#lit2

Archetype: Seeker

Genre: Magic Realism

Social Issue: Voice as consciousness, identity, and culture

The story attempts to explore change and responsibility, as well as destiny and choice. The first of which is shown in Denise’s attempt at processing, and coping with the loss of her sister. The latter applies more on to Mira, as she was the chosen reincarnated being meant to fight The Primordial.

MY JOURNAL

September 15, 2014

The doctors say I’ll move on eventually. I don’t believe that. Not anytime soon, at least.

My name is Denise Arroyo. The school counselor is having me write a journal to help me process what happened a few weeks back. To help cope with grief, they say. I hope it works.

I’m trying. I really am, but it’s been so hard.

Mira, my older sister, disappeared during a school boating trip. They thought she fell overboard, but…

…they never found the body. I want, no, I NEED to know what happened.

September 17, 2014

Just got home from school. Dad is telling me I should stop moping.

I mean, I don’t fault him for it, I get his point that moping won’t bring her back but… he’s acting so callous. Maybe he’s dealing with it in his own way. After all, things have been difficult since Mom passed on. Still though, I wonder why he’s so passive about it…

Well, at least people still seem to care in school. There’s still no update for the search, though. She’s out there somewhere, I know it.

(9:54 pm)

I saw Dad crying from the hallway. I want to give him a hug.

September 18, 2014

Classes got suspended today, so I’m staying home to rest. Some friends went out to Eastwood, but I just wanted to sleep.

Speaking of which, I had a strange dream last night.

Mira. I saw her.

She was… floating. She had blue streaks on her arm, like ripples, and her hair was up, like it was dancing and swaying. I think she was underwater. But she wasn’t dead, no. Far from it. She was as radiant as I remember, shoulder-length hair, brown skin, everything. It’s as if she was alive. She didn’t even look like she was running out of air. She then turned her head toward me and opened her eyes. They were glowing.

And then I woke up. I tried telling Dad about it, but for some reason, he got mad. He told me off, telling me to forget it.

I wonder why.

September 25, 2014

Schoolwork is getting heavy, Jesus. I almost forgot I had this. Eh, might as well. There’s still no word on the search for her. I overheard from some officials in the cafeteria that they’re only going to consider keeping up the search for two more days.

(6:12 pm)

I just cried. Thankfully, Dad didn’t see me. I don’t want to risk agitating him. I’m just so… I don’t know… angry? Why? Where could she be??? That bloody dream I had isn’t helping either. Usually I forget my dreams but no, she’s still in there. I SEE HER.

I hate it. I hate that I don’t know where she is. I hate that I can’t find her. AND I HATE THAT MY DAD DOESN’T CARE. WHERE IS MY SISTER???

GOOD NIGHT. GOOD BYE.

October 3, 2014

I dreamt of Mira again. The same image of her floating. She looked so peaceful.

October 8, 2014

There she was, again. Floating. I don’t know what it means, and I hate it.

November 17, 2014

Things are getting a little better. For me, at least. I still miss you, Mira.

March 2, 2015

I forgot I had this, hehe. We were packing some stuff for the move to a new condo. Can’t believe I had this stacked away. I wonder what else I’m gonna scrounge up when we start unpacking.

March 5, 2015

I found some boxes stashed away in Dad’s closet. They were Mira’s. I wonder why they we’re there.

(10:02)

I found her journal.

March 7, 2015

…I

I don’t know what to think. I read her journal last night and it changes everything. I found a letter from her meant for me. At the last few pages. It was dated the evening before she disappeared.

To my sister,

Hey, Den. I don’t know if and when you’ll read this, but I wanted to get it off my chest. I’m going to disappear tomorrow afternoon, during the field trip. It hurts to think about, but I have to. If you’re wondering why… well, here it goes.

It started after Mom and Dad took us to the beach in Batangas. I was walking with Mom near a cave when I heard a voice. My voice. I didn’t know how, or why, but I heard it.

Then I saw myself underwater. So much fish, and coral, and even a whale shark. I felt different, like I was part of this whole underwater dance. I didn’t feel like was running out of air. It was almost trance-like. Then Mom snapped me out of it. She told me I froze in place, and my eyes were all white. Ever since then, she took me more and more out to the water.

