“Shut it down!” Galvin Laevan roared at those gathered.
Seated in the Phoenix Cloud’s interfacing system, Roe spasmed violently with
his arms thrashing against their restraints and his legs convulsing against
their own restrictions. Blood oozed freely from his nose and dripped
continuously into his lap as the elder Laevan hurried to the console next to
Natalie. Sparing a quick gaze to the woman, he barked angrily: “What is going
on here?” Receiving no answer from the Mother of Subjects, the man swore under
his breath and turned to the console before him. Typing hurriedly on the panel
of glass, a projection appeared before him. Gesturing for one of the other laboratory
aids, he beckoned the young man to his side: “Follow the diagnostic here; I
want to know what this boy is doing.” Tearing his eyes from the confusing data
that whirred by on the screen before him, he hurried past the seizing Subject
and to one of the other consoles. “Lieutenant Von Strauss, at the Subject’s
side, on my mark you’re going to forcibly remove the connections.” The heavy
sound of booted footfalls could be heard as Ludwig took his place next to Roe,
whose unseen gaze moved hurriedly from side to side. With a few buttons
pressed, he hovered his hand over the final key to be entered and looked to the
soldier. Ludwig, tall and ominous, stood over Roe’s form, his hand inches away
from one of the cords that connected to Roe’s arm. “On my mark, soldier,”
Galvin spoke slowly, his finger falling ever closer to the entry key.
As the man’s finger grew ever closer, Natalie threw back her
chair and stood: “Wait!” She shouted frantically, hurrying to the console the
elder Laevan brother stood at, pushing his hand away. “If you do that, you’ll
kill him!” The flashing screens on the nearby terminals gave credence to her
worries, for they flashed with the warning that ‘Forced Ejection Will Result in
irreconcilable Contamination. Proceed?’ She would certainly not proceed, “We
can get him out, we just need to use a lighter hand.” Narrowing her gaze, her
voice was authoritative as she looked to the former NELO employees who had been
broken into servitude. “Jason, on my terminal, initiate a morphine drip,” she
commanded of the man whom Galvin had ordered otherwise. The young man looked
torn for a moment, but relented and moved to her terminal. “Stephanie,” Mother
Natalie looked imploringly to a terrified looking lab assistant who watched the
unsettling display in the opposite room. So focused had they all been on the
seizing Roe that all but the young woman had not looked into the adjoining
room. Inside, once calm and collected people spasmed on the ground with equal
ferocity to that of their restrained counterpart. Blood oozed from their eyes,
nose, ears and mouth, and Doctor Bellerose felt adrenaline rush into her. She
would not allow anymore of her children to die. “Stephanie get on the far
terminal, now!” She snapped, and the young woman bolted to the computer, her
gaze wide and expectant as she awaited her orders, “Induce an artificial REM
sleep stage, we’ll hit him in two ways; chemically and neurologically.” Finally, she turned to Ludwig, “And you,
Ludwig was it? Don’t you dare pull those plugs out of my boy until I tell you
to.” Her voice was laden with a cautionary tone and the abrupt change in
personality through even the socially ambivalent Ludwig off kilter.
The two lab assistants typed hurriedly, closing down forced
ejection procedures and madly typing in commands. From the main cord that led
into the base of Roe’s skull, a thin, milky substance surged upward and flowed
into the artificial wound, and from one of the tubes leading into his forearm,
the clear influx of morphine could be seen. “Come on, man, fall asleep,” Ludwig
grumbled quietly as he examined the erratic Subject. His jerking movements
seemed lulled as the two liquids filled his system and, after breaking his gaze
with the sightless stranger, the tall Estonian noted that the captive Subjects
were calming at an equal rate. ‘What’s
going on here? How did they link this guy’s mind to them?’ The obvious
question came to mind, though had been pushed away time and time again in
favour of more pertinent problems, but now it worried him greatly. The system
they had set up was entirely foreign to a man more accustomed to working
functionary jobs to make ends meet, and he felt annoyingly useless, merely made
to perform menial tasks for the supposed Mother of Subjects. The azure eyed
individual he had helped bring into the room had almost completely stilled when
he was given the affirmative nod by Natalie Bellerose, and made quick work of
the various needles and suckers affixed to Roe’s person. Uncaring of the pain
it might cause, he hurriedly slid all needles out and tore the tiny plungers
off, which gave off loud popping sounds as he did. Finally, grasping the
largest of the tubes that had been affixed to the once reposed individual, he
more slowly slid out the needle that sat in the base of his skull, which
dribbled with the thin liquid that had been pumped in to induce a REM sleep.
As he did such, the other Subjects stilled, their violent
seizures ceasing and they merely lay upon the floor, forgotten for the time
being as the room around them took on an air of being cautiously elated. Galvin
Laevan looked around, his dark gaze angered and unsettled as he looked over the
abject mess that had become of his project, and after a moment, his gaze
settled on Ludwig. “Von Strauss, take the Subject boy to his room. After that,
call for Volkov and have her bring his Normal-borne friend to me, and she’ll
take over for you to watch him. I don’t know you two well enough to trust you
to guard him indefinitely; we don’t know how persuasive we can be.” The logic
was sound and the imposing raven haired man knew better than to question
superiors. For even though Galvin Laevan was but a civil servant and no
military official, his opinion would be most assuredly weighed for more value
than that of a disposable soldier. With a silent salute, Ludwig carefully
collected the unconscious body of the Subject. Slinging Roe’s arms over his
shoulders, he carried him as though the Subject were a toddler who had passed
out from exhaustion during an outing. As the Eastern European man passed
through the doors he had arrived in, which were begrudgingly opened by his
overlooked superior, he could hear the cold tonalities of Galvin Laevan:
“Natalie if you ever contradict me again like that, I’ll flay that boy alive…”
The words were dangerous and even the normally uncaring Ludwig found himself
disturbed by them. ‘Looks like any Laevan
is a dangerous man,’ he thought to himself, chuckling quietly, ‘Goes to show you can’t judge a book by its
cover, but you can sure as hell judge it by its author.’
