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The Games that Gods Play	By : Ristul Category: DC Verse Comics > Wonder Woman Views: 16896 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Wonder Woman,nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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But my dreams they aren't as empty As my conscious seems to be I have hours, only lonely My love is vengeance That's never free
-Behind Blue Eyes, Limp Bizkit

“This was where Tom Serra lived.” Mildred said sadly, as an aghast Wonder Woman stared at the dirty, decrepit room where Tom Serra had caged himself and his personal demons.
His hotdog of that fateful night was gone, devoured by rats. The small tin of marijuana lay overturned near the straw mat which served as his bed. The mat itself was coated with layer upon layer of blood and vomit. A few unopened cans of beer lay scattered on the ground.
“He stayed here? But this place…”
“Tom was a weird one,” Mildred sighed, “I could see he was a good man, but he is haunted by things in his past, things that after what I saw him do that day, are probably too terrible to discuss.”
“He didn’t have any friends at all?” Diana asked. By the Grace of Gaea, nobody should live like this, not even animals. It’s as if he has lost all hope in his despair. It is not right. He had nothing to live for.
lang=EN-US …but he had been willing to die for me and a promise. Diana shook her head.
“There was a single man, a really big man, bigger than that NBA player Shaq, who visited him every month. I remember him quite well because on the day of the…” Mildred swallowed hard before continuing, “incident, this man visited him. I think Tom’s money for the weed and the beer came from that man.”
“Do you have his number?”
Mildred shook her head, “I wish I did.”
Diana leaned down, and rummaged through Serra’s belongings, trying to ignore both the terrible smell and the sense that she was invading the privacy of a dead man. She found a card.
lang=EN-US Giant’s Cafélang=EN-US , she read. There was an address. A lead. At the very least, his friends and family, if he had any, deserved to know what had happened.
“I think I have it,” said Diana. “Thank you for your help, Mildred.”
“No, Diana, thank you.” The headmistress replied. “None of us knew what to do, when we,” she lowered her head in shame, ”owed him our lives. A man like him deserved better. I wish we could have treated him with more kindness, brought him away from his nightmares.”
“Nightmares?”
“There was one night when we had extra supper left over, and I was bringing it here for him when I heard screams.” Mildred shuddered. “He was screaming. Loudly and in pain, as though he was torn apart.” Diana watched in amazement as the headmistress began to shiver uncontrollably.
“I only understood half of what he was screaming, but it was terrible, terrible. It was sorrow, regret, and shame all mixed up into one. I could hear him apologizing for killing this person or that, and there were so many names. Then he would scream as though he wanted to kill some more. After that, I dared not come here any more during the night.”
Diana was shocked at the revelation, “But he never hurt any of you?”
“No, he never hurt any of us. He was especially nice to the kids, when he could. But it’s not as if we have the chance to repay him back for his kindness anymore.”
Diana sighed. “I am puzzled by this. But I do hope to do whatever I can to make it up to those he left behind.”
lang=EN-US But what if he really has nobody to mourn his passing? She considered. Or am I just making it up to myself, to console myself for causing his death?

lang=EN-US He was running down a long passageway. There were many doors along it, all the same, all painted the same shade of white. He didn’t know which door he should open, or even he should open them. From behind every door he could hear screams, some of fear, some of danger. The voices of his victims, the people he’d killed.
lang=EN-US “Why did you kill us?”
lang=EN-US “Please don’t kill me!”
lang=EN-US “I want to live!”
lang=EN-US “Kill me and be done with it!”
lang=EN-US “Spare my life, please!”
lang=EN-US “Daddy, daddy! Wake up! Why won’t you wake up?”
lang=EN-US “You’ve done well, boy. Kill or be killed, the way of the warrior. Now finish the job. Kill me and prove to me that you’re worthy to take over! Hahahahaha!”
lang=EN-US “Murderer!”
lang=EN-US He could attach a name and a face to every voice. To every person he had killed. To every innocent he had made suffer with his actions.
lang=EN-US He continued running along the passageway to flee the voices, and came to a small room filled with nursery tunes, but with a strange developing edge to them, slowly turning into frenzied heavy metal. In it he saw a toy gun, lying on top of a book. On the cover of the book, a journal, he saw only a number where a name should be written. Ninety-one.
lang=EN-US He picked up the toy gun, feeling the flimsy plastic and the shoddy imitation of a firearm, lacking many of the fine details of the real thing. Then he suddenly sensed something behind him. It was dangerous, deadly. The music changed from heavy metal to something even more powerful and insane, a dark, soul-jarring symphony of atonal clashing chords conducted by a lunatic.
lang=EN-US He turned, the gun in his hand rising up instinctively. Somehow, it had turned from a plastic toy to a real weapon, and its weight pressed reassuringly against his hand as he fired at the darkness charging at him, the familiar recoil at least telling him that he was fighting back, however futilely. He screamed his defiance of his enemy, his fate, firing bullet after bullet into the dark presence.
lang=EN-US He cursed the darkness, “Die, die, die! Why won’t you just die, dammit!” Then one tendril grabbed his throat.

