Subjectivity: Epilogue

Tossing and turning under crumpled, sweat stained bed sheets, Stephan’s unconscious mind could find no respite. The bedcovers were twisted about his legs and feet, and he seemed to struggle in vain against the restrictions as his mind madly raced. Eyes flickering under their enclosures, it was as though he was wildly looking for something, or perhaps someone. His fingers tensed against the fabric under them, gripping it roughly and squeezing deeply before abruptly releasing them and swiping at the air, uttering a sleepy ‘no.’ A thin sheen of sweat stuck to his face and he panted in a broken rhythm of breathing much akin to one who ran for their life. “No,” he breathed out again, “Don’t shoot him…” His voice was dry and coarse as he spoke in his sleep, and though he was largely still in the real world. His dream continued and he commanded defiantly: “Corvus stop,” though given his thrashing, his sleeping order was ignored, and he continued to fight out.

“Get away from them!” He shouted as he lurched upward in bed, eyes wide open and racing around the room. Abruptly woken, Stephan looked to his hands which trembled before him, and to his horror his rattled mind saw them drenched in blood. In truth no blood was there, but his mind could not separate dreams from reality in that moment. With a bloodcurdling shriek he threw himself from his bed and fell to the floor, crashing into it with such force that a wayward limb caught a nearby night table and forced it downward, sending its contents sprawling to the ground. Returning his attention to his own person, the young man found his hands no longer covered in the blood of his loved ones, and his maddened breaths slowed to a more normal rate over the course of a few minutes. His hands continued to shake before him, and he clenched and unclenched them with a calming rhythm, trying to regain his composure which the nightmare had so cruelly taken from him. “Why can’t I sleep anymore?” He questioned the air, but knew the answer all too well: the rigors of their quest had destroyed the prospect of respite for any of them. In a moment of weakness, Sonya had admitted she too had nightmares and even Roe had subtly hinted to not having as deep of sleep following their time in captivity in the Gherkin Alpha.

Sliding himself toward the toppled nightstand, he righted it and placed it next to his bed once more. Turning his attention to a small metal square that had rolled away, he clicked the single button on its smooth surface, which projected into the air a picture: it was himself and Vadim, the latter looking deathly thin, but with a triumphant grin. They were both dressed in finery given to them by the European Union’s government before giving speeches to the EU Parliament about what they had seen. It had been a horrendously nerve-racking experience, standing before so many important men and women to tell them of the humiliation, torture and otherwise cruel treatment imparted onto his person, but it was made significantly easier by having a friend by his side to bounce stories off of. He had been largely ignorant of what happened to Vadim, Adymn and Marcella up until that point, and Stephan had found himself physically ill at the stories of the refugee camp and its fall. Some of the members of parliament before them had put their heads in their hands, silently weeping or otherwise averting their gazes to the horrors imparted unto innocents in their lands. However there Vadim stood, an arm around his shoulder, grinning like a madman and looking to be the happiest man in the world in the picture the Greek man observed.

The picture dissolved and gave way to a new one which depicted Sonya ad her younger brother Ivan. The picture was one that the former had insisted be taken: it was of them packing their things and moving out of their parents’ house. Stephan empathised with them for their cruel parents; it was a curse that no child should ever bear to have parents that could not love them. Having stayed in the Russian armed forces, the elder Volkov was able to afford an apartment for her brother in Moscow, whereas she stayed nearby the Kremlin, where she acted as an instructor to new recruits in marksmanship. In the picture, the younger of the two was packing clothing into a grey crate, whereas his sibling had caught sight of the hidden camera and gave it a nonplussed look. The seated student who observed the picture felt a small smile tug at his lips; it had been an honour to be invited to Russia to help them move, regardless of the long trip, and he had thoroughly enjoyed the trip. Meeting their parents had been an unpleasant experience, but from that encounter he knew his dear friend and her sibling were correct in their move.

Standing, he placed the tiny projector on the nightstand and smoothed out his wrinkled clothing. Nevertheless he could smell the sweat on his person, and the vivid dream of being forced to murder his friends surged into his mind. Forcing it away, he grimaced at the thought: he would never be like Subject One, a man so cruel and hateful that he wished death on the entire world. Moreover he would never be like Doran Laevan, the man who had wished to make peace at gunpoint with the entire world. When the public learned that the Barren, the world’s deadliest disease in all of history, had been artificially manufactured by the Laevan Foundation with the express purpose of forcing dependency onto those who cured it and therefore onto Doran Laevan, a global outcry for justice sounded. The Laevan Foundation’s senior staff were arrested, the foundation dismantled, and all projects suspended indefinitely, save one. That one project was the creation of Subjects, and the move was one that brought both cheers of approval and violent protests. Many believed that by creating more Subjects they would not only gradually overpopulate the already crowded Earth, but incite more bloodshed in the future. Nevertheless, after various plebiscites and referendums in countless regional blocs across the world, by a margin of 65%, those who chose to vote voted in favour of allowing Subjects to continue to be born, given the stipulation of their creation being removed from the private sector.