His attention was diverted to the still form which was
slumped over his slouched back. Light blond hair had fallen out of place and
swayed next to Ludwig’s face as he walked, and the latter found it to be an almost
transcendent colour in the organic lighting of the building: it glowed like
gold, but swayed to and fro like a spider web caught in a breeze. The Subject
himself could be no older than twenty years of age, no older than Sonya, the
tall man surmised, but something was most assuredly and offputtingly unique
about the man. His hands, which dangled a distance before the soldier’s
countenance, twitched every so often, as though he was playing a piano, for
they depressed and retracted rhythmically. It was another strange sight, and
the human transport found it incredibly distracting, as though the unheard
melody played was one he had heard time and time again, but he simply could not
place a name to the title. His skin, pale and taut, was drawn over a strong
frame, given the young man’s once perceived frailty, but Ludwig was no fool and
recognise a body honed for war when he saw one. This young man had seen many fights
in his day, and had he not he had likely prepared himself for many. The Baltic
fellow grinned slightly, making a mental note to not aggravate the peculiar
Subject into a fight, for he worried that such a unique person would be most
assuredly a threat of the highest calibre.
It had taken roughly ten minutes and one elevator ride down
a level to reach the Subject’s quarters, which were admittedly much superior to
his friend whom Sonya looked oddly distraught to guard. Ludwig frowned at the
memory, having seen the copper haired woman’s visage as she held a gun to the
blacked out brunet fellow. She had looked as though great inner turmoil rocked
her, and it was only by her impressive sheer will that she had not disobeyed
orders. He had seen that strength of determination before when she had departed
Krasnoyarsk after having just seen her beloved younger brother. The look of
pain in her eyes was of one who could not bear to be torn away from the other
again, and a selfish pang of jealously could be felt in Ludwig’s chest as he
remembered her sad grey eyes as she watched Ivan offer a small wave as their
aircraft had taken off those weeks ago. ‘Would
you be sad if I left, Sonya?’ He asked the air silently, but found no
answer. Averting his gaze from nothing, an old guilt filled his being as a hot
ball in his stomach that saw his bile churn tumultuously. ‘If you knew what I’ve done, you wouldn’t.’ However he soldiered on,
doing his best to put it out of mind and focus on the task at hand. Though he
did not know the man he carried, he felt a surreal connection, as though their
minds had touched during their time as cargo and carrier. Before him two
Republic garbed guards stood on either side of a white metal door. “Lieutenant
Von Strauss, I’m here to drop off the Subject in Doctor Laevan’s experiments.”
He said with a bored derision, and received a cryptic look from one of the
guards.
“Yes, sir. We’ve been expecting you. Doctor Laevan has
instructed us to inform you that you are to remain at the Subject’s side until
he wakes and then inform us of such so that testing may continue.” Ludwig
nodded, having grown immediately bored of the guard’s dutiful demeanor and,
with a somewhat inhibited movement of his hand, as he supported the majority of
Roe’s weight by holding him by the Subject’s legs, he implied for them to open
the door. After a look of slight confusion, the second guard stepped forward
and opened the door, swinging it wide. “Let us know if you need anything,
Lieutenant.” With one more nod, Lieutenant Von Strauss, having been promoted to
the rank by a secretly rebelling general, entered the room and shirked the door
closed with his shoulder blade. The room itself was simple, but unlike the vast
majority of the complex, it had a window and furnishings that did not remind
one of a hospital, but more curiously that of the videos from NELO. Against the
far wall was a narrow bed which sat below the large aforementioned window that
let the cloudy sunlight trail in weakly, for the clouds were so thick they
dispersed what would be otherwise a cheerful sight.
Directly to Ludwig’s right was a table with two chairs, all
of which was made with cool, silvery metals, and seated next to them a white
chest of drawers. The bed was covered in pristinely white sheets that seemed
almost painstakingly put into place, for no creases or folds could be seen, and
every line made by the sheets were perfectly angular. To his left was a door
which led into a washroom and finally at the foot of the bed a plastic chest
which had a change of predictably white clothing. Unsurprisingly, it was then
that the tall man found his arms aching from carrying another person for so
long and so he hurried to the far wall and deposited the unconscious Roe upon
the bed rather unceremoniously. The resting Subject fell to the hard mattress’
surface with a loud thump before Ludwig haphazardly rearranged him to be at
least facing the correct direction on the bed. Placing a thumb and a forefinger
on the lapel of his black, multi-pocketed shirt’s collar, he spoke lazily: “Von
Strauss here, I’ve deposited the experimental Subject in his room and am
standing watch as per orders.” Canting his gaze to the resting Subject, he
smirked slightly, finding the supposedly threatening young man as harmless as
he slept soundly. “Volkov, Doctor Laevan wants you to transport his prisoner
friend to him and then relieve me.” Silence followed his words, and he wondered
if his communicator had malfunctioned. Pulling up the sleeve on his shirt, he
eyed its control mechanism: a thin band of rubbery plastic on his wrist that
tugged on his arm hairs whenever he paid it any heed. He had begun to fiddle
with the volume control, turning it completely up, when Sonya’s voice almost
deafened him.
