Willard woke up the next morning with a bad hangover. He made breakfast, cleaned their room, and fiddled with one of mother’s fixed circuit-boards while she patched up his tattered blue jacket. Mia had gone to visit Krummlae, and Willard tried to imagine Krummlae’s reaction. He’d never seen the old Sorissian native shocked before, but he probably did not anticipate this.
Adrian was silent when Willard told him he’ll have to go and apologize to the principal by himself. Willard, upon hearing no words of rejection from him, decided it was best to leave it as it was and let him reflect on it himself.
Willard had searched through their entire house looking for his old suit, but still couldn’t find it. So instead he borrowed Old Samwell’s suit, the little old man seemingly pleased when Willard came up to him to ask for it. It was a milky brown suit with dark grid patterns over it, decades behind the trend. Though, Willard never bothered to keep up with those himself. Trends are for those who can afford to follow them. For Meekos.
When his TimeScale beeped eleven, he hurried out of his apartment, then turned back, ran upstairs, and wrapped his knife belt around his waist. Though he knew any resistance would be futile, he still felt a bit safer with the weight of the blade by his side. On his way, Willard imagined what he’d do if things went south. Although firearms were forbidden in Ferah, Shades wouldn’t need to strictly adhere to the law. Willard gulped. He’ll need to play this smoother than the shell of a Marime Beatle.
Sunnyset Diner was even more dilapidated than Willard remembered. The paint on its saloon-fashioned exterior had nearly all peeled off, revealing the galvanized steel underneath. More than half of the letter lights on the billboard have dimmed, and the ‘D’ was flickering so fast Willard half expected its fuse to blow any second. The moment he opened the door, the musty smell of old leather hit him. The Diner, or more accurately, the bar, had a horizontal layout, with the counter’s right side so close to the door it nearly blocked Willard from entering. To the right were three sets of couches surrounding low tables, and Willard could see the leather peeling off. There was a single ceiling-mounted holoprojector that projected four flashing holograms: three were advertisements, and one was broadcasting Bagiraek news. There was a man standing in the middle of the ruins, his hair covered in ash and bits of rubble. The sound projector was cackling, making the words undecipherable.
“Mr. Manolo?”
Willard spun towards the speaker and saw two men standing before him. Both were in slick black suits, their eyes hidden behind purple sunglasses that curved all the way to their ears. Both were well groomed, clean shaven, and, weirdly enough, their light smiles radiated a sort of cleanliness that drew Willard in. However, they had no prominent features that Willard could use to separate them. In fact, Willard would have completely mistaken one for another if he walked past them on the street and soon forget about them in several hours.
“Shall we take a seat, sir?” the one on the right asked politely.
They were indeed addressing him. This couldn’t be a coincidence. They must have been following him. And they’d sent the message by appearing behind him right now. Also, what’s with that name...
Manolo...
Willard had no idea why they were calling him that. But he didn’t point that out in case it made it look as if he told them they’d made a mistake. He made a note to ask mother about it.
So he waited until the two of them sat down on a couch, and sat down on the opposite bench. The only thing between him and the two Shades was the low table that can be easily crossed if he reached out his arm. Willard reminded himself that the friendliness the two exhibited was but a facade, to be pulled away at their convenience.
One of the Shades tapped the old bell on the table. It made a small “ding” accompanied by the cringing sound of rusted metal rubbing together. Willard then became aware that there was no one else in the diner. An unusual scene, since this place was usually filled with hobos and poorer families from Jamel Street.
“Would you like to have anything, sir?” One of them gave Willard a gentle smile that sent shivers down his spine. Willard was used to gentle smiles as he’d grown up around mother, and the minute differences between his and hers was made all the more distinct. He forced a sheepish smile.
“I...er...I just ate.”
“No, you didn’t.” The other one pointed at him, “your Ghrelin levels are over the roof.”
“Quiet,” the first one said, and gave Willard an apologetic smile. “My apologies, Mr. Manolo. My partner has a tendency to...rush things. As I was trying to tell you, we have booked this establishment for the day. So please, order away.”
Willard gulped.
“Then I’ll just have...the Sunnyset Special.”
It was the cheapest item on the menu, but he still felt a mountain of discomfort when he ordered it. Willard hated being in someone’s debt, especially when he hadn’t repaid even half of his last one.
