Subjectivity: Chapter Thirteen

The peaceful silence of the bunker-house was annihilated as the heavy metal entrance to the squat abode was thrown open with such flurry that its heavy metal being struck the adjoining wall with such force as to send dust falling from its point of impact. The flurries of snow billowed inward with a momentary blinding whiteness, however subsided as the slouched figure of Joshua Ehrhardt stumbled in with the barely conscious Ludwig Von Strauss hanging from his back. The latter’s lidded gaze drifted from side to side, failing to comprehend his surroundings. Sonya was shortly in tow as the first two men entered the building and closed to the heavy door quickly. Without removing any snow covered garments, Joshua strode into the nearby sitting room and deposited his burden upon the couch. Giving no resistance, Ludwig merely closed his eyes and fell into a fitful slumber. Returning to the entry hall, Joshua saw Sonya remove her snow covered jacket and boots and discarded them next to the door. The two of them exchanged weary gazes as they contemplated what words should pass between the two of them. Sonya saw in the man’s earth toned eyes he could think of nothing to say, and so, exhausted from their long trek which had seen them return in the night and the emotional weight of seeing Ludwig lay dead before her, she spoke two words in true sincerity: “Thank you.” Joshua blinked before offering a small smile barely seen on the serious man’s face before nodding and retreating into the kitchen which lay across from the living room.

The young Russian contemplated retiring at Ludwig’s resting place, however decided against such and instead continued down the hall and up the stone stairs onto the second floor. As she rounded a corner in the flight of stairs she heard the happy voices of children. One voice she recognised as the voice of Alyssa Ehrhardt, the daughter of Joshua. Another, one she presumed was male, was unfamiliar, though the boy sounded little older, if at all, then Alyssa herself. The muscles in her legs ached greatly as she continued sluggishly up the steps, suddenly very desperate for sleep. Though where her body was weary her mind was awake and she knew that her attempts to rest would be light and restless. Instead, as she reached the summit of the staircase, she turned toward a now open door to the study of the above ground bunker. Tossing caution aside in her frustrated mind, Sonya walked into the room, casting her grey glance into a nearby room where she saw the young child Alyssa along with a boy looking her age seated with a slim tablet between the two of them, from which the projection of battling knights were displayed. The two children’s hands were extended slightly before them, clawed as though they held a spherical control therein and with subtle movements of the wrist and fingers the knights displayed battled. The game perplexed the auburn haired woman, for she had not grown up with such quality pass-times, but had seen them gifted to her friends as a girl. Continuing into the study, the heavy smell of old paper engulfed her as she entered the room. Bookshelves lined all walls and in the centre a long metallic table whose surface was a strange, matte grey colour. The only break in the walls of bookshelves was comprised of a long, narrow window from which pale and weak light poured in.

Seated adjacent to this window in a near rose coloured metallic rocking chair covered in thick, knitted cushions was Elsa Ehrhardt, and before her face was a translucent project of a book and with the lazy movement of two fingers, a page would flip to the next. The source of the projection was a small cube that sat in her lap within the folds of the thick skirts that comprised her dress. Having not noticed Sonya’s entrance, she jumped slightly when she noticed the younger woman. “Oh, goodness me, you startled me,” the elder woman smiled slightly, “But it’s good to see that you made it back safe, and with your friend alive and well.” Sonya offered a nod of agreement, and the elder woman blinked once as a thought clearly occurred to her. Though the machinations of the woman’s mind were lost to her, Sonya found a great affinity with the elder woman, for her strength of character was great and the Russian woman admired her greatly. “You must forgive a foolish old woman, Sonya, I’ve forgotten my manners! Please, take a seat.” The elder woman motioned to a chair at the central table. Sonya moved toward the table, purposefully avoiding touching the likely projecting surface as she removed the chair from its place and turned it to face Elsa before seating herself. “Much better,” the elder lady Ehrhardt smiled a small smile as Sonya sat and relaxed considerably. The feeling of removing the weight of her being from her sore legs exuded a calmed sigh. The two fell into comfortable silence in each other’s company, and once more Sonya was reminded of her grandmother, a woman so far removed from her present that the late woman’s likeness was lost to her memory. Before her, Elsa Ehrhardt slid three fingers in the air and the projection of the book disappeared.

“It was… good to find Ludwig, and a miracle to revive him.” Sonya spoke after a long pause, and the woman across from her merely nodded. Sonya’s gaze drifted over the many books collected, all of which looked incredibly old. “Printing paper books was prohibited a long time ago. These must be downright ancient.” Once more, Elsa merely nodded, refraining from speaking. The woman’s silence irked Sonya, though the latter was far too weary to make a point of noting it and instead fell silent as well, her gaze once more reverting to peruse the large collection of paper-made books. Encyclopedia and various textbooks lined the bottom shelves while fiction and fantasy composed the middle shelves. Upon the highest shelves were tomes regarding non-fiction and poetry. “Quite the collection, indeed,” though at her own words, Sonya was reminded of a question she had longed to ask. For the rust haired woman, an awkward tension fell over the room as the seemingly taboo subject came to mind. Her stormy gaze returned the elder woman who had seemed to age greatly in the past days since she had heard of Laevan’s most recent changes to the constitutions and new laws. “Why did you and your family come to Russia, truly? Your son tells me that you did to keep safe from President Laevan’s assassins, but that doesn’t make sense. What would he care about what you and your family have to say about your husband’s death?”

