by Chris Ayala
Willie's eyes flickered from clear to fuzzy. One canister released liquid into the chamber. He rested one eye and left the other open, as if this would buy him some time. Blood soaked his shirt and traveled to his pants. He tried to stop the bleeding with his hand, pushing it down, but the pain was unbearable. One wish he'd always had was to die quickly and pain-free. He could at least concentrate on making it pain-free as possible.
Hairs on his arms rose. Something was happening. Something catastrophic. And it wasn't his death. He looked up. The machine had activated. A pulse shivered through his skin and his ears popped from the invisible explosion.
Battery backup lights shut off. Air conditioning slowed to a steady stop. Fans halted.
Gerard looked up and saw Vanderbilt's suit making a whirring noise as it crept to a slow freeze, a blade from his arm only inches from striking Gerard's neck. Vanderbilt, confused and panicked, tried to escape the mechanical outfit but couldn't budge. Then he cough, choking on something deep in his throat. In seconds, his face turned pale. Gerard couldn't figure out what was going on. He stood. The general continued to gasp for air.
Smirking, Gerard nodded. "Damn voice box tech huh? Runs on battery, don't it?"
Secured deep inside his throat, a machine helped him breath and talk robotically, but thanks to Project Syncope the device died. Vanderbilt clinched his teeth as his already pale skin turned blue. The ironic situation made Gerard giggle slightly, even if it did seem inappropriate. Considering Brent Celest had broken Vanderbilt's throat when he found out the general murdered Sirius Dawson, this was becoming a satisfying irony to watch.
Eventually accepting his fate, Vanderbilt's head bent forward and collapsed, his suit keeping him standing upright like some military memorial statute. Maybe he did deserve a better death, the man had fought for this country over thirty years. He used to be a good man. So did Gerard. But he decided, before embarking on this battle tonight, that this fight wasn't good versus evil…but evil versus evil.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
If at all possible, Adam sensed the wave from Project Syncope. No doubt, he wasn't alone. Royal's eyes squinted. She felt it too. A massive pulse from the center of the Union Castle that travelled at the speed of a shuttle around the globe, bouncing off the ignited nukes and becoming stronger. He wondered how many people stammered and swayed for that moment, like him. Not from the fact that's lights went out, that was nothing new. But that sensation was.
The Union Castle went black. Lights didn't sputter out through the windows and towers, they just disappeared. Like they never existed. He thought about his precognition of a future with something besides electricity. Fusion? Light? Whatever it was, it didn't harm the planet. Maybe it was time to experience something–
"Goddamnit, Adam! Get out your damned head. Look!" Royal shouted, pointing over the hill where they watched the wall. Thousands of people, just as confused as him, stood facing the electric door. The door swung open.
"Go!" Adam's voice boomed.
The People of Bliss crammed through the door. Union Keepers ran their other directions. Some of the soldiers attempted to fire weapons, but no bullets released the chambers. Plummeted by the force of thousands, those Union Keepers disappeared into the massive. Unlike the streets before the castle, the rebellion didn't go in quietly. They hollered angrily as they entered the courtyard. The courtyard could've fit hundred football fields. Union Keepers used their guard shields and blockades, but nothing kept the rebels at bay.
And nothing would.
Death tried to sneak up on Willie, like how he used to do with his boy playing hide-and-seek. Warm. Cold. Colder. Warmer. Warmer. Worldwide, Willie imagined locusts falling to the ground and guns failing. Lights popped off leaving people more in the dark. Everyone must've been wondering when the power would return. It wouldn't.
The trailer door popped open. Blurry vision and utter darkness kept Willie from seeing who it was. "I heard a gun shot and…well, holy shit….look at that…there's a dead body in here. Good job, Willie."
Gerard, battered and beaten, still carried along his sense of humor. It wasn't until he saw Willie, clamored in the corner bleeding, did his smile fade. "You got shot?" He hurried over and knelt down. From his pocket he pulled out a cloth.
"Damn. I was hoping you were going to tear off the bottom of your shirt. Gotta give me something to see before I die," Willie flirted and smirked, his voice hoarse.
