Chapter Text
“You failed. All three of you. Twelve days and yet, every choice was worse than the last!” Mark Immortell bellowed. The three doctors each reacted with disdain — Clara turned around with a huff from the director, walking a bit off; Artemy Burakh’s hands went for where his revolver was supposed to be, only to find it missing; Daniil Dankovsky groaned as he muttered something.
“Is there anything you three want to say?” Mark asked. Artemy stepped forward.
“Yes. What did you expect from us? To stop a supernatural plague on our own while fighting every single human stupidity?”
“While we may not agree on many things, this is true,” Daniil added. “Impossibilium nulla obligatio est.”
“Facta, non verba, doctor!” Mark said. “You, Artemy, became a butcher. Just to get enough for that tribal nonsense. And you, Daniil, held fast that the Powers That Be at the far-flung Capitol will aid you.”
“Dum spiro spero,” Daniil replied.
Mark scoffed. “To expect anything else from such a childmu—” as he talked, Artemy walked up to him and punched him in the face. Mark fell over and shook his head. “Always a brute—”
Artemy grabbed him by the collar of his coat and pulled Mark up, shaking him.
“You set us up for an impossible task and then punished us for failing. Then you lost your precious little theater under the boots of Block’s army. Who do you think you are to belittle us for all your faults?!”
“The army was in the cards, but Block refused to play by the rules,” Mark stated, then smiled. Artemy tossed him on the ground.
“What rules remain in a land with no hope?” Clara wondered out loud. “Ever since the script was revealed, we are no longer tied… and yet, whenever we step off the stage, we slip into a character. Healers who cause more death.”
“And the army, girl? What did those butchers do?”
“They contained the disease, and killed all hope in the process. They broke Mark’s toys.”
“They would have killed me, too, you know,” the director scoffed. “Luckily, I do have a friend with the Powers That Be.”
“Would it be your little shadowed pal?” Clara asked and pointed up the balcony.
“No, they are a player. A very important one, too. My main character in the play.” Mark smiled. “They played you before. Many times.”
“Our lives? As a play?” Clara asked curiously, but her breath was a bit less controlled. Daniil shook his head in disbelief. Artemy grabbed Mark’s coat again.
“You wrote the whole thing into a play? What sick man are you?”
“The audience clamours death,” Mark stated when Artemy stopped shaking him. “To let my player play a doctor in a world of death, see if they can save anyone, is the highest form of art!”
“And you think we believe this?”
“All the world’s a stage, actors us all in it!”
“You misquoted Shakespeare,” Daniil stated. Clara, meanwhile, took deep breaths.
“Now tell me, you mad artist…” Artemy bellowed as he lifted Mark by his neck, his hands just leaving enough space for his throat to move the tiniest bit. “Why?”
“I told you! The audience wants to see death.”
“And that player? Are they a pawn?”
“Let him breathe, big guy,” Clara told Artemy. The man threw Mark aside, the director landed with a painful crunch. From the dark theater floor, a masked tragedian ran out to help him up. Mark coughed a bit.
“They paid the price of admission…”
“To see how many deaths? How many times have you looped our lives?” Daniil asked coldly.
“I have lost track. Never cared after the first time. I had a story to tell.”
“And we got punished…” Artemy groaned.
“For their mistakes, they, too, got punished.” Mark sat down on a chair provided by the tragedian. “I had taken so much from them and yet—”
Mark was punched again, but this time by Daniil. He fell out of the chair.
“To treat others as mere playthings is a sign of apathy. I can diagnose you, and I have the medicine right here.” He raised his fists.
“I am happy to administer an extra dosage.” Artemy smiled.
“You men and your violence. Maybe let me lay a hand on him, see if he sinned or not.” Clara giggled. “Congratulations, Mark. You made this prickly prick and this butchering bear agree on something, and I am along with them.”
“If you weren’t a child, I’d slap you in the face,” Artemy groaned. “But maybe your… magic could work.”
“Very well, let us see if it works.” Daniil held the director up. Mark smirked as the hands were put on him.
At the moment, the light all went out, plunging the theater in darkness.
Nothing happened for a short time.
Thank you for your time
Your answers
Your wonderful creation
Will now be discarded.
We don’t need it for this pantomime.