Subjectivity: Chapter Seven

The cold wind stung her face without relent as the truck barrelled down the uneven roads of the abandoned town they drove through. Sonya sat on a hard, metal bench in the back of a military transport. Next to her, four other downtrodden individuals sat and across from her five others were seated. All who were within the open air transport whose doors consisted of fabric drawn flaps looked miserably cold and many of them shivered in the sub-zero temperatures whose bitter winds raked against exposed skin. Sonya’s bitter mind drifted to her family who she was both unable and unwilling to give a proper farewell to, save her younger brother whom had tightly embraced her, tears verged upon the crevices about his eyes, though the younger Volkov was strong to his credit and Sonya silently admitted that, and although she found him to be a great disturbance in her otherwise controllable life, he was a welcome distraction from the realities of poverty and destituteness that was the remote corner of the Earth they inhabited. Her grey gaze drifted to the flapping partitions that served as a reprieve from the weather that stormed their vehicle. From her vantage point she was able to see the endless road stretched out behind and the accompanying dry, yellow rolling plains. Once verdant with life the onset of Winter had begun to strike them down from their lively colourations and leave them a sorry furtherance of the miserable lands that the vastness of Russia was comprised of.

Looking to be no older than herself, a young man was seated next to Sonya. The man seemed largely unaffected by the weather and merely read from a book still comprised of actual paper. The relic itself seemed to be over a hundred years old by the commonplace look it held. Books remained to be physically published in paper-made versions, however such acts were primarily reserved for government documents and special one copy editions that would be sold for immense value. During the World Literary Conference held in2044, it had been decreed that no developed nation in the world would publishers to publish anything but digital publications, thereby reducing the strain on the world’s softwood supplies. Softwood nations such as Canada had already taken firm stances of protectionism regarding their depleting natural resources and, due to already frayed tensions between the United States and Canada, the action was also taken to deprive the former of its required resources. The ever spiteful Russians and the increasingly introverted European Union had quickly taken the normally benign nation’s actions and prohibited paperbound book sales. In the following years, cheap and recyclable tablets were created for the sole purpose of books, much akin to the e-readers of a few decades before, but such were lighter and could simply be placed in a decomposer and would simply return to the earth as fertile ingredients. Though there a common man, unlucky enough to be chosen for military service, sat with a real book, and one so old but read it as though such was commonplace. The sight baffled Sonya and she merely peered at the book which was title ‘Dante’s Inferno.’ The young woman recognised the title; however the details therein escaped her.

The man, garbed in a thick double breasted wool coat, combat boots and a black ushanka, cracked his neck and sat up for a moment, and brown eyes caught Sonya’s gaze for a split moment before they returned to the book at hand.  Folding a leg loosely over the other, the man placed a bare hand in his pocket and flipped the page with his thumb. “So you like to watch?” The man spoke aloud, and his gaze moved to Sonya momentarily. His words caught the attention of those gathered in the crowded transport, a few openly staring at her, while others merely ignored everything and everyone around them, already resigned to a fate akin to death. Roughly four hours ago, when the trip had begun, a few more sociable individuals had attempted to broach conversation, though none were willing to speak and thus they too resigned to the silence. One of them now stared at Sonya, though the Russian woman ignored them, more embarrassed that she had been caught for gawking at his book. “I hear there’s porn for that.” The man said after a long pause, and a scarce chuckle escaped from the woman who stared at Sonya. The latter cut the former a decisive glare before looking to the man seated next to her.

Sonya huffed indignantly for a moment, “I am not watching. I am trying to remember what that book is about, you…” The woman trailed off, regarding the man, his accent as he spoke fluent Russian and his facial features, “… You Finnish idiot.” Though her words only brought a light chuckle to the man, as she had evidently accurately determined his heritage or otherwise was completely wrong. However he remained silent, content to allow Sonya to become more irritated and to more likely finished the part of the book he was currently engrossed in. Her gaze drifted off the book to outside as she noted with a lurch of the vehicle that they had begun to cross an oddly smooth bridge. The vehicle’s tumultuous rumbling ceased for a few precious minutes and the other recruits looked ever so slightly elated, however the poor road conditions returned once more. Peering at the bridge they had crossed, Sonya realised that they had just passed over the bridge that allowed the primary entrance into Murmansk Oblast. Long had she yearned to leave the miserable federal Oblast of Murmansk, but not in such a manner that led her into the dead heart of the country; Siberia. They were close to Saint Petersburg, no more than a few hours away, though she was sure that the military knew better than to put unwilling conscripts near a crowded city where they could sneak off. Instead they would travel through the Republic of Karelia before heading into another Oblast, Vologda, and traverse the various Oblasts, Okrugs before finally reaching Krasnoyarsk wherein one found the centre of both the vast nation and Siberia.

