I HAVE RETURNED FROM THE BANNED ZONE. EVERYONE:
GET READY.
-x-
Across the top of the paper, I could see the name of the treaty in bolded letters. This was not a handwritten thing, but something that had been drafted many times before being laid out from a printing press. Time, work, and effort had gone into it – far too much for me to assume that Funny Valentine had somehow made this yesterday or the day before.
He'd been planning this for
weeks. He
knew that I'd make it here and assumed I was a man of my word. That should have been taken as a compliment and, in most cases, would have… if not for the fact that he'd clearly taken advantage of it. Because Funny Valentine did not simply become President of the United States of America because his predecessor had been assassinated… well technically he had, but the reason he
maintained that presidency and a high approval rate was because at his
core this man was a politician.
This man knew his job and knew how to do it well. And I was a novice compared to him. Had Wrath been standing here instead, it might have been a different story. Instead, as Medusa explained to me, I could only speak to one of them at a time. Medusa ultimately took precedence because I
needed to know her progress on the removal of that seal at all times.
So, helplessly, I saw her shake her head. This wasn't like Vlad. This wasn't a situation I could so easily turn to my favor. I'd claimed that I cared deeply about my cause; I'd all but announced I'd do anything to make it happen. And, amazingly, it happened. Funny had done the song and dance of questioning my motivations, but that was only so he could say he was hesitant about this.
It was to absolve him of any future blame for giving me the steaming pile of shit in the form of a piece of paper. It was a vile thing, my eye racing up and down in search of
something that wouldn't screw my nation over in the future… and I came up blank.
There were fifteen clauses to the treaty itself. First, the Pineapple Confederation of America would be recognized as an independent state. Nothing was wrong with that, it was fairly straight forward. Secondly, I would be recognize as "Grand King". Again, while kind of embarrassing to me even after acting the part all this time, it was standard fare and exactly what would be expected in a treaty like this.
Next, the Pineapple Confederation and the United States would mandatorily exchange envoys within six months and permanently maintain diplomatic missions in each country. I didn't see
too much problem with that. It seemed reasonable enough. The fourth clause gave us Oklahoma… which was great, that was an awesome amount of land that now, without contest, belonged to my country.
Fifth, a one hundred million dollar loan from the Pineapple Confederation would be granted to the United States and paid back over time for the purpose of paying back the United States' debt following the war and for additional purposes. That was fine; the Confederation would be getting that money back
eventually.
Sixth, two hundred million U.S. dollars would be given to the United States to purchase the former Confederacy's land. That was, again,
exactly what I wanted. Yet after that, my eyebrow couldn't help but rise steadily. The first six seemed
so reasonable. But the next nine started getting unreasonable.
The seventh clause demanded that instead of relocating the Native American population to designated reservations, they would instead just be sent south. That was a sudden population intake that I'd have to adjust for, but not
too bad… it was the eighth that made this incredibly difficult.
Colored and white citizens of the Pineapple Confederation, to prevent conflict, are to be kept in separate but equal conditions where applicable.
…It was legal segregation that undid every step against racism that had been taken since I'd arrived. Moreover, a sub-clause
included Native Americans in the definition of "colored" and made dealing with their population
that much more difficult. Separate but equal didn't work in my timeline, so I couldn't see it working here – especially not in a developing country like the Pineapple Confederation.
This alone had the ability to ruin all the progress I'd made with my Knights, with the people, but it just kept going. The ninth clause stated that merchants of the United States were permitted residence, unhindered trade, and the right to lease land and buildings for the purposes of surveys and mapping operations in open ports.
Holy shit – after manipulating the public to attack the overly wealthy, this would create a condition where the overly wealthy would
thrive unhindered. The main means of income for the Pineapple Confederacy, as I saw it, would come from fishing and oceanic trade. But that became so much more difficult when U.S. merchants got first pick of, well,
everything.
Their ability to operate unhindered would lead to rioting which, while in many ways my fault; would be preventable
if only this detail didn't go through. This, combined with the segregation, would make it supremely difficult to unite the Pineapple Confederation under a singular banner. I could see state borders and state rights becoming a new argument to maintain an old, broken system – I could see the men who benefited from the last war
laughing at me.
It was infuriating and it only got
worse. Because the tenth clause made it so businesses belonging to citizens of the United States could be conducted without interference from
either government and could trade
without restrictions or prohibitions. In two clauses, this treaty threatened to permanently ruin the Pineapple Confederacy economically
and legalize organized crime.
By now, my mouth was open. I was gaping at this thing like I was some kind of fish. The eleventh clause was a slap in the face. It declared that if the United States went to war either as the aggressor
or as the defender, the Pineapple Confederation would be forced to enter that war as an ally to the United States.
Ridiculous. Impossible. Undoable. Insane. Fantastical.
I just kept chanting that in my head as I read on. With all the previous clauses, there was no way the Pineapple Confederation would be able to supply the money necessary to
go to war. My nation was already damaged. This treaty should have been able to help repair it. Hell, I was already making progress on that department…
But even if nothing else stood true, this and the twelfth clause – a clause that made it so the Pineapple Confederation could not declare war as the aggressor without permission from the United States – threatened to remove the token sovereignty that had been offered.
The thirteenth clause was comparably minor in its demand to completely open borders between the United States and the Pineapple Confederation. Taken with everything else, though, it came across as yet another step to remove the Pineapple Confederation's ability to govern itself or guard its citizens.
It was only reinforced by the fourteenth clause which stated, no,
demanded that all legal cases between a citizen of the United States and the Pineapple Confederation would take place in the U.S. I couldn't even find words to describe that. It was condescending, but it was also damaging. It was totally and absolutely one-sided.
