//-------------------------------------------------------//
                          Loyalty                          
                  -by Schizoid Nightfall-                  
//-------------------------------------------------------//
//-------------------------------------------------------//
                   The Boy and The Girl                    
//-------------------------------------------------------//
The Boy and The Girl
Chapter 1: The Boy and The Girl
In any symphony the second movement is usually the slowest and—sometimes—the saddest; the symphony of life is the exception to that rule. The life of the fragile human race was always doomed to be of one movement, slow and solemn by its very nature. For hundreds of years, it simply took without giving, and for a brief moment of hope began to see that. This fleeting instance was never repeated, and the world fell into decay.
No one was ever able to explain how the world got the way it did. War had crippled infrastructure, but that bounced back every time. Famine decimated the population, leading to less global hunger and poverty. Disease was eradicated in most parts of the world; the immune maladies had even been wiped out decades ago.
Somewhere along the way, the cameras turned against the people they were supposed to protect. The World Government decided to use them to spy on everyone in an attempt to control the populace. Sure, revolts had sprung up, but they had always been crushed. Even the organized rebellions were doomed from the start; people got used to oppression after a time, and resistance truly became futile. The Daps patrolled the streets every moment of every day, watching for dissenters and general rule-breakers. It was the life all had consented to upon their birth.
This world is what the boy was born into. He had no name—or if he did, none could tell him. Even his parents, long since confined to their home, had no knowledge of the boy’s name. All they knew was that he was their son and therefore they loved him unconditionally. He knew the world outside was dangerous.
Every day was dark and dreary, the lingering stench of death ever in the air. The streets were always watched by gangs laying waste to the innocent. The defiled corpses of thousands of girls could be seen from one’s home. The local high school was no longer a beacon of education, but instead a den for the lowest dregs of society (that is, if such a low point existed any longer). Weapons were almost a requirement for anyone able to lift more than 6kg to carry with them at all times; self-defense was a must. Every day the sun rose behind a veil of clouds, direct light never reaching the ground but as a substitute for precipitation; the rain was almost continuous, and people always welcomed a reprieve. The outside world was a condemned wasteland, and the few who stayed in the city had long since found ways to slowly destroy themselves. It was a life none deserved, but the one they were given. A life of struggle and anguish, often overshadowed by the suffering and violence of daily life.
There was no life the boy would prefer to this.
Senate Law 13-B, Signed into effect 14.05.2243: By decree of the President of this Nation, all citizens aged thirteen through nineteen shall enter their homes no later than 1800 on weekdays and 1930 on weekends. The punishment for violation of this law shall be permanent relocation.
The clock struck six times, signaling 1800. Over the loudspeakers, a deep female voice announced, It is now 1800. All citizens under 19 must be in the walls of their homes.
As the Paps began their rounds, a shadow could be seen running down an alley, trying desperately to avoid their gaze.
The boy ran along the streets that led to his home. He had walked this route countless times, but it still felt dangerous every time. Ever since the power went off in most of the city there had been gangs taking what little was left for themselves, and nothing was left for the rest. This struggle had led to widespread crime and fear among those who wished to remain anonymous.
Anonymity. What a strange word for this day and age when none were truly alone. The government watched the movements of everyone and everything, from the smallest infant to the oldest man wasting away in his living room. The cameras were everywhere, and it was from these that people tried to stay hidden. If only it worked.
The boy rushed into a decrepit home on the corner, hoping the Daps had missed him. Once inside, he closed the windows, blacked them, and turned on the hall lamps. A bright light flooded the area in which he was standing, bringing into focus the details of the room.
Pictures dotted the room, all containing the same theme: the boy and his family. A rug hanging from the wall depicted a man standing alone on a cliff, overlooking a beautiful canyon covered in trees. The walls showed a sunset drenching the city skyline in its pink aura. This was a sight the boy had never seen; the sunsets had long since disappeared behind the dome, and most of the buildings were mere rubble now.
The boy approached the door to his parents’ room. He had been sleeping with them for years now, but they would not expect him home so early. It was, after all, only 1830. As he nudged the door open, he could hear a soft female voice.
“Hi, sweetie,” it said as always. “How was your day?”
“It was fine. The Daps came to school today. They rounded up some kids again.”
“Well, your father and I are just happy that you’re safe. Isn’t that right, darling?”
“That’s right,” said a deep male voice.
The boy smiled. His parents had always cared so much, and gave him everything he could ever want. It was because of them that he lived in one of the few civilian houses with power in the entire city. Due to their efforts, he had fresh food and clean clothes every day.
“I’m happy to be home, too. Well, I’m going to get something to eat, and then I’ll be in for bed by 2100, alright?”
“Absolutely, darling. Take your time.”
Turning around, the boy left the door open and went to the kitchen. He found some bread and cheese and decided on a sandwich for dinner. While making the sandwich, he saw rain begin to fall. As he sat down to eat, he could only think of one thing, the same thought that entered his mind every night.
My life is perfect.
Where am I?
The girl wandered through the streets of a strange city. It was very unlike the small towns back in her home: there was this strange stone that covered the dirt, choking the grass. This stone was cold beneath her skin, let alone the awkward position in which she stood.
This world was very strange indeed.
Of course, should anyone look her way, what they would see was a naked girl with multi-colored hair, no older than 19, wandering the streets alone after curfew. And they did look her way; it is only natural to find different things, and she was as different as they come.
The girl felt eyes on her, judging her and deciding whether she was safe to approach. She was unaware of who was watching her, of course, but there was no reason she could find to be scared.
This must be what it felt like for Zecora. Once they talk to me, they’ll see that I’m cool...right?
Rain began falling, and soon became a torrent. Seeking shelter, the girl darted down an alley, not seeing the shadows that followed her, watching her every move. Suddenly, a powerful hand grabbed her neck and slammed her against a wall. The girl heard a sinister voice in her ear.
“Hey, gorgeous. Where’s a pretty young thing like you going this time of night?”
The girl found herself unable to speak. There were no words for the terror she was feeling at this moment.
“Oh, are you stupid or something? You got a name?”
Again, no words came out of the girl’s mouth. Why was this strange thing holding her against a wall and asking her name?
“Look,” the voice yelled. “I’m getting a little impatient here! Either you tell me your name, or I blow your brains out!!”
Though she didn’t know what that last part meant, it still brought enough terror to the girl’s heart to force tears out of her eyes. The sight of them seemed to bring joy to the voice, which, accompanied by others, burst into laughter.
“Girl must be tarded or something!”
“C’mon, Jake. Take yours and give us ours.”
“Yeah, man!”
One of the voices suddenly made a clicking sound, and a small flame appeared out of nowhere. How did he produce fire so easily? Was he a unicorn?
As if in response, a face came into focus. It was a grizzled, ugly face, like a hairless monkey. The only coat it seemed to sport was on the top of its head, and the girl finally saw that she was surrounded by at least four of these things. They were all male…what were they?
The male nearest the girl spoke with the same voice that had tormented her at first.
“Hey sweetie. I’m sorry for frightening you just now. It’s just that I have a very short temper, and I like knowing peoples’ names. If you tell me yours, I promise no harm will come to you.”
People? What kind of a word was that? The girl struggled to find her voice, but finally managed to choke out a few words.
“M-My name is…Rai-Rainbow Dash.”
The creature’s eyes opened wide, staring at her as if she had three heads. Before long, the group burst into hysterics, crying from the laughter escaping their wide mouths. Eventually, the leader (at least, he appeared to be their leader) calmed down enough to face the girl.
“That’s a funny name, girl. Were your parents, like, hippies or something?”
This infuriated the girl. “No! My parents are great people. They don’t let anypony onto the Princess’ personal pegasi guard!!”
“Uh, what?”
“You know, Princess Celestia? Do you even know who I am?”
The strange creature stepped back, whispering to his nearest comrade, before turning back to her.
“So I guess you’re not stupid, but you are crazy. Just how old are you…Rainbow?”
This question bewildered the girl. She looked at them with puzzled magenta eyes.
“I’m 19.”
The leader inhaled, shaking his head at the same time.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. You know the rules, little girl. ‘All citizens under the age of 19 shall be in their homes by 1800 or face relocation.’ I guess we’ll have to relocate you now, won’t we?”
The girl called Rainbow Dash was terrified. She had woken up in a black field not an hour previously with no coat, tail, cutie mark, or wings. The world to which she had woken was dark, with clouds covering the Sun and all of its light. Confused, she had stood up tentatively and walked towards the remains of what appeared to be a city made of steel. There were eyes watching her—of this she was sure—but she thought there was no reason to be afraid. After all, nothing could harm her in a dream, right?
Slowly, the girl brought her eyes up to meet her captors.
“Wh-What’s relocation?”
The men’s smiles grew even wider as they moved in, the words “District Armed Police” coming into focus on their jackets.
Television sets only ever ran reruns of ancient shows from an era long since passed. The boy had learned to cope with this, and had gained an appreciation for shows such as The Big Bang Theory, Dr. Who, House, and Dexter’s Laboratory. He found enjoyment in all of them, and they gave him a way to waste away the days.
Above all of these, he had gained an interest in an old show that appeared designed for younger girls: My Little Pony. He had passed over it several times until he stopped there during a song. That one song had pulled him in, as it reminded him of ‘The Music Man,’ which stood out among the boy’s favorite movies of all time. Since that day two years ago, he had become a fan of the show, and it became his personal escape from the woes of everyday life. He never fell in love with the ponies—he was lucky to remember the characters’ names for more than a day at a time—but he watched this program more than any other.
It was in this activity that he found himself after dinner, curled up on the couch watching My Little Pony, when he heard screaming outside. This may be normal for other parts of town—parts the boy visited nearly every day—but his own neighborhood almost never saw any real violence. Naturally, he turned off the television, put down his glass of Diet Pepsi, and rushed to the door. Just as he reached for the handle, a furious knocking came from the other side. Cautiously, the boy turned the knob and opened the door.