The theory was that, in order to assure the Pacific Union of their worth as a military power, they trained their soldiers in an extreme climate so that anywhere else that they would need to go would be merely a slight inconvenience in terms of intemperate climate. “I’m actually from Estonia, but I moved to Murmansk City as a boy with my family since my father found work.” Sonya was stopped as she opened her mouth to speak and he offered her a jadedly amused look, “I know, a stupid decision in hindsight. It was much warmer in Estonia. The Baltic States are much less violent and shitty, too.” He held an eerily chipper voice, though his words held great danger for one to speak out so boldly against the incredibly restrictive Russian government. During the post-Soviet Union era, the first president to take office, Vladimir Putin, coined the ‘Крабе’ of Russian or to Americans, the Crab of Russia for his personality and international policies, was infamous for his domestic policies akin to the actions of the former KGB; the Committee for State Security. A few other sets of eyes had been drawn onto the man, though he seemed either uncaring of such or simply oblivious. Flipping a page, the weathered piece of paper fell from the weakened spine of the book and the man reached down to grab it, though Sonya’s deft movements saw her catch it between her pointer and middle finger. Repositioning the page, she read it silently, her English reading skills less than superb, and continued to do so for a long while before simply handing it to the man who had stubbornly held a hand outward expectantly.

“Estonia? Wow, you traded down. You must be kind of an idiot to still be here, you know?” Her words were hushed, and so were his, though the two had garnered a great deal of attention from the others who were quite plainly listening in. Her grey eyes swept those across from her before slicing into the staring faces of those to her sides. Accustomed to eavesdropping from her small hometown which was now hours behind them, the frequency of another listening in to her conversations had yet to dull her hatred for such. Instead, she merely spoke louder and offered a hand to the man, “Sonya. Sonya Volkov.” The man next to her took the page and carefully slid it into its rightful place, his own dark gaze being swept across those about them and quickly understood her intent. If they were to be stuck in a truck for days of travel, they had best remove the awkward nature of the travel. A small smirk grew on his mouth as he too spoke in a regular speaking voice, forsaking any vestiges of privacy they had hoped to achieve. Carefully organising the relic of the book, he unbuttoned the first two buttons of his long coat and placed the book inside with a deft precision before re-buttoning the article of clothing and leaned back.

His gaze drifted to a few of those conscripts across from the two before he looked to Sonya and spoke, “This kind of shit happens,” He commented passively, “Whether it’s making a dumb move or being drafted by some American made union.” His gaze fell to the ground for a moment in thought before looking out the loosely closed flaps of the back of the military transport where the marshlands fought a losing war against the onset of winter’s wrath. Outside, the land ripped by, which was both dry and yellow. Fetid lakes and rivers crisscrossed the landscape, indicative of the extreme pollution that had been created by the military factories of towns like Polyarny and Murmansk City. “Ludwig Von Strauss, by the way.” He pulled the black ushanka from his head, the furry object laid in his lap, and Ludwig ran a hand through jet black hair which was parted messily and was left largely astray in its means. Sonya opened her mouth to question the absurd name for an Estonian, though he chuckled a little at her perplexed visage and spoke again, “I know, awfully Germany sounding. It’s a long story.” He spoke quickly, and with a tone that seemed to imply to the woman seated next to him that he did not wish to continue speaking of it. The two fell silent for a long moment, seemingly more comfortable in the howling wind that assaulted them through the flaps of the retrofitted combat transport now that they had actually spoken to one another.

Sonya’s gaze once more fell upon the young woman across from her whom she once more found herself being started at by. Scowling at the woman, Sonya took concealed pleasure as the former shied away from her darkened stare before deciding to speak once more to Ludwig, as he had introduced himself. She found herself oddly sociable and was surprised to find a small, childlike excitement of the unknown in the deepest recesses of her person, something she had presumed had died long ago. Her mind drifted to her younger brother, Ivan. The boy had always yearned for adventure and for an escape from the drudgery that was not life but mere existence for those of Polyarny and from their parents from whom Ivan had never truly forgiven for their absence in his life. Up until now, it had been Sonya who had walked with him to his school before continuing on to go hunting or read in the ruined outskirts of the town. She felt a pang of remorse for allowing herself to be so easily conscripted, for she had left Ivan to the neglectful devices of their absentee parents. “So, how much longer do you think it’ll take to get wherever it is we’re going?” She mused aloud, and Ludwig cast a glance over at her.