Finally, at last, the fifteenth clause was the icing on the cake. After all the shit I'd dug through, this was the most minor and, at the same time, the most
insulting thing. It was the most evil thing about this, a tiny detail that was otherwise ignorable in any other treaty, but here was just that
extra burn.
Once per year, said the fifteenth clause, the Pineapple Confederation must send at least one team or individual to participate in an athletic sporting event to be designated as "Steel Ball Run".
…It was the cherry on top. It was the final detail that assured me
not only that Funny Valentine had a direct hand in this treaty, but that he was fully aware of just how blatantly insulting it was. I wanted to stand up and beat the shit out of him in spite of my injuries, in spite of my current weakness.
But that was what he wanted, wasn't it? There was no way, in my mind, that Valentine would give me a treaty
this awful unless he was
certain he could take me. Did the Pineapple Confederation as it was, right now, have the ability to go to war again? I almost wanted to say yes, but… the answer was no. No we did not.
If I stood up and punched the president in the face, even assuming he didn't have the means to immediately kick my ass, then that would
certainly mean war. He was goading me into a conflict that he was certain he could win. More than that, he was giving me the option to lay the groundwork for a civil war in the south or another civil war between the north
and the south.
This was the ultimate victory on his part. Signing the treaty would come back to fuck me,
not signing the treaty would discredit me, declaring war as I should have was
exactly what Funny Valentine wanted… and attacking him now would just be an informal declaration of intent. I couldn't even insult him for fear of burning my own nation to the ground in the process.
He had me by the scrotum and he
knew it.
So I sat there, pen in hand, staring at the treaty on the table. My mouth finally shut itself with a soft
clack of my teeth. With my one visible eye, I glared at the offending thing. My name was all that was needed to make and destroy everything I'd sought to do since this began.
I couldn't even offer to change the treaty. I
myself had made that impossible with my declaration to make the south independent from the north. Asking to change the treaty might even end up with that same treaty
failing completely. In which case, Valentine would win again!
Furious, righteous anger coursed through me as I made my decision.
The hand not holding the delicate pen clenched. I could see what would happen next before it did. I'd flip the table and
lunge at Valentine for fucking me over like this. I'd throttle him. My emotional control was
finally slipping away from me and I was going to enter a fit of insanity that could
only end with Valentine dead and, possibly, my corpse as well.
I wasn't thinking rationally – I couldn't. I could see myself falling upon the surprised president, stabbing him to death in the throat with the pen in question while viciously beating him senseless with my gauntleted fists. I could see his guards moving to stop my attack and could hear Grant firing the shot that would kill one guard as Marika moved impossibly fast to kill the other.
The reporters hiding in the bushes, because
of course there were reporters there, would only see my vicious attack on their president and his guards. War would happen, if a riot didn't. The Exorcists still wandering throughout the city
somewhere would suddenly be labeled criminals by the Pinktertons already searching for them. The Black Order would distance itself from the failed Pineapple Confederation.
Even
knowing all these things would happen, I felt my bicep pulse with strength as I moved to throw the table over and rip into Funny Valentine.
Then a miracle happened.
A shot was fired from a gun far behind me. As I suddenly stood to tear Funny Valentine a new asshole, I felt the bullet impact my back and push me forward with its force. Funny's eyes were going wide with shock as Grant fired from
his position to strike down the assassin who had somehow gotten so close. I heard Marika shouting as she tried to get me out of the area, watched as the two bodyguards immediately rushed to defend Valentine.
Then another shot was fired, this one impacted and bounced off Centrecroix. But still, I felt pain ripple through the back of my hand. That'd leave a hell of a bruise, I was sure. Though injured, I was turning to see who was firing at us. Another shot, I saw someone who looked like Charles – I saw a crying, hating mess of a man who lost someone he cared about and was taking it out on someone he
knew was responsible.
My reaction was too slow. Marika couldn't push me out of the way fast enough and the bullet impacted my gut. This man, dressed in the uniform of a Union soldier in order to avoid detection, just kept pulling the trigger of his gun – it was probably a revolver. I could hear the cylinder move and saw the bullet holes burst through the American flag draped over the man's shooting arm to better conceal the weapon from view.
One of the president's guards rushed forward as a hole appeared in the assassin's shoulder, fired by Grant. As the assassin spun with the injury, the guard shouted and I saw a phantasmal figure appear behind him. What was it he said? I could barely hear it. Of course, I chuckled to myself as blood spurted from my mouth.
Of course the president's guards would be Stand users.
I looked at Funny's shocked face and
smiled. I was badly injured, the assassin wasn't dead, but had I not stood up in a fit of rage we
both knew who that bullet would have struck. In my near murder of this man, I'd saved his life. Now all that was left was to deal with the assassin, but we both knew that could be done quickly enough.
My sneer only widened as Valentine motioned to his other guard and ordered the man to help me. An impossible thing had just happened, and a variable
neither of us could have taken into account had suddenly saved me. What a load of bullshit, I thought. I couldn't believe I'd be saved from exactly the sort of person I didn't want here.
What a stupid sort of irony…
My vision failed me as I caught sight of Funny Valentine's back. I saw him pulling out
his own American flag. This time, I didn't fail to hear what was said. The president had one
hell of a pair of lungs on him. And I heard him shout the name of a Stand I'd never heard of.
Not ominous at all, I thought. It was just another day in the life, yeah…?
I passed out.
-x-
One Foot on the Platform
OR: One Foot on the Train
End-208
