Subjectivity: Chapter Sixteen

The torrential fall of rain sounded somewhere in the distance. Repetitive thrumming of falling droplets sounded loudly on a metal roof in the building and seemed to calm the inmates around Stephan who normally kept to rowdy habits and noisy pastimes. The rain continued its endless drumming with such rhythm that, for a long moment, the captive Greek felt mesmerised by the sound. Not only had his fellow prisoners been relaxed by the precipitation, so too did he find himself calmed by it and though he was unsure if he was still on Neo-Palmyra, it reminded him of the island. Having realised that the happenstance meeting with Roe was truly a life changing occurrence recently, he still failed to discern if it had been a truly positive or negative event. Having finally been given a set of poorly fitting grey pants and an equally large grey inmate shirt, Stephan felt relieved to no longer have to be perpetually naked. Waking up as such and being stared at so lewdly by one of the prison guards was an uncomfortable experience and one that he did not wish to repeat, and so was glad for the garb that he had found sitting next to his bed one day. He laid upon the hard bed that had risen out of the ground roughly a week ago, given how many times he had slept since then. However since such a time, he had not seen the Chief Prison Officer, Jack Gilbert, or his abusive subordinate whom he only knew as Bob. Stephan did not even know who delivered his food, for a tray of barely palatable grey paste would simply appear during the night. Though vile to taste, it was filling and filled him with sufficient energy for the entire day, much to his own chagrin. The fear of being killed in the cell had passed after the first few days, and now all the young man could do what sit around and think: he would think about his brother and sister, his parents, his friends and, most obviously, his fellow prisoner, Roe. Stephan only knew that his artificially born friend was in the complex somewhere, however how he was faring and other details were unknown to him.

Minutes passed into hours as he merely lay there, his gaze sightlessly staring into the metal plated ceiling. Escape was impossible and he had learned that the hard way when he had tried to pry a seemingly lose panel off the wall, a powerful electric shock has caused him to black out. When he awoke, bandages were wrapped around his hands and a salve had been applied to the bandages. Stephan had removed the bandages and, to his surprise, there were no signs of electrical burns. The ambience of the prison was tense and uncomfortable, and was only made worse by the unseen movements of the prison personnel. Moreover, due to the poor lighting and dark walls, the Greek man could never see the other inmates, only hear their deranged nonsense: some would laugh for hours on end, some would weep and sob without repose, and others were shout horrific threats at no one in particular. ‘The Pacific Union must really hate me to put me in with these lunatics. Maybe they think I’m insane for trying to help the Subjects.’ His verdant gaze drifted to the barred entrance to his cell and, though he saw nothing in the darkness across, he knew that the other inmates were there, mesmerised by the pouring rain. Heavy footsteps sounded then, and from what Stephan could hear, there were multiple people coming down the hall. It had been many days since anyone other than a prisoner could be seen, and the brunet prisoner silently wished that they would not stop at his cell, for fear that more of Bob’s treatment would be given out. The footfalls grew ever louder and more pronounced, and at such a time Stephan discerned that there were three individuals approaching and slowly sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed, however remained seated, his gaze cast to the cell’s barred wall. To him, it felt as though an eternity passed as the footfalls grew louder and louder and the prisoner felt impatience surge in him as the newcomers did not show themselves. Rather abruptly, however, three figures appeared out of the gloomy darkness and before and turned to face his cell. Flanking a familiar figure were two guards, armed with what appeared to be assault rifles and from the markings thereupon, he discerned the weapons to fire neurotoxic bullets. Relatively lightly garbed, the two guards simultaneously turned on their inside heel and faced away with watchful gazes scanning the nearby cells.

The central figure wore a black military peaked cap adorned with a silver emblem of a dove surrounded by thirteen stars. A black military uniform was fitted tightly to them and, where one would expect a military officer to wear a tie, this man wore a black ascot. Various rank decorations were placed upon their shoulders and cuffs. The man looked at Stephan for a long moment before he extended a hand with a slim metallic band wrapped halfway around the space between their thumb and forefinger and turned their hand in the air as though they were turning a doorknob. A door-sized gateway opened in the cell bars and the figure stepped in. Closer to him now, Stephan realised the oddly formally dressed officer was indeed Jack Gilbert. “Hello, Stephan. I heard you had a bit of a run in with the security system. Well that should show you that escape is largely impossible.” The ever disinterested sounding Chief Prison Officer said as he removed his hat and ran a hand over his hair before replacing it on his head. “Our schedule has moved up due to Godfried’s reckless use of his new toy.” Gilbert spared a glance to his guards, one of which had looked back during his explanation, and, upon noting their superior’s gaze toward them, quickly looked forward. “I need your help, Stephan,” the man said after a prolonged moment of silence. Though he did not sound pained at admitting his request, and instead seemed to have resigned to the reality of his position, and so he merely stood there, awaiting Stephan’s answer. However the prisoner was both perplexed and reluctant. Silence fell heavy over the two of them as the latter convict merely sat there, pondering his decision. Were he to go with them, he would be aiding the Chief Prison Officer, and more importantly, President Laevan, in his hidden agenda which surely boded ill for Subjects. Conversely, should Stephan comply, he would be privy to see Roe and he would be not only capable of assessing his friend’s wellbeing but also possibly devising a means of escape. With no small amount of pride, the captive student admitted to himself that he likely knew Roe best outside of those of NELO and thus theorised that his Subject friend was already creating an escape plan. It was a dangerous plan and one that was far from ideal, though nevertheless, the possible gains of complying were tempting in and of themselves.

