Beng Beng Revolution

by Lu Huiyi

  Discovered 04 November 2025, Writer Unknown

  City Hall Station fell exactly as planned.

  It was easier, even, than some of their less risky missions. Security should have been tight around the station, but nobody had seemed to pay any attention to Beng and his trainer, lurking around the perimeters. On top of that, the response forces had been slow to arrive after he’d brought the structures down into a mess of dust and rubble, and so it wasn’t hard to beat a fast exit through the resultant chaos and commotion. They got back to the Training Institute in record time, and it all seemed so smooth as to be almost unbelievable.

  His first clue that something wasn’t quite right was when there was no celebration party after. There was usually some form of revelry after a successful mission, with contributions of home-brewed alcohol and food, and even appearances by high-ranking elders when the mission had been of particular importance. It was usually a raucous affair, and over the months, Beng had gone from making dutiful, perfunctory appearances, to rather enjoying the good cheer and the attention he got during these parties.

  Maybe they were busy, he told himself. Big things were underway, after all. Huat had said that the City Hall attack was meant to kick off a sustained revolution, so he expected to receive word of another mission very soon. In the meantime, he busied himself with his usual training routine. There was a strange serenity that came with being on the cusp of a great change. He wondered how much longer the remaining loyalists would hold up; there was very little doubt in his mind that the country was theirs for the taking.

  Huat came to see him a few nights after.

  That was his second clue that things weren’t going well.

  “Have you been sleeping?” Beng asked, because Huat kept twitching at sudden movements, and he was fidgeting and fiddling with his fingernails so much that it was positively distracting.

  “Maybe,” said Huat, who didn’t seem very keen on small talk.

  “You didn’t try to run on coffee right? Because you and I both know what that does to you—”

  “We don’t have time for that,” said Huat. He got up from his seat, then sat again, and then rested his elbows on the table and took a deep, shaky breath. The sheer amount of twitching in the room was driving Beng insane by proxy.

  “I may have made some errors in judgement,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t—I can’t say anything more,” said Huat. “But I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, honest to God, I did.”

  “Calm down,” said Beng, as steadily as he could. “We’ve gotten through tough stuff before, yeah? You just need to calm down and tell me what the heck is going on.”

  “I just wanted to tell you,” said Huat, barrelling on with desperate determination. “You’ll be okay. I think.”

  It was nice to see that Huat’s exemplary capacity at offering tactful reassurance was still the same as before.

  “How about you?” Beng asked.

  “You just need to stay useful,” said Huat, ignoring him. “You’ve got the Power under control now. You can do anything. Stay useful, and you’ll be fine.”

  “Huat, you need to stop—”

  “I’ve stayed too long.” Huat rose to his feet, and stayed up this time. He made his way, a little unsteady, to the door. “It’ll be all right. It’ll be all right in the end.”

  He obviously didn’t believe a word of what he was saying. Neither did Beng. Huat simply would not stay, making his unsteady way back to headquarters or to his next meeting of elders or to whatever complicated thing people of his position were expected to spend their days on.

  It would be a long time till Beng saw his brother again.

  Chapter 8

  Ever since joining the Gentlemen, Beng had gotten used to being surprised. New skill sets, new places, new people—he had learnt to deal with changing commands and odd plans with aplomb. It was all in service of a greater good, and there was nothing to be gained from probing into the complicated webs of how and why when time-sensitive decisions were being issued from above.

  But being part of a decidedly anti-establishment organisation meant that he found himself seated at the end of a boardroom table, and to be introduced alongside the folks who had come with him, or to brief him—to the Chief. The Power whispered awed descriptions of her red-streaked cheeks, wild hair and manic smile, and Beng knew that she had not changed one bit. He turned in the direction of his trainer, who was perfectly unperturbed and busy making small talk with one of the Chief’s guards. It seemed like the only one who was confused was, well, him.

  “Thanks for coming,” said the Chief to the room at large, with a cool, hard casualness that sat poorly with Beng. Alarm bells were going off in his head, but he could do nothing except wait and see.

  “We’re here today to discuss the clean-up operation for City Hall,” she went on. “A lot of people were hurt in the attack, and our rail system has been badly disrupted. I’ve talked to my advisors, and we’re looking at rebuilding and restarting train operations in three months’ time.”

  “I know we’ve not seen eye-to-eye in the past,” Elder Francis said, perfectly on cue. “But we’re all here to serve the people, and their welfare comes first. The resources of the Gentlemen will all be committed towards the rebuilding effort.”

  His trainer’s hand was on his elbow, guiding him to rise. He stood mechanically, as Elder Francis went on.

  “This is Beng, one of the strongest trained fighters we have. He, and the rest of our elite crew, will be deployed to help. We can do more than mere machines can.”

  “Beng,” said the Chief, and he could hear the snide smile in her voice. “How useful.”

  “It’s the least we could do,” Elder Francis replied. His trainer tapped once on his elbow, and Beng sat obediently, relieved to be no longer the centre of attention, but still bewildered and no less perturbed. “It’s the least we could do, after our strategic planning division went rogue and put innocents at risk.”

