Subjectivity: Chapter Four

There was no doubt in his mind that there was something amiss Stephan mused. “I don’t understand, Stephan. I find him so weird… Maybe I wasn’t listening in high school, but why did he only get released by NELO now?” Emiliyia shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she glanced from Stephan to the television before them. Upon its screen was once more the proclamation by the President of the Union, William Ehrhardt. Though quieted so the two could hear one another, the proclamation was being annotated. The day had come to a close and the two sat on one of the sofas within the lounge room for their dormitory, favourably housing only the two so that Emiliyia could ask her questions without worry for condemnation by her fellow peers. Though their circle of friends had largely made an unspoken verbal contract to not shun Subjects, many more on their own floor shunned them for such liberal behaviour. The L-shaped room, with its interior walls an unbroken plate of glass exposed the quiet hum of activity outside; students returned from night classes to their dormitories, others walked with bags of snacks and fast food, while some carried portable containers of dinner, seeking the quiet solitude of their dormitories to eat. Such a time was almost surreal to Stephan who found the peaceful comings and goings of his fellow students a calming constant in a world of such warring ideals and influences.

Casting his aquamarine gaze to the solitary large screen on the wall, he followed the annotations as he thought of how to answer Emiliyia’s question without coming off as childish or needlessly idealistic. A reporter could be seen standing before the Pacific Union Senate building where various Senators and their compatriots filed out only to be harangued and badgered by the news media. “…Foreign Correspondent Jim Alexanders at the Union’s headquarters,” the newswoman spoke calmly before the screen changed to a young looking black haired man standing, along with many other news people, before the Offices of the Pacific Union. The man began to speak; “Proponents of President Ehrhardt have been seen calling his actions regarding the approval of full human rights for Subjects ‘the greatest act of social justice since equal marriage laws for homosexuals’ and ‘an act of both kindness and justice that we have come to expect from the President.’ However, opponents of the President have been noted saying that ‘Ehrhardt is giving life to the inanimate’ and ‘The Awakening will make us all suffer for his actions.’ The Awakening has yet to release any official statement on the matter, however.” The commentator continued to talk, though Stephan had stopped listening, as he had decided on an appropriate answer for his newly made confidant. He was unsure when and how it happened, but both Emiliyia and her elder brother Borislav had a greatly comforting feeling to their persons; they could be confided in and Stephan admired it immensely. In that era the ability to keep a secret regarding a Subject was a fragile thing, as many saw the proliferation of such knowledge to the TPW and thus to The Awakening as a death sentence.

“Well, what I learned is that some Subjects are never adopted because of bad luck most of the time; no one ever comes to adopt them. And as they get older, they get less and less desirable for adoption. In Roe’s case, he’s… he’s unique in a way that, I guess, anyone who came to NELO to adopt a kid were unnerved either by his brilliance and reserved nature.” Stephan chuckled just a little, shaking his head, a faint smile coming to bear, “I think it’s those things that make him who he is. He has… He has this inner strength, you know? Even for all the hate people bear him, he doesn’t even remotely seemed bothered by it. Like it doesn’t even register on his radar.” Stephan leaned back in his seat, giving a light shrug to the red haired young woman next to him, who only gave a wistful sigh. Emiliyia was Roe’s friend, a fact Stephan was incredibly sure of, but he knew that, like so many others and indeed himself to an extent, Roe intimidated them with his enigmatic personality and silent genius that had become so infamous in his classes. Many of his classmates and professors expected that he was cheating, or that NELO had somehow bred a superior human capable of greater thinking than them. Stephan knew better; NELO couldn’t make superior people; they could make genes, but they could not change them beyond superficial details such as ethnicity, potential for height and the like. The brain remained too complex to safely alter. Emiliyia, however, had become lost in thought as she watched the news play out before her which seemed to so casually mention the ‘growing unease’ toward Subjects by nations such as China and America whose economies have been most heavily affected by the uncertainty caused by the worry of companies supporting Subjects being targeted by terrorist organisations such as The Awakening.

Emiliya rolled her eyes, though conceded to his point; “You’ve got a point, Steph. I’ve met a few Subjects and they’ve all seemed like nice people. But so many others – regular people, hate them so. Many are afraid that, if we as normal people accept the Subjects, we’ll be killed by The Awakening... Worse yet, governments afraid of getting axed do the same. And here we are, people protesting Subjects’ rights.” The fair skinned young woman sighed, shaking her head, “It’s a vicious cycle.” Stephan remained silent though nodded in agreement.

Injustice toward Subjects had begun to skyrocket with the recent lack of confidence in the transnational government and such seemed to further drive Subject intolerance. Stephan had studied a similar effect during the interwar period in Germany wherein, after the Jewish population was implicated as the primary reason for their loss in the First World War, both policies and people became less and less tolerant of them. However the young Greek remained optimistic that history would not repeat itself; the Subjects would be accepted soon enough, what with a soon-to-be-revealed bill declaring the legal rights of the Subjects. It was simply impossible to indoctrinate people with lies in the current era; with the advent of communications technologies it was easy and relatively effortless to debunk falsified propaganda. Though, much to his worry, Stephan knew all too well that there were no lies regarding The Awakening; they had claimed responsibility for many assassinations of Subject sympathising public figures. From businessmen to politicians to activists, none were free from, what The Awakening called, ‘God’s wrath.’

*~*

William held his forehead in the palms of his head. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Night had long since fell and the new day was upon him, but he could not bring himself to return home to face the worried face of his wife, kids and grandkids. Worse yet, of the twelve member nations, five were threatening to leave the union over the issue of Subject rights. Ehrhardt failed to understand why everyone thought it was such a big deal for subjects to have human rights. William couldn’t comprehend it. Subjects were humans, albeit grown in a different manner, they were still humans. The reasoning for their nigh irrational opposition of his declaration seemed to carry ulterior motives and the aged president began to steel himself to pursue it. More than anything, he was worried for his family’s safety; The Awakening had threatened to kill one of his presidential predecessors, President Ross Calligan, twenty years ago for marrying a Subject and when the man was taken into a bunker, while travelling to said bunker, his Subject wife was kidnapped and later found dead on his desk in his office. Shortly thereafter, his vice president became president after Calligan resigned. Moreover, President Calligan was found dead in his Australian home a week later with two bullet holes in his forehead. The incident had rocked Australia and the Union as a whole, to which the President launched a manhunt for The Awakening but was only able to capture one man who shortly thereafter killed himself with a cyanide capsule disguised in a fake tooth. Though most curious about the captured man who was believed to be a part of The Awakening was a tattoo he had borne on his left shoulder; a cross and sickle crossed to make an ‘x.’