On the other side of the square frame stood a slight girl, only two or three years older than the boy himself, with wide magenta eyes and rainbow-colored hair. The hair glistened with sweat and rainwater, while the eyes stared at him, fearful and vacant. The girl’s mouth hung limp, slightly open. Beneath the rain and his own breathing, the boy heard one word emit from the girl’s mouth.
“Pl-Please.”
The girl collapsed into the boy’s arms. The last things she saw were a pair of deep blue eyes looking at her and a perplexed face.

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                           Alone                           
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Alone
Chapter 2: Alone
Senate Law 13-C, Signed into effect 18.08.2243: By decree of the President of this Nation, any citizen aged thirteen through nineteen must reside with an adult of immediate family unless circumstances are approved by the State. Any citizen found to be in violation shall face immediate relocation.
The girl called Rainbow Dash woke to a strange sight: a soft room with ochre flowers on its walls and a dim light on the ceiling. She found herself on a bed, tucked underneath a blanket far more comfortable than the one in her own home. As the girl sat up several vertebrae could be heard cracking, forcing her to wonder how long the darkness had been her world.
Looking around the room, it was plain that this house was poorly furnished and hardly made for comfort. Little more than a dresser—burned slightly from some kind of accident—was stashed in this little corner of the place. The light above emitted a dull hum that entranced the girl. What was this thing, and why did it make that sound?
Slowly, the girl stood up, stumbling out of the room and into a narrow hallway. Following it, she soon arrived at a staircase. As the bottom drew near, lights and sounds came into focus from another room. The girl tentatively ventured toward the source of the assault on her eyes and ears, wandering into a new room.
Sitting in a chair, staring at a lighted box, was the boy from earlier. He seemed engrossed in whatever it was on that strange device. The sound molded into words she was able to discern.
“…as the businessman carefully positions himself directly behind the customer and unzips his pants and proceeds to service the account!”
The boy’s pealing laughter was higher than the girl expected. Lost in the sound, she never saw his eyes meet hers, and was oblivious to the world until a voice called out.
“Hey. Are you alright?”
The girl shook her head quickly, clearing a confused mind.
“Um, yeah. Fine.”
The boy cocked his head to the side. He was worried at how raspy her voice still sounded.
“Are you sure? You sound sick.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” The boy gave her a disbelieving look. “Well, I am thirsty…and hungry.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed. “I thought that might be it. Take a look in the fridge. There should be some food there. If you want me to make something, I will be more than happy.”
“Uh, thanks.” The boy in the chair seemed unaccustomed to having others around. He would take some getting used to.
The kitchen featured little more than a stove/oven, a small fridge, and a strange device on the counter with the time displayed on it in bright green lights.
I like it. It’s…homey.
The door of the refrigerator opened with ease, and revealed very little. How could that boy in the other room possibly survive on a few slices of cheese, stale bread, and tofu chicken?
Realizing she wouldn’t do much better than this, the girl pulled out the cheese and chicken, setting both on the counter. Upon opening the latter container, a strange smell assaulted her nose. It took a few seconds for that dark thought to make itself known.
Is…is this real chicken?
“Yes, that is real chicken!” The girl jumped. She hadn’t realized that thought was expressed out loud. The boy continued. “Hard to believe, is it not? When I found that stuff the other day…” He trailed off into fond memories.
Swiftly replacing the chicken in the refrigerator, the girl sauntered back into the living room while taking small bites of cheese. The boy had returned his attention to the screen, watching what looked like a cartoony representation of…ponies?
The girl called Rainbow Dash felt her world crashing around her as she watched the strange screen, its images filling her head. This was incredible; with unbelievable accuracy, someone appeared to have documented the lives of the girl and her friends, broadcasting them in this world.
At the moment, there was a pink winged unicorn on the screen singing a song, with the boy softly singing along.
This day was going to be perfect,  
The kind of day of which I dreamed since I was small.  
But instead of having cake with all my friends to celebrate,  
My wedding bells, they may not ring for me at all.
As the song faded, the girl found herself in tears. How had she come to be here, watching this all happen? When falling asleep the previous night, her mind had been buzzing with anticipation of this same wedding.
The boy turned to face the girl, his piercing eyes boring into her soul.
“Are you alright?” His voice sounded so innocent, but it still sent a slight shiver down the girl’s spine.
“I-I’m fine.” She sat down, taking in the room around her, from the strange box and the other boxes beneath it to the chair in which the boy was seated.
The boy. Such a peculiar being. He seemed inquisitive, yet foreboding. His eyes were a sea of blue, seeming to process everything they saw at an extreme pace. The strange claw-like structures at the ends of his forelegs were clenched in anticipation of something.
The girl suddenly noticed that the boy was leaning toward her, a concerned look on his face. Those eyes, piercing her soul, sent a sense of foreboding through the room. Tension permeated the air until he spoke.
“You do not look fine.” Again, that voice sent a shiver up the girl’s spine. “Your pupils are dilated and you are breathing fast. What happened out there?”
The girl looked past the boy. His gaze never left her face, waiting for an answer she did not feel able to give.
“W-What’s relocation?”
She heard a sharp gasp from the boy, and finally looked him in the eye. The expression was the same, but there was something different. He seemed more intense than before…more captivated by her. This change was unnerving in every possible way.
“What is your name?”
“What?”
The boy released the tension in his claws before speaking again. “I would very much like to know your name. You are a guest here; it is only polite, correct?”
“Uh-huh,” mumbled the girl. She didn’t know how to react to her host’s apparent lack of real social skills. “I’m uh, Rainbow Dash.”
The boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking in this revelation. This girl was either crazy or lying; of that he was sure. If this really was the pegasus, how had she come to be here in his home? The odds were astronomical—to say the least—that such a planet existed that could support complex life capable of altering the paths of celestial objects.
The girl looked at his expression, and decided to speak.
“So, what’s your name?”
The boy jumped slightly, not expecting that question.
“Well?”
“I do not have a name. Hardly anyone does anymore.”
The girl’s mouth hung open, floored by that sentence.
No name? How does he even live?
“Do you have any way of distinguishing yourself from everyone else?”
The boy looked up and slowly pulled down the top of his shirt. Underneath, on his skin, was a strange tattoo.
ILU20379
Suddenly, it all became clear to the girl. This was all that the boy considered himself: a number. His entire identity came down to that small patch of ink on his neck.
For the first time, she examined him. Under those blue eyes were red rings and a thin mouth lacking lips. His skin was alabaster from, the girl assumed, little sunlight. The boy’s long hair was grainy to the eye; what little color it had now resembled a faded light brown. Past his head, the clothes covering him hung loosely over what the girl could only assume was a slight frame. The boy’s long claws constantly tapped each other, the appendages themselves generating a soft rhythm that soothed the troubled mind staring at them.
Suddenly, the girl snapped back to reality, recalling something peculiar.
“I asked you a question a while ago.”
The boy looked up at her. “Oh? And what was that?”
“What’s relocation?”
“Ah,” his voice seemed strained. “It is a rather long story.”
“I have time.”
“Okay, then let me think on how to begin.” The boy took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.
“The world was not always like this—at least that is what I have come to understand. Long ago there was light and warmth in everything. No one is quite sure what happened to it, but what is clear is the events following the first war.
“The initial strike—launched by the Fellari Empire and aimed at the Rhodian Republic—wiped out between 50 and 400 million people. It was a devastating blow to a peaceful nation
“This war killed approximately 78 million soldiers and 3.2 billion civilians, and stands as the peak of our demise. No such numbers had ever been recorded by a single conflict, and indeed many nations were rendered inhospitable to life as a direct result.
“This country is the one that put a stop to the violence. In one swift move, our Senate crushed the Fellari Empire and assimilated it into its jurisdiction. Ever since, laws have been put in place to keep that kind of conflict from ever happening again.
“Relocation is the most common punishment for breaking one of these laws. I honestly have no idea what it really is; none who are relocated are ever heard from again. I knew someone who had that happen to him. I have not seen him in seven years.”
The girl was confused.
“I thought you said it was a long story.”
“Trust me: it is longer. I cannot remember most of it; the histories of the beginning of the current era in which we live are shrouded in mystery. Only the Senate knows the full details, which is why an appointment is a life-long commitment.”
“Oh.”
“Tell me. Why did you ask what relocation is?”
The girl froze. The memories of what had happened came rushing back. The hot breath of those men, their rough hands on her arms and in…other places.
“I was stopped by some men a few blocks from here. They mentioned it briefly.”
The boy suddenly leaned forward. “These men. What were they wearing?”
“W-When they were wearing clothing, it looking military. The jackets all had a badge on the front. ‘District Armed Police.’ Why? Does that mean anything?”
The boy jumped up and ran into the kitchen. He returned soon with a glass of water.
“Here. Drink this. It will help.”
“Th-Thank you.”
The boy sat down again, examining the girl’s arms as she drank. What was he doing? Checking for cuts and bruises?
A sharp stab of pain and the smell of blood overpowered her senses. She looked down to see that the boy had cut into her left foreleg just above the elbow joint. He looked to be searching for something inside her flesh.
All the girl could do was stare; screaming was beyond the pain she was experiencing.
Only seconds later, he removed his claw-like thing from her skin. Opening it, she saw a small chip there, covered in blood.
“This is definitely Dap tech.”
To say the girl was confused would have been an understatement. What’s a Dap?
“To answer your inevitable questions, the Daps are District Armed Police…it is slang.”
“Ah.”
“As for this tech, it is an identifier chip. The Daps put it in everyone at birth to keep better track of them.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I need to see your neck.”
Instinctively, the girl reached up to cover herself. Why did he want to see her neck?
“Please?” the boy asked.
Reluctantly, the girl dropped her arm, allowing him to look at whatever it was he wanted to see. Without warning, he pulled out a strange device. With a flash, the girl’s right eye was temporarily blinded. The boy took a small sheet of parchment out of the thing he was holding and handed it to her.
