“I’m sorry but I don’t have the power to change the rules. If I could, I would. You know that,” Fredrick pleaded with his nephew and favorite student. Sadly, he wasn’t listening, he was too distraught. “Charley please!”
Charlemagne hissed at the old childhood nickname. He was blindly lashing out from his emotional distress. He had just found out that his surname, Fitzmolyneux was not just some fancy variation of the Molyneux like many of the other branches of the family had. He had always known his surname was different than his father’s for whatever reason, but he had always assumed that it was just of the same origin as all of the other odd variations of Molyneux: Molinaux, Moliniaux Molinieux, Demolyneux, et cetera.
No one ever told him. Fitzmolyneux. He truly was the illegitimate son of Molyneux not just a derivative. Because he had been born out of wedlock, his training was stopping and he would never be initiated into the family, never learn the deepest secrets of the family kept away from children. He also would never have the official support of the family. He would eventually be abandoned by his father. Not that the man had ever cared to begin with. Why? To what end? Why had they bothered to educate him at all if he wasn’t going to be completely educated?
Charlemagne turned away from his uncle. He was too furious to think. His nineteenth birthday was coming up. He had until then before his family tossed him out on his ass. The twentieth year of life was the year of initiation, the year when you truly became of use to the family, when you were given your first job.
He would never know the joy he had looked forward to all of his life.
Fredrick put a hand on the boy’s shoulder having to actually reach up due to his nephew’s bizarre size. “Look, I know this is hard, but you can always stay here until you get on your feet,” he offered the boy.
Charlemagne smiled. “Thanks, Uncle.”
Fredrick felt a wave of relief upon seeing him smile. “It’s not as big a deal as they make it out even. The training you’ve received so far is actually the most valuable thing you’ll ever have.”
Charlemagne’s smile vanished and was replaced by an angry scowl directed at his uncle. “You’re lying.”
Fredrick’s lip curled into a slight snarl at the accusation before dropping back down. “I’m not lying,” he defended.
“Yes, you are. While I’m sure the foundation of my life, my education, is very important, I know that the initiation is a ‘big deal’ otherwise they’d simply let me in.” Charlemagne looked down at his uncle for a few moments. “But thanks for trying.” He was referring to the blissful lie that was so tempting to believe.
Charlemagne contemplated his future. Even with his uncle’s invitation, he only had so much time before the family came down on Fredrick to kick him out. There was just one thing that was bugging him, something that was incredibly confusing.
“If it was always known that I’d be thrown out, disowned, why was I educated at all?” It was a legitimate question. Why invest so much in him, give him any access to the family secrets at all?
Fredrick visibly squirmed. “Well, the reason the family doesn’t let children born out of wedlock into the organization is to enact some sort of safeguard against accidentally letting children birthed by pokégirls into the organization,” he explained, “but even though you’re not going to be allowed into the family, we will be in touch. We’re not going to completely disappear.”
The look his nephew gave him felt like an industrial blowtorch cutting through a stick of butter. “I… see,” he said, the causticity of his rasp envenomed the air of the room. So that’s the way it would be. He was not a part of the family but he’d never even be able leave it, not completely. The family would haunt him forever especially once he was to be called upon.
“Thank you, Uncle,” Charlemagne said as sincerely as he could muster through his clouded mind, “As you know, I have an appointment to get to. I’ll see you later.”
His hazy mind and obscured judgment was drowned in a deluge of anger, hatred, and remorse. He didn’t notice where he was or where he was going until he was already there. His autopilot brought him to a small, secondary living room of his uncle’s manor. There waiting for him was an Indian man in an earth colored suit and a garish tie. Next to him was a woman with pink hair dressed in scrubs.
“How are you today, sir?” he asked in perfect English diction.
“I’m well enough, doctor,” Charlemagne responded, “Just a few of the usual aches and pains.”
“Yes, well that is not unusual as you know. Have you been taking your calcium supplements?”
“Every day with every meal.”
“And the injections?”
“Once a week, every Monday.”
“Excellent! Let’s take your measurements.”
Charlemagne casually kicked off his shoes and stood. The pink haired woman, the doctor’s personal NurseJoy, extended a long, collapsible meter stick with a slider on it. With it, she recorded his height. 216 centimeters.
The pokégirl took a couple of other devices such as a craniometer to take other measurements of his various body parts. She brushed his medium length, sandy blonde hair of the way so that she could get properly get the devices in place. The breadth of his jaw was extremely exaggerated, a typical symptom of a hyperactive pituitary gland. His brow and the overall size of his cranium were also extremely large and extremely dense.