Though a thought occurred to the beleaguered president, for it was Doran who spoke it so truly to William, years ago, “money is the root of all evil.” William smirked to himself, how right his old friend was. So many conspiracies in the world’s history had been traced via the movement of financial assets. Were that was indeed the case, he might just be able to find out the root of this anti-subject movement. The elder man knew such an undertaking would require more than his own workings, especially with his busy daily schedule, and so the man committed to asking for aid from his most stalwart of allies in the Pacific Union; Representative Doran Laevan. Laevan had been a staunch supporter of the amalgamation under one currency; the Pacific Mark or more commonly known as the Mark; a throwback to the Deutsche Mark of Germany, as the sitting president at the time, Rudolph Herst, was of Germany heritage.  William Ehrhardt, president of the Pacific Union, lifted his weary head and shook the mouse of his computer. He loaded up the Union Economic Database, the one system in the union’s electronic files that would surely aid him in finding the truth.

William sat before his computer screen, eyes speedily scanning page after page for something that seemed to relate these five angered nations with some central source. Hours passed and night began to turn to day as the sun peaked over the endless pacific that rounded the horizon outside his office. However Ehrhardt ignored the lengthy hours as he toiled away, following the scrupulous paper that appeared to have landings in all Union nations and indeed around the world. The Awakening had been incredibly extensive in the movement of illegally acquired weapons and the like to keep such hidden and so complex that it was inaccessible to find one central nexus of weaponry and personnel at any point. However, one specific movement of money entirely unrelated to The Awakening’s movements. “The Laevan Foundation gives a six hundred billion Mark gift to each of the five nations’ governments now disagreeing representatives in 2072…” William’s eyes widened. The Laevan Foundation had not only created the DNARP but also created NELO and lobbied to allow the New Evolutionary Leap Organisation to join the Pacific Union as a crown corporation; partly owned by both government and private business.  They made their fortune off of the artificially born human market and moreover owned a nearly competitor-less monopoly on the business. Recalling the wisdom of Doran regarding money, Ehrhardt picked up the slim handset of the primary line out of his office and dialed the office of the American Representative, Doran. The phone rang uninterrupted for a long time, William’s brow furrowing deeper and deeper with each successive ring. However, as it appeared Doran was not there, the phone was picked up, Doran’s deep, calm voice sounding.

“Yes, President? Apologies for the long ring, I just got into my office. Gods, it must be no earlier than five where you are. Moreover, you rarely call this number, I take it something amiss?” Doran’s voice was entirely calm and Ehrhardt contemplated on not including the faithful friend in his investigation; the American Representative had a great deal to do on his own due to the rising opposition to the Pacific Union and the gradually rising importance of an unelected official; the representative of a nation in the Union. Many around the Pacific Union’s member nations were demanding that representatives become directly elected by the people, however such was a constitutional grey area and the Supreme Court of the Pacific Union had yet to make a ruling on such. Ehrhardt took little qualm with such, though only worried that such legitimate concerns were being used to hide a more sinister agenda. “… President? Are you still there? Or did you finally fall asleep?” Laevan jested lightly, a slight chuckle being heard on the other side of the line.

William let out a breath he did not know he was holding. Just as much as he did not want to trouble Laevan, he knew that the man had to know, his family’s foundation was directly implicated in bribing the leaders of the five rebelling nations to potentially rebel. President Ehrhardt was almost completely sure that Doran was ignorant to such unscrupulous goings on, but knew that he had a greater influence in the reclusive Laevan Foundation which had all but disappeared from the public’s eye since the DNARP and NELO, merely sitting around collecting money through their investments. “Doran, I think I know who had a hand in the five nations trying to leave the Union; each nation was given a huge bursary of cash two years ago. This cannot be a coincidence, I am quite sure that this organisation is at the epicentre of the recent political upheaval.” Ehrhardt paused, contemplating merely not telling Doran what group he spoke of, but knew the man well enough to know he would wish to know. “Going by the data in the Economic Database, it appears that the Laevan Foundation gave six-hundred billion Marks to each government now trying to secede.” Silence spanned roughly a minute and the exhausted president grew concerned that he had offended his political friend and consequently left him all alone in the fight to save the Union.

However the president’s fears were abated as Doran spoke in a tentative voice; “I… I heard you, William. It’s just… It’s a big assumption to make. For god’s sake, the foundation made NELO and the DNARP. I’m not on the board of trustees, but for them to support an anti-Subject movement makes no sense. It would hurt the profit margins terribly. It’s fiscal suicide.” Doran’s voice trailed off as the man wrapped his mind around the revelation just given to him. “But… I do believe you, yes. Tell you what. I have a few Senators who want to meet with me at the top of the hour, but after they and I are done, I’ll come down to California and we can speak face to face about all of this. The Senate is in an uproar over all this Subject nonsense has caused for the economy.” The man fell silent once more.

President Ehrhardt felt himself become renewed with hope. “Right. We’ll talk soon. Thank you, Doran. You’re a true friend, the last one I’ve got.” William spoke with sad mirth in his voice. Representative Laevan, with a courteous goodbye, hung up and left Ehrhardt to his musings. The old president was quite sure that the bombshell he had dropped shook his esteemed friend greatly and that he would be making numerous calls to his family to figure out the truth of the matter. “Perhaps he’ll discover something… I can’t have the Laevan Foundation thrown into chaos, that’ll just make people hate Subjects even more…” His saddened gaze drifted to a picture of his wife; Elsa Ehrhardt whose hair shone brilliant silver streaked blond. The woman carried a healthy figure and wore a pair of navy blue slacks and a breezy white blouse and stood before a large vegetable bed, a happy smile on her face. William placed two fingers on the side of the picture, “Oh Elsa…” He chuckled a little, a small smile forming on his lips.