It was a picture of the side of her neck. She looked him square in the eye.
“What does this mean?”
He stared back. “It means you cannot possibly be Rainbow Dash.”
The girl glanced back at the picture before dropping it. The full weight of that image came crashing into her. How could this be?
With nowhere to go, the girl fainted, collapsing on the floor in front of the boy. He bent over, picking her up and placing her in the bed in which she had awoken less than an hour previously.
Quietly, the boy went back into the living room and picked up the discarded picture, staring at it with newfound curiosity.
STM0037
Who was this girl? And why had she come to his home?
If there is a Hell, can I go there now?
The girl lay in bed, contemplating what she had just seen. It was impossible for her to be from this world; she remembered Equestria so clearly. Her friends and neighbors; her dreams and shortcomings. All of it was clear as day in her memory. If she was from this place, surely the would be memories of life here. There had to be.
It couldn’t all be a dream.
Slowly, she left the room, walking to the living area only to find that the boy had gone. There was a note on the couch.
STM0037,
I realize how hard this must be for you, so I left to run some errands and give your mind a rest. Should you remember anything about your past, please write it down. In the meantime, feel free to move about the house and do as you please.
Instructions for using the television are on the back of this letter.
One request: please do not leave the house. You may fall into the hands of the Daps, and I doubt they will be so forgiving twice on the same night.
Sincerely,  
ILU20379
The girl set down the note on a nearby table and found a long, plastic device with buttons. Pressing on one of them, she was immersed in the moving pictures and sound emanating from the “television.”
The clock struck midnight before she broke free of the television’s addictive hold. Deciding to explore the home, the girl picked herself up off the couch. There was almost nothing personal in the room; the television blended into the black furniture and the rug was similarly styled. The dim lighting revealed a small door by the stairs, wedged slightly open.
Well, he did say I could explore any part of the house.
Cautiously, the girl pushed the door open. As she did, a voice emerged.
“Hi sweetie. How was your day?”
The girls screamed, ducking behind the door.
“Well, your father and I are just happy that you’re safe. Isn’t that right, darling?”
A deep male voice permeated the air. “That’s right.”
The girl wandered into the room, turning on the light. What she saw was beyond anything she could have imagined.
On a bed rested two department store mannequins. They were wearing the kind of clothing Rarity might be proud of. It was instantly clear that they had been in that state for years.
What were they? Why were they here? Did the boy know of them, and if so, why were they still there?
Her world darkened, and she knew nothing more.
“Hello? Can you hear me?”
The girl slowly opened her eyes to see the boy looking down at her, a worried expression on his face.
“Good. You are awake. Blink if you can hear me.”
She blinked.
“Great. Sit up slowly, please.”
The girl sat, her eyes never leaving his.
“Alright.” He finally looked away from her, staring at the open door before him.
The girl watched him, stunned at his reaction. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
“Wha—What the hell is that?”
The boy looked down.
“STM0037, I would like you to meet my parents.”
“What? Why are they plastic?”
The boy was struggling to hold back his emotions.
“Please understand: those are not my real parents. They died four years ago.”
It all became clear in an instant. The mannequins, the voices: they were all ways for him to cope.
“How-How did they die?”
“I killed them.”

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                      My Name is ILU                       
//-------------------------------------------------------//
My Name is ILU
Chapter 3: My Name is ILU
Senate Law 2-A, Signed into effect 12.04.2164: The Citizens of this Nation shall, at all times, observe laws and be ready to serve should the need arise. Emotional desertion is the same as treason and shall be punished accordingly.
“Please sit. May I fetch a drink for you?”
Nod.
“Wait here.”
Loud banging noises emanated from the kitchen. The girl had no way to make sense of what she had just been told. How could this boy be responsible for the deaths of his own parents?
“Here. I made tea.”
Sip.
“Is it good?”
Nod.
“Excellent. I feel that I owe you an explanation of my choice of words earlier. Allow me to tell you of my life. Forgive its length: it is a rather long story.
“I was born in this very house 17 years ago, around seven in the evening. My parents were loving, caring individuals who devoted themselves to me. I was a rather mischievous child, always trying to see what I could break.
“When I was five I found my father’s old service pistol, and in time accidentally shattered a valuable ceramic bowl. My parents were out of the house, so to me, it was a matter of gluing the pieces back together before they returned. I did manage this, but learned that glue does not exactly work to fix much of anything. My father was…upset, but understanding. He saw potential in me, and decided to enroll me in a local school.
“My first day was hard; I had never been too far away from my family for very long, and I had difficulty adjusting. The other children saw this and chose to exploit it. Over the course of the next few weeks, I was tortured both physically and emotionally by others my own age. When I tried alerting the instructors, they would simply shrug at me and say, ‘Suck it up.’
“It was roughly two months into school that I found my breaking point. I was being harassed by a child whose name I cannot recall. I can only say for certain that he had brown hair and grey eyes.
“He considered me his plaything: a person to whom he could do anything without fear of repercussions. I sat there in silence as he kicked me time and time again, asserting inside that I would fight back that day.
“What happened next, I cannot say. I remember looking down at a limp child, his blood gushing onto the concrete and a look of terror in those eyes as they stared up at me. I recall shaking and crying a bit, but not much else. One thing does strike me even to this day: when they told me he had died of his injuries, I felt nothing. No joy or guilt; neither sadness nor satisfaction. I had no opinion on this matter. He both deserved to die and to live.”
The boy paused here, appearing to fight back tears. The girl sat there, shocked. What had he gone through to do that to another living thing at such a young age?
“To this day I wonder what he might be like; what did I take away from him? Even now, I cannot bring myself to feel guilty for what happened that day. For me it was a matter of life and death. My version of events was so during the trial, and I was found innocent by reason of temporary insanity as the result of extreme trauma.
“My parents had no words to say when that ruling came down. I had been removed from the school and was now a social outcast. Not that any of that mattered to me; I was happy to be home again. All I wanted was for things to go back to the way they were. I soon learned how wrong I was in that wish.
“The day after the ruling was declared, I found myself in a boarding school a few miles from here. The staff claimed to specialize in rare cases such as mine, and my parents were hopeful it would teach me the value of life or some bullshit like that. I figured it was compounding the punishment and humiliation of being labeled a murderer. Either way, I was in another place away from home.
“I would talk to my sister almost every day in that dark place; she was at a girls’ school not far from me, and students were allowed one hour of telephone time each day. Her voice got me through much of the time I spent in that awful school.
“I would spend four years there, returning home shortly before my tenth birthday. Those years slowly became easier, and I became harder. The time spent in the classroom was effectively used doodling and dreaming of various things. Mostly my dreams consisted of our instructors meeting any one of dozens of violent ends.”
The girl began to speak, but was cut off before saying anything.
“To answer your question, I am not a psychopath. I have wondered about this, but it really boils down to the fact that I simply do not see any problem with fantasizing about murder. It is only natural. However, I digress.
“I returned home 16 days before my tenth birthday, and things were at relative ease. I tried adjusting to being able to think for myself and talk when I wished, but it was difficult. I felt a need to ask prior to any action, and my parents worried about me. Without hesitation, they decided to try the public schools again, hoping I might make some real friends for once in my life.
“I did have better luck at school; I managed to find a group of children with whom I shared interests. We all enjoyed reruns of various programs on television, and fantasized about the military. Of course, every young man in this country has, at one time, thought of enlisting. The problem is the commitment; one must give himself completely to the cause, and most are not willing to do that.
“So things went for three years: I attended school every day, came home to my parents and—when she returned—sister. We enjoyed an evening meal as a family, and went our separate ways afterward. My sister would often retreat to her room or the home of her boyfriend of the week. My parents always went into their own room. I typically watched television or, on occasion, visited one of my friends.
“When I was 13, the Daps raided our home. It was not an unusual occurrence; this happened once a month in our sector of the city. The difference today was their claims to have evidence that my parents were harboring fugitives. I knew this was ridiculous, but all the same, I never said a word. You met the Daps: they are barbaric when they wish to be.
“That day, one of them attacked my mother as she tried to open a door for him. He thought she was trying to strike at him, and moved to pin her down. Of course, he decided this was tacit consent and began removing her clothes. I felt powerless, yet enraged. Why could he do this without repercussion? I chose then and there to put a stop to it. I pulled a gun out of the pocket of a Dap next to me.
“I remember the firing pin snapping. I can still hear that bang. I can see the blood running down my mother’s shirt as she tried to conceal the wound. The Daps backed away as I sprinted forward to embrace her. As she drew her last breath, I heard two words escape her lips.
“‘Be safe.’
“All of the pain in the world could not dull my despair at that moment in time. My mother, the ultimate protector, was dead. I went limp, unresponsive to the world around me. The Daps stared at me, shocked looks fixed on their faces. When I came out of my stupor, they were gone along with my sister. I searched for my father, finding him in the bedroom where he slept. The Daps had gone in and killed him soon after I went catatonic.
“To say I was devastated would be an understatement. In one night I had lost my parents, and my sister was nowhere to be found. All I had was the stamp on my neck…my only source of identity. I could only look in the mirror and say the eight words that define who I am today.
“‘My name is ILU, and I am alone.’”
The girl had long since given up trying to hold back her emotions, softly crying in the dim room. How had this boy survived for so long? There was so much against him, yet he appeared to thrive here.
The boy gestured to the dark room before speaking again.
“I built the mannequins as a coping mechanism. The recordings are from several weeks before they died. Hearing their voices calms me to this day.
“After that day, my routine settled into some semblance of predictability. I would awake, eat, wash up, and leave the house. Most of the day was—and still is—devoted to my studies and small transactions allowing me to earn a nominal income. It is rather humorous, though: I am 17 years old and have yet to decide my future. I have no future with the Daps; one day taught me enough to make that decision. I am certain about one thing: remaining in this country is my only option. Outside I am an outcast, someone to be feared. Every Citizen is such to the outside world.