Ares stared at the CCTV screen, which showed Tom Serra, his body covered in bandages, clutching his head, screaming as he laid on the bed in the small bunk.
“And he has not stopped screaming?” Ares asked.
“No, my lord. He has not.” Reinhardt Schroeder, the modern incarnation of Baron Blitzkrieg reported. Then the Nazi asked, “Why do you suffer the presence of such a useless man? A mere beggar from the street…”
“Silence.” Ares commanded. He watched the screen for a few more moments, before disappearing in a flash, as he teleported into the room.
He reached out with one arm, and grabbed the screaming Serra up by the throat, pushing him against the wall. The action woke the man from his nightmares.
“What the…” Serra clutched at the arm holding him up. “Who the fuck are you?” His voice was hoarse, strained from both thirst and his nightmares.
Ares smiled. “You should remember me. The alley?”
“Ares,” hissed Serra. “What the hell do you want?”
Ares dropped him back onto the bed. Serra got up quickly, standing almost immediately in front of Ares. The god of war approved silently as he saw Serra’s eyes glance around the room they were in, obviously seeking out possible weapons and exits. There was a door to the left.
Ares spoke, “I had you brought here, had your wounds treated, and you would repay my kindness with insults?”
“Let’s just say my trust isn’t earned so easily. And I don’t believe in good Samaritans. Everybody’s out for something.”
“And you are not?” Ares smiled as he asked the rhetorical question. “What was in it for you when you decided to save the Princess of Themyscira?”
Serra grinned back. “Nothing except the chance to kill some motherfucking scum and let loose once in a while. Is that so hard to understand?”
“If you wish to kill, you could have done so before the incident.”
Serra grunted, “Why don’t you just get to the point?” Ares privately smiled. Serra had effectively conceded the point to him.
He nodded. “Very well. I shall be honest with you if that is what you want. I need subordinates to aid me in my great task. Men who are skilled and capable. Men who are loyal to me and my cause. They must be a cut above the rabble of this world, strong in both spirit and sinew. In short, I seek champions for my cause, to oppose the chosen champions of the other gods.” Like that thrice cursed Wonder Woman, Ares added to himself. Although I have nothing to do with this latest incident, I wished Serra had not interfered in her humiliation.
“And I fit the bill?” Ares did not like the tone of sarcasm in Serra’s voice. “Who are you kidding?”
“Yes, you do. Consider this. You defeated more than 50 well trained and well armed commandos on your own, many times when seriously outnumbered. You have proven yourself to be an excellent warrior, if nothing else. I’m sure there’s more.”
“Somebody thinks they’re very good at judging the quality of men, eh?” Serra’s voice was bitter as he stabbed a finger at Ares, “I’ve had enough of working for bastards, and you, with your glowing red eyes and stupid getup, not to mention your dubious method of getting me here to work for you, are certainly one more bastard I don’t want to deal with.” Serra started walking for the door. “I’m out of here.”
He opened the door, only to be confronted by a brick wall. “What the fuck is this?” demanded Serra.
Ares folded his arms. “I’m not letting you go that easily, Tom Serra. You will either work for me, or you will die.” I will not allow the chance for my plans to be leaked.
“Then you can just kill me now and be done with it.”
“I think not. Why such a fixation on death and dying? That seemed counter to your will to live, which seems very strong.”
“And how would you know that?”
“I have been watching. You could have died on that ship, but you survived. You could have drowned, but you didn’t. All these lead me to think that you are not ready to die yet, for reasons that I would like to enforce.”
Serra stayed silent, so Ares continued speaking, “So what is it? Money? Power? Fame? Love? Women? Family?” He stopped, then smiled as another reason came to him, “Revenge?”
The sudden glow in Serra’s eyes told him all he needed to know.
“Ahhh, so vengeance it is. You live for the sake of vengeance. A worthy goal.”
Serra snapped, “You don’t know the half of it.”
“I don’t need to. But I can promise you this. Help me in my great endeavor, and when your task for me is done, I will spare no small effort on my part to help you attain your vengeance. This I can swear.”
Serra shook his head in denial, “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”
“I am the God of War!” Ares flung out his arms to his arms, letting his power surge into his hands, making them glow with a god’s energy. “There is little that can stop me, and once I am Lord of Olympus, there shall be nothing that can stop me!”
“You’re nuts with delusions of grandeur.”
“And you are not crazy either?” Ares shot back, “You do not believe me, do you, Tom Serra?”
“Believe it or not, I don’t want to get you into trouble.”
“Trouble? For what?”
Serra replied, his voice edgy, “Because the being I seek vengeance on is more dangerous than the worst nightmares of any god. Because his kind sups on the blood of fallen gods for fun. I never believed I would have the chance to attain my revenge, and you would promise me your aid so easily? No, it’s just a fool’s errand. And you will regret it at the end.”
“Fool’s errand or not, your description only intrigues me.” Ares smiled carefully. “As the patron of war and battle, I have no fear of the being you speak of. If it comes to combat, then so be it. You underestimate me, Serra.” He’s half mad from his nightmares. No being could be that powerful, not even Darkseid.
“And you overrate yourself.”
“Let time decide the truth then. I promise you my aid in your vengeance. Is it worth that little? Am I worth that little?”
He saw Serra close his eyes, before opening them after a few seconds. “Fine. I’ll work for you. If you promise you’ll help me once you become Lord of Olympus. One condition.”
“Name it.”
“I can leave anytime I want, with one week’s notice in advance. If that happens, you don’t have to help me gain my vengeance.”
Ares narrowed his eyes. “So you do not foresee helping me all the way? What would prevent you from walking away in just a few hours?”
“I don’t want to put myself in a position where I have to do things against my conscience. As non-existent as that may be. I’ll work for you to pay off this debt of my survival. After that, anything goes.”
Ares laughed, “Well spoken. There is no point in coercing men against doing something they will never do.”
Tom Serra kneeled down on the ground, and declared solemnly, “I, Tom Serra, hereby swear fealty to Ares, God of War. Everything I am and have, is yours to command.”
“Excellent. And I swear upon Gaea that I will help you, Tom Serra, in your vengeance once I am the Lord of Olympus and King of the Gods.” Ares gestured for Tom to get up. He waved his hand, and the brick wall of the door disappeared to reveal a corridor. “A servant will be here shortly to get you some clothes. Take the opportunity to wash the stench off in the toilet down the corridor. You stink. Oh, and one more thing. Get rid of that beard. You look like shit.” Can’t have minions looking like beggars, after all. We have an image to maintain as professional evil overlords.
Ares left the room in a flash of light.