~*~

Polyarny’s only secondary school was one that was less comprised with all flocks of life, both willing and unwilling to attend, as one might expect in the establishment, but instead held only the well to do and especially studious children within its walls. Sonya knew that neither of these categories accurately fit Ivan, for he was neither a hard worker and certainly not affluent, but she insisted that he attend school. It was good for a young person to hone their mind while it was still flexible and retained new information more easily. The younger Volkov sibling resisted waking every school morning, but through her persistence, mostly through the form of flipping his mattress, she was able to force him to wake and get ready. As he showered and readied himself in the washroom, the auburn haired woman waited in the living room, a leg slung over the side of one of the worn, once plush beige armchairs. The one next to her own was occupied by her father, who held in his hand a cracked tablet, from which he read the headlines. They had not spoken whatsoever, and such seemed to suit them fine.

However the de jure patriarch of the household was evidently displeased with the silence, and gave the indication he had something to say as he cleared his throat. His daughter’s grey gaze was cast to the man’s identical eyes, though he remained focused on his reading. With a hand swept in the air over his electronic slab, the page flipped and after a pause he spoke: “You’re almost twenty-two. Are you going to be moving out anytime soon?” His question, though hurtful to another, founds it negative connotations totally bypassed by Sonya who merely shrugged as she gave it some thought. She had given much thought to leaving her parents’ abode, but only one thing, or rather one person, stood in her way: Ivan. She could not leave the teenager who was so completely unloved by his parents with them. It would have to be at gunpoint that she did so, and that was an extremely unlikely situation at best. “Your mother and I are thinking of abandoning this shack and moving into one of those apartments in Moscow or Saint Petersburg. Without kids we could probably afford it,” his words were strangely bereft of open malice as one might find in his wife, but he carefully wove in subtle and overt insults into everything he said, tactlessly reminding his children of who kept them safe from the extreme elements that ravaged the northern Russian coast.

Sonya nodded thoughtfully, entirely calm as she returned her bored gaze to the opposite wall where she found sections of falling wallpaper revealing grey, waterlogged drywall under the ugly green covering. Drumming her fingers on the arm of the chair, she spoke: “I’m going to move out as soon as I can get a job in one of the cities,” she explained disinterestedly, “And when I do, Ivan will come with me.” Her father nodded, giving the notion little interest, and so an irrational part of her being decided she needed further justification for doing such, regardless of his blatant apathy, “It’ll do him well to go to a real school, maybe college or something afterward.” Once more receiving a small nod, she looked over her seat, calming at the sight of the door to the washroom being slightly ajar. Silence fell over the room as she faced forward again, patiently waiting for her brother to finish up. Though her father was incredibly rude and rather hurtful in his passive aggressive aggrieving nature, he was much better company than her mother, who would actively seek out fights and push every emotional and mental button she found.

Hurried footfalls sounded behind her in the short hallway that led to the bedrooms and washroom, and Sonya stood expectantly. Stepping around her chair, she saw her brother pulling his worn toggle jacket, a hand-me-down from their father in his youth, and pocket his tablet. “Let’s go,” he instructed, eager to leave the oppressive household. She donned her own outwear as he unlocked the entrance and with a noticeable grunt, forced open the sagging storm door, which resisted his efforts until it gave way and scraped against the skirt of the door loudly. Stepping into the crisp autumn morning, the elder sibling noted her breath being visible before her and frowned; soon it would be too cold to hunt and that meant that any extra income she provided would have to come from somewhere else. Too many fellow big game hunters had died after being caught in one of the frequent arctic blizzards. Due to the reckless use of fossil fuels and other environmentally damaging agents over the course of a few centuries, the polar vortices had been thrown completely out of balance and sent horrifically cold storms into otherwise comparatively temperate areas, such as the northern coast of Russia. The unpredictable weather was one of the many reasons why she refused to allow her brother to accompany her when she hunted, fearing that the unpredictable weather might separate them.

Ivan had already begun walking down their driveway when they heard a familiar and undesired voice from the opened garage: “Look at this mess,” a middle aged woman spoke as she huffed irritably, “This’ll take all day to clean up!” Failing her better judgement, Sonya turned around to find her mother standing next to their meat freezers where a smattering of blood had been left on the butchering table and across the door of the hold. In truth it was not a terrible mess, and she had intended to clean it, but assuring her brother went to school was of paramount importance. Their mother had once had auburn hair exactly like her daughter, but it had long since gone dull and greyed, leaving a tired, old woman in the stead of a loving mother than Sonya could barely recall. “Oh, I see,” she drawled, her tonality a terse one, “Making sure the boy goes to school instead of doing your family duty? Some moral code you have – I thought we raised you better.” The comment was meant to provoke the younger woman into a shouting match, a provocation that often failed, and instead was met with the same emotionless stare she gave everyone.

Turning back, the stormy eyed woman ushered her brother forward, eager to not fall to the other’s confrontation. As they began their journey down the cracked sidewalk, Sonya could not help but give at least one comment to the woman she so abhorred: “Family duty, you say?” She called out, amused, “I never knew a heartless bitch could know the word ‘family,’ let alone know anything about what it meant to be in one.” With a cold, mirthless laugh, she ignored the shouting that painted her as an ingrate and a disappointment from her mother and continued down the path toward the centre of town. Ivan did not comment, for though their mother did not like his sister, she abhorred him for his very existence; a fact that regularly confused many. The two of them continued in silence toward their distant destination, content to merely be free of the house that they both hated. After a few blocks, it was Sonya who broke the silence: “When father asks me to get more supplies from Murmansk,” she began, and quickly received her counterpart’s undivided attention, “You’ll come with me, and we’ll never come back here.” The words hung ominously in the air for a long moment, however quickly faded as the other spoke.