We were at Ocean Park, when I saw the fishes cry out for help. I… had to do something. Their voices, their pain. The glass almost cracked. Later on, officials said a water pressure issue was the cause, but I had a gut feeling there was something more, something from me.

Then I found I could do things with the water, with the ocean. Even fish. They told me, I had to prepare. That something was coming. I didn’t listen… I spent the next few years, ignoring them. I didn’t want their war. I wanted to live, and be a teenager. I don’t want that responsibility or that pressure. This is my life, and I’m in control.

And then I saw it, in my dream. The Primordial. It has existed ever since civilization was first created. And ever since, someone always rose up to fight it. Always. In our time, that person was me. Someone out there, chose me. I don’t want to do this, but I must go. I’m going to do this, MY WAY.

Archetype: Jester/ Trickster

Genre: Science Fiction

Social Issue: Alienation

Daniel was human in a high school dominated by aliens. He had no friends and only ate lunch with his little sister, Emma, who was in first grade. Everyday after class he walked home with Emma to have ice cream. Everyday she would ask him to buy her a toy for christmas and he agreed as long as she got good grades. Everyday at home he would get criticized by his parents for his poor grades. He had no motivation, no energy and just wished everything were better.

He envied a group of cool aliens who all fit in.  While eating lunch, he heard them talking. “A gladiator tournament but you stun instead of kill” said one alien. “I heard the winner gets anything he wants.” “I doubt that”. “Seriously. They have a scientist that built a device that grants you anything.” At hearing the last line of dialogue, Daniel was intrigued enough to ask them. “Does that include altering the winner’s physical appearance?” The aliens were shocked to see him talking to them. “Why are you talking to us?” said one alien followed by the sound of laughing aliens. Daniel was embarrassed. At home he looked up the tournament on his computer and saw that the device can change his appearance. So he joined the tournament.

At the start of the tournament no one believed he could win except Emma. The tournament was held in a high-tech colosseum. He entered the stage and saw a big alien on the other end. He wondered whether it was right for him to join the competition. But after hearing the taunts of the aliens he was motivated to win. The match began and the alien ran towards him. Daniel evaded him and the alien tripped over a rock and hit his head on a wall knocking him unconscious. The crowd was speechless. But after processing what happened they all cheered.

Daniel continued to beat his opponents with his quickness and his smarts. He reached the final round of the tournament against a four armed alien. At first it seemed that Daniel was about to lose but with some quick thinking and great execution he was able to defeat the alien. When it was time for his prize his parents told him to ask for money while his little sister asked for toys. The scientist asked him what he wanted, but Daniel looked undecided. He glanced at his parents and little sister. Then nervously he turned to the scientist and said “I want to be an Alien.”

Weeks later Daniel turned into a completely different person. He hung out with a bunch of aliens and everything was good in his life. Emma however felt left out. She had no one to eat with and had to go home on her own. Whenever Emma would ask Daniel to get ice cream with her he would say he couldn’t. One day while walking around with his buddies he saw Emma eating with her doll. One alien grabbed the doll and made fun of her for having no one to eat with. The alien threw the doll in the trash and Emma cried. “What did you do that for?.” asked Daniel. “What’s the matter? You’re glad we even accept you as a friend. We all know you’re not really an alien.” Daniel was speechless and the aliens walked on without him. He saw Emma go to the trash and dig her doll out. He tried to comfort her but the Aliens called him and he left.

Christmas break came and Daniel happily bought Emma the toy she wanted. Their grandparents arrived and were shocked to see him an alien. During the dinner they criticized his choice saying he could’ve asked for money. His mom then spoke up saying she was disappointed in him. “Are you ashamed of us? Did we not work enough to give you all the things you need to be happy? This is how you repay us?” His mom stormed out and everyone was speechless the rest of the night. After everyone opened their presents Daniel looked for Emma in her room who was absent during dinner. “Merry Christmas” Daniel greeted her while presenting the gift. Emma didn’t respond. “Emma it’s the one you want.” “Go away” Emma responded. “What’s the problem?” “You’re not my brother anymore. Go away” Daniel was heartbroken. He left the gift and went inside his room for the rest of christmas.