“So where is there for me to go but here? I do not wish to stay in the city, but that may be the only future for me. Either way, here I sit, telling you all of this.”
The girl felt cold reality gripping her throat, choking any words she would have said. His story, while vague in some areas—she suspected because his memory itself was imperfect—was still captivating and heart-wrenching. There were few tales spun that could evoke such a gut emotional response.
The girl focused her large, magenta eyes on his blue ones.
“What is this world like?”
The boy stared ahead, his face quickly draining of color. Strangely, he looked content.
“I suppose the world is much the same as it has been since I was born. The sky is always grey, and only occasionally are the stars visible through the clouds. The government of this Nation is ruled over by a President and his Senate. The Senate writes laws and the President approves them, making them so. Daps patrol the streets regularly, and curfews are enforced daily. I had friends who have not existed for years. Once you are relocated, you are never seen again.”
The girl was starting to contemplate what this could possibly mean. If this boy hadn’t—
“Moving on,” said the boy coldly. “There is much to know about daily life here, assuming you know nothing of it. I am convinced that you are of this world, but if—as you say—your home is Equestria, the Senate may be able to help to send you back. They may be harsh on their own subjects, but they will not submit an unwilling immigrant to the same laws.
“Senate Laws are to be followed at all times, and many of them apply to age groups. To educate you fully, I will need your height, age, and weight.”
The girl was floored. “Um, what? My weight? That is totally not cool.”
“Really? I am sorry you feel that way. I can only think of one law related to weight, so it is inconsequential. Age? Height?”
“76 and eight inches,” the girl deadpanned.
“Your sarcasm amuses me so. Age and height, please.”
“Okay, I’m 19 and…I have no idea what my height is in this body.”
The boy abruptly dashed into another room, returning shortly with a roll of measuring tape.
“May I?”
The girl stood up in response. The cold plastic made her shiver slightly, but the sensation was gone in a matter of seconds.
“175 centimeters. Okay, none of the height laws apply to you. You may sit down. Good, now the laws here affect everyone on a daily basis. First off, we apply for the same age group, so we both have a curfew of 1800. There will be a warning at 1750 for those of us still in the streets to clear into the nearest building. Trust me, an empty warehouse is better shelter than a prison cell downtown.
Also, on raid nights, all occupants of a space must be related. Luckily, there is no raid scheduled here for another four days, so you have nothing to worry about.
Military service is compulsory upon summons. This can happen at any time, but rarely comes during peace. At this moment, the Nation is at peace with all others, so there is little chance of me being called away for service. I cannot control the random drafts, though. I may be called tomorrow or never. It depends on the discretion of the Senate, as most things do these days.”
The girl looked up at this. His tone, his eyes, they all told one story: the boy failed to understand his own country, but still believed in it. He was broken by a society that had abandoned him years ago, and thus remained its slave. How could he live in such obvious turmoil?
“Once you turn 20, you can stay out until as late as 1930 if you wish. Coming of age does have its privileges.”
“Wait a second! You don’t become an adult until 20?”
“So you maintain that you are not from here?”
A sharp nod confirmed the suspicion.
“Well then I will operate as if I believe that. Yes, the maturity age was raised to 20 about three years ago. My own memory of that day is dimmed somewhat, but I do remember a time when 18 was that magic number. For me, the best day has always been one during which I live to see another night. Life here can be dangerous. The Daps have no problems taking a life if they feel disrespected, and from the way they describe relocation, it is better to die by the hands of those brutes.”
The girl felt relieved; at least he hated them.
“I suppose you are wondering exactly how I manage to survive here, and why my home was the only one lit with electricity for a few blocks.”
Slowly the girl nodded, not even aware of her curiosity until that moment.
“Electric power is rare now. Only government buildings and food outlets are allowed that luxury. My father rewired this house when he moved in with mother. They made a light in the darkness, one that cannot be detected by the Senate’s surge systems.”
“How is that possible…and what’s a surge system.”
The boy stifled a small chuckle. “Surge systems are EMP—Electromagnetic Pulse—emitters designed to knock out all privately owned electricity. This house can survive because its wiring system predates what the pulse is programmed for. Thus, I escape notice completely…unless an Agent walks right up to the house at this exact moment.”
“Agent?”
“Agents are Senate-hired mercenaries meant for one objective: search and capture. Their entire lives revolve around the acquisition of all enemies of the state including abusers of the grid, political opposition, and rebels.”
“Rebels?”
The boy honestly looked perplexed by that last question. “Supposed freedom fighters hiding in the city and around the Capital. Personally, I do not believe they exist. The idea seems too far-fetched for my taste.”
The girl looked at the boy in front of her. His eyes were fixed on her hands, watching them fidget every so often. This made her slightly uncomfortable, but not enough to mention it. The more pressing matter, however, was what the boy had just said.
If there were rebels hiding in plain sight, perhaps they could help the girl get home! She might never have to meet this Senate, an entity that sounded like pure evil, not only in its actions, but in its ability to corrupt the mind of an otherwise sweet young man.
The boy finally turned his gaze to his guest’s eyes. Both sat in silence for some time until, for no discernable reason, he burst out laughing.
“Why are you laughing? This hardly seems like an appropriate time for that!”
“I-I am sorry. You just have no idea how ad-adorable that look your face is! Those eyes are huge in comparison to the rest of your head, and the slightly open mouth just sells that whole bit!”
“Well, sorry to be so awesome.”
“Never be sorry, STM. You are you, and that is nothing to be ashamed of.”
That was it: the first hint of true compassion the girl had ever heard or seen in him. The boy in front of her suddenly seemed so…human, so emotional and likeable. A soft tear formed against her dry skin.
“Thank you…I needed that.”
“Any time, STM. Any time.”
The two relaxed for the first time all evening, finally feeling able to eat. They found themselves next to each other watching television less than an hour after their last exchange. The girl looked over at the boy, feeling something strange inside. Almost like a warm glow.
Three sharp raps on the front door reduced that small ember to ash in microseconds.
Author's Note
I'm going to try uploading a new chapter every 7-10 days for the rest of this story. I have the entire arc planned out, so there will be a lot of development in the chapters to come!
Also, suggestions are definitely welcome, and if you want to guess what happens next, go ahead :pinkiehappy: https://static.fimfiction.net/images/emoticons/pinkiehappy.png

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                     Orders Are Orders                     
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Orders Are Orders
Chapter 4: Orders Are Orders
Senate Law 37a: To keep the peace, all homes will be subject to random sweeps. All Citizens will comply with this procedure or face relocation.
TIME: 1945
None of the officers liked the necessity of giving their Colonel bad news. His temper was legendary and could be flared by the smallest of inconveniences. It was for this reason that a lone Private now stood petrified before the door of that Colonel.
Morrison held in his hand a report of the incident from curfew that evening. A young girl no older than 19 had been found, nude and terrified, on the streets by Morrison and his own team. What had happened afterward had already sparked a paperwork nightmare that everyone involved simply wanted to forget.
“Morrison, I know you’re out there.” The Private jumped, not expecting that to come from the room. “Please enter.”
Slowly, Private Morrison opened the door, ready for a scythe to lop off his head. Seated at a desk off to the side was the Colonel. A legend in his own right, this man was tall and imposing, with cropped gray hair and a light shadow of facial hair coloring his face. The sound of bombastic music could be heard softly, along with lyrics in a language Morrison was unable to recognize. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RONBzkthUjM&feature=related)
As the music reached a triumphant conclusion, the Colonel looked up, removing his glasses.
“Sit.” The order was simple, and the Private immediately complied. His superior stood and turned away, looking outside at the city below.
“Do you know Mahler?” Morrison shook his head lightly.
“I’m disappointed. He was a true genius for his time. The language is German, a dialect that died about 100 years ago. Only scholars can speak it, though I understand this piece. Do you?”
“No, sir.”
“It speaks of one’s inner conviction, and a man’s ability to overcome fear and despair on a journey to find God. Personally, I think overcoming fear is a waste of time, as is the attempt to find God. If there is one, He abandoned us long ago.”
“I agree completely, sir.”
The Colonel looked back at the young man cowering before him. A smile played on his lips.
“Of course you do; that’s your job, is it not? To agree with everything I say?”
“Yes.”
“Wrong.” The Private gulped. Of course that was the wrong answer. Why wouldn’t it be? The Colonel sighed heavily before continuing.
“Why did you join the force, Tyler?”
“To make my father proud, sir.”
“Your father served in the Marines during the Dilapian War, right?”
“Yes, sir. He was killed in action seven years ago.”
“I remember him from boot camp. He was a good man, and you should be proud to wear a uniform with that name stitched on it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, that’s what I would say if you deserved that jacket. However, tonight your unit displayed such an abhorrent disregard for your own oath that I won’t even say it. Is yours an isolated incident? No! However, this is the first time any of you has even considered admitting to it. For that, you five have earned my trust and respect. It takes a strong man to admit to such a serious breach of contract.”
Morrison was on the verge of a breakdown. Was this the Colonel’s ability: breaking down a man’s deepest sense of security? Is that how he became such an effective interrogator?
“I’ll ask you once again—and think back to basics for this one—what is your job?”
Back to basics…the oath we all had to memorize? “To protect and serve the Citizens of this Nation and maintain readiness at all times.”
“Very good.” Sigh. “You seem to have some hope for rehabilitation. Now, answer me this: in what way is confronting a scared girl holding to that oath?”
“I didn’t make that decision, sir.”
The Colonel raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Please explain.”
TIME: 1733
“Well, gentlemen, I think we’ve done a good job of sweeping the area. How’s about we report back and ask for some down time before the next one?”
“Sounds good to me!”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Watch your language, Fallor. And sure, thing Cap!”
“Alright, let’s just grab some chow first.”