The answer he gave was a short one, but meaningful regardless: “Good,” Ivan spoke, a small smile playing on his lips. Around them were the desolate, empty factories that were once the heart of a military industrial complex in Polyarny, where ammo, grenades, and all manner of weapons were constructed. It had given the town a purpose and a sense of belonging to the distant capital and large cities, but ever since the amalgamation of the Pacific Union, those industries had been centralised in China and all national army suppliers moved their factories there. Even though they had employed only a few people per factory, with the numerous nature of the buildings, the town had overall turned a profit. “I wonder what it was like to work in the factories,” the blond teenager spoke suddenly, giving a wistful sigh as he looked from decrepit building to decrepit building, “To have a regular nine to five job… it must be weird.” She shrugged lightly, not having given it any thought, though that only seemed to amuse the younger brother, “You’re so boring,” he chuckled heartily, “It’s amazing that you-“ the youth abruptly silenced himself as a figure emerged from one of the abandoned warehouses they passed by. In the morning sunlight their face was obscured, though by their unsteady gait Sonya presumed them to be either drunk or incredibly hung over.

The man stumbled toward them, and a haggard, gaunt face came into sight. Heavy bags hung from pale green eyes that looked from the blond teenager to Sonya, and a devious smirk came to life on his face as he approached her. “What a real pretty girl you are,” He slurred as he ran a hand over his greasy, unkempt hair. Stopping in front of them, he blocked the narrow sidewalk with an arm pressed against the sagging wall of the warehouse next to them. Slowly leaning forward, he breathed in her scent noisily, “Real pretty… Smell good, too.” Ivan let out a low snarl, and only received an amused chuckle from the newcomer. His sister, however, remained entirely calm as she observed the man who moved ever closer to her, but to the trained observer, through her stiff back, clenched fist and slightly furrowed brows, she was anything but calm. Fury was coursing through her, and was irrevocably compelled by disgust and revulsion from the man who had dared to try to court her. “So toots, how much will it be?” His green deepened as he looked her up and down, “I’ll pay as much as you want… No one’s got a body like that in this shit town.”

Moving to step forward, Ivan was stopped by Sonya, who, as the man went to place a hand on her behind, gripped the offending limb by the wrist and spun it backward before, with a sickening pop, dislocated his shoulder. The man cried out in pain, swearing profusely: “You bitch! I’ll fucking kill you for that!” His words came out hoarsely as he extended a switchblade with a metallic click and brandished it before him. Rushing the woman he had propositioned, she stepped backward and the haggard-looking man swiped the blade through air. Frustrated, he repositioned the knife into his fist and lunged at her, though it was Ivan who swept a foot low to the ground and caught his foe at the ankle, tripping the man. Sonya capitalised on the situation and delivered a fist into his throat, sounding another crunch of bone. Forced back, she sent him toward her younger brother, begrudgingly allowing him to help, where he slung his arm around the man’s neck, and forced him to his knees, pinning him by the throat from behind. “I’ll kill you both!” The man choked out as he thrashed against the teenager who held him.  

“No, you won’t,” She said coolly before disarming the drunkard. Placing the knife under her shoe, she snapped the blade off and tossed it a distance away. “Ivan, if you would,” she said politely, to which her younger brother nodded, a smirk on his face. Returning her attention to the man who still fought against the pin he was still in, she let forth a tut of disdain: “A word to the wise, you idiot: never threaten my brother or myself. Least of all, never touch me…” With that, Ivan struck the man across the back of the head with his fist, and the man slumped forward onto the sidewalk, unconscious. “Alright, you go on ahead to school, and if I find out you skipped…!” She trailed off, motioning to the body that lay before them. He chuckled lately, and went to speak, though she cut him off, “No sass, just get going!” She pushed him forward by the shoulders, toward the dilapidated school that still remained beyond sight.

“Alright, alright!” Ivan rolled his eyes, stepping around the unconscious body of the man he had helped fell. Continuing down the narrow, cracked sidewalk, he left Sonya standing before the man’s body alone. Narrowing her gaze on the body, she kicked the man in the stomach, causing him to groan, though still remained knocked out. Turning to follow a perpendicular street, she crossed the deserted road and let her mind wander. ‘What it must be like to live in one of the cities,’ she mused thoughtfully, eyeing the rundown town around her, ‘Artificially made people, technology everywhere… It must be a kind of heaven.’ Looking back in the direction of her brother’s school, she steeled her mind, ‘If I have to, I’ll destroy this whole damned world to make sure you never have to live like this again, Ivan.’ With that resolution, she continued on her way to the bazaar.  

~*~

The fall air nipped at Roe’s extremities and his face had grown cold, though the blond ignored it for such minor things were hardly of concern. All that mattered right now was simply walking by unnoticed. His shoes crunching on fallen leaves loudly as he walked with the utmost casual pace her could manage. He felt his blond raised hair bob up and down with each stride he took, the thrum of chanting and shouting becoming ever louder. The protestors had set up outside his dorm complex today, and as they had done before, were questioning everyone who was passing through. Roe wasn’t ashamed of what he was; being a subject seemed no different than being exceeding tall or short to Roe. It was arbitrary and studies had shown that there was next to no difference between subjects and regular born people on most every level. However Roe was worried that were the TPW and their affiliate organisations on campus to learn of his Subject status, they might see him with the others and abuse them for associating with him or worse yet, he might find them dead at the hands of The Awakening. Subjects and Normals were identical in all but one aspect: acceptance. Roe kept his collar flipped up, his waist length double breasted nylon coat keeping him warm with autumn’s onset. To most of the world, the fall of Neo-Palmyra was warmer than their summers, but, ever conditioned to the climate of the equatorial island, Roe found the weather to be growing less than friendly. His collar scratched against his jaw, though he ignored it. The smartest thing to do would be to look as little like himself as possible.