  “Very tragic,” the Chief agreed. “But it was just one man. You get crazies everywhere; there’s no way you could have seen it coming. I’ve told my people to keep him in solitary, and maybe when he’s more reasonable, we can send him to work in the clinics or on a ship.”

  “A ship?” Beng blurted out. “Who’re you sending away?”

  There was a pregnant, awkward pause.

  “Nobody who is loyal to the cause,” said the Chief at last, and her voice was gloating, even cruel. “So I don’t think you’ve anything to be worried about, Beng.”

  “What the hell was that?”

  They were back in the Institute. The whole ride back, Beng had, for the first time in a long while, entertained thoughts of leaping from the carriage and just making a break for it. He had ruled himself with iron-clad discipline for so long that restraint had become a habit, but it was difficult to proceed as normal when everything he knew had been turned on its head. Nothing but the desire to get answers from someone in the know kept him still and pliant, while his mind raged on with questions.

  “You need to calm down,” said Elder Francis. They were seated in the communal quarters, cross-legged on the floor. The room was empty, all the bedrolls neatly stacked at the sides of the room. Someone came in, swift and silent, and laid plates of rice and curried meat and vegetables in front of them. Beng poked at the meal with little interest, and then pushed it away.

  “I want answers,” he said. “I thought we were fighting the Gahmen. You said they were going about things the wrong way.”

  “I did,” Elder Francis agreed.

  “Weren’t we supposed to be the best thing for Singapore? You said it. Why’re we best friends with them all of a sudden now?”

  Elder Francis picked up one of the metal dishes, and began to eat in his usual delicate manner, taking no pleasure in his meal but wasting nothing that was put in front of him. The soft clink of the cutlery and his quiet chewing drove Beng crazy; he c
ould practically see his expression of supreme unconcern, and felt a wild urge to upend the meal right into the man’s face.

  “Maybe I should’ve told you the full story before we had gone,” Elder Francis said, in a way that suggested that he would have done the exact same thing as before anyway. “But I didn’t want you to be anguished. Archibald—poor boy—so promising, so bright, but a little too ambitious, I’m afraid. I wanted to save him from himself, but he wasn’t very keen on listening.”

  “What. What are you saying?”

  Elder Francis sighed, and set his dish down.

  “He should never have issued that command to destroy City Hall station. That was never planned, Beng. We know that our attacks are not always bloodless, but we try to keep our collateral damage low. City Hall was a bad idea. So many civilians, and so many lives that would be lost. The other Elders would never have heard of it.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t do this alone,” said Beng. “Why is he taking the fall for it?”

  “But he did. We rejected his proposal, Beng. We told him to hold. He sent the command anyway.”

  “He wouldn’t have gone ahead,” said Beng. “He loves being part of the Gentlemen. Huat is loyal. He would’ve listened to you irregardless of what he felt.”

  “Regardless.”

  “What?”

  “Irregardless isn’t a word, Beng. You mean regardless.”

  “What the heck—we were talking about Huat!”

  “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” said Elder Francis, a tinge of disappointment entering his voice. “That was the problem with him, too. Promising boy, but he lacked polish. I’m trying to make sure you don’t fall into the same trap, Beng. You have so much potential. We believe infinitely in you.”

  “Huat told me he got the plans approved. Huat tells me everything.”

  Elder Francis paused. The silence was heavy with implied scepticism.

  “Are you very certain?” he said mildly. “Fully so? Has he ever walked you through the blueprints for each mission?”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t even understand the tiny details. I didn’t need to know.”

  “Or rather, he thought you didn’t need to know.” And then, considering, “You trust your brother very much.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I don’t blame you,” sighed Elder Francis, pitying and kind. “I’ve told you before. You were very much locked into his influence. When you came into the Gentlemen, you had nothing but your brother, and you spent all your time with nobody besides him.”

  Beng thought of the way the rickety shelters behind the City Hall station had folded in on themselves. I have nothing but my brother now, too, he thought, but he stayed silent.

  “Ask yourself this.” Elder Francis shifted a little, leaning forward. “Did your brother tell you when he was sent to kill you, back when you were going through your training?”

  “He didn’t kill me.”

  “Only because you succeeded in getting the tracker out. If you hadn’t, he would have.”

  “He would’ve died too, if the tracker had exploded too soon,” Beng insisted. “He put himself in danger.”

  “Yes, there was a time when Elder Archibald was able to die for the Gentlemen.” There was a brief pause, and when Elder Francis spoke again, there was a hint of steel in his words. “Why is that such a grand thing to you, Beng? Is it really so extraordinary a concept in your mind? Are you not willing to lay down your life for our cause too?”

  Beng scented danger. The conversation was shifting a little too fast for him, leaving him in a confusion of panic and doubt and anger. He fell back on the instinct to reassure and to show himself to be worthy.

  “You know I’m willing,” he said.

  Elder Francis did not look entirely convinced.

  “I might not be all that certain anymore,” Elder Francis said slowly, as if turning matters over in his mind. “You’ve always had safe missions—comfortable, even. Long distance. Low risk of detection. Maybe you would think of deserting once our fight became a little more inconvenient for you.”

