All day, groups came and went, traversing the long descent to the base of the building and back up again. They carried with them hushed whispers from Constantine. I remained out of the loop, the rest seemingly unaware of my existence until night began to fall. From this height, we basked in the sun’s radiant warmth, damning the hour when dusk crept in. I was lulled into bliss, watching the sunset, when James’s booming voice reverberated through the hallow space.

“Constantine wants everyone over here.”

I looked over to see the gathering mass. Constantine stood at the front, gesturing for me to join. I picked myself up and walked over.

“I know today was hectic. Those of you that helped, I’m eternally indebted, especially for climbing all those stairs over again.”

“Hey, some of us more than once,” a cheer rang out.

Constantine pointed his finger, praising, “Paul, especially you. How many trips was it? Three?”

“Five,” Paul replied.

“Five? I don’t know how you’re still standing,” he chuckled. The crowd anxiously laughed before allowing Constantine to continue. “Tonight, we take the first step toward our freedom. We’ve laid the groundwork. Every act of defiance, no matter how small, was building toward these next few weeks. I want to stress how important our actions were to lay the foundation of this uprising. Everyone we lost— their sacrifice will not be in vain.”

In front, I saw several hands extend out, grasping James’s shoulders as he fervently nodded along with everything said. Constantine produced a small black box from his pocket, setting it on the ground while continuing to speak.

“Unlike most revolutions, we get to see the spark that will ignite our world in real-time.”

The box came to life, shooting out a bright display against the concrete wall Constantine stood in front of. The dimming of the sun bolstered the projection. A figure sitting behind a desk appeared on the wall as the focus sharpened. She was wearing a brilliant yellow tunic fastened by scarlet buttons.

“Everyone quiet down, it should be starting any second now.”

The volume flipped on. Behind the woman was an interactive map showing weather patterns moving across what I recognized as the Eastern seaboard. She pushed the map to show storm system projections dissipating over time. Then, the feed suddenly swapped, abruptly cutting the anchor off. I recognized the setting in the video immediately. The camera panned over the empty school cafeteria, Constantine’s voice playing in the background, stopping on the woman tied to her chair. A spotlight flickered, reflecting its intense light off the sweat glistening on her brow. She screamed for help. She begged her captors not to hurt her. Constantine’s voice melodically rambled about the revolution and the corrupt rot at the center of the Capital. It was nothing new. I’d heard it all before. The video continued, showing a figure in a pristine white tunic with onyx black buttons severing fingers and toes one by one—blood spurt from the nubs, painting her torturer with broad strokes of crimson. Frames of Constantine’s splatter-stained attire raced to the forefront of my mind. The scene was brutal. Even more so than I’d imagined when it was happening in the next room over. The bureaucrat periodically lost consciousness after a finger or toe was removed. Her head would slump, bouncing her chin against her blood-soaked bare chest. Another white tunic would emerge into view, holding a substance under her nose that would bring the woman back around. By the end of the feed, she was left with a single finger protruding from her mangled hand. She squirmed, twitching the phantom limbs taken from her. “We preserve a single finger for you, Secretary General. As she willed it,” Constantine’s voice played. The video then panned around the room once more. A dimly lit sign in the background of the cafeteria caught my attention. I hadn’t seen it until now, not even when we stood there.

Bradburry Elm - The name of the school. They showed it on purpose.

The yellow-garbed woman reappeared once the feed ended. Noticeably shaken, she began to apologize to the viewers profusely. She couldn’t say much before the entire network was shut down, and the wall went blank. Constantine stepped back up onto the platform.

“One of our very brave brethren has given his life most likely to play that video. We shall remember, now and always, Simon. A true revolutionary.”

The crowd erupted, cheering Simon’s sacrifice.

“Now, if you would divert your attention to this corner over here. The Capital Guard should be descending on the school soon.”

I huddled with the mass to get a closer view. Although I was a head taller than the rest, I couldn’t see over the edge of the floor from the back. Just as I stepped forward, a flash lit up the night sky, expanding into a monstrous fireball. A wave followed. I could trace it warping the atmosphere as it arced out, shaking the glass to its tensile limits. The windows bowed, then expanded against the explosion’s manipulation of the air pressure.

