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Description
I helped you when you needed it most.
I defended you against those who would see harm come to you.
I wrote your speeches when you were too nervous to.
I paid for your meals because I believed in your ideals.
I watched, happily, proudly, as you gained popularity amongst the masses.
I expected nothing in return from you.
I believed that in carrying your burdens, you would be able to concentrate on your ideology.
And how did you repay me?
You shunned me. You shunned me.
Once you achieved international status, you isolated yourself from me – the closest person to you.
I assumed you were paranoid, that it would pass with time.
Then you sent that assassin after me.
Had he not been so clumsy, you would have succeeded.
This is my ultimatum, Oppil:
Cease and desist.

You know exactly what I mean. Halt your political activities or die.
My hatred is more loving than you are selfish.
It will enjoy stabbing through your back, like you did so many times to me.

Your blood will flow regardless, make no mistake.
I'm merely offering you a chance at reconciliation before I break your spine.
Before I send you back into the hell you were in before I found you.

-Trent

Oppils eyes flicked side-to-side quickly as they briefly scanned the letter. Once finished, he took a moment to consider what he had just read. Turning to his assistant, he said, "Garbage. He'll do nothing to me. The consequences are too vast, and my people can carry on without me should he ever succeed in killing me." He held out the parcel for the man to take.

His assistant looked at him warily, at the paper with unease, as if unsure of what to do.

"Seriously? Pah!" Oppil retreated his offering and walked over to his burning fireplace, set in the center of his moderately sized living quarter. The paper let off a blue flame when it burned, startling him. "Ah! Put some more thought into this than I thought. All scare tactic though, my boy," he said, addressing his assistant. "Nothing to worry about."

Will, Oppil's assistant, was turning very pale.

"What's the matter?" Oppil demanded.

No answer; Will was ghost-white now.

"What's going on? Are you sick or something?" Oppil demanded again, this time with a quick step towards Will, a hand raised, ready to shake him out of his daze. But he stopped, something was wrong. Will's eyes were bloodshot, his pupils dilated so that even his irises were black. Oppil was panicking; what was happening? It had to be poison, the onset of Will's symptoms were too quick for anything natural. But how? From where? The letter? He had touched it as well as Will, so-
Then he realized it was because he was wearing gloves. Will wasn't. Even so, Will must have been handling the letter before he arrived at Oppil's apartment-like home. Why was the reaction so delayed?

Blue fire. Air-borne catalyst? Did the blue flame signify a chemical reaction more meaningful than he had originally thought? It must have. He decided that the poison had entered Will's body somehow, and was then activated by the inhalation of the apparently unscented gas.

Will wasn't dead yet, though. His heartbeat was steady, but slow, and he had the pale skin and dilated pupils. He appeared to be in a semi-coma. He was still standing, supporting himself, breathing, and blinking; but, he was doing nothing else.

Oppil noticed he was spacing out, upon which promptly tearing off his gloves and scrubbing his arms and hands clean. He called up a team of doctors to examine him and Will, especially to ensure that he was alright. Will was a curious case, but nothing more than that in Oppil's mind. Once he found out what the poison did, how it acted, and how it got passed his security, Will would no longer be a remembered name in his mind.

=====

Trent was patiently sitting on a wooden stool, eyes glued to a cheap television. He was waiting for the news that he was sure would come.

=====

The doctors could not determine what the poison was; only that it was man-made and untraceable because of that. Oppil was put off, now having no way of getting back at Trent for his arrogance. Thinking he could kill me off? Inconceivable.

Oppil dressed once he was deemed healthy, then set off for bed. He could think of no reason to waste a night mulling pointless details.

=====

The news came later than expected, but Trent didn't mind. The anchorwoman announced that Oppil had been found dead this morning, doctors saying that he hadn't even woke up.

But this was a lie; however, the media didn't know this. Only Trent knew that Will had paid a visit to his make-shift home to collect a wad of cash. Trent had hired him out to deliver the letter for him. Will didn't know that he had poisoned in the process, however, and Trent could care less about sacrificing whomever he needed to. Will's death was unnecessary, though; he just wanted to spook Oppil.

What does all of this mean, though? It means that Oppil isn't dead. The chemical that burned blue was no catalyst, it was a different poison. It had put Oppil into a comatose state, similar to Shakespeare's Juliet, with the exception that Oppil was fully aware of what was going on.

The poison was a virus, and it would slowly take over Oppil's body, transforming part of it so that he would never die, always have nutrition, but never be able to move. Eventually, the virus would begin to eat away at itself; but, not before it produced enough copies to ensure its proliferation. In doing this, Oppil would experience near unendurable pain for the rest of his life, while buried underground. Alive.

He would die eventually, sure; but not before he suffered lifetimes of pain.

Ironically, Oppil would never bleed during this ordeal. Merely await his demise; wish for it, actually. With every hour feeling like weeks, Oppil would endure permanent insomnia. The only thing he would never feel would be hunger.

Trent would go on to take over Oppil's position.