Stephan took a seat on the edge of his bed, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. After it had been revealed that every Subject was susceptible to a machine like the Phoenix Cloud, the public health sector spent vast amounts of money disabling the devices in each Subject’s head in an effort to stop any travesty like it from ever occurring again. Many called it the New Holocaust, others the Laevan Massacre, and some even referred to the horrors of that year as the Year of Blood. The last seemed the most accurate to Stephan, who could only think of the amount of death that Laevan and Subject One had wrought when either resting or awake. He had killed many people, and that reality wounded him deeper than any bullet or knife could have. That realisation shook him often, and at that moment as he sat there upon his bed, he felt his hands clutched his biceps, and he shook his head at the thought, trying to rationalise what he had done. “I am not a murderer,” he proclaimed quietly, “I didn’t want to kill anyone, but I had to…” It was logical reasoning, and quite likely true, but the young Greek could not accept that reality, for it was too vivid and too recent that he had killed those soldiers, leaving families bereft of a parent, of a child, and others of a lover or a friend.

He could see their faces in his sleep, condemning him, demanding why he had killed them instead of merely disabling them. Every time he begged for them to forgive him, to let him go on with his life, but the mental spectres of those whom he had robbed of loved ones would never give him such a kindness. It was quite likely that they were a subconscious reflection of his own loathing for himself for what he had done: to kill so many people was abominable, and he doubted he would ever forgive himself. After a moment of sitting there, half slouched forward, he sat upright and activated the television screen on the far wall with a quick gesture of his hand. The dark room was illuminated by the screen, painting the white walls of his dormitory bright and vivid, and casting a sad shadow over the empty bed across from his own. Stephan knew too well that Roe would never return to the university, the memories were too potent to be ignored there.

Upon the screen before him, a news report played with the caption “Result for Awakening Trials Released.” Turning up the volume with an upward flick of two fingers, the anchorman could then be heard; “… the Awakening members were each tried by a panel of three judges from their native country or nation-bloc of origin, and today the United Nations, who had overseen the trials for fairness, has released the results. Those Awakening members who were detained by local authorities at the receiving stations for evacuees from the One City were classified into five categories, given the severity of the charges.” Stephan nodded thoughtfully, recalling the insipid city which had been built upon the hatred and glorification of a man thinking himself divine, and with that notion he scoffed. Regardless, the broadcast continued, “Roughly twenty seven percent of those captured were released with no charges after having been found not guilty of any crimes, however of the seventy three percent charged, half were marked as class five, whereas the other half ranged from class four to one. Class five, according to the United Nations, means that they were involved in minor crimes including vandalism or hate speech, whereas class one meant they were directly involved in genocide of Subjects or multiple first degree murders.” Another pause was made and a video of the captured Awakening members was displayed, depicting many being arrested in Tokyo; one of the many cities which had received evacuees.

“Class five criminals’ sentences vary from fines to community service, whereas those in the class one were given a blanket sentence of life in prison with no chance of parole. However, authorities urge the public to be alert for any of the estimated ten thousand Awakening members who have as of yet not been captured.” The concept of so many hateful men and women in the world was a worrying thing to Stephan, and he knew that before his life was over, he would play a critical part in routing out many of those who still clung to the hatred created by Subject One. However the news broadcast before him distracted him again as it mentioned Doran Laevan, “In other news, executives and administrators in the former Trans-Pacific Republic will be facing trial themselves come the new month. The United Nations has requested that the same rules governing The Awakening trials be used in these new trials, however reaction to their proposal has been mixed.” The anchorman continued his explanation of why the reactions were conflicting, but Stephan had ceased listening. It was of little doubt to him that the hatred cultivated by either Laevan or Subject One would not die out completely, and so he would continue to act as Roe had proclaimed, as a Paragon of Fraternity.

