Syn City- Reality Bytes

by Bard Constantine

  "Your people?"

  "My people hail from Kurdistan, a land torn by war and suffering. For centuries, we fought for the right to claim our homeland as our own. We fought simply to exist. For many people, the Cataclysm was the worst disaster in human history. For my people, it was a blessing."

  "But…the Cataclysm nearly ended the world."

  "Yes. Turmoil and opportunity often go hand-in-hand if you have the strength to endure. And while the rest of humanity scrambled for hibernation stations and Havens, my people were free to claim the lands once lost to them. We fought the madness that roamed the world in the Cataclysm's aftermath. We fought the raiders and savages that roamed the area. And when the hibernators awakened, we fought them to retain our claim. And so, Kurdistan was recognized as a sovereign nation, beholden to no one.

  "I was raised on the stories of our battles, our heroes who fought and died for our independence. I trained and enlisted in the military, but by that time, service was mostly ceremonial. When the war broke out on Mars, I didn't think twice about volunteering to join the troops headed there. I had no idea that the stories of sacrifice and glory would be replaced by the red-stained horror of war on foreign soil. Killing and maiming other people, day after day, and for what? For the rights to harvest crimsonium mineral? And all the while, what was truly precious was far away from me. Here, on Earth. Where I should have never left."

  I lean against the railing, breathing vapor into the rain. "Guess I never looked at it like that before."

  "Fight for a worthwhile cause, Enigma. Fight for life, for home, for basic human rights. Fight to survive. Never for financial gain or to further the interests of someone you don’t know and who doesn't know you. Fight for something truly worth the sacrifice."

  I grin at her. "Like winning a sparring match."

  She smiles in return. "Like winning a sparring match. Speaking of which, do you know why you lost?"

  "Because my concentration slipped."

  "No. Because you're fighting to win."

  "I thought that was the point."

  Sadness touches her face. "The point of fighting is to kill your enemy, not win a match. Remember that if you want to survive."

  ***

  I'm winding down my workout when my holoband pulses. Zen's face flashes on the screen. She looks more resigned than anything else, and I immediately know she found something.

  "You got a hit."

  "Yeah. Kilgore's hooked up with some ex-General named Hamilton. Looks like he's amassing some kind of mercenary army."

  "Well, chances are that Dabria will be hooking up with him soon is she hasn't already. Track the General. I'll assemble the team, and we'll head out as soon as we can."

  "You got it."

  No enthusiasm in her voice and I can't blame her. We're on another collision course with Dabria again, and this time I don't think she'll have a synoid double to fool us. I know the Collective claimed that she had a plan to rescue me, but I don't see how that's possible. Doesn't matter. Our sparring days are over. All that's left are two soldiers on opposite sides of the battlefield.

  Conflict is inevitable.

  Chapter 13: 5P3CT3R

  Dead.

  Cold and dead at my feet.

  Marked only by two flat markers on the ground, all that's left of my parents. Their entire lives reduced to a pair of cheap memorial signs. I read once that people used to bury their dead, leave them to rot in the ground instead of the far more efficient and sanitary burning of the bodies as the law requires. Memorial grounds are on the property of the cremation center. Sprawling gardens where the bereaved can come to mourn or revisit. The beauty of the place sharply contrasts with the feeling of grief that hangs overhead like rain clouds.

  Hel flickers into existence beside me, dressed in somber black, a veil across her eyes. "Why are you here, Dean? Why torture yourself like this?"

  Questioned by a phantom conjured from my own malfunctioning brain. I close my eyes, concentrating on the moment. Hel isn't real. The two memorial plaques in front of me are. This is what matters. This is real.

  When I open my eyes, Hel is gone. I don't even know how to answer her, anyway. Why am I here? To wallow in the shame, maybe? To let the sharp edges of long-buried memories slice my feelings wide open?

  I remember the day when I walked out of the Crematorium with my mother's ashes in hand. I hadn't made it more than ten steps before my tired legs gave out. I fell hard to the concrete, staring in horror as my mother's urn shattered in front of me. I scrambled forward, trying to scoop up the ashes, but it was useless. I could only watch as the wind scattered her remains across the memorial grounds.