The small band of DAP waltzed into a corner diner, approaching the counter and the now-stiff cashier manning it.
“C-Can I get you gentlemen anything?” she asked, the fear in her voice palpable.
Captain Declan Rodriguez took up a front position.
“A round of coffee and sammies for all five of us, if you don’t mind.”
“S-Sure thing. J-Just take s-seat.”
As they sat down, the other patrons took in the sight before them. A Hispanic man with a thick mustache and burly arms, Captain Rodriguez was a terrifying man if you didn’t know him well enough. To his right sat Corporal Daniel Fallor, a slight man with little to him except bug-eyes and immaturity that could shatter any scale. Across from them sat the twins of the group: PFCs Forest and Walker Dapler. Both were muscular and brown-haired, with psychotic personalities and a shared proclivity to hit rather than ask. Finally, the runt of the litter: Private 2 Tyler Morrison. His demeanor was that of a child, but his articulacy and organizational skills had earned him a reputation as a brutally honest negotiator at a young age, and the Captain had requested him personally.
Soon, a red-haired waitress delivered the group’s orders, scurrying away before any of them could thank her. Forest, the taller of the twins, was the only one to say what they were all thinking.
“So anyone else think she had a great ass?”
Walker immediately erupted in laughter, with Fallor quickly following suit. The Captain was reluctant, but managed to crack a smile while maintaining his professionalism.
The only one of the group who failed to find any humor in the remark was Morrison. Still new to the force, he had yet to assimilate into the culture of the DAPs. The young Private had passed basics only two months previously, and was still getting used to regulations, the grid, and his name.
Good God, to have a name.
Until joining the force, Morrison had been known as FEL 8709. His childhood had been rather uneventful, barring the death of his father, which prompted his own interest in serving. There were many perks to being a member of the District Armed Police such as extra money for supplies, immunity from most crimes, and especially a name.
Real names were rare in the Nation, as they were deemed dangerous when the Senate took over. Now there were only two ways to gain a name while still alive: military service or politics, and only the latter was public knowledge. To reveal that military drones had names to a Citizen bore the penalty of relocation, as did most crimes committed in uniform.
“Hey, Ty!” Morrison jerked his head up, finally snapping back to reality. The others were eyeing him peculiarly.
“So,” Forest said. “What do you think?”
“About what, Bruiser?”
“That chick’s ass: you like?”
Time to put on the pig act again.
“Of course. What did you think, man?”
Forest sighed heavily. “Thank goodness! I thought for a minute…”
Morrison tuned back out, slowly nibbling at the sammie in front of him. Suddenly it didn’t seem so appetizing. Sure, it was good and everything, but he still felt wrong taking it. Why did a uniform mean he didn’t have to pay for anything? If that leniency was out of respect instead of fear, it might not be a problem.
He wanted to be looked up to by his brother, but not if it meant being feared by everyone else.
After a few minutes, Fallor ordered a round of beans for everyone, proudly yelling something about a celebration. Morrison assumed it concerned the man’s latest conquest in the world of women. The young Private was the only one to not drink, choosing instead to watch his fellows slowly get buzzed.
Please just let me get home so I can enjoy the reruns.
The group left after finishing their meal, thanking the hostess for her hospitality. Morrison was sure he’d seen Fallor try to cop a feel on the poor girl, but kept walking. It wasn’t the first time that man had shown himself to be a complete pig. The brisk air usually calmed him down anyway—they had been inside for longer than usual that day.
The five rushed back to their grid after noticing the time: 1757. In three minutes, the teenie curfew would go into effect, and the first ten minutes were always the most interesting; a few kids overestimated how much time they had left on a near daily basis, making for an interesting experience on the force. Rounding up teenies was never anyone’s favorite, but it was the law. Remembering this, Morrison thought back to his first day of basics.
“If one thing will show you how ugly this job can be, it’ll be your first round-up. The first time you have to deliver a kid for relocation sticks with you, haunts you.”
“General, do you remember your first?”
“Yeah. 12-year-old by the no of SEF143. She cried the whole way to the station, begging for freedom at any cost. Trust me, there are worse stories than that one. You’ll undoubtedly make some bad ones yourselves. What you need to remember your duty to the DAPs and the Citizens who abide by the laws every day.”
Those words reverberated through PVT Morrison’s head every day, through every round-up he’d helped conduct. The deep green eyes of his first still hung there, lifeless, terrified, seared into his conscience for all time. They would never leave, never cease to remind him why he punched in every day.
The troupe patrolled silently for nearly ten minutes, encountering the eerie silence of concrete walls. As they rounded a corner, there she was.
A slim girl with rainbow-colored hair was wandering around an alley, a lost look on her face. Her deep magenta eyes darted around, attempting to process everything in sight. Her mouth hung slightly agape in awe, and her nostrils flared as she panted—she had obviously been running.
She certainly was a strange girl wandering such a secluded neighborhood at this hour, and all five men found themselves staring at her continuously. Her movement—drunk and disjointed—was awkward at best and indicated little or no coordination.
The most astonishing thing about this girl was her clothing—or rather, lack of it. It had taken a few seconds, but the DAPs in the alley noticed she was completely nude. Being so was not illegal, but it was unfavorable to much of the populace. The sight of a woman’s breasts tended to make men uncomfortable in a way that slowly became more noticeable to everyone around them. On the other hand, women tended to think of their children and any potential moral corruption.
Rodriguez gave a signal to the rest: intercept with intent. Basically they were to ask her how old she was and her business in this area of the city. If she was found to be a teenie, she would be brought in for relocation without hesitation.
A dangerous look flashed across Fallor’s face, but disappeared before anyone was able to take notice. He took the lead, shoving Rodriguez out of the way.
“Hey, gorgeous. Where’s a pretty young thing like you going this time of night?”
TIME: 2007
The Colonel leaned back into his chair, a vacant look in his eyes. Slowly, he removed his spectacles, a single tear appearing for the briefest second. Turning to face Morrison, he was greeted with the deepest look of shame that had ever entered this office.
Who can blame him?
“Well, you know the rest,” the young officer said quietly. “Do I have to repeat it?”
“Tyler?” Morrison looked up. “You’ve said enough for tonight. Thank you for coming forward. You did the right thing.”
“Thank you, sir.” He was shaking now, close to tears. What he had seen should never have happened, and could affect anyone in the worst way. The Colonel walked around his desk placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Go home, son. You need the rest.”
“Yes, sir.”
Just as Morrison stood to leave, someone burst into the room, taking both men by surprise.
“Colonel,” the newcomer said through deep breaths, “We have a lead on that girl Team E7 encountered earlier tonight.”
Morrison remained quiet, trying not to hear what was being said. The Colonel, on the other hand, appeared awestruck, struggling to respond immediately.
“Wh-Where is she?”
“A house near downtown. She was let in by a local.”
“Well, set up a perimeter and bring them both in!”
“Well, there’s a problem with that plan, sir.”
A pair of grey eyes narrowed. “And what might that be?
“Well, the thing is, that house was cleansed four years ago. It should be empty.”
The Colonel wasn’t surprised; vagrants often inhabited cleansed houses. In fact, the number of people who did that was too high for the DAP to even care. He voiced this fact to the man in front of him.
“I realize that sir, but hear me out.” The Colonel thought for a moment, then nodded. “The young man in that house is the son of its original inhabitants.”
TIME: 2127
Somewhere near the boy’s home, a pin dropped. Over the past hour a perimeter had silently formed around the dimly lit house and was nearing completion. The Colonel had reasoned that, while the girl might be clear of wrongdoing in light of actions taken, this boy was violating the law by harboring a non-relative and occupying a cleansed structure. Sure the DAP didn’t normally care about such activities, but the girl was already on their radar.
The spraid was to commence at 2130. None of the officers enjoyed the notion of raiding a cleansed house, especially since many had thought fondly of the boy who still lived there. However this girl was the cause of a nightmare downtown, so that gave the DAP cause to bring her in for questioning.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell tower struck 2130. Silent orders given, the officers began a soft run toward the light. The first man to reach the door followed simple procedure: three sharp raps to request entry.
When no answer was received within ten seconds, breach protocol was initiated. In less than a minute, twelve officers were through the door with twenty more on the way. Slowly, each room was cleared as the empty space became smaller and smaller. By the time the Colonel entered the house, there was only one room left: the bedroom under the stairs.
Ten officers converged on the door, and soon cleared room for the graying senior approaching the force. He slowly opened the door and felt for the light switch. Turning on the small bulb, he was met with the sight of two mannequins, both dressed up, lying in a large bed. The cigar dropped from the Colonel’s mouth as his jaw hung limp. What he was seeing was indescribable.
“Sir, they’re not here.”
None had ever seen the Colonel speechless; it seemed impossible or him not to have something to say. The thought of finding the two now left his mind as he tried to process the sight in front of him. After a few minutes, he turned to face Morrison, who had materialized before him.
“Your friend and her new companion appear to be fugitives of the District Armed Police. You will give her description to the Detectives and they will initiate a search-and-acquire. That is all.”
The Colonel turned to leave. As he reached the door, he turned back.
“And someone bag all this. It’s evidence in an active investigation.”
A murmur of “Yes, sir.” could be heard from somewhere in the group.
Morrison exited the house, wondering where the poor girl could be, and how sly this boy must be to evade their force so easily.
Two hours later, the DAP officially pulled out of the home, sealing it and placing a 24-hour watch on it.
No one thought to look under the floorboards, where two teenagers now hid, their breath slow and soft.
Author's Note
Sammie: Sandwich  
Bean: Beer  
Spraid: Spontaneous raid

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                        Radioactive                        
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Radioactive
Chapter 5: Radioactive
General Mikvea sat in his office, the soft hum of a light bulb his only company, and a cigar in his mouth. Disgusting things, really, but he needed one tonight. It was rare that the slight man found himself feeling powerless; intelligence and determination usually curbed that.
