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“Now Jimmeeeee,” said William with a smirk on his face, accentuating the “ee” to come across as a very caring person. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine. But this is business you know? The whole “survival of the fittest” thing, you know? Sure you do. Run off now. Good day sir!” Jim Brockberry pulled his large frame out of the chair, nodded at the lawyers nearby, and skulked out of the room. “HAHAHAHA,” boomed William Windcastle VII.
William was the son of a wealthy businessman, who was the son of a wealthier businessman and so on. Nobody knows which roman numeral it was that truly brought Windcastle Tax LTD to prominence. Each successor usually directed a bevy of P.R. men to bring light upon them and no one else. William was no different except he was the only one alive. The Windcastle family really wasn’t one at all. Most of the generations consisted of one child, a boy, and a father. The mother would be kicked out of the house after supplying the new blood for fear of them sharing their undeserved wealth. This forced the boy to be brought up largely on his own or by the multitude of maids and butlers and chauffeurs and gardeners and whoever else who happened to be on the estate. The fathers would stay in the office all day, counting their money and choosing which employees to fire next. Only when the boy was 15 would he begin to shadow his father and learn the Windcastle ways. “Aaaacck. Every time, hoo hoo. It never gets old. The look on his face? Ooohhh, I need a cee-gar.” One of the prosaic lawyers handed him a cigar and lit it for him.
“Listen here,” William cocked his head back and let out a flood of smoke. “I’ve been thinking,” he paused. “We’ve been working too hard lately,” he let out a resounding fart. “Boys--have the rest of the night off!” He glanced outside and saw it dusking. He let loose a fake yawn, got up, and closed the blinds. “The bloody lazy chauffeur weaseled out of work tonight,” he mentioned to nobody in particular. “However, I’m up for this task!” he said it like he was about to climb Everest without an oxygen tank. He carelessly dropped his cigar on the table triggering one of his minions to eagerly clean it up. William took the private Windcastle elevator, which was reserved solely for branches of the Windcastle tree and arrived at the lobby. “Leaving early Mr. Windcastle?” asked the overweight and quite witchy secretary, Mz. Holstein. She used a “z” as if it was a mystery whether or not she was married. “Hah,” he scoffed. “If everyone worked as hard as me this wouldn’t be considered early.” He grabbed an umbrella to journey approximately 12 yards to his waiting silver Royce.
As he was bumbling with his umbrella trying to get it open, a female journalist approached him. “William Windcastle VII, sir? My name is--”
“I don’t care,” he breathed every word like poison with a helping of sauce on “care.”
“Fine, w-well, um. I was wondering if you’d like to comment on the company’s recent success?”
William lightened up a little. “I’d like to chalk it up to my frugal policies. Without my beaming guidance Windcastle Tax LTD would be finished. Hoo, hoo. Windcastle. Finished? Ahahahaha. But seriously. The government is out to rob us rich folks because they bloody know we can’t defend ourselves. They’ve been building and building this perception that we should help and give to others. Well how do you think they got there in the first place? Huh? You tell me that Mz. Reporter lady.”
“Well you are a member of the Windcastle tree. The company was thriving well before you arrived on the scene.”
“Balderdash,” he retorted. “Any logical person can see I’ve created this indomitable company. This kingdom of gods. This--”
“You’re a megalomaniac.”
“Guards! Seize her!” There was an awkward silence that followed. The reporter looked quite confused and silently walked away.
Once he approached his car, he stopped and rubbed his hands together like he was trying to make sparks shoot out from his hands. “Let’s see here. Hmm, yes. No, not that key. It must be this one.” He sorted out a large platinum key that was the same color as his car. “Ah-ha. Off we go now.”