The inner conflict continued and Jack Gilbert seemed perfectly amenable to simply waiting for a response. The prison official took a seat on the edge of the bed, his tired gaze never leaving Stephan. “Alright,” the Greek nab spoke finally, “I’ll help you.” With no words, the older individual stood abruptly and beckoned for the prisoner to follow him and so Stephan was led out of the prison cell. The floor felt cold against his bare feet, however he had long since grown accustomed to the cold feeling of concrete beneath his feet. His padded footfalls were drowned out by those of his military counterparts whose strides echoed loudly against the eerily silent prison cells all around. Once more, Stephan could see no figures in the dim prison, however could feel their malicious stares boring into him: some seemed envious while others left a befouled sense of exposure which cause him to speed up and draw closer to his undesired companions. Jack walked before him and was either oblivious or uncaring to the countenance of his prisoners as they walked by, though his two guards seemed less composed and trained their weapons against either wall of bars throughout the lengthy walk through the cells. Ahead, Stephan could see the outline of a door-shaped port which grew steadily larger as they walked on. Before long, the four of them stood before the door and the Chief Prison Officer pressed a thumb against a small, glass outcropping, and the door slid into the wall and out of sight. Blinding brightness struck the captive student and he shielded his eyes, ambling blindly forward and hoping he would not crash into someone or something. His eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness and it was then that Stephan realised that the room was not bright, but instead of an average brightness. His light deprived eyes had adjusted to the near permanent darkness of his cell and now regular lighting was painful and left him squinting. The two guards, prison official and prisoner stood in a wide hallway which was comprised of two desks that spanned the room’s length. “Where is everyone?” Stephan asked as they hurried down the hall before stopping at a door on the far end. Jack glanced back for a moment, giving his prisoner an exasperated sigh.

“I ordered them to leave the hallways that we need to cross, to avoid making it known we were moving a convict and breaking the law.” The man explained curtly and Stephan merely nodded. Once more, the former placed his thumb on a glass outcropping and the door slid away. Militant grey walls gave way to a stale blue pallet of hues which adorned the walls of what the Greek surmised was a lobby of sorts. There were no windows on any walls and, though there was a large waiting area with hard looking couches and silent television screens, none were present, as Officer Gilbert had assured him. The four of them continued across the lobby to a set of white doors labelled “Mental Ward.” Realising he himself had not been in such a place as he had previously thought, Stephan assumed that his other theory was correct; that he was held with murders and other violent criminals. The two doors swung wide and a stale white hallway was exposed. Akin to the pallet of colours one might find in the NELO Compound, the facility was noticeably less advanced than the Subject facilities were. Both walls were littered with thick doors with small windows at the tops and removable ID numbers placed on the doors. Stephan could not see inside the rooms, but assumed them to be some sort of holding cell for those who were considered a danger to themselves. As they passed through another set of double doors, the doors became set wider apart and looked to be less concerned with keeping some sort of deranged lunatic from escaping and more concerned with sanity and security. Signs read that all employees must wash hands frequently and at some rooms cross into a decontamination zone before entering. However the prison officer, his two guards and prisoners continued down this new hall for some time before stopping and facing a door on the right. The room was labelled “High Security,” and required more than fingerprint identification. For above the glass outcropping for one’s fingerprint was an eye level screen that Officer Gilbert slouched downward to have his eye scanned as he too has his thumbprint inspected. The two screens blinked green after revealing their results for a moment and an audible click could be heard. The prisoner official looked to his guards and shook his head as they readied to move in: “Stay out here, I’ll be fine.” With that, the two wordlessly moved to take sentry positions around the door, which the blond man opened and stepped in before ushering Stephan into.

Inside the room looked to have the makings of an operating room: an operating table had been set up in the centre on which an obscured figure lay and all around them were various machines that crowded the space. All were hooked into the person’s body. The walls were bleached white, save one, which was adorned with a large mirror and in its reflection Stephan was able to ascertain the truth he did not wish to realise: it was Roe who lay upon the table. Two tubes led toward his head: one that entered his body at the top of his neck and the other that entered just below the ear, where the skull ended. Another tube was connected to his wrist and various monitoring pads had been affixed to his pale skin and although Roe did not look sick as Stephan slipped around the closely spaced machines, he certainly did not look his best. His hair was matted and dirty, and blood had trickled from each tube’s entrance into his body and had left small dried puddles shortly below on the metal table. Roe’s eyes were shut, his mouth slightly agape, hands balled into loose fists at his sides and his entire form eerily still. Jack Gilbert merely stood at a distance, and gave a small motion of his hand as though to indicate it was acceptable for Stephan to wake the Subject. Stephan returned his gaze to his unconscious friend and opened his mouth, tentatively speaking: “Roe…?” His had been barely above a whisper and evidently it had been insufficiently loud to wake the Subject. The Greek man leaned in, peering at his comrade for any signs of cognisance, and with a tentative move, he placed a hand on Roe’s loosely balled fist which tightened instantly at the touch. Azure eyes snapped open and met the surprised sea-green gaze before narrowing in thinly veiled anger. Roe rose slightly from his resting position and swung his left hand around, gripping his former roommate by the throat with a crushing grip. Stephan’s eyes were wide with shock and disbelief as he fought to dislodged himself from the Subject’s grasp. “Roe!” He said weakly, his voice easily cut off by the hand gripping his throat, “It’s me, Stephan!” He croaked in little more than a weak wheeze. Roe’s cold gaze widened for a moment before flickering to his hand, and back to Stephan’s reddening face.

