Banner Men
DARIK WYNTER
There was noise. There was always noise, but then one couldn't live in Freeride without a little noise. It was easy to block out, however, to turn it into a background hum, in the aid of contemplative meditation.
And in the middle of it all sat a man doing just that. He sat in the middle of the patch of lush green grass he had tended carefully over many years of calm and controlled emotion, out of the place he had been given as Banner Man of said House. Unfortunately, he shared it with his polar opposite; a man with a propensity towards violence as the first action, rather than the last. While Darik preferred the calmness, the muted colour and vibrancy, the other preferred Teutonic symbols; triskeles, swords, sharp lines and symbolism of a culture long, long dead. That man was Happy Face, so named from the copious amount of drugs he had consumed over the years, leaving him with a near permanent rictus grin on his visage. He wasn't in today.
But this other man? This contemplative man? He was Darik Wynter, once of the ThirtySevens, out of Draper Hall. He had been a tearaway in his youth, fell in with the wrong crowd; a cliché he wasn't proud of. Back then he had no moral compass. Back then, violence was a break from the monotony of daily life. But he had become a changed man. He tried hard to contain that part of his history; keep it where it belonged, in the past. But it didn't always work, and his past caught up with him.
Somewhere near the edge of Darik's reality was a commotion, down below, on the street. It wouldn't normally distract him, but the voice was calling for the Banner Man, quite enthusiastically. Darik pulled himself from his meditation and stood, walking over to the edge of his balcony to see what the fuss was about.
Below, a man was animatedly trying to get past a number of Guards, trying to get to Darik's door. He was insisting he speak to the Banner Man. Darik was always mindful of duty. He dressed and came to the door to greet the man.
"I need to speak to the Banner Man!" called out this man. Darik approached him.
"I'm the Banner Man."
"You've got to come! Now!" The man gestured for Darik to follow, already starting to move in that direction. Darik Wynter could see no reason not to, so followed the man. There was something familiar about him, but Darik couldn't put his finger on it. He had seen many faces in his job. He had arrested a lot of them, but he just couldn't quite place this man.
Darik followed the ever twittering song bird through the streets and down an alleyway to a closed-down shop, victim of the ever fluctuating economy in Freeride. Darik's suspicious bone was tingling, but he followed anyway.
The man tore the boards aside that blocked the door and walked in. Darik followed. It was dark. Darik heard someone strike a match and light a torch. The shadows of five men danced on the wall behind them.
The men were all middle aged, greying and paunchy. One of the men came forward and spoke, "Happy. Good of you to come see us at last. It's been - Twelve years? And look? I still have the scar! Even though the Doctor said it would have faded by now. Doctors, eh?" smiled the man. He had short hair, but no tattoos. For Darik, this was significant.
"I don't know who -" tried Darik.
"You are - hand that here - Darik Wynter. Once of the ThirtySevens, out of Draper Hall. Your reputation still marks the walls with blood, Happy. You know that? Me and my boys here are aiming to settle a score or two. Of course it won't bring back kids like Sparky, Drip and Zack, but it will make me very satisfied." continued the man.
There was an uneasy silence, broken by a fearless Darik, "Rob - Robert Friar, I think I remember? Whatever went on back then were the acts of children. Let it go. Leave it where it belongs - in our youth." he explained.
"Easy for you to say. You didn't have to watch your baby Brother die while you held his scared little body, bleeding uncontrollably. He cried for his Mommy, and there was nothing I could do to stop his pain, his hurting, or his fear. You did that to him; to me - to his Mom. For that I should string you up by your balls from the nearest post."
Darik stared them all down. He knew what was coming, "You don't want to do this boys. Just leave it alone. Walk away. Don't get involved." Rob's boys faltered, but held their ground, "I have worked hard to suppress that beast within me. Please, for your sake, don't wake Him."
Rob snorted, "What? Six against one? You don't stand a chance."
"Don't test that theory, Rob. Just walk away."
Rob's expression became indignant. He spat his reply, "Hey! Who are you to tell me, or them, what to do? You are a vicious killer who deserves punishment, and seeing as the Ruler did nothing, we must. For the sake of all that's holy, your records were expunged and you were made Banner Man! Rewarded, for all you did! You just can't get away with it! You can't be allowed to!"
"Trust me Rob, I am forever haunted by my past. I feel the pain every day of what I did. I can never be forgiven for what I did, but neither can I be punished. A curse, I suppose you would call it. I live with the pain and anguish, so He doesn't return. But He will if you push too hard, Rob, trust me. Find another way to punish me, if you must, but not this, not violence. Just leave it, Rob, while you can. Go back to Engineering, or whatever it is you do now. We have all left the past behind us. Be smart, and do the same, eh Rob?" said Darik, pity oozing from every pore.
Stupidly, they didn't listen. They thought they were smarter. They thought they were braver.
But He didn't care about any of that. He just loved violence.
Surely they could see this was futile, with only one outcome? Or maybe they didn't know? Was it possible? Perhaps if they were from another House, they may not know, but surely even the least adventurous in the cheapest House knew of the dichotomy? But as they advanced, he guessed for the sake of their satisfaction, he should take the beating they insisted that was coming to him for so long, and try to suppress Him for as long as he could.
The fists were followed by the boots, to head, neck and chest. They continued until Darik Wynter was a bloody mess on the floor. But they stopped then. They were people with consciences, and a genuine grievance towards this man they perceived to be a killer. See, they weren't like Happy. They didn't keep going, just to see what happened, as a form of entertainment.
But Darik could hold Him back no longer. There was only so far breathing exercises and meditation could go to tame the beast. Sooner or later, He would surface and take over, if for nothing other than His own survival. Happy Face, the scourge of the Droke, the Beast Within, stirred.
Then Darik Wynter rose to his feet. Except now, there was someone else behind those eyes - darkness, long and deep. Darik seemed to stretch out, bulk out, his hands and features just a little too angular, a sharpness to the fit of the bones of his face. His chest thrust out and he grew a little taller. This wasn't Darik Wynter anymore.
All the boys now recognised a man they had once and always feared, and He looked no older. A man with a reputation a mile long. The beast known as Happy Face. Named for the copious amount of drugs he consumed in his youth.
Happy felt hungry, for blood - the blood of his battlers, all over the floors, walls and ceiling. Happy Face stepped forth, "Well, hello, you Mother Fucking Cunts!" he said with a rictus grin. The beast was back, and not a moment too soon.
And Happy Face retaliated. With prejudice.
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