Description
I helped you when you needed it most.
I defended you against those who would see harm come to you.
I wrote your speeches when you were too nervous to.
I paid for your meals because I believed in your ideals.
I watched, happily, proudly, as you gained popularity amongst the masses.
I expected nothing in return from you.
I believed that in carrying your burdens, you would be able to concentrate on your ideology.
And how did you repay me?
You shunned me. You shunned me.
Once you achieved international status, you isolated yourself from me – the closest person to you.
I assumed you were paranoid, that it would pass with time.
Then you sent that assassin after me.
Had he not been so clumsy, you would have succeeded.
This is my ultimatum, Oppil:
Cease and desist.

You know exactly what I mean. Halt your political activities or die.
My hatred is more loving than you are selfish.
It will enjoy stabbing through your back, like you did so many times to me.

Your blood will flow regardless, make no mistake.
I'm merely offering you a chance at reconciliation before I break your spine.
Before I send you back into the hell you were in before I found you.

-Trent

Oppils eyes flicked side-to-side quickly as they briefly scanned the letter. Once finished, he took a moment to consider what he had just read. Turning to his assistant, he said, "Garbage. He'll do nothing to me. The consequences are too vast, and my people can carry on without me should he ever succeed in killing me." He held out the parcel for the man to take.

His assistant looked at him warily, at the paper with unease, as if unsure of what to do.

"Seriously? Pah!" Oppil retreated his offering and walked over to his burning fireplace, set in the center of his moderately sized living quarter. The paper let off a blue flame when it burned, startling him. "Ah! Put some more thought into this than I thought. All scare tactic though, my boy," he said, addressing his assistant. "Nothing to worry about."

Will, Oppil's assistant, was turning very pale.

"What's the matter?" Oppil demanded.

No answer; Will was ghost-white now.

"What's going on? Are you sick or something?" Oppil demanded again, this time with a quick step towards Will, a hand raised, ready to shake him out of his daze. But he stopped, something was wrong. Will's eyes were bloodshot, his pupils dilated so that even his irises were black. Oppil was panicking; what was happening? It had to be poison, the onset of Will's symptoms were too quick for anything natural. But how? From where? The letter? He had touched it as well as Will, so-
Then he realized it was because he was wearing gloves. Will wasn't. Even so, Will must have been handling the letter before he arrived at Oppil's apartment-like home. Why was the reaction so delayed?

Blue fire. Air-borne catalyst? Did the blue flame signify a chemical reaction more meaningful than he had originally thought? It must have. He decided that the poison had entered Will's body somehow, and was then activated by the inhalation of the apparently unscented gas.

Will wasn't dead yet, though. His heartbeat was steady, but slow, and he had the pale skin and dilated pupils. He appeared to be in a semi-coma. He was still standing, supporting himself, breathing, and blinking; but, he was doing nothing else.

Oppil noticed he was spacing out, upon which promptly tearing off his gloves and scrubbing his arms and hands clean. He called up a team of doctors to examine him and Will, especially to ensure that he was alright. Will was a curious case, but nothing more than that in Oppil's mind. Once he found out what the poison did, how it acted, and how it got passed his security, Will would no longer be a remembered name in his mind.

=====

Trent was patiently sitting on a wooden stool, eyes glued to a cheap television. He was waiting for the news that he was sure would come.

=====

The doctors could not determine what the poison was; only that it was man-made and untraceable because of that. Oppil was put off, now having no way of getting back at Trent for his arrogance. Thinking he could kill me off? Inconceivable.

Oppil dressed once he was deemed healthy, then set off for bed. He could think of no reason to waste a night mulling pointless details.

=====

The news came later than expected, but Trent didn't mind. The anchorwoman announced that Oppil had been found dead this morning, doctors saying that he hadn't even woke up.

But this was a lie; however, the media didn't know this. Only Trent knew that Will had paid a visit to his make-shift home to collect a wad of cash. Trent had hired him out to deliver the letter for him. Will didn't know that he had poisoned in the process, however, and Trent could care less about sacrificing whomever he needed to. Will's death was unnecessary, though; he just wanted to spook Oppil.

What does all of this mean, though? It means that Oppil isn't dead. The chemical that burned blue was no catalyst, it was a different poison. It had put Oppil into a comatose state, similar to Shakespeare's Juliet, with the exception that Oppil was fully aware of what was going on.

The poison was a virus, and it would slowly take over Oppil's body, transforming part of it so that he would never die, always have nutrition, but never be able to move. Eventually, the virus would begin to eat away at itself; but, not before it produced enough copies to ensure its proliferation. In doing this, Oppil would experience near unendurable pain for the rest of his life, while buried underground. Alive.

He would die eventually, sure; but not before he suffered lifetimes of pain.

Ironically, Oppil would never bleed during this ordeal. Merely await his demise; wish for it, actually. With every hour feeling like weeks, Oppil would endure permanent insomnia. The only thing he would never feel would be hunger.

Trent would go on to take over Oppil's position.