The city sprang to life, with lights dotting its once sleepy landscape. The wail of sirens drowned out the airwaves. Red spotlights shot through the air from the surrounding walls. Below, a crater where the building once stood burned. Smoke billowed to our upper reaches, depositing black soot on everything it touched.

****

The school was just the beginning. Constantine continued to order hit-and-run attacks throughout the city, targeting patrols and government officials, no matter how insignificant. From our perch, we watched as the city below descended into chaos. Flashes continued to set the night sky ablaze. Same targets, different neighborhoods.

The Capital’s response was better than the revolutionaries could’ve hoped for. After the school, the Capital Guard began rounding up military-aged men in the sector for questioning. At first, it was just a catch-and-release, but soon, reports began trickling in of mass incarcerations where the accused never returned. Every bomb they set off invoked a more drastic response from the Capital.

One bombing, in particular, killed or maimed nearly two entire companies of Capital Guard. The explosion was jaw-dropping. But equally impressive was the view of hundreds of guards dumping rounds into a mob that had massed around them. The shots looked like a thousand stars against the city’s cosmic backdrop, each twinkle bringing Constantine one step closer to his desired end.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The city became more violent. The Capital Guard roaming the streets more numerous. Constantine’s followers had to devise clever ways to attack without being spotted. They started by taking over the second or third story of a building lining the guards’ patrol path, placing shape charges filled with jagged debris to rain down death, catching the unsuspecting patrol from above. Playing into the revolutionaries’ hands, the Capital Guard started kicking down doors and forcibly searching buildings. Entire swaths of the city came under martial law. Any military-aged male caught outside after curfew was executed on the spot. Any dwellers suspected of aiding and abetting the enemy in the buildings they searched were also executed.

Protests erupted. They were small at first but a welcome sign. The city hadn’t seen protests in nearly two hundred years. Soon, they devolved into destructive riots. Like gods on high, the revolutionaries watched the city’s inhabitants burn their cages to the ground.

To keep up morale, Constantine periodically stood me up in front of the rapidly dwindling population of his revolutionary shock force. I would speak of the times before unification. I never omitted the dark sides of our free society; to Constantine’s credit, he never asked me to. Group members would ask the most seemingly mundane questions, but my answers never ceased to amaze them. Grocery shopping and the agency to choose your own food was a salient topic. As I’d come to realize, the Capital provided everyone’s meals, prepped and served in metal boxes. The colorless vessels for calories served more function than form, providing necessary nutrients without unnecessary enjoyment. In my head, I reveled at the thought that a government could feed such a large population day in and day out. Although I never admitted it out loud, I admired the administrative perfection the Capital achieved, albeit to the detriment of all. My talks of individual liberties bolstered the revolutionaries’ resolve, while my devil’s advocacy fell on deaf ears.

One night, after losing three more followers, Constantine ushered me against the lone concrete wall. The group gathered, but I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Is there anything you’d like to hear about in particular?” I timidly asked the despondent crowd.

“Tell us about the supermarkets,” a voice rang out.

“No Tom, he’s talked about that ten times already,” another replied.

“What was it like to have a profession?” Peter asked from the back. The group murmured in agreement, anxiously waiting for me to respond.

“You know, it’s funny. No one, or at least very few people, in my time enjoyed what they did for work. A job was a means to an end. To make money. I will say something odd tended to happen when people didn’t work. It was a common occurrence for a retiree to drop dead relatively soon after retirement.”

“How did it feel to wake up in the morning?”

“Not so different than it does now, I suppose… how do you mean?”

“What was it like to wake up knowing you had something to do that day? Something worthwhile?”

“Well, most jobs people worked were mundane. Again, it was all just a means to an end. You made money, sure, but very few people actually enjoyed what they did.”

“There was purpose in what you did, was there not?” Constantine asked. The crowd looked back at him, then directed their collective attention to me.

“To make money, yes. That was really the only purpose of it— for most people, at least. I was one of the lucky ones, truth be told. I thoroughly loved what I did for a living.”

“Yet you had the opportunity to do something you loved. Something with a purpose. Something that gave you purpose?” Constantine followed up with.

“Yes. I suppose everyone had the opportunity to find something that gave them purpose and could also provide a living.”

