Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

Thaddeus Duke · (02-16-2021)

On Board Illuminatus Two || Final Approach || 2:07 PM

”Illuminatus Two Heavy, maintain heading,” says the air traffic controller through my headset. ”Expect visual approach runway Two Niner Right.”

It’s been a long and difficult day to say the very least and at the moment I’m very much looking forward to getting home. I’m very much looking forward to Liz coming home too, despite my earlier protests. What I want right now is just to relax with the two people I love most in the world.

”Illuminatus Two descend five thousand, maintain two five zero.”

After acknowledging and beginning to descend, I give Frankie a nudge to wake him up. He needs to get his seat belt on and I haven’t yet and I’m not sure I will tell him the fact that the landing gear in the nose is fucked up. It’s only partially extended so when it hits the runway, it’s gonna collapse back inside the belly.

”Illuminatus Two, turn five degrees left,” instructs the controller.

”Five degrees left, check,” I reply to air traffic control. ”Bub get your seatbelts on,” I tell my weary eyed co-pilot.

”Thad,” he says through a yawn as he starts buckling up. ”Why’s that light blinking? It wasn’t blinking earlier.”

Honestly I should have known better. The boy is super observant and now I have to think of something.

”What light?” Real smooth Thad. He’s not gonna see through that from a mile away.

”What the hell!?” he shouts out, if he wasn’t buckled in, he’d have leapt from his seat. ”What’s wrong with the landing gear?”

”Illuminatus Two to New Haven Center,” I call over the radio is I hold up a finger to Frankie and his worry. ”Descend 3,000?”

”Affirmative Illuminatus Two, descend 3,000, reduce speed to two one zero.”

”Check, New Haven Center,” I reply as we go into a bit of a dive. ”Frankie it’s broken,” I finally tell him.

”Oh my goddddddddd,” he says with an exasperated sigh as he throws his hand against his forehead.

”Look at me,” I tell him as a tap his shoulder. With another sigh, he turns his head toward me. ”Have I ever let you down?”

He shakes his head.

”Would I ever let you down?”

Again he shakes his head but this time, with a slight smile.

”And I’m not going to today,” I tell him and hold my hand out toward him. ”It’s gonna be bumpy. It’s gonna be scary okay? I’m a little scared too. But we’re gonna be fine.”

”Illuminatus Two, make visual contact with runway Two Niner Right,” the air traffic controller requests.

”That’s affirmative New Haven Center… hard to miss with all those firetrucks,” I say as Frankie puts his hand in mine.

”Drop to 1,000 feet, reduce speed to one five zero for touchdown,” he replies back. ”Try not to screw this up Illuminatus Two, and we won’t have to use them.”

”New Haven Center I have precious cargo on board,” I say as I look at Frankie. ”We’re not dyin’ today.”

My heart races and pounds, trying its damnedest to beat its ways right out of my chest as we come closer and closer to the runway. It grows closer by the second and the weight looms heavy on my shoulders. It’s mostly all wing flap. Keep the flaps down while reversing thrust to the engines. The plane wants to lift, but it’s too slow to take flight once the rear wheels touch down. From there, it’s a matter of trying to keep the nose up long enough to come to almost a complete stop before letting it crash into the pavement.

Of course, that’s all in theory. Putting it to practice is altogether a different kind of animal. One bad crosswind on the runway, one accidental tip of the wing, one damn thing doesn’t go exactly perfectly right and I roll this mother fucker over into a giant ball of flames.

Letting go of Frankie’s hand as we’re about to touch down, the firetrucks now racing up the runway on either side as the 747 flies by them, the rear wheels hit the runway with a screech. For a second, the plane bounces up off the pavement and I work the controls feverishly trying hard to keep control of the crippled airliner. Back down we go and the plane shakes violently as gravity and lift are in a death match for control. Gravity wins the day as we roll down the runway, the nose tilted upward.

It’s a fight and isn’t an easy one. Mentally and physically, I’m being worn down by this experience. Trying to keep everything right is difficult for even seasoned airliner pilots and as I’ve mentioned, I am not. Fighter jets and the occasional Learjet flight is the extent of my aviation experience. If not for the little experience I have in flying traditional aircraft, Frankie and I are as good as dead.

Bumping along the runway, I glance to my left to notice the firetrucks catching up and flanking the 747 on either side. Momentarily glancing to my right at Frankie and the silent tears of fear rolling down his cheeks it sort of puts things into perspective… failure isn’t an option. If I fail, he dies. And we can’t have that can we?

The plane finally begins to slow and what takes just a minute or two feels like an eternity. Though I can feel myself starting to lose the battle. Fighting the controls and forces of nature, the nose of the 747 begins to dip toward the Earth before crashing down against the runway, spraying sparks along its sides. Against my wishes, the hulk of an airplane begins to turn left and I still have to fight hard to keep it from leaning. If it leans and the wing touches the runway it could spell complete disaster, so I fight on.

There’s a number of reasons to keep fighting. Frankie, for one thing. The simple fact that I’d like to meet my other babies rather than them looking at some picture on a mantle some day and saying “that’s my dad, I wonder what he was really like.” And as if those aren’t reason enough, denying the Ares Project the satisfaction of killing me by accident is always a good thing.

