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Date Posted: 14:44:09 04/15/03 Tue
Author: JenH
Author Host/IP: elementk.cp2.elementk.com / 66.133.138.130
Subject: Origins - 1/1
In reply to: JenH 's message, "Origins - 1/1" on 14:42:47 04/15/03 Tue

Sitting in his holding cell, Michael wrestled with unexpected tumult of emotions, trying not to lose control. This weakness wasn’t him – it never had been. Rene had always admired that about him, the perfect soldier, perfectly dedicated.

He had been the disciplined one, through the whole thing. From the early planning stages, he’d been the one to maintain the group’s focus on their goals, not Rene, who was prone to stirring up speeches and emotions. As they planted the bombs at the Ministry offices the others had been on edge, either from anticipation or fear. Only Michael had been focused. In the aftermath, even as L’heure Sanguine sent messages claiming responsibility, he’d seen Rene’s elation, Gilbert’s morose regret and Alain’s fear as weaknesses.

He alone had maintained perfect control, ensuring the others utilized their pre-planned escape routes to flee Paris. Such irony that his was the route that was compromised.

They had been rough when they arrested him, throwing him hard to the ground to handcuff him. Dragging him to his feet by his arms. The arresting officer had spun him around, to look at him, rage flashing in his wild eyes.

“Why?” he’d barked out.

“It was necessary,” Michael answered calmly.

”So is this” he’d responded, using his stick to strike Michael across the stomach, doubling him over, before shoving him into the back of the car.

Through it all, the interrogations and trials, he’d remained calm. He denied nothing except the existence of co-conspirators, and defended himself minimally. “Any means necessary” he had said. Even the prosecutors had admitted a grudging respect for his almost inhuman calm.

So he was completely unprepared for what had happened at the sentencing. The Prosecutors had shown pictures of the victims, both at the scene and later, in the hospital morgue. The bombs had been quite effective – their wasn’t much left. Michael hadn’t seen that before, and was surprised at his sense of horror, and struggled to hide it.

But it was the little girl who was his undoing. She’d been visiting her father at work, had been close to the blast. Her surviving father testified about the girl’s life during Michael’s sentencing, weeping with fury. He had shown a picture of her in life, to contrast with the horror of her death. She had looked so much like Michael’s own sister.

And then Michael understood, truly, what he’d done. His idealistic zeal seemed to drain away, replaced with the reality of his actions. He remembered little else of the sentencing, only vaguely recalled hearing that the sentence was life, without the possibility of parole.

And now he sat in his cell, waiting for his transfer, hands shaking as he contemplated his actions. He’d used so many words to describe himself: revolutionary, freedom fighter, soldier. How that was gone. Replaced by murderer, terrorist, child-killer.

Michael dropped his head into his hands, and wept.


*********

The two figures watching through real-time surveillance took in this unexpected event. Wolfe was surprised. The young terrorist had shown such strength, such focus, since his arrest. It was the reports of his icy indifference that had drawn his attention. He had an idea on how his new command would recruit operatives. Now his potential candidate was crying like a damn baby.

”I guess the idea of prison scares him after all” he commented, voice full of scorn.

His companion shook her head slowly, brown eyes focused on the monitor in front of her. “I don’t think so.”

“Well then damnit, Madeline, why the breakdown.”

She sighed internally. “As you asked, I was observing at the trial. His demeanor didn’t falter until sentencing. He was finally faced with the human consequences of his actions. To look into the lives of the people he killed.”

Paul just looked at her blankly, clearly not following her line of thought.

She continued. “He’s only 19 Paul. Highly intelligent and analytical. Before today, he only saw his actions in the abstract – the big picture: liberating the oppressed.”

Paul snorted at that, and she graced him with a small smile before continuing.

”Yes, well, he saw it that way. Until now. Now there are just dead bodies.”

Paul cut in. “And he’s sorry. Great. So you agree that he’s not a candidate for recruitment?”

Madeline sighed, audibly this time. Paul had come a long way, but still had much to learn. “On the contrary. If this program is going to work, he’s exactly what we need. Remorseless, cold-blooded killers we can get, but they have limited potential. Michael Samuelle has great potential. He has killed, and he feels guilt. We can use that. Manipulate with it.”

Paul smiled. “Control with it.” He marveled at how her mind worked. She was the ultimate combination of cold cunning, and beauty.
“So we will recruit him. I’ll make the calls.”

“Not yet” she answered. Again, he looked at her in confusion. She explained. “Let him begin to serve his sentence.”

“Madeline, is that a good idea? He’s young, a University kid who committed a very unpopular crime, prison is likely to be…”

“Brutalizing” she finished for him. “I quite agree. It should be painful in the extreme. If he survives it, he’ll be better conditioned for the psychological elements of my training plan. If he breaks down, we’ll know he’s unsuitable, without having wasted resources on him.”

Paul smiled. “Agreed.” He shut off the monitor. “Now, the situation in Tripoli….”

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