“Here we are. Home sweet home. Hmm, the paint’s getting a little crumbly on my logo. That doesn’t look too good on the gate. Someone’s head will roll, hoo hoo.” William drove through the parted iron gate. A golden circle adorned by large letters reading “WW7” manifested when the gate was closed. The family’s estate was ridiculously over-sized, which beget a saying around the property “fit for Windcastle” for anything that was excessive in proportion. After he parked his car in a garage that could have been large enough for a school, he noticed how quiet the premise was. In fact, he didn’t see anyone working on his many-acre lawn, or the grand statue bearing his likeness. Actually, someone should have been operating the gate? “Taking a day off, are they? Who gave the word? I’ll bet it was one of those prodigal maids or those chefs who think they‘re so important. Or Noogie. Ah-ha! Of course. That whiny weasel of a butler was probably having another episode. It’s time to cancel his show. Ahahahaha. I doooo amuse myself.”
William entered the garage door that lead to the kitchen. “Oh Nuh-Oogie! Where are all my subjects and why do I have to be asking this?” He waited for a response and then gave up. “Cheffies! Chef Boy R.D.! How about some caviar and crackers, hmm?” Again nothing. He debated for a while whether to or not to perform the menial task of providing his own food. “Well I’m going commando today aren’t I?” As he rummaged through his walk-in fridge looking for some muffins, a sound went off in unison with the lights. It sounded like a spaceship computer powering down. The fridge lights turned off and he stepped out. William was becoming quite flustered. “Oooh, someone will pay.” His face was regressing by the moment: his eyes were becoming large and cataract; his usually Romanesque-nose was pulled down, flaring his nostrils; his lips were grinding against each other; and the veins in his neck were like gnarled weeds in a long-dead garden. He heard a door close in the distance and wingtips clamor on the marble floor in one of the rooms nearby. William waited with his arms clenched tightly at his chest and gritted his teeth in anticipation.
A black- and grey-haired man pushed open one of the glass doors to the kitchen, but before he could say anything, William Windcastle VII let him know who was boss.
“There better be a bloody good explanation for what’s going on here. I haven’t a flippin’ clue who you are, but I am William Windcastle VII, as I’m sure you are well aware, and this is my residence!” he stomped his foot and pointed towards the ground. By now he was on the verge of a supernovan meltdown. “And if you don’t have a monkey clue about what I’ll do to you, I’ll--” he stopped short when he saw the number of suits in the other room through the window. The black- and grey-haired man spoke up in a robotic voice.
“Our associates would like a word with you Mr. Windcastle.” He motioned towards the door and followed William as he entered the visiting room.
Like everything else within the giant steel walls of the Windcastle estate, the living room was extravagant. The ceiling seemed to be a bridge to the heavens, leaving a space so big, a helicopter could easily be flown through the room. The walls were void of almost any color. There were a few portraits and paintings of past Windcastles and their accomplishments hung high on the wall. One of them was of a stout man with a stovepipe hat and monocle standing chest-out over a crowd of guttersnipes and human sludge. Another was of a shriveled man looking stern and ominous over a lectern at some type of gathering. The paintings were all rather drab and unspectacular to look at. There were also large white seatings that spiraled around the room arranged in such an order so that everyone could see everyone. They were a mutant offshoot of a couch, bench, and desk. The black seatings were less cushioned, didn’t utilize upholstery, offered little back support, were a little taller than an average seat, and much slimmer in regard to sitting area. Many businessmen that dealt with the unique Windcastle benches had dubbed them the “torture tushes,” yet the Windcastles had never seemed that affected by them. What William saw gave him the biggest chills he had ever experienced.
There were lawyers, accountants, and familiar ex-businessmen filling every available seat-space, each with their own beefy penguin-looking bodyguards standing behind them like a teenage dress accessory. A bitter-looking man who had far too many wrinkles for his age stepped towards William and gave him a vile smirk. There was something entirely unnatural about his look; his eyes were soulless and cold. It was as if a human being had long abandoned its shell, which was left to wander and lead a life of its own. Just looking at him filled one with pity. Not William though.
“Do you know who I am? Do you? I‘m William Wind--”
“Save it. You’ll need to listen good because I am a quality over quantity-type guy. Of course you failed to realize that.” The man stepped a little closer to him. William was about to speak but a heavy hand on his shoulder from a random bodyguard stopped him short. “My name is Mr. Euler. That name may strike a chord with you because some years ago, you cut me down in my prime. Do you know how that feels? To be at the absolute peak of your life, living large, having POWER,” he grabbed a nearby vase and threw it at the wall, erupting it in a thousand pieces. “Each one of those pieces? A day in my life full of bitterness, agony, complete and utter wretchedness, all caused by you. No one but me can even understand the meaning of hatred. I would love nothing more--no, wait. WE--” he motioned towards the other familiar faces flooding back to William, “would love nothing more than to see you taken down a notch. Or two.” With that, he pulled a gun out of his suit and aimed it straight into William’s face. William’s face seemed to gush out sweat in record time. His eyes started to dance, when Mr. Euler put the gun away. “I said I’m a quality over quantity-type guy. I think we’ll adapt our philosophies so we can watch your soul erode. Trust me, the soul may not be able to register pain, but it’s the worst torture known to man.”
Euler fluttered his hand and the statuesque bodyguards came to life and slowly advanced towards William. The sweeping blackness began to overtake him, but his trademark squirminess got him out from underneath two large trunks of flesh. He darted past another who swung rather robotically at him and leaped over a desk. This led him to the front of a room and in a predicament, for the only two doors were on the other side. As he accepted his fate and began cowering against the wall, he looked across the room into a large mirror and saw his key out of here. A golden six-shooter was placed on top of the mantel to his left.
William had received it from an oil company in Texas for using his stroke to shut down a conservationist company that wasn’t keeping up on their taxes. The gun was used by the 19th century Rangers who defended their land from invading Natives. A “WW7” was engraved across the barrel in honor of his pseudonym known throughout the business world. He took great pride in the gun and one of his few hobbies was cleaning and polishing it.
Realizing his desperation, he spun 180 degrees, snatched it off its pedestal, spun another 180 degrees, and aimed it back at the bodyguards.
“Now that the man in charge has his power, I order all of you out at once!”
His fierce command was met with laughter and tiny black spots. William was frightenly mad and madly frightened. His life could have ended with one of those spots turning into a supernova, but Euler jumped in.
“Put those weapons away! Put ‘em away!” He looked at William, “You pull the trigger once, and ten bullets return in your face. You come with us, and you see tomorrow morning. It will be a very beautiful thing. Like consecutive digits.”
William had had it with being given an ultimatum. How ironic! He, William Windcastle VII being put into the hands of someone else! William slowly tossed the gun towards the wall below the window. “Ahhhh!” he thought, “The window!”
“You’re right Euler,” William said in a much more relaxed tone, “I think it’s a better idea to come with you.” Euler smirked at his admission. “But my leg! Aghh!” Willaim grabbed his right leg, and hobbled against the window. “I could use some help!” A beefy penguin with a blonde flat-top and circular mouth began to pick him up. William made his move by elbowing him in the throat, scampering behind his large frame, picking up “WW7,” and finally diving arms first through the window. A pair of shots raced after him, but were picked up by his bodyguard-shield in the stomach. William landed rather gingerly on his knees and shins and screamed shrilly on his 2-foot impact.
After only taking time to rub his knees and go “Ooooh,” a few more shots rung towards him, prompting him to dart around the house. He made it to the car garage and found that the garage-door was open. William entered quickly, only to find that the wheels of his Royce were taken off. With time running short, he sprinted back out and across his lawn.
A leaner penguin with a tiny head caught sight of him, “There he is! Heading for the wall! He just turned his head towards us, that’s him all right. Quick, fire some more rounds at him.” William had some difficulty swinging his body over the brick wall, but on his third try, a bullet clipped him in the rear and gave him such a startle that he nearly flew over it. A majestical forest full of tendril-like trees enveloped the estate. It was grown as a type of defense from burglars. But William made no hesitation choosing the pathless maze over his rabid pursuers. Just a couple yards into the forest, a drum roll of bodies landing sounded off behind him. He could hear Euler’s voice in the distance, “Forget trying to capture him, just kill him!”
William hopped over logs, ducked branches, and slipped on harmless rocks, increasing his distance from the bodyguards who refused to ditch their stylish sunglasses in the blackness created by the towering trees and were rendered blind. After another minute or so, he was well out of reach. Not wanting to pursue further and risk losing themselves in the shadows, the bodyguards had no choice but to turn back. The ghostly accountants in suits and Euler were waiting for them as they climbed back over the fence. “Don’t tell me he got away…” In front of his eyes were a bunch dejected cronies, eager to redeem themselves. It was like filling a water balloon to its limits.
“He got awa--” before the sweaty, rotund bodyguard could finish, he was pistol-whipped in the back of the head by another. “Moron,” the attacker whispered under his breath. The mob returned to the estate, minus one unconscious bodyguard.