Other areas of his body were measured. His Ribcage gave him a barrel-chested appearance from its forced growth. His limbs were also abnormally long compared to his torso as were his hands, feet, and digits- all of which looked like they could crush someone’s skull like an overripe melon.
His body, however large and strong, could easily become a burden at any time. All his life he had felt growing pains from the stress on his skeleton. He had already had three benign tumors removed, one from pituitary gland which was believed to have caused the disorder, one from his neck, and another that reformed around his pituitary.
All the tumors had been taken care of three years ago and had not resurfaced since the doctor stopped his antineoplaston treatment, a gene therapy drug that deactivated genes that promoted overactive cell growth and activated tumor suppressor genes. The drug and all the research pertaining to it had been salvaged by a member of the family back when the world governments began to collapse.
The hope was that his growth would taper off in the next few years and stop by the time he was 25. It seemed to be working, and if it did it would be fantastic news for people afflicted with pituitary disorders. Well, fantastic news who could afford to acquire the treatment from the family.
The doctor looked at the results and compared them to Charlemagne’s personal file. “Well,” he said, “it looks like your height increase is gradually starting to decline. It’s too soon to say of course. Hopefully the dopamine treatment is working.”
Charlemagne pretended to pout at that.
“Mr. Molyneux,” the doctor addressed flatly. It took all of Charlemagne’s restraint to keep from ripping the smaller man’s jaw off. “Acromegaly is nothing to want in your life. It’s very serious and if you get too much bigger, your longevity and quality of life is at risk.
Charlemagne couldn’t help but snicker at that. It was hard to imagine his life going farther south than it was now.
The doctor resumed his composure and went back to his chart. “Have you noticed any unusual lumps or masses?”
“Well, I did find this one zit-“
“Seriously, sir.”
“No, just the normal growth.”
“Good. Pinkie!” he called to his assistant. The uncreative name made Charlemagne want to roll his eyes. “Check to see how his muscular hyperplasia is doing.”
The pokégirl nodded and tentatively placed her hand on Charlemagne’s forearm so she could utilize her breed’s ability to receive medical information through the tactile senses. He noticed out of the corner of his peripheral vision that she had quivered slightly when she felt the corded muscle that had developed there. He had gotten used to similar reactions from Yvette and a few of the other ‘girls that his father bought to keep the house in shape.
“Sir,” the NurseJoy addressed her owner, “the cells in his musculoskeletal system are still dividing at an abnormal rate but have slowed down. They have all successfully hypertrophied and integrated in with the current system. Right now it seems that his internal, smooth muscle organs are slowing down their growth also.”
“In essence,” the doctor picked up without so much as a word to his assistant, “We might be in luck. Let’s hope this stays a trend. Increase the dopamine dosage by 5 cc and don’t miss a single one!”
Charlemagne placated the man and saw him out of the house. Now that that was over, Charlemagne left the home himself. He had plans to make. He needed a way to secure a large supply of his medicine for one, calcium to keep his extreme growth from crushing his bones and the intravenous drug that counteracted the hormones that made him grow.
It was odd that that particular medication was successful. It was actually noted for its general ineffectiveness save for a few odd cases. It seemed he was one of those cases.
Once he had that, he would only need a few other supplies. Then he would act.
First however, he needed to find some time to himself and forget it all. Yvette would be glad to help. When he got to his father’s manor, he immediately searched her out. She had been his confidant in many things. He didn’t know why he trusted her as much as he did, but she was yet to betray that trust.
He found her, and they retreated outside. He told her of what was to come. She cried. Charlemagne was unsure of why, but he thought she was shedding tears of empathy. One of the Hounds that he and Yvette had regularly invited over to ‘play’ with them overheard. She was equally distraught to hear about Charlemagne’s inevitable departure; although her display of emotion was much more subtle and muted compared to Yvette’s.
It was a mystery to him why they were so affectionate to him. If he had been cast into their position, he would have been angry and hateful towards his captors. Then again, no one really understood their kind. No one really seemed to bother to.
They retired to Charlemagne’s personal room and lost themselves in a mindless activity. They forgot the pain of their hearts for a time.
It was time. It was a month, give or take, before he would be officially thrown out of the family. There was no time to waste. He had told Yvette and the Hound that seemed so attached to him, Janice he had named her, to wait by the property line. Janice was visibly nervous about the whole order- typical of the Hound breed from what he understood- but was insistent on coming with him. He wanted to refuse, but her canine features were drooped in such a way that he had a hard time saying no. Granted, he had seen better from his cousins and other members of his ‘family’ but that was probably because they were a little too good.
