Aftermath: End of the Mandarin

Hello, all! It's Kamala, with a fresh new story for #FC4. For this one I decided against the obvious choices (Loki, I'm looking at you), and instead went for someone who, while not as famous as the other contenders, had lived his entire life acting out the biggest lie of all. Without further ado, I present... 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐇: 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍.

Trigger Warning: Substance Abuse

⊱⋅ ────❴ • 🥠• ❵──── ⋅⊰

Fairfield Halls Ashcroft Theatre, 2010

"Look on her, look, her lips! Look there, look there!"

The emancipated, haggard form of King Lear collapsed over Cordelia's lifeless body, a failed monarch robbed of the last vestiges of hope. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed across the barren soil of the British encampment, cold bursts of light illuminating his sunken, frail features punished by the consequences of his own hubris. A well-spoken lament from Albany concluded the final scene of Shakespeare's legendary tragedy 'King Lear', and the curtains descended upon a stage booming with applause from the audience. An extended curtain call later, the performers convened once again backstage as they rid themselves of their elaborate Elizabethan costumes, though one of their member was decidedly less keen than others.

"Oi, Trevor, let's get that thing off you and head out! Director's buying drinks for everyone, you don't wanna miss it."

Trevor Slattery, the man behind the much-lauded performance of the titular king himself, snapped out of his reverie at the voice of his colleague.

"O-oh, yeah, sure. One moment."

Stammering out a halfhearted reply, Trevor wiped some of the fake grime off his beard before shrugging off the regal king's garb he wore for the curtain call. Still, it was clear he was in no rush to leave. This was the moment he hated the most, his transformation - or devolution - from king of the stage to faceless nobody. This wasn't to say that he was some sort of method actor, obsessed with becoming the character he played down to the last pore. Rather, acting was escapism to him - to become something greater and more resplendent than Trevor Slattery the human could ever achieve. He loved to revel and bask in the adoration of his audience, but as his normal self he simply couldn't have that. So he chose to retreat into his roles, shrouding himself in layer after layer of lies, just to feel like he was someone who mattered.

Much later that night, sloshed up in beer and stuffed with chips, Trevor arrived back at his flat in the wee hours of the night. Crashing on his rickety couch with a huff that stank of alcohol, the actor managed to barely turn on the television with a flick of his arm. The cacophony of the soccer match failed to drown out his hatred for himself. A famous man once said that acting was lying with a purpose, and Trevor couldn't agree more. He was a charlatan, a liar, someone who was worthless outside a role he could play.

A reality he wanted to forget.

Shaky hands reached into his pocket, fishing out the oddly shaped, unmarked cigar resting there. Someone he didn't quite - a person at the bar he and his colleagues visited, an acquaintance of a coworker perhaps, had slipped it in his coat in 'good faith' when he asked for something stronger than the beer he had already consumed copious amounts of. Sitting up with a weary sigh, Trevor snatched a lighter lying amidst the clutter on his coffee table and lit the blunt. One long puff later, he slumped once again against the couch, sinking into a pleasant haze as the drug worked its way into his mind.

A.I.M. Mansion, 2013

Trevor couldn't really tell how exactly his life had been flipped upside down like this. One moment he was a drug-addled loser, seemingly destined to rot away unseen after getting kicked out of his troupé over his substance abuse problems, the next he was sitting next to a sharpy dressed blond businessman in a private jet headed all the way to Florida. Something about an exclusive motion picture deal for the finest actors... well, Trevor did pride himself on at least being a good actor even when nothing else remained. And the guy - Killian, that was his name - offered him a luxury mansion and lovely ladies at his disposal and an unlimited drug supply and a fancy speedboat and...well, the list was never-ending.

"Some people call me a terrorist... I consider myself a teacher."

They called him the Mandarin, the ultimate terrorist, and dressed him up in regal green robes and sunglasses and sat him on a throne and gave him a (fake) gun to twirl menacingly before the cameras and pretend to shoot at a guy in a suit. They gave him a script to read like he was a king from some distant land here to destroy and burn everything America stod for. They told him they couldn't put his name in the credits for some excuse Trevor soon forgot about, but he didn't mind that at all. Trevor Slattery wasn't important, just a loser and a nobody. What was important was the mighty Mandarin, holding the free world in his iron fist of fire and brimstone. This was his new lie, his new robe to adorn his meager self with. And whenever they weren't filming, he could have anything he wanted to help him forget his reality.

He didn't know why this terrorist show they were filming never starred a hero to come fight the Mandarin, only himself gesticulating before the cameras and a new hostage on the floor every couple of days. He didn't get to watch his own show often, and when he did it was only a few short snippets. He didn't even get to leave the mansion by himself, ostensibly for 'security reasons'. Maybe, once or twice, in a few moments of clarity, Trevor briefly entertained the thought that this whole thing was some sort of sham. But the whole idea was frankly ridiculous the more he thought about it - he'd heard scamming people out of money, but scamming people into fame and fortune? He'd let himself get scammed any day if every liar was like that.

In the end, the truth was that Trevor just wanted to lie to himself. In this mansion, he mattered. He was the center of all attention. He was second only to Killian, even though he was rarely involved in the big decision-making progresses. The world saw him as the Mandarin, the best and biggest role he ever played, and they told him nations across the globe thrilled at his every performance. That alone gave him a thrill beyond any other every time Killian's underlings brought him the viewer ratings for each episode aired live. He didn't want to stop, even if it was just a tad unhealthy in the long term... he'd keep lying to himself until the end, as long as he could have his place under the spotlight.

"America. Ready for... another lesson?"

U.S. Supreme Court Building, 2013

"It's great to see you!"

Flashes, clicks, and shouted questions from a crowd of reporters fell upon Trevor's wide eyes as he was led in handcuffs down a cordoned path leading to the imposing court building. He looked around, a child at a candy store, basking at the pure amount of attention falling upon him - not the ill-omened King Lear or the terrifying Mandarin, but just Trevor the person. For a moment he was back onstage, all those years ago when he was a performer at the Ashcroft Theatre, and he very nearly raised his hands to wave at the adoring crowd before the tug of the cuffs around his wrists brought him back down to earth. Still, Trevor was happy even as he was led into the building. He had finally gotten what all his lying and acting couldn't give him in the end - undivided attention.

The judges were seated high above him as he entered. It was only another reminder of how he had lost everything he had clung to, a lone snowball at the bottom of the valley after its layers had been dashed to pieces against the rocks. For so long, he'd hidden behind names and roles and long, embroidered sleeves to mask who he truly was, living a life of lie after lie after lie. But now, with all his fancy robes taken away and his false names torn from his chest, the web of falsehoods that had defined Trevor's life were laid bare on the ground for all to see. No longer could he hide and pose, skulking in the shadows as something he could never be.

It felt... freeing, for some reason.

With all his pseudonyms stripped away, he was back to his roots of being Trevor Slattery... and this time, good old Trevor Slattery had his irers too. He walked to his defendant's podium set up before the judges, clearing his throat, and stood tall as the countless cameras clicked and flashed in his direction. The judge in the center leaned forward, scrutinizing the wizened ex-actor before asking his first question.

"Please state your name or identification."

In another time, the question would have given the man pause as he sought a persona to slip into. Not anymore. For the first time in forever, he knew how to answer that question without hesitation. A pale but proud smile found its way onto his lips as he looked up at the one who had addressed him and responded, with crystal clarity...

"I am Trevor Slattery."

{cover edit by shan}