The next day Daniel called the scientist who turned him into an alien and scheduled an appointment with him. “Are you sure you want to go back to being human?” “Yes, It’s for the best” “Ok. If you say so.” Daniel entered the machine and the scientist turned him back into a human. “How do you feel?” “I feel alright.” He returned home but everything was still the same. No one acknowledged his presence except for his grandparents and Emma who looked at him for a moment.

Archetype: The Sage

Genre: Magical Realism

Social Issue: Colonialism

Conrad has had better nights, where the influential flocked him and followed at his heels, and people watched with bated breathes as he passed by. He’s had hotter nights, where men and women pressed against his chest and whispered sweet temptations at his ear. He’s had nights others could only dream of, but none of which can match a quiet, restful night with someone he loves. Someone he’s never had.

Which is why, at his forties, he decides to enter a relationship much like his others—temporary, contractual, and plastic. But unlike those relationships, this one has, at least, the illusion of love that he longs for.

“You know, I don’t get the people here.”

Maltea talks about her own life whenever they get together. That’s what he pays her for. A day of feeling like he’s in a loving relationship-- when, in the end, it leaves him choking in his sleep at night.

She continued, “It’s like, if I don’t follow the recent trends here, it’d be so obvious I’m an outsider. And that’s bad? For people here, I guess. And simplicity here is way different from being simple in the province. It’s so hard to keep up with all the progress and the changes and everything. It’s like this place is always in a rush for the future.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a bit of a petty example, but, I can’t repeat any outfits unless a month and a half has passed. But by then trends have changed and I got to get with the times again,” She laughed, and he smiles back at her.

“I could buy you new clothes you know.” He’s exploiting a young girl like her, it’s wrong, and he’s supposed to be wiser than this. He thinks of how this could affect her psyche, how dating a man twice her age could ruin her self-esteem. But he still gives into temptation. He knows better, but this is the best for him, he thinks. He won’t feel so lonesome. And that’s only human nature, he reasons, to be selfish.

“I know,” she rolled her eyes, “But what’s funny is, I don’t even find these odd anymore. Once a week I’d go shopping, I’d buy new clothes, the new trends, I’d keep up with all these silly changes, and I find it normal. Maybe this is a sign I’ve finally adapted. From my words to my actions to my very being.”

He grips her hand, and she makes circles with her thumb at the back of his. It’s comforting. He feels a sharp pain in his heart, and a cold breeze brushes his arm.

“College force me to realize this, and I guess I was so scared of not fitting in that I just shaped myself into, well, this.” She gestured to herself and smiled self-deprecatingly. She lets go of his hand and immediately, loneliness fills him.

Even in the nights where he pays for a person to fill his bed, sometimes he feels tears staining his pillow, leaving him wondering who could shed tears so easily. Is he that lonely? There’s this crushing feeling in his heart at night and the whisper of a woman at his ear, an embrace so cold that he feels like death itself has come to comfort him.

He notices a lull in the conversation, and he brings this up with Maltea.

“It’s something I’ve heard in my province, but it sounds like bangungot,” she says, slightly frowning.

“What?” He furrows his brows in confusion. A disease?

“An enkanto attracted to those in despair, loneliness, or pain. They cling onto a person and decide to take care of them,” she explains, “and whenever that person feels unwanted or jealous, there’s an ache in their chest that they think is heartache, but it’s really the bangungot holding onto their heart to prevent it from breaking. Though, the bangungot becomes so protective, that it eventually embraces the person so tight that it brings their heart to a stop. And causes their death.”

He nods, “but that’s just a story.”

“Wise words from the elders.”

“I suppose, but it’s not the truth.”

“When it comes to emotions, nothing ever is what it seems, you know? There’s no right or wrong with feeling,” she argues.

He shrugs, irked, wanting to let the topic go. Seeing this, Maltea begins to talk about her college life instead. He relaxes his tense shoulders and listens quietly, arguing, making points here and there, guiding her to answer some of her problems, and generally, just telling her what she should do.

Every night that they meet, he makes sure to allot time for her to talk like this. Perhaps to ease his guilt of exploiting her. He’s skeptical at her idealism, when she talks about kindness and the warmth of the people of her hometown, because his line of work has corrupted his idea on these. He doesn’t stop her idealism, but he tries to steer her to a clearer way of thinking. A more realistic way.