Blood surged into Stephan’s head as he was throttled mercilessly, though no help would come from Officer Gilbert who merely watched for the time being. The hand grasping the brunet trembled and loosened slightly before it ceased its shaking and continued its strangulation. “I cannot…” the words came out slowly and through a clenched jaw from Roe as he watched his hand with disbelief, “I cannot… stop this…” He spoke with an eerily monotone voice and with the cocking of one eyebrow for a split second, his grip on Stephan tightened. Panic surged through the asphyxiated young man whose sight became had begun to fail from a lack of blood flow. His hands flailed around as he tried to find something to pry Roe off, though was privy to no such devices and instead merely failed to pry the other’s hands off his neck. “Stop me,” Roe commanded once more in a voice devoid of all life, even for his normally restrained tonalities, though Stephan could not hear him as the beating of his heart in his ears drowned all else out and finally he begun to sputter from having no oxygen left in his lungs. His arms and legs thrashed violently as he was drawn into the air before and his mind raced madly: ‘Roe is killing me and there’s nothing I can do to stop him…’ the reality of such was both terrifying and disheartening, ‘Did they break him? Is he my enemy?’ Stephan’s bloodshot eyes rolled downward and he noted one of the tubes sticking out of Roe’s neck and, with one clumsy he hand, he grasped the tube and with a sickening sliding sound, removed it from Roe’s body. The Subject’s hands abruptly fell from his throat and he collapsed to the ground, blinded from the lack of oxygenated blood and coughing so violently he felt bile rise in his throat. Stephan’s Subject friend, however, did not fare so well as, after having the tube removed, merely collapsed backward and off the operating table. Crashing into the ground with the skidder of various medical instruments, the various lines tied to Roe’s body went taught and while a few were removed, others remained inside and machines nearby groaned in resistance as they were dragged toward him. His sight returning, the felled Greek could not completely see Roe, however did see the blurry form of Chief Prison Officer Gilbert who swept in between the machines and with heavy footfalls came to Roe’s side.

The seizing Roe thrashed violently on the ground and Stephan weakly crawled around the table, his muscles having not yet received enough fully oxygenated blood to function completely. Azure eyes, bloodshot and wide, had rolled back into the Subject’s head and blood oozed freely from the grievous hole in the back of his upper neck. Grasping the discarded tube which leaked onto the ground a strange, silver-clear fluid, Jack Gilbert forcefully reattached it and Roe grew eerily still. “So that’s what happens when the process is ended prematurely,” the prison official noted with subdued interest as he viewed the now still form of his prisoner. The blond Subject’s eyes opened and met Stephan’s harried gaze, wide with shock as he merely lay there. “Subject, stand up.” Jack Gilbert ordered and both Roe and Stephan’s gaze were brought to the Subject’s person as he placed his two legs underneath himself and pushed to a stand. Following him upward, the Normal borne prisoner used the operating table to support himself as his atrophied muscles slowly came back to life. Roe’s lifeless gaze stared out blankly, and it was as though his very soul had been trampled underfoot following the three words that had been uttered by Gilbert. Stephan watched in silent horror as the demonstration of the newfound authority over his friend continued: “Subject, about face.” Without any resistance, the blond Subject turned around, his lifeless gaze looking through the Greek. No words would come to his mouth as the horrified young man looked at his dominated friend who merely moved on command and otherwise remained totally still. Jack Gilbert looked to Stephan who could only stand there, his legs frozen from the repulsion that rippled through his mind. “I told you I needed your help, Stephan,” the man spoke and, with a moment of repose, he spoke solemnly: “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that this has to happen.” With that, an intensely powerful electric charge cascaded through Stephan’s body, causing him to stand completely rigidly before collapsing backward. As he faded into unconsciousness, the last thing he saw was the lifeless gaze of Roe still staring forward, oblivious to all that had transpired.

~*~

Three months later.