You would think that someone who had done little more than sit in office for years would succumb to fatigue after running from creatures twice his size wanting to slaughter him. However, William was far past trying to survive--he was already feeling for revenge. There was still a chance he could find some important document back at the office to clear his name before Euler and his associates ruined him for good. He navigated the forest with ease by heading in a consistent direction and was in the clear in about an hour. Beyond the last tree laid a breezy knoll next to the city river. Muck. That’s what ran through the river. Just dirty, slimy muck. Only yesterday he wouldn’t have even considered mixing with the brown goo. But William had evolved pretty rapidly over the recent turn of events. As he approached the bank, a man lying down behind a shrub came into view. He had a Manchurian moustache and wore a stained overcoat and an exorbitant amount of socks. A pen and a pad of paper half-scribbled on lay on the ground next to him. In a surprisingly deep voice for his rather small stature, the man spoke up.
“Hello, brother. You lost?” William looked down and saw he was still wearing his business suit sans jacket. He put his hands in his pockets and tried to ignore him by keep walking.
“Well I know you’re such a busy man,” the man sighed, “But would you like to take a look at my memoirs?” William stopped suddenly and turned.
“You? Memoirs? Hoo, that lightens my mood for at least a little bit. Who cares what some lowly bum thinks?” He took great joy in saying the word “bum.” He turned back to the water.
“And who cares about you?” asked the man. William stopped again. He didn’t answer immediately and gave him a sharp look.
“I have a successful career and make lots of money,” he shuffled his feet and puffed out his chest.
“So?” William was ruffled.
“I don’t have time for this. I have business to take care of at the Castle,” The man changed the subject.
“You’re not planning on swimming across that river are you?” William said nothing. “Well there’s a tunnel over by that tree stump,” he pointed, “It goes under the river and leads into Blacklight District. But it gets mighty cold this time of night. Here, take my coat.” He began taking it off, before he was quickly stopped.
“Uhhh, n-no. That’s fine. I’ll, uhhh…be fine.” After the man removed his jacket anyways, a pungent odor clawed the insides of William’s nose. “Ahhck,” he let out instinctively. He let the man be and walked down a dirt ramp and into the dark, cement tunnel.
Two hands were strangling him by the neck. At least that’s what the dusty air inside felt like. The tunnel was probably only a half-mile long, but the dead air made it seem like a marathon. It was circulated by the homeless people who resided in the area and by a horde of rodents, of which William was horrified. The blackness was a double-edged sword; he undoubtedly would have fled after the first fuzzy creature brushed against his leg if he could see it. But he just kept putting one foot in front of the other until he saw dim streetlights in the distance. Light engulfed his body as he surfaced behind Murkins Motel. As much as he hated seedy businesses, he recognized that he would be gone within minutes. With much apprehension, William pushed through the crimson door. A chicken-headed man with a thick moustache greeted him behind the counter. His nametag read “Myles.”
“Hey Hollywood. You got the right address? Huhuhuh!” his wobbly head rattled like it was too heavy for his puny.
“Listen,” William sighed. “I just want a night in one of your better…uh….rooms.”
“Suuuuure. Anything for big shot,” Myles gave an evil smirk that was very unsettling for William. “$40.”
“$40! That’s outrageous! I’ll give you $20 for the room and some service.”
“Our prices are non-negotiable.” Myles glanced to his left as a towering man came out of the shadows. William started fumbling in his pockets and bumped across his gun, which was slipped underneath his belt. He clutched it like he defending his soul.
“Fine. Just let me take out my wallet and…where is it…” he started slapping himself mercilessly. “It’s got to be around here…this pocket…no…shirt pocket…no…jacket pocket……….” he stopped again and groaned, “…probably.”
The black room lit up with laughter from bodies that certainly weren’t there before, at least in William’s mind. Five sausages clasped on his shoulder. William turned and saw the same animate tower roar his head back in laughter. Drool poured from his slimy mouth and a stench worse than the bum’s jacket emanated from his gullet. Suddenly, he stooped down and coughed in William’s face. That was just too much. William took a couple quick steps back, put two choppy hands on the gun, and fired directly into his chest. All noise ceased after the climax of a gunshot, leaving the room just as quiet as it was loud a split-second earlier. “Towerman” collapsed like a rag doll, unmoving eyes and strawberry-stained skin included, with a thud.
Things started to get fuzzy for William. He had never killed a man, at least directly. Oddly, it wasn’t a traumatic experience for him. Relief seemed to rush through his body instead of guilt. He even forgot about his problems, at least for a little bit. A great sensation rumbled through his body, giving him the greatest high he had ever experienced. The minions of the motel started to rumble, signaling him to leave. After concealing his golden gun, he calmly walked out. If someone looked really close as he passed under a nearby streetlight, they could see a faint smile painted on his face.
He walked for a couple blocks, but there were no more rest houses. There was a slummy mini-mall, a joke throughout the civil engineering community for such a low-budget mini-mall, the only commercial building in sight. William approached the 9-building lot hoping to find some bastion of hope in a taxi service or motel. Instead, he was handed an 11-7 Liquor Store and an Insta-Burger-Now establishment. He circled behind the closed fast food restaurant, steering far clear of the id-like drunks nearby. He found some kitchen tools, a forklift, some over-sized boxes, a calendar, and two green dumpsters. Taking a deep breath that somehow exhibited thousands of different emotions such as relief, sadness, disgust, rage; William climbed into one of the dumpsters. There were sacks of wrappers and half-eaten grease burgers that he used as a mattress. With an outstretched arm, he pulled the black lid over the dumpster. He fell asleep instantly.