~*~

Solitude was a highly desired state for the man who had wrought justice so mercilessly from those who had wronged him. Indeed all that he wished for in life was peace of mind, but Roe Speremus’ goal was one that would never come to fruition, and he knew of this all too well. Like many of his compatriots from the Year of Blood, he too was plagued by what he had seen and done, though he would never openly admit to his troubled unconscious mind. It would be unconducive, he decided, to worry them over his problems. Being an intelligent young man, he was aware that his poor sleep would undoubtedly affect his work, but those who required his help knew that he would oblige them when convenient, and otherwise pay them no heed. Regardless of Stephan having been the one to kill Doran Laevan, the public credited him with the kill, and so thanks to his ill-received reputation, he was given greater leniencies. His mind was his ultimate enemy, and therefore, for him to be a productive member of the NELO Genesis Team, he had to subdue his aberrant aspects.

After Laevan and Subject One were killed, coupled with the fall of the One City, he and his friends had attained international stardom in both congratulations and condemnations. Many saw what they did as erratic and a violent, ugly solution to an otherwise solvable problem, whereas others saw their actions as the exact opposite; a just end for heinous criminals. Few in the modern era did not know the name Stephan Tharros, as it was he who spoke to the world, proclaiming their motives and intents to the world. The majority of the Trans-Pacific Republic’s population had quickly opposed them, and the army was scrambled to arrest them, however following the release of the classified security footage across the city, the rebels had gone from social pariahs to celebrities. “So fickle,” the Subject mused as he thought of the public, and shook his head, “So easily swayed.”

Squatting in, dark, fertile earth, he admired the flowers that bloomed brightly around him. Preened to perfection and arranged in perfect rows, from above they created a spiral nebula of crimson, gold, violet and cerulean in a harmonious mix. Across from the flower garden was Roe’s more humble patch of larger fruits and vegetables, an example being the hefty pumpkins that squatted in the dirt. He pushed himself to a stand and slicked his blond hair backward, running a hand through the long locks as he did so. His singular gaze was focused on the pumpkins themselves as he remembered a distant memory of the last time Halloween had been on the horizon: he had instigated a fight on Stephan’s behalf and been clobbered with a metal pipe for it. His fingers gently grazed the soft fabric of the cloth that covered his missing eye, and winced at the memory. He had been shot in the eye, however the bullet grazed his nosebridge and only ruined the eye and not entered his brain, but he refused to replace it. It was a badge of honour, a way of remembering.

“Sometimes I see you in my dreams,” he spoke aloud with an abrupt turn to face the monolithic ruins that loomed over his garden. NELO Two’s Central Administrative Building’s tall spire, broken in two, cut a jagged shadow nearby, and its upper half lay in a crumpled heap before him. Careful not to ruin his garden, he stepped onto the grass and smoothed out his clothes, “I miss you, you know…” His words were quiet, barely a whisper, and Roe was glad to be alone. It helped to speak to her as though she was here; “We never said goodbye, therefore we never parted.” His legs felt unsteady below him as he continued toward the ruined buildings, and he observed their broken, sagging countenances with an impassive stare. Nevertheless, he soldiered forward before simply taking a seat on the curb. The gardens, in reality, were little more than large patches of dirt in the grassy median of the roundabout that once served as a primary drop-off area for the NELO Compound. Folding his hands in his lap, the Subject extended his long legs before him and sighed, “I hear Stephan and the others will be visiting today. I remember the first time you two met; you adored him like your own son, but… you always did that with anyone you met that was younger than you.”

Roe closed his eye for a moment, before staring up into the bright afternoon sky. No clouds marred the azure blanket above, and his mind relaxed as his cool gaze was warmed by the beauty of the world. “If you were here with me, would you condemn me for what I have done?” He asked the spectre in his mind, “Mother, can you ever forgive me?” Memories of the people he murdered, of the deplorable actions he took, of lying helpless and dying before Laevan, and of seeing Stephan forced to bloody his own hands surged into his mind, and his folded hands tightened around one another. After a moment, he relaxed them and the world seemed to calm with him: the light wind steadied and the nearby chirping birds could no longer be heard. It was not a stifling silence; instead it was one that he readily welcomed. It was the peace and quiet that only the spectres of the fallen in NELO could bring, for they knew they had been avenged. Even if they had no right to, those apparitions his mind projected forgave him for his transgressions, but solemnly reminded him of his unending duty. He was to be their elder brother; a man to stand beside the living Subjects and move forward into the future with them.

It was in those sentiments that Roe differed from his predecessors – from Mother Natalie, Doran Laevan and Subject One. He would not guide the Subjects, for they did not need guiding. They were not beasts, and so they did not need a grand authority to teach them of the world. In truth they needed parental figures to love them, and the new NELO would better provide that necessity, but without the ego of being their entire world. The seated young man eyed the ruins of the second NELO. It had been a landmark in its day and still held that distinction, though for much more macabre reasons. Seventeen primary buildings, over one hundred secondary buildings, and a labyrinth of underground passages and operational centres: NELO Two had been a small city unto itself, and now it was a deserted ruin fit for only the Paragon of Equality. Where Sonya had fought with her keen skills and weapons, and Stephan his heart and his words, Roe had fought with his mind, a thing so vast that he often considered it empty. There was much he had learned, but through the act of education he had learned that he in truth knew nothing.