“Food ration cards are to be given out daily at 5:00 am! All those wishing to make use of the cards are to line up on the south side of the camp!” Vadim shouted out as he walked slowly through the swarms of people. Roughly three thousand tents and other temporary structures swarmed all around the Russian Subject and to compound the crowded nature of the squalid encampment, Subject children of all ages, along with the NELO employees who had decided to stay, surged forward at his voice. Those gathered around were filthy and sickly looking, their once pure white garb stained irrevocably by the nature of their camp, however the harangued man had long since learned how to cope with the misery he saw in them. Though it was their eyes that he poignantly ignored when he called out any sort of announcement, for the Subjects and their sympathisers were a beaten and broken people. In their sad eyes he saw the mourning for the hundreds of thousands left behind and the agony that was living in a refugee camp. “All those who agitate these proceedings will be punished!” He continued, and frowned at the scowls shot at him before he tried to vocally rationalise the near-cruel nature of his current profession: “These measures have been put into place in order to assure the safety and wellbeing of Subject and Normal alike!” Some had begun to spread dissenting rumors roughly a month after their arrival that the remnants of the NELO hierarchy were hoarding food sent from the European Union and that they needed new leadership. Vadim sympathised with them, but knew the truth of the situation: the EU had simply stopped sending as much food. Public interest in the advanced Union had dwindled shortly after the refugee flood had stopped being frontline news and thus so too did the interest of politicians. Having fallen silent, he canted his gaze to the nearby beach. Unlike the pristine, artificially created beaches of Neo-Palmyra, this coast was rocky and the grey waves that rolled in were cold with arctic water and did not allow for any sort of jovial frolicking he wished for the younger children. Those old enough to work had been forced to mature too quickly, for all hands were required to maintain the camp.

The refugee camp for the NELO escapees was intended initially for five thousand Subjects and sympathisers; however as more and more social dissidents left the Pacific Union and a late coming transport that had spirited away many captive Subjects from NELO the day following his own evacuation, the camp had ballooned to well over ten thousand refugees. The European Union officials, though earnestly sympathetic, could simply not immigrate over ten thousand refugees at once and were in legal battle with the Pacific Union for the rights to the Subjects and had claimed that the Normals who had fled were criminals and were to be subject to Pacific Union law and not European Union law. Vadim felt a gloved hand grip his wrist and was already being pulled through the crowd by the time he had fully realised who it was that had attempted to steal him away from the growing hostility around him: Rosario Diaz, and though she had a Spanish name, her perpetually tanned skin would caution one from making such an assumption. Vadim had met the kind hearted girl shortly after he arrived and was made a part of the pseudo-government that loosely controlled the Subject camp, as she had volunteered to help the beleaguered refugees in any way she could. “I don’t think you should be making those announcements with such angry people nearby, Vade.” She cautioned with a tone of worry. Though only sixteen, Vadim admired her for her infallible kindness and generosity. Though as he opened his mouth to explain that they would never hurt, she spoke once more for she either wished to not hear his conjecture or instead had not noticed his desire to speak, as she faced away as the two hurried through the crowd. “Adymn, Marcella and I wouldn’t forgive ourselves if you got roughed up by angry refugees.” The Subject fell a frown grow on his face that, upon looking back at his sudden silence, the Moroccan girl flushed, embarrassed, and looked forward once more. “Sorry! I know that word bugs you. But we need to get to the C.A.T before Borislav comes to take Emiliyia away.”

Vadim grimaced further at the painful memory. Emiliyia, alone and scared, had been stabbed by a former NELO Employee for her food rations card a month ago and, due to their inadequate medical care in the camp, she had developed an infection. Having returned from his military service, her older brother Borislav had come to take her to a hospital nearby, since the refugees were not allowed outside of the prescribed area without permits by the EU government. As the two hurried toward their destination, Vadim saw the true depravity of their lives: Subject children as young as five or six sat, propped up against tents, emaciated and thin, for their ration cards had been stolen and they were simply overlooked. He knew that this was one of the reasons the refugees weren’t happy with him or the remnants of the NELO executive staff, but there was little they could do. The camp was too crowded for them to root out every neglected child and they did not have enough food to go around. The tents too served as an ever-present mockery of their lives: once clean and white, they were dirty, stained and many in need of repair. Each tent was only supposed to house two or three people, though some were larger, but had been crowded with double that amount of people. Tensions flared often and violently in such close quarters, and Vadim thanked any powers that might be that there were no guns or any sort of neuro-weapons available in the camp. So far, the EU had been able to keep out social dissidents of their own population from profiting on the situation at hand. Nevertheless, horrible rumors of young girls and indeed the occasional boy being bought and sold for ration cards for despicable acts. He had once found the remnants of one such child; the girl being fifteen years old, half buried on the outskirts of the camp. Her face was frozen in a decaying visage of horror and fear as someone had strangled her to death. The child’s face had haunted him for many nights thereafter and even thinking of it in the present caused him pain.