A distinctive frown was brought to the elder woman’s face as she regarded the topic. Tired, sad brown eyes seem to dim at the thought of the answer to Sonya’s question, and she remained silent for some time. The night outside had finally seen a reprieve in the storm and the flurry of snow had been reduced to a slow snowfall. However the damage had been done: long, rolling plains of snow cast a pure white nothingness to the Siberian landscape. Spindly trees were buried three to four feet in snow at their trunks and the great plains of snow rose to the height of a fully grown man in some places. “Come here, Sonya.” Elsa spoke after a long pause, and at her behest, Sonya rose and the elder woman unfolded her hands. With a tentative, nervous movement, the uncharacteristically nervous woman rolled up her right sleeve, exposing a peculiar tattoo. Purposefully faded, a subtle marking on the wrist confirmed Sonya’s suspicions. “I suppose… you could call me Subject 3714550, Generation 3. Though I might not really care for it, it’s rather dehumanising.” Regardless of her suspicions, Sonya sighed sadly. “My thoughts exactly: I didn’t want to come here, but Joshua wouldn’t let me come here alone. And he couldn’t leave his family alone, so… Here we are.” Elsa’s unrolled her sleeve and refolded her hands, “If the people learned that William Ehrhardt’s wife was a Subject, they’d lose all faith in any laws my husband put into place. It’d put into question the entire pro-Subject movement so, without me there to prove Laevan’s claims, he can’t use it against NELO.” She shook her head slowly, “Subject or Normal, I won’t be a part of genocide. I won’t be a part of something more bloodstained than the Holocaust.” Her tone was stern and she her conviction brought a firm nod of agreement from Sonya. “Whether Subject or Normal, I cannot allow my existence to bring other pains. I won’t let it be so.” She reiterated once more, before falling into silence.

“I’ve… never actually met a Subject, when I think about it.” Sonya admitted after a moment, and Elsa merely chuckled at the admission. “Naturally, people in Polyarny and probably most of Murmansk are too poor to afford travelling all the way to NELO, let alone paying for the damn kid.” Once more, the elder woman merely nodded, and the two fell silent once more. It was common knowledge that, though NELO had made it incredibly affordable to adopt Subjects, they refused to pay for travelling fees. Such had left the world disproportionately populated with Subjects: rural communities and their citizenry could not afford the fees while urban centres with their higher concentration of the wealthy could. Such had led to widespread animosity in the first wave democracies; nations who had become democratic first. “After all, having a Subject for a kid just tells others that your parents got the Barren nowadays. Well, if I were infertile, I suppose it’d be my grandparents who had the Barren, but anyways: Subjects just tell the rural world that you had money and were willing to buy children.” Her gaze fell to the hefty texts at the base of the bookcases that surrounded them. In truth, Sonya had no real special love for Subjects, they were the product of the rich. But now, they were on the verge of being slaughtered for their mere existence. “Even if they are rich people’s toys, they’re people. I guess that’s why I don’t agree with Laevan.” In truth, Sonya’s feelings for Subjects were much stronger: even though she had only ever met one Subject, she knew that, to those who adopted them, they were their children. To those who were Subjects, it could not matter how they were born, but instead their desire to live on.

Elsa leaned back in her seat and let forth a wistful sigh. “You have some strong morals. You must have gotten that from your parents.” At such words, Sonya’s eyes narrowed and she let forth a huff of frustration, “Or perhaps you didn’t have upstanding parents and that’s why you’re who you are.” The younger woman’s visage relaxed and the elder woman took such as indicative of her agreement with her statement. “Though it’s an interesting philosophy you’ve made, though. Subjects should live because they want to live. Many evil people want to live, you know. Rapists, thugs, murders; they all want to live.” Elsa’s gaze drifted to some of the older looking texts on the second lowest row on a nearby bookcase before speaking once more: “Plato thought that we shouldn’t fear death, that we should embrace it because a moral individual has lived a good life and has nothing to fear when they are laid bare before their maker.” Her gaze drifted to another shelf on one of the farther bookshelves, “Machiavellian theory implies that we shouldn’t fear death because morality is just a construct between the perceived and the perceiver, so there’s no higher judgement capable to be made.” With a slight shiver, the elder woman pulled the shawl wrapped about her shoulders ever closer. Noting Sonya’s confused expression, the elder women chuckled lightly, “When I was a girl I went to all the best schools in Dublin. It’s where I met my husband, no less. My bachelor’s degree was in Philosophy and I completed my masters in sociology. A strange mix, I know. But my schooling taught me a lot, much of which I was able to put forth helping Bill with in his political career. I know that such education isn’t available in Murmansk thanks to the stipulations of the Union Charter, and believe me, Bill was fighting for that. But he only had so much power in the separate nations. He wasn’t willing to subvert them like Laevan’s done.”