NELO Three would be a reflection of the man he had become, as opposed to NELO Two being a physical manifestation of his past self, he decided. “A message,” he spoke aloud abruptly, affirming a plan, “I will give them a message.” Procured from his pocket was his mobile phone, though in truth it acted as his personal computer as well. Little larger than a stylus, he clicked the end and a projection appeared before him, and he opened a recording program. It had been Corvus’ idea to vocalise his musings, so that he could relay them to those whom he could not speak to: the Subjects that would be born after his own death. Forcing himself to a stand, Roe decided a change of venue was due. Garbed in dress pants and a white collared shirt whose collar had been replaced by a thin leather bevel, he smoothed down his clothes and dusted off any debris which had accumulated from his gardening. Moving toward the ruins, he, with little effort, vaulted over a short fence which barricaded the destruction. His shoes met cold metal as he landed with an audible ting and he looked down. Set upon the ground was a monolithic honorarium comprised of slabs of copper sheets emblazoned with the names of all the children, caretakers, and employees who had died when NELO Two was destroyed. The living Subject at hand stepped off one of the concentric rectangular borders which encased the large plaque.

Skirting around the monument, he made idle note of the bouquets of flowers, cards, stuffed toys and the like which were frequently laid there by visitors. He had met with some of them initially, but eventually retreated to the interior of the ruins during visiting hours when he himself was present. Hearing their apologies for their inaction or participation in the horrors of the Year of Blood was at first heartening, but it had quickly turned into a morose affair of recounting his experiences to all too curious individuals where he was expected to relive the atrocities wrought by Laevan is his predecessor Subject without end. Thankfully he was one of the few alive who still knew NELO Two’s layout and therefore was aware of places to find respite from the public. One of these places was one that he himself had not known of until after the compound had been destroyed and he had returned. Corvus did not understand why he went there, but Roe assumed his successor’s confusion was based in his subpar upbringing.

Entering the ruins, the sun’s bright light was abruptly shut away, and only dim remnants entered the ruined lobby. Large support beams had fallen inward, covering the reception area with debris and rubble, walls had collapsed inward and made certain pass-throughs inaccessible, and now dead wiring hung haphazardly from fixtures about the once opulent entry. The glass wall that served as the wall through which one entered had been almost completely shattered, and birds had made flown in and made nests in the criss-crossed structure above. His shoes sounded noisily on the cracked marble floor which heaved and rolled below him, and he was careful to avoid the especially damaged areas which were little more than holes into substructure waiting to be broken open and see an unsuspecting trespasser fall to their death. However one of these exposed gaps in the floor was the object of his attention.

The specific pitfall in question was one that had a long, wide strip of floor having been collapsed into the basement akin to a broken ramp, though Roe knew better than to trust it as sturdy. Arriving at its precipice, he took his first steps into the maw of the hole slowly, testing the unsteady ground with each movement. The marble groaned under the Subject, however he ignored it and descended further. The dim light of the ruined lobby faded into the twilight of the basement and with it a heavy sense of dread permeated the area below. Ignoring it with his composed mind, the young man brushed back his blond hair and arrived in the service tunnel that ran below the lobby. Where the opulent area above was marked by fine floors, elegant seating and once chic, modern themes marking all, the service tunnels were much akin to the tunnels under an ant hill: narrow, cramped, and crowded with thick tubes hiding dangerous wires and the like. However many of the tubes holding in plumbing, electrical and other services had been broken open and left piles of fetid water below and open wiring above.

Easily avoiding all obstacles, the corridor became progressively darker as Roe continued on his way toward his goal. Reaching a four-way intersection, he turned left and continued down another hall. On either side at irregular intervals were doorways; some open, some closed, others ajar, and some missing entirely, for debris from the collapsed buildings overhead had fallen with a great vigor and in doing so had forced many of the buildings into the subbasements. It had indeed been the collapse of many of the residential buildings into their substructures that had spelt death for those who hid in the emergency shelters within, for although they were built to withstand the weight of the buildings, they were not capable of withstanding their weight from directly above. The Subject who traversed the halls frowned slightly at the idea of being crushed alive. Children screaming for help as the roof above them caved in, adults covering one or two Subject children, or perhaps cowering and crying out for help themselves. The cruelty Laevan had enacted upon innocent children and those who wished to help them was something that the world was already trying to move past, and though part of him agreed with the sentiment, a bitter aspect to his person, something that reminded him all too much of Subject One, wanted them to be miserable for their cruelty toward himself and his fellow Subjects.

