#freakality

[Inspired by Frozenbyte’s ‘Trine’]

Cecilia Lopez’s Letter:

[Translated from Spanish]

To protect and serve.

The words by which many of the police forces describe their duty to the people.

Also the first of my final words on this world.

To protect and serve.

By now you probably know a lot of what you’re going to read, but this should potentially serve a higher purpose. So I’ll start from the beginning…

Ever since I was a child, I was set on becoming a police officer. I needed to protect the ones that couldn’t protect themselves, for the sake of the ones before. My friends. My neighbors. My family.

But my younger self would scream her ears out if I told her what I’ve seen now. I’ve seen how little we seem to care about others when we want too much for ourselves.

I’ve seen how little power is needed to corrupt one’s mind until it’s unrecognizable and the lack of empathy that it spawns.

But no matter how much the world seems to test me, I wouldn’t let it break me.

“Stand tall, firm and wise; and no wind, no matter how strong, will take you down.”

Those words appeared in my way just a few days after I had lost it all. After those monsters had taken all that once mattered to me.

Those are the words of Wing Zhu. A somewhat short lived Chinese philosopher from the early third century BC.

How I know this isn’t as much of an interesting story as what he wrote, but I do find certain wonder in hind sight as to how it happened.

I remember that first day in the orphanage. The day I ran away to the library, only so I could cry silently, where no one would touch my shoulder, look me in the eyes with their empty stare and lie through their teeth.

“Everything’s going to be alright.”

That day I kept my head buried in my arms, until I looked up for no real reason.

My eyes locked on one book. The golden letters drawing me in. And for the briefest of moments, my grief stopped.

“LOSS” by Zhu Wing.

I don’t like admitting that I broke the law, but in that moment, it seemed important, so I took the book.

I did return it after a while, and nobody actually noticed it was gone, but I won’t pretend it was a good thing I did.

I read that book day and night. Once I finished it, I read it again, and every time I did, the words resonated more and more with me.

“Loneliness and loss go hand in hand…” he would say, but then, just when I needed to hear it: “…to accept loneliness is to be lost. Don’t. Trust me.”

The way he’d write his wisdom implied familiarity. Like we were just friends sharing our problems over a beer in a bar. The best friend I ever had, yet we lived over two millennia apart.

But I’ve written far too much about him for now, and my time is running thin.

The bottom line is that all of his words, experiences and tales drove me to sign up at the academy as soon as I turned 18, and the future never looked brighter.

The academy was as idealistic as my mind had painted the experience to be.

Every act was important in theory. Every situation meant life or death.

I enjoyed it, because even if it was all pretend, it was pretending to have a purpose.

Sadly, reality is not as black and white.

When I started in the department, my eyes still glittered with determination. I was willing to do whatever necessary to help the defenseless. To protect their rights.

I was assigned to my partner, Armando Dimas.

His first words painted the picture I was going to live for the rest of my life: “Do what I say, and keep your mouth shut.”

If there was a man that embodied all the things that are wrong with power, it was him.

It wasn’t long before I saw his first moral abomination take place.

A bank robbery was in process. We were close to the location, so we called it in and quickly drove towards it.

By then, I am determined to make a difference. I still believed it is possible.

That wouldn’t last long.

We reached the bank and we managed to see the suspects drive away, so we gave chase.

Their vehicle was fast, but I had studied the city during my time in the academy, so I knew every shortcut I could possibly take to cut them off, and I was on the wheel. They were not going to escape me.

I told Dimas to call for backups, but he just told me to shut up and radioed in that “everything is under control”. I didn’t know what that meant by then.

Unsurprisingly, I managed to catch up to them and stop them right in their tracks. The two suspects got out of the car, and they pointed their guns at us. 

I could see their hands shaking, and in that instant I knew. Fakes.

I told that to my partner, and he smiled. He lowered his gun and started walking towards the suspects.

“I know they’re fake. Give me the money.”

Their faces were as pale as a sheet of paper, and shortly thereafter, they did.

Dimas took the bag off their hands, and then walked back to the car to drop it.

Their hands still up, I take out my handcuffs and head towards them, but…

“What are you doing?”

I turn my head, confused. I’ll never forget the words he said next…

“Get in. We’re out of here.”

My eyes widened and, immediately, I yelled at him. “We need to arrest them!”