“In either case, they have been taken over. Presidents and Prime Ministers alike are just administrative puppets, now.” A familiar voice sounded behind the two, and against the framing of the doorway Ludwig leaned. His hands were covered in bandages and his skin was oddly pale and drawn. His black hair was dirty and matted against his head. The Estonian man looked as though he could barely stand and Sonya found herself on her feet in worry that he might simply collapse at any moment. Seeing her concern, Ludwig waved a weak hand at her, “Don’t stress it, Sonya. I’ll be fine. Anyways, I’m not going to sleep while we have things to plan. Ludwig slowly pushed himself away from the wall, and with a trepidatious gait he stumbled toward the other two before merely slumping against the central table which beeped a few times, awaiting a command to be uttered. Ignoring it, he spoke again: “Obviously we’re banished from the training camp for another two months, but I think we should go back afterward.” The Russian woman found herself bereft of words, unsure whether she should agree with him, regardless of her internal desire to do so. She knew that she wanted to stop Laevan, if only for a selfish desire of avenging her sorry home and his hand in that, and to retain her own sense of justice she would stop NELO from being destroyed. “Look, I hate Russia. I know I don’t talk about it, but I do hate this country. But I hate the Pacific Union more for what it’s done to all of us. Stuck between the EU and the Pacific Union everyone I knew as a child - my family, my friends – they’re all suffering because the Pacific Union won’t trade with anyone outside their own nations. Laevan calls it “economic solidarity” or something ridiculous like that.” His knee shook for a moment and he planted both hands on the edge of the table to steady himself.

Sonya merely nodded once and with a sigh she resigned herself to the truth: she would have to kill Ludwig to stop him from helping her. “We can’t fight this on our own, not from the outside. What could we do? We could never get close to Laevan, he rarely leaves California and when he does he’s swarmed with guards.” With an exasperated sigh following Ludwig’s expression remain unchanged, “I suppose there’s no dissuading you, but I don’t think we have the cleanest of morals underlying our scheming.” The Estonian man across from Sonya merely chuckled at her thought and she fell silent. That same silence left the room with but mere awkward gazes being thrown at one another. Sonya knew that she could not leave the hands of Polyarny, of her brother and of all those she cared for, in the hands of President Laevan. He was too dangerous, too volatile, too American-centric. “In either case, I know I’m doing this. But I can’t just sit here and let you tell me that you’ll be tagging along.” With a mere quirked brow from her male counterpart, she felt frustration rise in her. Sonya knew that her fatigued friend was adamant upon going with her, but she would not allow it. He was so weak, now, and he was irresponsible. He had ended a fight and though he did it to protect her and himself, he had seen them left in a snowy tundra. “I won’t let you just walk into your death. How idiotic do you think I am?” Uneasy and left largely alone, Elsa Ehrhardt cleared her throat and Sonya’s words, and the latter’s gaze cut to the elder woman, annoyed that she had been critiqued. The two merely held each other’s gaze, neither willing to retreat from their staring contest. For although Elsa was old a strong fire burned within her, and she would not have her concerns put down by a girl so young and inexperienced in life.

Two frails hands grasped the edges of the rocking chair she sat in and after a trepidatious moment, Elsa Ehrhardt rose to her feet. “This war is one that began look before you two were born. It began twenty-five years ago when NELO One was destroyed. Back then, I was a professor at the University of Berkley and my husband was the local mayor of San Francisco. Naturally he and I got a great deal of exposure and, thanks to the Union transpacific offices being just outside of the city, he got a great deal of information leaked to him by administrative officials in the office of the President. Laevan himself was the representative of America at the time and he didn’t really care for the local civic authority being an immigrant from the EU which, as we well know, is on bad terms with the Pacific Union and it wasn’t any better back then.” Elsa waved a dismissive hand, “Oh my, forgive me getting off topic. Anyways my husband had friends in the Union headquarters, and they told him of how the New Evolutionary Leap Organisation Compound, the old one in Hawai’i, was an inside job. The Laevan Foundation’s middle aged upstart, Doran, was implicated in ordering guards out of the Compound’s power plant. Moreover, the explosives used to destroy the reactor were made by the Laevan Foundation’s secret weapons manufacturing division made before the Barren. Worse yet, these explosives were given the okay to be transported by none other than the Laevan Foundation’s Director and Doran’s elder brother, the almost completely unknown Galvin Laevan.” She scoffed angrily at the memory, “Naturally they didn’t even have to cover it up. The evidence was so circumstantial: Doran had moved the guard details to cover a riot caused by a few Subjects in one of the other buildings and Galvin had released the weapons to be destroyed at a safer location.” She looked away for a long moment, “Even still…”

