Subjectivity: Chapter Twenty-Three

The blizzard howled mercilessly around them, throwing drifts of the frozen precipitate around with such fervor that it stung when it struck flesh, and unfortunately many of Vadim’s compatriots were ill-equipped for the harsh climate. Children huddled close to their young caretakers, though some of them supported Marcella, the woman’s once dark skin having paled significantly since they had set out. The gunshot she had received in the cave the earlier morning had seen her lose a significant amount of blood, and the Russian Subject knew too well that she was a logical hindrance to their trek, however he would not leave her behind. ‘I am not Laevan, I do not order the deaths of thousands because they are inconvenient. I will not leave her.’ Clenching his jaw closed, he involuntarily drew those children huddled around him closer, to both attempt to better protect them and to remind himself why they suffered. They battled for the right to life; for the mere ability to continue existing. Countless thousands had been lost in the course of a few hours following the destruction of the refugee camp, and the blizzard left him ignorant to the state of the other two groups he had seen nearby. Suspecting them to have broken up or been caught, he urged those around him quicker, “Faster now, everyone. We need to reach Melbu soon, or we’ll all freeze to death.”

Originally he would not have even spoken of death to children, but in the haunted faces of those around him, he knew they had already seen and experienced too much death for people so young. Looking to Marcella once more, she flashed him a weary smile and continue to drag her now limp leg behind her, using an older Subject male to support her as she walked. He then cast his gaze to Adymn who brought up the rear to his right, and though he did not see Vadim staring, the latter knew he was faring better than himself and their kind hearted, if injured, companion. He had been a security guard at NELO; he had been trained to quickly and mercilessly detain rowdy people, both Subject children and any dissenting elements that arrive at the compound. As such, he was in the best shape of them, and that was made apparent in his carrying of a ten year old girl named Lilly whom the dirty blond haired Subject had spoken to at length about her affinity for ‘Mommy Nata,’ as she had so affectionately referred to Mother Natalie as. Recalling his Mother, the beleaguered Russian smiled faintly, for he wished very much to thank her for employing his newfound friend, so that the two of them could become so close. He admired the American greatly for his strength and his determination, and from these qualities was reminded of Stephan, another American who had worn his heart on his sleeve. ‘There must be something in the water in America,’ he thought to himself, ‘Everyone I’ve met from there has been very kind.’

As they crested another hill that made up the spine of the central mountain of Hadseloya, the Subject was alerted to a new sight by Marcella’s tired voice. “Vadim, Adymn, look!” She pointed into the distance, though all the former saw was snow blustering around wildly. Squinting and peering into the night, he blinked, confused. He could have sworn he had seen lights in the distance, but he did not think it possible, and instead discounted it for wishful thinking and a tired body playing tricks on the mind. “Don’t you see it? It’s Melbu!” Marcella called back, before stumbling forward and being caught by the teenager who supported her. Looking forward, he once more saw the glimmer of lights, and finally admitted to himself that they had made it. “Come on, everyone. We’re almost there!” Surging forward, Marcella hobbled wildly, and the children around them hollered gleefully. Caution was discarded and crippling fatigued curbed by hope as the group of twenty two children and three young adults hurried forward with renewed purpose. Adymn was abruptly hurrying past Vadim, child on his back, and many more at his sides, holding to his hands and shirt as they struggled to keep up with their exuberant guide.

And then it came. A single word boomed in Vadim’s mind in a foreign but familiar voice: “Kill.” He spoke aloud, and his fellow male de facto caretaker looked to him worriedly, slowing in his advance. The children around him abruptly stopped, and apparently only his fellow guardians had not been accepted. A splitting headache pierced his mind, then, with enough intensity that the Subject cried aloud and fell into the snow, clutching his throbbing head. Far beyond his attention, the children around him did so too, and in his mind’s eye he saw a boy, a few years younger than himself, looking identical to Roe save his lesser age and completely black hair, command him to kill. Letting out a bloodcurdling scream of agony as his head violently pulsed with what felt like a thousand needles stabbing at his brain, he fell to his side, only to feel a set of hands catch him. Looking up for a moment, his hazel eyes incredibly bloodshot and twitching, he could only see Adymn’s mouth moving, though the noisy throbbing of his own mind drowned out any understanding of his words. ‘What is this?!’ He questioned madly, the sudden mass headache so crippling and powerful he felt the warmth of blood trickle from his nose. ‘Help me!’ He cried out desperately, ‘Someone help me!’ Though his words were not annunciated and only Vadim himself could hear them. Adymn had laid him against the snow as he looked to the children who, upon a quick inspection, where in a similar state.

As abruptly as the horrific headache had arrived, it left, and with it, rationality fled his mind. ‘I need to kill them,’ the realisation came to him, ‘It’s the only option. Everyone around me needs to die.’ Slowly pushing himself to a stand, his back slumped forward, he looked around like a beast sizing up its prey. None of the children around him seemed interesting; they were easy prey and could dispatch themselves. He needed a challenge, and so he looked to Marcella, who was now being assaulted. Three children no older than six clawed at her madly, punching and biting at her, and she pushed them away easily, though with great reluctance and so they merely returned to continue their attack. Adymn too was being surrounded by some of the older children, and upon seeing the ensuing havoc, the now mad oldest Subject straightened his back and lunged forward, grabbing two who fought for a better position from which to rip the American’s throat out, tossed them away as though they weighed nothing. Another, this time a girl looking to be almost fifteen, had a foot delivered into her back, and with a sickening crunch, she crumpled downward, still. Now face to face with his friend, all the Subject could think about was how delightful it would be to kill him, to watch him die. ‘You need to die, my friend,’ Vadim thought to himself, ‘Because you need to die,’ he rationalised. Slowly leaning forward, he places his hands on the other’s chest, groping him, before moving them up to his neck and squeezing. “Vadim, what’re you doing!?” The taller of the two questioned angrily as he grasped the former’s forearms and wrenched him off his throat and shoved him away.