The two finally arrived in the centre of the camp where a number of larger portable structures had been set up. Initially used as administrative buildings for food, governance, and other immediate problems in a refugee camp, they doubled at night as sleeping quarters for the sick and elderly. Where Vadim had once had a room shared with only Adymn and Rosario, now six others crowded into the room, forcing many of them to share cots too small for two people. However they were the lucky ones: given cots as opposed to thin bedrolls that both let the moisture and cold of the ground seep into one’s bones, were they not properly kept clean. The artificially made fabric of the bedrolls allowed them to be remarkably resistant to the elements, however after prolonged and non-cleaned use, they fabric had deteriorated for some to the point where it was little better than traditional fabrics. Ascending the three metal steps onto a sorry excuse for a veranda for the C.A.T, the composite steel below foot groaned as it shifted on its temporary footings. Though in truth the C.A.T was not a tent, they had named is so since, initially, they had expected it to be. “The pussycat of the camp, Adymn said,” Vadim smirked glibly, and received a curious look from Rosario for which he explained: “The Administrative Tent, it’s here, but you don’t want to get too close, it might scratch.” All the temporary structures were built in a manner that had quickly led to their edges growing sharp as the weather stripping was beaten off by frozen rain and snow. The island of Hadseloya in Norway was their home for the time being and, although it and its neighbouring islands had a temperate climate for such a northern country, it was much colder on average than the tropical island of Neo-Palymra. All the refugees struggled to grapple with the weather and, as Vadim had learned from the local townspeople of Melbu, Norway was experiencing an abnormally cold winter. The central mountain of Lamlitind was perpetually covered in snow and, much to the dismay of the more spritely among the refugees, travelling up the mountain was forbidden by Norwegian law, due to their status by such rulings. Entering through the main door, the Russian Subject and Rosario were greeted by the familiar ten foot long plastic table that covered the length of the room where the true leaders of the refugee camp met. However currently it was being used by those who saw the building as home and laying there upon its stippled surface was Emiliyia Alben. Her pale skin had been made nigh-translucent by the fever and sickness that burned through her and her auburn hair was matted and dirty. Garbed in hospital raiment, she looked as though she was being prepared for her final day on Earth.

Borislav sat at her side, and with his right hand he held her left delicately, though with his left he clenched it angrily. “I should’ve been there,” He grumbled angrily. Though his younger sister was unconscious, he seemed to be speaking to her. Seated on her other side was Adymn and those who shared the building with them looked on warily. An older man by the name of Alexander Hagebak was a nurse from the town of Stokmarknes on the northern coast of the island had come to volunteer at the camp, though had taken to being Emiliyia’s personal physician as she grew more and more ill. The nurse now stood at the head of the table, his face clouded with frustration and grief.  Borislav looked at the man for a moment, his gaze dark and dangerous, though the nurse was beyond feeling fear at this point, after having seen the horrors of the refugee camp. Along with countless other doctors and nurses, Alexander had worked tirelessly to save the youngest of the arrivals to the island: those Subjects who had been prematurely removed from the Reification Extrapolating Genetic Energy Nexus or R.E.G.E.N machines and those who still had more treatments to receive from the machines. With a population of roughly one thousand people who needed the machines to develop properly, many had succumb to the painful death of Genetic Malformation Syndrome. “She looks like those pictures they show of GMS sufferers in the Union,” he said to the nurse, and the elder man only nodded, pained from the memory of such things. “They use those pictures to stop people from supporting making Subjects, it’s sick.” Borislav swore under his breath as he looked over his sister. Upon their arrival, the elder Bulgarian sibling looked to Vadim and Rosario, seeming surprised. “Vadim, you’re alive? I’m shocked. I heard that – well it doesn’t really matter what heard, but…” the man looked away for a moment, “Thank you for looking after my sister, all of you.” Casting his gaze to the nurse he had so angrily bored his gaze into, he offered an almost imperceptible smile from his perpetually grim visage, “And thank you to you especially, sir. Thanks to your tireless help, little Emmy here might just live.” Alexander smiled an earnest, if tired, smile, and for a moment, with the remembrance of humanity, the pain of their situation was lifted, and a temporary repose was felt. However it did not last long, for Emiliyia groaned in pain, her heading falling to the side with her narrow brows knit in pain.

“We need to get going, Borsilav.” Alexander spoke in heavily accented English, to which the elder brother of the fallen Emiliyia nodded and rose from his seated position. Grasping the litter which Vadim had yet to notice, the two lifted his dying friend and, as they had begun to walk toward the door, the Russian Subject felt a painful heaviness as they moved Emiliyia’s weak body out. Part of him knew that she would not make it, that the drive to Stokmarnes would take too long, or that she would simply be too weak for treatment when they arrived. It had taken the entire month to secure her passage into Norway to receive care and she had not fared well on the bandage solutions repeatedly offered. Time seemed to slow as Emiliyia passed by Vadim, and, as she did, he placed a hand on her shoulder. Her hazel eyes, barely opened, fell on him, and she offered the Subject a weak smile. Her inner strength felt as though it were a club and he had been beaten at his heart. ‘Through all this, she smiles,’ he thought to himself. After he had been assigned as one of the people to hand out food ration cards, Vadim had become determined to not show weakness in front of the other refugees, to assure them that, through his calm countenance, that they were being taken care of and that they had not been forgotten. But now tears welled in the corners of his eyes and he slumped into a nearby seat. Rubbing at his eyes quickly, he looked to Borislav who offered him a rarely seen smile of empathy as he stepped out the door. “I’ll be back soon, you kids. Stay safe,” Alexander’s voice sounded from outside, though none inside could seem to muster any words. Adymn sat at the side of where she had once lay, his hand still present on the table where he had cupped her own thin fingers in his own  with a blank gaze in his eyes as he slowly comprehended the finality of Emiliyia’s departure. Those gathered nearby dispersed as best as they could, wishing to give the three who remained some semblance of privacy as they said their silent farewells to their friend. The Russian man had seen it in his friends’ eyes and knew it to be true in himself: it was simply too painful to say goodbye to her, too agonising to verbally give up on a person. Part of him would continue hoping that she would come back, that Emiliyia would come walking through that door which she had left through, smiling and full of happiness and glee as she had been when Vadim had met her.