“Even still, you don’t believe that load because you’re a smart lady and you know people.” Ludwig spoke wearily, his voice dry and bereft of any outer strength. The man had worsened in condition since he had entered and had likely remained silent thus far out of a need to conserve his strength. With a shaky grasp on the edge of the table he leaned against, he shuffled forward, his bandaged hand dragging nosily on the surface. “And, Miss Elsa, maybe this war did begin long before us. And maybe it’s your generation’s fault for not stopping it, but that’s in the past. Sonya and I, we may not have the best reasons for helping the Subjects but even someone from a piss poor country like Estonia and maybe a girl from the poorest hole Russia has have the best justification to help them: because we aren’t one of them.” He looked to Sonya and nodded once, his dark gaze made all the heavier with the deep bags that hung from his eyes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to black out now, so if you could catch me, Sonya, that’d be great.” With that, the man pushed himself to a stand, his eyes glazed over with exhaustion as he muttered incoherently to himself. Sonya stood from her seat and met him as he had begun to fall forward and, with some effort, stopped him. Ludwig was heavy, though she surmised that she had dragged much heavier wildlife into Polyarny, and so, even in her weakened state, would be able to carry her felled friend. Positioning herself in such a way as to drag him while walking backward, she hooked her arms under his armpits and he fell limp in her arms, his head leaned forward, eyes closed in his coma-like state. With a worried look from Elsa who stepped forward to futilely aid the younger woman, Sonya dissuaded her concerns by making her efforts look much less herculean. Following close by, Elsa observed the Russian woman’s efforts with caution as the latter, with heavy footfalls, dragged Ludwig’s body. The two continued in the same slow pattern until they had reached the room next to the one she had awoken in. The door, having been left ajar, was shoved open by Sonya’s hip and, after readjusting the burden that was Ludwig’s body, she hefted him onto the nearby bed and slumped back into the wall, her own form severely weakened from the endeavour.

Looking to Elsa, she slid down the wall and fell into a seated position. Her upper body ached tremendously and Sonya could feel her energy draining quickly from the ordeal. She herself was still weak from her trek with Joshua and so she simply let her head hang forward. She could hear Elsa talking, though the elder woman’s words fell on deaf, tired ears as the world around the Russian woman felt numb and foreign. With a few muffled words, Sonya merely heard the strange sound of shuffled footsteps as Elsa left the room. Regardless of her discomfort in sitting up against a wall, her mind fell still. However, although her body had been taxed beyond use, her mind remained active and so as she fell into unconsciousness, her weary soul felt itself drawn to a land seventy hours away: Sonya could feel the dank, heavy air of her parent’s house around her as her minds focused. Before her she saw her younger brother, Ivan and their father in a dangerous standoff. Tears had recently fallen from Ivan’s eyes, for they were puffy and reddened, however if the boy’s recent tantrums had lessened his fighting spirit, he hid it well, for his hands clutched the corner of their kitchen table and he leaned forward, his jaw set as he leered at their father who had just recently had the meal he had been eating tossed aside by the boy. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?!” Ivan demanded in heartbroken fury, “You and mother, you act like you don’t want me! You like Sonya enough but you just ignore me whenever I’m home, and then you criticise me for staying out late?” With one swift movement, Ivan Volkov flipped messy blond hair from his eyes and upturned the table his father was seated at, sending the piece of furniture noisily crashing into the cracked tiles below.

Their father seemed to finally take notice of Ivan’s anger and he stood with such furor that his chair was tossed backward and cracked against the moulding of the entryway into the kitchen. “You’ve always been such an ungrateful drama queen, did you know that?” His words were cold and loud as he sent Ivan stumbling backward and away from his as the elder man advanced upon the boy’s position. “Whine, whine, whine, that’s all you do! I give you everything and you just spit in my face with every little complaint you make.” Ivan looked as though he was about to speak, though found his words not come as his father gripped him by the forearm. “Look at you, shaking like a leaf! You’re as weak as though shits in the cities with all their fancy technology. I bet you want to go there, too!” After a moment, he calmed slightly and stood straight, though evidently his grip upon Ivan’s arm was tight enough to warrant the latter to continually try to wrest himself free. “And I bet you want to know the truth.” His grey eyes, so similar to Sonya’s, glinted dangerously. “Yes, you do indeed.” With that, he dropped the boy’s forearm who held it close to his chest. “Fine. No, I don’t love you. And I don’t want you. But I’ll let you live here until you live eighteen. Just because I’m that kind.” His words, laced with malicious disregard, seem to physically harm the boy as he stumbled further back and into the filthy kitchen counter. He stumbled to grasp the edge, however only felt the handles of cookware which he sent crashing into the ground. Sonya surged forward, but found her feet planted in place. She wanted to help Ivan more than anything, to take him away from the hateful, evil things one should never hear from their father. Yet she was still, and she screamed out, though once more found herself unable to do anything.

