6More chapter! Yaaay! I'm not too pleased with this. I discovered the hard way that I'm not a comedy person. I have a sense of humour and I can always get a joke, but I can't write comedy to save myself. As such, this 007 chapter is a bit OOC in my opinion. It's based more on the side of him that is hinted at in his episode of the 2001 anime entitled "The London Fog". I honestly didn't mean for this chapter to include as much commentary post-war-Britain, but, I was with my Grandparents all weekend. (They're both Londoners who lived through WW2.) Enjoy.
London, October 1967.
The first rays of sunlight barely make it through the clouds this morning as my hometown grudgingly awakens. Once again, London is grey and wet. If you expect anything else at this time of year then you're not from around here.
You'll have to forgive me, whoever you are. I'm not my usual dynamic self. I haven't slept all night and, to be frank, the rubbish on the telly isn't making it any easier. There was this documentary on a couple of hours back about this seven year old girl in Suffolk who lost her arm in a car crash and has learned to get by with a wooden one instead. It was also focusing on the wonderful new progress that had been made in the field of prosthetics. I found myself getting more and more resentful of the programme as it went on. At first, I hate to say that it was a savage pride that drove me.
You're impressed by that? I'm a highly advanced cyborg with more computer technology per square inch than most towns have per square mile...!
It was then followed by a rather strange self pity that would have been insufferable for any other people in the room, had there been any.
Why are you giving her so much sympathy? She's so normal...! She's going to grow up fine and have a perfectly normal adult life, save for one dud arm. What about me? I'm a freak!
And finally, the feelings grew into a rather heated fear.
How long would it have been before Black Ghost capitalised on this girl's pain if we hadn't stopped them? How is it that greedy, cruel people are always the richest and most influential? How long before a new organisation replaces Black Ghost?
On any other night, I'd have just turned the telly off and gone to bed to sleep off the bad feelings, but, I don't think I could have slept for anything in the world. See, today is something of an important day, in all the wrong ways.
See now, I was horrendously busy for the past couple of weeks with rehearsals, performances and parties (parties which I might add were solely for networking) and as such I rather lost track of the date. I looked at a newspaper two days ago and nearly fainted when I saw the date. The date today is the nineteenth of October 1967, which is my fiftieth birthday.
Or rather it would have been my fiftieth birthday had I not abandoned my old self three years ago. Let me explain: when the Black Ghost organisation grabbed me in 1962 I was 45 years old and my name was George Bradley Fisher, even if most people knew me by my nickname, G.B. I was of average height, bald and looked every bit like a forty-five-year-old, if not a bit older. Now, in 1967, with the Black Ghost gone, I am 50 years old and my name is now Matthew Williams. I have made extensive use of my unique ability to change forms and have adopted a new face, as well as a new body and voice. I am tall, I have red hair and I am good looking enough to be considered charming but not good looking enough to attract attention to myself. I look about twenty-five and I am educated far beyond anything that George Bradley Fisher's family could ever have afforded.
There wasn't actually anything stopping me from just going straight home and living as G.B again, if you must know. But, to be frank, I really didn't want to. Answer me this: if you had the choice between being a tired, washed-up alcoholic or, well, anyone you dreamed of, which would you choose? If you go for the first option I'll brand you a liar for the rest of your life. As G.B I was on the very edge of society. I would have had real trouble finding any viable work, especially with certain things still in living memory. I tell you, scandals never really leave you, even if there is concrete proof that you had nothing to do with the events or persons involved in them. Plus, people would have wanted to know where I was for those years when I was gone. What could I possibly tell them?
But don't worry; G.B will never be gone for long. If there is even the slightest trace of a sign of Black Ghost in the world Matthew Williams will melt like a wax sculpture and, hopefully, the West End will mourn his passing a little more enthusiastically than they did for G.B.
And, yes, I am a bit annoyed about the complete lack of any remorse for my loss five years ago. That, coupled with this damned documentary has brought me down further than I'd like. In the old days, I'd have turned to drink to make myself feel better, but, there's no point now. See, one thing that Dr Gilmore made sure to tell me was that alcohol would no longer have any effect on me. So, I wouldn't really say I've gotten over my addiction so much as simply gained immunity. Yay.
Since you ask, I won't be celebrating my birthday. Even if I was still living as G.B I don't think I would. It could just be post-all-nighter depression talking, but, there's not really much in my life that I'd consider worth celebrating. I didn't get to fight in the Second World war because of my asthma and was thus sent to an office full of old men where my main duties consisted of filing reports, answering and directing phone calls and bringing cups of tea to the other people in the office. It was what my father would not-so-kindly refer to as "women's work". Except that it wasn't. Both of my sisters got to work in munitions factories during the war, properly helping in the war effort, which they never failed to remind me of.
Oh don't you worry G.B; I heard on the wireless that Churchill's going to give you a medal for that report you wrote on rubber supplies...!
The only thing I ever gained from my time in that office was a good bunch of jokes. My superiors were convinced that the only way to keep our spirits up was to bombard us with jokes every minute of the working day.
Of course, I would have said that my acting career was worth celebrating, but, after the complete lack of any reaction to my disappearance I'm doubting it all now. I even looked back to the papers around the time I disappeared to find my obituary. It was tiny. I wasn't expecting a ten-page article in The Times or anything, but, you know, a little recognition goes a long way.
Right now, it looks like the only thing worth celebrating in my life has been the part I played in the downfall of Black Ghost. What does that say about me? I suppose an optimistic person would point out that I proved my mettle in a crisis and found previously unknown strength in myself, but, I'm not feeling very optimistic today. I was pulled into it against my will and I can't exactly talk to anyone here about it. They'd either lock me up in the mad house or turn me into a lab rat. I'm not going to jeopardise my freedom just so I can feel a bit better about myself.