Adymn slowly turned toward the television screen on the wall, raising a loosely closed hand and opening, signalling the screen to activate. “Vade, Rosa, something happened while you two were giving out ration cards…” He said quietly. Sparing a glance to Rosario, Vadim shrugged, suddenly concerned. Flourishing two fingers upward in a swooping ‘U’ motion, the previous recording played. Flanked by the twelve representatives of the Pacific Union, Doran Laevan looked proud and stronger than ever as he stood behind the glass podium of the President of the Pacific Union. “My fellow citizens!” The man sounded on the screen, the gallantry of his tones a mocking lie in the presence of those who had felt his malice and seen it firsthand. His cruelty was most recently seen by Vadim when he and so many others fled Neo-Palmyra when Minister Godfreid had deployed a prototype weapon at the President’s discretion, a secret he proudly displayed after the attack, claiming it a miracle of the Union’s ingenuity. The prototype weapon was one that broke the bonds between atoms and simply saw the affected area cease to exist, and such was how the Central Administrative Building was destroyed. “I am proud to announce that the perpetrator of the atrocities at the former New Evolutionary Leap Organisation has finally been caught!” Awed gasps gave way to roaring cheers and applause and Vadim looked to Adymn, horror growing on his face as he saw the former guard’s face cloud with sadness at the news. “Natalie Bellerose will be tried for crimes against humanity, war crimes, sedition, treason, and numerous other charges in the Supreme Court of the Pacific Union. I give you my most solemn vow, my friends: justice will be done and she will be held accountable for the monstrosities she has brought into the world.” The video cut away to what appeared to be video taken with a tablet where numerous figures were being dragged out of one of the ruined buildings in NELO. The entirety of the NELO Compound had been reduced to rubble and the air looked to be thick with smoke. As dirty, bloodied and limping figures were dragged by white-clad Union soldiers, the camera focused more intensely as a woman was dragged out. Garbed in a black pencil skirt with only one broken heel on her foot and a tattered lavender blouse hanging from her person, her blonde hair was matted with blood and she was merely dragged away. 

The video cut back to the President who tsked, evidently ashamed of the sight. “Those who had holed up in the NELO Compound which they had deliberately destroyed to kill our brave soldiers put up quite a fight, but in the end broke out into a bloody brawl. Thanks to your brave Union soldiers, citizens, we were able to stop them. Those found guilty and not executed will be sentenced to rehabilitation during their prison sentence.” Vadim went to deactivate the screen, however Adymn shook his head: “Wait, there’s more.” With that He raised two fingers in a horizontal ‘V’ shape and slid them right, fast forwarding the video to another point. The local news broadcast scrolled by hurriedly until once more video of the President of the Pacific Union could be seen. Now standing alone behind the podium, the former guard raised two fingers held together, pausing the video. “I know you don’t want to hear any more bad news, you guys, but… this happened about a week ago, and only now could the EU crack the encryption codes on the Pacific Union streaming media.” With that, he exhaled a breath slowly and opened his palm, and the video played. “… After holding a plebiscite in the Trans-Federal chambers, your representatives have decided to rebrand our reborn Union. Seventy seven years ago we came together to hold each other up in a time of such devastation and crisis that to this day I shudder to even say the words: ‘the Barren.’” Unease rose in Vadim as he listened to the man, worried that something horrible was overdue from the ruthless President Laevan. “We were united in our struggle, and today we are allied as one great nation: the greatest bloc on the world. And so, with the overwhelming approval of you, the people, we cast aside the Pacific Union and don the greatness that is the Trans-Pacific Republic!” Though no expert in political theory, Vadim had a sinking feeling as to what this meant. Within republics, power was centralised and so Laevan would garner even more power. “He goes on to say that he’s taking on ‘the heavy burden of being the Prime Chancellor’ of the TPR and all this other bullshit.” Adymn says glibly. With a clenching of his raised hand, the screen shuts off and a heavy silence falls over those gathered. “Up until now, we were safe from him legally just controlling the Union countries. Now? I’m not sure so sure…” The now refugee camp administrator sighed, running his hands through his hair as he spoke. Rosario, who had remained so quiet during the proceedings, slid her chair closer, and placed a hand on Adymn’s slumped back as he shook his head side to side. If Doran Laevan had experienced any restraints in his presidency, they would surely disappear with his self-appointment as Prime Chancellor.