“I… I…” Ivan crumpled to the ground, his hands curled into fists before him. “I hate you!” He screamed at his father, though the man seemed impassive, as though he could not care less. Sonya felt another behind her, and found her mother, ever disinterested in the argument at hand, walk through her person, as though she were a ghost. As opposed to going to her son or perhaps even her husband, she merely moved to the felled table and righted it wordlessly. Ivan looked to the woman “M-Mother…” He spoke weakly. The woman merely looked at him for a moment, perplexed, before returning to her cleaning machinations through picking up the fallen dishware and cleaning up the discarded food. Ivan’s gaze merely fell, shuddering with tears. “I hate you two… You’re not parents… you’re monsters…” He spoke between choked sobs. With a cold scoff, the boy’s father merely turned around and left for the living room. Ivan pulled his legs up to his chest, burying his face in the space between his knees and continued to sob, entirely ignored by his parents who could not seem to care less for him. “Why do you two hate me…?” His question came out in a meek, pathetic sob and, if it was heard was by either one of his parents, neither responded. “Sonya…” He spoke miserably, “Where are you?” The boy merely sat there against the green cabinet doors, sobbing miserably. Sonya herself surged forward without repose, screaming silently against the injustice before her. How she wanted to strike down their intolerable parents and prove to Ivan that he did not need them or their nonexistent love. It was then that Sonya decided: she would free him from all those who would hurt him: their parents, their town, the government, the Union. Anyone who would hurt him, she would remove.

~*~

The fires had been doused, the dead were either buried or cremated, and finally the citizens of the newly renamed Siochana were given time to mourn and move on. Truckloads of supplies had been hauled in from Graham City, giving the weary refugees food and shelter. With the smoke clearing, the great sky scrapers of Graham City could be seen, their immense, glass casted figures pierced the very clouds and were lost in the hidden sky there above. In the opposite horizon one would see the near-porcelain white buildings of NELO. Though for Logan Hayes, there could be no satisfaction in either sight: the city who were saving a town headed for damnation and a place that would be witness to such destruction as that man had planned. From the mayoral office of what was once Laevous, Logan could see the remaining citizenry positioning large tents which erected themselves after a moment of autonomous preparation. Moreover, the military police milled about busily, delivering food and supplies to the ambling civilians. “It was necessary…” The fiery redhead told himself, “If I didn’t make that deal, everyone would’ve died. Two lives for hundreds… It was logical. It was right.” Logan failed to assure himself as his gaze fell from the horizon, “Even still. I saved Laevous, just to give it to that freak… that Subject One... And now Laevan is moving right on in. I got played.” The Irishman slunk into the chair he had annexed, one that he felt he was no longer worthy to sit at. “I gave up Roe and Stephan to the Union military. I sent them to their deaths. To hell with that red eyed shit, he tricked me…”

“Brooding in here again?” A feminine voice sounded behind Logan. The fiery haired man turned abruptly in the mayor’s seat, his verdant gaze filled with surprise, however he calmed as he recognised the figure. Anya, his former second in command from when the Red Dawn had any sort of authority had always been his greatest confidant since they had moved from the Palmyra University to Laevan. “Look, I know what you did wasn’t the best idea. But it was the only thing you could do. It was them or the town. And it’s not as though they’re dead.” Anya took a few languid steps toward the ruined desk before seating herself on the edge and letting forth a wistful sigh. “You saw the blond one’s face, he knew what was happening and het let it happen.” With a quick pat on her hand, she looked out the window. “After all, what you did saved hundreds of people. Look at them down there,” Anya motioned to those milling about below, “They have hope. Something they haven’t had in a long time, now.” Logan, evidently unconvinced, remained seated, his gaze set on the dirty desktop before him. It was here that Roe and Stephan had come to him to ask him to help their birthplace, NELO. Instead, he had sent them to certain demise. “You’re working yourself into a tantrum over nothing, Logan.” She said in an eerily calm voice as she dismounted the desk before rounding its large, inanimate being. The young woman whose dirty, dark hair was held in a ponytail ran a hand through its length before slinging her arms around his shoulders. “I know you feel bad for them, but they’re farther from the Father, now. That has to count for something. They’re in Graham City where I’m sure they’re fine.”

Logan merely shrugged, though offered her a sly smirk as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Taking advantage of me in my grief stricken state? Anya, you should be ashamed.” With a light chuckle from both of them, the morose tension in the room subsided and the two merely relaxed in the lighter atmosphere. The young Irishman rose from his seat and grinned at Anya’s subsequent pout as she was untangled from his person. The two took post at the now unbounded window from which the noonday sun streamed in freely. Logan once more took note of both the horizons which painted the almost alien land of NELO and the beautiful Graham City whose young features were clad in glass and brilliant metals. “I just don’t want NELO to be destroyed. If that means I have to sell my soul to that devil, the Father, so be it. I’d do it a million times over to keep those kids safe.” He looked to Anya for a moment and grinned. “You have to protect family, after all. And they’re just a very big family.” From a quirked brow from his counterpart, Logan merely shrugged, “A very big family who likes to wear all white and hangs around in big doughnut capped machines that generate new cells.” Though as the two fell into comfortable silence once more, it was the arrival of roughly thirty pure white transports donning the Union’s flag. “Those are military police… They’re the honest to god military!” Logan felt pangs of unease grow inside him as he watched soldier after soldier exit the back of the transports. The doors to the mayor’s office were thrown open and the two whirled about, only to find the proprietor of the propaganda that had swayed Siochana so thoroughly striding toward them. Subject One’s features, yellowed and unhealthy, cut deeply into Logan’s person, as though he were searching for hidden information that might aid him, and by the old man’s frustrated visage, he was unsuccessful. “What do you want?” The redhead felt his temper begun to take hold as he saw the man grow ever closer.