"You're not gonna die."
"Hmph. Janice wasn't kidding. You are a great liar."
Gerard said nothing. He placed the cloth over the wound. "The trick is to not put pressure on the bullet. Keep it there to slow the bleeding."
It had, in fact, felt less painless the way Gerard held it. Willie put his hand over the cloth and pushed down. At least it would give him a few more minutes to live. Warmer.
"Can you stand?" He asked.
Willie shrugged. Maybe. Maybe not. "What's the point?"
Everyone had a fate in this fight and he had accomplished his. Project Syncope had just reversed time and placed the human race a two hundred years backwards. He imagined most people were clicking their light switches on and off. Computers, laptops, smartwatches were dealing with the frustrated fingers of humans wondering why they didn't work. And Willie had been the pioneer of it all. His fate had been completed. Now, it was time to join his family in the afterlife. There was no point in standing.
"You'll go down in the history books, you know that right?" Gerard nodded. "'William Cooper released everyone from the digital prisons.' I'll make sure they print it. If we can even figure out how to print now without computers."
Willie laughed, but even laughter hurt his side. After their smiles faded, he said, "Go, man. There's only one thing left to do."
After a deep breath, Gerard said, "Marcel."
Slowly nodding, Willie repeated. "Marcel."
It would've been too awkward to hug or even shake hands. They barely knew each other, but yet their mission kickstarted a war. Maybe someday statues would be built. The thought made Willie snicker as he watched Gerard rush out the trailer door and leave him alone again.
"Hell of a place to die, though," he said to himself. The device stunk like a worn casket from a car. Even Lester's burnt carcass began to sting Willie's nose. The bleeding had slowed, turning that cloth from white to red. No telling how deep that bullet went. Too deep to dig out, for sure. But was it right to sit here and die? In this awful place? When a battle outside was killing people in heaps.
Pierre.
He hadn't thought of him until now. Butterflies surged in his stomach. That Frenchman made Willie feel a burst of energy. Warmest. With just a little willpower, he could lift himself up and walk out to the battlefield. Maybe he would have enough energy left to tell Pierre no one since his dead husband gave him stomach butterflies. Stress and anxiety of being rejected seemed to disappear in the last minutes of life, because Willie didn't feel worried at all. With one hand grasping the inside of the trailer wall, he stood up.
The Rules of War. Adam had to study it in college. War crimes were an actual thing. Military officials could serve prison time for breaking regulations. He always thought to himself how their could be code of ethics during battles. At the end of the semester, he failed the final test. As he dashed up a hill, with thousands of followers hollering behind him and craving an end to government, he realized what he realized then…there were no rules. Street fighting had limits, the goal was to incapacitate an opponent. Tonight's fight didn't need any incapacitated opponents. Adam, like all the rest, wanted dead ones.
Seeing this rage in all their eyes, the Union Keepers began to either back away or step forward. Their useless barrier was about to smashed down. A hundred of them couldn't hold thousands of rebels. As they approached this line of naive Keepers, Adam could see that same rage transfer to the officers. Maybe they were sick of the People of Bliss. Maybe they believed in the Union and had to protect. Maybe they were just plain fed up
with this evening. The Keepers gathered and held their ground before the castle, while the resistance dashed up the hill.
It's called the Shield and Spear paradox, when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. The effect is a paradox since neither can truly exist. But Adam was about to find out what happens. Both forces collapsed into each other. Chaos exploded. Blood splurged out from somewhere, his face immediately covered in it. People fought with weapons, and when the weapons broke, they fought with fists, and when the fists hurt they fought with broken weapons. Guns fired here and guns fired there. There was no coherence to this brawl, one moment Adam would kick an opponent and be grasped from behind by another, and then that opponent's face got smashed by a frying pan, and another opponent would punch him in the gut. Using whatever ammo they had left, bullet holes ripped through the uniforms and chests. A moment later, he found himself knocked to the ground, gasping for air. Everything hurt, ribs, bones, head, and even his knuckles. Just when he thought he had no more energy to go on, he saw the tattoo on his arm. The name Brent Celest seemed darker than the night sky. What would Brent do? He'd murder all these assholes.