  “That’s not fair,” Beng protested, wounded. “You guys trained me. I’m not ungrateful.”

  “We took you in because we didn’t want you to struggle in poverty, blacklisted and watched.”

  “No, no, of course not. I know that. I know what the Gentlemen have done for me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He doesn’t like us, said the Power, stirring in his mind. Beng ignored him.

  “How do you want me to prove myself?” Beng asked, feeling a little cornered.

  “I know you want to be loyal,” said Elder Francis. “So did Archibald, but he has gone astray. I want to save him.”

  “You’ve got to help him. Where’s he? What did he do?”

  “He pushed ahead with the City Hall attacks before official approval,” said Elder Francis, quietly and quickly, as if trying to reveal the painful truth all at once. “Hundreds were injured, and over twenty dead. He knew we didn’t want it, but he went ahead in secret.”

  He doesn’t like us, but we can’t kill him. We need to find Huat.

  “But he didn’t even give me the mission brief directly,” Beng said, frowning. “He said there was a conflict of interest, so someone from the board had to do it instead.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “I remember it.”

  “Conflict of interest? That’s a very specific turn of phrase. Are you sure he said that?”

  “I guess so, I mean—”

  We need to find Huat, and then I want to crush this man.

  “I understand that your mind works differently from most people,” said Elder Francis abruptly.

  “Huh?”

  “That you’re always watching out for your power source, keeping it under control but still strong.”

  “Something like that, yes. How’s this relevant?”

  “It seems to me that given the way your mind is always fragmented, and always multitasking, that you might not remember things in precisely the right way.”

  “I’m not stupid,” said Beng, somewhat nettled. “And I’m not crazy. I didn’t make it up—I did talk to Huat.”

  You did, we did, just let me go at them all.

  “I’m not saying that you’re lying,” said Elder Francis, delicately, and with an air of surprise. “Beng, my issue is with accuracy. You might not be too good with the little details, that’s all. And when under high stress, and when focusing on the mission ahead—you mustn’t be too hard on yourself. You can’t expect someone of your ability level to also be keeping track of exact words and things.”

  “No, but—” Beng shook his head, as if to clear his mind. The Power was a soft unrelenting murmur at the back of his head, plaintive like a small child but as vicious as a man at war. “No, but we talked. I know we did.”

  “Yes, but how sure are you that your brother was following orders by then? The officers who briefed you in his stead were junior officers, under his command. Only Huat had access to the orders by the other Elders, the orders to not touch City Hall till further notice. He didn’t convey any of that to them—or to you.”

  “Huat wouldn’t have put me in unnecessary danger.”

  “He might not have,” Elder Francis conceded, grudgingly, as if he didn’t fully believe it. “But it wasn’t you whom he was putting in danger, was it? Fifteen children from the state school were visiting the station that afternoon, Beng. None of them lived.”

  “None?”

  They all died, they all died, we brought the station down.

  “None.”

  Beng felt a sudden wave of nausea wash over him. That, alongside the dizzying babble of the Power, left him unsteady. He tried to keep hold over the conversation.

  “Maybe there was a miscommunication,” he managed. “I’m sure Huat wouldn’t have—”

  “Communication is so very important,” Elder Francis agreed, his voice growing stronger. “And A
rchibald didn’t tell you the full details. He left you with blood on your hands. I’m sure he didn’t mean it, Beng, but maybe it’s time you faced up to the truth. Your brother did wrong, Beng. And if we hadn’t been able to find the blueprints on his person, we would have thought that you’d acted independently. That you had gone rogue on us. He left you to risk the consequences.”

  “I—”

  “I spoke in defence of you, Beng,” said Elder Francis. “I said we had to investigate the whole matter. That it was unlikely for you to have gone against the Gentlemen. That’s the only reason we found out.”

  Why does it matter? They all died, they will all die, they’re all going to die.

  “I—” Beng felt strangely lost. It felt like all the loyalties he knew, and the divisions that fuelled his attacks, all no longer made sense. So he clung to the one thing he knew to be true.

  “He’s my brother,” he said beseechingly.

  Elder Francis nodded. He put a hand on Beng’s shoulder in benevolent sympathy, and Beng, tense with emotion, barely managed to keep himself from flinching away.

  “I know,” Elder Francis said. “But we can still help him.”

  “You can? Where’s he? What can we do?”

  “He’s currently detained by the Gahmen. He’s in their custody, but he’s safe for now. They will not lay a finger on him as long as they want the Gentlemen on their side.”

  The people who hurt you, they have your BROTHER.

  Beng was standing, but he didn’t even realise that he’d gotten up.

  “Then we need to go and get him,” he said. “We need to go fast.”

  Elder Francis kept silent. There was a soft clink of cutlery as he resumed his meal with infuriating serenity.

  OTHER PEOPLE WILL DIE FOR YOU.

  “He is NOT going to die,” Beng snarled, apropos of nothing, to nobody in particular.

  There was a long pause—or at least, he thought there was. Time seemed to have gone by without him being present at all, and he suddenly came back to himself at the sound of Elder Francis’ voice.

  “Beng,” and the voice was a touch of reality, an unexpected command. “You need to calm down.”