Dark and stormy brown eyes eyed her closely for a moment, as though Ludwig sought some sort of hidden truth from her guarded person. She felt uncomfortable under his gaze and met it back with one of her own, her own intemperate demeanor meeting the relatively friendly stranger’s inquisitive gaze. “Well, we’ve been on the road for… five hours or something like that so… a little under three days’ worth of actual driving so probably a week until we get to Krasnoyarsk.” His words brought the entire company of conscripts’ attention whose faces blanched at the news. Krasnoyarsk had gained notoriety for one of the most brutal and unforgiving prison camps on Earth; Prison Camp Number Seventeen. It was where some of the most horrendous and brutal criminals of Russia’s long history had been sent. Roughly ten years ago, the seventeenth prison camp had been closed down, for it was simply too expensive to keep open with so few criminals being given a jail sentence and instead being made into prison labourers elsewhere. The fact that they had turned the dismal prison camp into a military training facility was merely a furthering of the Russian’s government intent to create the best soldiers to keep a strong presence in the union. Ludwig spared a look around the transport at the horrified faces before simply quirking a brow in confusion, “What…? You didn’t all know where we were going? The drivers have been complaining about it all this time. If you listen from time to time you can hear one of them complaining about a sore ass right now.” The others looked to the metallic panel that separated them from those who drove the truck.

Sonya groaned for a moment at the possibility of having to stay in one of the most inhospitable places in all of Russia and indeed the world. She had heard the horror stories of the prison camp from her father when she was younger and still dreaded the thought of the place. A prison so cruel that inmates attacked jailers to be given a quicker death. Criminals so violent and evil that even Russian politicians, which was so plagued by corruption, could not be bought by oligarchs with connections to such men. Her gaze drifted back to the ever flapping sorry excuse of protection against the elements and watched the dry marsh pass by around them. For but a moment she saw some sort of deer or elk within the dying swamp. The beast was so frail that it looked to be as wispy and as thin as the narrow reeds of grass that struggled to remain standing in their frailty. Her voice was quiet, though she received a subtle nod from the figure next to her as she spoke: “Krasnoyarsk… So they’re going to either kill us or make us into super soldiers. Perfect.”

*~*

A week of endless driving had come to a close and Sonya had been introduced to the bleak revamp that was the new Prison Camp Seventeen, now known as Union Military Training Facility Seventeen; a cruel reminder of the facility’s glib past. Once considered a city of great beauty by Anton Chekhov before the turn of the millennia, the city had fallen into the bleak reality of post-Barren city life. Massive skyscrapers soared so high into the sky that the stormy, grey sky blocked out some’s lengths while others scraped at the intemperate blanket of clouds. Many contorted and twisted as though on an axis as they rose into the air while others remained static blocks standing high and stoic. Around them buildings descended in size before finally reaching the suburbs of the city. Once remote, Krasnoyarsk’s Training Facility had been surrounded by low income housing and squalid recycling plants that bustled with movement, though such was lost behind the massive walls that had been erected around the Union base. The massive super-skyscrapers loomed behind Sonya as she walked through the cast-iron gates that served as the facility’s main entrance. Her and her other nine companions, including the ever present Ludwig Von Strauss, stood before a large, concrete square.

In the centre of the base squatted a dull grey metallic building whose windows seemed to slowly appear and disappear into the metal and every so often, a figure would pass by, casting a human-shaped shadow over the window. The building was tiered so that the first floor appeared to cover a small city block, while the top floor was but a quarter of such girth. Upon the top floor’s roof was a pennant which depicted the Russian Coat of Arms. A two headed eagle whose imperious gazes were directed away from one another was adorned with smaller crowns which connected to a large, central crown in the space above and between their heads. In the left leg was held a sceptre and in the right an orb. The eagle itself was bright gold and was set upon a bright red background. Super imposed upon the chest of the eagle was a square of red wherein one found a knight astride a white charger. Sonya noted passively that there was no great banner depicting the Union’s coat of arms and took a morsel of amusement from such. Russia had always been hesitant toward the idea of the Pacific Union during its deliberative phase, however had given up shortly thereafter when their economy fell into depression levels. It was indeed Russia’s joining of the Union that solidified the decision for other large, undecided countries, such as China, who had helped end the anti-federal government movement in America during their Second Civil War. China’s intervention in the civil war of their closest economic trading partner was reportedly an act of humanity by the People’s Republic, however Sonya and the rest of the educated world knew that China mobilised to end the Second Civil War because a warring America was an America that did not buy their products.

“Welcome to the Prison Camp, comrades.” A grim faced a figure spoke in English with a thick Russian accent which prevailed in almost every word he spoke. Flanked by four armed soldiers donned in Russian Federation garb, the central figure, a dark skinned woman of a thick and strong form donned the Pacific Union which was fitted tightly to her form to her nearly two meter tall person. “I am Major General Jovanna Kopachesky and you are under Section Seventy Three of the Pacific Union Charter of Rights and Responsibilities you are conscripted to the Russian division of the Union military. Congratulations.” Her words were laced with malice as she spoke of the Pacific Union and her withering azure gaze bore into each one of them. Many of those whom Sonya had travelled with shied away, though Ludwig merely offered her a little smile, which the woman seemed to like even less than those who looked away before finally setting her gaze on Sonya. Sonya’s grey gaze met the woman’s trying stare and the two merely exchanged stares for a long moment as silence fell over the group. Her thick accent once more came to life as she fought with the English language, and Sonya found herself questioning why the Major General insisted upon speaking the language of the West.