Adam thrust his body to stand and was immediately soaked in some kind of white goo. A Union Keeper pointed a hose and spewed out something that looked like silly string. It was riot foam, but he'd never seen it firsthand. The substance solidified Adam's feet to the ground and dried so quickly he had no chance to move. Before he could cry for help, two chubby brute women ran up. One sprayed a mace can in the Keeper's face and he backed away with the riot foam tanks strapped to his sides. The other woman, who reminded him of a female version of Hugh Jackman, blanketed Adam in some kind of potent liquid using one of those water pump sprayers. He held his breath, as much as he was dying to breath, the smell was too much. It burned his lungs.
She leaned closer to him and her voice even sounded like the Wolverine himself. "Now, I'm going to kick you…hard. It'll break you free. Got it?"
Adam nodded. "Do it!"
"You ready?"
"Yes!"
He wasn't ready. The female kicked like a horse would, his body flung out of the riot foam cast and hit the ground hard. Adam took a deep painful breath of air, but he was alive.
The sound of the riot foam coating others could be heard over their hollers for help. It didn't take long before the Keeper with the riot foam was overtaken by six people. Adam looked away as he saw one of the rebels point the foam tube down the Keeper's throat. Looking away didn't help, because Adam could hear the gargling as they injected foam directly into the adversary's mouth.
All this mayhem didn't stop the opponents from trying to control the situation. He glanced up to see gas canisters being thrown at the crowd. But before they even hit the ground, the cans were batted away by a group of very skilled teenage boys. Each of the cans flew back into the Union Keepers' territory, sending the officers running and coughing convulsively.
More people joined this center of fighting. One man yelled, "This is for hurting us!" He bashed the end of crowbar into an officer's head.
Running into this mosh pit of commination like a new rock song just started playing, Victor cackled in his machine monster. He shoved aside friends and tossed away foes. Plumes of flames shot out for his wrist cannons. Adam had never seen what happens to a human body under fire. Besides the instant blackening of the skin, the victim never screamed or tried to run, almost like it couldn't. Suddenly, the tanks on his back hissed, presumably empty. Without his wildfire arsenal, Victor was an instant target. Dozens of Union Keepers ran and leapt on his equipment, tearing off the tanks and knocking him to the ground. Adam tried to push through the riot to help, he refused to see another friend die by the hands of the Union and its mindless minions.
Surrounded by vicious Keepers, he could only see the strained and wet eyes of Victor. He looked at Adam and grinned. Victor mouthed the word, "Boom."
"Oh shit," Adam realized. He turned to the crowd. "Back away!"
Victor's suit detonated. Metal arms and human arms flung into the air. Adam covered his ears, but it didn't stop the ringing. The heat felt like standing next to the sun. Dozens of Union Keepers ran away, suits on fire or dragging burnt corpses.
With no time to mourn Victor's sacrifice, Adam became bombarded by more Keepers. He fought like Brent would, skilled and ready. Using their own force against them, he sent officers rolling over themselves. He broke one of their hands then bashed their jaw in before the agonizing scream escaped the victim's mouth. Adam fought so many, that he lost count of how many lives he'd taken.
What seemed like an endless fight, suddenly began to calm. No longer surrounded by suits, he felt the need to survey the area. Though their side had lost few, the Union side lost all. Besides less than a dozen Keepers running for the hills, it looked like the brawl was coming to a close. He viewed his body, covered in so much blood it looked like another layer of skin.
The ground, once a beautiful lawn colored green was now colored red. He took a moment to really see the castle. It did catch the eye's full attention. White marble floors that had probably been polished that morning were smeared with guts. The People of Bliss became quiet, like almost in this same state of mind as Adam. Atop the castle wall stood a single balcony with well-crafted gargoyles around it.