Stopping at one of the many slightly opened doors, the young man placed a hand on the cool, metal surface and pushed it open. The door groaned in protest, but did eventually give way to his efforts and with a grating sound against the concrete floor, it was pushed open. Stepping through, Roe was then in one of the many rooms designated for some utility in whatever building was above. However he ignored all of the black-screened consoles, knobs on pipes, and levers on the wall, and instead strode toward a set of lockers. All of them looked the same, and it had been a chance encounter that he had come across the hidden entry behind them, but the Subject had not forgotten which one it was. Opening the third locker from the entrance, it revealed a port that led to a set of dark stairs. Moving inside the locker, his slim frame was forced to stoop down as he slid through the confinement that the locker offered before standing straight as he descended the stairs.

They were a dangerous descent, for the steps were marred with damage and slick with water in some places. Moreover, due to the rapidly growing darkness, he could barely see where he was going, let alone identify steps slick with water. Careful to take each step with both hands braced against the wall, he reached the bottom of the stairs which ended with another metal door, this one fully intact and therefore opened smoothly. Removing himself from the stairwell and entering the pitch black room, he passed his hand over an unseen console and the room was somewhat lit by the few functioning lights overhead, which flickered intermittently.

The room around him was similar to one he had seen before, but was a dim, dirty mockery. The wall to his left was bent at thirty degree angles a few feet in and made an angular, concave surface from which computers had been set up with office chairs set before them. The opposite wall was relatively unremarkable, save countless crude drawings pasted to its surface. In the centre of the room was a signature chair, much akin to a white throne built into the floor. Various straps hung loose from its armrests and solid base, and a large, wide neck strap near the summit of its height. Moving to inspect the drawings, Roe quirked a golden brow at the familiar artwork; he had observed them before and determined them to be the workings of the ones who had used the system behind him.

Many of the drawings depicted a young boy with what were likely his parents: his hair was bright red and he was drawn with a smile, while standing to his left was a woman with equally blonde hair and on his other side a man with black hair, both holding one of the child’s hand. They appeared to be walking toward the NELO Two Compound when it was being constructed. Another was of just the black haired man and a young boy drawn with curly black hair. A third, above the two, had drawn upon its surface the blonde woman and a set of twin girls, and next to it of just one of the girls. The entire wall was covered with drawings made by children who could have been no older than those who attended grade one elementary schooling.  

Roe came to the grim room to remind himself of the unnecessary sacrifice the drawings’ artists had been forced to become a part of: to find a suitable user for the Phoenix Cloud. It had taken seven decades of trial and error after their first suitable candidate ran off, but they had succeeded in the thirteen iteration of Subjects with Roe himself. Turning away from the children’s drawings, he moved toward one of the consoles on the nearest slanted wall. Activating it with a few keystrokes on the screen’s dim display, he took a seat and loaded a new video he had not yet seen. The screen came to light with the words “Subject 685372: Trial 42.” After hitting play, the screen was illuminated by a much younger looking Doran Laevan seated in the same position as the Subject who observed the recording. However the room behind the infamous man was bright and cheerful, and a young girl played in the background.

Laevan cleared his throat in the video as he finished typing something up before speaking, “Oh, hell. I already hit ‘play,’ didn’t I?” Leaning back in his seat, he held a tablet in his hands and reviewed unseen data, “Subject 685372 forty-second trial was a promising one, wherein we saw a development of her theta brainwaves beyond what we thought was possible for a Class Three Subject. Galvin and I are both skeptical, but the Subject may yet prove to help us further the Ragnarok Project. We’ve already expended over ten thousand Subjects in this endeavour, but defective test material is little more than a hindrance anyways.” Looking down to his tablet, he thumbed his jaw thoughtfully, “However the Subject seems to be taking an unusual liking to Natalie as others have, and I fear she may break her vow with me to not speak of what we are doing here. Natalie believes these experiments are merely to track brain capacity of Subjects, but she’s no fool. I will not have her jeopardize the Ragnarok Project.” The man ran a hand over his still black hair, “It’s a curious thing to look as though you are only thirty but have lived well over seventy years already. The world has changed for the worse since she found the Barren’s cure, as I knew it would if it was cured prematurely. The economy was not sufficiently weakened to warrant global unification, and armaments were not sufficiently depleted to give cause for their centralisation under our world government.”

