Subjectivity V2: Chapter 3

“Admittedly, it’s hard for me to imagine,” Stephan answers the girl across from him, his hand bashfully running over the back of his head. She stares at him imploringly as he considers what he thought on the matter: “Can you imagine a world where, after a bit of security, you just get on a plane? It seems so unsafe! Anyone could get on board – one of those Awakening terrorists could be right next to you.”

She nodded thoughtfully, “You’re right, Steph, but I think back then they’d have been more concerned with ISIS or whatever they were called, the Awakening’s a whole different beast. Anyway, I don’t know if that argument is really going to hold up on a paper – it’s really anecdotal.” She adjusts herself on the bed, leaning further against the wall. The mattress below her is scratchy, bereft of the simple personal touch of sheets. Across from her sits Stephan, his frame hunched over a panel twelve inches across, busily typing away.

For his part, Stephan feels her eyes on him and looks up, cocking an eyebrow just slightly. The bed she sits upon is indeed blank, as is the desk at its end and the dresser across from it. He has no roommate, not yet at least. His side is decorated with posters of bands both vintage and modern – an eclectic taste his father makes fun of for including the likes of former superstar Troye Sivan or contemporaries like Sana Sinatra, apparently the descendent of a famous artist from decades ago.

He scans the internet browser before him, “Damn clickbait,” he grumbles, sliding his hand over the search results to find literature on the topic at hand. He lets out a small surprised noise as he stops on an article, whose title he reads aloud: “Pacific Union President: Awakening is a serious threat, PM disagrees…” He looks up at his counterpart, and makes another somewhat nervous noise, his awkward nature never far from the forefront, “Emi?”

She startles and looks away from the window and meets his gaze. “What now? Ehrhardt and Laevan again? Man, you’re the poli sci major, don’t drag me into this! You know I don’t care,” she waves dismissively and lets her eyes fall on the ignored tablet seated next to her on the bed. “You’re just getting distracted because you have no idea what to write about for this paper… First years, I tell ya…”

The young Greek-American scoffs indignantly, “Anyone who ignores politics is obviously doomed to vote for a fascist or an idiot.” Emiliyia returns his scoff and playfully sticks her tongue out. “Very mature miss high and mighty second year. I’ll have you know it says here that Laevan and the Union Parliament are at loggerheads with the President over how to respond to those terrorists. One says they’re a serious threat while the other says nothing new needs to be done about them. This is what happens when you have two leaders! Nothing.”

She rolls her eyes and feigns an obnoxious yawn, “Well I agree with Laevan, then. Sure, the Awakening did some scary stuff back with the people factory before we were born but they haven’t done anything since the 2042 London Bombing and even then they killed, what, just themselves? They’re as old news as that old guy on your wall,” she gestured to the 57 year old Troye Sivan on his wall, whose skinny frame was backed against a blue background with the words “Blue Neighbourhood 2” displayed prominently overhead. The singer’s hair, mostly grey, had streaks of purple and one prominent blue streak down the side.

“Hey now, you should’ve seen Troye when he was our age!” Stephan protests.

Emiliyia snorts, “You certainly didn’t!”

“That’s not fair at all, I’ve seen him plenty on social media!” He tosses his tablet aside and runs a hand through curly brown hair, shaking it out, “Eugh, I don’t want to do this right now. Want to go for lunch?” He looks outside to find the sun still almost directly overhead.

His companion nods, “Good, I was getting impatient waiting for the gentleman to say “fuck it” so we could go.” Noting the small display in the corner of the window, she comments: “It’s 32 degrees? Yeesh, that’s pretty warm for October.”

Stephan tugs at the sweatshirt he wore, “Maybe this wasn’t wise when I woke up.” Hopping off the bed, he takes the few short steps to his dresser and procures a tan V-neck t-shirt from inside. The student removes his sweater to an amused “oooooh” from Emiliyia, but he only snorts and chides her: “It’s not lady-like to ogle your friends, Emi. Be a gentleman and turn around.”

She complies, though giggles: “Am I a lady or a gentleman? Oh your gender stereotypes trigger me so, mister Sivan lover.” She turns around to find him clad in the t-shirt, hair once more completely astrew and steps over to him, smoothing it out, “I swear, Steph, I’ve known you for two months and you’ve already become a 12 year old in my mind.”

“Okay mom, let’s go. Or do you want me to walk in front so I don’t get lost?” He jeers playfully as she makes her way to the door. She doesn’t respond but instead supplies a snort of derision in his direction. The two exit his sunlit dorm and enter a comparatively drab hallway, lined with what she calls ‘balsa wood doors’ given the students’ propensity to break through them when inebriated.

They start down the short hall toward a set of metal sliding doors and press the down button on their frame. The elevator opens and they step in. Across from the doors one could see through glass panelling outside. Outside his dormitory complex stood two individuals garbed in grey and blue military uniforms: “Oh for fuck’s sake…” He grumbles, rummaging in his back pocket for his wallet and subsequently for his ID. Emiliyia does the same, “Why are they even here?”