“You need to die!” Vadim called out, “Because you do!” He once more explained, though this time verbally. The wind howled around him as his feet refused to usher him forward, though all the blond man knew was a blinding desire for death; to kill everyone around him until he was alone. His counterpart only stared at him with eyes full of confusion and tinted with fear. Finally, whatever had restricted him fell away like the ephemeral snow which had slowed to a gradual drifting. The children around them, their horrific, blood curdling violence against one another fell away as the two men exchanged gazes between themselves and Marcella, who was now in tears as she fought off their attacks. Vadim lurched forward uneasily and grasped Adymn by the collar of his coat, hands trembling as an inner battle raged, one he knew and wished for the pacifist to fail. In truth his true self was gone, fallen to the machinations unknown to anyone in their current troupe, however such knowledge was made unimportant as the Subject placed his hands around the natural-born man’s neck. “Just die so this part of me that’s questioning is silent!” He hissed furiously as he tightened his hands. He was not given an opportunity to kill the former guard, for the latter grasped him by the wrists in a way as to dig deeply into his pressure points and open his hands like rusty clamps. Achieving this, the Subject’s hands were pushed into the air before a winding knee was delivered into his chest. Coughing violently as his attack was not only nullified but he was struck, he stumbled backward a step, clutching his step. Bloodlust continued to course through his body, though it was once more subverted by the actions of the taller individual who sent blood splattering across the snow with one solid punch, sending Vadim to the ground, clutching his fractured jaw. “Die, damn you!” He hissed as he crawled forward toward his assailant.

Kicking him onto his back, Adymn planted a boot on his chest and, as he was about to speak, heard his Moroccan friend shout: “Snap out of it, now!” Looking around, he saw with horror as two children looking to be eight and eleven respectively shoved Marcella forward and allowed a third party to jump onto her back and sending her onto the ground. Falling under the attack, she screamed as one bit at her ear with feral disregard, and it was then that the once NELO guard knew what he had to do. Below him, his other compatriot thrashed under his boot, though remained pinned. Kicking him with enough force to wind him once more, he repositioned his foot to hold him down, face first, into the snow. Revealing a handgun and a slim magazine looking to be its companion bullet sleeve, he slid one into the other and loaded the weapon. Marcella looked up at him from a distance as she threw a child through the air as though they were a ragdoll and called to him: “Do it!” Wasting no time, he took in a deep breath and loaded the weapon. Seven gun shots rang out with a blaring bang following each trigger depression, and saw an equal seven children crumple to the ground, still, around Marcella. A third magazine was loaded and another seven shots fired, ever silencing their group. Given another set of bullets he saw those crawling toward the now freed woman stilled. With one last magazine loaded, he aimed it down toward Vadim.

Sighing, he knew it would be painful, especially given the short distance the bullet would travel, but he knew it to be necessary. “Sorry, Vade,” Adymn spoke aloud, and upon his use of the nickname he had thought to have created himself, the man below him stilled of his own accord, eyes wide as he stared up, mouthing a word he could not decipher. Depressing the trigger once more, a point of crimson appeared on his midsection and his eyes fluttered closed. Holstering the weapon once more, he hurried to Marcella, before slipping an arm under her legs and one through her shoulders, and hefted her into his arms. Her leg wound from before had ceased its bleeding, but now her ear, missing a noticeable piece, bled profusely and she was pale. Going to speak, he shushed her and merely nodded, “You were right on the bullets, they were tranquilisers. No one seems to be dead, after all… But how are we going to get this many people to town?” Looking to a nearby rocky formation that protruded from the snowy grounds, he hurried over to it and gingerly placed Marcella against. If she had been pained by the action, it did not show, and he could not help but smirk at her resolve to not be seen as weak.

Casting her gaze toward the town, she smirked, “Looks like you won’t have to worry about that problem,” and upon seeing the confusion laden upon his tired features, she motioned toward what appeared to be three jeeps, sirens flashing bright blues and reds as they trundled over the snowy landscape. “Collect the kids, and let me do the talking,” she instructed with a touch of dry mirth. Adymn opened his mouth to protest, though silenced himself and moved to the twenty two children, hurriedly picking them up and placing them against the wide rocky formation Marcella sat against. As he did so, she gingerly limped toward each one, wiping snow out of their hair and making sure the tranquilising bullets had indeed been nonlethal and, as opposed to conventional weaponry, did not leave deadly wounds, and instead non-lethal, if very painful, welts. “I always wanted to have kids, and I still do. Given that I’m still so young I haven’t really thought of actually getting on that, but…” She looked to Adymn, smiling lightly, “This is nice, in a way. I feel like we’re doing more good than we ever could fighting a war by protecting these kids. Without us, they’d be dead, and it makes me feel like all the pain and all the death will be redeemed if these kids make it out safe and sound…” Gritting her teeth as she absentmindedly put weight on her injured thigh, she waved her concerned compatriot away, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”

The two continued their to and fro of anesthetised children for a short while longer before the male knelt breathlessly in the snow, having ignored his own fatigue up until that time, and the tanned woman leaned her head back against the rock face behind her, a hand placed on the head of a child to her right. The sounds of sirens were all around them and blared noisily. Commands were given in a language neither she nor Adymn understood, and so the two only allowed themselves to be handcuffed. Police or soldiers, Marcella did not care as she saw the heavily clothed men gingerly pick up each child, check them for serious injuries, before buckling them into a seat, two to a seat, and with the spin of tires on snow, the wind whipped at her hair and she felt her tired mind begin to fall into unconsciousness. As she let her eyes close, Marcella mumbled aloud to any who could hear her: “Make sure they get a good meal and a long sleep… It’s been a terrible trek…” Feeling a firm hand on her shoulder, she could have sworn she recognised the voice of a man with a thick European accent assuring her they would do just that. Relieved, her head slumped to the side and sleep took her.