If I'm going to do anything today, I'll probably just phone up my fellow actors and see if I can join them in whatever they're doing. Or maybe I'll just go to the cinema. Either way, I'm not going to stay in my flat and be depressed all day on my own.
The documentary is long over. The 7AM news is on, with nothing out of the ordinary to report save for a prove flying by the planet Venus and more on that whole Che Guevara thing. I begin to rise, with thoughts of walking down the street to a bakery for a decent breakfast. The only things in my fridge are a flat bottle of cola and some eggs that should have been thrown out a week ago. There's nothing to stop me from having an éclair for breakfast, since it is my birthday after all.
A sound reaches my ears. The buzzer for my flat is sounding. What the blazes? It's way too early for the mail and most of my friends are usually hung over at this time in the day. The only other possibility is the land lady. For an old deaf woman with rheumatism she never seems to have any trouble hearing me watching the telly and marching up the two flights of stairs to complain about it. But, then again she wouldn't need to ring the buzzer. She'd just march upstairs and start thumping on the door. Does that mean? It couldn't be...
As I stumble across the mess in my living room my heart begins to thump. The possibility doesn't even occur to me that I could be wrong. I'm forgetting every single other possibility and explanation in the face of my sheer excitement. As I answer the buzzer it takes all the strength and willpower I have to stop my voice from wavering.
Who is it?
A moment passes. Doubt begins to cloud my mind. What kind of idiot am I to instantly assume that the other cyborgs would just happen to come to my flat on my birthday when I'm in hiding? God, I'm such an idiot.
Frankenstein's monster, of course.
Then again, I am just occasionally proven right by the world. That voice is unmistakeable.
004, how the bloody hell did you find me?
You can change your face as much as you like but you'll still be you underneath it all.
Damn you. I buzz my old comrade in and make a desperate dash to clear the worst of the mess from my living room. There's no point in putting the kettle on for tea since I ran out days ago. By the time there is a clear path from the front door to the settee 004 is already knocking at the front door.
Good god, I can't even begin to describe how brilliant this is. The smallest part of me was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see my old comrades again.
After a good handshake and the usual exchange of pleasantries, we make our way to the settee. For a few minutes we just sit around, chatting about nothing in particular. Apparently he's been in London for three days, taking in the sights and looking for me.
Hang on, I say. Weren't you going back to East Germany?
He laughs dryly.
If you'd been there, you'd know better than to say that. He says. The whole reason I got taken by Black Ghost in the first place was because I was trying to get out of there. Since I have more of a choice now I'd rather live in a better country and have a better life.
So, where are you based now?
Australia.
That's a bit of a jump, if you don't mind my saying.
He shrugs.
I'm of the same mind, he says. I had been planning to stick to Europe but, unfortunately for me, fate had other plans. I ended up getting damaged and as such I had to find Dr Gilmore, He's been in Australia with the little one since they left Greece. Said something about needing absolute privacy to continue his research.
For a moment, we just sit in silence. I'm feeling more than a little bit odd right now. After all those hours thinking about the past – specifically the war – and having 004 turning up in the same day new thoughts have taken seed in my head. It never bothered me when we were all together as a group of nine, but, when I think about it, the war wasn't really that long ago. The world had me convinced at the time that every single German in the world was a goose-stepping Nazi that was personally trying to end everything that was good and right in the world. Chances are, 004 has quite a few memories from the war too, even if he is that much younger than me. I bet he has some stories to tell about life on the other side, although, I don't really think I can bring it up without feeling completely awkward and sounding bitter.
Oh god, I just realised I've been sitting in silence for nearly five minutes. Either 004 doesn't mind the silence or he's just polite enough not to say anything. I'm such a bad host.
Have you seen many of the others recently? I say quickly, spurting out the first thing that comes to mind.
A couple yeah, he says. I was in America before and I caught sight of 002 in New York. I was trying to find 005 for a couple of weeks, but, it's a really big country and I only have so much money to get by on. I am planning on a trip to Paris after this.
Do you really think that's wise?
He knows what I mean; I can see it in his face. 003 seemed to have the hardest time of us all in Greece and when the fighting broke out between the nine of us she was the first to break down into tears. Said she never wanted to see any of us ever again.
Probably not, he says. But, all the same, it'd be nice to know if she's coping.
And then, seemingly, it is 004's turn to become lost in thought. After a couple of minutes we start to talk again, mainly about London and very briefly about Berlin. We discuss some of the better moments from our days as a group and agree that being alive is a blessing that we're not going to waste, if not in those precise words. But, after a time he stands up.
I hate to say it, 007, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to get going now.
What, really? I say. You only just got here...!
True, but, I don't have that much time before my train leaves, he says. I told myself I'd make sure all was OK with you and then head off.
Shame really, it looked to have been quite a birthday. I would have enjoyed introducing 004 to some of my new friends. Oh well.
The goodbye from me is somewhat bitterer than I had intended. Still, at least this took my mind off of that whole documentary thing and the past. 004 walks to the door, seemingly aware of my unhappiness. He pauses briefly before opening the door.
By the way, he says. The Doctor is working on something. He won't tell me what, but, it seems to be something big. He's been working on it pretty much non-stop since he arrived in Australia and he says that when it's done he's going to bring us all back together.
And with that, he's off. The door slams behind him a little louder than I'd normally like, but, frankly my mind is reeling. Could it really be true? Will we all be together again? Could we really all work together again after everything that's happened? Time will tell.