His face tightened for a few seconds, and then looked at the suspects.

“Get out of here, both of you.”

The suspects looked at each other, baffled.

I couldn’t believe it either. “Don’t!” I yelled at them.

When I averted my eyes from them, I saw Dimas and felt a hard slap across my face. “You do what I tell you to do. Understand?”

I was in shock. My gun lowered, not because I had obeyed, but because my arms wouldn’t respond to my commands anymore.

I felt Dimas’ grip on my arm, tightening so hard that I still feel it today, dragging me into the car and sitting me down.

The last thing he said to the two robbers was: “Gentlemen.”

And we departed.

The entire way back to the police station felt like it lasted an eternity. The long wait was only disturbed by the radio kicking in, asking about a report on the situation.

“Subjects escaped.”

My breathing was speeding up. I felt like I was about to faint.

“I was going to give you a part of the pay, but until you learn to listen, it’s all mine. Understand?”

The rest of my body went limp. All but one part. I felt the grip of my fist. My nails digging deep into the skin of my hands.

The moment we arrived on the station, I knew what I was going to do. With God as my witness, I was going to report this monster to the higher ups.

I went straight to the office of my superior, Santiago Valera, and told him everything that had happened while he listened very intently.

After I was finished, he picked up his phone and pressed a button. “Please call Officer Dimas into my office, right now.”

We silently waited for that monster to enter, until we heard the door creak. I stood up, and stared intently into his vacant eyes.

Valera looked at him and asked, “Can you tell me what this is all about, Dimas?”

“Boss, I’m sorry, I thought it wouldn’t come to this.”

“You told me you could do it, but she’s proving to be too much for you to handle, we can take care of it the hard way…”

“I don’t think it will come down to that. Isn’t that right, Ms. Lopez?”

I…

I didn’t think I would feel so dumbfounded twice in one day, but worse yet, so helpless.

I left that office completely defeated.

And I questioned if I could go on like this.

But those words resonated in my head.

“Stand tall, firm and wise…”

If I was to make a change, I’d need to be brave enough to endure this moral hell I was living in. I would have to brave enough to keep my head low to such injustice. To climb my way up from this dirty mountain, and wipe it clean from the top. If I wanted to protect the defenseless, first I needed to bring justice to the lawless.

And by God, I was going to do it.

The bank story repeated itself far too many times than I would like to admit. Murders would go unsolved, only because the murderer himself would pay the monster next to me; and eventually, all of that money would lead to me. I have enough money in that hole in my closet to retire and move to England, perhaps in my own castle. But that money would never be spent. Not then, because of my moral stance; and much less now, because of my limited time.

I remained strong for over 4 years, and I witnessed my old boss retire, and Dimas take over.

Dimas designated me to another old partner, Tomas Zambrano, because, in his words: “I was not yet to be trusted.” To this day, I don’t know if he has ever suspected my real intentions.

But I remained strong. I kept doing what I was told. Even when Dimas himself would call on us, and force us to do something horrible.

But I wasn’t prepared for what happened yesterday.

A report came on the radio about a lead on a missing person case. Sara Martinez, 15 years old.

Sara, if you ever get to read this, I hope you can forgive me for not fighting enough to help you. I tried. I really tried…

I had heard of her case earlier. Seen the posters. Seen the parents cry on TV. But I wasn’t prepared to witness what I saw when I met her.

It was late in the afternoon and we were called to investigate in Santa Fe, about three blocks east away from the church. It was a blue house, white gates.

Even before we entered, everything seemed to be going wrong. Zambrano was fidgety. As usual.

“Stay in the car until I tell you to get out.”

So I did.

He knocked on the door and a buffed and tall man opened it. I saw them shake each other’s hands. Of course they were shaking their hands. By then, I was used to it all.

He signaled me to go in, so I did.

And I saw them all. Girls. Young. So young, all of them.

I kept my mouth shut, because I knew that I had to.

“So, is the Martinez girl here?” asked Zambrano, as nonchalantly as I never though those words could be uttered.

The man nodded. “Want to check her out?”

“Sure.”

I remained static in place. Only moving my eyes between the talking men. Referring to it all with such familiarity it was sickening.

The man led Zambrano towards a door. He inserted a key into the lock and opened it ever so slightly.

In that moment, I saw her.