~*~

After what felt like an eternity, consciousness returned to Marcella in slow waves of barely cognisant thoughts and sensations: blankets, a cloth gown, the beeping of a machine nearby, the hum of a heater, the warmth of the sun on her face, and the rustle of a figure. Was it herself or another person in the room? She was unsure, her eyes refused to open for her for the moment, and instead of fighting to find her sight, she merely tensed and relaxed various muscles, checking to see how her body had fared after their excruciating trek. Her upper thigh which had been grazed by a bullet was still very sore, and she suspected there was frostbite and possibly accompanied by an infection. In truth she had been in agony during their escape from the refugee camp – a place she would prefer to forget – and had obstinately refused to inform neither Vadim nor Adymn of her condition, not wishing to be a burden. ‘I may be weaker than them, but I will never slow them down,’ she resolved silently as she continued to test her body. It had been a methodical practice Vadim had taught her during their time in the camp, as it was an excellent means of avoiding painful pulled muscles and tendons when waking. Moreover, it also allowed one’s mind to acclimate to the world around them without giving obvious signs of the person at hand being conscious.

Hoping both possible ailments to her leg had been taken care of, Marcella once more endeavoured to open her eyes, and with some effort, she was able to with the breaking of a thin line of an unknown substance. Her head rang with pain as light flooded into her eyes, and she forced them closed once more, finding the blinding whiteness unbearable. It was then that she heard the shifting of another form, and indeed a familiar voice. “Marcella?” The voice asked tentatively, and once more the aforementioned woman opened her eyes, this time finding them more amicable to her efforts. Though she was unaware of how long she had been asleep, the young Moroccan woman surmised it to have been a long time, for her eyes were incredibly unaccustomed to the light once more, and with some effort, she pushed past her sensitivities and stared up at a panelled white ceiling. Interspaced with large squares of light that shone with an illumination much akin to that of fluorescent lights of eras past, the light fixtures were instead lit with bioluminescent synthetics which were much more efficient and would biodegrade. However her view of the ceiling was interrupted as someone stooped over her lying form. Dark brown tresses augmented with flecks of red tumbled over a pair of slim shoulders, and a freckled face with two wide hazel eyes stared down at Marcella which were filled with worry and surprise all at once. “Oh thank god, you’re awake!” Emiliyia Alben breathed out a sigh of relief she had not known she had been holding.

Staring up at the woman, the dark skinned woman reached a hand up to her head, her forehead throbbing painfully, though found her hand restricted. Looking down to find her wrists trapped in plastic restraints, she looked back up to the once deathly ill refugee. “I’m sorry, I tried to get them not to, but it’s policy, apparently. You and the boys were armed with guns and for all they knew you had stolen those kids! Neither of them have woken up yet to say otherwise, and no one seems to want to listen to Bori or I here,” Emiliyia spoke quickly, worried that her friend might become angered at the constraints. Looking over her bed and out the window Marcella had only just then noticed, the two watched the snow peacefully fall from the grey sky. Squat buildings gave way to a rocky beach in the distance, and from their vantage point on the high ground, the ensnared rebel assumed they had indeed reached Melbu. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” The red haired woman spoke gently, and the other young woman merely nodded, content to simply watch the peaceful scene. From an innocent camp put to the sword to an idyllic, Nordic town, they had travelled far, yet part of the bedridden youth felt that their travels had not ended. ‘Vadim didn’t push for us to come here for no reason. We need to stop this genocide from the source, but how?’ The question had weighed heavily on her mind since their departure, and much to her dismay, no answers had come to her. Emiliya cast her gaze downward once more, shame written heavily upon her delicate features; “Really, I’m sorry about all this, you guys saved those kids, you shouldn’t be treated like this…”

Shaking her head, the younger of the two went to speak, though found her voice weak and coarse from dehydration. After clearing her throat, she attempted to vocalise her thoughts once more, and was successful. “It’s okay, Emiliyia. Are the kids safe?” Having her question answered with a quick nod, Marcella relaxed against the flat pillow behind her head, “Thank god…” She whispered gratefully. Looking down to where her hands had been shackled, she made note of what appeared to be a call button. “I think it’s about time I quite lazing around,” the teenage woman laughed weakly, and depressed the switch, eliciting a quiet bing from somewhere nearby. With some difficulty and the aid of Emiliyia, the two of them uncovered her bullet wound, and much to the injured female’s relief, it had been stitched, dressed, and was likely ready to be hobbled on. “Emiliyia,” she had begun, and the mentioned crimson haired woman looked over from the tray of uneaten food she had been fussing with, “Last I saw you, you were on death’s door! Obviously you’re better now, but how?” The individual questioned chuckled nervously, however did not respond as the door to the hospital room opened and from its negative space stepped in Doctor Alexander Hagebak, the man who had left with Emiliyia to see to her care in Melbu weeks earlier.

“I feel like I can field that question better, miss Marcella,” he said with a wry grin, patting Emiliyia lightly on the shoulder. Rolling a stool out from under the night table next to her bed, the man took a seat, resting his hands in his lap. “You’re quite right that she was in very bad shape when we left. Thankfully, when we arrived here, I was able to take her in as a refugee. She’s not a Subject, so no one really cared, and I was able to stop the infection which had ruined her kidneys. Now she’s fit as a fiddle and has been nervously pattering between Vadim, Adymn and you.” Looking to her restraints, the man frowned; deep set creases being exaggerated on his forehead as he condemned them: “I told the nurses this was unnecessary. I’m sorry if these gave you a sore back from sleeping so still.” With a few smooth movements, the man in his forties unclasped the restraints and helped Marcella to a sitting position. “Much better, right?” Going to speak, he placed a hand on her shoulder, heavy and calloused. “I know what you’re going to ask; you want to visit the others. Well I’m afraid the kids are off limits for now; all of them are still unconscious and to top it off Norwegian law prohibits underage asylum seekers to have unsolicited visitors until their status has been cleared; to keep them safe they say. As per your friends, you can visit them as soon as you eat something. You’ve been out for a while and you need to keep your strength up.”