Few knew he was a Subject, but those who did would easily give the information up to save themselves. Even the ever great-hearted Stephan was suspect for such; a few Subjects had declared him a ‘friend’ during his years at NELO, though such had quickly not become the case when he was to be taken away for recycling on the grounds of being a Nobody. Roe rounded the corner of the block, the brick buildings casting long shadows down the street. A group of circling students was before him in the distance, though they remained ignorant of his presence, continuing to shout their hate-filled slogans. Even at this distance, Roe could hear them. “Hey, ho, subjects got to go!” Was the first that assaulted Roe’s ears. Following it was “life begins at love, not with science!” Roe rolled his eyes at this one, he found it exceedingly silly and cliché. After this point, however, he had reached notable distance to the outlying protestors, who quickly rushed in, pins with the prohibition red circle over test-tubes with tiny cartoon babies inside them, some with a broken valentine’s heart, with either half of the words comprising New Evolutionary Organisation written on either side. The first to come to him quickly began their rhetoric.

“Hello, brother!” A tall brunet spoke from his left. Roe looked to the young man for a moment, though simply stopped in his tracks as they circled him. The tall brunet took this as an advantage to continue, “Are you here to support our protest? You can even sign our demand pledge we’ll be sending to the university president to get rid of Subjects once and for all! Nobody’s enforcing the dining hall movement, so we need to be more proactive!” The brunet pushed a clipboard before Roe, signatures dotting countless lines, and a thick wad of pages already pulled back. “Can we count on your signature, friend?” Roe felt a curious emotion at such a point; pity. He found, much to his own surprise, he pitied the young man before him. Hate had twisted him against his fellow man and yet he presented it with a grand smile and great words to embolden him. But there was something intrinsically off with the brunet’s gaze. It was as though that he did not view Roe as a stranger but a piece of meat to a panther; greedily eyeing him as though he would pounce if not provided with a satisfying answer. Roe swore inwardly at himself, silently cursing his inability to lie convincingly as he failed to concoct a reasonable excuse as to why he could not sign the petition. The reserved Subject broke eye contact for a moment and upon such a time the man took a step forward. “Well? Or do you support the Subjects?” He said in an eerily precise tone, every word calculated and practiced. Upon his words a few other protestors turned to face Roe.

However, a few other protestors before him stepped back and a figure emerged from the crowd before Roe. His hair was fiery red and spiked upward and the man wore a grey hoodie with black jeans. He slung his arm around the brunet’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about this one, man. He’s just a little down, girlfriend dumped him, is all. No biggie, eh?” Roe cringed at being touched like so, but he quickly found something familiar about the man’s voice and allowed it, also realising that the stranger was saving him from putting his new friends in danger. Though Roe’s eyes opened wide for a moment at that thought as his mask of expressionless apathy broke for but a moment; he had considered the others friends. He could not allow such a trespassing of illogic to breach his mind. Just like those at NELO, these new people would surely betray him when the novelty of knowing him wore thin. Without even paying full attention, Roe was on the move, practically shoved through the crowd of protestors as the stranger that accompanied him spoke animatedly to those gathered.

The brunet who had just been poised to likely perform a citizen’s arrest for a concocted reason nodded quickly to the strange red headed man, “R-right. Sorry to hear about your girlfriend, friend. When you’re feeling better, come sign?” Roe looked over, forcing a smile to his lips, though it not only felt horridly fake, but turned into little more than a smirk and he nodded afterward, returning to his emotionless mask and feeling almost dirty for so forcefully faking the expression, as though he had mocked more expressive individuals. Roe looked to the figure who had, as he had opened the door to the dormitory the blond Subject stayed in, thankfully removed his arm from his shoulders and Roe took the opportunity to thank the man who had so annoyingly accosted him previously. The tall redhead seemed so very familiar… he couldn’t place a name to the face, though. This strangely familiar person followed Roe into the building as he swiped a keycard, entering the comparative silence of the foyer of the dormitory primary lobby as opposed to the  ruckus of the mob outside. The two made their way out of sight of the glass encased lobby and toward one of the halls of dormitories, and it was then that Roe demanded answers.

Roe turned to face the peculiar individual and spoke in a hushed tone; “Why did you help me? I do not know you, what is it you wish of me?” The Subject’s voice was entirely calm, though he was growing impatient with all the protestors trying to deny him existence, the most fundamental right of all humans, and had no lenience for errant figures intervening in his business. Though his questions only seemed to amuse the errant newcomer as a devious smirk grew on his lips. The stranger looked to be a few inches taller than Roe and seemed to delight in the fact, using his lanky height to look down on Roe as though he were just an irritated child. However such treatments were not unknown to the Subject, who had grown up with Keepers looking down at him. After a moment of appearing to saviour the moment of seeing Roe without a reason for a situation as though it was not new to the man, he hummed a hawed for a long moment. Roe’s patience began to wear thin; he had no time for a random interloper and this one in particular had grated on his person with his tactile acts. 

“Well I’d be a really shitty friend if I let those psychos bag and tag your dumb ass, Roe!” The person grinned, slinging his arm around Roe’s shoulders once more, though this time, Roe quickly removed himself from the grasp and faced the man. Eyeing the pale face of the stranger he did quite quickly realise that the man before him was no stranger, but who he was remained a mystery. It was as though Roe had looked at a distorted image of an acquaintance from a long time passed. Considering the vast majority of his life was spent in at the NELO Compound, it was quite likely that, had he known the man before him in the past, it was from there. It was then that Roe realised who the man before him was. Though he remained silent, deciding that, as opposed to exposing what he believed to be fact and possibly being wrong, the irritated Subject allowed the man before him to affirm or deny his theory.

“You idiot, you don’t remember me?! I’m a little offended. It’s me, Logan Hayes! From NELO? You’re a Subject, just like me. But to think they actually let you into the world, man, Mom’s got some pull! Hoo boy.” The young man named Logan exclaimed. Roe’s mind raced to his past, faces, people, names, and characteristics of people, all of it. He could vaguely recall a taller boy, but was this him? And even if it was, why should he trust him? This Logan person was very well acquainted with the anti-Subject movement. Maybe he was trying to sell out his own kind- ‘no’, Roe thought to himself sternly. Subjects are not a different race, or ethnicity. They were exactly the same as everyone else. Logan had always been erratic and after being put into solitary confinement time and time again, it would not surprise Roe to learn that Logan had decided to damn NELO to destruction for their transgressions. As Roe’s mind whirred contently, Logan continued talking, though Roe had stopped listening some time ago. The blond absent mindedly continued to reminisce, his memories slowly falling together.