“Understood. On my way. Volkov out.” Her words were short
and succinct, and he merely resigned himself to waiting for her arrival. His
gaze fell to the rainy visage of the One City outside, and made his way to the
table, taking a seat in one of the stiff-backed chairs. Ludwig had never paid
much attention to his own feelings after certain unpleasantries in his life,
but he could feel an immense amount of conflict in his mind rage on, just out
of reach of sanity. Just like the rain outside, what he was doing was
necessary: the rain brought life, and if he could play the devil for a bit
longer, if he and Sonya could gain Doctor Laevan’s trust, they could get to the
Prime Chancellor, stop it all and, like the rain, return life and hope to the
world. He sighed, frustrated. ‘It wasn’t
supposed to be like this,’ he cursed silently, ‘I left Estonia to live a new life, not to just kill…’ His thought
trailed off, and he shuddered, ‘… again.’
The memory that haunted Ludwig Von Strauss’s dreams returned to him, and he
shuddered violently for a moment, before he was able to suppress it once more. It
had been a necessary act, and it had saved the lives of his little brother and
sister, though all the rationalising could not lessen the pain that the memory
wrought.
He looked away from the rain, remembering the sound it made
when it padded against the blood soaked ground. “I had to kill you, dad.” He
spoke quietly, recalling the shocked look on his face as the man had crumpled
down, his own gun in his son’s hand, smoking lightly from the cold rain hitting
the hot barrel. “You were going to kill Katia,” he spoke to the non-existent
spectre of his father. Ludwig jumped as the memory played out in his mind, and
the dead form of his father fell face first into the wet dirt, the memory of
the impact sound startling him in reality. His sister had screamed then,
terrified of both her father and her brother: one who had tried to hurt her,
and the other who had killed for her. The tall Estonian could still see the
look of fear in his little brother’s eyes as he dropped the gun: his brother
had been afraid that he would kill him next. “Oleg, I would never hurt you,” He
once more spoke to the silence, pleading with the memories of his loved ones,
begging for them to not be afraid of him. No comfort would come to him though,
and instead Ludwig Von Strauss sat there, the ghosts of his past haunting him
without repose, but it was one foreign voice that silenced them all.
“In the twilight of our heart’s lament we do find the
greatest of our pains.”
~*~
Controlled chaos seemed like the best description of Subject
One’s surroundings. All about him camera equipment was being readied, and
various aids and stage hands hurried to put into place the final cords and so
forth. However all of it remained of the least importance to the evermore
prominent crimson eyed man, for he had finally gained the notoriety he had
desired. The world had heard his Awakening’s oddly persuasive argument over the
internet and in day to day conversation over and over: the world was wrong and
someone needed to fix it, and now he was here. ‘I will dispense judgement, I am the arbiter of the world,’ the
thought ebbed into his mind, and the old Subject allowed himself a small smirk
of amusement. He had subdued the consciences of so many in his quest for
followers, for it would require a monumental group of people to achieve his
goals. His ultimate goal could never be revealed and would remain a secret up
until the very end, but he knew that, were it suddenly known, little would
change. The world was wrong, it was a simple reality any could see, whether
they supported Laevan, distrusted him as a sparse few did, or simply did not
care, a category that most fell under. Doran Laevan, Prime Chancellor, had a
legitimate authority over the twelve nations: all their leaders had signed the
new Charter, and they had all surrendered unknown authority to him during times
of crises.
“I will deliver your crisis, Doran.” The words were
whispered nigh silently as he looked over the busywork before him. Cameras were
raised into the air from large magnets on the ground and focused upon him. Clad
in the finely hewn and elaborate black robes of the Father, he was truly a
godly looking man. Though he wore no crosses, stars, or any standing religious
affiliation, and instead he was adorned in various adaptations of the tattoos
that crisscrossed his hidden bodies. Yin yang was present upon his right sleeve;
the symbol for peace on his left and many obscure others littered the thick
robes in silver stitching. Currently waiting for the cameras to activate,
Subject One patiently awaited the beginning of his first televised promotion,
one that would run during the entire duration of the Republic’s most prominent
news broadcast’s breaks. It had taken much work to reach such a point, but
through the unity brought forth by the Republic’s creation, it had suddenly
become very easy to make oneself noticed when they stood out. ‘Laevan hasn’t changed, he still pretends to
admire the underdog,’ the sickly looking man thought to himself before
looking to the simple white chair that he stood before. Taking a seat, he
folded one leg loosely over the other, resting his hands on the accompanying
armrests.
