Moral Decay [2430-1-2 Mon 11:00 pm]

[Titus Vere]

Titus loved Terra at night. He loved how it dazzled in the dark, a million lights set into the buildings like jewels. It was gorgeous. And out here on the balcony, he could see all around him, and down into the depths of the city.

It was a strange thing. Up here, the buildings were gleaming, stainless steel and white marble. In the below was nothing but rusted metal and bare concrete. And yet they were the very same buildings. Titus had followed them all the way down. It was a long journey, one that could take days to travel down miles and miles. And the building changed with every floor you travelled down, until you discovered that the chrome masterpiece, the triumph of the city, was freezing cold concrete below, some old office building turned into apartments for the poor.

Titus supposed that was a good metaphor humans. You may look like gold and glitter on the outside, but underneath, inside, you're nothing but rot and rust.

From the balcony, he could hear snatches of music here and there, conversation from people laughing at jokes or shouting to one another. There were parties to be at, people to visit with, but Titus was feeling rather antisocial today. He wouldn't be able to maintain the proper smiles and shallow conversation and it was better to snub the party than risk showing them the darker side of his personality.

As he leaned on the balcony, having his dark thoughts, there was the sound of quiet footsteps coming toward him. Titus didn't look back. d'Asola wanted Titus to know he was coming. After all, if he wanted to sneak up on Titus, he would have made no noise.

[Digeo d'Asola]

He needed no key to enter Titus' apartment. The new locks simply required a fingerprint to grant access. Digeo didn't trust the new locks. They could be fudged if you were smart enough or crafty enough, and what was more, a power outage could trap you inside. He could still remember the massive power outages that had once plagued the planet, even if Titus' generation could not.

It was a nice place, though the decor was bordering on spartan. White walls, black furnature, and on the walls, paintings that used a great deal of red to render them. They were digital canvases, and as Digeo passed through the living room, the canvases slowly rotated, bringing up new paintings to replace the old ones. They could be programed to reflect the tastes of the guests as well as the owner and indeed, Digeo saw a few of his favourites replacing Titus' own questionable tastes.

The only one that did not rotate was the one above the fireplace. Digeo stopped to look at it. Wild, frenzied eyes stared back at Digeo. He could not recall the title of the piece, but he knew it well enough. Compared to the others, the colours were muted and dark, and your eyes were drawn to the god's eyes, and to the bleeding body clutched in the god's hands.

Digeo turned away. Titus' tastes were odd, but that was Titus in general. Odd. Strange. He had lived with the boy for thirteen years, known him from birth, and yet it was as if he had lived with a stranger. Titus' mind was strange, warped like a carnival mirror.

He walked onto the balcony, making noise as he moved. Titus did not look at Digeo, even as he stood beside him and looked over the rail.

"What is the title of that painting?" He asked, "The one above the fireplace?"

[Titus Vere]

Titus smiled a little, thinking of the painting. It was his latest obsession. While Titus had no talent for art, he did know what he enjoyed. "Saturn Devouring His Son." He said softly, looking at Digeo. "Many think it was never meant to be exhibited. It was painted on the walls of the artist's home."

He turned to look into his living room. Now empty, the room brought up Titus' favourites, a wide assortment of paintings made by neo-realists. Stuffed children's toys were caught in traps, children's dolls were cut open by killers or wearing bruises like jewelry. In another month, Titus would grow tired of them and the paintings would be replaced by something more modern, more interesting, more lurid and graphic.

But Saturn wouldn't be going anywhere. "Have you seen the early sketches?" Digeo shook his head and Titus continued, "They were far different. Bloodless, for one. And the son was a baby, not an adult. And the act was far more calculated. It had no charm to it."

Charm was not the word he would have used around his friends. But then again, they would have been been discussion such a subject. All the canvases, even the one with Saturn, were programed to flip the moment his friends entered. None of them would understand. And then the rumours would start.

Digeo understood.

[Digeo d'Asola]

Digeo nodded when Titus recited the title. He remembered it from an art class, long ago. There had been a time when Digeo had been mad about the arts. That was before he discovered his real talents, and his real calling.

Titus was clearly taken by the painting. His voice was nigh rapturous when he described the details, and his eyes sparkled. More than once, Digeo had seen a similar rapture when Titus discovered something new to obsess over. It would disappear and die with time, and he would turn that brilliant, broken mind to something new.

He reached into his jacket and brought out a holophoto. Titus took it, eagerly studying the face. "Judge Thomas Prado. You'll remember seeing him at one of the dinner parties I held last year. His future has been looking very bright lately, and with Kyoto stepping down from the Council, Prado's in the running for that empty seat."

"The problem is that I have another friend who wants that seat. Prado's squeaky clean. The only dirt we could find on him is a fling with another lawyer thirty years ago, back before he was married to his husband. If he isn't removed, he will take the seat. And that can't happen."

[Titus Vere]

Titus looked at Digeo, raising an eyebrow. This sort of work wasn't out of line for the Assassins Guild. Their targets ranged from deadbeat scum to mass murderers, to officials who simply hadn't learned to play along. But someone this high profile? That was risky at the best of times. To give a job like this to Titus meant that there was something going on.

If it was meant to be silent or look like a heart attack, Digeo would do the job himself. Who knew how many men had died of sudden heart attacks and strokes at the capable hands of Diego? Even now, Titus was sometimes surprised to find something that seemed natural had been the handywork of the man who had raised him.

Titus could do those jobs, if he had do. But he hated to do them. He liked his freedom. He liked his blood. Digeo understood that as well. So Titus asked the most important question.

"Why are you giving this job to me?"

[Digeo d'Asola]

"Because it needs to look like a murder." He motioned for Titus to flip the photo. He did, and another picture appeared. The new man was in his 40's, prison tattoos all over his face, and a failed Colombian necktie scar on his neck. "That is John Barber, one of the first men Prado sentenced to jail after becoming a judge. That was twenty years ago. Barber will be released from prison in two days time. And within hours of his release, Prado's body will be found by his family. It will be a grisly murder, and it will be clear to everyone who killed him."

He added, almost as an after thought, "Barber will be killed with the police attempt to apprehend him."

"When they elect a new man to sit on the Council, they will elect the next best candidate. The death of Prado will give our politician friend a way to call for harsher laws and restrictions on public bounties."

Digeo put a hand on Titus' shoulder. "You understand, this must be done with the utmost secrecy. No one can know about this but us, and our friend."

[Titus Vere]

Titus flipped the photo over again to stare at the judge. He was a heavy man, with a big friendly smile on his face. Already Titus' mind was imagining ways to break that face into pieces, and turn that smile into something broken.

"Of course." He tucked the photo into his jacket pocket. Digeo dropped the hand off his shoulder, which was a great relief, and walked back into Titus' apartment. The paintings on the wall changed again as he strolled by them, all except for Saturn. Digeo glanced at it again, and Titus smiled to himself. Did it reflect his own fears?

Titus turned to gaze at the city. Saturn ate his sons to prevent them from unseating him, to stay his death and live forever. Of course, it failed. Nothing lived forever. Everything was rust and rot at the very core of themselves, even if their outsides shone like they were plated in gold by the very gods.

He kept his eyes on the jewels of light, mind playing out scenarios for the good judge.