When the topics shift to her blockmates, to her teachers, or her friends, he feels his heart twinge. His mind wanders to her story before he banishes the thought. It makes no sense, and he can’t base decisions on such fictional stories.

At the stroke of midnight, they leave, and after dropping her off, he drives home. A wad of bills less, his wallet feels lighter, but unlike before, his heart begins to feel heavier as time passes.

It was a beautiful day in the city of Neo Manila. The Barrier made the city feel like a pretty snow globe, as it projected a clear blue sky that felt so endless. The weather was so cozy. Those were Chellevan’s thoughts as he got bored of studying for his test in Filipino and decided to lie down on a bench in the middle of a park. He didn’t feel like trying to distinguish the difference between “ng” and “nang” or knowing when to use “dito” or “rito”; he thought it was stupid to learn something so mundane, it’s not like people would care if he interchanged the words, they’d get what he meant anyway.

He gets in his car and makes himself comfortable by resting his head on the hands tucked to the back of his head. “Please drive me home, Mercie”, he commanded. A robotic voice responded, affirming that his wishes will be granted. “Merci, Mercie!”. The robotic voice utters an automated laugh. “Good one, Chellevan.” It responds, and despite him knowing Mercie’s a mere AI, he says thank you back.

Chellevan’s eyes open; his car is crashed. He wondered why he was sweating so profusely when the storm outside was so strong. He couldn’t decide whether to notice the raindrops slamming on the roof or the scorching heatwave. “So this is what it’s like outside of the barrier”.

A woman approaches his car and felt quite frightened, he didn’t know what to do. “Hey, kid! You’re being steamed like a Siomai in there. Do you need some help?” He felt himself cringe not hearing the words “piece of” preceding the word “Siomai”, it felt so ugly to hear something that felt so grammatically incorrect, but he let it slide for now. After all, she was helping him.

“Samahan kita d’on sa silongan namin. Kawawa ka dito, mananakawan ka lang. Panoorin natin yung kasal ng mga tikbalang doon!” He hears all these words come out of the woman’s mouth so rapidly, but to him it sounds like consonants tripping on each other. “S..sorry, I don’t understand.” Her eyes widen. “Oh, sorry, It’s a obvious that you are not from this area. What I said was that you should go with me to our shelter, you will get robbed here. We can watch the tikbalangs get married”.

“Tikbalang…?”

“It is a local myth that tikbalangs, half horse people, get married when the sun shines while it is raining.”

“...Half horse people exist outside the Barrier?!”

To Chellevan’s disappointment, he doesn’t see half-horse people once they arrive the shelter. The woman sees the look of dismay on his face while his eyes seem like they’re searching “grabe, inakala talaga ng batang to na may tikbalang talaga…”

The two sit down in the bar to rest. The woman notices his fan of blue bills peeking from his pocket.

“Thank you for your help. I’m Chel. May I ask your name?”

“You’re welcome po, señor…” She winks. “Juana is my name.”

“Why are you calling me señor…?

Juana laughs. “You know, you’re so cute when you’re not getting what I’m saying.”

“Thank you!” Chellevan ever so earnestly says without getting a single hint of

Juana’s jabbing. Juana didn’t have the heart to correct him, he was smiling genuinely as the people surrounding them were snickering.

“You know, I had no idea the barrier looked so ugly from the outside.” he said as he looked on the other side of the window.

“I will never think of that thing as pretty. No one here will ever.”

“I really love the pretty skies it projects.”

“And what? The birds in there accidentally bump into them?”

“But..it’s impossible for the birds in the projections to bump into the images of the sky…?”

Juana sighed at how dense Chellevan was, but somehow, she felt amused at how innocent he was. “You know, back then, before the Barrier, the Philippines had skies like the one inside Neo Manila, except they weren’t fake. The birds didn’t have walls to bump to.” Juana said to Chellevan as a hot bowl of sinigang was being served to them. The glistening of the broth and the steam emitting from the bowl entered his senses and made his mouth water.

“This is so good. What is it?”

“You’re Filipino but don’t know what sinigang is?”

“All we have inside the barrier are plain old sandwiches”

“Yeah us too! When it’s too dangerous, what we do is dip our pandesal in coffee.”