Going to protest his words, Marcella merely deflated in her seated position, resigning to the man’s undeniable authority in the situation at hand, and the validity of his recommendations. Truly, she had not eaten in many days and her stomach, upon attention paid, growled noisily. Looking to the unappetising tray of old food, she scrunched up her nose, and her attending physician only laughed broadly, before opening a drawer under the countertop of the night table and procured a tray of slices of white bread, juice, and what appeared to be a kind of gelatin dessert. In comparison to cold soup and stale looking bread crumbs – what she had found before – the simple meal looked ravishing, and Marcella spared no time in devouring the savory foods. “Thank you!” She spoke hurriedly between bites, “I didn’t realise how hungry I was until now,” with a few more bites, she gave a quick explanation: “I’ve just been so preoccupied. If one of those kids…” Swallowing her current bite, she trailed off at the thought of one of them dying. “If one more innocent life died on my watch, when I could’ve stopped it, I would never forgive myself…” Slurping up the gelatin dessert by forgoing the spoon offered, she placed the plastic cup it had arrived in and looked to her fellows. “Shall we go, then?” She spoke with renewed vigor and a point of wit in her otherwise innocent sounding words.

Slipping her legs off the side of the bed, Marcella felt Doctor Hagebak’s sturdy grip on the sides of her arms as she stood, and was quickly grateful for the support offered, given the vertigo that struck her which was coupled with the dull pain in her thigh from the now mended bullet wound. “Thank you,” she spoke more calmly, and after gathering herself, she released herself from the man’s grasp, though he was never far from her side as she hobbled toward the open doorway. Placing her hand on the moulding thereon, she was silently directed by Emiliyia to go to her right. The three of them filed out of the room with caution, and the last two, those being the red haired woman and the middle aged doctor, watching their recovering patient closely. Making steady progress down the hall, identical doorways to the one they had just exited covered the walls on either side in equal intervals. Some were open, some closed, and in each one she saw an unconscious child she knew well, each one shackled like a madman to their bed. It was a concerning sight, but given their behaviour before she had passed out in the police vehicle, it might be necessary. “Has… Vadim acted strangely?” She asked the two behind her, and they gave her quizzical looks.

“The blond boy? He’s been mumbling in his sleep this whole time, and has shouted for a myriad of people: his parents, Natalie Bellerose, someone named Roe, another called Stephan, and a few others I can’t remember. Is that strange for him?” Doctor Hagebak asked her calmly, though worry emanated in undertones that he was unable to silence. Tense silence fell over them as his words went unanswered. Did it mean he had recovered his true self? Marcella did not know, but she knew she had to be prepared for anything. Whatever happened to Vadim had affected all other Subjects nearby, and so she assumed it had affected every Subject on the island, if not in the world, though the latter seemed somewhat impossible. “But,” once more, her attention was drawn to her physician, who had a worried look on his face once more, “The Subjects in the town – mind you there’s only four of them who actually live here, but all the other ones who have been detained, and those who do live here, well…” he trailed off as he motioned to the door to their right. “This is Vadim’s room, but before we go in. All the Subjects in town were either killed or arrested last night when they suddenly went insane, for lack of a better word. They suddenly attacked their caregivers, husbands, wives, family, strangers. Anyone and everyone, they just mauled at with hands and teeth, and if they got a hold of something sharp it’d only increase the death toll. The whole town’s in an uproar and they want these kids deported before anyone else died. You lot as well.”

Opening the door to Vadim’s room, they saw a predictable sight. Strapped to the table by restraints over his chest, legs, ankles, arms and wrists, he was completely immobilised. Various machines were gathered around his bed; some beeped every so often while others remained silent, their tall, narrow countenances unremarkable and bland. The Subject himself looked much better, but still seemed rather sickly: his eyes, though closed, were marked with dark circles, something Marcella normally saw on those who were deprived of sleep, his skin looked paler than normal, and he seemed to have lost a great deal of weight. Looking down at herself, she realised that she too had been emaciated by their long days of malnourishment. Ignoring her own state, she hurried to Vadim’s bedside, she felt her throat constrict at the sight of him lying there, his face contorted in anguish. Placing a hand on his forearm, she leaned down as he parted his lips, and mumbled quietly. Unable to hear him, she moved closer, and what he whispered made her blood run cold: “Help me,” he croaked almost silently. His eyes closed ever tighter and tears leaked from the corners of his eyelids as he tossed his head side to side. “Help me,” he spoke louder, and prompted Emiliyia to join Marcella at his side.

Cupping his cheek in her hand, Marcella spoke worriedly: “Vadim, wake up,” she asked his unconscious form, “We can’t help you if you don’t wake up,” the young woman continued, though her protestations fell on deaf ears as he continued to thrash against his restraints. Continuing to plead for help in a miserable and desperate fashion, worry for Vadim spread through her person as wiped away the tears that leaked from his clenched eyes. After one particularly unsettling groan of pain, she removed her hand from his face and intertwined her fingers with his, and his hand relaxed under her grip. “Emiliyia, Doctor Hagebak and I are right here, Vade. All you have to do is wake up,” Marcella spoke aloud, though once more her words were ignored. Growing frustrated, she thought of another who might be capable of waking the unconscious Subject; Adymn, who was never one for a gentle touch to solve problems. Looking to Emiliyia, she cautioned her: “Emiliyia, don’t get mad at me for what I’m about to do. You too, Doctor.” With hesitant nods, she removed the restraint around Vadim’s chest, making note of how fast his heart raced, and hauled him up by the scruff of his hospital gown before shouting in his face: “Wake up!” And slapping him across the face with ferocity his entire body shuddered, and he groaned in pain. “I said wake up, not whine!” Marcella screamed at him and with the same hand, backhanded her dear friend across his face.