How had this happened? In one night an entire squad had been involved in a situation the likes of which the DAP had never dealt with, and on top of that, two unregs had disappeared from a cleansed establishment. This was a PR nightmare in the making, and the General was determined to avoid that.
A gentle knock on the door.
“Come in,” replied a raspy voice.
The hinges creaked as a Lieutenant entered the small space. He surveyed his surroundings, noting the lamp in the corner and a poster on the wall: Mikvea for High Minister.
“Sir, I have some info on the recent unreg case.”
The General sighed. “Okay, what is it?”
A folder dropped onto his desk.
“That’s everything we have on the boy who lived in the cleansed home.”
“An ILU? That’s…”
“Yeah, I know they’re rare.”
ILU: three letters seldom assigned to children. These Citizens were considered obsessive and unstable, capable of high intelligence and low reasoning skills. The Senate saw these people as risks because of their perceptive abilities and violent tendencies. It was advised that only the highest professionals deal with them if brought in for any level of interrogation. Mikvea had encountered three ILUs in his time on the force.
The first was a girl of 23 who went on a killing spree due to misguided beliefs that her neighbors were conspiring to kill her. It was seen as preemptive self-defense and she was set free.
The second—another girl of 16—was the only Citizen ever to incapacitate an entire raid team. She was executed as a traitor only days before her 17th birthday.
The third—and most disturbing—was a boy of 21. Over the course of six years, he had systematically kidnapped, killed, and consumed 29 people in the areas surrounding the Capital. It was believed at the time that he was a political assailant aiming to destabilize the government. As it turns out, he simply believed that those he killed were trapped in mortal shells, and that killing and eating them would free their souls to set the world free. There were no words for how deranged that boy was, and he was publicly executed three days after his capture.
Mikvea had interviewed all three before they were released one way or another, noting how cold and removed they seemed. The utter lack of emotion from the children served to exemplify their intelligence and instability. Overall, these experiences had taught the General a healthy respect for ILUs and how dangerous they could be when provoked.
“Does he have a history?”
The Lieutenant looked taken back.
“Uh, no sir. He’s been suspected in a few small thefts from corner shops around the city in which he lived, but nothing was ever conclusively tied to him.”
Mikvea sighed both in relief and frustration. On one hand, there was no indication that this boy was violent, which worked to their advantage. However this fact made him unpredictable.
“Alright, that’s a start. Is there anything else we know about him? Why was he staying in that home of all places?”
The young Lieutenant shifted. The General felt his stomach begin to drop.
“Well? Does he know what happened there?”
Still no answer.
“Spit it out!”
“Um…He is the son of that home’s original occupants. The ILU status was assigned to him after the raid.”
Mikvea’s final nerve snapped in two. Suddenly the blank eyes staring at him from the file came into focus. He knew that face, its fear.
The same terror that had petrified both of them four years ago.
The General’s eyes went wide as the world slowed to a near-halt around him. Was it really possible that this boy was the same one from that disastrous raid four years ago? Sure, the eyes were more ragged and the skin was dirtier than it had been, but it fit. ILUs were, by nature, very attached to certain aspects of their lives. A book, a parent, a home, it could be anything. The three Citizens Mikvea had dealt with were wrecks in the interrogation room because of the separation from that part of their lives.
“Are you telling me that this boy was there that day?”
“Y-Yes, sir.”
“I thought so. Please leave.”
“Sir, if I might ask: weren’t you there?”
“LEAVE!” the General roared. The Lieutenant yelped, quickly turning to go. He paused for a second to turn back just before closing the door behind him; he could swear a tear was running the General’s cheek.
How could this child still be alive? If he was present the day of that raid, Mikvea would have seen him. Gods, that day. It still haunted the aging General in his dreams. The sight of those two terrified people; their daughter’s screams as she found their bodies; the realization that they were in the wrong building.
A pair of blue eyes in the floor, staring up at the scene in horror. While the thought had puzzled Mikvea at first, he had chalked the phenomenon up to simple stress. They were cleaning up the house at the time, prepping it for condemnation, and as such, all electric devices were to be disabled and all furniture returned to its original place.
There was no life there when they departed, or so they thought. The final sweep had revealed no human life in the house, and it was sealed according to protocol. Apparently the boy had escaped and returned, his status later reassigned.
Before the raid that wiped out his family he had been an STM child, with a bright future ahead of him. These Citizens were generally considered to be the closest to ILUs in personality and intelligence with one exception: STMs were capable of empathy on a level most could only dream of. Their heightened awareness made them ideal soldiers, but that compassion kept most of them from enlisting for active service. Only a few had opted to do so, the considerable majority choosing instead reserve enlistment; those would only be called in for a shortage of active personnel.
It was a shame for this boy. As an ILU he would have a hard time fitting into society. Most employers refuse to hire them, fearing an emotional breakdown. The few ILUs who function well in society cannot feel empathy and gain joy from advancement in some way or another. National psychologists from 100 years ago would have labeled those individuals psychopaths.
Mikvea’s head shot up as he came upon a realization. That was why the ILU boy never showed up in any adverse reports. He was an ILU Prime! His psyche was completely intact, held together by his past. Now that his physical link to the old life he led was gone, he might snap. This was a way to find the two fugitives! The General bolted out of his office, turning toward the main chamber, where the High Officers would be currently.
The Council of the High Officers was a respected authority on military matters and accepted little input from any except the Senate themselves. Every day at 13, they met in the main chamber of the Capital Military Complex, one of the Nation’s most expansive and feared districts. No Citizen who entered this place ever returned. Most were interrogated and assimilated into the Complex itself; those who were uncooperative were simply executed. Ultimately, these decisions rested with the Council.
It was this process they were running through when Mikvea had his own epiphany. At the time, they were sitting in the box that formed their chamber, resting after a meal and debating the proper punishment for a vagrant accused of treason against the Senate. While relocation was the standard punishment label for most crimes now, the actual action ranged from incarceration—labeled “relocation from community”—to execution: relocation from life. There was much public rumor around this word that was not necessary.
That mystery suited the Council just fine.
Councilman Frager had finished his reasoning on the issue of this punishment when his head turned toward the door to the chamber. It wasn’t anything in particular that drew his attention there; something just felt wrong. It was at that moment, when most of the Councilmen had turned their attention similarly, that General Mikvea shoved the doors open, his eyes wide and his brow glistening with sweat. As he surveyed the square arrangement of the Council, his pupils shrank. Approaching these men was always difficult.
“Mikvea,” Frager said quietly. “What are you doing here?”
The General bowed low before speaking.
“Please forgive me for this most unceremonious of interruptions, but I have a development on a case I am working at the moment. It’s th¬—”
“The case of the ILU and the girl accompanying him?” spoke another Councilman, Darent. “We are aware of the details, including the boy’s family situation with regards to the home in which he was staying.”
“Yes, I figured you would be, sirs. Again, forgive me, but I have information that may help us find them, if it pleases you.”
The nine Councilmen looked at each other, uncertainty in their eyes. Eventually, eight nodded at the High Councilman, Surin, who turned to face Mikvea.
“Speak your peace, and we shall decide the validity of these claims.”
“Thank you, sir. My hypothesis, based on the ILU’s reaction to these events and his determination to remain in that house, is that he is a Prime.”
The entire Council gasped softly as they heard this. Primes were rare on good days. Staying away from the eye of the Military was something they were so good at, the only time the Council had ever encountered one was when they found out one of their own was among that population.
And that was over 100 years ago.
Surin collected himself quickly enough to keep the room under control, returning his attention to Mikvea.
“Tell us: how is this going to help us find him?”
The General smiled.
“If his ties to reality were connected by that house, the sudden upheaval in his life might be enough to snap him. If that happens, he will act out of instinct instead of calculated logic, making him more predictable.
“Rather than darting around the map and staying away from key points for the DAP, he may cut straight through the landscape, and make a mistake by wandering through a center for the public eye. If that happens and we miss him, we will have an idea of where he’s going. This could end the search within a week.”
The Councilmen—Surin excepted—were smiling softly by the end of this pitch. The General before them had demonstrated the commitment and tenacity they needed at the moment. It was a collection of qualities they saw valuable in a candidate for High Minister.
Surin, on the other hand, was completely surprised. The forethought Mikvea had given to this operation was beyond his pay grade by a long shot. As it happened, that kind of anticipation was more qualified for a member of the Council itself. Unfortunately, as a candidate for Minister, the General was ineligible for promotion within the Military. Secretly, the High Councilman was hoping that Mikvea was defeated by a wide-enough margin that he never wanted to run again. Surin looked around, seeing the Council staring at him expectantly, and spoke softly.
“If you wish, you may play out this scenario in real life. We will fund a 6-month search, or until you find them: whichever occurs first. Is that agreeable?”
The question was followed by a round of nodding from the Councilmen and a stoic look on Mikvea’s face.
“Thank you sirs. I will not disappoint you.” As he turned to leave, a wave of relief washed over the General. To make it through a meeting with the Council without any severe setbacks was nothing short of a miracle. Mikvea passed the guards at the door, giving them a nod to call them down from the salute assumed upon his appearance in their field of vision.
The walk to his office didn’t seem so long this time.
Two hours later and 400 miles away, a DAP Colonel received authorization for a full-scale search to be launched with the goal of retrieving the ILU boy and his companion.
Three Months Later
Colonel Decar was sleeping at his desk after a full 34 hours awake. The search for the two teenagers that had disappeared three months previously was proving harder than anticipated. Every new day brought a fresh wave of disappointment to the team specialized for this task.
Decar was jolted awake by a loud thud, opening his eyes to find a new stack of files. The Colonel glanced up at the man above him, catching the attention of a Private in his squad.
“What is this, Private?”
The young man sighed in frustration.
“This week’s ‘sightings.’”
