CHAPTER 10: PERSPECTIVE

  “Did you see the way I cut up the underbelly? Well, you probably couldn’t, from up there. You all should have come and fought with me. Why didn’t you?”

  It was the evening of the same day, and Drake boasted about his heroic fight with the Lizard to his classmates in the courtyard. Rein watched from afar.

  “Never mind that.” One spoke. They knew they wouldn’t be able to explain to Drake that they were actually too afraid. He would just go on to berate them for joining the militia when they didn’t want to kill Mayhems. “But you were really cool killing that thing. You got up even after getting hurt.”

  “I know, right?” Drake said, falling for the change in topic.

  “Almost as cool as Commander Rein was,” another said.

  “Wait, what?” Drake asked. “How was he cool? I was the one who killed a Mayhem.”

  “He managed to fend off eight of them from near you low in the air. That too without getting hurt,” the person retorted.

  “Aww.” Drake accepted defeat. The commander was too cool.

  Speaking of getting hurt, Drake’s arm was quite hurt, and he had to go to the doctor earlier that day. He’d apparently nearly fractured his humerus, whatever that meant.

  “That thing was quite powerful. It makes sense, though. How else would they have destroyed the world? We had armies. We lost because we weren’t prepared. But now, we are. This was just my first kill. No need to celebrate it. I’ll be killing so many more from now on!” Drake anticipated.

  Rein listened in on the conversation from a few yards away. He had black hair, thick eyebrows, and was of average height. He was in his late thirties. He didn’t have much muscle. He instead relied on speed, his quick thinking, and his ability to adapt to new situations to win his battles. He sighed. It was becoming a habit of his, from watching the new generation of soldiers. It wasn’t even that they were young; they varied of all ages. It was their lack of confidence and ability to fight. They weren’t suited for the enemies they had to face. On the other hand, there was Drake. He didn’t think much and jumped into action. Rein never understood Drake’s interest in Mayhems.

  The Commander left the scene, allowing the trainees to be at ease. He met up with General Arthur, a long-time friend of his. They sat in a balcony on the interior side of the Defense Militia building, simply referred to as the Quarters. They watched the students have fun.

  “I still can’t believe that both of us got to survive here,” General Arthur said.

  “Me neither. But I still wish the others could have made it.” Commander Rein replied. It was sad that their other friends, in the rest of the country’s military, didn’t get the opportunity to go to Rencia as they did. But by this point, both soldiers were used to seeing their friends die. That’s why, even if it was too hard to accept the Apocalypse, they of all people in the city could at least remain faithful to their duties.

  “Yeah. The more surprising thing may be the number of people that actually turned up to join the Militia.” Arthur opened a bottle of whiskey; it was one of the last in existence. He offered a glass to the Commander, who turned it down. Arthur gulped some down. He looked down.

  “What are we doing, Gunther? We’ve been in service for almost twenty years together, now. Even before that, I had served another ten years. We fought so much. We saw so much. And yet we never quit. Why is that? To this day, I still wonder why I joined the military. No normal man would continue to go through all that we’ve been through. And even now, to find out all our sacrifices were pointless, because humanity was wiped out anyways. Why do I continue to fight? I wanted to retire before this. When the space wars were over, I thought, ‘Finally, it’s all over. No one needs to die anymore’. When the deaths continued, I began to think: what cost justifies all this fighting? Is all of this death and destruction really worth it? Is there really no other way, one where we can settle things peacefully? I was prepared to quit, before all this happened. But now, we have to continue to fight.”

  “For everyone here, except that idiot Drake, myself included, we chose to join the Military because we wanted to protect our communities. No matter how vain our efforts would be, we wanted to try, with all our might and will, to protect. I guess it can be seen as idealistic, but we all thought that we had to try and do something, and we wouldn’t leave until it was solved. I joined during the Space wars, and they, during this Apocalypse, but we share the same goal. Knowing you, you continued to fight because you knew the problems weren’t over yet. You wanted to keep fighting until We achieved a utopia, however impossible that may be. That may not have been the best dream, but it is an honorable one.”

