Behind Blue Eyes

The followign story uses excerpts from the song :
"Behind Blue Eyes"
PETER TOWNSHEND
(c) Copyright 1971 by Fabulous Music Limited, London

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“No one knows what it’s like
To the bad man,
To be the sad man,
Behind blue eyes.”

The music was so loud that the subaltern heard it well before she stepped from the hover taxi. She doubled checked her noteputer. This couldn’t possibly be the right place. It was so run down that even urban decay had decided to move to a better neighborhood decades ago, but another glance at the computer confirmed that it was the address Lt. Davidson had given her.

“No one knows what it's like,
To be hated,
To be fated to telling only lies”

The smell hit her well before she got to the door. A mixture of vomit, urine and other things even more unsavory, it spoke far more of decay than the blighted landscape around her ever could. Though she had never experienced it, she instinctively knew that it was the smell of death, in progress. She pointedly ignored the near-raxx-sized roach that scuttled away at her approach. She stepped over several empty vodka liters and entered the apartment.


“But my dreams,
They aren't as empty,
As my conscience seems to be”

The ripped and tattered remains of posters hung from the walls of the hallway. A cursory examination showed that all were of various battlemechs. The subaltern could not help but shudder as she examined the pictures. Many of the images had been pain-stakingly taped back together only to be further damaged. This wasn’t just neglect or vandalism, it was rage and pain. A loud “Whirrrrrrrr, Click, Snap” caught her attention and she stepped into the next room.

“I have hours, only lonely,
My love is vengeance,
That's never free”

In the center of the room sat a man in a soiled recliner. His beard was unkempt and matted with things she dared not contemplate. His long hair partially concealed dead eyes and a dirty face. Tear-cut streaks ran through the grime like forgotten arroyos in a lifeless desert.

The snapping sound caused the subaltern to look down at the man’s hands. In them rested a massive Sternacht revolver. The sound had been the cylinder being swung open; in it rested five massive bullets. As she watched, the man slid a sixth round into the cylinder and eased it closed. A slap of his hand caused the cylinder to spin, causing a loud “Whirrrrrrrr” to fill the room.

She gasped as it suddenly all came together. She began to run.

“No one knows what it's like,
To feel these feelings,
Like I do,
And I blame you”

Her footfalls caused the man to look up. His eyed widened in recognition as he saw her spurs. A look of pure hatred crossed his face, but the barrel of the Sternacht continued on its journey to his temple.

“No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through

But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be

I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free”

His thumb reached up and slowly cocked the hammer.

She knew she would never get there in time, but she pumped her legs that much harder.

“When my fist clenches, crack it open,
Before I use it and lose my cool”

He closed his eyes as the barrel came to rest against his head.

She jumped as hard as she could.