She shrugs, “Guess we’ll find out,” she says as the doors open and they pass through before taking a sharp right and exiting the building. Of the two soldiers, the female turns to face them, “Halt, citizens. Your ID, please.” Stephan and Emiliyia relinquish their ID to the soldier who scrutinises them closely: she looks from them to the pictures, then holds each ID a distance from her body, tilts them, then she holds them up to the sun, squinting through a transparent bar on the side before finally swiping it through a reader the back of her glove.

Her counterpart had his arms crossed over his chest and observed the students passing by, his countenance hidden by his grey beret and angular sunglasses. Upon his waist were clipped a handgun of some sort, Stephan could not say, a regulation military tazer, a night stick, and various smaller compartments.

The female soldier returns their ID, “Thank you for your cooperation, citizens” before flagging down another student nearby.

“Yeah, bite me,” Emiliyia calls back, and the male soldier simply shakes his head at her. “Stupid security checks. What good is that going to do? Do terrorists have a big “T” on their ID or something?”

Stephan shrugs, “I don’t know, but I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

~*~

Stephan walked alone on his way back from the dining hall. Emiliyia had left for class while he had finished in the morning, leaving his day entirely open, or as he saw it, entirely boring. The two soldiers were gone, but ahead on the road that ran in front of his dormitory was a white jeep with a four letters displayed in gold on its doors: NELO.

This causes him pause: why were they here? Was there a Subject that needed help on campus? It was very rare to see NELO out in public, despite their near global presence. They seemed rather cagey to Stephan and so he is naturally wary about the UN-affiliated organisation that made people. “Weird, right?” Someone says as they walk by him, noting the vehicle.

“Whatever,” Stephan mumbles to himself and turns toward his dormitory, passing his ID over the reader next to the entry and opening the heavy glass door. After a minute he’s once more in the hallway outside his room and outside the door marked “213.” It is home for the foreseeable future and at night he still finds himself plagued by melancholy and longing for the company of his old friends and family.

Emotions bubble toward the surface, but he takes a steadying breath and opens the door, only to find his heart ascend into his throat in surprise.

A lean, pale young man turns toward him, cold azure eyes peering over him. His expression is muted, unrevealing of his inner thoughts. He is clad in nothing but white, making his blond hair stand out all the more. He turns toward Stephan fully, his intense gaze never wavering. His footfalls are silent as he moves toward the startled student, who now feels fear incarnate.

“Hello,” a flat, emotionless voice escapes the taller youth’s mouth. A hand is extended, but Stephan is transfixed in both fear and confusion. “Those eyes,” his mind babbles. The stranger does not move, nor do his eyes leave the hazel pair before him. Stephan slowly grasps the stranger’s hand, “I am Roe Speremus. It is a pleasure.”

His hand is released, but Stephan finds no comfort in the name, nor his obviously fake pleasantry. It was all forced, artificial, and wrong. What was going on? “I am your roommate,” the ascetic individual explains, answering one of the questions in the still silent brunet’s head. Something was still off, he seemed… unnatural. Too pure, too calculated and reasoned. Roe was unhinging Stephan, pulling his mind apart at the seams with his very presence. With great reluctance, Roe speaks again and his words seem to explain all: “I am a Subject. Newly released from the facility.”

Stephan suddenly feels more confident, “You’re not real, then.” He immediately regrets his words, and is shocked he’d even say that. He hadn’t even thought such a terrible thing, and yet he said it. The Subject seems taken aback, a hollowing of his face momentarily belying his expressionless visage. Stephan feels a hot embarrassment colour his face, flushing over his tanned features with a bright crimson.

“No,” Roe states with a surprising firmness, “I am… human.” He continues to unpack the few belongings he has from a white duffel bag into the dresser set at the end of his bed.

“No!” Stephan blurts out, still standing at the door, now feeling like a complete idiot. “I didn’t mean it like that, I meant – I don’t know what I meant, but I’m sorry!” His words come out in a hurried jumble and he quickly closes the gap between them. “I’ve seen a lot of videos about how Subjects are treated – I didn’t know what to say… I can go, if you want. I’d understand if you were mad.”

The flustered student felt absolutely ridiculous: first he had attacked the humanity of the very much living and breathing individual before him, then he had attacked him with assertions of his morality. To his credit, Roe does not seem annoyed, confused, or really anything. He simply is. “What is your name?” Roe inquires, not bothering to look back as he unpacks.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, simply transfixed by the fluidity of the Subject’s motions. Somehow he suspected not all of his kind acted like he, and instead Stephan was witness to a very different kind of Subject. Finally, he speaks: “Stephan, Stephan Tharros. It’s nice to meet you, Roe.”

“Is it? Hm..” Roe trails off, glancing back, his pale blue eye glittering like ice over his shoulder. “Fascinating.”

~*~