SEQUEL! Did anyone enjoy number 1? This'll be a hell of a ride, I promise and there will be more chapters, and breaks where major events happen inbetween stories. Like the last one, this'll be from Edith's point-of-view entirely. I recommend new readers to read "The Stories Of Edith" first to get a feel of the style and storyline.
I could write a million of these. Even if no-one reads, exploring my imagination of ways I think Edith will be like in response to certain events is fun! Stories (And poetry for me) is a great way to have fun, release emotions, and tell the world how you feel in a different way! About yourself or the characters!
I'm going to be writing chapters based on motivation and constructive (SAY AGAIN, CONSTRUCTIVE) criticism. No flamers. So if you like it, drop a comment! I know it only takes a few seconds, and I'll always reply to reviewers! (Unless you are a douche bag...)
Without further ado, let's begin The Stories Of Edith... 2.
The Stories Of Edith II
Chapter 1: Villain In War
Being Edith Gru is harder – and in some ways, easier – than I first thought.
The bag is lifted from my head, and the very sparse light seeping in through the windows dazzles me for a second. I must've been locked away in dark rooms for the best part of a week, all because I chased one target too many, one madman too far.
That madman walks in now, looking smug.
He chuckles, and says, "Ah, Miss Edith, is it?" I nod. He laughs under his breath again, "Villains... and their stupid schemes." He points to a TV playing a clip of a rumpled, rejected looking blonde girl stealing some codes. Me. "Is this your doing? I can see the resemblance..."
He walks towards me, and kneels down. I'm thinking of spitting on him.
Ever since I was rejected by Margo and my family, my career – and life – has gone rapidly down-hill. I'm not the person I was. I don't know if I ever will be again. Well... it doesn't matter now. This entire thing screamed death or we want a ransom from every angle. Not that it has many angles; just one fat, boxy man named Rubik's Cube – at least to me – in the way of the world. This wasn't for personal gain. It was for a better life for the world.
"So what?" I spit, "I don't care what you do! My life is pretty much done in anyway."
Cube just smiles – all charm – and kneels down next to me. I'm strapped to a chair, hands pinned behind my back, legs tied up. Only my head is moveable. "I heard. Everyone with contacts in the underground world did. Gru's fabulous adopted kids! Fall out! Between Margo and Edith!" He rolls his eyes but keeps his smile, "Anyway, you lost a great deal."
I nod. I am angry at him for even saying her name like that.
"Humans, they can get attached to others. They can grieve for years when they loose one. You know why? Because other people with them remind them... they're loved." He gets a picture of my family out, and stamps on it. Oh, now he's dead.
"But loss... is part of life, isn't it? And part of life is accepting the inevitability of death – the inevitability, Miss Edith, of death!" He leans in closer, "My parents told me that. You'll be a hero to her, too, even if she still hates you." He pulls a face whilst saying, "I hope that gives you comfort." He looks up and calls to Bad Hat – as I call his "sidekick" – and says, "Brother!"
He walks towards me, and I notice something in front of me. A camera.
"Turn it on! Go on!" he shouts at the man – I'll call him Scarface – in frustration... I think... and says, "Shame on you, Gru. You let your little girl come and try and steal from us. And yet we are the bad guys? When we try to give a better life to our nation and our people. This..." he points at me, eyes till fixed on the camera, "Is the price you pay."
Cube comes back... with a knife. Well, at least it'll be painless... wait... painful! No!
As he lines up his stroke, I turn my head just in time to see the window break and a masked figure jump in. I'm guessing it's a she because of the distinctive curves. She fires a Type II K.O Dart – I'd know, because I created it, but how the heck did she get hold of it? – at Scarface and then at Cube. Bad Hat runs away before she lines up the shot.
Great, who is it now? Millie? That nutjob Laura? What is this? Revenge marathon year?
The figure pulls of her mask to reveal the my hero.
"Fancy seeing you again," I say, relieved.
Doctor Stefanie "Verrückt" Cotton - verrückt meaning crazy – stood infront of me looking sad. The German Doctor had been my psychiatrist, and I found out she is a villain, too. We have done... various schemes together.
"Margo called," she said, in a German accent. It was very strong. "I'm so sorry."
"You really are crazy, aren't you? You'll get shot on sight!" I ignore the mention of my sister.
"It doesn't matter. I need to ask you some questions."
"Can't it wait?" I feel scared; my hopes are on a crazy doctor making the right choice. "We'll have an audience soon. I bet they want to know all about your slapping techniques..."
"I have a hundred people on the perimeter, and ten will be coming in here any second now," Stefanie says, "So... question one... how the heck did you get here? Be specific, too. And quick. We haven't got all day..."
"I wanted revenge for the world."
Facepalm by her. "No. Details."
"Like what?" I'm confused.
Double facepalm! Result! "Okay... Margo said you did well a few years ago when the VC were questioning you, right?" I would say yes, but she cuts me short. "Well, tell me a story. How did this happen?"
