Tales of Reign

by M E Wise

  Life took up its roots and spread its seed wherever it was carried. A voice inside that seed demanded freedom when there was no prison. The universe did nothing. The seed spread and spread and spread.”

  Signed with a red Q.

  Lost Tales of Reign

  Itou’s World chapter 1

  Wearing the Mask

  “Oh come on!” I screamed into my headgear. Dying over and over and over is never any fun. Something’s terribly wrong here. I usually don’t suck this bad. “Yeah it’s lag!” I called to my group waiting on my 12th respawn. The internet connection however read full and no one else but me needed to know that!

  “Maybe you should play a different game!” Teased WangFighter12. He sounded twelve over the headset. Although his avatar character he played had a wicked beard.

  “Listen kid, I’ve got hair on my balls older than you!” I ripped back. And my third flag popped up in the corner of the screen. Just like that I was done playing for the day.

  “Whatever.” I moaned as I took off my helmet. Old consoles with controllers and keyboards were so much better than virtual war anyway. At least that is what I keep telling myself. So what else was there to do. I didn’t have a job and I was done with school like four years ago. There was nothing to do until Paps got home. My uncle was also gone away on business. Everyone had a life and that stunk.

  A pile of broken tablets needed fixing and I guess I could get on those finally; earn some credits for the San Diego Comic Con coming next week. So much cool stuff was going to be featured this year. I was stoked for it big time; no matter how silly I am for going. I’m there-like yesterday there! The worst part would be getting to the event without trouble, gotta be careful.

  Replacing glass screens was easy enough, software issues were the real buggers. You never really knew what people put on their phones and tablets until you’ve dug in. I don’t think I can be shocked by any revelation found on a hard-drive anymore. Knowing the value of this is always worth a little extra monetary tip from the recipient who isn’t quite sure those drunk pics aren’t going to find their way back from the delete of the damned. I usually just create a little folder of the hidden clutter that may have caused the problem. A folder labeled Never Forget, placed firmly center screen, that they never created is a real attention getter. Oh the messages that follow the return of their device is gold, pure gold.

  Paps and Unk say this isn’t a job but I make good on the work and they make sure I get paid. Under my circumstances I think they should be more understanding but I really don’t want them to focus on why. I don’t hate being a Halfer, but I am always stuck inside or hiding under a hood. Brooding teenagers have no clue how shitty it actually is to live in a hoodie daily. It’s not fun to have to hide all of the time. I cranked on the dubstep remix play-list on my tablet and tethered it to my hand built sound system. The noise guaranteed angry old folks calling the authorities but I never answered the door when they came knocking. Registered freaks get to be like that.

  My Halfer license was a special color. I wasn’t a red like some Halfers who had real handicaps preventing them from driving, and participating in any kind of life. Even those things that listed them as such were little like not having pinkies. I was a cautionary yellow. As I lowered a board into an acid bath I couldn’t help but think about how much my virtual school days made all of this so boring. It was like watching paint dry in a room full of people you couldn’t socialize with. Even my tutors seemed like they were only here to drop shit off and get out. I guess I can’t blame them.

  “I’m a sexy bitch!” I joked looking into a mirror nearby. Must suck to be boringly normal.

  A week from now though I would be among some of the strangest fanfare on Earth and that would be great for the few days it lasts. Hell, my costume was easy enough, I wore it every day. Sure I’ll run into the ever present sanctimonious ass-hat that will call me a bigot for dressing like someone who can’t help their deformity and I will probably lavish in trolling them for not knowing the truth. That’s my game.

  I heard the garage door open and close, Paps was home early for some reason. His company would be nice though. “In here!” I called from the basement playground I called Bunkerton. I could hear Paps rummaging around in the kitchen at the top of the stairs. “I can feel it Ben!” Paps cried down the stairs referring to the reflexive bass in a cover of Jessie’s Girl from an age old popsong. I slid my oddly shaped fingers across the volume meter and it followed them down to a more comfortable parental level.

  “You know you’re 23 right?” My dad asked plodding down the stairs to Bunkerton. He always did this, drove home the idea that I should conform to the lame idea of growing old when we both know I have a very limited window to live. Paps wandered over and kissed me on the head, and roughed up my hair. This behavior wasn’t normal for a Japanese man but my dad didn’t really conform either.

  We had relocated to British Columbia a few years back so my dad, Paps as I called him could work with my Uncle Hiroto on building a restaurant chain. Paps sold everything anyone needed for starting a restaurant by trade and was a master at selling ideas. He was a politician if I ever saw one; loved history, especially American history. We however found Canada a better fit as the old U.S. wasn’t of a tolerant mindset when it came to Halfers. We took registration over quarantine.

  Paps piled onto a worn couch we have had for years that I kept in Bunkerton for sentimental reasons. It was plaid and a reminder of days when it was just Dad and I. Unk would never have such an eyesore in his traditional Shinto styling. Shinto was too damned clean. I wasn’t raised in the old traditions so maybe Shinto wasn’t a style but I at least knew feng shui was Chinese. All of it felt sterile and aside from making life simple it had little expression in it. There wasn’t even a television upstairs! Not even the sleek glass screens that were literally glass charged with images when on and beautiful scenery when off. Sterile!