  I guess it was a karmic reminder, a final humiliation to remind me of how low I'd fallen.

  She died while I was locked away in a Deep Sleep vault, blissfully enjoying a long stint in Elysia, making love to Hel, enjoying the riches of my alternate existence. I had seen Mom four months earlier, when she hid her chronic illness from me. We exchanged heated words once again and I walked out, unaware that it was the last time I'd ever see her.

  Had my mind been sharp, if I weren't in a mental fog from Immersion withdrawal, I would have noticed. I would have seen that she was sick. But I let those signs fly over my head. In the end, I hated seeing her. I hated the guilt that stabbed me every time I looked into her eyes. I hated her pestering, her nagging, her questioning when I would grow up, when I would take responsibility, when I would finally act like an adult. She had finally kicked me out the house after the third or fourth theft, but that didn't stop her from trying to be my anchor, a conscience that pricked me whenever I resurfaced from trips to Elysia.

  And because of my inherent selfishness, I missed the fact that she was dying.

  I remember her face the last time I saw her. Haggard and lined from what I thought was fatigue. Proud eyes glistening, mouth thin and hard from holding in what had to be unbearable pain. I don't know what she saw when she looked at me. Hopelessness, I'm sure. I was her only child, the embodiment of her future, and I was lost to her. Claimed by something more potent than blood, something that even her love couldn’t compete with. She couldn't even tell me she had only weeks left.

  To the very end, she tried to protect me.

  I learned the truth when my Immersion was interrupted ahead of schedule. Furious, I raced to the Reentry office, demanding to know why they awakened me from hibernation. Flo was on duty, and she had to tell me the horrible truth. And despite her overall disdain of me, she was the one that held me when I broke down sobbing uncontrollably.

  It should have been a wakeup call. The moment of clarity that freed me from my addictive lifestyle. Had it been a scene in a motivational movie, I would have sworn a solemn vow on my mother's memorial to change my ways and from that day forward live a meaningful and rewarding life. But life isn't a motivational movie. Instead, I stood at her memorial service with a massive Immersion hangover, fuming at the few people who showed up to observe her passing. Not one of her friends from the Haven bothered to attend. It was just a handful of people who befriended her in her exile, a sprinkle of caring souls who offered murmured condolences. Some spoke of things my mom did and said that I didn't know anything about. It cut me to realize that in the end, those strangers know her better than I did.

  At least she had someone. Friends that were there for her in her times of distress. I had no one. No friends, no remaining family. No one that cared whether I stayed or went, whether I lived or died. And so instead of taking a vow to change my life, I did the only thing I knew how to do.

  I took the remaining funds from mom's account, cashed in the rest of her insurance policy, and went back to the Deep Sleep facility. Back to Elysia, where Hel waited with comforting arms to assuage my grief. Where I could forget my self-hatred and pretend that nothing could touch me. I knew it was all fake. Something as shallow and empty as my soul. But it filled a void that I couldn't face on my own. And I was so dependent on the feeling that I couldn't live wi
thout it.

  I knew that if I left Elysia for good, I would kill myself.

  "Your parents."

  I turn slightly. Dabria stands a step away, wrapped in a long black overcoat, strands of hair blowing across her face.

  "How long have you been standing there?"

  "I just got here. Didn't want to disturb you. How does it feel to come back home?"

  I take a look around at the botanical surroundings. "This isn't my home."

  "No. It's your future. How soon will it be until a third marker is placed here, Dean Grey?"

  "You're the one with a gun to my head. You tell me."

  "You'll kill yourself before I will."

  My head jerks up, startled by the echo of my earlier thoughts. "Is there something you need?"

  "I need you to come with me. There's someone I want you to meet."

  "Who?"

  She gives me a considering look. "The most dangerous man alive."

  "This is your secret weapon?"