A murmur grew amongst the crowd. Constantine and Peter nodded along in the background. “To live a life with purpose is not a gift. It’s a right,” Constantine announced to the cheer of the gathered group. “Thank you, Jack.”

****

Each night, the number of revolutionaries in Constantine’s cohort grew smaller. The chaos down below appeared to subside. Reports of street riots diminished, and flashes that lit up the night became fewer and farther between. Still, Constantine sent out a squad to lay their trap every afternoon. Those who did return spoke of ambushes. It was like the Capital Guard tracked their movements and knew exactly where they’d strike. After one such report, I found Constantine peering down at the city deep in thought. I had begun to grow restless. His promise weighed heavily on my mind.

I stood beside him, gazing at the few remaining plumes of smoke rising from the urban sprawl. Looking over, I saw he was fidgeting with something in his pocket. He was nervous. More so than I’d ever seen him. On numerous occasions, I’d seen him one step from the path of a bullet, yet his composure was rock steady. Not now.

“What next?” I bluntly asked. I expected some half-hearted bravado in response but was surprised by his honesty.

“We need to do something that’ll shake the foundations of this city. The spark I’d hoped for is fading. Only a small glimmer of it exists in the heart of the people. The riots have all but stopped. The Capital Guard exercised more restraint than I believed possible. And the people. The people… how could they just take it?”

“They’re probably scared.”

“We’ve sacrificed so much for them. To give them the fuel to take back their own lives. But, it seems we need to do more.”

“You have a plan I take it?”

Constantine pulled the object from his pocket. It was a thin, rectangular plate coated with a dull black substance.

“What is that?”

“It encrypts and stores messages. You delivered one, once. Do you recall?”

Of course, for Ancillae.

“Is she a part of this?” I mumbled to myself.

Constantine pursed his lips, letting a slight grin slip out. “Yes, Ancillae has been with us from the start. She’s been invaluable over these past months. We owe much of our planning and success to her.”

“I never would’ve figured. She seemed so—”

“So innocent? That’s the point, Jack.”

I scuffed my heel, looking to the artificial horizon where the walls met the sky.

“She’s beginning to show,” Constantine stated.

“You know about that, too?” I asked but didn’t need to. It didn’t come as a surprise that he would’ve been told.

“Of course.”

“It wasn’t my choice. I—”

“I know,” Constantine said, touching my shoulder.

“It wasn’t hers either,” I continued to plead.

“I know. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I am curious, though. What will come of her when you leave?”

“I haven’t given it much thought. Leaving feels like a distant dream now. It’s strange. I feel like if I think too much about it, the dream will slip.”

“I don’t think that’s strange, Jack. I believe it’s natural to have a voice weighing your dreams with reason. The more you dwell on them, the more that voice pulls them down. Action over contemplation. I think that’s what realizes our dreams.”

“I guess,” I replied.

Constantine grinned out of the side of his mouth. “I think you should take her with you. Life will be harsh before it gets better when we topple the Capital. It’ll be no place for a young child, let alone a newborn.”

“I know… do they know that?” I asked, bobbing my head back toward the rest of the PLM.

“I think so,” he said with a nod. “In their hearts.”

“Famine and violence test any civilization’s resolve. It’s one thing to discuss, but the realities can’t be put into words.”

“And yet Augustus sent you down here for that very reason.”

I returned his grin. “I guess he doesn’t fully understand it either.”

“How could he?”

“How could any of you?”

“Action over contemplation then,” Constantine winked, patting me on the shoulder. “I need your help, Jack—”

“I’ve come with you this far, but I’m not sure…” I interjected before trailing off.

“I need you to get back into the Capital. Not now, but soon. First, I want you to help spark the flame.”

“What are you planning?”

“The fields.”

“Right,” I replied, remembering our conversation in the hospital. “I know I said this before, but I don’t think I’ll be much help.”

“I know. But believe me, you’ll be more help than you know. Besides, now we have the information to fill in the gaps. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but we are where we are.”

“Ancillae?” I asked.

Constantine held up the rectangular plate. “The minister.”

“The woman? The one we–”

“Yes - a minister of agriculture. We were deliberate when we picked her.”