Roe sat before a glass screen about as tall and as wide as he was. Shapes of varying colours were appearing before him, in all different places. At first, the game was very simple. About four shapes would show up on the surface, and the purpose was to touch the matching shapes with the same colours as quickly as possible. It always began simply. There was one pair, a pair of orange squares. Simple enough, Roe idly tapped them, the screen blinking in acknowledgement of his success. The game continued, and the second level brought ten shapes. Two sets of matching shapes were there this time; green triangles and yellow circles. He tapped them idly, still using one hand. The screen blinked once more, commencing to the third stage, which he completed easily, and the fourth, and the fifth and so on. At the tenth level Roe needed to use his other hand, which had simply been resting in his lap before. He fingers flew across the large screen, his mind at ease playing the silly game. The Keepers told him it was good practice, to help him. As if he was defective.

Roe pursed his lips as he reached level fifteen. The screen was now covered in small shapes of varying colours, but Roe persevered with ease and continued, his hands flying across the screen. Behind him, he vaguely recognized some sort of ruckus, though he paid it little heed. Stopping the game only meant he would have to start it up again, until the Keepers were happy with his progress and told him to stop. They thought he would simply keep on going until he died. Well, that’s what the young Roe thought they thought. What they thought of him was rather pointless. They were all dead set on him being a Nobody, that someday he would simply ‘cease working,’ as one Keeper had put it. He would most assuredly stop if he became too hungry, or he had to use the washroom, or simply found the exercise to be of little value anymore, which would happen from time to time. And when he stopped playing one game, the Keepers would find a new one, and he’d have to learn how to master that game, and that was frankly, needlessly laborious.

Outside of Roe’s bored mind, he could hear the sound of struggling; one of the other Subjects wasn’t playing nicely with others. Typical, anyone of the less stable Subjects, as Roe saw them, would go insane with the monotony of the NELO Compound. Everything was white, and stale. Everything was safe and protected. No real chance at personal growth in a permanent sense. Their customers wanted blank slates, after all. However, fate had its ways of intervening with Roe, or so Mother Natalie had explained at one point. Whoever fate was, Roe had decided quite early on that they were a bit of a narcissistic person. Roe had reached level twenty, much to his own chagrin; any better and they would find a new game for him, when a shout sounded behind him, and the rush of wind behind him caught his attention. Roe threw himself to the side as a chair flew into the glass screen before him, which was blinking red, warning that if he did not finish, he would not pass that level. Though this game had seen its last hurrah, and the chair connected with a clean shattering.

Roe watched in silent awe, almost as if in slow motion. The chair’s leading edge hit the glass screen first, which bowed backward against the chair, before a spider web of cracks exploded outward from the source of impact, and finally as the central point gave way and the chair began to slide through the screen, the cracks raced across the screen, before finally the structure of the screen was so totally compromised it fell into itself, shattering with a thundering of glass and electronic debris. All of this had happened in mere seconds, but Roe understood it all well, his sharp eyes catching every detail. He shifted backward, but not far enough, and a large piece of glass debris caught him in the leg, embedding itself in his flesh, as it had easily pierced his beige pants. He grunted with pain, his eyes stinging with pain-wrought tears. Though he repressed them, the Keepers wouldn’t see him cry. A Keeper ran up to him, holding a red headed boy by the arm roughly. “Ah shit, the Nobody got glass in his leg. Come with me, ya’ dumbass.” The portly man grabbed Roe by the arm and hauled him to his feet. Roe silently complied, though putting any weigh on his left leg was painful, likely due to the sizable chunk of glass sticking out of it.

Had anyone even though to remove it and tell him to put pressure on the wound remained to be unknown, however walking with glass in one’s leg made for any sort of sustained pace impossible. As such, Roe was largely dragged to the infirmary by the Keeper. ‘Idiotic Keepers’ He thought idly to himself as they walked out the room and into a bland, stale white hallway. They walked silently down the hall, though it was more akin to being dragged by the Keeper. The Keeper led Roe and the redheaded boy into another room, evidently a clinic of sorts. The man grumbled something, and walked out, leaving the two in silence. Roe took a seat on one of the beds slowly, wincing as he put pressure on his left leg. He looked down to the wound; blood had seeped into his pants and far down his leg. He frowned, and touched the shard of glass, wincing. He eyed the piece of glass for a long moment, considering the most painless way of removing it, before the other boy spoke up. “I saw you playing that game. Are you a Nobody?” He asked. Roe looked up, a golden eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know. Perhaps I am. I am not entirely sure what the Keepers classify as a Nobody.” Roe said simply, looking back down to the glass before gripping it by the outermost point and grabbing the side and wrenching it out, gasping in pain. The redhead boy walked up. Roe grasped the wound tightly with one trembling hand, and bit down on his lip. He would not let the pain of the removal of the glass be exposed, and he took six deep breaths in a row, the practice learned a few days ago from Mother Natalie. The logic of the endeavour confused the Subject Roe, however he had learned over the past few days of its immense utility. Roe spared a glance around the room for gauze, though saw none in reach. His azure gaze flickered to a cabinet on the far wall and then to the fellow Subject before him; “Could you get me a roll of gauze? My hand is not holding back the blood flow.” Roe gestured to the crimson liquid oozing thickly from the gaps in his fingers.  

“Didn’t that hurt?” The unknown Subject said, eyes shocked wide at the gruesome display of Roe ruthlessly removing the shard of glass from his leg. Roe shrugged, removing his blood soaked hand and pressing the other, wiping the befouled extremity on his completely white attire, marring his shirt with a macabre, elongated bloody hand print. “I’m Logan, by the way,” the other Subject, revealed to be Logan, spoke as he hurried to the counter, propping himself up on it and opening the cabinets to procure a few rolls of gauze, one which he tossed to Roe. The latter Subject raised a blood-stained hand, catching the medical supplies conveniently rolled and removed his hand from the wound and wrapped the wound numerous times until the wound was bulbously covered with dressing.