“Such a rude child, can you not see that your Father merely worries for your wellbeing? You have shut yourself in this office for far too long.” The man paced around the desk and peered out the window whose boarded surface had been rent free of such obstructions. “Oh, they’ve arrived.” Almost sensing their confusion, Subject One turned to his younger counterparts. “The Red Dawn has been invaluable in keeping Siochana safe thus far, but it is time to rekindle old friendships in the Union and rebuild a shattered town.” His words saw Logan’s eyes grow wide with shock and Anya swear quietly. Subject One advanced on the two, “You will be given comfortable lives in the town, but the allies of The Awakening can no longer squat in this desolated town. I suggest that you limit your movements to primarily these offices while the reconstruction occurs. It would be a true tragedy if some of the former Red Dawn’s agents were lost to the ruckus of rebuilding a town.” His threats only angered Logan and Anya further, however Subject One once more cut them off, his crimson gaze boring into the two of them as he maliciously marginalised them. The ancient looking figure ran a hand over wispy white strands of hair before straightening his back for a moment. “For it is time for Siochana to become a beacon, an exemplar of what the world must be. A place of hallowed respect for the universe and a town of commerce and business: it will be a place of true harmony and justice.” The man extended his arms outward grandly, “Yes, Siochana shall be our prototype Cardinal City. A town of purity unparalleled by this disgusting world, filled with lies and slander!” Lowering his arms, he looked to the now irate Logan, once more subverting his disputes: “And it shall be heralded as a beginning trumpeted by you, the Red Dawn themselves.”

Logan lurched forward, gasping the old man by the scruff of his strange robes which felt almost silky in his fist, though the fabric itself looked to be made of coarse linens. “You will not sully what so many died for!” He pushed the strange man into the desk behind him, and if the impact harmed the seemingly frail main, he gave no outward indication of his injury. “I gave you my friends to keep this town safe, and now you’re going to hand it off to Laevan!? I won’t let you!” Anya placed a cautionary hand on his shoulder, though she shook it off and barked at her angrily; “No, Anya! I won’t let him poison what we’ve done here.” Subject One, however, merely looked amused at Logan’s anger. The two fell silent in an uneasy standoff, the younger man using what little self-control he had to stop himself from throttling an old man, and the elder merely standing there, looking evermore amused. “Cocky old man, I wouldn’t be so sure of myself if I-“ Logan felt his words drop off as a skeletal hand wrapped around his neck. With inhumane speed, the self-proclaimed Father had his hand around Logan’s throat with an equally unnatural strength. Blood had already stopped pumping into his head and Logan grasped angrily at the man’s arm, failing to pry him off. “You… monster…!” The Irish red head choked out, his mossy gaze growing bloodshot as he thrashed with a saddened futility. Anya too tried to pry the old man off Logan, however found him as immobile as a mountain, though she did not cease her efforts, yelling at the yellowed skinned man to release him. The Father’s bloodied gaze cocked to the side as he saw the veins grow ever more pronounced in the redhead’s face. “You… won’t get away with this!” Logan gasped as his thrashing became weaker. However, just as his eyes had begun to flutter closed, Subject One disinterestedly tossed the young man into the opposite wall, and he crashed downward, coughing violently. Anya took such as an opportunity to detain the man and tried to grab him by the wrist and hold it behind his back.

Though her efforts were for naught for, as she took the old man by the spindly wrist, he in turn grabbed her own and spun her around and with a painful crack, dislocated her shoulder and tossed her to the side. Anya crashed to the floor with a noisy fall and clutched her injured shoulder in thinly veiled agony, her gaze set upon the Father with clear hatred. “You misunderstand, children. I am Subject One. I was made mighty for the purposes of understanding the limits of we sub-humans. In the process I was made mightier than all those living and so to attack me is an unwise decision fraught with assured peril.” The man wrenched Anya to her feet by her dislocated arm, an action which caused the feisty woman to yelp in pain and spoke in little more than a hiss: “The universe is a place of chaos and destruction. Do not force my hand and deliver unto you its wrath.” With that, he discarded her to the floor once more. The Father then turned to the exit and made his departure, however paused as he reached the doors and turned. “A note, children. Minister of Defense Martin Godfried his on his way here. Make sure that the Siochana citizenry has created a fitting welcome for the good General. He’ll be shutting down NELO within a week’s time.” With that, the man exited the mayor’s office and left Logan slumped against the wall, dazed, and Anya clutching her shoulder, both forgotten and unneeded by the people they had sworn to protect. Logan moved to Anya side and merely placed a hand on her still functional shoulder, too weary in his heart to give any true words of comfort. Instead, the two sat and watched the noonday sun pass into twilight over the dirtied carpet of the office where the sun shone in.   