The child behind him spoke up, though Roe could not hear them, and Laevan turned in his chair to face them, “Oh you drew something?” He questioned, his voice, to an educated man like the Subject who watched the video, sounding entirely fake, “Once I’m done recording my musings we’ll hang it on the wall. Just keep playing for now.” The child seemed to protest for a moment, but with an unseen stare from their father, they ceased their protestations and simply sat down again. “The Ragnarok Project will enter its third phase as soon as we find a viable child to control the Subject population. They will be, initially, a disruptive element, sewing hatred and fear into the people, and then they shall be remade into an unseen police force, silencing any and all dissent everywhere.” Sighing, he shook his head, “Peace will come to humanity. It must, before Roe makes his move. Or shall I call him Subject One? He seems to have abandoned my name for him. Natalie speaks of her desire to name another child with his name, but I can assure you that, should any child wear that name, I will take special interest in watching their life… There is an omen about that name.”

Pausing the recording, the seated Subject turned his chair around to find a figure standing in the doorway. Pushing himself to a stand, he felt two arms eagerly embrace him, and a black haired head press against his chest for a moment, before he was released. Looking up at him with eyes identical to his singular one was Corvus Cladem, the third iteration of those who could use the Phoenix Cloud. “They’ll be here soon; you don’t want them to find this thing, do you?” The boy questioned his ‘brother.’ Roe observed the teenager for a moment, and could not deny the point of fondness he felt for him. He pitied the boy greatly; he was born into a loveless world just as he had been, but the shorter of the two had been born to Doran Laevan, an influence he fought against on a daily basis. However, curiously, where Roe had been raised by a loving mother, if sporadically, Corvus had been given no loving parent, regardless of their distance to him in life, and was somehow much more emotionally developed than he was.

Moreover the boy appeared to hold a great deal of adoration for his distant biological twin, and even through the only physical differences between them were age and hair colour, it was, as Stephan had explained to the elder of the two, ‘night and day.’ One was quiet and withdrawn, the other extroverted and emotional. After having been harangued without rest for many days, Roe had relented and brought his adoptive brother to NELO whereupon seeing the plaque which held the names of over a million dead Subjects and their caregivers, Corvus had fallen to his knees and wept. ‘He hates himself for having loved Laevan,’ the blond Subject reminded himself, ‘Just as I hate myself for not having loved Mother as I should have.’ Noticing the tension in his person, the younger of the two cocked his head slightly and gave his brother a worried look before speaking, “Everything okay…?”

The single eyed man shook his head, “Yes, everything is fine. Let us depart; this room is no place for a congregation as the one we are expecting.” With a few long strides, he reached the entrance to the room and passed his hand over the light control panel, darkening the room to a black nothingness. He felt Corvus bump into him and grumble about him not having turned off the lights after they left the room, but he ignored the other Subject for a moment; “Better this room remain dark… No one should know about this room.” Ascending the stairs, he heard his younger iteration close the door as he considered why he could not destroy the room: ‘I will destroy it one day, but until I can ascertain a means of doing so without risking the lives of all Subjects. The Phoenix Cloud at the One City was shorted out harmlessly by water damage, but this one is embedded into the power grid of Neo-Palmyra…’ He gave a mental shrug, dismissing the thought as quickly as it had come. Providing no one but he and Corvus knew of it, it was a harmless chair that the casual observer would not know the significance of.

~*~

Autumn was soon to come, though given the tropical nature of Neo-Palmyra’s weather, it was difficult to tell such a season. The sky remained clear; a curious fact for an island that was famous for its torrential winter rainfalls, but it was of little importance to Sonya Volkov, for her destination was one that could be counted on to provide shelter if need be. Her driver hummed intermittently along with the song that played on the radio inside the vehicle he was being ferried in, but in truth neither cared for the song at hand. She was silent as she stared forward, her gaze never leaving the ominous obelisks that rose before them and grew ever larger with each passing moment. Her auburn hair was tied in a ponytail and left dangling over her shoulder, settled between her bust. She wore a navy blue jacket and a pair of white slacks, and thus looked nothing the part of a celebrity. Her lost hand had been replaced by a prosthetic one which, to the untrained eye, seemed entirely natural, but her counterpart knew how to distinguish it: the skin was slightly coarser on the fake hand, as she did not try to get it wet, regardless of it being impervious to water damage.