Again? Seriously? Wow, Deja Vu, eh? I'm not going to think about the other near-death live-video-execution-attempt Verrückt saved me from. Ugh... bad memories... such as today... and a few years ago... and being at Miss Hattie's...
A good memory is like pizza! Which I haven't had in... years... ouch...
"I'd love to say," I keep my face blank, "But you'd put me in the loony bin." I joke. "And anyway... where are your little – "
Nine of the promised ten guards come through the window. Jumping from a helicopter. "How the heck did you get that in to the city? The British can't get in with most of their territorial army!"
She shrugs, looking as smug as the now knocked-out Cube, "I know a few guys." She turns, counts, and notices she hasn't got the promised ten. "Where is the other one?"
"Can I get out of this chair?" I mutter, getting sick of being ignored for the past year.
"Ma'am, sorry I'm later," Says another voice I haven't heard in years.
Dave – that one from Villain School – walks in, looking proud of himself. He always did. Today I have seen three people I have known in the past... three. Poop... who's next? I bet one of them guys in their helmets is John...
"Dave! What is the meaning of this?" Verrückt says, "We can't use the front door until Edith Squad reports in..."
"Edith Squad," I raise an eyebrow, "Seriously?"
She ignores me. Dave finally speaks, "Did a sweep of the building and... uh... found... this...?" He pulls out a small, boxy item. What? What is it with today and boxes?
"Give me that," she grabs it, and examines it before her face drops. "Everyone! Into the helicopters! We have about 5 minutes before this place goes bang! And it wont be pretty if you are in here..."
Dave unties me. He tries to make conversation, but I just rub my wrists and pull up my jeans to rub my ankles before going for the helicopter. Everyone just climbs in; no words, no orders. The helicopter is a UH-64 Blackhawk Transport Helicopter. Verrückt sits next to me, still wanting a story. "Tell me."
"Okay! Okay!" I say. Where did it begin? "Probably last year... me 22... getting a contract to steal valuable 'merchandise' from Middle Eastern crime lords. And the government. Afterwards my employer would use a ransom and I'd get a 60% cut."
"Carry on," she says.
"Well, I went to this place in Russia – Moscow or something – and was picked up by – "
"Incoming missile! 11 o'clock!"
"Why the hell do we always get caught in the crossfire?" says one of the helmeted people. His accent was Russian. "I'm getting sick of this, comrades!"
I see a missile fly past us – looks like another one of my family's inventions, a FR-5 Delta Guided Missile – and wonder who must have bad enough aim to miss this slow thing with that. But a better question would be who the heck is selling these arms?
I'll have to invent a tracking device.
"Stefanie! Are you at war or something?" I say, putting two and two together.
"Well... sort of. These governments want to crush down villains. They are saying they wont export anything – fossil fuels, cars, anything – unless villainous activities cease in the area. We are just an armed extraction team. I am extracting all of them. You included."
"You don't have to be involved. Go back to America or maybe France. The actual Eifiel Tower needs stealing." She is mocking my Dad, but sounds serious.
"Hey, he stole the moon! Beat that!"
The helicopter jolts and we start to go down. I look out of the helicopter to see fire coming from it. Yeah, we're dead...
Verrückt still looks calm though. "Okay. We'll have to fight our way out!" She picks up a parachute and passes it to someone. "Get ready! We have about 40 seconds left!"
All of the soldiers jump, leaving me and Verrückt... with one parachute. She must've under-ordered. Typical...
"Put it on and grab me! All we're all going down!" She screams. I do, and we jump.
Everything becomes slower in my mind. The rush of air nearly removing my beanie from my head, and the weight of Verrückt scares me. She is attached to the parachute not by me but by a clip. But then I hear a clink. It takes a fraction of a second – a fraction of a second too long – to realise she was slipping. We were still at least a thousand feet in the air.
"Verrückt!" I scream. The attachment slips, she falls. And she screams as she plunges to her death far, far below. I scream, "NO!"
I deploy my parachute, and don't dare look down. Time to go to Paris... and full fill her wishes...
I have learned to block out pain over the years, but death is hard...
Reality sinks in as I touch the ground just outside the main city. She can't be dead! She can't... she can't... "She can't! Not now!" I begin to cry, and I slump down to my knees. "Why now?"
The burning remains of the helicopter rush towards me, and crash all around me. The ash and smoke is stopping me from seeing into the distance, and the fire is disorientating. Verrückt had told me to fire a flare if lost during a scheme but with minimal chance of unfriendly contact. I look around the wreckage, the thoughts of her killing me inside, and find one in her seat. Is this a sign? I fire it, and a pretty pink light cracks the sky. Reminds me of my beanie. I go back to my knees again.
As if she can hear me – or anyone can – I begin reciting my story. Just to be sure, I turn on my the recording feature of my multi-purpose watch."Moscow, Russia, 6 p.m... 9th August 2023... "