“Excellent choice,” the first Shade said while he ordered his own drink.
“Did you know that this Diner was one of the first permanent establishments of B6? That makes it one of the oldest facilities of Sorissu Continent.”
“Is that...so?” Willard said, not sure whether he should sound confused or excited.
“It means this shed had existed alongside Jix.” He mused, “and it must have prospered alongside that great nation.”
Jix. That was the former Mors capital that was destroyed nearly forty years ago. His school had a discussion on the incident once, some time before he quit and started working. To hear it brought out so suddenly now...it was surprisingly nostalgic.
Seeing as Willard did not respond, the first Shade continued.
“And like Jix...it, too, was long past its golden age.” He paused and allowed the man who just walked in from the back of the room to set their drinks on the table. As soon as the man set the tray down, he hurried off, disappearing behind the backdoor once again. The first Shade paid him no attention, put the cup’s edge tentatively to his mouth, taking a long sip. The second Shade had an agonizingly large frown of boredom and was looking outside the window. The first Shade continued.
“However...unlike our fallen golden city, time was the culprit for Sunnyset Diner’s downfall.” He paused, taking another nice, long sip as Willard shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Jix’s downfall, on the other hand, was the work of terrorists.”
Willard had heard people gossip about that before. The rumor of how two teams of suicide bombers had taken out Mors Continent’s mega-dam. He, along with most of the folks in Ferah, had dismissed that notion as pure fantasy. But now, seeing the first Shade’s mild expression, he started to rethink that decision.
“I...I don’t know what you are talking about, sir.”
The Shade crossed his hands and put his chin to it. Even with the glasses on his eyes seemed to penetrate Willard. He studied him for a while, then reached his conclusion.
“We live in uncertain times, Mr. Manolo,” the Shade scratched his head, “terrorism in Bagiraek, threats from Mors, public voices getting louder, the sub-megacorps in disarray, et cetera, et cetera. It’s hard to go forward in periods like this, don’t you think?”
“It is.”
“But alas, I envy your people. I probably envy those Sorissians even more. Your existence comprises entirely around your work cycles. Your labor is nearly entirely manual and your conflict is with the land itself. You consume, sleep, defecate, copulate, and carry out every day in the most simplistic pattern. You lead the rawest of experiences. Do not doubt me when I say, you’re living a lot of Bagiraekan’s dreams, however misguided they may be.”
Ignorance with comfort fuels delusions.
“I…don’t tend to think a lot on that.”
“No, you don’t. After all, it’s like I said. You consume, sleep, defecate, copulate, and that’s it.”
You don’t like his attitude.
“I envy your people. You seem to think you have no significance. No larger purpose except the toils of everyday life. However, let me tell you this: even canon-fodder can serve a purpose. Would you like to be…ah…enlightened?”
Spit in his face.
“Is that so…well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’d very much to stick to the life I know.”
“Alright then.” His voice lost all its previous enthusiasm, and his expression became the same as the second Shade——bored. “You only have to go through a set of questions. After that, you will be free to leave.”
The second Shade produced a small black cube from his suit and placed it on the table. “Do we have your consent to record?” the first Shade asked.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Willard nodded and somehow straightened his back even more. He sat so rigid he looked like a plank.
“First of all, have you seen anything out of place before the mines incident?”
“No.”
“Have you seen anyone who did not look like an employee on Harvest grounds?”
“N...no...but there was an inspection earlier in the week.”
“Who was conducting the inspection?”
”Our sector monitor. Mister...Gilles, I believe. Or is it Markson? I really don’t remember too clearly. Someone new, at that.”
“Define ‘new’.”
“I’ve only seen them around for two weeks.”
“Do you know if any of your acquaintances have been in contact with anyone from Erste?”
“I...don’t think my team members include me in their talks. I was always working overtime.”
“Why is that?”
Willard’s back prickled as sweet rolled down.
“Wel-well...I have a family to feed.” Willard realized this answer wasn’t satisfactory. “And my brother will be graduating from high school soon.”
“Tuition fees, huh,” the second Shade said in a sympathetic voice. It was the type of sympathy that brought out the social gap, and Willard hated it. “Why don’t you apply for an immigrant loan? I heard Bagiraek would give handsome rewards to returnees.”