Ozkar the garbage-man woke William up the next day by opening his bed.
“Ewwww! People throw everything away nowadays.” Ozkar pinched his nose and pulled him out by the shoulders. “There’s a shelter a few blocks from here you should check out. They’ve got nice rooms and great service.”
William was only slightly offended. “I’m no…” He gave up. “I’ll be fine,” he waved him off. Ozkar didn’t register the gesture.
“Hey, did you hear about that business guy last night?” William’s ears perked up. “Apparently, some high-class dreg has been cheating people out of their jobs. Good thing ole Oz chose the right profession,” he tapped his temple with his index finger. “Still, you gotta feel for those people. Worse yet, they never even found the suit. Man what a jerk. Not only does he force people to start over, but he refuses them an ending. They ran a full-page article in The Gazette. Had a big picture of him and everything. What a fruity looking weasel.” Ozkar hacked a loogie that got caught on his chin and continued to dangle. “Hey you look like that guy! Are you related or something?” His loogie dropped when he realized who he was. “Whoa! Talk about a total shocker! That’s okay man, I was just joking about that stuff I said. Don’t worry, Oz can keep a secret. Well time to complete the rounds. Lips are sealed.” Ozkar hopped in his big blue garbage truck and drove away.
William brushed the grime of his now-raggedy clothes. Napkins were stuck all over his backside. Ketchup packets filled his pockets. As he bent over to pull the napkins off his calves, he broke the ketchup-packet sealings causing them to explode all over his pants. He looked like a pop tart. When he cleaned the ketchup with the napkins, he noticed he could carve letters into the ketchup. Not knowing what else to do, he began drawing cave man like glyphs. After five minutes of kindergarten-level doodling, he realized how far he had fallen.
“Oh, I feel so uh…….not content,” he gave his best shot at expressing himself. He fired the ketchup out of hands towards the wall. “Euler…” he breathed in his deepest, scratchiest voice but still sounded like a fart. Revenge was swirling through his mind like potent smoke. With a handful of napkins and fresh (somewhat) ketchup packets, William began writing a revenge list. But first, he left the area and began walking on the sidewalk. His face was angled enough towards his hands enough to avoid recognition, but he did attract some bizarre looks from by passers.
“Number one. Well that’s easy enough. Oily Euler.” William would normally have found that hysterical, but instead just “heh”’d and continued.
“Number two. Hmmm, let’s see. Aaaaaah,” the word seemed far too spicy for his throat, “Ms. Holstein. That witch of a secretary. She was the one who ratted me out, I’ll bet,” saying ‘bet’ reminded him of his riches and how he may never get to enjoy them again. He moved onto his next victim furiously.
“Number three now.” He didn’t need to think long, “Chuck Olaaanski,” he mocked like someone deathfully afraid of another. Chuck had an altercation with him a few years earlier when William had inadvertently fired Chuck’s brother Burt. Burt had worked as a grunt worker who one day made the vital mistake of using the administrator’s bathroom when the laborer’s bathroom had overflowed. He was caught in the squat position and abruptly fired. Burt’s brother “ChuckO,” the police chief, raised a fuss in the media and marred the Windcastle name. The two began a rivalry through the local papers until a new scandal involving a fire truck and a monkey broke out, fading it into obscurity before a winner could be determined.
“So Euler and Holstein stood to gain something from me. ChuckO wanted revenge. I believe Noogie did too, that slithering weasel. What a wreck that creature is. He always did act sullen towards me following that night of straightening him out.” Several months ago, the butler Noogie had spent weeks moping around the house. Difficulties had rose from his handling of financial situations and recent relationships. Over several bottles of liquor, Noogie let his problems flow out of his mouth. William was quite distracted from his duites so he let him know how awful he was. He further explained how abnormal it was for a man not to treat a woman how he wants as layed a firm smack to the nearby maid. William buckled over in laughter as the maid continued. William also advised him to act his gender, causing Noogie to let his tears flow as well. Since that instance, Noogie had become excessively timid and hated both William and himself for it.
Finding that his list would suffice quite well in solving his problems, William pocketed the napkin and headed to MLK apartments. He was practically already there as he had inadvertently been heading in its direction. The apartments were a deep brown color, very close to wood, and seemed to be off-kilter horizontally, giving it the impression of having jagged rooftops. “This is certainly reminiscent of Noogie,” William thought to himself. He easily spotted the right apartment based on Noogie’s signature run-down jalopy parked in front of it. A side window was creaked open, giving William enough room to enter. After what he saw inside, he probably could have just used the front door.
There was Noogie, long-gone, head-down over his stool…er, dining room table. Unspeakable fetid odors nestled in nostrils; it was almost enough to cause a vomit-reflex. On the floor were a number of bottles of forties and a half-full bottle in his drooped left hand, barely above the floor. Once William was fully inside, he locked the front door. He also planned on cutting the phone cord, but it had already been cut. He walked back over to Noogie, but was jarred by a sharp crackling sound.
Chink-a-ching.
William looked down at his feet. Broken glass from one of the bottles had shattered everywhere. Before he could look back up, Noogie awoke with slurry vocal burps. William held his position and pulled his gun out of his belt and placed it as his side. After somewhat regaining control of his bearings, Noogie looked up.
“I know youuuuuu!” he talked like he was holding and apple in his mouth, “you’re that guy.” He began wagging his finger at William. “I don’t think I don’t think much of you. I think.” While he pondered what he just said, William confronted him.
“Listen here you lowbreed. I know you set me up. I don’t have any evidence, but I don’t need any. I just know. But other people don’t know, Noogie. And since you’re such a faithful and admirable servant, I would like you to help these people by providing evidence about how this fiasco has transpired. Do you have any evidence?” Noogie’s mood swung steeply towards hostile.
“Get away from me!” he swatted at William who took a step back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Leave me alone!” Noogie tried to get out of his chair, but fell pathetically back down. He snapped back again, “You ruined me Windcastle. You stole a life. My life. So when I was given the opportunity to ruin you, you better believe I jumped all over the opportunity. Keys, passwords, and numbers were all it took to tear you off your pedestal. I’ll bet you’ll want revenge for this. But it’s too late now Master William. I beat you to the punch!”
William, not knowing any other way to react, utilized the tactic he had just learned the night before. One lead bullet to the back of the neck of Noogie. He lurched over the table after pausing to touch the back of his neck. But before his hand could land, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell to the floor, crashing into his liquor bottles. Again, the ecstatic feeling overwhelmed William as he put another human being to death by his own hands. He felt like god, having the power to choose when a life would end. Without wasting much time, he left the apartment precinct and crossed the road to the Gorgon Condominiums.