Tired brown eyes opened slowly, and met the relieved gaze of Marcella, “Why does my face hurt?” Vadim asked weakly, and as he went to touch his face, he found his arms restricted, “Why am I – oh, right…” Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself as Doctor Hagebak hurried forward and began to check his vital signs. The tanned young woman stepped back and allowed him to be inspected, for she was worried for his health as much as the doctor. After a few minutes of questioning and testing, Vadim was propped up against the headboard, his fatigued gaze settled forward nigh blankly. “It was that boy, the one with the black hair… he looks like Roe,” the Russian Subject explained to Emiliyia, “He made us do it… somehow. But he’s not in charge, just a pawn, really… It was Doran Laevan!” He exclaimed as he struggled against his restraints, “That bastard did something and now he can screw with every Subjects’ mind as he pleases… We need to stop him and I think I know just where to go.”

~*~

It was, as though for the self-proclaimed brother and Roe, that the bullets whizzing by them were of no consequence as they dashed between The Awakening zealots. Combat knives procured from a stash unknown to Stephan, blood sprayed without repose as the two made their murderous rounds. Thirty Awakening members remained at such a point, though their numbers dwindled. Within the mayhem of their own weapons, a figure donning a ruined tuxedo, along with a smattering of new injuries, removed his enemies with their finesse and speed that it was mindboggling for the otherwise peaceful Greek to watch. Surrounded on all sides, he held one blade parallel to his forearm while the other was held outward. His right blade, extended outward, pierced a hooded man’s throat and out the back of his cowl, before the man simply slumped to the ground. Sparing no time, he wrenched the blade out and spun around to mete another enemy. This man, garnishing a rifle, was too slow on his attack and felt the already bloodied blade held in the Subject’s right hand pierce his stomach before ripping out his intestines with a twisting motion. Observing their fight when possible, the gore covered brunet spared another gaze over his shoulder, only to see his dear friend, so maddened with grief and rage, he, having been cornered, threw himself at a member of The Awakening who fired one of the pilfered neurotoxic bullet carrying rifles at their evasive foe. Slamming his fist into the barrel of the gun, Roe sent bullets spraying upward and to his side, before snapping the man’s wrist as he wrenched the weapon free and claimed it as his own. Appearing from the mass of offending individuals, Corvus nodded to his brother, and the elder of the two shouted: “I judge you!” His tones dramatic and with pained rage that jarred all those in earshot who held him dear, he depressed the trigger and in a matter of seconds, half of his foes lay dead, writhing and screaming in agony against the lethal poisons in their bodies.

Stephan however could spare little attention to Roe’s machinations, for he and Sonya were otherwise indisposed with the Trans-Pacific Republic’s militarymen who, having seen them as a riotous element, opened fire. He had not wished to hurt them and indeed gave a silent prayer for a quick death to each man he put to death, but would not allow Sonya, who had been kind to him in his time of need, to die protecting him. Having procured a handgun from his attackers shortly into the fray, he delivered poignant gunfire, not wasting any bullets on injuring shots, and instead going for instant deaths. “Just stand down!” He called out, safe behind an overturned table that served as impressive protection against the onslaught of bullets. In truth, were it just he and Sonya, they would have fallen long ago, but organisation in the enemy’s ranks had fallen quickly with the advent of a horrific spray of bullets from The Awakening without provocation after the two sides had declared their intents. Their actions had only served to help Sonya, Roe, and Stephan himself, for not only were most Awakening members reduced to hand to hand weapons, but the Republic soldiers were thrown into disarray and what few were left were too shaken to make an accurate shot. “Surrender, you stubborn idiots!” He shouted once more before taking another moment to spin over the top of his cover after the bullets had ceased embedding themselves in the table’s riddled countenance and with a slight pause, fired two bullets, one grazing a soldier’s helmet and the other piercing the visor, sending them to the ground, sprawled out awkwardly and still in death.

Sonya, however, remained far more effective in her deathly ministrations. “Get down, Stephan!” She scolded the otherwise peaceful man who sheepishly ducked behind the overturned table and waited for her signal. Still wearing a now tattered and torn fine dress, though having discarded the impractical footwear that was high heels, she stepped out from behind the pillar she used for protection and with four bullets fired, four soldiers fell dead, leaving only two left alive. “Surrender!” She shouted, irritated, “Our fight is with Laevan, damn it, not you!” Either they were incapable of hearing over the screams elicited by the dying Awakening zealots, or refused to back down due to resolve unknown to either her or Stephan, she ducked behind the pillar, barely avoiding another smattering of bullets. She canted her gaze to the aforementioned partner in capital crime, and gave him a firm nod. “I know it’s painful, Stephan, but we need to stop Laevan and they can’t get in our way,” she told him, urging him to join her in one last offensive. ‘I’m sorry,’ he thought to himself, shaking his head in an effort to rid himself of the pain that accompanied the wholesale slaughter, ‘You’ll be free of whatever’s controlling you soon, you poor misguided souls.’ With that cemented in his mind, he turned around and placed his weapon overtop the edge of the table to steady it, and with three shots, killed one of the last two soldiers. The other simply fell to one bullet from his counterpart, and the two returned their attention to The Awakening.

Having expected to find his close friend overcome by the insurmountable odds he had been presented, Stephan found Roe wiping his chipped and dulled blades off on a fallen man’s robe before discarding them completely. Corvus, a short distance away, hid his weapons in his sleeves once more, and clapped the unstable Subject on the shoulder, “That was awesome, big bro!” He chirped cheerfully, “I barely had to do anything, you were a machine out there.” However the other did not respond, and instead hurried toward his rebelling colleagues, though stopped halfway between the two cacophonous battlefields, and cast his gaze from the now bullet ridden elevators, flanked by dead soldiers and the far entry to the food court which was clogged with the robed bodies of dead Awakening zealots. Slowly rising to his feet, the brown haired man walked toward his Subject friend cautiously; still unsure as to whether he was himself again or not. Sonya was slow to follow, keeping her own weapon in hand, as opposed to the former who had eagerly discarded his. The three of them stood facing one another and a heavy silence fell over them as none seemed willing to talk. The youngest newcomer, however, was busy rifling through the bodies of the dead soldiers, procuring weapons of all sorts and pocketing them hurriedly. Being paid no attention, he achieved his goals without interruption from his elders.

