Work Text:
I'm fighting 'cause I'm lost in a danger zone
Just bring it on
I'm the good and I'm the bad guy
Every little story has two sides
I'm the villain and the hero, no fear, no,
'CAUSE I'M THE ONLY FUCKING REAL ONE
('Real One', Smash Into Pieces)
*****************
2004
The Island
Osmund Saddler paced around nervously in the small office he had set up for himself. Things were definitely not going according to plan right now - that dreadful Mr. Kennedy had stomped through the village and then the castle, had killed Méndez and Ramón; and now he was continuing his rampage right here on the island. If something wasn't done to stop him - and soon - he would ruin everything.
Saddler sat down at his desk and looked at the empty Word document on the computer screen whose blinking cursor seeemed to mock him.
He raised his hands and began to type.
Because of that agent we lost Chief Mendez and Ramon.
He stopped typing and briefly closed his eyes. He had relied heavily on both men as loyal subjects, and it pained him to know that they were gone. Ramón in particular had been vital to this entire endeavor - without him, Saddler would never have managed to get to Las Plagas so quickly. Sure, he had had to play the rather uncomfortable role of father figure to the boy to get what he'd wanted, and he'd been annoyed by it at times since Salazar had become so attached to him that he had followed him around like a puppy; but now that he was actually dead Saddler felt a stab of regret whose intensity he had not expected.
No matter.
He had a mission to fulfill.
Nevertheless, everything will proceed according to plan.
Of course it would.
It had to.
There could be no rest, no time for any kind of grief.
The plan was everything.
And yet...
I must admit, however, the loss of my loyal men is a bit disheartening.
He stared at the screen, read what he had just typed and immediately considered deleting it. Did he really want to admit any weakness? On the other hand... who would read this note? Krauser? That American traitor would soon be busy with his equally dreadful American friend - or rather, ex-lover - and if everything went the way Saddler expected it to, Kennedy would kill Krauser anyway. Or Krauser would kill Kennedy, and then Saddler would have to kill Krauser.
But I will deal with it.
Oh yes, he would.
He would deal with them all.
But... could he do it alone?
Not in the long run - it was one thing to control a relatively isolated cult in a remote part of Spain, but a whole other thing to essentially control the minds of an entire planet's population.
Replacing that loss will not come easy. I must choose wisely, for the Plaga reflects the conscience of their hosts. If chosen poorly, they could betray me.
Like Krauser had. But then, he was an American - of course he was not to be trusted. And yet Saddler had had no other choice than to give him a dominant plaga in return for kidnapping the president's daughter for Los Iluminados.
He should have followed his own rule that he had set up way before he had even traveled to Spain: No positions of importance for Americans!
I need men who will swear their allegiance to me.
Loyalty.
Obedience.
Devotion.
That was what he needed in a subject; not even one treacherous thought, not even a hint of betrayal.
Betrayal...
I've learned my lesson when Sera betrayed me. I will not make the same mistake again.
Saddler scowled - Sera, that treacherous scientist! Enthusiastic at first, and then, once he had helped to unleash the true power of Las Plagas he had shied away from it all instead of embracing it, and had even had the audacity to steal the special plaga sample Saddler had developed.
What a pathetic coward!
Saddler clenched his hands into fists and only stopped when he felt his long fingernails pressing painfully into the soft skin of the palms of his hands.
No.
He would not let any of these setbacks get to him. He had to stick to the plan.
The rewards would outweigh everything else, and then some.
In this important hour I cannot and will not have anyone stand in my way.
Yes - there it was!
His determination.
His resolve.
His... destiny.
He put his name under the paragraphs he had just typed, placed the words "Our Plan" on top and then printed the document. He would put it into his robe's pocket and take it with him to the chapel where he'd read it over and over again while he waited for that dreadful Mr. Kennedy, who would no doubt soon show up there with the president's daughter.
And then he'd grab the girl.
This time, there would be no mistakes.