One of the other aids had begun a countdown and fell silent
as he fell to the last three numbers, and Subject One looked forward, poised
and impressive. The cameras blinked red for a moment and with such he had begun
his tirade: “Those of you who call yourselves children of the Earth, I speak to
you now. No doubt you have heard of me, if not seen my face. I am the Father, a
simple man with but one mission in mind: peace.” Pausing for a moment, he
folded his hands together. “Since time immemorial, man has perverted his home
without repose. We have raped, pillaged, sacked and burned our home again and
again, but now this home can take no more. Our home is our mother, and we have
buried a blade deep into her chest. This blade is better known as human
progress: the relentless drive to produce nothing but abominations from her
life giving resources.” Unfolding his hands, he curled one into a fist and
slammed it into the armrest below. “I say enough is enough!” His voice grew
louder as he pushed himself to a stand. “It was the evils of NELO that marred
me so: the fires of production maimed me like they have maimed the world!” The
cameras followed his rise and he bored his bloody gaze into their mechanical
countenances: “Look upon the world around you! See the chaos wrought by the
vile industrialists! Thus I say, to all those who do not wish for a world where
violence, hatred and cruelty reign as three princes, stand with me!”
Those gathered in the large studio watched with rapt
silenced, their awestruck gazes never leaving Subject One. He knew the stares
well, for he had always known what words to say: people were fools to him and
were made his pawns so quickly: speak of their empowerment and they will kill
for you. “I am a man of peace, but the world has made me war!” He raised his
clenched fist before him, speaking ever louder: “You are all men and women of
peace, but the vile elements among you have tried to turn into monsters!”
Stepping forward, an ominous silence fell over the studio as his words fell
still for a moment. “Stand with me, my friends!” He bellowed, “Stand with me
and let us overturn this world of the three princes! Let us be as one in the
One City, let us show our resolution to those who would turn the world against
itself!” The One City, barely completed, housed some of the world’s most
important economic and political powers: multinational companies had been paid
massive sums of money to move their headquarters to the floating super city at
the behest of Doran Laevan, and it would be there that Subject One decided he
would strike. ‘I will turn the world
against you, Doran. I will make you weep as you see your precious plan fall
apart. The world will not be ordered, it will burn for its crimes…’ The
first Subject’s words emboldened him and he raised his fist into the air:
“Stand with me!” He repeated one last time before the cameras flashed green and
lowered to the ground.
Applause had already begun and the roaring of cheers saw the
studio echo with the cheers, and the blood eyed man knew that it had been
caught on camera. It would make for excellent propaganda, to hear the studio hands
cheering for him. He kept his pose for a long moment before dropping his hand
and hopping off the slightly raised stage and met the throng of employees who
bombarded him with questions: “I’ve heard so much of you, Father! Is it true it
was the Subject Mother that burned you?” One man asked. A young woman shoved
past a few others and looked at him with a revering gaze, “Father, you’re an
inspiration to anyone who wants to love their fellow man. If there’s anything
you can do, please, tell me.” Others came afterward, pushing and shoving their
way to see him. It was a delightful sight, Subject One found, to see such
frenzy. For now it was but a room of people, but given time, he and so many
more would march upon Doran Laevan, and revenge would finally be measured out
for those who had wronged him. Regardless, as he walked forward, ignoring all
the questions and praise lavished upon him, the crowd parted for him and he
exited the studio through a pair of metal doors, opened for him by two
Truncheons of The Awakening. Nodding to the two, he stepped into the concrete
abyss that was the One City.
It would be there that the final battle would be fought,
Subject One concluded. ‘Here in your
floating castle, Doran, I will make you both suffer. You and Natalie will beg
me for mercy as I destroy everything you love, and I will deny you. You will
watch as the world burns through my power.’ The frail man’s thoughts were
interrupted abruptly as he saw a familiar figure hurry toward him. Clad in a
pair of synthetic jeans, which had a strange shine to them, coupled with a
dress shirt slung loosely over his form, the young man was one of the Father’s
newest Sceptres, after having been persuaded
by The Awakening’s member base on Neo-Palmyra. “Father!” Ray Esmond called out,
his dead gaze listlessly looking over the man. The silver haired individual had
had his favour curried after being utterly broken when his life’s work, the One
City, was stolen and credited by the Prime Chancellor. It was an inspiring tale
in a sense, Subject One found, that a young man so used by a tyrannical
government could be given purpose anew. The young man at hand jogged up to the
Father and fell into stride with him, and looked to the old man expectantly.
“I’ve done as you’ve asked and recovered the diagrams of the One City, however
I have a few questions over how you’ll utilise The Awakening in this project of
yours.” Ray was undoubtedly a useful asset, the red eyed man admitted to
himself, and having had one of his Savants find the creator of the One City was
an invaluable stroke of luck. ‘Perhaps it
was not luck and indeed destiny,’ the thought passed through his mind,
though he ignored it: destiny is a fool’s reason for failure, Subject One
thought.
Canting his gaze to the younger male, he furrowed his brows.
“The Stewards manage The Awakening’s continents, thus there are six,” he had
begun the unnecessary explanation, though kept his tone calm and collected,
“From them, Savants manage The Awakening at the national level. Then the
Sceptres, such as yourself, guide the daily activities of The Awakening:
removing any Subject supporters and the like. The Truncheons carry out more
sensitive tasks, such as these removals or social cleansing, while our Acolytes
merely act as our public face.” Looking forward, Subject One concluded his
explanation: “You must use the swath of Acolytes that will arrive soon to throw
the One City into chaos while the Truncheons remove any in our way. You
Sceptres will coordinate this. The Savants, Stewards and I will move into
Gherkin Alpha and do what must be done.” Ray looked unconvinced, questioning
the uncertainty of the plan at hand. The two continued on their way down the
small streets between studios, some of which were still being constructed, and
it was then that Subject One noticed it was raining. It was the one kind of
storm he loathed, for it reminded him of the day when he broke free. Natalie
and Doran had put him through countless experimental surgeries to understand if
he was stable and indeed human. ‘They did
not even sedate me,’ he hissed to himself angrily, ‘It was not necessary, he said. She broke into tears, but her fake pity
is more poisonous than his evil itself!’