  “You’re back early.” I addressed Paps from a concentrated effort on working a tiny screwdriver in my hand. “I missed my boy today!” He grinned as his wrinkled pleasantry shown through. This however was code for missing mom. She left when I was young and went home to Japan. She felt shamed for my condition and failed a century of family dogma of healthy births through careful mate selection. We still talked to her from time to time but it felt like a forced connection to me. Paps and I were fine. I couldn’t live through the long stare she always cast on me as if she could look hard enough to make me change into something she would love.

  “Thanks Paps!” I didn’t address the obvious invitation. “How was life outside?”

  “Cruel but filled with potential.” He always focused on positive elements to everything bad.

  He turned some noodles in a small cone-shaped bowl. “A Japanese man eating Chinese food in Canada on a plaid couch must be a sign of the end of all things.” I joked to lighten the mood. “She called me today and asked how you were doing?” He redirected the conversation. I pretended to be deaf. Paps adjusted himself and turned to his back. “You should call her and at least. Let her know…” He paused before mistakenly making a joke that would be perfectly normal for anyone else. “Let her know I’m not dead.” I know he felt the sting of the comment but I didn’t let it stop the flow.

  “Ben; you and I, we have worked on all of this.” Paps sat the bowl of noodles aside.

  “But poor Mom never what? Had the chance? Took the opportunity?” I turned the light off on my magnifying lamp. “I can’t concentrate.”

  “Benjamin Edison, you know every time you act like this, you are channeling your mother. One of you has to reach out to the other or it won’t happen. Ever.” Paps was tired. More tired than he ever let on, being the pixilated bouncing ball in our game of pong. There wasn’t an easy way to handle this. I could tell him I would call, and lie; or worse I could make the call and spend two days laying around feeling like the bad son. “I’ll call.” I said but he didn’t change the depressed look he had o
n his face.

  I pulled out the phone from my pocket. It was a small modified model of the newest I-power device from the newest trendiest gadget line of stuff I needed! Something I could care less about. Damned thing was probably two generations behind the times when I bought it; therefore, my modifications, which voided my warranty. Making this call caused such empty debates with myself every time. Connecting to Japan was easy enough, connecting with Mom was another challenge entirely.

  “Konnichiwa.” The line answered and it was her. Paps smiled and reclined as if rest had somehow found him again. “Uh it’s me, Mom.” So far so good.

  “Benjamin!” She chimed. “It is so good to hear from you. How long has it been? Oh, that doesn’t matter. Are you well?” This was the same old conversation only on a different day. “I’m fine Mom, not diseased but waiting!” My morbid humor kicked in right on time. “I didn’t mean that. Sorry.” The line sat silent for several minutes. I fumbled with anything and everything. “Have you found anything new to do? Are you bored?” She couldn’t do anything but ask questions people would use if they had just learned your language. We didn’t share the same life language much less life of any kind.

  “Going to Comic-Con in a week.” Paps sat up like he heard a gunshot. My mother noticeably gulped on the line. This wasn’t news to me, I was just being honest.

  “Ben you know that’s a bad idea!” Paps challenged. “You should have talked to me first.”

  “Oh Ben! That’s a silly risk.” Mom criticized all the way from Japan. “Put your father on.”

  I gladly handed the phone over. I know this was childish and I could have done more to bridge the gap but I had lost interest in it years ago. They would go into a tirade together in Japanese, a language I barely understood. I have no idea how they stayed married a world apart and under all of the reasons to go separate ways; me just being one of those. I took this moment to leave the room and sneak up the stairs. Paps voice carried up the stairs with me.

  “Ben!” He called from Bunkerton loudly. “Ben!” He chased after me and I stalled in the kitchen.

  He handed me the phone and my mother had already hung up. “Yes I could have handled that better.” I answered the question before it was even asked. Unk came in from the front door for his usual lunch break. “She ran away and expects too much. Sorry.” I felt like I was always apologizing for something I didn’t do to her but did. Paps looked defeated. He didn’t berate me or argue with what I said. He just walked away and went toward his room. I felt horrible but at least I was being honest.

  “Nanami?” Unk asked but it needed no reply. Paps continued to his room and Unk sat down his briefcase and made for the fridge. “Miso?” He offered to warm some soup for me as he got his. I wasn’t hungry and he could tell. “Something tells me the day was going better before the phone rang.” Unk made comments like this while constantly moving, methods of an old chef.

  “I called.” I bit down and faced him. “That well huh.” He added and we both lingered there.

  “I have those things you asked for.” Unk grinned like a peddler of ill-gotten refuse. He produced two tickets to the San Diego Comic-Con. “Nice.” I took them and smelled them. For an old guy who held to tradition my Unk sure knew how to be a stand-up guy. “You know you should invite a friend.” I just looked at him blankly. My slightly oversized left eye bugged more than I intended it too. I lifted my four-fingered hand to my missing ear. “I didn’t hear that. Can you say it again?”