In the washroom, Tom turned the tap on, taking several sips of water to quench his thirst. Then he looked up at the mirror, staring at himself. He looked like a train wreck. His unruly beard hung in loose clumps, while his long hair was likely ridden with lice. His face made him look much older than his thirty two years. He not only looked like shit, as Ares had commented, he felt like shit too. Still alive. After all that, I’m still alive.
He sighed, and reached for a pair of scissors. He started to cut his hair, while fighting the withdrawal pangs of not having taken his dose of marijuana for some time. I must have been out for at least two days. Damn, I should have asked Ares what happened to Wonder Woman and the orphanage.

Wonder Woman entered the café, dressed ordinarily, and she was struck immediately by the incongruous sight of a 2.5 meter tall man in an ordinary café uniform behind the counter chatting amiably with a much shorter customer. That must be Tom Serra’s friend.
A bell on the door chimed as she had opened the door, and the giant waved at her in a friendly grin, “Welcome! What can I get for you?”
Diana tried to smile back, but she must have failed, because the giant’s own grin faded. She forced herself to speak.
“Did you know Tom Serra?”
The giant stared at her. “What has happened to Tom?” He finally asked.
She looked at the man sadly, “Can I speak to you in a private room?”
The giant showed her to a small room, then he said, “I’m Jake Kabrinski. Tom is my friend, even if he doesn’t think so. Has something happened to him?”
Diana took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but Tom Serra is dead.”
“How?” The anger in the Kabrinski’s voice made her look up. It was laced with the promise of vengeance and pain. “Who?”
“There’s no point in seeking vengeance. They’re already dead. He died to save me.”
“And you are?”
“Diana of Themyscira.” At this time, the title of Wonder Woman seemed less appropriate than ever.
His eyes grew wide as he made the connection. “I see. So his death, at least, was not in vain?”
“No, his death was not in vain. I know it sounds a bit wrong, but I’d like to set up a scholarship in his name, at least, so that his sacrifice won’t be forgotten.”
Jake nodded slowly, “Tom would have liked that. Considering his past, it would be fitting, even.” She stiffened a bit, which did not go unnoticed by Kabrinski. “Is anything wrong?”
She asked, “Who exactly is Tom Serra? What did he do? I was told he had nightmares. Why?”
Jake Kabrinski shook his head, “His tale is for him to tell, not me. And because he is dead, as his friend I’ll not denigrate his memory by dredging up the past, of the things he had done, both right and wrong for all the wrong reasons.”
“Then tell me, at least, what kind of a man he was.”
“I can do that.” Jake smiled sadly as he started to tell her more, the conversation helping to lessen the pain of Tom Serra’s passing.
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The Games that Gods Play