  Arthur smiled. “Perhaps you’re right… But now, we face an enemy that we know we can’t beat entirely. I don’t know why an old man like me continues to fight. I don’t think I can stand off against Mayhems. When the time comes, I’ll inevitably die in battle, a death that I’m not sure I’m fine with, not having used my life for much.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re quite smart. You can figure how to survive…” They both knew that the leader had to step into battle. He couldn’t just figure out ways to evade doing so. “You are quite powerful too. You can easily beat me in a fight. I remember the days I used to challenge you because you were the first one to beat me.”

  “I remember too. You were an egoistic brat back then. But I was young back then also. I’ve gotten old, weak. I doubt I can beat you anymore. You, on the other hand, are young and healthy.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Rein tried to lift his spirits, “You’re still excellent at one-on-one.”

  “But the enemies we’re facing now aren’t humans. A one-on-one fight against a person is nothing like a fight against those monsters. You, a flexible fighter, are more useful in these fights. You’ve already adapted your fighting style to using the jetpacks.”

  “Well, you have your strategy, your own strength. You’re great at it. It got you this far. Even if you can’t fight very well, the Defense Militia can win, and I can protect you during battle.” He didn’t mean the last part as an insult to a soldier’s honor.

  “That worries me too.” Arthur took another sip of whiskey. “We’re not facing enemies we’re used to. My experience and strategy don’t mean nothing against Mayhems.”

  “Sheesh. You’ve got quite the inferiority complex, you know that?”

  Arthur nodded.

  “But even with it, you’ve managed to get this far. You must be good at your job.” Rein smiled. “Sure, we’re facing enemies that we don’t know how to take on, and our soldiers so far seem pretty weak, but you’re still the most qualified man on Earth to lead the Defense Militia.”

  Arthur wiped his mouth and smiled back at Rein. “I may be the most depressing, most useless in battle, unhealthy soldier in the world. I may not know why I joined or stayed in the Military, nor have good reasons to. But those things aren’t going to stop me from trying my best to keep Rencia safe and prosperous. I’ll do whatever I can in the rest of my lifespan to help humanity.”

* * *

  Doctor Stephan Poll woke up from his sleep at the sound of a loud alarm. He got up all of a sudden, hearing the old music playing loudly, and nearly having a heart attack. He clutched his chest, to make sure his heart was still beating. He felt his clothes there. They were moist; his body was covered in sweat. The alarm had thankfully saved him from another nightmare. He had it for that reason. It had been this way for many years.

  He slowed his quick, panicked breathing. Beside his bed, on a nightstand, were a pair of headphones. They were also old-fashioned, but by a hundred years. The music, on the other hand, came from a variety of times, from the patriotic themes of World War II to rock music from the 1980s to anime music from the 2020s. Dr. Poll simply liked old stuff. It gave off a nice sense of nostalgia. It was happy and yet sad at the same time, because no one knew of the stuff anymore. In some ways, it represented his own life.

  Dr. Poll, as usual, scrambled for his headphones. He’d leave them there intentionally at night for the mornings. The night was always the scariest part of the day.

  He put the headphones on. They started playing his playlist of music. He took a deep breath in and forced a smile on his face. He got up and went to a mirror, as per his routine, to make sure it looked genuine enough.

  “Alright, Stephan,” he told himself, “Ya’ just gotta keep this up for nine hours. It’ll be over then.” He told himself this almost every day. He could afterward waste some time at home and then sleep. Another day would then be over.

  This was what he told himself. But as he went through his professional workday, looking after patients and performing surgeries, time seemed to take forever to move even an inch. It was boredom. Responsibilities gnawed at his brain from the outside, while painful memories did so from the inside. As a result, his every day was torture. His headphones were the only thing keeping him going.

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  He constantly remembered his past, even if he didn’t want to. The memories forced their way out of the jail cell he kept them in inside his brain. Every memory remained, clear as day.

  He was young when it all started. Perhaps twelve or thirteen. He had been on his way home, in a car. He was outside the city where he lived. He looked out the window, at an image that burned into his mind: A giant mushroom cloud, in the distance, where he was headed towards. It had appeared so suddenly, without any noise, as a giant bright ball of fire at first. Then, the cloud slowly expanded over the entire city. The noise came soon after. It was deafening. Then, there were fires and destruction and burns. His aunt and uncle, who were driving him home, along with everyone around him slowly died. There was no room for hope that his parents had survived, back at home.

