepted definition and whatever Lucien's may be are certainly different.
"Ummm, come again, sir?"
"Let me be more clear: what I think you need is some first-hand experience in the VisceraFest. You're seeing the aftermath, which I admit is quite dour and macabre. Yet, I gather that if you enter, you'll certainly buck up and realize why people come from all over to participate. It's not just senseless murder, it's a beautiful way of life."
"Now wait a goddamn minute, you expect ME to participate in that shit!?" I can't believe he would even suggest such a thing. Nope, wait—I can. This is just Lucien being Lucien, passive-aggressive behavior on full display. "What in the world makes you think I'm qualified for vehicular combat?"
"Oh, on the contrary, Fleetwood: I don't think you're qualified in the slightest. However, when one's back is against the wall, a titan is created. Pressure bursts pipes and makes diamonds, it's up to you which one you'll be."
"But I d—" I begin, when I'm suddenly cut off by the sound of Vesper's voice as she storms in.
"Mr. Reever, my brother and I won't take no for an answer. It's in your best interest that you comply, or I'll be………no, we'll be, more than happy to make an example out of you. Complying at least gives you a fighting chance, not that you have much of one to begin with."
"Well, I'm really between a rock and a hard place, huh?"
"Indeed you are, Mr. Reever," Vesper says. "So what's it gonna be? If you really want to die, might as well go out with a bang."
It's more than apparent that I have no other choice. Resistance will only make things worse. Suddenly, I find myself filling up with the same disgust from the day Lucien first offered me a job. Knowing that I'm entering this contest would certainly disappoint Charlene and Nneka, so I guess it's good they left me long ago.
I am a weak man, always have been. It's either I run from things, or I stay and just take all of the shit, never fighting back. Now? Well now I can't run, but I can at least fight and retain some semblance of control in my life. I can't allow this spineless personage to persist. It must be stamped out, or my name isn't Fleetwood Dwayne Reever.
"Alright, I'll do it. I'll participate in the VisceraFest," I declare through gritted teeth. Committing to that was tough, but it's the best thing I've ever done. Well, I can only hope it is. "However, there's something I want you both to know concerning my involvement."
"Oh?" Lucien reacts, eyebrows raised in puzzlement. "What exactly would that be?"
"I'm going to win, and when I do, you two have to pack up and leave Rivercrest, never to return. Those are the conditions of my agreement."
Vesper and Lucien both erupt into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
"Well, Mr. Reever, I'd like to see you try and do that," Vesper snickers. "You are aware how seasoned and stiff the competition is, correct?"
"Yes, I'm well aware. Still, I have tons of knowledge of how they all operate in battle. With that on my side, I shouldn't have much trouble."
That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever said, but I hope it sounds convincing. I'm not at all convinced myself, but it's not me I have to be concerned with at the moment, it's the Vermouths. If they feel threatened by my proclamation, then that's all that matters.
"So do we have a deal?"
Vesper looks at Lucien, who is currently hunched over with his eyes closed, deliberating in his head. He opens them, looks at her and smiles.
"Fleetwood, you indeed have yourself a deal. I can't wait to see you in the Finals."
"Wait, in the Finals!?"
Vesper lets loose a boisterous laugh. "What? You didn't think we'd make you a finalist without competing like everyone else, did you, Mr. Reever?"
"I mean, I assumed I would be since it's so late in the competition. It was Mr. Vermouth's idea after all."
"Firstly, don't call me Mr. Vermouth, that's my father's name. Call me Lucien. Secondly, there's no favoritism in the VisceraFest, Fleetwood. You earn your spot like all the others, is that understood?"
"Uh, yes. Yes, it is, sir. Duly noted." Okay, on second thought, I have a lot more self-convincing to do than I concluded. I'll be going up against new competitors, which means I won't have much time to learn patterns. I'll just have to step out on faith. Jesus H. Christ…
"We're both delighted you get the message, Mr. Reever," Vesper replies, tapping her tongue against the roof of her mouth. I don't know what you call the sound she was making, but it was kind of demeaning for some reason. "Now, scurry off, will you. We have more pressing business to attend to."
She waves her hands dismissively as I rise from the wobbly chair and take my leave.
"You don't have to tell me twice," I nervously chuckle as I walk away backwards, pivoting toward the doors. Before I can get out, however, Lucien calls for me.
"There's one more thing I wanted to say: while you were in here, we took the liberty of upgrading your car for the competition. You do drive that orchid yellow 2004 Honda Jazz, correct?"
"Yes, I do, sir. What exactly did you do to it?"
"Oh! Nothing that you should be worried about. We just made it optimal for entry in the contest. However, you are without a VisceraPerk. You'll have to discover what that will be on your own."
"So, you're saying I only have the miniguns use?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Fleetwood." Lucien chuckles.
"Sir, with all due respect— what type of shit is that!?"
"Well, we couldn't have you enter without a weapon at all, but we also wanted to see what you're really made of," Lucien says. "Lacking a VisceraPerk will be pretty interesting and should make you a viral sensation. Of course, this all hinges on how far you make it next month. Anyway, that will be all. You're free to go."
Without protest, I leave, slamming the doors behind me so hard that I thought the glass would break. Surprisingly, it didn't, which means I'm not even strong enough to slam doors in a threatening manner. Out the corner of my eye, I can see Annalise snickering and grinning from ear to ear. I choose not to engage her, however, as I head towards the elevator.
It's back to my usual grind for now, but with the added weight of what's in store for me next month. Only now is the reality sinking in.
"What did I get myself into?"
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