None of them had been especially pleased with the world’s news broadcasts first revealing them in security footage along with all the things they had said and done, but were more angered by the relentless requests for interviews. They were relentless and entirely tactless with their questioning and during one of his interviews, Sonya recalled Vadim storming off stage after the interviewer had questioned whether he had done everything he could have to save Leonas. She had released a public statement condemning the interviewer who mysteriously went on paternal leave and did not return to the news show, but the entire event had spoiled many of the surviving rebels for public life. Of all of them, however, Roe had never directly appeared on camera, and had only been found when he and Stephan had visited the site where the One City had sunk. They had wished to pay their respects, but upon landing on the artificial island that had been erected there, were immediately badgered by ruthless questions. As opposed to even acknowledging them, the Subject had simply turned around and re-boarded the helicopter they had landed in.

Desperate to be rid of the tense silence that threatened to swallow them whole in its undesired embrace, the male passenger spoke up: “So, I was talking to Ivan on my computer recently,” he had begun, and received a cryptic look from the auburn haired woman next to him. “He says he wants more money from you: he’s run out his student loan,” Stephan chuckled at the thought, though Sonya only groaned in irritation. “Hey, it’s expensive to be a student! I would know,” he recounted animatedly, counting off expenses on his fingers: “There’s books, liquor, absorbent foods to soak up the liquor, money for fast food to help work off the ensuing hangovers, drugs…” He continued his list, though was abruptly stopped by a light smack upside the head by his silent companion. The car rounded a corner on its own, and he was thankful for it: he did not trust Sonya to drive, and was grateful they were given an automated vehicle by the university after he gave a speech at football game. It felt to the young Greek like he was whoring himself out when he needed it at times, but instead he preferred to see it as a part time job: he did the interviews and public appearance to help pay for himself, his family in America, and a few people he had met on his journeys. Deciding to broach the topic he really did wish to discuss, he canted his gaze to her for a moment: “How is Damir doing?”

She stiffened in her seat, abruptly looking out the window next to her as she spoke calmly: “Don’t call him that, Damir’s gone… Ludwig is fine. The doctors tell me he’ll be able to walk all on his own soon. He’s just a bit wobbly right now. It looks like, when he was travelling with Subject One, they severely damaged his spine with all their beatings…” She trailed off, sounding both angered and saddened. “I don’t know how, but it looks like in that coma he had, he seems to have repressed all his memories from before he escaped Estonia. He and his family are getting reacquainted right now.” He nodded once, allowing her to vent, as he often did. Sonya held too much in for his liking, and it wasn’t healthy at all. Thus the young man seated next to her had determined that he would be there for her whenever she needed to talk, or more accurately when he felt she needed to talk. “He says he want to marry me, you know,” she noted dryly, before laughing a little and continuing her thought: “Me, married? I’d rather die! He can wait until I’m either old or just bored of having an interesting life.” He laughed along with her, and, contrary to how she normally spoke of Ludwig, the mood remained light: “I think he’ll be just fine. He’s too annoying to be in a hospital for the rest of his life. The staff would kill him if he was there for longer than a few years, I’m sure.”

He nodded in agreement; truly Ludwig was a horrendous handful, and when he had learned of Stephan’s part to play in Sonya’s life, he had been thrown to the floor in a crushing embrace that left a man who could not walk being dragged back onto his bed by someone a foot shorter than him. The memory brought a small smile to his face, as it had only cemented their relationship of the Estonian man playing annoying tricks on him when he least suspected, and always through strange, unnecessary sources. His attention was drawn back to the present day as their vehicle pulled off the road and slowed to a stop before announcing from the central console that they had arrived at their destination. “Here we are,” the young man announced solemnly and opened his door, setting his feet on the gravel that made up the shoulder of the road. Sonya was quick to follow and with a beep from a fob she held in hand, she smoothed out her clothing and pocketed the device.

Before them stood the jagged ruins of New Evolutionary Leap Organisation: Compound Two. The Central Administrative Building’s lower half rose up at an awkward angle before them, cresting a distance below where the sun sat on the horizon, while its upper half laid in a half destroyed pile before the building, largely blocking entry. Almost all other official entrances to the building had been cut off, and graffiti remained to a minimum, but the occasional wrongdoer would sneak in and defile the site. Now considered a national park, the ruins were not to be disturbed or rebuilt, Stephan knew Roe took special pride for his part in the agreement, for he had been the one to convince the provisional government to allow the site to not be destroyed. It had been the general agreement of international dignitaries that the ruins commemorated the noble sacrifices of those who died fighting for peace in the former Trans-Pacific Republic.