I looked inside that door, and I could see the despair in her face. Her legs laying softly on the bed, with her messed up hair and bloodstained face hanging from her thin neck.

That moment wouldn’t end.

My fists were once again drawing blood out of my hands.

Suddenly, she looked up, and our eyes met, ever so briefly. Her tears quickly filling hers until her entire face cracked under pressure. She saw me. She saw my uniform. But all it did was bring more sadness to her face.

She had seen it too many times before. And to her it no longer meant what it meant to me.

I realized then, that to me it no longer meant what it once meant.

And then the moment ended.

Her eyes looked elsewhere. To the similarly uniformed man entering the room.

My partner was now inside, and the door closed behind him.

In my head there was only silence.

I stood there, looking at that closed door. The men around me and those other poor girls were no longer audible.

Soon enough, I heard it. I heard her screams. Her moans. Her cries for help.

They seemed to be out of pure repetition. She no longer believed in those words she was yelling.

Help wouldn’t come... But I had to be brave.

I had to stop myself from doing anything stupid.

I listened on and on to the painful sounds. My heart beating faster and faster as the noises grew louder and louder…

And with a loud masculine moan, they stopped momentarily. Quickly replaced by soft crying whimpers.

The door then opened.

Her eyes were now hidden in the sheets that she used to cover her face. Soft sounds of pain come out through them.

And coming out of the room was him…

And I just couldn’t…

I wasn’t brave enough.

I just had to push that trigger.

And that loud bang marked the looming end of my world…

My eyes set on Sara’s small figure jolting up from the bed, I notice from the corner of my eye, the buff man taking out a gun.

As soon as his limp body hit the ground, shots started flying towards me.

I ran and hid behind the entrance of the place, and I shot back. In hindsight, that was even more foolish. I might have gotten a lot of those girls killed…

Oh, lord, please tell me I didn’t...

But I couldn’t stop myself. All I had in my mind was that young girl, defenseless, inside that room.

And I had to save her.

I shot a few more times. Another one down.

I fought back, as well as I could.

Please, Sara, you have to believe me. I did…

But then I heard it.

“Dimas, she’s one of yours! That crazy bitch is shooting up the place!”

I gasped internally when I realized what that meant. They were on their way. And in my despair, I felt it.

A bullet grazed my arm.

I screamed in pain, and I held my arm with my free hand.

And in that moment, out of a sudden, it was all so clear... I remembered right then...

“A battle is not lost until the last step of your plan has failed.”

This was not the battle…

I’m so sorry, Sara.

But before I die, I must win this fight.

I must be brave enough to wait… Even in death.

It may not be today, and it may not mean to save you, but justice goes beyond that.

I am truly sorry.

But I had to run away. I had to be strong enough to run away, come here and write this.

So here I am, in this library, writing this as fast and as thoroughly as I can.

I know by now that my place has been ransacked, and that Dimas’ men won’t stop until they find me, and there’s little I can do about it.

But I hope all of this knowledge, my obvious to be mysterious death, and the words of the book you’ll find this inside of, are enough to bring change to this dirty and horrifying world.

And most of all, I hope Sara’s fate is not yet sealed before this surfaces.

I will be calling as many newspapers as I can, hoping that at least one of them will take me seriously. And hope that if Dimas’ hands reach as far as any of them, they won’t be fast enough to find it before you do…

Whoever you are.

Please, make this information soar.

Loud and far.

It’s the only step I have left to make. To protect the defenseless.

All the names I’ve mentioned need to be done justice. Be it the horrible monsters that work or worked at the station needing to be locked up, and that defenseless girl, hopefully still alive, needing to be brought back to her loving parents…

Next to this letter, you must have found a photo of me, my fingerprint in ink behind it, and a piece of foam with my dental marks. It’s all I could think of to supply the fact that it is truly me who has written this.

Also, my badge and I.D. has been taped under the shelf where you have found this book.

I truly hope this will be enough…

This is my last move. The next one is yours.

And as Master Zhu would’ve put it: "Purpose lingers on until all hope is lost.”

With hope, Officer Cecilia Lopez.

[Loosely inspired by Gaijin Games’ “Bit.Trip Beat”]

[Inspired by Rain Games’ Teslagrad]

Imagine yourself a witness.

Imagine yourself an incidental hero to a tale that transcends your existence, a tale driven by power, corruption and betrayal.

