Chapter Text
“Speak up, or they won’t hear you.”
His head was down, and when he made no attempt to move, the soldier grabbed Mr. Heartland’s hair and forced his head upwards so his eyes would meet the camera’s lens.
What was once a vibrant colorful suit was now tarnished, torn in too many places and dirty with blood and sweat. Most of the feathered collar had been ripped free from its threading, what remained was little more than faint blue wisps. His glasses were cracked, behind them his eyes sunken with the weight of duty he shouldered.
The city was under siege, had been so for nearly three weeks now. No one had expected Academia’s forces to spill through from some alternate continuum; it all happened suddenly in a focused, coordinated strike and then Heartland Tower was burning, the city lie in ruins, yet still they persisted. The Resistance fought back hard but Academia had found ways to ferret them out.
Heartland suspected that was why he had been captured instead of carded like the rest of the inhabitants of Heartland Tower: Dr. Faker, the Arclights and the Tenjo brothers, countless others. What better way to demoralize the Resistance than to bend and break the city’s beloved mayor?
“I’d rather not,” Heartland managed hoarsely, staring down the lens’ aperture. This small amount of rebellion was met with braying laughter from several of the members of the little group assigned to film this particular piece of propaganda. It continued for a time until they were interrupted by the click of the door’s lock releasing, letting a new well-dressed man into the small and dimly lit room.
Jean-Michel surveyed the scene before him with thinly veiled disgust as the soldier gripping him let go abruptly and allowed Heartland to twist his head away.
“I’m told the mayor is giving you some trouble,” he said briskly, sparing Heartland only a brief glance before his gaze settled on the soldier who’d held him before – presumably the second highest in command of those present.
“W-well, not that much, he’ll break just like the rest of these Xyz scum do eventu—“
“You’re excused, 227,” Jean-Michel interrupted, folding his hands together behind his back, his face emotionless as ever.
The man seemed a little flustered. “Sir..?”
There was a pause as Jean-Michel tilted his head towards the soldier he’d designated as 227 before the faintest of smiles graced his thin lips.
“We’re going to film something a little different today. Something I think the Resistance forces will really respond to.”
Clearly a question lingered on 227’s lips but he held it back, chewing the inside of his cheek before striding out of the room as fast as he could manage. He spared no further glances in Mr. Heartland’s direction, and he was grateful for the reprieve, at least until he became aware Jean-Michel was watching him closely. All of a sudden Heartland had his undivided attention.
“Oh~? See something you like?” Heartland quipped, showing his teeth in a facetious smile.
Jean-Michel didn’t respond to this and Heartland hid his disappointment. He knew as well as his captor did that they were locked in a game now, one he had learned to play well over the years. A game of wits, of deceit and deception, one that might mean life or death – to Heartland, anyways.
There was a long pause before Jean-Michel addressed Mr. Heartland for the first time.
“This world is so different from ours: bright, colorful, uplifting. But that’s nothing but a façade, isn’t it? Below the surface Heartland City is just the same as Academia. It suffers its own tragedies, its own deaths, losses, it harbors its own sins.”
Jean-Michel’s voice dragged out on the last word as he approached Heartland, looking down on him as if regarding some insect.
Heartland didn’t respond, so after a beat Jean-Michel turned and addressed the remaining soldiers: those that manned the simple camera trained on the mayor and the makeshift console that allowed them to broadcast the feed over any nearby video channels. “Go live for me, would you? I want the Resistance to see this in full detail.”
“Yes, sir,” one of them gave a curt response before she directed the others at their stations. Within a few moments the red light at the front of the camera switched to a soft green color, followed by a confirmation that they were broadcasting.
Academia could not yet belay a video feed throughout all of Heartland City, but their network allowed them to disrupt all video displays and duel terminals with a live feed within a significant radius from their current location: the remains of Heartland Tower. Mr. Heartland knew this; they all had seen the propaganda directed at the Resistance, encouraging them to lay down their arms and submit. He suspected this would amount to more of the same.
Jean-Michel addressed the camera first, turning to face it before spreading his arms wide.
“Your city lies in ruin, Xyz. It’s admirable you continue to struggle, but your only solace will be found in surrender. You will not win this war; you know this as well as we do. We are willing to show you mercy, but only if you show us you are willing to submit.”
He paused – perhaps for dramatic effect – then turned towards Mr. Heartland, on his knees with his arms bound behind him. Posturing, wasn’t it?
“Your mayor is ours, and even now he bends to the will of Academia. He w—“
“How rousing!” Heartland interjected, managing his widest smile for the occasion, letting his eyes meet the camera’s lens again. He knew how to posture, how to play this game. He was afraid, yes, but he hid it well, as he’d done countless times before in his days dueling in the Underground with the rest of the Fearsome Four. “Thrilling speech, my good man! But you’ll find it quite impossible to break the burning hearts of our fair city so easily!”
He had expected Jean-Michel to be surprised by this outburst, perhaps taken aback, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, he found the man smiling.
He approached Heartland where he knelt, crouching down to place both hands on his shoulders. The angle was a poor shot for the camera behind him but it put the mayor face-to-face with his captor and his piercing gaze. Heartland was surprised when he found himself desperate to break eye contact first, and stared at the ground instead, ashamed.
The gesture, however slight, seemed to amuse his captor, and Jean-Michel took Heartland’s chin in his hand, gently twisting his head this way and that, looking past the cuts and bruises, the thin film of sweat and grime that marred the mayor’s face.
“I know all about your ‘burning heart’, Mr. Heartland,” Jean-Michael whispered, leaning in so his lips nearly brushed Heartland’s. Their sudden closeness set Heartland on edge and he flinched away suddenly but felt the weight of the man’s hand on the back of his neck, keeping him close. Jean-Michel leaned in until their lips actually did meet, his tongue briefly flicking against the mayor’s teeth before his next words caught on the breath in Heartland’s mouth.
“And I know how to break you.”