Groaning, Decar opened the first folder. Over the past three months—since the advertisements for the two fugitives had gone public—thousands of reported sightings had come in, many from the same areas of the country. The only problem was when 16 sightings came from one end of the country and less than an hour later, 23 came from the opposite border, a 4,000-mile distance. After that the force began taking all claims with a grain of salt, preferring to focus their resources on the more probable tales. Something had seemed off from the beginning about this case either way.
ILU Primes were exceedingly rare. Or at least they were very good at disguising themselves. It was seldom that one ended up on the DAP’s radar, and the last time that happened was 50 years ago. For one to pop up under such strange circumstances now appeared almost engineered. After the assignment had come from the Capital, many assumed this was planned to advance Mikvea’s career. The formula was simple enough: make a simple missing-persons case a National manhunt, and the man in charge wins political power for his campaign.
Unfortunately, General Mikvea was a current favorite of the High Council, and no one within the DAP was willing to challenge their opinion; it took a special kind of stupid to say that Councilman Surin was wrong about anything. So the task force plugged along, forcing themselves to report every morning to sit at desks all day trying to find two ghosts: one who was currently the center of a massive IA inquiry and one who hadn’t even existed in the public record for four and a half years.
The Colonel finished leafing through the files on his desk, muttering random details from the last report.
“Edge of the woods…near mountains outside city…reported to be seen at approximately…well shit. We’re getting nowhere.” He handed the last three reports to the Private standing before him. “Follow these up. They’re from roughly the same area, and it’ll get some boots out of the office for a few hours.”
The young man snapped a salute before retreating from the office, leaving Decar to his thoughts. He nearly slipped back into sleep before a loud ring pierced the silence of his office. Groggily he slammed his fist on the coms panel in front of him, allowing the intruder to speak.
“Colonel Decar?”
He snapped up in his seat, alarmed by the voice on the other end.
“General Mikvea! Nothing to report right now. I have a few units investigating three sightings in the same area yesterday, and they will report in when they have evaluated the situation.”
“Good. I trust your men are still under control.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
A heavy sigh came from the speaker.
“Very well. Report to me when you learn what comes of the recon.”
“Yes, sir.”
The microphone clicked, and Decar was alone once again. A light flickered above him. As the Colonel fell asleep, he noticed the bulb crack and die, leaving him in darkness.
When will this end?
Two Months Later
General Mikvea rifled through the latest reports, biding his time until the Council summoned him. Five months had passed since the ILU and a female accompanying him had disappeared. All he knew was that they had been sighted once, three months after they vanished in a sealed district.
West Fortrik was a small city well outside the original boundaries of the Country itself, but a military operation had assimilated it. The people there were mostly laborers and largely supportive of the regime. No dissenters ad ever been reported in the area, but there was the occasional complaint. Those were dealt with easily enough, most of those relocations being ordered by Mikvea himself.
Unfortunately, West Fortrik had been hit by a nuclear reactor meltdown about 50 years ago, and now was completely sealed off and considered a radioactive wasteland. The problem was the remaining inhabitants.
The people there were fewer, but strong. The city was self-sustaining and could theoretically present a threat to the Capital in the near future. With that in mind, West Fortrik was a vital part of the Country. It still exported steel products and much of that part of the Nation relied on the metals.
So Mikvea was torn. While it was not known that the ILU had left West Fortrik, the chances that he was still there after two months were astronomical. Beyond that, the Prime Minister election was approaching, and the General needed to apprehend the two fugitives to make him look like an effective leader and fit to run the policies of the Country. If that arrest wasn’t made, Mikvea was unable to imagine the harm this would do if it ever went public.
The General reached the final report: a short dissertation on the specifics of the case with the ILU. Skimming through the first few pages, which covered the first week of the search, he mumbled spurts of detail.
“Mannequins in the parents’ bedroom…” That made sense, considering part of his attachment to the house was his family. “Working electricity throughout the structure…” Interesting. He was obviously skilled with electric wiring. “Crawlspace under the living room containing—”
Crawlspace? Why does that seem familiar?
Mikvea rubbed his temples until it finally hit him. The eyes from the raid. That’s why they missed him then and again this time! He was hiding under the floor! The General’s eyes went wide as the realization sank in. This whole time, they had never considered the possibility that the ILU was that cunning. Since the crawlspace was not in the original blueprints for the house, that meant he had dug it out himself, meaning he was expecting someone to come.
Mikvea immediately dictated a note to be sent to the task force at DAP East, where the search was currently centered, telling Colonel Decar to begin at possible hiding spots they might not have considered. The mountain range near Fortrik was a good place to start. With that sent, he settled in to wait for a call from the Council that never came.
A piercing ring jolted General Mikvea from his slumber. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. With a quick glance at the clock—2109—he tapped the receiving screen on the comspeak in front of him.
“This is General Mikvea.”
“General, this is Colonel Decar. First off, thank you for the tip on the mountains. We never thought to look there.”
“That’s right, Colonel. You didn’t think. Why should I be impressed that you can take a hint?”
“Because we found them, sir.”
Mikvea froze. Was it really possible? Had one day outdone five months of work based on a whim?
“Where precisely are they?”
The Colonel paused to whisper to someone who had just come into the room he was occupying before continuing.
“Fontaine Valley, sir. Not exactly a friendly place to visit this time of year.”
The General chuckled. That valley was known for the harsh extremes in weather and seasons. Right now, during the autumn, it was a relatively welcoming climate. However, it was likely the two fugitives would be rained out soon.
“Are they on the cusp, or actually in the Everfree?”
“They’re well inside the forest, sir. We have reason to believe the hermit who lives on the edge of the tree line may have seen them a few days ago.”
“Alright. Establish a perimeter and wait until I get there.”
“Yes, sir.”
With the connection terminated, Mikvea put in an order for a private jet to the Fontaine Valley and lit up a cigar on his way out of the office.
Today was a good day.
Author's Note
Well, it's been a while hasn't it? I'm excited to finally get this chapter up, and hope you all enjoy it :D
Oh, and if you can figure out the Easter Egg in the chapter, you get undying respect from me (it's really subtle).

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                          Running                          
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Author's Note
You have no idea how sorry I am for the massive gap between chapters (not to mention the lack of a payoff in terms of the word count in return for your patience). In lighter news, I'm still looking for proofreaders, editors, and maybe even a co-author or two for the rest of this story.
To those who faithfully follow this story and me in general, I can't thank you enough. Please keep reading, and I hope you enjoy this installment, wherein we rejoin ILU and STM.
Running
Chapter 6: Running
Senate Bill 48: All Citizens who are not accounted for at their home, place of work, or place of learning shall be sought immediately. If they do not report within 48 hours they will face relocation without discrimination.
Dirt. That was all that the rainbow-haired girl could think of when she reached the thin wood behind the boy’s home. She was covered in dirt, much of it clinging to the small beads of sweat dripping down her body and clothes. With skin glistening in soft moonlight, her magenta eyes turned to find the mysterious boy who had saved her. He soon appeared, beckoning her to a nearby bush. Once behind the shrub, the girl turned to face the blue eyes staring at her. They two lay still for what felt like an eternity before the boy worked up the courage to speak.
“Are you hurt?”
“N-No.”
“Are you zapped?”
“Huh?”
A sharp inhale betrayed the boy’s confusion in trying to remember the word he had heard once before that meant the same thing as…
“Tired! Are you tired?”
“A bit,” the girl whispered uncertainly. “But nothing I can’t handle.”
The boy looked out over the thin forest before them, taking in everything that had just happened. Whatever this girl was, the Senate must want her very much to send in a full spraid party to acquire her. Beyond that, he had lost his home. The one thing he had allowed himself to love in so long, gone.
He turned back to the girl.
“We must go.” A pair of magenta eyes looked up with worry.
“Where could we possibly go?”
The boy thought. They would be on every street corner in the ‘Running Citizens’ section of every publy around the country. Too many people would be likely to recognize either of them. The only option open to them was north: the unincorporated territories would take them in without question, assuming they made it there alive.
“We will go north. There are settlements and cities beyond the Senate’s reach where we can hide for a time.” The boy faced his companion again, her uncertainty showing in furrowed eyebrows.
“Are you sure we can make it?”
“Do you still claim to be Rainbow Dash?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Then you are as certain of the chances for our survival as I am of your state of mind. We should go now.” The boy ran off toward the forest.
The girl stopped in the middle of standing up. Had he just suggested that she was insane? Shaking her head she stood and ran after the boy just as the glow of flashlights reached the bush they had just occupied.
They ran for what seemed like hours, stopping only to gather their breath and, occasionally, to pick some berries for food. The moon and stars were their only source of light, a small compass the sole guide they had.
When the moon reached its zenith they rested for a longer time than before. Panting, the girl looked wide-eyed to the strange boy who was leading her. He did not seem to be short of breath even though they had been at a full sprint for nearly an hour. Looking at the girl, his blue eyes bored into hers.
“We rest for another ten minutes, then move on.”
“Where are we going?” asked the girl between deep breaths. The boy looked up at the stars glistening in the sky.
“We are perhaps a day from the Fortrik Province. Once there we will be safe from all but an invasion.”
“Why?”
“Fortrik became an independent province some time ago. They have no treaties with this country aside from armistice. They will not send us back here if it can be avoided.”
The girl became confused hearing him talk about Fortrik. He spoke with a voice somewhere between reverence and disgust, never betraying if he loved or hated his homeland. Having grown up in a place of peace, the concept of wanting to leave home puzzled her.
“Is…there anywhere we can stay for the night?” asked the girl timidly. “I need to sleep.”
The boy looked at her, amazed that she could already be ready to rest for the night. Looking down, he began hearing his own heart. The slow rhythm a result of years of focused practice not letting himself show any signs of weakness, the sound and feeling both calmed and aggravated him. Maybe it was best for them to rest; she was not accustomed to long sprints or life on the run. Then again, neither was he.
A small breeze blew through the trees to cool the resting youths. Slightly startled by the sudden feeling, the boy looked up toward the source of this wind, only to see something that intrigued him.