Roe fell silent as he observed his handiwork before discarding his bloodstained shirt after using it to clean off his hands. With great meticulous care, he cleaned each finger on both of his hands before moving onto the palms, then the backs of his palms and so on and so forth. Logan merely watched the enigmatic Subject clean himself with veiled wonder; he had never seen someone so… eerily pristine. It was as though Roe was a sculpture; always observed, never touched, never approached, merely seen. The gravity of such fascinating the erratic Logan. “You aren’t very talkative, are you?” Logan grinned. “But you’re kind of a badass. I think I’ma chill with you for a while, before they put be in a windowless room or something.” Roe didn’t quite understand the reference, but he decided that maybe, just maybe, Logan wasn’t that bad.

“Yo! Blondy! Wake up.” Logan smacked Roe upside the head, causing the blond to leer at him. From a young age Roe had learned to loathe contact and the years of living at NELO Had not  “Get to your dorm, the psychos are moving their shit-storm inside.” Roe glanced at the lobby where the group of students had moved inside, and had begun to flag down fellow pupils and demand signatures from them. The sight received nothing more than a noncommittal ‘hm’ before turning back to Logan, regarding the obtuse whip thin man. The eccentric redhead seemed to have his deep verdant gaze transfixed on the protestors in the lobby with a heated look of malice in his eye that took even Roe aback mentally. ‘Could this man truly loathe them so? Such heated emotions… a dangerous thing, hm.’ Roe mused silently.

Roe nodded once, “Right. I’ll be going then.” He spoke quickly, already walking towards the staircase at the end of the hall. The sound of his shoes gave off a muddled thud as he walked slowly, expecting a response from the extroverted redhead man as he left. His frigid gaze glanced from door to door as he walked and found many open. Most were identical to his own, but with clothing strewn over the floor, beds unmade and desk cluttered with papers, books, food and magazines. The sight brought a frown to ever so slightly tip his mouth downward. The mess was abhorrent, a reflection upon these people. ‘Absent minded,’ Roe thought to himself, ‘Lazy,’ his mind continued. He found himself loathing average humans; those whose lives were blissfully easy, those who did not have their existence challenged. Roe’s breath caught in his throat as such snide thoughts crossed his mind. He was unaware that such malice and jealousy was within his capacity. ‘I must speak to Mother of this later. Emotions have ruined great men time and time again. To think what it would do to one such as myself…’   

“Yo, Roe! Find me when things go down heavy, alright?” Logan called from him. Roe stopped in the hallway, considering the words. When what got heavy? Did Logan expect him to gain a tremendous amount of weight? Did he plan to gain a lot of weight? It certainly would slow the anti-Subject protestors from carrying him off to kill him, or whatever it was that they wished to do with him… He turned back to Logan, regarding him for a long moment. The reposed Subject concluded that it was some sort of analogy and turned back, continuing on his way. Having made his way halfway up the stairs to the second floor Roe could hear the chatter of two young women a few floors above. The two spoke animatedly of a class they evidently shared and its difficulty. The conversation seemed so terribly benign and puzzled Roe thoroughly and continued to do so as the two began to talk about making a trip to the mall but excluding a few of their friends they held in ill regard. The entire situation boggled the reclusive Subject, and so he decided that Stephan would have the answer, nodded once and continued on his way.

*~*

President Ehrhardt paced his office slowly, awaiting the arrival of Doran. He had to get the message out, it was imperative that he did! Before him lay a nondescript, beige file folder sitting on his messy desk. His desk phone continued to ring, though the man ignored it. The fading sun shone in from the windows behind him, casting a calming orange glow over his officer. William turned, looking out the window. He always admired the west coast for its costal views. The waves crashed on the sandy beaches of California, lapping at the quiet shore. A shallow breeze waved through the palm trees, which rustled calmly. Though for all the beauty the scene offered, William’s mind continued to whirr. NELO, the Laevan Foundation, the five heads of the rebelling states, the economy, Subjects… His mind was drowning in the ramifications. Though for all his worrying, a knock at the door and the turn of a knob, his fears lessened some. A rather tired looking Doran stepped into his office, nodding to the woman who allowed him in, “Thank you.” He spoke quietly, before looking to William. “Well, you’ve flown me from DC to California, I hope this is good old friend, the Senate and Congress are up in arms over the most recent taxation hike the Union fund has proposed.” For the economic worries he spoke of, Doran still held himself in a calm demeanor.

“I’m sorry, Doran, but I needed to talk to you in person, and I can trust no one else.” William stepped forward, taking a seat at his desk, Doran doing the same across from him. The elder president sighed wearily, “NELO is a puppet, nothing more.” The words hung in the air with an ominous weight that settled over the two political men. Doran cleared his throat after a moment for evidently Ehrhardt had let his gaze fall elsewhere. The latter man returned his attention to Doran who had a heavy look in his eyes; the look of a man who had not wished to learn of such atrocious knowledge. There were few that would stand to such information unscathed, though Laevan seemed largely composed. The man crossed a leg over another and leaned forward expectantly, silently inquiring as to whom it had been that supposedly pulled at the New Evolutionary Leap Organisation. William merely shook his head, as he was evidently unsure, “I don’t know. Someone is pulling the strings though. They’ve set it up to make it look like the Subjects are to blame for the five rebelling representatives; sending their countries into bankruptcy. Someone very high up has a deep hatred for Subjects, and they’re going to turn all of them into a symbol of hatred for the masses. There will be riots against the Subjects. People will think that the subjects are here to destroy their way of life. It will be terrible.” William took a deep breath afterward, as Doran seemed entirely calm.

Once more an eerie silence fell over the room as Ehrhardt cautiously regarded his old friend. The latter seemed to be entirely composed, unsurprised, and entirely ready for such a response. There was no longer any shock in his eyes, merely a calm, listless gaze. It was as though Laevan had foreseen such a conversation, and the reality of such shook the stouthearted president who repositioned himself uncomfortably at such. A minute passed as the two merely stared at one another, President Ehrhardt’s mind calculating the reason for Doran’s apathy; the elder president presumed that the man had information regarding this. Much of the anti-Subject movement held its strength in America, and so it was entirely possible that he did indeed have insight into such dark dealings. Representative Laevan looked away for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh and spoke; “Ah William. You naïve fool.” Doran stood once more, shaking his head.