The crippled airliner finally comes to a sparking, screeching stop and I exhale a deep sigh as I begin the shutdown sequence.

”Thanks for not killing me,” Frankie says with an exasperated sigh as I unfasten mine and his seatbelts. I want so badly to laugh because that’s just funny, but right now I kind of just want to hug the boy. Standing up from the captains seat I look down at him, and he up at me. Holding out my right hand he gives me a ‘five’ and stands up on the seat and looks out the window at the runway for a second. ”Ya think maybe next time we can make this stuff less dramatic?”

That one makes me laugh a bit but I grab him up and hold him tight, sitting us both back down in the captains chair.

”Thad,” he says with his face scrunched up against my shoulder. ”I might have pee’d a little.”

”Yeah,” I reply with a smile. ”My leg is a bit soaked now, so I kinda figured that out already.”

”Bub I’m sorry you keep going through this traumatic shit,” I say to him with a bit of a sniffle.

”Berta’s here,” he points out as he looks over my shoulder out the window. Putting him down, I look out the window and sure enough, Berta is standing near another one of my armored limousine’s, the car tailed and lead by the Connecticut State Police. No doubt this is Elizabeth’s doing.

”Alright listen,” I say as he turns his head to the left peeking at the dead through the doorway. I turn his head toward me. ”You’re gonna go home with Berta, get yourself all showered up.”

”What about you?”

”I have something I have to take care of, but I’ll be back home before you’re even out of the shower. I promise, I won’t be long.”

Guiding him through the doorway to the passenger compartment, I attempt to cover his eyes, shielding him from yet again seeing the dozen or so bodies of my murdered aides and assistants. He pries my hand from his face and looks up at me.

”Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away,” he says quietly as I open the door and hit the emergency button to inflate the slide.

”No it doesn’t,” I agree with him. ”Be careful going down the slide okay? You’re soaked from the waist down so you’re about to slide like lightning.”

He approaches the doorway and surveys the scene, taking in for a moment the fact that he lived through this harrowing experience. Taking in all the sirens and flashing lights.

”Thad?” he says as steps back from the opened door for a moment. ”Harrison’s dead.”

It isn’t that I’d forgotten, but trying to keep this plane from exploding kind of put it out of my mind. Harrison Butler was Frankie’s detail chief and like Frankie always does, he made Harrison his friend. It saddens me a great deal to know that this innocent child just keeps losing people that he loves.

”He is buddy,” I say as I pull his head to my stomach. ”He died a hero. Protecting you and not just because it was his job, but because he loved you.”

After seeing Frankie down the slide, I head toward the Situation Room and my… prize… for lack of better terminology. Through everything, I almost forgot about him. Inside the room, I make sure my pistol is loaded and one in the chamber. Before opening the large armory safe, I peel off my armored vest and lay it on the table. Turning the dial several times, I now intend to release “Brad Wallace” from his temporary prison as I slide open the drawer.

With my gun drawn and pointed at Mr. Wallace, I allow his eyes to adjust to the light a few seconds.

”Step out,” I instruct of my would-be prisoner. Hesitantly, he follows my instruction. As he climbs out of the cabinet, I lift the armored vest from the table and hand it to him. ”Put it on.”

He stares at me for a second, entirely dumbfounded as to why I’d want him protected.

”But why?”

”My people are right outside and they know what’s happened,” I inform him. ”It’s for your own protection Brad. Do you mind if I call you Brad?

“And don’t ask anymore questions.”

He slides the vest over his head and secures the side straps. Inside me, I can feel the heat of anger intensifying the longer I look at this man.

”Let’s go,” I order him and he hesitates.

”Where are we going?” he asks.

In response, I hit him with the butt end of the pistol grip square in the forehead. ”Are you unable to adhere to simple instruction?” I ask of him, my deep hatred and anger for he and his people now beginning to boil. ”McGovern surrounded himself with the cream of the crop didn’t he?” I ask him rhetorically as I grab him by the nape of his neck and force him toward the door.

”Not only are you a god damn moron but you’re a fucking failure on top of it,” I lash out at him as I shove him through the door into the hallway with his hands on his head. I hadn’t even ordered him to do that, he did that of his own accord. ”Couldn’t hack it in a real military could you? So you found yourself a fallback plan in the Ares Project where McGovern surrounds himself with the very least talented people that even the United States military didn’t deem acceptable to even throw out there on the front lines to die a hero’s death.”

He stops and looks over his shoulder at me as we reach the steps leading down into the cargo hold.

”That’s right Brad, I know all about the soldiers in your little Army,” I antagonize a little. ”Fail at everything but that doesn’t matter to the General does it? All he cares about is bodies and more bodies to replace those bodies when they inevitably fail and fall at my feet.”

”FUCKING MOVE!” I shout out just as I smash the red button to open the cargo hold ramp and shove him forward. He nearly tumbles down the steps and part of me wishes he had. Today though, is not the day that he dies. Down the steps, he surveys the scene. Bodies of my men and Ares Project men still lie here dead. A hundred little dings and dents riddle the body of the limousine still strapped in place.