“There is a cave less than a mile from here,” he said softly. “We will walk there and sleep until sunrise.” He looked at his companion. “Is that acceptable?”
Nodding, the girl stood up and motioned for him to lead on. They marched toward the small cave, feeling the ground harden under their feet with each step. As they arrived at the shelter, the boy reveled in the small comfort of cool air on his face. For the first time he truly let go and took in the world around him.
Never before had he ventured out of the city of his childhood. Always that glow behind them had ruled his days and haunted his nights. For years he had dreaded what had come only hours ago, and yet never had this been in any of his plans. That quiet obedience all Citizens were trained with from birth had ruled the boy for over a decade as life moved along for him.
But now, the freedom of where they stood finally caught up with the weary youth. Sure, he had heard of caves and the wild growing up, but there was something… magical about being here. To experience it was—the boy suspected—what travelers often meant when they spoke of the euphoria of the wilderness, and the calm that washed over every living thing at night. The soft chirping of crickets breaking the silence, tall trees and green grass lit against a dim moon, a gentle breeze cooling the air… it was paradise.
The boy took one last, deep breath before beginning to gather the materials for a small fire. It would become far colder that night, and they needed to stay warm. There were sticks lying about the entrance of the cave, and a small pile was soon amassed father inside. With that and a few dead leaves, the boy attempted to light the source of awaiting heat. Gathering two rocks from nearby, he struck.
One strike: not even a spark.
Two strikes: still nothing. It looked far easier in the reruns.
Three strikes: there! A small spark appeared, failing just before the leaves.
Four strikes: an ember appeared on a leaf, soon catching and lighting the whole membrane.
A few minutes later, there was a small fire lighting and warming the dank alcove the pair had found for themselves. Sitting in silence, the boy resisted all conversation offered by his companion. He merely stared into the yellow flames, their delicate dance entrancing him. Finally giving in, the girl stood up and wandered to the front of the cave to stare out at the wilderness.
There was an eerie calm washing over her as a breeze cooled the night. Far off, the girl glimpsed a bird swiftly darting between two trees, a single tear running down her cheek at the sight.
Flight: the one thing the girl had in life that was truly hers. In the air she was alive and careless. The wind rushing through her hair, the sight of a blue sky as the sun rose.
In that clear sky, the girl was free.
Suddenly she flew in her mind back home, and there saw her friends waiting. They enveloped her in a warm embrace she knew too well and missed too much. The love she felt was unmatched and the pain at not being there, crippling.
A soft gust of wind flew past the cave entrance, causing the girl to shiver. Looking up at the bright moon she could not help but wonder if her friends saw the same sky, if they cried as she did in longing for their friend.
Probably not, she thought. They don’t need me. Another clear tear fell to her lip, salting it slightly. I’m just an arrogant child in their eyes…why would they miss me? Quietly, the girl fell to her knees and let out a silent cry of despair, letting the tears finally flow unhindered.
A few dozen meters away, a pair of blue eyes looked out at her, never blinking, never turning away.
The sun rose over a lush forest, illuminating the small hills that pocketed the landscape. As the light reached the boy, he rose, his sandy hair sticking to the wooden floor on which he found himself. Fully opening his eyes, the boy turned to face the door to his left. Calmly he walked toward it, pulling the handle silently. It opened to reveal his parents and sister, dressed all in suits and ties and strapped to leather chairs. Fear overtook the boy as he faced the only people he had ever loved… people he knew to be dead.
His sister, a tall, slender girl black of hair, looked over the boy’s head with eyes grey as soot. Her thin mouth was frozen in a straight line, her entire body petrified in fear.
“S-Sister?” The boy’s voice was higher than he remembered. The girl in the chair stared ahead as sure as ever.
“Sister? Please look at me.” Still no response.
“Sister!” He screamed as loud as he could, but to no avail. He continued for several minutes until his voice became hoarse and tears began streaming down his face. Why would she not look at him? The boy fell to his knees and into despair.
“S-Sis. I wan-want you h-home,” he choked between sobs. “P-P-Please come back.”
As he looked up, the boy’s sister finally closed her eyes. Slowly her face turned down and her eyes opened to look at him. The boy only saw sockets where they had once been. As he backed away she stood and began walking toward him. The nearer she came, the more her eyes reappeared. He gathered his courage and stood to face her. The girl reached out to him, never saying a word, but love in her eyes. They embraced for a moment, both falling to tears. Suddenly the boy felt her begin to fade away. He pulled away and looked at her with fear in his eyes. She crumbled in his arms, smiling softly and kissing his cheek and dissolving to ashes.
The boy screamed until he saw his mother standing over him, soft love in her eyes. She looked through him with a soul-piercing stare before speaking.
“It’s time to leave.” His mother’s voice was wrong. It sounded like a man’s. Almost… like his father’s.
“Wake up,” she said. The boy tried not to listen to the false mother before him.
“Wake up!” He saw a light behind him.
“Are you there?” The boy walked toward the doorway.
“Please wake up!” He jerked awake to find the girl with rainbow hair staring at him with concerned eyes.
“You were screaming,” she said. “How bad was it?”
He simply looked at her, not saying a word.
“Your nightmare… how bad was it?”
The boy looked down and slowly stood. “No better or worse than any other dream.”
“Care to talk about it?”
“I would rather not,” he said, looking away from her dejectedly. Walking to the mouth of the cave he saw that the sun had risen nearly three hours in the sky. The boy turned to his companion.
“We should go. I will not be long before the search parties arrive in this area.”
They packed the camp swiftly, throwing the remnants of their fire into the woods surrounding the cave. After burying the burnt wood and ashes in leaves and dirt, the girl met with the boy near the cave where they turned north and began running again. The trees and bushes gave them cover as the day marched on and they ran further north. Here and there, birds would sing and fly away from the oncoming youths as if to warn them off the path they were following. Within an hour they were slowing to a swift walk in order to catch their breath, their heavy inhales sharpening against the cold morning air. They would stop briefly to pick berries and eat along the way, hiking beside streams to drink from.
Near midday the two stopped by the mouth of a larger stream and rested for a time. They sat in silence until they readied to leave. Standing up the girl looked at the boy.
“Where exactly are we going?”
“West Fortrick,” he replied softly. “It is a city beyond the jurisdiction of the Senate. We will be safe there until the search dies down.” The girl nodded, thinking. If they were going that far north, would the city welcome them? Two outsiders on the run from these strange people chasing them… who would trust them?
Suddenly the boy pulled her behind a bush, looking up intensely. Rather than ask what was happening, the girl decided to remain silent and look up with him. Within a minute a strange flying device appeared overhead and looked to be scanning the ground below. It was a shiny silver, curved and sloped in appearance with its coat shimmering in the sunlight. The tendril hanging from the bottom was snaking around near the forest floor and its small eye passed over the bush where the two were hiding.
A few minutes later, the flying thing disappeared as quickly and silently as it had come. The boy held the girl in place for some time before allowing them both to stand by the stream again. She looked at him worriedly.
“What… what was that?”
“A Seatrak. Flying machine piloted for searches in this forest. I was surprised we avoided them as long as we did.”
“Well… did it see us?”
“No,” he said cautiously. “We would be in that ship if it had. But we should make it farther now.”
“How far are we from West, um…”
“Fortrik?” The girl nodded. “Less than a day. We should be in sight of the border by nightfall.”
The girl was surprised. They were already that far north? Or maybe they just started that way. Either way, she was glad that their journey would soon be over.
As the boy began running again, she fell in behind him, paying close attention to how he ran. There was a certain familiarity to his movements, the way his legs thrust each other forward. Maybe it was all in her head, but she almost remembered someone from back home who moved the same way. Just maybe…
The girl shook her head and concentrated on keeping up with her guide.
The boy inhaled deeply as he ran, carefully measuring the air around him. There had been a crispness when they left the cave that had all but disappeared. Why had they only encountered one search ship? Why were there not more DAPs on patrol through the woods? Even this far out, they had to know that there was a possibility he would flee to the Fortrik Province. Perhaps it was all a trap… that would not surprise him.
What did surprise him was what he was doing now. Growing up, the boy had never had any ill will toward the State or the Senate. The city in which he was raised always provided for him and its patrons had allowed him to stay in his home even after it was raided. So why was he running now? Was there something he had no idea was even happening, or had he simply snapped after all these years? The dreams were becoming more frequent…
There was little light when they stopped for the evening. The sun had already set and the birds were returning to their nests for the night. As the boy sparked a fire by the stream they had been following north, the girl climbed a small hill to see the path they would take the following morning. In the distance there was a faint light.
Before she could make anything out very well, the boy called the rainbow-haired girl back to the makeshift campsite. They quietly ate what berries and nuts they had found that afternoon and soon settled in for sleep without a word said.
The boy lay awake for what seemed like hours trying to make sense of his emotions. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he had an inescapable urge to protect this girl. Perhaps time in Fortrik would allow him to clear his head. He slowly closed his eyes and dreamed no dreams that night.
As the sun rose, the stars fell asleep to the sight of two youths huddled near a long-dead fire. They were slow to rise, once again burying the wood and ashes from the warming flame of the previous night and went to the top of the hill near their camp. From there, barely visible in the far distance, was a bright collection of metal and glass.
“That city there,” said the boy. “That is West Fortrik. One of the largest in the State… or at least it was.”
“What happened to it?”
“I do not know. Something that forced a quarantine of its inhabitants, but the radiation died out a long time ago. It is safe to come and go from the city and its surrounding province. We should be there by midday.”
The girl nodded and followed as the boy began to climb down the hill. Upon reaching the bottom, he turned to her.
“You remind me of her, you know.”
“Who?” She saw him choke slightly.
“My sister.” He turned and ran down the pathway, with the girl following close, confused but unwilling to pry.
In the distance, a small bird refused to awake in a nest, its chicks crying out for a meal that would never come.