Chapter 509 – Daily Abyss, Nightly Son 7 – The philosophical doubts of John Newman about his own pride.

A drumming sound was competing with the classical inspired video game soundtrack that ran in the background of the large office, the installed audio system hooking up to the Gamer’s phone seamlessly. John had finally done it and claimed one of the unoccupied bedrooms for himself. Not to sleep on his lonesome, not to stash away anything, just because he needed somewhere to think over today.

Thump-Thamb-Thump, the trio of noises repeated itself ad nauseum. Its source was a simple golf ball that John had taken with him as a keepsake. Currently, it was being used in an idle motion. Thump-Thamb-Thump, floor, wall, ceiling, two similar noises with a slightly different in the middle. The varied thickness of the wall reverberating differently in the tiny white sphere. It left the sitting John’s hand at the flick of a wrist. Thump-Thamb-Thump, a series of noises later, it was back and he was just as unsure how to continue as before.

The golf game had continued without any further events. Or perhaps it would have been more accurate to say it had continued predictably. Rave had decided that golf wasn’t for her after scoring second to last. Predictably, with her temper, waiting her turn for three eternities while they walked the landscape wasn’t her cup of tea. Meanwhile, John’s inability to synchronize the swing with his otherwise superb aiming had put him squarely in the last place in almost every round.

Despite that, he had enjoyed golf. Not for the sport itself, that was as boring as it got, but for how good it was as a social environment. Boring also meant it easily faded in the background. All the walking, the common cause, it made easy room for conversation. The way somebody handled the rules was also a good way to see their values in action. No wonder all the rich people played it. It was a sport basically designed to be a backdrop to deal making.

Lerylia had usually placed somewhere in the middle. Aside from one or two snide comments, most of her talks had been reserved. It was clear that she wasn’t there to make foes, that she was confident in the power of the guilds she represented and that she wanted to stay on friendly terms with everyone. The fact that she didn’t comment on any rule or code violation made at any point during the entire engagement supported that.

Thump-Thamb-Thump the sound echoed through the room yet again. Continuously. Completely desynchronized to the OST of The Legend of Zelda. When it switched from the upbeat main theme to that of a quiet, eerie dungeon, it fit John’s mood much better.

Nia had shown herself adapt at the game, predictably once John reminded himself who she was. When it came to battles, the blank was always headed for the quickest, most effective solution. It made sense she would enjoy a sport about winning in as few moves as possible. Even if she had shown it with not a single gesture… or spoken barely more than five words through the entire thing.

Predictable, once John had witnessed Abraham’s first win, everything else about the game and what he knew about the Little Maryland was predictable. The man was a hypocrite. Not a false one, people were often espousing that word too quickly. Somebody who preached that cheating was bad and then cheated himself wasn’t a hypocrite at that stage. It was the question whether or not that person thought they were doing anything wrong. The state of being that made one a wielder of hypocrisy was the sentence ‘one rule for me, one for thee’.

‘Which is exactly what he demonstrated,’ John thought, not for the first time, as he ground the scenes of the golf match down like a mill did grain to the finest flour. He was cautious in that endeavour. He wanted to not overanalyse what still was, in essence, a game. ‘He talks that everyone should be equal under the law and in opportunity no matter what, then let’s the wind win for him.’ That hadn’t been the only moment like that, just the first and by virtue most outstanding one.

And it was a virtue that Abraham willingly extended. To John, who missed the first swing (and a couple few more scattered over the entire game), he extended the right to repeat without penalty. To his fellow government workers, he extended the right to take a few bribes here and there to enrich themselves. They were largely differing in scope. If John had only known about the former, he would have simply put it down as good sportsmanship. Combined with the way he talked about certain things, there was a trend, a theme in his actions.

Thump-Thamb-Thump, the trio of sounds rang out once more and then came to a short-term silence as John caught the ball and looked at it. The piece of plastic was slightly worn from the battering it had received at the hands of John’s sloppy wielding of the club. It was the ball he had sunk in the first round. Needing three more attempts at the whole thing than everybody else. A spur of the moment had made him ask to keep it. Mere sentimentality, but the Gamer had never been one to skip out on all of his illogical wants.