He never really intended to leave Yvette behind. She was his, plain and simple. She always had been. Janice coming along was unexpected and could be trouble, yet the additional help from a decently powerful ‘girl could be invaluable.
Charlemagne would have, in most other situations, had someone else do this. However, in this situation, the only ones he could probably successfully manipulate into doing it were Yvette and Janice. Neither of them would be able to do this well or quickly. This was one of those jobs you just had to do yourself with the given circumstances.
He casually walked into his father’s study. It was actually less of a study and more of a gigantic room furnished with bookshelves and marble and ivory and… Don’t get distracted. Here was his father’s- Edmund’s- safe. He had always changed the combination once every few weeks since the time Charlemagne first cracked it when he was 10. So, sadly any combination Charlemagne could remember was probably useless.
But it’s not like that would stop him.
Charlemagne immediately set to work and grabbed a pair of speakers from a corner of the room. Speakers and microphones are pretty much the same device. Both use magnets to amplify sound. The only difference is the direction the signal was traveling down the copper wire. So, all you had to do to turn your speakers into a pair of extremely powerful, sensitive microphones is to do a little bit of rewiring.
Duct tape, the survivalists best friend, teacher, savior, and secret lover, fixed the guerilla mikes to the safe. He grabbed a hold of some cable and plugged the jack into the ‘in’ slot of Edmund’s surround sound system that he selected out of some looters’ haul. As Charlemagne turned the knob on the safe, he heard a very loud ‘clinkclinkclink clink clink cliiiii… click’ sting his ears. He slowly began to turn the knob the other way and repeated the process until the safe door popped open. It took probably four minutes which gave Charlemagne a boost in pride since it was supposed to be a two hour safe. Granted, it was a two hour safe he had tampered with and used an unconventional method for, but still.
He had no idea why Edmund kept his SLC stashed in here. It made no sense to him. The only people who actually accepted this stuff were merchants and desperate farmers. However, that’s not what he came for. Edmund was stupid enough to keep his chapter of the family’s Black Book in here. Even Uncle Frederick, the black sheep and often looked down upon member of the family, kept his in a burn safe buried underneath one of his fire places. Granted, it was a bitch to access but the Book only needed to be updated once a year by family law.
Every illicit deal of the family was kept off the record and in your head where the information could easily be lost. Then, once a year, the generalities of what went on were tracked as only could be done by those who knew what happened, by the family, and recorded.
Charlemagne already grabbed a hold of an old English translation of the Quran that acted as a book cipher for Edmund’s copy. Yes, the entire Molyneux family suffered from paranoia. From a young age, Charlemagne learned not to keep his own fruit or vegetable bearing plants because any yahoo could come along and feed the plants poisons and the poisons would be transferred to the fruit or seeds. He also had heart palpitations around certain tools and farming equipment when he saw them.
So, with the Quran cipher, Edmund’s Black Book, and the SLC in the vault- because if he was already there, why not take the money?- stowed in his backpack which was honestly a portable cabinet strapped to his broad back, Charlemagne slowly but determinedly made his way out of the study. It didn’t take long before he heard the voice of one of the other Hounds that patrolled Edmund’s manor. He liked her too, but he didn’t want to take the chance that she would choose the manor’s security over him nor did he want her to get into unnecessary trouble if she did let him go. There was no need for excess pain to be distributed wantonly.
Charlemagne slightly picked up the pace. He didn’t want to attract undue attention, but he couldn’t afford to mosey. He was almost to the servants’ entrance door. The voices were getting louder. They had probably smelled him; it was time to fix that. Just as the first Hound rounded the corner, Charlemagne tore open a potpourri pillow and soaked it with an entire bottle of perfume that he snagged from Edmund’s wife’s stash. He threw it at the group of Hounds, and the spreading debris leaking that pungent, acrid smell sent them all reeling back and making pitiful canine noises
Charlemagne was out the door. He could run surprisingly well for someone with his condition. Being as huge as he was did horrible things to one’s skeleton if it didn’t have time to adjust properly. Thankfully, the tumor on his pituitary gland had been benign and most problems generally associated with acromegaly had been avoided for the most part. Still, he wasn’t able to run as fast as a smaller person may have been. There was, however, something to say for having long legs though.
Jumping up, Charlemagne grabbed a hold of the top of the side gate and threw himself over. He landed on his feet without needing to tuck and roll. It was a short time before he reached the side road where he had a driver waiting with the engine running. She didn’t know what was going on.