“Interesting…”

Juana fondly sighed, remembering the warmth of the coffee-dipped pandesal that reminded her of the era she could call home.

“I really miss the old days. Me and my friends would go out to the beach in the summer. The weather is too bad to do those things anymore.”

“Things really were better before, huh… my life was a lie after all this time. But hey, at least the Philippines is much richer than it used to be… right?”

“Think about it, Iho. The Barrier was provided by who? The rich companies by the foreigners… and you know, that their factory’s waste is the reason why the climate change is so bad.”

“Is that why you hate the barrier?”

“Exactly.”

Chellevan let out a regretful sigh “I really wish I could do something… I feel so powerless”.

Juana brings out something that appeared to be long and glowing, and it emitted the same energy as the Barrier. “I’ve been studying the Barrier for a lot of my life. This blade is what will destroy it, but I need someone who can use it from the inside, because I can’t come in, and you are what will give me power to do so, Chel… you said you wanted to turn back the world to the way it was? Here is your tool.”

Chellevan was shocked, but he saw the look of determination in Juana’s eyes as he felt that what she wanted is the right path.

Archetype: The Ruler

Genre: Magic Realism

Social Issue: War, Racism, Colonialism

The townspeople woke up one morning to darkness; the sun they had known had dimmed over their land only. New machines and technologies are everywhere, but what use are these in fighting the curse? In this unending night resound the cries of abuses through the land.

Égaré1 wasn’t always like this. The townspeople remember the time before their Governor took over the adjacent province of Réussir2, a time of light, peace, and justice.

“I hear there are abuses,” the townspeople speculate.

“The people of Réussir cry out; their loved ones suddenly go missing or come home with bloodied bruises.”

“It’s our Governor3—he just doesn’t care for them!”

“Didn’t they say it would be a peaceful transfer of control after the wars4 had ended?”

But a peaceful transfer was only the headline. In the Governor’s office lies a different story: plans for exploitation of the land and abuse of the people—for ridding the land of the Réussirians5 by diminishing their spirits, in order to lay further claim to their resources—all under the firm hand of the Governor. Amidst the whispers, it becomes clear to the townspeople that the reasons for abuse of the Réussirians lies in the Governor’s personal hatred for them and their race.

While the rest of the land fell into mysterious darkness, the only light comes from the old chandelier in his office. It now seems to have a spirit of its own, as the chandelier cries out every hour and casts shadows on the wall with the message:

LIGHT WILL NOT RETURN FOR AS LONG AS EVIL REMAINS

In the Governor’s eyes, while Réussir’s resources have allowed his province to flourish out of economic depression, the evil are the Réussirians themselves. This was an opportunity to get rid of them once and for all. The abuses are not enough for the gods, the Governor thinks, and that’s when the killings start.

Antoine6 bursts into his superior’s office. “Sir, our agreement was to share and take care of their land, but we’re exploiting its people! And now you’re killing them?”

“Do you not wish for light to return?” asks the Governor, barely looking up from the list of tomorrow’s executions laid out on his desk.

“I do, but you’re pointing fingers at this minority as the cause of the curse without any evidence!”

“They are the chaos, Antoine. It is my duty to remove this chaos.”

The Governor is pleased with himself, thinking that peace and order have finally been attained.

Darkness still lingered in the following days. “It still must not be enough to lift the curse. More!” he cries out, believing that the forces controlling Égaré’s light asked for greater sacrifice. The Réussirian murders multiply.

The day after the mass executions, the new spinning jenny’s wheel rolls through the office, wrecking everything in sight. The cotton gin bursts, spilling cotton everywhere, as the steam engines explode and release water and smoke in the rooms. These were mere annoyances, but no one could explain why these new inventions7 that were perfectly functioning the other day now seemed to acquire spirits of their own, rebelling against the order set in the workplace of the Governor.

“We do not know what to do, sir!” cry the other advisors, as both the darkness and the rebellion of the inventions throw everyone into a frenzy.

“Sir,” speaks Antoine, “The inventions’ rebellion only started when you began to kill the Réussirians. We must stop the killings and abuses entirely.”

“You do not know what you are saying. The gods must think we are not doing enough, that is why they have sent spirits to our machines. You do not see clearly, Antoine. They are the evil we have to rid ourselves of,” says the Governor.