It was then that one of Sonya’s travelling companions spoke up, and the young woman found Kopachesky looked away and now paid attention to Ludwig who stood three places to her left. The young man’s brown eyes sparkled brightly as he spoke in a cheery voice, though his English was equally poor and he stumbled over the words many times, “Do you think that you could speak Russian, yah? The English is difficult.” His words were met by the muffled gasps by those Russian garbed men flanking the Major General who slowly made her way over to the man. Knee high leather boots gave stark contrast to the white britches she wore which had one golden pin stripe up each leg. The uniform was completed with a golden military blazer, whose were cuffs hidden under black leather gloves, though the right shoulder was adorned with a thick, gold aiguillette and upon both sat her military markings; two stars and surrounded with golden filigree. The woman came toe to toe with Ludwig who only smiled brightly at the woman, and the latter seemed to care less for the man’s bright and chipper disposition. One of the men who had accompanied Kopachesky reached for a gun holstered on his waist, and rested his gloved hand on the weapon, eyeing those before him. Sonya met the man’s gaze, her brows furrowing; were she one of those who had accompanied Major General Kopachesky, she would have detained the man for trying to look intimidating and failing terribly at such. The young man, looking to be no older than nineteen, was scrawny and frail; his eyes were sunken in and he looked sickly with a pale complexion almost as white as the snow that would soon blanket Siberia.

“You’d better get used to hearing English… Laevan won’t let us speak the mother tongue,” The woman said darkly, her words barely more than a whisper. The woman had leaned in and her nose was almost touching Ludwig’s face, though the latter merely stared at her inquisitively, evidently unafraid of the powerful looking woman. Ludwig himself was a few inches shorter than the woman, though did not seem to notice save mind the imposing figure bearing down on him. “Those Union shits in California don’t like Russian, it scares them.” She stood up once more and returned to where she had stood previously. All eyes were once more trained on her as she spoke, “Let me make this clear, comrades. We are Russia’s army before we’re the Union’s army. If you think I give two shits about those capitalist dogs in America or those repressed idiots in Canada, you’re wrong. If you forget this, I’ll kill you.” Her words rung out with eerie truth. Sonya knew well that Russian officials held a great disdain for both Canada and the United States of America. The former had, after years of having their lands encroached upon by the Russians, stood up for themselves and at the executive command of their then Prime Minister, sent a torpedo at a scouting Russian submarine, forcing it to surface before rescuing the evacuees and dropping them off at a nearby Russian port. The incident had been claimed as a message of ‘Canadian friendliness to invaders’ and the brazen act had shocked the world. For none had expected the ever peaceful nation of Canada to risk open war.

Though the gamble paid off and the Russians did not return to the Canadian arctic to scout for more oil. The tensions between America and Russia stemmed centuries and had begun in earnest following the Second World War with the creation of the United Soviet Socialist Republics. “Your training will begin tomorrow morning at zero six hundred hours. Be assembled in the square or you’ll face immediate punishment.” With that, the woman turned and made her way toward the large, central building. Of those who had accompanied her, two remained, the first wordlessly motioning for the new conscripts to follow and began to lead them toward the barracks; a large, drab, metal building which stood sadly against the picturesque scenery of the Siberian landscape. Six floors of metal whose surface turned transparent in equally spaced intervals marked it as what Sonya surmised it to be; a barracks. A stark wind picked up for a moment as a silent twin engine tiltrotor whose sleek grey and white being was covered with dents, scratches and along one of the windscreens was a noticeable hole that had been covered with a metal plate from inside. The craft landed smoothly some distance behind their group before cutting its engines, never once giving any audible indication they were ever on; the only proof of such being the rotors spinning to a stop. The young Russian woman became increasingly sure that her stay with the Russian military would not be a pleasant one.

*~*

Throbbing pain could be felt from Roe’s neck as his blood pulsed through the taut muscle and sinew in the Subject’s neck. Countless layers of gauze wrapped his neck in a protective cocoon of fabric which, though it helped in keeping the wound clean and sealed, was slightly suffocating. The coolness of the fabric informed the ever enigmatic Subject that his wound continued to bleed ever so slightly, and likely had made a mark on the outer layers of gauze; for the wound was deep and had opened many layers of skin. He could recall the blinding pain of being beaten down with the metal pipe, and had intended to roll to the side, grabbed the pole, and struck down his assailant, though due to Logan’s involvement his plans had become unnecessary and left him defeated. His failure did not faze him nor harm a nonexistent ego as he would proclaim, for he was not interested in contests of brawn or power, but merely to further his interests which were, at the time, to save Stephan from certain injury. ‘I have failed to uphold what I deemed important,’ Roe mused silently, ‘I remain weak; the result of actions, not of my own ideals.' His frigid azure gaze placed witheringly on the dashboard before him, ‘I am weak.’ The words echoed loudly in his mind, and his gaze further narrowed. Perhaps it was where they travelled to that brought such anger to bear, or perhaps it was his failure to defend Stephan, regardless, it was his failure in general that brought him to mental grievances.