  Kilgore stares at me and breaks into raspy laughter. "Dabria, I thought better of you."

  He's a dark-skinned, white-haired, six-foot six-inch man-god. Tactical aviator shades shield his eyes, and a vest of combat armor is all that covers his upper body. I can't help staring at his arms. It seems impossible to have that much muscle and still maintain a sleek physique.

  He thrusts a finger at me, a miniscule gesture that somehow seems loaded with potential violence. "Look at him. He's a junkie. Hooked on Immersion so badly that he can barely function. This is a waste of my time. He'll betray us the first chance he gets. He'd gladly sell his own mother for five more minutes in Elysia."

  I wince, seeing my mom's memorial plaque in my mind once more.

  Kilgore's lips pull back in a mirthless grin. "See?" He knows what he is. Save yourself the trouble and put a bullet in his head. I'll gladly do it for you. And make the body disappear so no one will ever find it."

  A nervous laugh bursts from my mouth before I can stop it. It isn't until Kilgore fixes his cold stare upon me that I realize he's not joking. A wave of heat crashes down, and it's all I can do to keep my legs from giving out.

  We're in the command center of General Hamilton, a decorated war hero who is out on other business at the moment. The Red Legion has commandeered an entire warehouse district. They are a militia composed of veterans from the Red War along with an assortment of mercenary squadrons. I don't know anything about military factions, but even in my ignorance, I can tell the makeshift headquarters is thick with tension. The veterans don't like the mercenaries. The mercenaries don't like the veterans or even other bands of mercenaries. Scowls and suspicious looks are everywhere.

  Kilgore either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

  My bet is on the latter. Even if Dabria hadn't described him as the most dangerous man alive, I would have still sensed the raw menace that radiates from his every movement. He is both tense and relaxed; every step light and catlike, every muscle coiled like steel springs ready to release unrelenting carnage.

  Dabria is far more relaxed than I am, meeting his murderous suggestion with a cool glance. Finally out of her sleek black combat armor, she wears the crimson uniform of the Blood Legion veterans. "I have him in line, Kilgore. He's my responsibility, not your concern."

  He folds his muscular arms, sneering at me. "Anything that can jeopardize the mission is my concern. I'm taking a huge risk taking an unproven potential asset in at the last phase of the operation."

  "An operation that requires and ace in hand to ensure its success. You gave me the task of securing the ace, and that's what I did. Are you having second thoughts in the most crucial moment?"

  His mouth stretched into a snarling grin. "Never. Especially not when change is about to come crashing down on us. Have you seen the footage from Neo York?"

  He gestures to a feed display on the central console, where a massive crowd is gathered outside the Rescue Combat Enforcement building, most wearing masks and wielding bladed and bludgeoning weapons. A curtail of RCE officers and riot squad mechs stand in formation around the building.

  The camera focuses on three prisoners kneeling on the steps of the building. A tall, handsome man with elvish features stands in front of them, flanked by imposing android guards.

  Kilgore nods. "The Justiciar for Haven Core."

  A Justiciar. I've never seen one before. They are members of the Denizens, the royalty of Haven Core, which houses the Ministry of Law and Justice as well as the Ministry of Security and Defense. Justiciars are the final word on judgment, members of the Supreme Court of the Havens.

  When the Justiciar finishes speaking, the androids stomp over to the weeping prisoners and places their large hands on the prisoner's heads. Then with a brutal yank, they tear the heads off, still attached to most of the backbones. The casualness of the brutality makes my stomach churn, but I can't take my eyes off the screen when the crowd erupts in raucous cheering and celebratory shouts.

  Kilgore pauses the feed when the androids lift the grisly trophies high for the people to see. "Do you realize what we just witnessed?"

  I don't, so I look at Dabria, who still stares wonderingly at the screen. Her lips part as if she sees something rapturous.

  "That was judgment ruled against fellow Denizens, in full view of Haven outsiders."

  "That's right. And that's not even the best part. Turns out the whole fiasco was the result of an outsider. A man who calls himself Vigil caught the three Denizens in an underground child sex cult of all things."