A world where the ambivalence of morality is ever present through the veins of a magical concept of opposites: the magic of magnetism.

And as the literal polar opposites of this natural phenomenon are predetermined through their strength to attract themselves into an everlasting conflict, so are the unseemly extremes of power and knowledge. But when strength is the determinant factor, there is little that can be done to stop a relentless force, a pull fueled by power.

As history tells us, there is little wisdom that can withstand the mighty power of ignorance and hatred. For this tale follows a similar fate, and ends on uncertainty.

But this is not your story.

This is a story long ago told, by a world that once lived it in full. You are nothing but a remnant of the lives that remain, a shimmering glint of hope for a family to thrive and set in a home built on unwelcome ground.

You are only a little boy.

And childhood is a moment of self-reflection only in hindsight, as our acts don’t follow a pattern drawn by our thirst, but by our context. The taking of ancient and once forgotten power may seem to pertain to a soul with a goal set in his mind.

For a second witness, with a fuller life, would easily see our actions as a constant rise in power, through the way our path seems to present it to us; or even a search of discovery, a journey of the mind expanding itself with each new finding. And they would be right.

But that is how innocence fades.

The truth is that power through wisdom is none too far from pure power, and wisdom through power follows the same train of thought.

And through the sacrifice of our sense of wonder, and how the mighty hands of realization lead us to our conclusion, we are to become that which we once saw from afar, sadly, because of our context.

We are thrown into a war that does not belong to us, that we didn’t decide to fuel, and we are pulled to it as much as we reject it, because the more strength we apply to do so, the more it brings us in.

The saddest part of such a fate, is how easily our paths are so hard to distinguish, much like the poles of a faded magnet, we can’t tell one side from the other unless another one will forcefully make us realize.

As such, it is only fitting, that our rejection of power is determined by how little we know, albeit enough.

[Inspired by personal struggles with ethics]

The being was.

The being is.

The being was because of reality.

The being is because of 'reality'.

A scene engulfed by the eternal flames of time, with a being trying to suppress its internal struggle of being itself.

It seemed clear.

It seemed important.

It may be.

It may not.

But for now, it was.

It, was but a fleeting thought that had stuck. Stuck hard to one's being.

One's being, and one's act. Befalling judgment on one, but not the other.

For an act flees in time, but stays in impact; while a being stays in time, but in impact, it hardly exists.

A being was.

This one was.

But it was not what was seen.

Seen instead was an incorporeal thought brought into alleged existence by hatred.

Hatred had tainted the sight of those that were once able to see, or at least this one's act is to say as such.

Hatred not for the gray acts.

Nor for the white.

Nor for the black.

For no act at all except all of them at once. Past, present and future.

In a sea of uncertainty, a waterfall of truth is diluted into nothingness.

But nothing could be done.

The truth was no more, not even to this one.

And so this one feels words move through him in vague meaning.

Tells in short, while the feeling lasts.

This one would soon blissfully hate.

As knowledge would run its course past the being's permanence.

In a sea of uncertainty...

The being was.

[Inspired by Dontnod Entertainment’s ‘Life is Strange’]

The time flows freely, as a butterfly soars, and although the cage is steely, neither of them should be forced.

Our age turns on us, every number feels so far, and even with all of this loss, we're never younger than we are.

Always used to think "If I could control time, I would change every little thing, to get what I believe is mine."

But time never lets, it controls itself whole, when a door opens in our face, in its place it leaves a hole.

And the hole holds its stare, demanding to be filled, and when time is set so still, there is nothing that seems fair.

All the time in the world won't matter once it's gone, and the place we call a home, won't be home to be no more.

For a deer in the headlights, it will always break the glass, lest the car runs out of gas, or simply stops to see the sights.

It seems so out of range, the thing that you hold dear, so you ask yourself and hear, "Isn't this life, oh so strange?"

And when life answers you clear, yelling “Yes!”, all so sincere, you just take it, have no fear, but don't dare to interfere.

See the sky and hope it's bright, know the dark will come tonight, if this darkness comes to smite, there'll be nothing left to write.

So believe me when I say, the chaos is here to stay, yes, even when you're away, you just have to find a way.

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What’s your question?

An old tale. In more ways than one.

Wake up. Look beneath your feet. Look closer. An ant. Open your eyes.