Gerard said to stay away, that Marcel Celest was his target to handle. But staring at that balcony made Adam want to see the dictator. He wanted to look in those eyes and see what defeat would seem like in those powerful blue crystal eyes. Besides, he knew that disseminating his army wouldn't be enough. That was like eating a banana split without savoring the cherry on top. Judging by the smirks of the People of Bliss, they craved the same. Marcel Celest's blood.
What was it that the "Supreme Leader" hated to be called? Adam took a moment to reflect before remembering. Marcel Celest found it disrespectful to be called by his first name. As any leader would.
From the deepest part of his lungs, Adam thundered out, "Marcel!"
The People of Bliss cheered.
Conclusions can be so abrupt sometimes. Like the death of Marcel's mother. Like the death of his sister. Like the death of his brother. So quick and unexpected. Marcel didn't like being caught off guard. Sure, he knew the People of Bliss were approaching. What he didn't expect was they'd make it this far.
He heard his name called. His first name. How disrespectful of all he'd done. Anyone in a mile radius heard it. Thunder couldn't move the earth the way they did. He had to hand it to the People of Bliss. They utilized the Darkness. And, up to this point, it worked. But he ruled the Darkness, not them.
After all the lights went out, he left his office, even taking a moment to lock the door just in case the People of Bliss actually infiltrated the castle. Lots of secrets lied in that office. He made his way through the dark hallways with ease, while his personnel struggled to see and grasped at the wall. Darkness was his friends, not there's.
"Hug the left side until you feel the doorway," he said politely, "that's the staircase down." Not exactly orders to evacuate, since Marcel knew there was no evacuating. No plans of leaving this building. If the resistance got into this castle, all these lives were in danger. But maybe if they hid in the basements, it might give them a chance of living.
"Thank you, Supreme Leader," someone said that looked remarkable like his mother. Again, Marcel shook the thought of his dead family away. This wasn't a time for mourning, but for massacring. Massacring all those that fought for the Light.
He climbed up a spiraling flight of stairs to the watchtower. Inside, it was usually so dull and boring that he never came up here. Tonight though, panic ensued. Two members of his security team were underneath a desk. On top of the desk, several monitors that usually showed live feeds of the area were off.
"I don't get it!" One of them yelled. "Even the battery backup isn't working."
"How's that possible?"
Another member of the staff, a female beauty that Marcel might've pursue
d if his obsession of Janice hadn't been so steady, looked out the glass onto the courtyard below. She had been the only one that noticed him standing at the doorway. Her face wet with tears. "Supreme Leader, they killed them."
He opened his arms and she ran into them, resting her head into his shoulder to cry more. "Our friends," she sobbed, "they're murdered our friends. Stepping on their dead bodies like…mud."
Brushing her hair, the way he did Janice's hair at their mother's funeral, Marcel said, "They are all savages. It's in their nature. But we are better than that. Keep your head up."
"Supreme Leader," one of the men said, sweat drenching his uniform, "I don't know what to do. All our systems are down. I can't even make calls. Guns are down, scanners don't work, but I may have an idea to bring in manual guns from a nearby warehouse."
The scandalous woman in Marcel's arms extended out her face. He gazed at it. Being a part of the darkness, he could feel emotions. Emotions so strong that her glazed eyes and red nose couldn't convey. Her mouth couldn't say it either. But he knew what she craved. The same thing he craved.
"Don't bother," he whispered, "I will take care of all of them." The woman tried not to smile, only letting her lip curl slightly. There was nothing wrong with revenge. Revenge solved almost every conflict. Why not tonight? He stepped away and turned to the door.
"But, Supreme Leader," the nervous staff member said, blocking the doorway, "There's thousands of them. And -"
His shadow grew. The man cowered backwards, seeming so much smaller than Marcel. His double chin wobbled as he looked away from Marcel's glare. This moment seemed familiar, a bully hovering over the geeky kid. The geeky kid that was so much smarter and better at grades. The bully, annoyed by his parents, wanted to just punch the geek over and over again. That bully was Brent. That kid was Marcel. So this was why his brother enjoyed to antagonize. It was uplifting.