Outside, the small island of Neo-Palmyra flew by the vehicle Roe and others sat in. A highway of sorts had been created which wrapped around the island; an interior road that allowed passage across the partial-manmade island with ease and speed. The coast was to his left; sandy beaches interspaced with massive plates of artificially created metals where one might find hamlets and tourist attractions, though most often recycling depots which dredged the sea for debris, recycled it, and sold the product of such for profit. It was in such that Neo-Palmyra remained profitable for those who did not work for NELO. Many times Roe had seen signs depicting the dangers of NELO and to turn around, however the driver of the vehicle he sat in was not deterred. Vadim’s mode of transport; a sleek vehicle built from what was referred to as ‘organic metal;’ metal that had been artificially created from non-metallic materials and repurposed at the atomic level to become metal in nature. Moreover, these organic metals were capable of returning to the form from which they had been morphed into, thus allowing damage from a vehicular accident to bend back into shape. The true damage was done was when a piece of the vehicle was sheared off, as that piece would then die, and no longer be able to repair itself. The vehicle drove itself, and as such Vadim merely sat there, his listless gaze endlessly staring outward at the road. The young Russian’s attitude had seemed to improve greatly to Roe’s rather fundamental understanding of people’s moods. The latter surmised that it was former’s removal from his dormitory and away from all the things that reminded him of Leonas that aided him in moving on. ‘Stephan had said he was too close to the pain to move on,’ Roe mused silently, deciding that the proximity to such was in fact the proximity to Leonas’ things, for such memorabilia related thereunto reminded Vadim of him.

Behind him and what could be considered the driver sat Emiliyia and Stephan. The former had made her decision to accompany them quite fervently when she saw Stephan trying to help Roe down the stairs, though the latter had insisted he was fine and did not require assistance, though the former would not consider it and continued to help him down the steps. It was then that they had run into Emiliyia who had decided that, Subject or not, she would not live in a ‘den of wolves’ and instead would prefer the company of the young Subjects. Roe’s gaze snapped back to the woman whom he still knew so little about and he pressed a switch on the dashboard once before him sightlessly, his chair spinning about, though the Subject silently admitted to knowing little about anyone. “Emiliyia, tell me,” his voice broke the silence that had endured for quite some time, “You have accompanied us for you saw the university as a den of wolves, but you will find no safety in the walls of NELO. It is the epicentre of what Laevan and his ilk believe to be evil. It will be marched upon if the Caretakers do not bow to pressure and close down.” His words seemed to strike an eerie bell of truth, for, with a press of a button on the dashboard, Vadim’s chair spun around  and the beleaguered elder Subject looked somewhat more healthy, and sat with a peculiar stance of what Roe could only silently describe as purpose. Stephan, no long made sick by the motions of Ray’s tumultuous vehicle, for Vadim’s had a much smoother vehicular movement, trained his gaze on the fair skinned Bulgarian girl with a brow ever so slightly perked. The woman in question had seemed to almost jump at being addressed, though composed herself and met Roe’s piercing gaze with a friendly one of her own.

“It’s a long story, but… Well, it’s rather embarrassing, really…” She looked away for a moment, chuckling nervously, “There was a boy I liked back in high school, he was a Subject, but he was so… He played the piano, was so good at rugby, and was just so great and I… when I saw you being dragged into your dorm, Roe, I thought of him - I know that sounds bad but it was just this irrational part of my mind. Don’t get me wrong, I felt awful for you and wanted to help, but I thought I’d just be in the way. I just… I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Subject or Normal. This is like a war without bullets, and we shouldn’t have to fight.” Her words seemed to strike a chord of agreement in the car as Stephan offered her a firm nod of approval and Vadim’s tired gaze seemed to brighten at her kind words. The latter reached forth, placing a hand on Emiliyia’s folded hands which rested in the lap of her breezy skirts. She offered him a bright smile, and Vadim almost seemed to return to his former self for a moment as he silently commended her for her morality and kindness. A comfortable silence fell on the four as even Roe found he admired her for her peaceful strength. It was a curious thing to the removed Subject; to admire another. Truly leaving NELO had begun to, without his own realising, change him. “But… I’m so glad you’re okay, Roe. Truly, I am. Ray was weirded out by you, but I don’t see what he saw.” Her words brought a broad smile to Stephan’s lips who looked to Roe before smirking, having realised that Roe was quite confused at her commentary, and was promptly lost.