Calling them “condominiums” doesn’t really do the buildings justice. They were more of a number of homes that happened to be located at the Garden of Eden. Blue spires tore into the sky perpendicular to the waterfront that it loomed over. A giant pool of crystal water imported from the glaciers of Alaska lay in the epicenter of the estate. Lush vegetation thrived in the area, despite receiving almost no sunlight, which was deprived by the towers. It was rumored a new batch of flora was supplanted from the Amazon rainforest and installed weekly before it had a chance to die off, but no-one knew for sure. Demantoid garnet was cut into a pathway through the faux jungle and wove from door to door. On a dewy morning it was nothing short of a glimpse of heaven; the glistening green road through an even more vibrant green life, topped of by the spit of god.
While this celestial estate was certainly more inviting than the previous run-down apartments William had just visited, he was a man with twenty-twenty tunnel vision and wasn’t teased by the similarities with his past life. A small white shack bearing a sleeping security officer lay between the entrance and exit. Not taking any chances, William duck-walked under the view from the shack and entered through an open gate that had twisted steel bars. After clapping his feet along the demantoid garnet a ways, he came across the only pink condo in the entire complex. Without even having to pause for confirmation, he walked over to the front door step knowing Mz. Holstein was inside. Sure enough, he could hear her loud rumbling voice spewing to somebody on the telephone. It was certainly loud enough to mask his entering, so he slid in the oversized front door and silently closed it with his backhand.
It was shocking how many glittering objects one could fit into the front room. Dangling from the ceiling were all sorts of diamond beads and swinging glass pendulums. Arranged throughout the room were beautiful exotic animals; William counted 9 tigers, 2 giraffes, and 3 swans. Only they were imitations made with pristine diamond with touches of pastel here and there. As he felt Mz. Holstein’s voice shifting, William ducked into the nearby coat closet and swung the door behind him. Unfortunately it didn’t quite snap shut, leaving a perfect view of the back of Mz. Holstein’s sausage-like neck. Every once in a while, presumably at same lame joke she just told, she would crane her neck back and let out a snorty wail of a laugh giving William an unsightly look of her face. She has a huge forehead. With only that description, anybody could pick her out of a room of a hundred people. It was like the body ran out room to deposit fat so it just dumped it all by the brain, which left enough repercussions in itself. She also had two long, rubbery lips that tripped over each other when she talked and glazy, black eyes that were difficult to see because of her excessive makeup and the curtain of fat that draped over them.
It took William a few moments to gather himself after catching glimpses of her, but he could make out the majority what she was gossiping about.
“Oh Windcastle? Yes, he was nothing more than a bug waiting to be squashed. I had him in my sights the whole time……. The documents? Yeah, easy-sneezy, lemon-peezy to get a hold of. The man didn’t even keep them locked for pete’s sake.” William smacked his forehead. “For a reward--a great one I might add--I handed them over to Chucko…..Okay, okay, okay. Take one guess……Higher…..Higher…..Higher…..Oh you are very funny……Oh, I’ll tell you anyways. Twelve Million Dollars!! Oooh-hoo-hoo-hoooo!!!…..Yeah I know! All from Windcastle’s own account too.” That was just too much for William to handle. Just before he was about to barge out of the closet, Mz. Holstein spoke up again.
“Wait, hold on. I’ve got a beep. Hello?….Oh, hi Chucko! I’m doing just wonderful thank you…..Another favor? I don’t know…More money? Well why didn’t you say so, of course I’m in……” William didn’t hear anything for a while, but he could see Mz. Holstein’s eyes grow bigger with each passing second. By the end of two minutes, he could actually see her pupils even underneath her over-powering forehead. “….That sounds absolutely delightful!….Of course I will Chuck. This money will come out of Windcastle’s account again right?…. Of course, of course. Say, one last thing ChuckO,” She never got a chance to finish. William sprung out of the closet, bounding towards the phone plug-in, all the while staring the barrel of the gun at Mz. Holstein. She let out a ridiculously shrill shriek and screamed help a few times on the phone before William pulled the plug.
Throughout the chaos going on in her apartment, Olanski was growing furious at the possibility his first major case and possibly only shot at reclaiming his spot in the media, was going to end before he could get those last important documents to let the reporters mull over. If he didn’t get those documents, then the public would pay attention to the court proceedings and not him. Dropping his makeup kit and shattering his beauty mirror, ChuckO darted out of police headquarters and drove the four blocks to the gateway of Gorgon Condominiums.
After yanking the cord out-of-socket, William bull rushed into Mz. Holstein hoping to knock her off her chair and onto the ground. But things didn’t quite go as planned and he bounced rather harmlessly off her massive girth. All the while, Mz. Holstein was squealing at the top of her throat. Suddenly, almost in slow motion, her chair began to tip backwards. It took about ten seconds for the chair and her to come violently crashing towards the stone-plated for. The entire complex shook on impact and unquestionably would have registered on the Richter scale. But it shook William back to his feet, who now stood over the incapacitated Mz. Holstein.
“You have made a very fatal mistake missy,” he slithered. “Now, tell me. Who else is in on this, hm?” she didn’t react. “Noogie had a cut in my pie. Now he’s drowning in his own blood and vomit,” even William grew queasy after picturing that in his head. He shook it as if it were an etch-a-sketch. She finally coughed followed by a gross display of unfitness wherein she panted and heavily breathed for several minutes. Growing impatient William reaimed his gun at her which ended up having negative consequences for him, sending her off the deep end and into another fit. This time she began choking on her own saliva, forcing her to try and attempt to turn her body over. She gave up quickly and spat warm green sludge all over his face. This prompted William to fire back. Emptiness flooded her eyes. This time the sensation had dulled. It was still there, and he still felt quite good, but he couldn’t stop envisioning her eyes. Two black holes everywhere he looked. He tried to squeeze his eyelids shut but they wouldn’t leave. To try and remove the ominous circles, he pulled the trigger a second time into the already lifeless body. It worked, somewhat; the circles had disappeared, but so did his high.
A clicking sound followed by a number of uncoordinated clunks went off just outside the apartment. William ducked behind an oversized sofa-chair, though it was so large, he could have just as easily stood. Barreling through the door was a fully armed man-in-blue. At his holster was a handgun that dwarfed William’s six-shooter, a grappling hook tazer, several grenades, (whether they were tear-gas or explosive William didn’t know), and a strong dose of pepper spray. He was wearing a 5-point hat in attempt to hide his obvious baldness. The left side of his face was smooth and well-colored. The right side was ragged and droopy. ChuckO was preparing for the premature media blitz.
After seeing the carnage sprawled on the floor, Chuck let loose a string of obscenities. He wasn’t angry at the fact that someone he was responsible for was dead, but moreso at how he hadn’t received every last drip of information he could. As he turned to leave and started walking back towards to his car, William leaped with all the intensity someone who spent their life in an office building could, which surprisingly was more than enough to take down ChuckO’s muscular build. ChuckO had actually jumped at the surprise and as he saw the gun in William’s hand, burst into tears.
“Ahhwhoa-ho-ho. You don’t wanna take out ole ChuckO do ya? Huh? Let’s just put--” William jammed it further into his face ignoring every word he just said.
“You set me up,” was all he said. He leaned in slowly, his face catching light showing his now dark and twisted face. William’s face was void of many characteristics. The whites of his eyes seemed to disappear and his nose, mouth and cheeks seemed unusually focused and serrated.
“Please, don’t kill me. Hey hey hey. I can get you anything. Some stroke in the force? Uh….uh…twelve million dollars?” That last offer struck an off-key chord with William, causing him to put both hands on the gun. Chuck tried to reach down to his gun, but he was too slow. William was quicker on the trigger. His sensation had dissolved now and it was certainly no longer enjoyable. The black eyes had mutated into Chuck Olanski’s strong and well-built, yet utterly useless body. Three bodies had entered into that high-style apartment, and only one had been able to leave. Taking ChuckO’s still running police car, William drove out of the Gorgon Condominiums, tipping ChuckO’s cap at the oblivious security officer.