Much to Stephan’s surprise, it was Sonya who broke the silence between the three of them: “We need to make a choice, here. We can either go up the Gherkin Alpha and corner Laevan in his office, or we can go down the tower and stop Subject One and The Awakening.” The Greek man nodded in agreement, however Roe merely stared at her with a maddened gaze, his lower right eyelid intermittently quivering. Continuing her thought, she spoke again, “I know The Awakening have done terrible things and they’ll no doubt monopolise on the situation, but we need to stop Laevan. The Phoenix Cloud is accessible from his office and so are all the high yield weapons the Republic have at their disposal. We can’t let either fall into the wrong hands.” Looking to her saner male counterpart, Stephan offered her a small smile, indicating his confidence. Her attention then turned to the maddened Subject that neither of the former two could hold in confidence anymore, however he gave no indication of his approval for her plan. Behind them, Corvus joined them, his azure gaze peering at his brother as well. “Roe,” Sonya had begun as she moved to stand in front of him, “I know you’ve lost a lot. More than any of us, but there’s a time for grieving and a time for action. Will you help us?”

Her question weighed heavily in the tense silence that ensued thereafter, and even the youngest of their group of four seemed concerned for Roe’s sanity. After a lengthy muted moment, his gaze cooled, and the once wide stare of a madman was replaced with one more indicative of the Subject they all, save Corvus, knew so well. “Mother desired for one thing in life,” he began, looking down at his bloodstained hands, which trembled slightly, “She wished for her children to be happy.” Stephan nodded, and met his friend’s gaze when it was turned to him, keeping their stares locked together in an endeavour to help him be strong with discovering his emotions. For Roe, it was as though Subject One had opened a safe in his mind where all the emotional power of his being had been trapped, and now that it was opened, like a tsunami, it threatened to destroy all in its path, the blond man included. Sonya regarded him cautiously, knowing that she was in truth no match for him if he went mad and needed restraining, but, to her own surprise, wished to help him push back his misery. “I…” He looked to the Russian woman then, who pushed back bloodstained locks of auburn hair behind her air and observed her, “You are much stronger than I, Sonya. I barely know you and yet… I am aware of this fact in the very core of my being. That dream has finally come to make sense: you, I, and Stephan, we are one. The three paragons I met in my subconscious, we are they.” His words reverberated powerfully, and the woman’s normally composed nature shuddered with the realisation that then donned upon her.

Stephan seemed equally surprised, and as Roe spoke, he offered his own quiet acknowledgement of having the same dream. “You both as well?” She questioned and quickly received their affirmation, “That’s extraordinary, really,” she commented, a note of happiness in her voice at not being alone in the frightening experience. For her, the dream had seen her slaughter her brother and bring the world to ruin out of hatred, and so she fought hard to never allow that to take place. “In the dream, there were three of them. One who was garbed in medieval armour and had a sword that was…” Trailing off, she was echoed by her comrades: “Dripping blood.” Nodding thoughtfully, she thought of the figure, “She is me – or rather, I need to become her. She is freedom, something that I’ve fought for all my life: freedom from my parents, freedom for my brother, freedom for my heart, for his, for everyone’s.” Taking in a steady breath, she calmed any emotional unrest that threatened to break through her composure and compromise her resolve. “The Paragon of Liberty…” She spoke the title with reverence and honour, somehow gleaning it from sources unknown, for in truth the paragons of her dream had never given themselves titles and indeed barely spoke at all.

“Then there was the one off to the right. His clothes kept changing from moment to moment, but he seemed to welcoming and benevolent. Where the other two felt so intense and intimidating, this one was like a loving brother.” Looking to Roe and Sonya, Stephan received their acknowledgement of his interpretation before continuing. “His hands were extended outward, as though he was welcoming me, telling me I was needed. I think that was exactly what I needed to see in that dream: up until then, I had, and still do from time to time, felt so… useless. I can’t fight like Roe and I’m not nearly as good of a shot as Sonya, but when I looked at him, I felt as though his unseen face was smiling and beckoning to me to believe that I had worth.” Roe frowned deeply at the normal born man’s self-derogatory remarks, however remained silent for the time being. “As you were saying, Sonya,” he addressed his female comrade directly, “You spent your life fighting against the system, while I spent my life fighting against the distorted human nature everyone seems to love. My own parents couldn’t love humanity like they loved their children, my city couldn’t love its poorest citizens, and my neighbourhood couldn’t love each other enough to greet one another. Maybe it’s because of where I grew up, and maybe that’s the case for each of us, but I think that’s what shapes us to this day.” Looking to his fellows, he spoke again, once more giving a title that he had somehow learned through his explanation of the figure he related to the most: “I want to be like him, someone who helps bring the world together for the right reasons: a man of brotherhood, the Paragon of Fraternity.”

Roe took centre stage then, however he remained silent as he regarded those who stared expectantly at him. “I’ve known it ever since I saw Mother lying there, dead,” his words were flat and cold, “I knew what I have to be, what I have to do to end this cycle of hatred that the world’s falling into it. Make no mistake, Laevan will not stop at the borders of the Republic states; he’ll need to take the entire world to ensure the peace he wants. But peace made at gunpoint, with a sword placed against your throat, is no peace at all!” The Subject shouted, shaking his head firmly, “I will take from him what he has taken from the world, and I will do it myself. I can’t ask you three to come with me, and I wish you would not. Truly, I wish for your safety.” His words seemed directed almost solely at Sonya and Stephan, and Corvus appeared to be entirely aware of the blatant disregard for his person, his visage hurt and body language tense and uncomfortable. Not addressing the evidently hurtful action, he looked to Sonya, “You who have fought for everything, who brought me out of the depths of listless nothingness, I cannot ask you to come with me. I owe you too much.” Turning to face Stephan, he smiled ever so slightly, “And you, who have walked this horrific quest with me from the beginning. You taught me how to love another human being after all but one before you had been so cruel and cold. I could never ask you to come with me.” Receiving a defiant scoff and a broad smile coupled with a shake of a head, Roe sighed, exasperated.