~*~

It was only when the Palmyra University sent Ray Esmond a grant to develop his theories that he realised that they were serious. His work on a new type of city was ‘ground breaking and impressive,’ according to his department head and, more surprisingly, it had caught the attention of a visiting Union government official who had personally requisitioned the funding. The concept was of a city never seen before in the world, one that acted as a centre of every conceivable part of society from business, to politics, to spiritual and recreational affairs and was organised in such a way as to make it a desirable locus of human activity. However for Ray, the excitement had worn away and all that was left was nervous apprehension. So much weighed upon his success, and yet creating a prototype of his city was impossible: he could not simply create a city and a society to live in it. He needed a standing group of people to move into his concept, though even then such was impossible, for no one would be willing to do as such. Rina Hayashi, the woman who had contacted him from the Union government, was enthusiastic over his concept of the One City and had emphatically written to him in an email the day before. Though the details of the letter were lost to his fatigued mind, Ray recalled the woman having written that ‘the future of the Union and indeed the world is not decentralisation of society. Super cities are required to create nexuses of power and authority to bring together humanity. In these cities we will find a unification of interests and the death of self-centred, obsolete, nationalistic identities and the birth of a people united as part of the Union, and not a nation within our coalition. What you’ve theorised in your concept is exactly what we’ve been looking at for the One City.’ The Japanese woman had gone on to say that she wished for a mock-up in a modelling program in a week and promised him immediate graduation and a position within the Union government, providing his findings were successful. The weight of her expectations pulled him down, however the ever determined Ray would not bow to his own human weakness.

The model before him was, according to the predictive software, thirty seven percent complete, but even in its incomplete stage, was an impressive sight. The central building, known as Gherkin Prime, was a rounded and tapered structure which rose roughly two hundred stories into the sky and was encased bending arcs of metal that flowed ever upward to the final point of the building high above. The building’s use was that of an administrative centre for the city’s government and main businesses, however it doubled as a tourist attraction and a place of art and theatre. His true city would be comprised of six or more sectors laid out in a pinwheel from the centre Gherkin, though the prototype would consist of but one of these sectors. Each sector would be a self-sustained city in and of itself with a theorised population of four million or more, giving the super city a proposed population of, at the minimum specifications, twenty-four million people at the limit’s maximum, however Ray was quite aware that, given more districts and sectors, it could hold many more millions of people. Though the design was enormous and would require a need for such a city. Such a quandary was where the silver haired young man found confusion with Rina, for she had spoken in her email as though such a need was now, but the standing cities of the day served their purpose. As he continued detailing his sector-cities, the question continued to drag at his efficiency; what possible purpose could the Union have with his design? It was only when his phone, but a slim piece of malleable, data imprinted silicon, vibrated upon his desk noisily. Grabbing the device irritably, he accepted the call with a tap of his finger on the screen and spoke irritably: “Yes?” Looking outside, he discerned it to be well into the third hour past midnight and wondered who would want something from him.

“Good morning Mister Esmond,” a familiar voice sounded on the other side of the call, “Look at the identification check on this call,” the voice instructed. Hesitantly, Ray complied and what he saw shocked him. The call’s identification check informed the weary architect that the call was coming from the Pacific Union Senate building, specifically the Bureau of Public and Private Intellectual Property. The PPIP bureau headed intellectual property rights for the Pacific Union and presented legislation on such. Hearing no response, the man only seemed bored, “My name is Robert Thompson and I’m calling about your appeal to include your One City proposal in the protected private database. Unfortunately, we are unable to fulfil such a request, however the One City theory has, at the suggestion of a one Rina Hayashi, been filed in the public database, per its importance to the transnational government’s interests.” Ray blinked, confused. Why did the PPIP think the One City was his idea? He merely created an idea similar to it and moreover, why would it be made government property? The questioned continued to amass and the man who had so recently been introducing himself to his floor mates as their residence advisor realised that they wished to use his idea. “Hello?” Robert Thompson spoke with a touch of irritation, evidently growing impatient at Ray’s silence.  “Anyways, should you wish to access your work, you’ll have to enter in the D-42: Release of Governmental Documentation Form to the transnational government. We also ask that you delete any records of your work on your own servers, since, without the proper form, you will be infringing upon Bureau mandate with regards to the release of public documentation, which could land you in court or in jail. Goodbye, Mister Esmond.” With that, the line went dead and left Ray, who spoken but one word to the man, alone. They had taken his pride and joy, something he had been working on since his first year for themselves and left him with nothing. Even if he wanted to release the documents from the Bureau of Public and Private Intellectual Property, they would still hold legal ownership and for him to edit them would also land him in jail or court. Looking to the progress he had made on the Gherkin Pinwheel City, or what Rina Hayashi had appropriated as the One City, he knew that, if it ever came to fruition, he would never be able to take ownership.