How does he know?
“Because they...uh...” Willard realized he was heading into dangerous territory, since the Bagiraek mega-company Chryseis Incorporated had made the loan obsolete. These people in front of him were probably the corporate’s goons, one way or another, so it was best not to offend them. Though, it sounded like they were intentionally prompting him to do so.
“Sorry, it’s a long story.”
“Oh, don’t worry, we’ve got all day.”
“...it’s…about the procedures for it. Simply applying and taking the entrance exams would take a lot of time...and money.” It was the truth, just not the answer they were probably hoping for.
“Is that right?” the second Shade mused, then his brows tilted upwards into a sickening show of understanding. “You know, we can always use a helping hand. Our company asks for hard work, but it also rewards the hardworking handsomely. We always have several openings available, especially after the war. We can provide you with everything you need.”
“No, thank you. I have plans already. But thank you.” The answer was almost instant, and the sentence contained all of Willard’s spite for them. It was the only kind of aggression he could make without consequences. Plus, he wouldn’t turn into someone he hated even for the world. For his family, though......then he realized it.
Wait, war? They couldn’t possibly be talking about the Trans-Continental War. That meant something wasn’t quite right. Ferah and Vaharach news networks were all monetized by Bagiraek corporations, so they couldn’t quite get what was happening outside if the Meekos didn’t want them to. But the second Shade said it in a completely natural way. Willard decided the best way to respond would be to ignore it and stay silent.
“Oh, completely understandable. Our offer still stands, though.” The second Shade made a dramatic wave with his right hand at his partner, in a ‘we had expected that’ sort of manner. The first Shade cleared his throat and continued.
“Have you seen anyone with this symbol on them in the last three months? Be it a patch, a tattoo, or an engraving?” The first Shade took from his pocket a small, flat box that looked like a cigarette holder. However, when he opened it, a small hologram sprang up. It showed a small circle with a single line cut across its center. It looked dangerously similar to most of the small clothing brand logos one would find on the streets of any third-rate settlement.
“Uh...I don’t think I remember. I mean, I might have seen that before...but you have to know, most brands here are designed like that.”
“That is true.” The first Shade sighed, closing the box and sliding it back into his pocket. “We apologize for keeping you here. You are free to leave.”
Upon hearing those words, the lump lifted from Willard’s throat. It was almost too good to be true. He stared at the first Shade again, who remained motionless, then at the second, who took a sip from his drink.
Willard stood up, bowed at them, and turned. As he did, he heard the first Shade speak again. It was nearly comical, as he had expected them to do so but had hung on to an unreasonable sliver of hope that they wouldn’t. Willard wondered what he had done to deserve this.
“Oh, one last question. Has anything unusual occurred in your family recently?”
A wave of pain flushed through Willard’s body as he realized all of his muscles had tensed up.
“What did you say?”
“Has anything been out of place with your family? Like...the sudden passing of friend...a sudden shift in personality of someone close...or perhaps...the return of a long-lost relative?”
Willard’s injured hands shook uncontrollably. His right thumb was hooked around his knife belt, just inches away from the sheath. He could almost see the smirks on their **faces. They had been building up to this exact moment. But why? They could have just started with that. Probably just for the fun it.
“Sit down, please.”
Willard clenched his jaws so hard it felt like his teeth were being pushed back into his gums. He turned, his body stiff, and slowly made his way back to the table. The second Shade took out a file from his suit, opened it, and began reading.
“Miriam Price. Species, human. Date of birth, unknown. Place of birth, unknown. Given name before adoption, unknown. Adopted by Elena Mirani in 877 D.Y. Became an official household member in 878 D.Y. Last seen in the Sorissian Continent’s checkpoint station on 883 D.Y. Recent investigations indicate a similarity between this individual and the one who was with you three days ago.”
The second Shade closed the file and slid it back into his suit.
“Is that true?”
Willard gulped. He stared at the first Shade, at his glasses, to see if there were any emotions underneath. There were none. Willard didn’t know what to answer. He couldn’t lie. But he also didn’t want to put Mia in danger, whatever that danger might be.
“I believe it is your right, Mr. Manolo, to know what has happened to her. We understand your confusion and very logical fear. While she may be part of your family, she has also been confirmed an insurgent. She shows up in nearly all instances of small-scaled incidents throughout the nation.”