  “Or make a friend when you get there?” Unk deflected. He had done this the past two years, buying two tickets knowing one was enough. He went once and Paps last year took the extra ticket.

  I ran through my options knowing I had to have an escort into the U.S.; Paps had a lot of fun last time. “Paps could use a break.” I said even though Unk needed no further explanation. “I’ll talk to him.” I rolled my eyes at my good intentioned uncle.

  

  Paps was so nervous that he threw up on the flight. I had a bandage over my face and a patch over one eye. The glove on my left hand completed a look for our cover story with curious people; I was in an accident and we were on a trip to visit doctors in the U.S. At checkpoints in the terminal we ran the gauntlet. Producing Halfer documentation was a lottery of possibilities depending on the person checking them. You learned to spot the bigoted first and move lines accordingly. Some sympathetic person was the best case scenario even if I had to accept a dozen empty platitudes and well wishes with that sad look given to dying people.

  “Comic-Con!” I called out loudly as we exited the plane. Paps shushed me but I didn’t care at this point. There is only so long you can hold yourself at bay when going to Comic-Con! Our gate was fairly empty so it didn’t matter much. I still had the mummy act going on and nobody was interested in another two oriental men leaving a plane in California. “So, first we need to get a map of the building.” I said as a man vaguely registered concern with my statement. “For the event and the booth arrangement!” I carefully continued. Paps looked as pale as I did on any given day; this was bad for him.

  “You ok Paps?” The question was unnecessary. He wasn’t.

  “I need some food. I need a closed hotel room. And I am certain I need some booze.” He rarely made casual jokes. I laughed at his current state.

  We were comping everything on company expenses so we could live a little larger than we did at home if we wanted. I reserved a room at the Ritz near the airport with a Jacuzzi in the room but Paps didn’t know that yet. We wandered the airport and luckily didn’t have any problems. Taking a flight in the wee hours of the morning probably had something to do with that. Learning to avoid crowds was part of the lifestyle.

  We decided against renting a car and called for the hotel shuttle instead. The driver stared at me noticeably in the rearview. Paps tried to make empty conversation with him as a distraction usually done by the driver but it didn’t affect his deep need to pick me apart with surgical glances. It was a short uncomfortable trip. The hotel entrance was also empty at this late hour and I kept a moderate distance as Paps took care of our confirmation check-in and got the digital room key card. I kept my hood up and pretended to be engrossed in a headset that played Eye’s Without a Face by none other than Billy F’n Idol!

  “I’m going to order everything that isn’t good for me.” Paps laughed in the closed elevator.

  “Sounds like a plan Paps!” The door opened and two very attractive women in classy gowns stood in front of us. They made extra room as we exited in an effort to avoid contact. That felt great.

  We wandered the corridors for a moment and found our room at the very end of a long hall. The door opened to a decent sized suite with two plush queen beds. Paps ran in like a child and claimed a bed. “That’s fine. I get the Jacuzzi first!” I joked. Paps eyes grew large, “Jacuzzi!” He went searching about the room. “It’s in here!” He cried out with a howl. I was completely relieved to see him living it up. The rest of the night was a blur, we ordered tons of food, drink and crashed watching last year’s movies for this year’s reveals at Comic-Con. It was a good day.

  

  “We look ridiculous!” Paps felt out of place in his literal interpretation of an iron chef.

  “Costumes are the way Paps! Resistance is futile!” I laughed as he adjusted layers of cut aluminum and cardboard. “How do I look?” I asked while posing dramatically. He gave a thumbs up and I stopped to admire my creative work. A little shopping online landed me a nice storm trooper outfit from the legendary Star Wars space opera. A favorite story of magical monks fighting off space Nazi’s. I repainted the outfit to match the Orbital Guard gear and added all the random pockets and even the OG shoulder crest pad. The irony was so thick it oozed. The indignant looks were priceless.

  “Is this payback? Did I insult our ancestors?” Paps complained.

  The lines were excessive and the photo opportunities were the usual cosplay girls turning fantasy into badly interpreted lin
gerie models. It was fantastic! Sighting that one genuine player who nailed a character was the best part. A satirical outfit like mine needed a particular audience to appreciate. They waited online in Halfer forums safely hidden behind webcams and their monitors. I came across one or two people with a Halfer family member or never seen neighbor that gave an ounce of credibility to my method in a supportive smile. I saluted them like the OG would, and didn’t fail to get a laugh.

  “Hold up Paps!” I adjusted his tiny camera mounted on his shoulder. The camera served two things, protection if we were put in a precarious position and a future viral video on the Halfer forums. I caught my uncovered face in the lens. My mask was real enough, we took a little makeup to make my face look more fake. “Ok we’re good.” I gave two very exaggerated thumps up to the future viewing audience. “Benito in the house!” I happily bellowed out.

  Paps got bored standing in the long processions of rabid fans. Day one was always a mixed bag, early tributes got a chance to get the rare loot being handed out promoting all the things we would consume later. Nerds, geeks and the surprisingly professional class of those who benefited from them loved these events. I wish I had time for more of them. Lunch was approaching and we had been in lines since 6:00 A.M. It was time to eat.