Impenetrable.

Slowly, he makes he way over and around the fallen, stopping in the center of a gathering of the dead. He spies Harrison’s body and lightly shakes his head a moment.

”Agent Butler I kind of liked,” he says with a bit of a solemn tone and it takes everything inside of me not to pull the trigger and plant a bullet in the back of his skull. Instead I shove him forward again and he trips over an Ares Project soldier and falls to the floor, his face coming just inches from Harrison Butler’s lifeless eyes. He stays there on his hands and knees, looking into those dead eyes of Frankie’s agent in charge.

Kneeling over him and grabbing him by his hair, I force his face against that of Agent Butler.

”YOU DID THAT!” I shout out in anger. Somehow some way, I continue to maintain the last bit of my composure that stops me from killing this man right here and now. I have many plans for this mother fucker and dying a quick and painless death… just isn’t one of them.

Still with a fistful of his hair, I stand up over him. ”Brad, your hair is going this way,” I state as I worm my way over the last of the bodies. ”You might wanna go with it.”

Down the ramp, we’re met with a dozen of my men and women, ready to take “Brad Wallace” officially into Illuminatus custody. I don’t know what exactly I’m going to do to him or when I’m going to do it. This guy though, will no doubt regret this day for the rest of his disgusting meaningless life and I’ll be sure to remind him of that fact each and every day for the remainder of it.

Days?

Weeks?

Months?

I don’t know the answer. What I do know, is that his life will end when I’m damn good and ready to do it.

A big time match… says Marf Swayson. Is it just Marf now? I don’t know. People change shit up all the time in the hopes that it’ll mask their insignificance so it really wouldn’t surprise me if Marf Swayson was just Marf now and if it’s insulting that I don’t know one way or the other… then good. This is a big time match for Marf. Chris Chaos said the same thing before he faced me this last time. In fact, there’s no shortage of men and women on this roster that say and think that facing me is big time. Because it is… for them. Thing is, it’s not always a big match for me though.

Call it cocky, arrogant, call it whatever you want and you’re probably right. Just don’t call me a liar because while facing Thaddeus Duke is a big deal for virtually everyone, Thaddeus Duke facing virtually anyone isn’t always a big fucking deal.

That’s a true story.

It’s true because while I’ve always been the cream of the crop and the cream always rises to the top, the Marf’s of the world middle around in the pack hoping for scraps. Unfortunately for Marf he’s not getting scraps. He’s getting one of the best to lace ‘em up and he gets to play big man on campus acting like he got a shot at pulling off the upset while in reality, he’s just along for the ride with Duke Nation as we start yet another amazing victory streak at his expense.

See how this is done Marf? One simple phrase you utter sets me off on a tangent painting me as God’s Gift to Professional Wrestling- because I am- while painting you as a guy that barely graduated finger painting college. But hey, at least you graduated. See there’s no shortage of competitors that thought they’d knock the door down and thought they had me all figured out. There’s no shortage of people that I have shared my starlight with and you are no different. Millions of eyes will be upon you and you can thank me later for being gracious enough to share my light with you.

At least you’re not entirely boring.

Wait. Scratch that.

Every damn time I say that to someone, they prove me fuckin’ wrong and end up boring me to god damn death. Please don’t do that to me Marf.

Yeah man, I lost the Universal title and now Chris Page has the big gold. He sure as shit earned it and he may not readily admit it but it was the hardest fuckin’ thing he’s ever done in his professional career. So please, don’t try and equate yourself to me because we both lost at Snow Job. I mean, losing a match because you’re you is wholly different than losing a match because I’m me. If you need me to spell that out for you, what I’m saying is that beating you is neither as rewarding nor is it as difficult as beating me.

So both of us coming off devastating losses doesn’t make us common. It doesn’t give us something to talk about. All it does, or at least what it should do if you’re smart enough to see the writing on the wall, is maybe not get so excited to step into the ring with a wounded lion. Lions are defensive by nature. Stick ‘em once, man you better have your running shoes because that lion is coming from your throat.

Yes.

I equated myself to a lion. I’m the Lionheart, it’s in my legal name and everything.

Anyway Marf is excited to face me. He should be excited that he gets to keep rubbing elbows with greatness. That he gets to share spotlights with stars that outshine him in ways he can’t even imagine. He’s so ecstatic that he finally gets to lose to the Founding Father of Continuum. And it’ll be my pleasure to show you the way, my friend. As Marf goes, the only thing truly exciting about him is that Blue Woman but instead, I guess he’ll have to do for now.

In case you think your threat of being stabby stabby was gonna get you somewhere, you might want to familiarize yourself just a tad with who and what you’re dealing with. I rather enjoy pain. I like inflicting it, I like watching others writhe in it, and I like to feel it myself so please, if you’re gonna get all stabby just know that you’re only doing me a favor.

And favors Marf, isn’t something you do for a guy of my… stature. Surely though, as it pertains to promos, you’ll keep doing me favors there too. I’m sure of that. Can’t wait to see what you got cooked up for number two, Thad says sarcastically.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Aftermath Part 2: RP #2
Author	Message