“Fear, Sceptre Esmond,” the Father said slowly. “Fear is the
weapon of choice for a king. For when he seeks love from his people, the power
is with them, he must bend to their love, to accommodate it. Hatred, though, is
also undesirable: when the people hate you, you have no power over them; they
are freed in their hatred, and chaos reigns. But fear… Fear is control
incarnate, for there is a sliver of hope that they might get what they wish
for, but the ability to grant that is yours.”
Ray blinked, surprised at the severity of the Father’s moral code. “Machiavelli
posited this centuries ago, Sceptre. It was the truth of a world that was on
the cusp of corruption, and it is still true. Fear is how we will govern this
world, for the sinners will have fear where those of pure moral standing, such
as yourself, have nothing to fear.” The young sceptre nodded once, seemingly
more reassured that he himself was safe. For Subject One, it was all a game of
selfishness: if he could assure those he needed to use that his future was one
where they would be safe and taken care of, they would support him, regardless
of the truth of the matter. The two slowly rounded another studio before
arriving on a sidewalk parallel to a busy street, cars whipping by at inhuman
speeds. The old Subject spun right on his heel, beguiling his perceived
frailty, and stared up at the massive building that was the Gherkin Alpha.
Standing twenty stories higher than everything else in the One City, it was
visible even from the commercial sectors in the districts. “Fear is not how he
governs, and so he will fall.”
The two had begun to walk down the sidewalk, the rain
falling steadily heavier as time passed, when the silver haired Sceptre spoke
again: “Father, I understand,” He said, offering the old man a small, tired
smile. His eyes, drooping with bags indicating poor sleep, never removed their
gaze from the old man. “Truly you are the only one worthy of leading the world.
You have faced the truest evils of it: the demon witch Subject Mother, the
power hungry Prime Chancellor and so many others. I will follow you to my
grave,” Ray stepped in front of the man and placed a fist over his heart,
falling to a knee. “I am your Sceptre and you are my Father. I will do as you
decree until the end of my days.” The words, spoken with utter seriousness and
sincerity, saw Subject One smile ever so slightly, who placed a withered hand
on the Sceptre’s shoulder and motioned for him to stand. “Father, what would
you have of me?” The young man asked almost eagerly, his words culminating in
an inflection. The white haired Subject pointed to Gherkin Alpha, whose
spiralling metal girders glinted in the dull light. Looking back to the Father,
he raised a brow inquisitively, “Yes, Father?” He asked eagerly.
The rain had continued to fall ever harder as Ray’s
questioned went unanswered. Instead, the two merely stood stationary upon the
sidewalk, the stormy grey skies overhead gradually increasing their
precipitation to a deluge. For the younger of the two, it seemed as though such
was becoming a hindrance, as he ran a hand over a soaked shoulder, vainly
trying to remove some of the moisture from his garment. The bloody eyed man,
however, seemed entirely ignorant of such and kept his gaze upon the central
building on the One City. Like a Faberge Egg, it was the masterpiece of the
city, but for he it was no beautiful ornament, and instead a vile and
disgusting blight upon an already ruinous world. Subject One looked down to the
young man for a moment before speaking calmly: “Find me a way into Gherkin
Alpha. As the city falls, my reunion will come.” Excitement, a foreign and
distant emotion for the Father, rose in his person as an unsteady wave of
nerves firing in his stomach. A small grin grew on his face as he looked back
to his Sceptre, “Yes, Sceptre. You and the others must carve a path to Gherkin
Alpha, and from there, the whole world will change…”
~*~
Stephan was walking and it was a foreign feeling at best.
His legs, shaky and unsteady underneath him, could not fully support his
weight, and so his captor had slung an arm around his far arm to support him.
It was a humiliating feeling, being so reliant upon a woman who had just
moments ago held a gun to his head, holding him hostage for an unseen purpose.
Nevertheless, his wobbly steps skidded and scuffed loudly on the concrete
ground below given the eerie silence of the cell corridor. Given the unpleasant
look on the black garbed soldier who had hefted him up and now partly dragged
him, much to his own shame, the Greek man knew he stank terribly. It had been
months since he had last bathed and though his hair had reverted to a stage
where it removed the grease naturally, the rest of his body was not so lucky,
and given the right movement of air, he would smell himself. The putrid stink
was one such thing that furthered the humiliation of his captivity and he
loathed it greatly, but if his captor was to be believed, things would improve
greatly given his sudden importance to the Prime Chancellor’s cause. The
details of such were unknown, but he was made aware that he was being
transferred to more hospitable quarters. As he continued to slide and stumble
down the corridor, Stephan did find that his legs had slowly become more and
more accustomed to walking long distances once more. As they reached a set of
three stairs up to an iron door, he was able to ascend them without impediment,
much to the thinly veiled delight of his captor. The two ascended the few steps
and the fiery haired woman procured what appeared to be an ID badge from her
pocket.