“Why, because of the color of their skin? Because of where they come from? Because they are different from you?”

“Because I care for my people.”

“Your people? How about the others, the people of the land you’re exploiting? Stop your war on them, my lord,” Antoine pleads.

“It is not war, son. It is order.”

I want order too, Antoine thinks helplessly, but not like this.

As the days passed, the rebellion of the inventions no longer aimed to disturb the advisors and the Governor, but now sought to be heard. The printing press would only print the wall’s same message on all papers, and the always-ringing telegraph had a voice of its own, repeating only the same message.

Still, the Governor would not listen. In a rage, he had the remaining inventions and the old chandelier taken away and destroyed. Later that night, after the Governor fell asleep on his office desk with plans for the next day’s executions scattered under him, a remnant arm from the chandelier wakes him from his nap. As the Governor’s eyes open, the enchanted arm lays out for him an illusion of Égaré, restored with light.

“Yes! I was right! Order has been restored!” exclaims the Governor, “Antoine is truly naive—this is the peace we need.”

As the Governor allows himself to bask in his success, the magical chandelier arm wipes the illusion away, replaying for the Governor the events that had unfolded; the cries of both Réussirians and Égaréans8 alike, the whispers of the Governor’s killings behind closed doors, and the way people hide themselves in their homes as they fear for their lives.

The Governor does not like what he sees, believing it to be only a ploy sent by his enemies.

“I am the ruler here! You and your fellow inventions have come alive, and everything alive in this land is my subject! Stop this nonsense, or I will banish you and destroy you!” the Governor shouts, attempting to grab the enchanted arm and throw it out.

A laugh resounds through the office.

“You don’t understand.” The mysterious voice comes from the enchanted chandelier arm. “The evil is not your other… The evil is in your heart. The evil is you.”

1 Égaré (French for lost) is small fictional province in southern France. It is powerful and influential in its area, but has suffered economically in the aftermath of the wars and revolutions.

2 Réussir (French for prosper) is a fictional province adjacent to Égaré. The Governor’s recent takeover of Réussir, richer in resources and manpower, has led to the flourishing of Égaré’s economy after its depression.

3 The Governor is the ruler of Égaré, and now of Réussir as well after the transfer of control.

4 Refers to the Napoleonic Wars in the aftermath of the French Revolution, in the 1820s

5 The common moniker given to the people of Réussir

6 Antoine is one of the Governor’s advisors. He is a native of Égaré but does not share the same views the Governor has towards the people of Réussir.

7 The spinning jenny, cotton gin, and steam engines were prominent inventions from the Industrial Revolution.

Archetype: The Destroyer

Genre: Science Fiction

Social Issue: Personal Conflict, Alienation

Felicity Chan despises caffeine. It’s much too bitter. It also doesn’t help that the coffee machine at the cafeteria makes the worst brew known to mankind.

(What is the whole point of a Sovereign-sponsored corporation if Cielo1Corp can’t even invest in a top-of-the-line coffee brewer?)

“God, I really hate coffee.”

“Stop drinking it then.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Felicity glares at Minerva over the rim of her espresso-filled mug, the company’s tagline “The Sky’s the Limit” proudly plastered in bold lettering on the handle. “I can just as easily kick you out of the team for being a pain in the ass.”

“Please. If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t be sitting here today about to launch our biggest product yet.”

The light above the cafeteria doors suddenly buzzed. Almost instantaneously, the remote-controlled doors burst open, signalling the end of their lunch break.

“Alright—let’s get to work, people.”

The Deployment Room has seen its fair share of destruction and chaos. It bore witness to the various glories and innovations designed by CieloCorp’s Department of Advanced Warfare and Weaponry, a global giant in military technology. The Deployment Room is lined with state-of-the-art technology, with the main attraction being the floor-to-ceiling monitor that displays the DAWW’s creations in high-definition, three-dimensional action.

In Felicity’s opinion, the Deployment Room is the ugliest piece of interior design she has ever had the displeasure of visiting.

Felicity stands atop the platform overlooking the whole room. It’s a blur of white coats and soft albeit excited chatter. On the screen is a live feed of a nondescript building, which they have on good authority that it serves as the headquarters of the revolution leaders.