Vadim, who had returned his hands to his own lap, casted a glance over his shoulder to the road, and found that the vehicle they rode in continued on course, the automated driving system expertly keeping the vehicle in the centre of the road and continuing on forward. Though the drive to NELO was not very long, as the island of Neo-Palmyra was not very large, it seemed to stretch on for an inordinate amount of time for Roe who regarded his return as a necessary evil. “Well, I don’t know about you, but Roe still weirds me out.” Vadim cracked a wry smirk, and Stephan smacked his knee with the back of his hand, offering a jovial ‘hey!’ before returning to his seated position. “In either case, I know you don’t want to return to NELO, Roe; I know I don’t want to see Evan or some of the Keepers, but we have to. It’s the only place people like you and I can be safe. It’s also the only place I can avenge Leonas’ death.” His gaze narrowed in anger as it fell to the floor of the car, “I won’t let his death go unpunished.” He spoke between gritted teeth. Roe had noted previously that, though Vadim would no longer shed tears or sulk, he remained quite furious about the injustice of the entire affair. It had done Vadim little good to know that Leonas’ body was not even shipped back to his family in Lithuania, but merely cremated and an unadorned jar with his ashes was mailed back to them. Roe had never met the moody Lithuanian’s family nor seen any pictures, but from what Vadim had said, they would not take their only son’s death well. Stephan has sent a card along with the urn detailing his most sincere and heartfelt condolences for their loss, though he had openly admitted that whatever he had to say would do little to improve the monumental loss that the Pyktis family was surely feeling.

A quiet beeping alerted the four travellers that something was amiss ahead, and Vadim turned his chair about, and was quickly mimicked by Roe who saw what he had greatly dreaded to lay eyes upon again. The great white retaining walls that housed the NELO facilities and its expansive fields stood twenty feet high before him, and a black iron set of gates barred their passage. A small enclosed kiosk was situated upon the median between their lane of traffic and the opposing one which was bereft of any leaving the compound. From the small kiosk opened a door, and out stepped a tall and imposing man garbed in white, including what appeared to be a white handgun strapped to his waist. ‘Mother will not have been pleased to allow the guards to carry weapons. It must be to protect the premises from protestors. I imagine they have harangued the compound without repose,’ Roe presumed silently as the man reached Vadim’s driver-side window, which the Russian lowered with a finger passing over a small panel on the outcropping of the door. Upon closer inspection, the man was adorned in a bullet proof material much akin to the scales of a lizard, though incredibly light and protective. The technological breakthrough had been a product of the Laevan Foundation before the onset of the Barren and had been proclaimed one of the greatest life savers of the mid twenty-first century. The man’s voice was gruff and disinterested as he kept a hand firmly placed on the weapon holstered loosely on his waist, “Welcome to the New Evolutionary Leap Organisation: Compound Two, state your purpose.”

Vadim’s voice came out almost robotic as he pulled back his sleeve and revealed his own subtle marking, something much akin to a narrow barcode, upon the inside of his wrist only visible under black light, “Subject I.D. 17265149, Class Two, Generation Thirteen. My Caretaker was Natalie Bellerose. I, a fellow Subject, and two of our Normal friends have come to request sanctuary from NELO Compound.” His words were met with no surprise from the armed official, who removed his hand from the gun holstered at his waist. His left hand fell to his other hip and procured a slim metal device which was curved concave and let off a violet light upon the contact with the man’s gloved hand. Vadim extended his wrist out of the open window and the man scanned his wrist, the barcode thereupon becoming as visible as though it was black ink on white paper, and with a resounding beep, the man nodded. The man looked into the car at those assembled before settling his gaze on Roe, the man gave Roe a curious look, and Vadim looked to the latter, shrugging, “May as well do it too.” Roe nodded and wordlessly unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt, and extended his wrist in front of Vadim, and the man looked to him expectantly.

An awkward silence fell over the five of them as Roe and the security guard stared off silently. With a quiet sigh, Roe spoke: “Subject I.D. 17135244, Generation Thirteen. My Caretaker was Natalie Bellerose.” Once more the man stared at him and cleared his throat. “Class Nine.” The two words brought the man to worry who, having scanned Roe’s wrist, retracted abruptly. An uneasy silence fell once more and the man stood, contemplating. The man instructed Vadim to keep his vehicle offline as he retreated to his kiosk and out of sight. “You and I knew this would happen, Vadim.” Roe said after a long pause, and the former nodded grudgingly, not wishing to acknowledge that this kind of situation was common for those unlucky enough to be placed in the higher classifications. Emiliyia opened her mouth to speak, though Roe cut her off, having expected her question. “The classification system runs from one to ten. One is the grade they give to fully human Subjects, and Ten is the grade that is given to Nobodies. Class Nine is the grade given to borderline defective Subjects, such as myself. I would have been made Class Ten in my childhood, however…” Roe trailed off, looking to Vadim for a moment who nodded, agreeing with what the blond Subject would no doubt say, “Mother Natalie intervened and lowered my classification to nine so that I would provisionally live.” His words seemed to repulse both Emiliyia and Stephan, who found the idea of grading Subjects on their level of humanity as barbaric and, ironically, inhumane. Roe agreed with the wordless disgust for the classification system, and Vadim had a decidedly guilty look for being so highly classed; for he was conceivably normal whereas Roe was not, and no doubt was treated much more poorly.