Swiping the card down a reader, a small green light came to
life on its surface and she continued to scan her thumb and finally her retina
before the door buzzed noisily and parted for her. The door was swung open wide
and four guards met them, weapons drawn. Blinding brightness saw Stephan
stumble backward, completely sightless for a long moment. He could only hear
the hurried movements of weapons being armed, but could nothing but shield his
face. The markings on the rifles they carried marked them as neurotoxic bullets
and at such Stephan stiffened, unsure of how they could escape such things, and
was moreover confused as to why they were being threatened. “Lieutenant Sonya
Volkov under orders from Chief Prison Officer Jack Gilbert: I am to escort the
prisoner to Room 775 at once.” Between the four guards, wary looks were exchanged,
for although she outranked them, she had just arrived and moreover it was
highly unorthodox to move prisoners on one’s own. Stephan looked to the grey
eyed woman critically, measuring her: ‘Can
she be trusted?’ He wondered to himself, ‘She says she’s taking me to Room 775, is that any worse than all this
has been?’ His sea-green gaze narrowed on her critically as his thoughts
continued, ‘I’d be an idiot to trust her.
Everyone here is either a brainless soldier or a malignant blight on humanity.’
As his thoughts grew ever more suspicious, the four soldiers and his guard held
a rather terse conversation, though he paid it no heed as he continued his
examination of his guard. ‘She held a gun
to my head and told me that she didn’t want to. Doesn’t she realise that she
doesn’t have to do anything they say?’ Snorting derisively to himself,
Stephan thought to himself: ‘Life isn’t
worth anything when you give up every value you hold dear.’
Finally the two were given clearance and they continued on
their way down a narrow white hallway toward another heavy looking metal door.
“I know you don’t trust me,” Sonya spoke suddenly, her thick Russian accent
giving her credence to speak slowly, “And you shouldn’t,” she admitted. Stephan
remained silent, however, intent on discerning her intent before speaking, a
practice he had learned from Roe in more ideal times. Once more, she opened the
heavy door with a card key, thumbprint, and retina scan and the two were made
witness to a large room appearing to be a lobby. Sets of four verdant couches
centred in on glass coffee tables filled most of the room, and at the far end a
large reception desk. The lobby bustled with activity: soldiers seated speaking
languidly while others hurried with heavy, booted footfalls. Orchestral music
played overhead, and the entire room had a false sense of civility for Stephan.
He knew better than this, this was just the public face of the Trans-Pacific
Republic, of Doran Laevan. Behind the pretty, grand words and magnificent
buildings were atrocities and horror waiting to be revealed to the world. Anger
grew inside him and he stopped walking, earning the ire of Lieutenant Volkov.
“Keep moving, Stephan Tharros,” she instructed coolly, and upon him ignoring
her, he felt her strong grip grasp him by the bicep and drag him onward.
Through their entire visit in the lobby, they were entirely ignored by the
various civilians and soldiers.
They continued across the lobby and passed through a set of
oak double doors which read ‘Gherkin Alpha Transport.’ The name of such
confused Stephan, and as they continued down the hall, the once white walls
were replaced abruptly with glass ones that let the dismal, rainy day outside
be seen for all its depressing glory. It was then that Stephan noticed it: they
were not in Graham City or anywhere he immediately recognised, and from their
position high in the sky, vertigo struck him and he felt nausea grip his
person. Well over one hundred seventy stories into the air, a ring of equally
massive buildings, including the one that they had just exited, rose high into
the sky and into the grey clouds above. In the gaps between them, the young man
saw what appeared to be concentric circles, sectors of a sort, of various
buildings and centres of commerce. Farther out, he saw endless subdivisions of
housing and residential living. What was most remarkable, however, was that the
entire city appeared to be perfectly circular for the visible coast was a
perfect rounded edge. Feeling himself be dragged once more, he turned forward
and found himself staring at a massive round building. Spiralling steel girders
the width of city busses encircled the building, as though it held the glass
like scales to a great beast’s body. Craning his neck high, he could not see
the summit of the massive building, but given the curving nature of the
building, discerned it ended in one single point, where all the girders met,
capping the building. The most obvious question escaped Stephan’s lips: “Where are we?” Looking to his guide, he found
Lieutenant Volkov silent, and she appeared to be lost in thought.
“This place is called One City. It’s a floating city that
can be moved when necessary, and is currently en route to Tokyo. As the capital
of the Trans-Pacific Republic, it was deemed necessary by the Prime Chancellor
that it be able to move about the Pacific Ocean to better connect the twelve
nations. Though the city is still under construction, roughly ten million
people have already moved here, with that number expected to triple in the
coming months as the suburbs are completed.” Sonya explained idly, before
swiping her ID card once more and unlocking a set of twelve foot tall glass
doors, which swung open for her silently. “Come inside, Stephan Tharros.” She
beckoned him calmly, and the young man obliged. Stepping into sheer opulence,
he found, was a gross understatement, for although they were well over one
hundred and seventy stories up, the massive nature of the interior of the
central building struck him. Brilliant marble floors stretched out interrupted
in every direction, and the entire floor of the building was opened. In the
distance, he saw other sets of doors like the ones they had come through, which
led to other nearby buildings. It was as though the Gherkin Alpha was the
centre of an ant hill and all other buildings mere chambers in comparison.