Now what was the desire to rule over the Little Maryland? Was it a gesture like this ball? Pure vanity, a momentary lapse of desire? What he wanted it to be was the moral thing to do. Was it?

The Bloodfallen had been evil. They had infiltrated guilds and ruined the life of people just to increase their own reach and money, all to the ends of ending a girl that had been experimented on simply because that’s what those that came before them did.

There was little redeeming about them.

Eliza had been evil. Under the false name Thana, she had done horrible things to Rave to die feeling something, had threatened and almost killed John himself.

She had ultimately been shown to be a victim herself and found redemption. That didn’t change that John had had no other choice but to face her.

‘Herman… was evil…’ John thought and resumed throwing the ball. Even after all this time, it felt wrong to think of the guy that way. Which only went to show how effective his plan at winning John’s trust had been. Despite knowing what a horrible person was behind the façade of his ‘friend’, the Gamer sometimes found himself missing the guy that had never existed.

Regardless. He had found no redemption, only his own peace in a last accomplishment.

Maximillian had never been evil. It had been a fight entirely on the back of what he owed Lydia. Although arrogant and boasting at times, the king’s antagonistic role had solely been based on him being the enemy of John’s friend (or investor at that time).

And, somehow, they had become friends.

The Blood had been doubtlessly evil. As evil a regime as they came. Tyrannical towards the inside, as sudden as a robber in its aggressions towards the outside. Repressive, offensive, misguided, all of it culminating in an attempt to murder Romulus by accepting casualties in the hundreds of thousands at the side.

They had found their redemption by burning without further struggle.

Bearings had been almost comically evil. A selfish, petty person that had to control everything around himself, even if it meant drugging them to an early death. Everything about him had just screamed bad guy.

As such there was no redemption.

The Lorylim were… perhaps evil wasn’t the right word. At the very least, they were adversary to John.

All of these conflicts, all of them, were rather easy to determine in their need to be fought. Was it for his principles or because they were forced on him. There was little inherently outstanding about being in opposition to people like Bearings or the Blood. Some credit he could give himself for fighting as valiantly as he did. Which common sense person in John’s position of power wouldn’t have done those things, however?

Thump-Thamb-Thump, the bouncing of the golf ball was strangely calming. John liked this application of his extended thoughts and reflexes. The trick was to give the ball the right angle and amount of spin to jump off the ground in a way that then made it hit the ceiling and return to John without hitting the ground. A basic motion. A calming motion. Repetitive, simple and hypnotic, Thumb-Thamb-Thump.

A motion that wouldn’t solve his problem.

All of those conflicts had been as common sense as they came. Nobody for whose opinion he cared would have looked at those and said, “You shouldn’t have done that.” Well, except maybe for freeing Thana from her glass tank. There were definite arguments against that line of action, especially with how brashly he had taken it, but the conflict with the Bloodfallen itself was unavoidable.

‘If I attack the Little Maryland, does this stay in line with my reasoning until this point, or do I become just a lesser version of the Blood?’ John finally managed to formulate his gripe with his current situation into a simple question. What made him so much better than the very thing he had helped destroy?

The usual answer he could give was ‘I bring freedom to the dispossessed’. That just didn’t fly this time around. This wasn’t New York. They didn’t need his help. Not quickly anyway. Was it worth to expend resources, the most important of which was lives, for a plot of land he believed he could govern better? What would happen if he didn’t?

There was no sweet common sense that answered these questions for him. Just doubt about his own pride. He had been so eager to introduce a loophole for his military expansion into that little non-aggression pact Abraham had put in front of him. It hadn’t even taken him a second to just do that. Why? Because he might want to attack in the near future.

Who was he to make moral judgements on the world if that much of an opportunistic warmonger resided inside him?

At this point John was absolutely convinced that he could take the Little Maryland in a fight. Even a mediocre politician could wield the way Abraham was treating the other two estates against him and whip the country up into open civil war. This was a powder keg just waiting for a match to come along. The explosion was imminent. Was John justified in being the winner in such a catastrophe? Should he be the one who could be allowed to strike such a match?