~*~

It was a sigh she had not seen in many months. The twelve foot tall grey walls stood watch over the camp within, and guard towers stationed in even intervals had men observing both those within and those outside with a cool and detached malevolence imprinted upon them. Though not entirely visible, the upper floors of the dormitories, headquarters, and the barracks could be seen looming over the walls. The central building, that being headquarters, was comparatively squat and looked to be quite old, for it was comprised of thick cement separated by dark glass windows that seemed to emit no light from the inside, giving the building an ominous feeling. The primary gates were open, however the large, car stopping bars were drawn and guards posted before each one. With a glance over her shoulder, Sonya saw the retreating figure of the smooth vehicle that belonged to the Ehrhardt family. ”We’re leaving for Graham City on Neo-Palmyra. With it being so remote, especially with the destruction of NELO, the family will be much safer there. If The Awakening knew of our existence in Siberia, we have to move on.” The words of Elsa Ehrhardt rung out in her mind, and Sonya frowned. She could understand their logic, however did not care for it in the slightest. Though Ludwig broke her from her thoughts: “Come on, we have a mission to complete, don’t forget.” He spoke with a sly smile on his lips, as he had returned to his jovial self following her recovery from shooting The Awakening Sceptre. Sonya shuddered at the memory, still uncomfortable that she had so cruelly ended the woman’s life without giving her any chance at mercy. Though mercy was a gift too few had received in a world of the Trans-Pacific Republic, The Awakening, and Doran Laevan. Merely nodding to Ludwig after a long moment, the two strode forward with relaxed gaits, though, due to his long legs, the Estonian man beat her to the gates and grinned a wide grin at the guard who peered at him, trying to recall the familiar face. “Don’t remember me?” The tall man questioned, “I’m hurt!” The black haired man placed a hand against his forehead, feigning distress.

The two quite likely looked to be in terrible condition, since, as to avoid any implication that they had met anyone in Siberia, they wrote the clothing they had been wearing when they arrived in the Siberian valley that had been intended to be their prison. Stepping forward to avoid another confabulation as a result of Ludwig’s poor social tact, Sonya spoke instead: “I am Cadet Sonya Volkov and this is my associate, Cadet Ludwig Von Strauss. We were sent to Siberia as punishment and have served our sentence.” The guard before them, garbed in the camouflage greens of a foot soldier placed two fingers on the lip of his coat’s collar and spoke quietly before the gate rose and he wordlessly instructed them to stand off to the side. The familiar sight of the cement courtyard came to view and Sonya recalled the nigh-distant memory of Ludwig clubbing the offensive drilling instructor. The auburn haired Russian could feel no pity for the man anymore, for she had found much of the innocence she did know she had with regard to human life had vanished following her inhuman suffering at the hands of Mother Nature in Siberia. Casting her grey gaze to her hands, she made note of the perpetual tingling in her fingertips, which she had learned was indicative of frostbite from Joshua Ehrhardt. Alyssa Ehrhardt, or, as she liked to be called, Lyssa, had hugged she and Ludwig tightly as they parted ways, demanding they promise that they would come visit in the future. It was a promise that Sonya knew she could not keep, but she had made it nevertheless, hoping to see the sweet child in happier times, in a world bereft of Doran Laevan and the hateful Republic that had sprung from the Union. “I’m reminded of the Weimar Republic, you know.” She said after a long while, and received a curious ‘hm’ from Ludwig. “Laevan. He renamed the Pacific Union to the Trans-Pacific Republic. When the Weimar Republic was formed it was formed under the idea of creating a united Germany.” She paused for a moment, and from the look in his eyes, she realised that he knew the story better than she. Ludwig, being from a country torn between the Russians of the Republic and the Germans of the European Union, likely knew the more amicable side’s tale in its glib reality. Germans had never wished for the atrocities of the Second World War to occur, and indeed had never even known about them when they transpired. Though their ignorance had not admonished them of guilt and so, even to the current era, the German nation held the heavy shame of the Holocaust.

As though he could read her musing mind, Ludwig let forth a wistful sigh, “You know, the Germans might be in luck with Laevan as Prime Chancellor. If he kills all the Subjects in the TPR, he’ll have committed genocide greater than the Holocaust.” His tasteless remarks gave credence for Sonya to scowl and she did so, although if the large man was shameful of his remarks, he did not let it known as he merely stood there, watching the drills be carried out before them. However, a short distance from headquarters, a squadron that was running laps as a group abruptly halted and split into two, all soldiers standing at attention. Flanked by four guards was a larger woman garbed in the signature pristine white uniform of the TPR and she was bearing down on them. “Well, there’s Major General Kopachesky.” Ludwig merely gave a disinterested hum, evidently uncaring of the military officer’s arrival. Kopachesky continued on her direct path toward them, and as she grew closer, her guards drew their rifles and pointed them toward herself and her larger, male counterpart. Unworried that she would be harmed, Sonya merely stood calmly, and Ludwig continued to daydream and look about the square as though he were a mere schoolboy in a bring class. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she came into a range suitable for conversation. Giving the mentally absent Estonian a swift kick to the back of the leg, she stood on ceremony and the black hair male followed suit. Major General Kopachesky paused before the two of them, eyeing them over closely. Her equally dark hair, tied into a bun, looked messy as though she had just put it up, and her uniform seemed askew, though as Russian looked upon Russian, Sonya paid it no heed and instead saluted, “Ma’am: Cadets Volkov and Von Strauss, reporting for duty.” This time, Ludwig did comply and moved in synchronisation with her, standing at attention with one hand raised in a salute. Though the General did not call for them to be at ease and continued to stand there, her dark gaze boring into them balefully. The guards flanking the large woman did not become any less suspicious, for each set of two had their rifles aimed at Sonya or Ludwig’s heads, respectively. At long last, the officer waved a hand and the four lowered their weapons. The General ran a hand over her messy bun of black hair before ignoring it and speaking.

