Leonardo opened his eyes. He looked at the clock and sighed. why wasn’t he able to meditate successfully today? Ah, well, perhaps tomorrow would go better.
He lifted his single blanket - a blanket of deep blue, which he found calmed him and prepared him for sleep - and slid into his bed. He carefully positioned himself in the center, placing just half of himself to either side, perfectly symmetrical. He breathed once, twice, three times. . . and he was asleep.
Opening his eyes, he found he was in a large room, with flags hung all around, the UN flag at the center. There was a large table, with many comfortable looking chairs around it, all of which were empty. Empty, that is, save one. In that one sat an older man, perhaps in his 60’s or 70’s, who smiled at Leonardo.
“Welcome, welcome,” the man said in a soft voice with a touch of an accent.
Leonardo smiled in return, and approached him, taking the chair to his right. “Hello, Mr. Mandela. to what do I owe this honor?”
The man laughed. “Honor? It is I, Leonardo, who am honored to meet you!”
Leonardo did not know how to respond. How could this man know. . .
“How do I know you, Leonardo? The answer is simple; a leader of your abilities does not go unnoticed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mandela. Form you, that is high praise indeed.” Leonardo stood up and bowed to him.
The man laughed again. “Oh ho, and so self effacing! Yes, my boy, you do have potential!”
“Potential? For what, Mr. Mandela?”
“Forget this Mr. Mandela business, boy. Call me Nelson.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. M. . . Nelson. But I must ask again, potential for what?”
“Why, for ruling, boy! A talent such as yours should not be wasted on a just a band of small time kung-fu freaks!”
Leonardo winced at the calling of the practitioners of ninjitsu “kung-fu freaks” but he let it go and attempted to follow what the man was saying.
“Yes, you could do so much more with real power!”
“I must admit, I’ve always wanted to do more with politics. . .”
“Politics? Bah!” the man spat on the rug. “Politics is the tool of fools! I’m talking about real power, boy!”
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”
“No, you understand far better than you let on.”
“But I. . .”
“Don’t try to deny it!” the man slammed his hand on the table. When he spoke next, it was with an ugly sneer in his voice. “Oh, yes, you look on me, Nelson Mandela, as a great leader, a trailblazer. ‘He leads his country to a new peace’ you think. ‘If only I could be like that,’ you think. NO!” he roared, in Leonardo’s face. “No, you can be much more than that. . . you have the ability to seize real power.”
“How?” it came out of Leonardo of its own volition, almost a whisper.
“Simple . . . first you take the power from the rodent. . . “
“Splinter? No! I couldn’t . .”
“Quiet boy, until I finish! First you take the power from the rodent. Then the others will follow you, or perish. You will be able to use them. . .”
“No! No! NO!” Leonardo shouted. “This isn’t right!” he shot an accusing glare at the man. “The man who is the leader of South Africa, the man who fought oppression all those years. . . he would not say such things!”
“No, perhaps he wouldn’t,” the man said, and then laughed. It was not a laugh of happiness or joy; it was the laugh of one who has known the purest of evils.
With that laugh, the walls of the room began to crumble. The only wall that remained -- the wall behind the man -- shifted and changed until it was the cement side of a bunker. The flags fell in heaps, and began burning; all except the UN flag. It turned the red of a million peoples blood, while the circle in the center became a pure white. Then, like a horrible nightmare, a spider like symbol seemed to crawl out of the center, until it filled the circle. The man himself continued to laugh, then reached up and started tearing long gashes in his own face, chunks of rubbery flesh falling to the ground. Leonardo averted his eyes, only to see that the flags had turned into books, creating a burning pyre, whose flames leapt higher with every cackle from the man. Aghast, Leonardo looked back to the man, whose clothes had turned into a uniform, and whose face was that of one of the most hated and feared men in history.
“Adolf Hitler,” Leonardo whispered.
“The same,” the fuerer said with a smirk. “And now, I will tell you what is possible with true power -- the kind that I had -- the kind you could have.” Leonardo opened his mouth to object. “Do not speak!” Hitler roared. Leonardo could not help complying, and closed his mouth.
Hitler moved closer to Leonardo. “Now, as I was saying,” he said in a cajoling tone, with only a hint of reproach in it, “you could have this power too. . . even more than I did. As I said, first you remove the current head of your little clan. . .” he paused to see if Leonardo would react, but he remained silent, “and the rest will either follow you or perish. Then you start using them to build your power base. . . reward the faithful, punish the sinners.”
“The faithful?” Leonardo finally managed to get out.
“Of course!” Hitler clapped Leonardo on the shoulder. “Didn’t you realize? With your form, and your fearful disciples, they will worship you as a god!” Hitler narrowed his eyes. “Of course, you will need someone to condemn as heretics. . . or better, a group of someones. I’ve found these pathetic wretches to work particularly well.” Hitler gestured to the left. Leonardo looked, and saw a line of colorless people, a line which seemed to have no beginning and no end. They were emaciated beyond belief, and there was no life light in their eyes. They walked ceaselessly, neither looking up nor down, nor focusing on anything in particular, just walking. Leonardo felt an involuntary shudder pass through him, and looked back at the furer, who was grinning.
“Of course, you can choose whomever you wish. It does not matter,” he shrugged. “Eventually you will eliminate them and the rest of the sniveling populace will be firmly in your grasp. Then you will know TRUE power!” Hitler seemed to be enraptured by his own words. A fierce glint was in his eyes, and a twisted smile was upon his countenance. Then he seemed to marshal himself and when he spoke again, it was with less fervor. “Well, Leonardo, what do you say? Are you up to the challenge?”
Leonardo looked at him.
“That is no challenge.”
Hitler smiled broadly. “Mere child’s play for someone of your talent, eh? Good, good!”
Leonardo shook his head slowly. “No. What I meant was, that is no challenge; it is a crime. A crime against all humanity,” Leonardo gestured expansively. “And a crime against all I’ve been brought up to believe. No,” Leonardo drew his swords, “these will never be used for such a purpose.” And with that, he smashed them on a rock, their pieces flying in all directions.
Hitler sighed. “Not only does he give up his chance, but such horrible melodramatics. Tell me, who did you study under, William Shatner?” He cackled at his own joke.
“I will not submit,” Leonardo said, his face grave.
“Well then,” Hitler snapped his fingers. Two SS guards grabbed Leonardo by his arms. “I guess its time to die.”
The officers started dragging Leonardo backwards. He craned his head around, to see they were dragging him to a huge furnace, from which the stench of burning human flesh emanated.
“Time to die. . . with them,” Hitler spat.
Just before the furnace door, Leonardo made a sudden movement. Both his captors lay upon the ground, and he stood tall over them.
“Ahh, changed your mind, Leonardo?” Hitler leered. “It isn’t to late, you know.”
“No, I just needed to say something. To die with these people. . . it is an honor. More than I deserve, more than I ever hoped for.”
Hitler gaped at Leonardo, unable to move. He continued to gape even after Leonardo’s body had disappeared backwards though the door. Finally he shook his head and looked away.
“Ah, well, there are still two more.”
Leonardo felt the flames engulf him, felt his flesh beginning to sear. . . and he woke up, under his blanket, cool, comfortable, and safe.
It sat, no longer perplexed, but instead, becoming a bit peeved.
Who did these creatures think they were? Very few ever held up under a direct assault from it, even with help. It had analyzed them perfectly. . . the first had wanted freedom, the second power, and this, the third, it wanted. . .
It smiled broadly. Yes, this one would be easier. It was already bordering on the abyss, and what it wanted. . .
It started off, spirits high. Love, after all, is the strongest emotion; or at least lust, it thought. That, and hate.