“But I knew you would give those responses. Nevertheless, my dream taught me a lesson I was unable to learn up until recently: true strength is not in denying your humanity, but embracing it. I am the Paragon of Equality: I hold the criminals of the world on trial and I weigh their crimes, because I am Subject One.” Receiving confused and worried stares from the other two who had just spoken, he explained his previous statement calmly: “The same genetic sequence they used to create Subject One was used to create me, and my genetic sequence was used to create Corvus here. If I am Natalie’s child, he is Doran’s child. He knew there was a chance I would defy him, and so he created another.” Turning to the aforementioned teenager who had been completely ignored thus far, Roe placed a hand on his shoulder, “I know you are only here to lead us to Laevan so that we can be killed and you can fulfil your Father’s desires, but…” Trailing off, the Subject shook his head, “He is not your father. You and I do not have a father, and nor do we have a mother anymore. I know you were not born at NELO, but she was truly the Mother of Subjects, and so you are her son.” Extending his hand for the boy to take, Corvus looked at the offering skeptically, before staring down at his own hand. “So that you never have to know the crushing loneliness I have endured, and that you endure to this day, I will be your family.”  

~*~

The burning of his lungs having already been a familiar feeling, Vadim pushed forward, forcing himself to run ever quicker. The sound of light footfalls and his harried breath were the only audible signals being given off, and he did his best to silence them as he raced down the busy street. Having reached a commercial area of a district in One City, all around him people shouted and swore at one another angrily as they sought to stock up on a finite amount of supplies in an effort to either ride out the tumultuous terrorist attacks on the city or simply evacuate as the overhead loudspeakers suggested. “This is One City Administration: all citizens are advised to evacuate to the nearest designated shelter,” the announcement played overhead once more, temporarily drowning out the ambient noise of scared individuals with its booming, mechanical voice. Unbeknownst to the Subject and the two behind him, the city had been attacked by The Awakening in a horrific spree of coordinated attacks. Two blocks away he could see the remnants of what appeared to have been a light rail station, which, given the charred and smoldering remains, had been destroyed by explosives recently. Pillars of black smoke rose all around in the distance, and the entire city felt as though it was on the verge of complete destruction. As with any city at any point in history, an orderly evacuation was anything but, and as Vadim barely avoided a man sprinting in the opposite direction from colliding with him, he noted a feminine looking handbag in the man’s hands, and grumbled at the ridiculous nature of the theft. Turning his head over his shoulder, he looked back to Adymn and shouted his name: “Adymn!” Before directing the latter’s attention to the thief.

The former guard wasted no time and extended a foot, tripped the absconding individual, and sent him crashing to the ground. Spinning around, he planted a foot on the man’s back with such force that the criminal wheezed out a winded breath, and writhed vainly to be free, still clutching to his prize. Kicking him hard in the side, the man rolled onto his back and looked up at his aggrieving foe who kicked him once more in the stomach after he refused to let go of the purse. “Let go, shithead!” Adymn shouted furiously, having no patience for the man’s stubborn nature. Once more, however, he did not release the stolen property and so, wishing to continue on their way to the Gherkin Alpha to stop the most pressing threat, Subject One, Adymn rummaged through his pocket before procuring a handgun he had stolen from the military plane that had brought them to the floating city. Loading it and pointing it at the man’s head, he whispered coldly: “Let it go now.” His words, dangerous and to an observer entirely sincere, saw the trapped man release his grasp on the purse. Firing off a single bullet next to his head, the man yelped in fear before having the foot on his chest removed. Freed, he scurried to his feet and fled. Turning to face the respectively horrified and perplexed stares of Marcella and Vadim, Adymn shrugged lightly. “What? I was never going to shoot him. The fear was in the threat! Now let’s keep going.” Procuring the purse, he held to it, his gaze scanning for any women bereft of such an article and looking frantic.

Deciding to not argue the point, the Russian Subject turned and continued on their way, cursing their bad luck for having arrived near a destroyed train station and thus having to travel even farther on foot. Casting his gaze back for a moment, he spoke breathlessly as he ran: “I get your point, but the ends don’t always justify the means, you know!” His male counterpart nodded in agreement, however nevertheless seemed unconvinced that he had done wrong. ‘Obstinate turd,’ Vadim thought to himself, though found himself smirking at the gall he had shown by threatening a man in such a manner. Indeed they had all changed a great deal from their origins, and even the kind hearted Marcella had shown significant growth in her ability to be harsh when needed, as when she had struck the Subject repeatedly to wake him. Removing the thought from his mind, the three arrived at the ruined train station, only to find a small military compliment guarding it.

Donning the drab black uniforms of the Trans-Pacific Republic, they wore a unique azure sash around their right upper arm emblazoned with the insignia of the One city: a golden ring with the letter ‘C’ inscribed in it. Five of the soldiers faced outward and blocked the entries to the station while two were inside, speaking hurriedly. One was very tall and imposing: with wide set shoulders, a strong chest, and with short black hair, he struck the figure of a Slavic warrior from eras past. The other looked to be no more than a boy; a product of Laevan’s subtle drafting carefully kept from public eye to better mold soldiers at a more impressionable age, and with dirty blond hair much akin to Vadim’s, he had a set of fierce blue eyes, he reminded the aforementioned young man of Roe Speremus, however with a much more lively stare. The older of the two individuals looked to the three who now stood before a blockaded entrance. “Hold it, you three,” he spoke quietly to the two soldiers he passed by, who then moved inward and joined the teenager inside the station to resume the investigation. His imposing stare bore down on the three of them however none of them would give him the satisfaction of letting on that he was indeed intimidating. Evidently not one for idle chatter he waited for them to speak, though due to a stubborn refusal by the newcomers to state their intentions and with a huff of frustration, he spoke: “This station’s been bombed; no one’s catching a train here anytime soon.”  