The security guard returned to their vehicle and offered a nod, “Subjects 17135244, 17265149 and their companions are cleared to enter the facilities and will be given to inspections for contamination assessment. Providing such procedures are followed and the Subjects and guests are found to be clear of infection, illness of mental and or physical nature, they will be given sanctuary. The automated driving system will guide your car in and temporarily impound it for inspection.” The man’s words were directed and quite thoroughly rehearsed and without another word, retreated from their vehicle and into his kiosk before the car itself flickered to life around them and the engine sounded quietly, its electric motor barely audible. The gates before them split down the middle and parted, a vertical line of brightness temporarily blinding them. The entrance to NELO widened and before them stood the central Administrative Building whose sprawling base built up to a tall structure that had not even been hidden by the gates while they sat so close to them previously. Flanking the central building were two buildings facing toward one another that acted as wings to the Administrative bloc  and from all three buildings, many smaller ones spider webbed off, and in shimmering glass and bright metals stood the NELO Compound in all its expansive glory. Roe had only seen the compound from such a vantage once before; when he had left for the university, though its impressive spectacle only served to cause him to loathe it more. It was in the building that connected on the right of the Administrative Building that he had been experimented upon, and it had been in its basements that he was housed in a small, cramped room whose door could only be unlocked from the outside. “Oh, damn…” Were the only words that came from Stephan’s mouth as he took in the extraordinary sight.

After the doors opened completely, their vehicle started into a roll. The road up to the Administrative building was perpendicular to the one they travelled upon as they moved ever closer to one of the twin buildings, and as they grew ever closer, their car followed an ever descending path that opened into an expansive corridor before them. The noonday sun disappeared above them as they entered the subterranean world of the NELO Compound and the dull steel about them was illuminated by unseen lights and their car rumbled over regularly spaced ‘tiger teeth’ as they were known; spikes that could be driven over and would collapse downward if traversed in the proper direction, but to reverse would shred the tires of a vehicle and leave it immobile. Such security features were seen as necessary NELO, for worries of a Subject become errant and trying to flee the compound. The corridor continued onward for some time before it merely stopped before them, and the mode of transport they had used thus far ceased to move forward. To their right was a pair of glass sliding doors which had written upon their clear surface “Admissions.” Roe unclipped his seatbelt and was quickly followed by the others as he exited the vehicle, feeling his back pop once from remaining seated for so longer. Ignoring the slight discomfort, he raised a hand to stop the other three who followed him closely. “Wait outside the doors for just a moment.” Looking back, he saw the others about to protest, and so he offered a curt “Please.” Pleased to see they had indulged him, he stepped before the doors which slid open quietly before stepping inside. Roe was only able to get a brief look around the blank room which was bereft of anything but a pair of doors at the far side of the chamber before he felt strong hands grip his wrists and bring them around his back, placing handcuffs around his wrists and finally shackling his ankles. Roe did not stop the process, for he had fully expected it.

*~*

Stephan burst through the doors upon seeing Roe handcuffed by a man donning a white quarantine suit complete with a respirator built into the hood and a plastic visor which revealed the large man’s face for but a moment before he turned and escorted Roe forward. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! He’s not your enemy!” The young Greek shouted angrily, though was promptly stopped by another quarantine suited person, this one looking to be slightly shorter than Stephan, and clearly a woman by her form. Roe was taken through the doors and out of sight as Emiliyia and Vadim, who had entered with him and were promptly stopped by other NELO officials.  The figure that had stopped Stephan turned and stared at him for a long moment. The latter could not deny that the woman was very lovely; high, regal cheekbones sat upon her fair face and with bright blue eyes and long, flowing blond hair, she was indeed beautiful. Red lipstick was placed delicately on her lips, paired with complimenting eye shadow and blush as well. The woman had a decidedly kind look about her, and Stephan ceased his protests to follow Roe for a moment, and instead impatiently awaited an explanation.

“My little Roe certainly has made a stouthearted friend.” She spoke kindly, though her voice was contorted by the respirator built into the suit she wore. The two who had restrained Emiliyia and Vadim backed off as the woman spoke, “I’m very sorry, Stephan,” The woman said, her voice indicative of her regret for the situation, “Were I capable, I would stop that kind of treatment of my dear boy, but I cannot. Rest assured Roe will be fine.” It was then that the angered Greek realised who he spoke to: this was Natalie Bellerose, or as Roe referred to her as, Mother Natalie. She was the primary Caregiver for both Roe, Vadim, and countless others. Natalie then turned to Vadim and closed the distance between the two of them, embracing the taller young man tightly, and her voice came out with such heartbreak that even Stephan could feel her anguish. “I am so sorry my dear Vadim, I am so very sorry…” She spoke aloud, and Vadim’s eyes, wide with shock, shut tightly as he embraced the woman as though he would die were he to let go. Though if he hurt her with his emphatic embrace, she did not make note of it as she merely stood there, rubbing a hand on his back and over his hair as though Vadim were but a toddler crying in his mother’s arms. However no tears fell, Vadim’s face was contorted in anguish as the horror of Leonas’ death was brought back to life. “Leonas was truly a one in a million person and his companionship can never be replaced, but please, my dear boy, do not despair. Time heals all wounds and soon the pain you feel will be gone.” Vadim separated from the woman and nodded.