“You two have caused me a lot of strife for letting you live.” She said glibly with a dangerous leer, and though as Sonya went to speak, her superior raised a hand to silence her, and spoke once again. “But, that being said, I know you two mean business when you get into something: you had the best test scores for the intelligence department, the fastest times for the relays and most of the other physical training tests, the list goes on. So I decided I’d keep you, since you seemed like you’d be worth the investment.” Speaking in English with a Russian accent so thick Sonya had trouble understanding, she found herself questioning if she had heard the woman’s next words correctly as Jovanna Kopachesky turned to face her squadron of guards. “Leave us.” One of the men opened his mouth to dispute it, however with one withering glare he silenced himself, “If they try to attack me, I’ll kill them myself. Russians don’t need bodyguards.” Her final statement was filled with national fervor and she flashed Sonya a prideful smirk which she returned to the best of her abilities. The four strapped their weapons over their shoulders and saluted crisply before turning on heel and marching off toward the headquarters building. “I hate those four. So gossipy. Do you know that one time, when I was on my period, I asked the youngest one to get my tampons from the garrison and he decided it’d be funny to tell the washing staff?” Ludwig smirked, stifling a chuckle and so the auburn haired youth delivered another kick to his leg to silence him. Receiving a pain grunt as acknowledgment he’d be quiet, Sonya returned her attention to her superior. “Needless to say I had him running every female soldier’s sanitary aids to them for a month to remove the humor from the situation.” At such, Sonya found a point of humor in herself, though it was destroyed as the once amused woman before her became serious. “I know you two met with the Ehrhardt family.” She said darkly. Panic rose in Sonya and even Ludwig’s dark eyes widened in surprise at such news. The fiery spirited young man looked right, toward the gated exit. Could they run? It was possible that they could make their escape, however military police and soldiers alike would run them into the ground and slaughter them. Another opportunity came to mind: they could take the Major General as a hostage and demand safe passage upon their exit for her release. Possibilities came and went and she looked to Ludwig for aid, though the German named individual would offer no such aid and instead merely offered a shrug of his shoulders. Major General Kopachesky, however, seemed entirely amused with their worry and merely allowed the two to exchange worried glances as she pretended to fuss with her uniform’s black tie.

Sonya slowly lowered her hands to her sides, out of the militant position she had stood in, readying to run. Though, with a deep laugh, the Major General waved a hand dismissively. “Going to run for it? Why? I sent you to that valley so you would meet them.” The Cadet Volkov felt utter shock reverberate within herself. She had not expected that kind of explanation from the woman. Ludwig swore loudly in shock, immediately questioning why aloud. Kopachesky looked to the large man for a moment, “Don’t tell me you really are a gentle giant, Cadet. You may have the body of a Greek God but this is Russia so you have to have a mind and not just blood sausage between your ears.” Her chiding only seemed to amuse the large man and she shrugged. “Laevan wouldn’t expect a traitor in the high ranks of the Russian army, and now with the creation of the Trans-Pacific Republic he’s more sure than ever that his singular authority is enough to dissuade dissidents finding ways into his ranks.” Sonya merely nodded, having found herself admiring the woman before her more and more, for Jovanna Kopachesky had secreted her way into the Russian military without being caught. “I’ll be sending you two to Neo-Palmyra on a… personal assignment.” With a surprised guttural noise, Kopachesky grasped the collar of her jacket and spoke “Send the new recruit to me at the gates,” and with one more pause, she nodded, oblivious to the fact that those she spoke to could not see such, “Yes, the little one.” Looking to Sonya, now, she seemed to have an air of empathy. “But, Cadet Volkov, I have unfortunate news. Wait here for a moment.” Curious and worried due to the unseen level of empathy display by the woman, her stomach turned nervously as she followed her superior’s gaze toward the barracks. At the entrance was a familiar sight: recruits being handed out uniforms, many of which were changing into them in the frigid winter air. One of these figures had already removed their shirt and was buttoning up an ill-fitting military one when they were approached by another soldier and pointed in their direction. It was then that an unbridled dread filled Sonya. Messy and dark blond hair bobbed side to side as the young man hurried toward them, still trying to force the buttons of his Trans-Pacific Republic uniform into their respective slots. It was from this clumsy display that Sonya realised that the young man who ran toward them was none other than her beloved younger brother, Ivan Volkov.

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