Vadim resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the patronisingly obvious statement. Looking past the large man to the young soldier, he frowned. It was undeniable wrong for someone so young to be expected to die for a country controlled by a man who would so callously have women and children slaughtered in a refugee camp in another country. However he had to have faith that Roe and Stephan would be successful in stopping Prime Chancellor Laevan. If not, then regardless of them neutralising the threat Subject One posed, the other evil would just trump the more overtly violent one. Returning his attention to the growingly impatient soldier before them, he decided to feign ignorance, and ushered Adymn forward to offer the purse to the black clad individual. “I’m sorry! we stopped a thief from running off with a woman’s purse. I hoped you’d be able to give it to your lost and found people so the owner could pick it up,” Adymn said in his most convincingly innocent sounding voice. The Russian Subject next to him resisted the urge to clap him on the shoulder and congratulate him for such a convincing display, and instead merely nodded to the soldier who slowly took the handbag in his hands, eyeing it suspiciously.

“… Thank you, I’ll get someone on that,” With a snap of his fingers, he looked back, “Chandlers, Volkov, come here.” One of the soldiers who had, up until the larger man’s arrival, guarded the entry they now stood at and the youngest of their contingent hurried to face the male who had summoned them. Forcing the purse on the man who had guarded the entrance, he instructed him quickly: “Keep this here for now. Someone might be looking for it,” and with the man’s departure, he turned to face the youngest soldier, “Guard the entry with me, Volkov.” It seemed like a strange order, given the fact that a teenager did not seem very imposing and that their superior seemed entirely capable of doing so himself. Returning his attention to the three civilians, he spoke again: “Thank you. We’ll make sure it’s returned to its proper owner. We just need a name to go along with it, in case the owner wants to thank you.” An awkward silence fell over those gathered as they diverted their attention to the once forgotten chaos around them. Men and women hurried by with shopping bags in hand, children in tow, and or honked obnoxiously at the clogged traffic. In the distance, more pillars of smoke had appeared overtop of the comparatively short buildings, and a great deal of black and grey clouds had appeared near the Gherkin Alpha, obscuring the uniquely shaped building.

Seeing his opportunity, Vadim stepped forward, and offered his hand: “My name is Vadim Alkaev. My friends Adymn and Marcella here are trying to find two of our other friends: Stephan Tharros and Roe Speremus. Is there any way you can look them up to see if they’ve signed in at any of the shelters?” His question, posed innocently, was also quite dangerous. If Roe and Stephan had been captured or killed, then no doubt the three newcomers would join them quickly: such was the way of Laevan’s world, for it was one where association was a damning thing, and to have not been born from a real womb was a crime in of itself. It was a world Vadim hated, for it was a world that had wrenched friends apart, broken families, made widows and orphans, isolated twelve countries from the rest of the world and fostered the existence of The Awakening who know slaughtered thousands with bombings for sport. Adymn and the soldier conversed tersely as the Subject among them paid less and less attention. His mind had spun evermore negatively with the thought of how so few people had made the world such a terrible place. Having checked the statistics on the plane to One City, he had learned through otherwise classified governmental documentation, six million Subjects were already dead, leaving roughly eight million left. It was an unconscionable genocide that had gone completely unnoticed to the general public. It was exactly as Laevan had wanted it, and now Subject One was merely monopolising on the opportunity it presented. Regardless of knowing the first Subject’s intentions, he knew they would be less than desirable, given their history of brutally murdering anyone who crossed them.

Being jabbed in the arm, he turned his attention to Adymn who motioned to the soldier. “You said you were looking for Roe Speremus and Stephan Tharros, yes?” The question was a dangerous one to answer, and Marcella had stepped to his side, and though her gaze was conflicted, she gave him a steady nod. Nodding himself to the soldier, the man furrowed his brow. “My name is Ludwig Von Strauss, I’m a friend of a friend… You see, the two you’re looking for are with a fellow soldier of mine; Sonya Volkov. Moreover, next to me is her younger brother, Ivan Volkov.” The aforementioned sibling blinked, before glaring at his taller counterpart, silently scolding him for giving away their identities so quickly. The knowledge granted left the three arrivals silent; it was entirely possible that what the soldier said was true, but it was also equally possible that he was lying in an attempt to damn them as guilty and kill them. However, his following words seemed to assuage their concerns:  “Now, if you know them so well, you’d know damn well to stay aware from here!” He hissed angrily in a whisper, stooped over to keep his words hidden. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing here?” He demanded after not receiving a response.

Having not known Sonya, Roe, or Stephan, it surprised Vadim to hear Marcella speak, after having been so quiet through the entire conversation. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you don’t know them, Mister Von Strauss,” she critiqued him poignantly, and he gave an incredulous snort of derision in response. “They’re off risking their lives to stop Laevan and you’re here playing soldier?” Ivan went to speak, but an oddly assertive Marcella silenced him: “Sweetheart, I’m sure you’re only here out of circumstance, but if you two really care for those two, you’ll help us. If by some miracle they’re able to stop Laevan without turning him into a martyr, and that will be a challenge since the people love him for all the shiny baubles he’s given them – like this horrible city – they’ll just be killed by The Awakening who will only replace Laevan.” Looking to soldier and friend alike, she spoke firmly: “If we want to help Roe, Stephan and Sonya, we need to stop Subject One.”

With determination and vigor in his voice, Ivan looked to Marcella and grinned: “You’ve got a point. Let’s go.”

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