Socrates the Madman - Chapter Four

The sun had started to rise by the time he had reached Las Vegas. Socrates stood at the city's entrance, solemnly observing the dusty streets. The street-side rubble was painted over with the savage orange of sunrise, the empty husks of hotels casting long shadows across the broken city.

Socrates rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He'd never thought Vegas could get any worse, but well, here he was. Then again, in nuclear war, everything's a target.

He walked slowly through the city, kicking through shards of glass and tarmac. The decrepit streets, littered with bones, stretched out before him, lined by the jagged sentries of stone and steel. A chilling wind blew through, herding scraps of paper and charred flesh across the desolate landscape.

Socrates looked around, aching for another cigar. Silverdeath was one of the harder experiments to locate, but not by much. He simply had to look for the most expensive establishment.

Of course, the casino stuck out like a sore thumb. It rose out imperiously over the barren land, leering down at the rubble. A fountain in front had long since dried up, and the proud, sculpted heads bore the cruel scars of time. Half of the lights had been blown out, but the others still dimly flashed upon the towering monument to Silverdeath's vanity.

Socrates shook his head. "Victor, you haven't changed a bit." He stopped suddenly, surprised at himself. "Victor." He scolded himself for his foolishness. Victor Hernandez was gone, and Silverdeath had taken his place. That was the situation, and nothing more was so.

He entered through the main door, swinging it open on one remaining hinge. Inside, the casino had remained as luminous as ever. Bright lights hung from crystal chandeliers, and the rug was a mosaic of intricate designs. It was as if he'd walked into a palace.

Not a palace, Socrates thought, but a dragon's hoard. Mountains of gold rose from the floor, shimmering like ocean waves. Piles of gemstones glittered on the balcony, and precious works of art practically were the walls.

Socrates squinted at one in particular. "My, my...that's the Mona Lisa, isn't it?"

The slot machines had been pushed off into the corner, their contents ripped out and added to Silverdeath's hoard. Never mind that they were worthless now, they were his, and that was all that mattered.

Socrates drew a deep breath, readying himself for the confrontation. Steeling himself, he carried his briefcase over to the bar, where a silver-skinned man was wiping down the counter. 

Taking a seat, he glanced at Silverdeath nonchalantly. The thing about Silverdeath was, no matter how much he had, he never sought to change his appearance. His round face, thick eyebrows, and bleak expression hadn't altered in the slightest.

They had both noticed each other by now. Socrates was sure of it. He drew a shallow breath, steeling himself. He never quite knew how to begin a conversation.

Luckily, Silverdeath saved him the trouble. "You know that old phrase they have about worldly possessions?" he said in his silky Spanish accent. He glanced down at Socrates, nonchalantly examining a glass in the light as he polished it.

Socrates nodded astutely, going along with the small talk. "You can't take it with you, right?"

Silverdeath set the glass down with a clunk, leaning forward. "Exactly, amigo. They're telling you to let go of what you have, because you'll die someday..." He chuckled heartily. "And here I am, laughing in their faces." Holding his hand out, he gazed hungrily at his silvery skin. "Immortality. In other words, the ability to have everything."

The professor nodded bluntly.

Silverdeath went on. "Tell me, old friend, how is Wendy?"

Socrates averted his gaze. "I don't see why that-"

"Oh come now, no need to be so defensive," Silverdeath teased gently, pouring wine into his grail. "You have a shot, you know. Why, if you simply took her into your arms, and held her-"

"She's my friend, Silverdeath. I don't need to jeopardize that." Socrates felt a heat beneath his skin. Was he blushing? How childish.

Silverdeath laughed easily, taking a sip from his wineglass. "So be it, my friend. Well, you are here, so please make yourself at home. I don't enjoy freeloaders, but I can make an exception for my dear companion." 

An odd sensation pierced Socrates' mind. Look at them, chatting so freely. It was as if they were still normal people, in each other's presence for pure camaraderie. Friends.

But it was all wrong. Socrates shook his head. "Silverdeath, you've got to stop this. Running all over the country, looting the ruins of these cities," he said, gesturing to the piles of gold, "It's not going to help matters."

"Maybe not, my friend," Silverdeath admitted, "But what do I care of the world surrounding? Why should I give what I have earned to these wasteful, foolish..." he broke off, shuddering in sheer disgust, "Humans."

Socrates was silent for a moment. "May I have a drink?" he asked finally.

The bartender grinned. "But of course. House brew or Gold?"

The professor made a small gesture with his hands toward the cabinet, nodding. "Gold, if you would."

Silverdeath fetched a second chalice and an ingot of pure gold from his wares. Producing a gas burner (God knows where he got it), he proceeded to melt the bar of gold down, pouring the liquid metal into the cup like a fine wine. He nudged it forward. "On the house for my old friend." His silver eyes gleamed with hideous guile. "Quinn."

Socrates stiffened. "I am designated Gold Model and Head Researcher of Project Alchemy," he said coldly. "Experiment 007, Midas."

Silverdeath sighed wearily, visibly disappointed. "You have grown icy, mi amigo. How sad."

"Perhaps," Socrates said, tipping his glass back to let the fiery tang of liquid gold rush down his throat. Placing the half-empty glass down, he straightened the cuffs of his lab coat. "Are you ready, Silverdeath?"

"Of course. But you can just call me Victor," the silvery monster taunted. "Quinn."

Quick as a viper's fangs, Socrates' hand dipped into the folds of his lab coat, pulling out a cannon. He readied the bazooka on his shoulder impassively. "Beginning test of Experiment 003," he announced mechanically, "Mercury Model, Silverdeath. Commence thermal trial!"

A wave of flame burst from the cannon, enveloping Silverdeath in a wreath of fire. The inferno burned around him in a crimson storm of devastation, carmine jaws tearing at his tranquil form. Socrates grimly kept the trigger pressed, incinerating his friend alive.

Eventually, the tempest abated, the final embers sputtering into oblivion. Silverdeath still stood behind the counter, unfazed by the fire. His uniform had been burned into scraps of blackened fabric, fluttering gently to the ground. Other than that, he was untouched.

 Silverdeath sighed, tugging the burnt cuff of his shirt from his silvery form. "I really wish that you wouldn't do that," he said casually. "This outfit was one of my most prized possessions." A dangerous light ignited in his eyes, and his lips curled from his sharp teeth. "I feel very...peeved, as of now," he growled.

Socrates allowed a smirk. "Well, that was the emotional test."

"Quite so," Silverdeath snarled, "And now, I will give you a firsthand experience of everything I am capable of." He held out his arm, to the side, grinning madly. Socrates watched in mild astonishment as the mercury skin morphed, reshaping itself by Silverdeath's pure will. The experiment's eyes shone with malice as the quicksilver molded itself into the shape of a monstrous blade. He held the sword to his own throat, gazing at Socrates with undisguised contempt. "You'd better take notes, Professor." With that, he surged forward in a tide of silver death.