He was becoming quite accustomed to driving. Being in control of a deadly weapon was bringing that sensation back. Driving back down town, William pulled the dried ketchup napkin out of his pocket. He tore off the top piece of it containing Noogie, Mz. Holstein, and Chuck Olanski’s names leaving only Mr. Euler’s at the bottom. The brightness of the blood red glyphs burned into in his mind. He had to finish the list. If he didn’t, his all or nothing gamble would turn to the latter.
Nothing.
For once, he thought of his family tree and the generations through which the family business was handed down. All the money, power, and property were in his hands now. “Or in Mr. Euler’s hands,” he corrected himself. While he didn’t think much of the humiliation that would surely come with it, he did dread the thought of riches being taken from him. At least he would go down with a fight. Who was he kidding? ChuckO had probably spit everything he could to the public and had made the situation irrevocable. Still, if other people were getting their kicks at his expense, the least he could do was get one of his own.
He hung a sharp right onto Kingsbury Avenue. On his left was the familiar Windcastle LTD building. It looked out-of-place from the surrounding establishments, which seemed to be aglow and thriving in their environment. The ominous black Windcastle building, however, seemed like a shell of a once proud and powerful creature on its deathbed. It looked like someone took a piece of charcoal to its entire exterior. William didn’t care how empty it looked anymore. He didn’t care about a lot of things for that matter. A couple blocks later, Euler Enterprises loomed on the left. It was a stark contrast to the Windcastle building; almost entirely made out of glass, it formed a dodecahedron with each of its twelve points having a giant red “E” painted over it. At the top was a sky-prodding pole that held a giant double E flag that could be seen from a 20-mile radius.
William spat out the window before pulling into the parking lot. Luxury cars and moving limos overflowed the area, forcing him to actually park at an adjacent grocery store. He got out of the car and started along the sidewalk when a lady approached him. She was wearing a babushka and walked with a cane. Still, with her free hand, she was carrying two full bags of groceries.
“You look like you could use some charity, good sir. Would you like an apple?” she asked. When she smiled, her face turned into a raisin. William was angry and disgusted but before he could translate these emotions to words, he realized the remnants of his business suit were bloodied and torn. His entire left sleeve had somehow fallen off and he had a gaping hole in his pants by the knee. Instead retaliating bristly, he simply shook her off.
“I’m fine,” he stared blankly off in the distance and maintained his canter.
“Oh I understand Mr. Windcastle.”
William was shocked at her reply. How could anybody with cognizance of who he was have offered him charity? He turned back towards the voice to try and get a better understanding, but there was only an empty parking lot.
Not dawdling any longer, William crossed the busy intersection. Either as an empty man or as a man determined, it was indecipherable. People walking past his him more closely resembled slaves to the grind than individual human beings. Yet, they seemed to open up a path straight to the front doors of the Euler Enterprises building for him without realizing it. Standing underneath the glass awning-like point of the building that hung over the front entrance gave him a sense of vertigo. The heavy glass doors stood ajar. William walked into a scene of utter chaos that was the complete antithesis of the mood just twenty feet outside the building.
Despite the visible rooms being clogged with people beyond capacity, there was nobody manning the front desk. William had to fight for his body space, yet remained inconspicuous inside the human cluster.