Grand, curved desk made of dark oaks and shining metals sat in a wide circle,
separated by roughly thirty feet each, and at each one a pleasant looking man
or woman sat. From the ceiling high above hung a beautiful chandelier which
glittered brightly, beguiling the unpleasant weather outside.
The only true impediment to the otherwise unobstructed view
of the One City was a set of six elevator doors which were clustered together,
three facing one way and the other three at their proverbial backs. Sonya led
him towards these, and he received foul and undisguised looks of disgust from
otherwise wealthy looking men and women dressed in fine suits and other formal
attire. Heat rose to Stephan’s face in shame as he realised how pathetic he
truly was. Emaciated and with discoloured skin, he cut the visage of a paltry
criminal and given his filthy attire, he could not escape such assumptions.
Averting his gaze, he merely allowed himself to be dragged by his captor who
had already begun forcibly moving people out of the way. “Republic business,”
she said once, “I am commandeering this elevator,” was the next thing she said
as she shoved a few businessmen out of the glass box. With one sly smirk, the
elevator doors slowly closed in front of them and she spoke again: “We of the
Trans-Pacific Republic do whatever we can to ensure your safety, ladies and
gentlemen.” Her falsely cheerful disposition was quickly erased as the doors
closed and with another scan of her ID and an inputting of the desired level
she wished for them to go to, the elevator smoothly rose through the building.
“I’ll explain something now, Stephan, now that we’re not being watched.” From
her ear she removed a small device no larger than a pea and rolled it around in
her hand as she thought to herself. “My name is Sonya Volkov, as you may have
heard me say before. I and a… friend are from Russia, we were drafted into the
Republic’s army.” Stephan watched her, suspicious as to why she would tell him
this, and moreover skeptical as to whether it was the truth and not simply
another cruel test. “I hate this Republic, Stephan, and most of all I hate
Doran Laevan. He tore me away from the one person I care about in this world,
because he rammed through that law to allow drafting. Then to add insult to
injury, that person was drafted too.” She smirked bitterly, “The Republic has
to be destroyed, completely and utterly. Before more Subjects die, before even
more people are imprisoned.”
Stephan simply stood there silently; shocked to hear such
from the woman he had assumed to be a perfectly loyal soldier. “I came to
Neo-Palmyra to study, you know.” He spoke after a long silence, and Sonya’s
grey gaze focused on him, “I wanted so badly to escape my home. I love my
parents, don’t misunderstand, but they… they could only love my sister and I.”
He could feel the emotion rising in his voice at the pain of the reality of his
parents. “They loved us and no one else. We would pass starving children,
Subjects most of the time, on the streets when we’d get food from one of the
public grocers owned by the government, and these kids would ask us for
anything; food, money, water… And my parents would ignore them.” Looking
forward, he shook his head, dismissing their opinions utterly: “They’d say
things like ‘they’re homeless because they’re lazy,’ or ‘they just want money
for drugs.’ Maybe they were right, maybe some did want the money for drugs, but
just because they were addicted doesn’t mean we should help them get better!” His
voice grew louder, and Sonya pressed a few buttons on the elevator’s interface
pad, halting it mid ascent. “When I was a boy, I met this Subject boy on my way
to the public grocer. He was so skinny, so sickly… I felt so bad for him, and I
begged my parents to help him, I said I’d give him my allowance for the next
month, but they wouldn’t let me.” Stephan’s throat grew dry, for he found he
was unaccustomed to speaking for so long. “So when they weren’t looking, I’d
sneak off and give him money, or food, or whatever I could get to him.”
Looking to Sonya, her grey eyes were wide with surprise, and
a deep seeded pain had evidently been brought to the surface, for the stormy
orbs were filled with mixed emotions, barely contained. “He never asked for
more food or money, he just asked that…” Stephan could feel tears at the
corners of his mind, finding the memory to be incredibly raw, “He asked that I
keep him company, because his adoptive family brought him to the grocer and
left him there… He was lonely and wanted company.” Wiping at his eyes with a
filthy sleeve, the young Greek took in a steadying breath. “He was my first
real friend. I’d bring him bread, or a cup of soup, or money. Anything I could,
really, just so we could play together. He nodded to himself, mentally
affirming the fond memory, “We’d play tag in the public housing buildings,
since they were almost empty by that time. Other times we’d just sit there and
share stories from our lives. He always told me how he wished he could meet my
sister, and I promised him that someday he could come live with us, that I’d
convince my parents and he could be part of our family.” Tears had begun to
fall from his eyes once more and he gripped the curved metal railing behind
himself tightly. “One day, when my family and I were going to get more food, I
saw him walking down the other side of the street, and I waved to him. He waved
back, but then my father saw.” Stephan shook his head again, trying to rebuke
the unpleasant memory. “My father loves me, I know that, but he… He made sure I
never saw that boy again, because it was wrong for me to make friends with a bum. We went do a different government
grocer after that. A few weeks after, I went down to the street where I always
found him, but he wasn’t there… I asked around with the other abandoned kids,
young and old, trying to find where my friend had gone.” Sonya silently noted
the haunted looking gaze in Stephan’s eyes, dreading the reality she knew he
would dispense. “He had died of starvation… I was the only thing keeping him
alive and he died because I was too cowardly to stand up to my parents!”
Stephan shouted, anguished.