“Everyone to their stations,” Felicity says through the microphone. “It’s time to fight the good fight.”

The Opposition has done nothing but grow in size and support since their establishment in 2093. They started out as a minor impediment against the Sovereign’s regime, but then quickly upgraded from a hypercritical online presence to an impressionable side in the civil war. The Opposition wants to revert to the traditions of our ancestors—democratic leadership, which anyone with an elementary knowledge on history would know that the public absolutely cannot be trusted with the election of its leaders.

“Hold it,” a voice bellows from behind her.

Felicity tenses. She turns around, beheld by the sight of Cyrus Smith, head of DAWW.

There’s something about Cyrus Smith and that crazed look in his eyes that makes her blood freeze. People in the workplace have their own theories as to why Smith is such a peculiar fellow—some say he was born a psychopath, others say he was dropped in the head as a baby, which caused his ASPD2.

Surely, her coworkers, some of the smartest in the country, have better things to do than spur nonsensical gossip.

(Apparently not.)

“Good afternoon, sir. I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us today.”

“Mhm,” he responds noncommittally, eyeing the screen with inexplicable fervor. “You’re testing the latest biological weapon3, am I right?”

Felicity affirms. “Minerva engineered it merely to neutralize the Opposition, but not to annihilate them altogether.”

Smith considers this for a moment, before approaching the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, change of plans. New objective: eliminate the threat.”

Uncomfortable silence settles over the room, the excited chatter dulling to somber whispers.

Felicity is taken aback. “Sir, the whole purpose of creating this biological weapon is to minimize infrastructure destruction4 and to control casualties. Nobody has to die—”

“This is a direct order, Chan,” Smith cuts her off. “Do not test me.”

“I don’t think you understand the ramifications—”

“Know your place, Ms. Chan,” he says in a dangerously low voice. “One more word and you’re out of a job.”

In a much louder, commanding voice, Smith tells the room to begin deployment.

“Now!”

This isn’t right. This isn’t what it’s made for.

Felicity exchanges a look with Minerva, who simply shakes her head, almost pleading for her friend to choose her battles wisely.

Felicity nods, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. “Prepare for deployment.” She prompts Minerva to begin. “Status report?”

“BW-8734.F is locked and loaded.”

“The controls are all set.”

“Satellite surveillance is up and running.”

“Alright, on the count of three, we deploy.” Felicity glances at Smith, who remains fixated on the screen. He appears to be holding his breath, almost eager for the impending catastrophe. Maybe he really is a psychopath. Maybe there’s some truth to office gossip after all.

Felicity forces herself to focus on the task at hand. “Alright. One…two…three.”

She pulls the lever.

The screen follows the trajectory of the weapon to an isolated landmark near the Mexican border.

“This is the Opposition, Chen,” Smith suddenly says, his eyes still transfixed on the monitor. “They continuously work to uproot the Sovereign and take apart our country. Eliminating them is the only way.”

Is it, though? Felicity does not say a word out loud.

“Three minutes until landfall.”

“Sixty seconds.”

It’s almost anticlimactic. There isn’t a sudden blast of explosion nor the roaring sound of destruction. That’s the beauty of the design. The weapon simply landed about fifty meters away, before the opaque white smoke slowly fills the space, creeping towards the headquarters of the Opposition.

Not long thereafter, the sound of screaming blasts through the speakers. With wide eyes, Felicity watched the monitor in horror as children of various ages, the elderly, the injured all come scrambling out of the building, desperately clawing at their faces and sobbing as the smoke burns through their clothes and melts off their skin.

“No! They—they told us this is their military headquarters. We were told—”

“The Opposition aren’t all militant middle-aged men, Chen.” Smith shoots her a condescending look. “Don’t be so naïve. It’s unbecoming.”

Felicity almost stumbles as she runs out the Deployment Room, her stomach in knots. “What have we done?”

“We fought the good fight, Chen,” Smith’s voice seems to follow her and surround her, “and we won.”

1 Spanish name meaning “sky” or “heaven.”

2 Antisocial Personality Disorder

3 Biological warfare—also known as germ warfare—is the use of biological toxins or infectious agents with the intent to kill or incapacitate humans, animals, or plants as an act of war. https://www.britannica.com/technology/biological-weapon