William quirked a brow and he found the indecision in his voice as he inquired as to what Doran spoke of, only to find his normally strong tones waver with uncertainty. The coolness in Doran’s voice had struck a tone of discord in the President’s mind. A sinister undertone seemed to follow Doran’s words; unspoken but all too prevalent. The voice of the man he considered a friend so dear was lost and replaced with that of a man bereft of conscious or emotion. Moreover, Doran’s posture had changed; once well poised and proper, now the man was leaned forward and had a dark look about him. It was as though the long-time friend had been abruptly replaced. Doran flourished a hand, motioning to the windows behind William. William turned, seeing that the sun had set on the peaceful scene. The ocean continued to lap at the shore, though the wind had calmed. The American representative stood with a sway, almost seeming delirious for a split second before finally composing himself. A small crooked smirk took point on his hawk-like features and the man spoke; “The Sun has set on your reign, William. Though I thought it would a long time ago.” Doran said, the rustling of fabric causing William to turn back, though what was now revealed was more horrifying than the elder man had prepared himself for. Before him Representative Laevan stood with a matte grey handgun in his right hand which was extended at the elbow and pointed at the old president. The armed representative took a step forward, the solid thunk of his dress shoe breaking the deafening silence that had taken the room.

The old president’s eyes widened in utter shock as he regarded his closest political friend threaten his life. Anger then took the elder man who stood, his chair rolling backward silently behind him “Why, Doran?” William took a step forward, “think of what you’re doing!” Though Doran shook his head slowly and remained silent. William slammed his hands onto his desk, shaking his head, “I won’t allow you to make this mistake!” President Ehrhardt began to make his way around the large, semi-circular glass and metal desk, though Doran stepped forward, the cool barrel of the firearm pressed against the elder man’s chest and ushered him back behind the encompassing desk. Ehrhardt complied and was returned to the centre of his desk. Doran ran a hand through greying hair of his own, and shook his head out, a stray strand falling over his eyes. His grey eyes glinted for a moment before he finally spoke once more.

“I have thought of what I am to do, William. I truly have. This must happen. Now, say goodnight, for the morning to come is one you will not see.” Doran said, a determined smirk on his narrow features, a metallic click could be heard as the man loaded the weapon and William steeled himself. President William Ehrhardt’s mind flashed to his wife, a great painful lump growing in his throat as he imagined her sobbing over his coffin, their children, fully grown, trying and failing to pull her away from the casket. Next to them would be his grandchildren, lost and confused as to how their grandfather had simply ceased to be and was now laid still with their loving grandmother a ruined wreck of tears and misery. William opened his eyes and saw Doran staring him down, an almost regretful look in his eyes. Though the gunshot rang out, and William stumbled backward, his hand clutching at his stomach, a growing spot of blood on the white suit he wore.

“W-why…?” He rasped before collapsing backward and into the wall, the coppery smell of blood and gun powder mixing in the room. Breathing became difficult before long as blood pooled in the back of his throat. Coughing slightly, he tried and failed to bring a hand up to right himself to sit up, though the limb merely fell to the side, limp. The burning pain in William’s chest began to dull as he felt a great fatigue set in, as though he had not slept in weeks. The elder man fought the urge to rest, twitching a leg to the best extent he could, though he found that his legs no longer moved at his behest. Blood slid through his parted lips as he looked to Doran who only stared at him from across the desk, as though it were but a film he watched and there was no gravity to the situation. William’s head fell to the side and all went black. The elder man could feel the steady beat of his heart begin to slow, and he found himself succumbing to the great sleep that he had fought against so vigorously. As his mind began to close, his final thoughts were of his family, their smiling faces burned into his failing mind as he fell to the side with a streak of blood following him on the wall. William Ehrhardt’s body was still against the coarse carpet.  

“Because, William. The world will be mine. It must be,” Doran said quietly as he walked over to William’s desk, and picking up the file so carefully laid there. “But this… shall not leave this room, old friend.” He looked down to the still body of William, before procuring a lighter from his pocket, and with the flick of his thumb, the invaluable document was set ablaze, and like so many documents of its kind before, dropped into a garbage bin, ignored to burn itself into oblivion. The truth that the late President Ehrhardt had worked so diligently to find were lost to the ashes and so fell the protection that Ehrhardt gave Subjects.

*~*

Stephan paced worriedly from each side of their dorm. He could see the protestors moving inside their dorm. He walked back over to his bed, picking up his phone. No texts, no calls. “Damnit, Roe… Where are you…” Stephan grumbled, tossing his phone back onto the bed. However, a bleep from his computer distracted him, and he turned to it, swiping his hand across the track pad. A message from Vadim blinked in a social networking site. He opened the chat log, and read it, a frown growing; “Dude, this is bad. Seriously, check this out.” Below was a link, which Stephan hesitantly clicked. Stephan sighed, his heart plummeting as he read the title before him; President William, Killed By Subjects in Office. Stephan’s stomach churned in his gut, a sickening feeling telling him that things were about to get much worse. The sound of the door opening to their dorm did not register to Stephan as he read on in the article: ‘…Representative Doran of the United States of America has been declared president of the Pacific Union until the general elections in June. President William is reported to have been murdered in his office by a mad Subject, who was quoted saying “things will change, our time has come.” The man was a security guard, and was gunned down upon the finding of the man before the murdered body of President Ehrhardt. A governmental inquiry has been launched into the NELO Compound.

Roe read the article silently over Stephan’s shoulder, the brunet seated before his desk. Stephan looked up, almost jumping at the sudden presence of Roe, though his heart instantly jumped into his throat at the sight of the blond being unharmed. “Roe, I…” The words wouldn’t come, though. Stephan looked to Roe, he felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. Why was he crying? Roe was the Subject, he was the one everyone would hate, would blame for all the problems in the world. Roe merely looked to Stephan, confused. The enigmatic figure looked to the article for a long moment, expressionless and bereft of response to the news he had gleaned. The world had taken a horrid turn for the worse, though the gravity of the situation had yet to truly take hold.

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