Heavy eyelids.

A steel roof.

The distinctive scent of onion, garlic, and tomato frying in an oiled pan floats through the air.

I get up from the repurposed barracks, exit the room and walk down the hallway. Old habitation blocks like this one are arranged such that the bedrooms surround a large communal space intended for cooking and socialization. Visible inside, thanks to the open kitchen design, is Alba.

“Breakfast?”

“Uhuh, take a seat.” He responds.

His back is slightly hunched, complexion haggard, and voice muted as he adds cut vegetables to the sofrito.

“Did you manage some sleep this time?” I ask after sitting down.

“Not a wink.”

People without the spatialized modifications often can’t kill and come out of the experience unscathed, never mind going through the intensity of last week’s battles. Truthfully, its best he feels weighted, the alternatives would be much more dangerous.

“Dreams?”

“Nightmares really. Can’t get it out of my head.” He’s adding rice to the pan.

I can’t relate but maybe I can help.

“Why did you do it?”

“What do you mean why?” Anger hidden in his voice.

“I’ve fought next to all sorts, the ones who could deal with killing had a reason to keep going. Maybe to return home, to serve the homeland, to strike back.”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

His face contorts as he stirs the frying pans contents.

“Hah! Why would you care?”

“Did avoiding me for the past week help you sleep? Care or not, I’m the only person you can talk to.”

Quiet.

The tension in his body slowly fades, his face smooths, and a lid now covers the rice. He turns.

“Have you ever seen a river?”

“In video.”

“Ever breathed air that didn’t taste of metal and chemicals or of a recycling process?”

“Never.”

“The birthplace of all people is a wreckage because of the shortsightedness of organizations. Even today I make a living by crawling through the immeasurable wealth that they considered garbage. A system was built held together only by internal pressure, the moment that careful balance was disrupted the house of cards collapsed and everywhere you turn, everywhere you go, the pattern repeats.”

His breath comes quickly, the pace of his word quickening.

“We take more than we give back, we unbalance systems in our favor, and inject entropy into the same processes that keep us alive. It’s not entirely our fault, what materials do you build with now that the people before already took all the resources, all the opportunities?”

“So instead, we take from others. Gordo and his people were willing to kill us to keep the garbage we trawl through all to themselves. Fighting back was only reasonable, but now I’ve killed, I’m part of that negative spiral and the only way out is through.”

Face reddened and voice hoarse he begins to wind down.

“Should I give up? Stop before I make everything worse? But nobody will make the world I want for me; I have to do it.”

“It all comes down to my own capacity, my own will, how many others will I sacrifice for my dream?”

He’s panting.

“Better?”

“Fuck off.”

“I know I said I’ve known all sorts but you’re the first messiah on the list.”

“Ja. Funny.”

“No, honestly, how arrogant can you be? Do you think the universe rests on your shoulders?”

I interrupt as he starts to retort.

“But I admire it. You want to change the world around you and are willing to fight for it, it’s just a matter of making a choice.”

Look him in the eye and wait until he looks back.

“With that blood on your hands: Make a pact. Choose how far you’ll be willing to go and toe that line for the rest of your life but don’t never walk past it.”

…

“Is the rice ready?” I ask.

“Definitely, let me serve you a portion.”

He turns.

“One last thing, Alba.”

“Yes?”

“I care.”