Their vehicle entered into the a roundabout that acted as a drop off site for the administrative building when the site was still functional and slowed to a stop. The sun was beginning to crest into the evening and cast long, sad shadows over the ruins, and Sonya found herself loathing the sad vista before her of a complex which entombed a million innocents. The majority of those who had been crushed in the shelters below NELO remained there still, for the emergency shelters were impenetrable under the weight of the buildings, and thus those children were doomed to be forgotten under the weight of their cold, loveless home. It was through that edification of the injustice of their deaths that Sonya found her reasoning to not come to Neo-Palmyra. She had suffered greatly at the hands of monsters; Subject One, Doran Laevan, and perhaps even her parents, but the agony of being trapped and helpless as the roof above crushed oneself was a terror that even her hardened resolve was weakened by. Eyeing the broken spires of NELO, she narrowed her grey gaze; she needed to honour them, even if the children trapped inside pained her.

Forging forward, she found Stephan at her side, and received a small, kind smile from the golden hearted man whom she envied for his strength of character. Where she and Roe had been embittered and jaded by life, he in his own way had been done a great injustice too, but was able to face life with a smile and an open heart. “You really are the strongest of us,” she commented, and received a pair of wide, sea-green eyes staring at her in surprise. She gave him no explanation and instead continued forward toward their destination with the crunch of gravel under her footwear. Ahead, standing next to his garden, was the single eyed Roe Speremus, his piercing gaze as calm as ever, however never missing anything. Together, the three of them closed the distance, however Stephan was the first to greet the enigmatic Subject with a long embrace, one that, after a moment of pause, was reciprocated. The blond man looked to Sonya with a curious gaze, however she offered him a slight smirk, “I am not hugging you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she received only a level stare before an almost imperceptible smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth before they simply shook hands.

“It’s good you both have come here today,” the Subject spoke in a typically serious tone before waving them toward the memorial placed before the ruins, however were stopped by the rumble of another vehicle entering the roundabout and so they turned to face the new arrivals. The two passenger-side doors and the driver-side door opened and from them three figures emerged. Roe let forth a vaguely surprised hum before speaking: “I did not know they had planned to come today as well. Such an auspicious gathering,” he looked to his counterparts next to him, an expectant eye boring into them to discern if he had been kept out of the loop for the sudden get together. “What a fortunate turn of events,” he commented.

As the Marcella, Vadim and Adymn moved toward them, Sonya felt a small smile growing on her lips. Scars were laden upon all of them, both physical and emotional, but they would never face their recovery pains alone. Kinship had been made among them; and such friendships would not be ruined easily. After they exchanged greetings, a comfortable silence fell over them, and surprisingly, it was broken by the quietest of their group, Roe: “It’s a… good thing that we did what we did,” he spoke solemnly and received confused and surprised stares, “I speak of this because I know all of you, like myself, are plagued by memories, but I tell you now: the sacrifices made by our fallen friends and by ourselves were noble ones that have been avenged.”

Stephan nodded once and added his own thoughts; “Roe’s right. We can never forget those who were lost… not ever. People like Logan and Leonas who stood before injustice and cruelty without fear and died for their convictions, they’re heroes. The children who died here?” He paused for a moment, seemingly preoccupied with his own thoughts of the agony that their deaths must have entailed forcing him to press a fist to his mouth and clear his throat, “They should have never died, and we all know that. But they’re at peace now, I’m sure of it. The world will never forget them.” Looking to those nearby, he had a wistful look in his eyes, and offered them a small smile, a gesture of togetherness even in the face of the demons they all wished to be freed of.

Vadim looked to the ruins behind them and shortly thereafter all those who had arrived at NELO Two’s ruins were eyeing the monolithic, broken spires that stuck awkwardly into the air. “Leonas will never be forgotten, Logan won’t be either… Neither will those kids. Laevan and Subject One were enemies of freedom and life respectively, and now they’re gone. The world can heal, and will, but we’ll have our part to play, I’m sure.” Gesturing to the macabre display before them, he looked to the sky, “We’ll move beyond this tragedy as one people, I swear it. Our job is to tell our stories, so that no one forgets the pain and sacrifice that the peaceful world of tomorrow was preceded by.” He chuckled lightly, shaking his head at his thoughts, “I’m sure scholars will damn us for what we did in a hundred years. It’s subjectivity, really, as to whether we did the right thing. But I know, right now, in this moment… everything feels new, it feels safe, it’s clean…” He trailed off, apparently at a loss for words.

For Sonya, everything was so pure, so bereft of the blood that Laevan and Subject One had wrought in that moment that she was reminded of her homeland. When snow fell overnight and blanketed Polyarny in its pure being, the town looked new and uncorrupted: it was peaceful and quiet. Such a sentiment seemed to her to apply to the situation at hand, for the potential that humanity held was at that moment could not be corrupted, and so she found the words that Vadim could not.

“Everything is white.”  

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