mb99usa

Interesting. I'm curious to see where you go with it.

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So, what's your point?

It's not an attitude, it's a way of life.

vonstalhein

I haven't read it all, but the characterisation of Wil is fab.

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No Win No Fee

J.R.V.A.

Finnally read it all, I think its really good. please post the rest, thanks

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And as she plays,
her sweet song of laughter
floats through the air
and warms my heart

essendoubleop

. Just to be on the safe side, he nudged his way past the inexplicably raucous crowd and into a more mellow room. He bumped into a chubby lady, knocking her drink over and onto her ridiculously undersized dress. Half-stupored, she turned around and slapped at the first man she saw, who happened to be a decrepit old man who was well out of his element. He crumbled as she swung, despite the drunken woman missing by more than a foot who fell to the ground on the downswing.
In the other room, the crowd was far less tipsy. And far more dangerous. William overheard some Uncle Pennybags-looking fellows discussing why there was a party at Euler Enterprises.
“Nice of Euler to throw this impromptu party today. I’ve been here since 8 and had about one Tanqueray every two hours. Let’s see… that means I’ve had about….too much too drink!” They all let out a consistent laugh that started two octaves higher than it ended.
“So Euler finally got rid of that rival businessman. What was his name again? Winterburn? Windbergh? Winston?” said a man with three monocles dangling from his suit.
“Windcastle,” said another.
“Ahhh, yes. Had that tussle with the police chief a few months back if I remember correctly. Say, did anyone ever find out what happened to that poor monkey?”
William felt something on the back of his neck. Someone was poking him with their stare. He found a pair of bloodshot eyes belonging to a bearded man with an untied tie reading him. William looked away for a few minutes, but when he turned back, he found the man still turning the pages. Finally, he reached the climax and his eyes goggled. He began rapidly moving through the crowd towards William. William hurriedly turned in the other direction but met a pair of caterers with large trays of cocktails. He tried to fight through, but the crowd converged and mobbed the bringers-of-the-crown, emptying their plates before they could set them down. After the crowd dispersed as if that ten-second encounter had been cut from history, William found the bearded man standing before him.
“I know who you are!-” he said with a deep voice that was fairly giddy. William made one last attempt to scram but realized he was up against the wall. His mind raced through all the possible repercussions of the encounter. Would he call attention towards him, surely ending his futile attempt at revenge? Could he be a close associate to Euler, and want to finish the job? Or maybe he could be a sympathizing employee of Windcastle LTD…
“You’re that dude from the commercial!” William exhaled relief. “Can you do that catchphrase for me? You know, ‘It’s a lie, man, if he doesn’t ask for fried bran.’”
William uttered a muffled echo. He could tell he didn’t perform it well enough to the man’s liking, as told by his dismayed reaction. Before the bearded man could open his mouth to voice his disgust in his mistake, another flood of people stormed the buffet tables. A clear path towards the elevator opened up to his left. Without giving any chance he bearded man to call attention to him, he darted into the open door.
Fortunately for him, the elevator was empty. He quickly thumbed the top floor button. Just as the door was shutting, he could see through the cracks that the bearded man shouting after him. He also saw that there were more pairs of eyes directed at him than he had noticed earlier. The steel door shut off the marble floor and began ascending in accordance with a quickly boiling uproar. The elevator soon out-distanced the sound waves and William was left in solitude.
William had been on the run for so long and hard that this was his first real opportunity to reflect on what had transpired the past three days. He lost his servants, employees, and assistants. He went from sleeping in a lush bed in his luxurious domain, to sleeping on top of people’s filth. He mingled with people he wouldn’t have dared been in the same 100-yard radius of. In fact, his perception of the way things are had changed as well. Maybe not a whole lot, but enough for him to realize he had perhaps been wrong in how he approached things in the past.
Maybe there really was a closer gap between all humans, or perhaps no gap at all. Being so high on top of the mountain for such a long time, had caused a thick fog to set in the valley, blocking out his vision of everything below him and confining him to a small space. William had perhaps gone stir-crazy at this point, as so many others in his situation do, and when confronted with the overwhelming amount of people not belonging to his small cubicle, he didn’t know how to treat them.
He didn’t have much time to further evaluate his epiphany, signaled by the gentle ding of the elevator coming to a stop. He prepared himself for any possible encounters and hunched himself in front of the elevator door. Once the door glided open, he sprung around the corner and dove behind a desk. There was really no need to do that since all the lights on the floor were off and there were no signs of life, but William wasn’t taking any chances.
He got up and looked around. The layout wasn’t like an average business headquarters would have. There were rows and rows of computers that were attached to chairs that lifted several feet off the ground, and several feet off the ceiling-yes, off the ceiling. William had to blink his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. The ceiling rows were hung by the tops of the chairs and held up by a pair of cables. There was also one large chair that somehow seemed perfectly adjusted to view every worker.