He slammed his fist against the railing and trembled,
forcing himself not to break into wracking sobs. “I never even learned his
name, but we were best friends and I let him die!” His voice broke in his
misery and he hid his eyes under his hand, shaking weakly as the memory took
its dire toll. For a long moment, he simply stood there, before finally
standing upright once more. “I love my parents,” he repeated once more, “But I
couldn’t forgive them for forcing me to let him die. So when I was offered a
place at the Palmyra University, I jumped at the opportunity. It was there that
I met Roe Speremus, a Class Nine Subject.” Seeing the confusion in Sonya’s
face, he elaborated: “He was a borderline Nobody, soulless, as they call them
now. He had this cold look in his eye, and never smiled. He just… existed for
the sake of existing. I decided that, even if no one else did, I would welcome
him: I would be his friend and I would not fail him like I did with my first
friend.” The Russian redhead nodded once, and he continued: “Roe and I were
thrown into a world of rebellion against Laevan, situated in NELO by his Mother, Natalie Bellerose.” Seeing her eyes
widen slightly at the mention of the infamous woman, Stephan’s gaze narrowed.
“I don’t know what lies he’s telling, but Laevan is wrong. Doctor Bellerose is
an amazing woman: she loves her children with all her heart! She is not a monster.” Merely nodding, Sonya
kept silent and reinitiated the elevator’s ascent with a passive tap of the
finger. “I can’t change the world like Roe can: I’m not incredibly smart or
strong, but there is something I want and I’ll fight for it with all my heart.”
Cocking her head ever so slightly, the Russian woman inquired what. Stephan
offered her a small, but sincere smile, “I want to live in a world where no
more children grow up unloved and alone: where no one has to hurt like Roe or
my friend have, where no one loses loved ones like Vadim has, or is made into a
puppet out of guilt, like Logan has.”
The two fell silent as the elevator continued to rise higher
and higher, and she predicted that they would arrive at their destination
shortly. “When I was a little girl, my parents were very similar,” she received
a surprised look from her filthy counterpart, and continued her thought,
suddenly wishing to reciprocate his honest with her own. “They loved me, they
showered me with everything they could afford. It wasn’t much, but we were
happy. Murmansk is a poverty stricken cess pool, but we were happy with our
leaky house and simple foods.” Casting her gaze at the metal doors before her,
she sighed. “Then my brother Ivan was born. Suddenly, my parents went from
loving me to ignoring me, and worse yet, they couldn’t seem to care less about
their newest child. Ivan would cry for hours in his crib and they would ignore
him. It was up to me to change his diapers – I was six and I was changing a
baby’s diaper.” She spoke bitterly, drumming her fingers roughly against the
railing. “They didn’t love him and they made is clear every day. Maybe it was
because their parents were Barren survivors and they passed down inferior
genes, but that’s no excuse for not loving your own children!” She slammed her
fist against the glass wall next to her angrily. “One time, when I was about
eighteen or so, I found him, sitting against the kitchen cupboards all alone.
He had his knees drawn up to his chest and was crying. I asked him why he was
crying, and he said…” She trailed off, silence falling over the two, “He said:
‘If my own parents don’t love me, how could anyone else?’ I was speechless…
Maybe it was because of how he said, it, maybe due to how sad he looked on the
floor there, but I told him that they didn’t matter, and that I loved him no
matter what.”
Stephan nodded, his sea-green eyes bright as she told her
story. Sonya herself refused to shed tears, finding herself too weak to even
express emotion over such painful things, but nevertheless she could hear it in
her own voice and cleared her throat as the elevator slowed to a stop and the
doors parted, revealing a grey carpeted hallway. Blanched, white walls stood
high on either side and countless doors could be found on either side. “Come
with me, Stephan,” Sonya said sternly, slipping her earpiece back into her ear
and motioning to a small black sphere on the roof, which the latter male
understood to be a camera. The two stepped out of the elevator and started down
the hall, and followed it down to where it was bisected by another hall. Taking
a left at the intersection, the two continued further before finally pausing at
what Stephan suspected to be one of the rooms on the edge of the massive
building. Sonya let out a slow breath before she unlocked the door with the
sequence of ID card scan, thumbprint analysis and retina identification, the
door buzzed, however did not open immediately like the others. “You won’t be
staying here, but, I think you deserve this opportunity, Stephan.” She whispered
to him. The young man looked to her similarly aged counterpart quizzically,
raising a brow, though she merely motioned to the door.
Skeptical, he placed his hand on the narrow piece of cold
metal and turned it downward, turning the door. “What’s inside?” He questioned
her, however she merely stood there and waited for him to find out. “I guess
I’ll find out,” he said, somewhat worried, and pushed the door open. Directly
to his right was an imposing figure garbed in a military uniform akin to
Sonya’s, and upon seeing Stephan the man went for the gun on his hip, however
he was stopped by the grey eyed Russian who pulled him out of the room and shut
the door firmly behind her. Turning his gaze back into the room, Stephan’s eyes
went wide with shock. Garbed in a pair of white slacks, black boots, a white
dress shirt which buttoned off to the side, was a blond man looking to be no
older than twenty or so. The most remarkable feature about the seated
individual, however, was his eyes. Like a clear and frozen lake, cold azure
orbs, equally shocked, stared back at Stephan, and the man slowly rose to his
feet. Stephan initially believed his mind had finally failed him and he had
succumbed to madness, but the seeming apparition did not disappear, and he
stumbled forward, his voice barely a whisper: “Roe…”
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