He merely nodded to Yvette and Janice without giving any other signs of acknowledgement. His clothes were already starting to wrinkle and stick to his skin. He needed to keep up some professional air. He got in back of the automobile while Yvette and Janice got on either side of him.
“Good morning, sir,” the driver said. She would have looked completely human if it weren’t for a slight discoloration in her pigmentation.
“Take me to the Alps restaurant,” Charlemagne ordered casually as if nothing were wrong.
“That’s outside of Terminus, sir,” she said hesitantly.
He gave her an insulted look. “I know that.”
“Right sir!” she said nervously, afraid she had offended someone who could make her life very difficult.
The drive was silent. Janice got more and more fidgety the farther they got from the home. It was normal for the breed. They liked to stay in one place. He had warned her, and she disregarded his advice. Now it was too late. They would beat his location and motives out of her if she went back. She knew that.
When they reached the restaurant, Charlemagne dismissed the driver without so much as looking at her. He made it look like he was giving some orders to Yvette while the car slowly disappeared around the bend.
When that happened, he dropped the pretense and looked at the two in front of him. “We’re going to be roughing it for a while,” he warned, “We cannot stop now, got it? We’ve got to get off the island before word gets out too far.”
Janice nodded obediently whereas Yvette bit her lip. “Master,” she began hesitantly, “Won’t the driver tell where she dropped us off?”
Charlemagne snorted. “If they find out she helped us, innocently or not, she’s dead. She’ll know that, and she’s one of the staff ‘girls that stays in the basement, if you know what I mean.”
Yvette nodded. Most of the servant quarters were located in the basement. Those servants didn’t get tamed by humans, ever. It was a misguided attempt by the ruling classes to use pokégirls without having to potentially interbreed with them by accident or otherwise. There is a theory running around that the bonding phenomenon happens when a pokégirl obeys a human rather than during intercourse.
Charlemagne thought that was a load of shit. He doubted any one of those ‘girls had actually bonded to anyone. Besides, he preferred to catch flies with honey. That was how he got loyal servants and pets like Yvette and Janice.
They set off into the wilderness that bordered the fancy restaurant’s property. Charlemagne had a map and compass with him. He knew how to use it, but the sun was starting to go down. They would need to haul ass in order to find a small ferry to take them off the island.
Only a major one would be able to supply a ship capable of taking them out of the Tropic Confederation’s jurisdiction, but that would make it easy to get caught. Sadly for Charlemagne, the Molyneux family’s influence crossed all of the confederation and even if it didn’t, every island in the confederation had extradition laws for anyone wanted on another island as one of many means of keeping the Confederation in one piece.
Despite the risks of staying within Tropic territory, the risks of bee lining to a major transportation depot were suicidal. For now getting off of Appalachia would do just fine until he could get secure transportation to a neighboring League.
The three of them traveled downhill through the mountain pines silently. Yvette started to shiver as the evening set in. Charlemagne provided coats for everyone. The sun had just dipped under the horizon as they reached a small dock.
Charlemagne knocked three times on the door lightly. Well, as lightly as his inhuman strength allowed. A hunched old man who looked old enough to recall a time without pokégirls came to the door with a lantern. It looked like modern amenities such as electricity didn’t make it out this far.
“Wha’cha want?” he asked in a childish treble.
“I need a boat to take me to Basshead,” Charlemagne said, trying to keep his rumbling bass voice from intimidating the doubtlessly feeble old man.
“Come back t’morrow,” he said, “An old man needs his rest ya’know?”
He was about to close the door, but Charlemagne held it open. This caused the old man to look at him nervously. Charlemagne was glad he had Janice wait around the side of the building. Pokégirls were a sign of power, physical and otherwise. The poor did not have them and could not ever.
Without speaking, Charlemagne withdrew a couple 10,000 credit notes and held them out to the man. The value of the credit was considerably higher the farther you got away from the town but at the same time increasingly useless. Those who lived in backwater villages where the tax collectors either never wandered or didn’t know about- which at this point in time are a surprisingly large percentage of Tropic’s population- can go their entire lives without laying eyes on a credit. However, for someone who makes their living running a business rather than growing their own food or living off the land, credits were the drug that both killed you and kept you alive.
The old man probably had trouble making this much in a few months. He licked his lips as he eyed the money singing its sweet siren song. “Sir,” he said, not taking his eyes off the credits, “I must warn ya, there is a storm comin’. I can feel it in ma bones.” He mournfully tore his eyes away from the cash. Apparently this man had a conscience.
Charlemagne sighed and pulled out another 10,000 credit note and looked at the old man pointedly.
The old man gulped. “Fine,” he whispered, “but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”