Natalie Bellerose placed her plastic covered hands on the sides of his face, and nodded back. Releasing him, she turned to Emiliyia and offered the young lady a fair smile and an extended hand, “Hello my dear, I take it you are Emiliyia Alben. Well you are certainly welcome here, as are all of you. Vadim has told me much about you, and your devotion to your friends is truly admirable and a thing to be emulated by all.” Her words, artful and inspiring, were almost sung out in her motherly voice that seemed to put one at ease in her company. “Now please my dear children, come with me. Let’s get you checked out so we can stop with the antiseptic suits. They’re terribly uncomfortable.” She chuckled lightly and turned, placing a hand on Stephan’s shoulder for a moment before making her way to the far doors which swung inward upon her arrival. “I’ll be just in the other room. We have to make sure you haven’t let in any viruses or diseases. You see, many of our newborn children and youngsters are very susceptible to illness, and the idea of hurting one of my children, or any other Caretakers’ is simply unthinkable.” She beckoned a hand outward to Emiliyia who blinked, confused, “Ladies first, my dear.” The red haired Bulgarian stepped forward uncertainly before entering the next room and out of sight, leaving Vadim and Stephan alone.

Stephan sighed a long sigh, looking around the empty room, “So, that’s Mother Natalie, eh? Seems nice.” He commented awkwardly, finding himself extremely out of place and almost extraneous to the plight that both Vadim and Roe felt as Subjects in a world who loathed them so. Vadim merely nodded, his gaze distant, for he was clearly lost in thought over what the woman had said to him. Falling quiet once more, Stephan stood impatiently, awaiting for something, anything, to happen, to confirm that now both Roe and Emiliyia were well and unharmed. Something about the NELO compound seemed so militant and such worried him greatly. Had they come to a safe place? He knew that Roe thought little of the organisation that had created him, and that Vadim was nervous about returning, which only increased his concerns more. He knew in his heart that Natalie Bellerose was a good woman and did not wish anything bad to happen to her Subject children and by proxy them, but the fact that she was unable to stop the unfair treatment of higher classed Subjects worried Stephan greater. He had always assumed that it was Natalie and the other Caretakers that ran NELO, but evidently he was wrong, and the only logical ulterior to Natalie and the others leading NELO was the people that had made NELO: the Laevan Foundation. And such was a terribly frightening concept. The idea of a group most likely tied to the ever immoral and quite possibly amoral Doran Laevan was incredibly concerning.

The Greek’s thoughts were promptly interrupted as the doors before the two of them opened and from it stepped out Natalie Bellerose, still garbed in a quarantine suit, looked to Vadim, beckoning him in. “You’re turn, Vadim. It’s the same as always, so you know what to do.” She offered the young man a quick smile as he nodded and wordlessly entered the room, leaving Stephan alone. The silence quickly fell over the room, its crushing weight settling on Stephan who could only think of what was in store for him and the others.  He had barely been in school for more than a few months and had now fled the campus for NELO, a place he never imagined himself visiting. But he had done it for the others: for Roe, for Vadim, for that little girl at the mall who had been brainwashed and would hate herself for what she was, and for Leonas and Emiliyia. All those who had been effected by the hatred that President Laevan had made. He had to stop it, it was the only solution that he could reach. Though how? The question boggled his mind as he struggled to come to terms with his own insignificance. None could fight against the leader of a union of some of the largest nations in the world, it was futile and childish to think otherwise. Stephan’s gaze fell to the ground as such reason fell on his mind with a brutal weight that pulled him ever downward. Doran Laevan controlled the largest army on the planet, he could easily have NELO physically annihilated, if not forced into closing with economic sanctions and enough hapless citizens blindly hating the place merely because the Awakening scared them into it. Why should he even try when there was no possible positive response? The answer had been there for so long: Stephan had defended Roe and all Subjects’ rights when he punched the protestor who would not lower the sign, he had become an enemy to them, and he was proud of such a fact. He had done what he thought he had to do and he regretted none of it. Silently deciding that he would see his endeavours through to the bitter end, he turned to face the doors as they opened and once more found Natalie Bellerose standing there. Should could help them, she had to. “Alright, we’re ready for you, Stephan.” She beckoned him forth, and with a few long strides, he joined her and entered the dimly lit room. 

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