The predictive progress calculator read forty-nine percent, and it was then that Ray simply closed the program. Ray hefted the tablet in hand, looking at himself in the darkened reflection of its near transparent surface before scowling and hurling it at the wall. The expensive technology hit the hard wall and shattered immediately, sending debris flying. Ray only watched the mess of circuits, casing and screen disperse over his bed and dresser, feeling an immense sensation of defeat. “My idea was going to help the world…” He spoke quietly. Rising from his chair garbed in a bathrobe and pajama bottoms, the disheartened silver haired young man moved to his dormitory door and exited the small room. His feet found him ambling about the long hall which led toward the elevator. He looked to the various doors that he walked past, silently reading the names of students who had been expelled under the 73 Amendment or had left voluntarily. The hallway, being joined by another perpendicular one at the entry to the elevator, ended and he followed the new hallway, the silence of the dormitory complex deafening. Shortly after rounding the corner, Ray found a familiar sight. It was Room 414, and the door had been smashed in following a military police raid. Hanging off the damaged doorframe by but one hinge, the door sagged greatly and where the handle and lock had once been, now was a finely hewn hole bored with some sort of high power laser saw. Ray sighed, walking into the room, condemning himself for reliving his regret of such things. “I told Stephan that if he wanted a new room, he could have just asked me…” The silver haired man shook his head once more. The beds had been upturned, the desks collapsed in a feverish race to discover anything incriminating in the room, and the dressers, bereft of drawers, for they had been wrenched out with such force their ruined countenance lay upon the dirty floor. He had seen them leave, along with Emiliyia and Vadim and although he had heard from Emiliyia, Ray had received no messages from Vadim, Stephan or Roe. Granted the man did not expect to hear from Roe, but was concerned for their wellbeing. They had fled to NELO, though even Ray knew that the Union military was readying to shut the facility down and arrest all employees. He shuddered to think what they would do with the Subject children, but could only find little remorse for them, the reality of his work being stolen too fresh in his mind.

Turning toward the window, Ray looked outside and saw a typical sight: the TPW had amassed outside the dormitories and were boycotting the entrances into one’s housing facilities were they not of a similar frame of mind with regards to Subjects. The group was large and looked to be well organised, for although only a few people actively guarded the doors, they were imposing and strong. Meanwhile many others had amassed around and were heckling those who would enter the building. Ray did not care for the protestors and found their display offensive and culturally backward. But such displays were quickly becoming part of the Union society thanks to Section 73 of the Union Charter, which had stripped all unnaturally born humans of their rights and freedoms. The silver haired man was no fool and knew that President Doran Laevan had successfully muzzled democracy and was becoming more and more powerful in the more remote nations in Asia and Oceania. Below, a woman heatedly argued with those gathered around the door, and Ray frowned. The young woman angrily shoved another student out of the way, and to the silver haired male’s surprise she was tossed backward and into the ground. He did want to help the poor woman, but the Englishman knew better than to throw himself into the fray. None helped any on an island so firmly pulled apart. Nine building at the university had been shut down due to vandalism by both anti and pro Subject groups and the entire university had been put on a curfew to reduce the amount of student fighting. Ray had heard of the brawl that Roe and Stephan had been a part of and knew that the ever unreadable Subject had been injured in an effort to save the latter. The thought of Roe saving someone was a peculiar thing and, although part of the silver haired young man did not believe it, he knew that the Subject was of stern moral calibre. It was a curious thing, for when he spoke to Roe alone before the four had made their hurried exodus, he had been entirely distant and disinterested with what he had to say. Ray had found the Subject to be almost annoyed at his presence, a fact that the silver Englishman had found somewhat offensive, though the idea of Roe actively expressing an emotion was an unseen concept and so he could infer that the man’s distant nature was one of passive irritation.

Though as he mused about those who had unwittingly paved the way for many others to flee home or simply drop out or be expelled, the woman who was had failed to enter the building grasped one of the larger men in front of the doors and attempted to pull him out of the way. Though her efforts were for naught as the man grabbed her by the hair and backhanded her roughly and Ray scowled deeply at the display. Undeterred, the woman, cupping her cheek, delivered her shin into the man’s crotch and the larger figure crumpled over, his face twisted with pain. Looking on from his vantage point, Ray smirked at her audacious move to reduce the threat the man caused. However his mirth was quickly removed as another one of the figures tossed the woman to the ground, face first. It was then that Ray shoved the window open, shouting: “Put that down, you monsters!” Though his disputes were made vain as a hollowing bang rang out and the woman fell still on the ground. One of the TPW protestors held in an eerily still hand a handgun which, from the odd sounding gunshot, Ray realised that the weapon had fired two conductive prongs which instantly killed the woman with a lethal dose of electricity. Having seen him, the protestors hurriedly thrown open the doors into his dormitory and were on his way to detain and pass him to the military police for questioning Section 73. Ray slumped against the wall and fell to a seated position, defeated by the injustice of a world that wished to control all.

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