William walked through the rows and noticed a flicker towards the back. He jumped alarmedly then briskly turned the corner to find a glow emanating underneath a thick silver door. A clunking sound came from inside the room and William immediately identified it--a personal elevator similar to his own. He rushed into the room and stood directly behind the chief desk, taking out his gun and setting the sights at the center of the doorway. The chrome door rolled open, revealing Euler and a bodyguard. He was carrying a briefcase and seemed excited to release its contents, but he didn’t take two steps before taking a giant leap back.
“Hold it Euler,” he clicked his gun. “Drop the briefcase. Yeah, right there. Good.” He moved around the desk to get closer. The bodyguard made a move into his coat, but William fired a shot that whistled wide. When he began pulling the trigger, the barrel was locked on the chest of the bodyguard. But those tiny milliseconds between when the trigger is pulled and the bullet is launched became very consequential as William, somehow, willed the gun to the side at the last possible moment. The bodyguard snatched his hand back as if had fallen out of a glacier bath and onto a grill. William then ran over and kicked the briefcase towards the desk. While clutching Euler with his gun-hand around the arm, he disarmed the now-shook bodyguard by tearing off his holster. It came off easier than any of them had expected. He gave one last firm push at the bodyguard sending him up against the wall with little resistance. The elevator door closed on impact.
“You get down in front of the desk,” Euler didn’t react to his command. “NOW!” William waved the gun at him and Euler reluctantly knelt down against the desk. The playful whirring of the elevator was put to death by a big red lever. William pulled the emergency shut-off switch, but struggled because of rust that had settled in. After he commanded its descent to a halt and thereby cutting off any communication, he turned back towards--nobody. William spat out a few expletives. When he finished, he was suddenly relieved as he heard tones rattling off in the office room next to him. He sprinted over to the next room and found Euler huddled over a telephone, spewing his share of vocal frustration. Without making any noise, William examined the phone cord and found its outlet on the wall at his feet. Freeing it with a simple tug caused Euler to spin around and back against the desk.
“It’s over Euler. For you, and for me.” William’s eyes were filling with resolve. Euler’s depends were filling with--
“But I’ve realized something just now. My business--no, my empire, is done. It has run its course. If I ever go out in public again, my life will more than likely end up likewise. Forget the briefcase. What’s inside it has no matter to me whatsoever.” He locked the door behind him and paced around the room before settling in the corner. Then he flicked back-and-forth a switch that had been bugging him for some reason since he entered the room.
“But I can still live on in the world for centuries to come.” Euler looked quizzically at him. He had nothing to say, or was too afraid to. Even he didn’t know. “You see,” he began, “People live about seventy years. Some live longer, some don’t. But think of it like spreading butter: you can spread it nice and thin over the entire slice, but it tastes really bland. Or you can pile it all on a small section and it tastes wonderful, but the rest is awful. For that one shooting-star moment, it makes everything seem worthwhile. If only there were a way to prolong it, huh?” Euler was so confused, he thought it would be better to end himself than to end William.
“So Euler. Think of it as sharing the butter. One of us gives the other his share, the other utilizes it to his advantage.” Euler prepared himself to die.
“And so Euler, to you I say, goodbye.” He aimed the gun execution-style at Euler, then aimed it back at himself and pulled the trigger. It would be his last movement as he slumped over. No more contracts of death would be issued from that gun, that bullet being the last. Not moving a single body part besides his tongue and a quivering of his lips, William made one final command to Euler.
“Ceiling…corner…”
Euler followed his command and found a small security camera shining with a red light. He looked back at William and found a note protruding from his pocket. He stepped over and picked it up. The note contained the final security codes needed to get the remaining files on William’s unethical business practices. Euler plugged back in the phone cord, dialed for assistance and elevator repair, and slumped in the chair at the desk.

The next day, Euler huddled in front of the final safe in the once impenetrable Windcastle treasure room. Once upon a time, Euler would have loved seeing all those numbers arranged in different compositions. But similar to William’s change in philosophy, they seemed so empty and trifling. Still, he entered the 87-numbered code and was shocked at what lay inside.
Journals, packed with photographs and paintings of the entire Windcastle heritage, were meticulously arranged. Various staff members noted detailed recordings of their lives. Euler opened William’s journal and actually felt saddened by what he saw.
As a young boy, William looked vibrant and full of life. He was a good-looking boy who smiled often in his pictures. Then, as he turned the pages, his lips increasingly curved the downwards into almost a frown in his latest photo. He saw similar results in all of them, even the ancient ones that crumbled as he turned the pages. He gathered up the journals and left the area.
Already in possession of all the security camera tapes on the top floor, Euler assigned his P.R. team to orchestrate a publicity blitz in combination with the journals. Within days, the true William Windcastle VII was given to the public. After seeing the public reaction to what a great man he could have been, Euler focused himself to incorporate the nuances that pundits were breaking down in William’s life. Soon, Euler had been dealt his share of karma and underwent his passage into a respected member of society. His bread had been buttered twice.