“What? But you just said she hadn’t been seen after exiting Sorissu.”
“That is true. However, facial and physique alterations exist. Nowadays, you can mold yourself entirely into a different species.”
That was true. Willard had seen several instances on NewTake of people with feline features, feathers, and other animal parts welded to their bodies. He had heard somewhere that the biotech industry and the cybertech industry were always in hot conflict with each other. Thinking back on it, Mia’s change might also be due to that. Though Willard preferred to think of her having natural beauty.
“The limited visual evidence disclosed to us was also extremely distorted. Do you know what that means?”
Willard remained silent.
“It means she has a powerful backer. Judging by the extent of her acts, it leaves two options. One, she operates for the M.S.S.P. That would be the most straightforward assumption, and the one that makes the most sense. Or two, she’s working as a recon agent for some insurgent organization. The terrorism rate has seen a significant increase all over Bagiraek in the last year. There are more reports of murder, blackmail, arson, and sabotage across the entire nation than the last four decades put together. Her showing up right after the Sorissian Harvest Station disaster was no coincidence.”
Willard thought about Mia’s actions over the past week. Apart from refusing to tell him about what she did during her time away, Mia was still that kind, mischievous genius who’d give candy to children for winning a brawl instead of reprimanding them. But it’s exactly that which made Willard question her. She was also more kept to herself and would often glance at Willard with a melancholic eye when she thought he wouldn’t notice.
“I...I don’t know. I mean...” Willard frantically tried to find excuses for his sister.
“Calm down, Mr. Manolo. We understand your concerns. Fully. We know it’s hard for you. And we are sincerely sorry to inform you this, especially after your accident.” The first Shade looked at the second, who continued his sentence.
“That is why you have all the time until the Makobi—did I say that right—the Makobi festival to sort things out with her. By this we mean talk to her. Convince her to have a meeting with us. We will wait.” He smiled.
Willard wanted to say something, but nothing came out of his throat. So he stood there, gawking at the two.
“Don’t worry, we promise it’s just to talk. She is most interesting of a specimen, and we’d like to have a closer examination ourselves before…” the second Shade smiled smugly at him.
“Before what?”
“Before we hand her over to our superiors,” the first Shade extended his pinky finger under his glasses and scratched at something next to his eye, “don’t worry, if she cooperates, we’ll put in a good word.”
“What makes you think I’d do that?”
“You will.”
The threat made every hair on Willard’s body stand. His hand moved instinctively towards his belt, so close to his knife that his middle finger touched the hilt. Oh, if only he could kill the two and be done with it. From the years of studying animal anatomy with Krummlae, he knew each artery, tendon, and vein to cut to completely render them defenseless. The same would apply for humans, right? Only two things stopped him from reaching out and slashing them. First, he knew his hand wouldn’t even reach halfway across the table before either his chest or head got filled with lead...or both. Second, the consequences if he actually succeeded. Willard felt like an ant, knowing it’s being watched by two small children, fully aware that they are capable of squishing him right where he stood. The amount of oppressiveness was suffocating.
“If you touch as much as one hair on my family—” Willard had lost his composure, his voice filled with so much spite he was nearly spitting out the words.
“We advise you to not make any unnecessary comments,” the first Shade cut in and gave the tiny cube on the table a pat.
That was true, and Willard knew it. Maybe the Shade was just trying to get done with him, but his response punched some sense back into Willard. Willard shuddered to imagine the amount of troubles the rest of his sentence would have gotten him into. He lowered his head. “I’ll...I’ll talk to her.”
“Good.” The voice indicated the conversation had ended.
Willard stood up again, turned, and walked away. Though the distance between him and the Shades had grown, he knew he was not going to be rid of them any time soon. They were going to be his shadow for who knows how long.
As Willard reached the door, he paused, his hands inches away from the handle.
“What will you do to her?” he said, not turning back to face them.
“Like we’ve said. We’ll talk. We will know if she’s lying.”
“What if she is?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“You—” Willard felt himself flare up again.
“It’s the law, Mr. Manolo. Go against the system, and it will go against you. Don’t try to help her. You have a family to feed, after all.”
Without responding, Willard pushed open the door and disappeared into the roaring blizzard outside.