  "Disgusting."

  "Yeah. Vigil busted the cult and left the Denizens literally hanging for everyone to see. Nothing the Haven could do about it but pronounce judgment."

  "You know they can't be happy about that."

  "Doesn't matter. What matters is that it's spreading. Vigil's actions started an underground movement. In cities across the Territories, people are stepping up to stop injustice and protect their communities. They're calling themselves the Vigilant."

  Dabria stares at him. "Just like you said. The revolution is beginning. Do we reach out to Vigil?"

  "He'll reach out to us when the time is right. For now, we have our work to do." Kilgore gives me a look of searing contempt. "Make sure to keep him on a tight leash. I can't guarantee his safety if he strays, ace or not."

  Brushing past me, he exits the command center striding through the crowds of soldiers, who part to let him pass as if by unspoken compulsion. I glance at Dabria, who still stares at the scene onscreen.

  "What in the world is that all about?"

  She shakes her head. "Confirmation."

  "Of what?"

  "Of Kilgore knowing what he's talking about. He told me this would happen."

  "What do you mean? He predicted some guy named Vigil would bust some Denizens and get their heads torn off? What does that even mean, anyway?"

  She gives me an impatient look. "Nothing you have to worry about. How are your sessions with the Sentry going?"

  Just thinking about it sends a razor blade of pain slicing into my brain. I raise a hand to my throbbing temples. "Painful."

  "Nothing is accomplished without some level of discomfort. Follow me."

  She stalks out into the warehouse, where it looks like the soldiers are preparing for a small war. Squad leaders shout orders, vehicles pull up and depart from the loading dock, dropping off supplies and more soldiers. Guns and ammo are unloaded and distributed; combat gear is parceled out. It's a hive of continuous movement and racket. Dabria passes through the crowds of soldiers with the same ease as Kilgore; the men automatically steering out of the way as they go about their business.

  I don't get the same courtesy, forced to weave between bodies and avoid collisions. I mutter apologies, but it still doesn’t stop any of the men from trying to murder me with their glares. All the while, Dabria talks as if we're alone in a comfortable private room.

  "I know you're a little lost right now, Specter. A single cog can't see t
he magnificence of the complete machine. But you should know that we're in a struggle. You, me, everyone that you know and see. Whether you realize it or not, you are involved. You play a part as much as I do. The only difference is whether or not you choose to take a side."

  I try my best to listen as I bounce off shuffling bodies. "Take a side? I don't know what—"

  "You see the world as it is orchestrated for you to see. Most of the time, it isn't even real. You've been tethered to digital existence since childhood, your mind so dependent on Immersion that your brain has adapted, chemically altering itself to compensate for the invasiveness of constant bombardment by virtual reality. And therein lies the dilemma. Corporations have become literal leeches, feeding directly from human bodies and minds for profit, purposely creating addictions that in turn lead to increased theft, robbery, and murder from addicts willing to do anything to return to Elysia."

  I push and slide past muscular military grunts, trying to hear over the noise. Dabria casually strolls forward, unhampered.

  "And the waves of crime are just a mild byproduct of Immersion addiction. The effects on human relationships are catastrophic. Entire generations have been raised to prefer digital existence to reality, on forming bonds with DLPs instead of real people. Romantic interests have fallen to a dismally low rate, with so many seeking sexual satisfaction in virtual form and subtracting the relationship aspect entirely. The very bonds of human interaction are quickly deteriorating, and Immersion is responsible for a large percent of the blame."

  We finally get to an exit door. I follow her outside, shielding my eyes from bright, glaring sunlight while trying to keep up with Dabria's long strides. We cross cracked and broken asphalt and buildings with faded siding and blistered paint. The sky is an unfamiliar blue, lacking the manipulated color hues so prominent in Elysia. I'm struck by how pure the color is, and for a moment I stare upward like a dumbstruck fool.

  As Dabria heads for a smaller depot, she continues her lecture. "Do you know what the fabric of humanity is, Specter?"