One day people would write about whatever decision he took in some sort of history book. John cared less about the lie he had told the world in New York than he did about this. People might replace out that he lied to make his takeover of a defunct system smoother, how terrible. By comparison everything he decided to do in regards to the Little Maryland was a gamble.

Would the civil war that began on its own be more or less brutal than the one ignited by John? Perhaps it would be his inaction at the face of it all that caused unnecessary suffering? Maybe Abraham would just step down peacefully if he faced his own people, but against a foreign invader, like the Gamer could easily seen to be, he would stand his ground?

Thumb-Thamb-Thump. Thumb-Thamb-Thump. Thumb-Thamb-Thump.

Over and over, three simple noises, his thoughts turned in a circle. John wasn’t sure when the last time he felt stuck like this had been. A while ago, that was for certain. Ironically, what kicked it off was the fact that he found an answer to his predicament. The Little Maryland’s code of law stated it quite clearly.

“In the event that two of the three estates nominate a person that isn’t part of the Little Maryland, that person is to be handled as a genuine candidate. All estate leaders that block such an occasion past the vote are to be considered illegitimate,” John muttered to himself. A law written to prevent one estate to simply hog all the power, while also allowing the Little Maryland to eventually vote in its own annexation into a proper American power. Unsurprising, given that this was the sorry remainder of the continent spanning power Abraham Lincoln had tried to form.

As easy a way that put forward to John to get everything he wanted, the eagerness with which he had desired it had made him stop and think. Not the least because the silver eyes of a certain crocodile had flashed up in his head. A warning of his light elemental, the one tasked with making sure that his pride didn’t become arrogance and greed.

‘Abraham, huh?’ John thought, remembering that he never did visit the memorial. Thumb-Thamb-Thump, the sound came to an end and John placed the golf ball between the open pages of the law book.

Alone, John headed out. Not for a lack of people noticing that he was leaving. Just that they gave him the distance to be alone with what he was contemplating with, even if they had no idea what that was. He made his way through the city on foot. Always contemplating the question, ‘Do I have the right?’

He barely even realized it when he arrived at the feet of the large statue and looked up. The buzzing tourists passed by his ears as he looked up to the representation of the man that school had told him so much about. It was a good statue of a not particularly handsome man. His nose was crooked, his hair messy and his face was so thin and fallen, John felt like he may as well could have looked at a skull. Oddly enough, it wasn’t his face that the Gamer ultimately paid the most attention to.

The marble figure was sitting in his antiquated suit. Arms resting on two pillars that looked like sticks bundled together, his right was opened as if he was about to make a friendly gesture, but his left was clenched. Above him the world had engraved one sentence in his honour.

‘In this temple, as in the hearths of the people, for whom he saved the Union, the memory of Abraham Lincoln is enshrined, forever.’

A powerful sentence. Yet, by modern standards, Abraham had the advantage of being looked at favourably. He had done what most would regard nowadays as the common-sense thing. Yet, still, standing at the feet of the giant whose shoulders the whole nation stood upon, John found his thoughts finally breaking the mould as he found a different similarity.

If John was voted into the office of the Little Maryland by virtue of the current president’s failing, then that was the mandate of the people. A resulting civil war would be on Abraham to start, not himself. That didn’t resolve John’s conflicts about the cost of lives such a thing would bring, neither did that make him feel like he was qualified. The doubts remained, the hesitation was washed away under the stern, yet strangely hopeful gaze of the formed block of stone before him.

He had no divine calling, no great justification that magically made all his actions okay. He did, however, have a purpose and that was to create a power of liberty on these soils. For that, he had to make some decisions that could be considered evil or wrong by historians. Which great leader had not?

As he turned, John was strangely happy about this short-term self-paralysation. It served as a good reminder that he still had qualms. That was the best indicator, he reckoned, that he wasn’t bogged down on a single path and still able to be reasonable.

It always felt good to know he wasn’t quietly slipping into extremism.