  Young Poll survived, but with severe radiation poisoning, and all alone. He was in terrible pain, but still alive. He survived for months but with pain. Eventually, it ended. Perhaps it was due to his grandfather, who had also survived nuclear radiation, but something changed in him on a genetic level. Over several years, he discovered that his aging had slowed down. He became a doctor and researched his own body. He found out that he only aged whilst under stress. It was a blessing to him, but over time, it became a curse. He watched everything around him change over time, everything but himself. This caused him great emotional pain. Not knowing how to address it, since no one else could understand, he locked it away in his heart. While he tried to distract himself and keep himself calm, it built up over the years. And now, eighty-five years since that fateful day, it reached a point where it could burst.

  Now, on his break, Dr. Poll sat down on the roof of his hospital building. Over the low parapet, he could see the city walls in the distance. Above those walls, was a cloudy sky.

  Stephan didn’t know why he still tried to live. He probably didn’t want to grow old and vanish like the countless things around him. But living was too much of a pain. He was cursed. He didn’t know why he did a lot of the things he did. He still needed money to survive, so he used his knowledge to become a doctor. Though, why he was a doctor was ambiguous. It was originally to learn more about himself, but he remained in the profession. Perhaps it was because he wanted to relieve others’ pain, feeling some form of empathy for them. He wished it was for a noble cause like that, for that would make him feel better about his actions in life. But the actions of humans aren’t very easy to understand nor are they intentionally magnanimous.

  The doctor was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps behind him. Drake had come to the rooftop.

  “Hey, Dr. Poll. I just came for a check-up on my arm.”

  Poll quickly put on a smile. “Oh, that. Right, ‘ts all fixed now. Ya don’t hafta come here anymore.”

  “Nice! I can continue fighting then,” Drake said cheerily.

  Dr. Poll thought for a moment. “Drake, can ya sit here, next ta me?”

  Drake did so. He noticed some things he hadn’t noticed before. Dr. Poll’s smile looked a bit sad. And every time he sees him, he always has those same old-fashioned headphones on.

  “If ya don’t mind me askin’, why’d ya join the Defense Militia?”

  Drake had been asked that so many times by now, he had prepared an elaborate response: “I want revenge.”

  “…That it?”

  “Well, there are a bunch of reasons, but the foremost would be to get revenge against the Mayhems for all the terrible things they’ve done. I also don’t want to feel weak anymore, after everything I wasn’t able to do while before them. Lastly, I made a promise to myself, that I would kill every single Mayhem.”

  “You’re riskin’ your life for that? Isn’t ‘at an impossible task?”

  “It is, but I nevertheless want to dedicate myself towards it, because I don’t want to live like this. I’d rather die trying to improve myself.”

  Dr. Poll really couldn’t understand his ideology. It was like the two were polar opposites. “You should jus’ ignore all those feelin’s. If ya keep yaself occupied, you can bury those emotions away. It might not feel nice, but it’ll keep ya alive. That’s what matters.”

  Drake shook his head. Yet again, another person tried to advise him against being in the Militia. It was getting annoying. Why did they place so much value in a boring life filled with hardship and no good future like this?

  “What’s the point of living, if you’ll be living with all that pain and guilt in you? It’s a horrible lifestyle. We humans have to constantly improve ourselves. If you are following your own advice, let me tell you that it is bad. Rather than bottling your feelings away, face them. It’ll be hard, of course, but you’ll feel a lot better about it in the end.” If Drake hadn’t been that way, he would have died of boredom and stress back in Beil, so he was speaking from experience.

  “But what if no one can understand or help ya’?”

  “Exactly. No one will help you. It’s something you have to face yourself, like I’m doing with Mayhems and my emotions.”

  That was a way of thinking Poll had never thought of before. To confront his memories by himself. He had never asked a person for advice before because it felt useless. He decided that this time, he would try things differently. He would follow Drake’s advice. How else would his situation change, if he remained the same? It hadn’t gotten him anywhere in the eighty years he did so. He had become a doctor and helped others’ pain, but he never really addressed his own. After all, no medicine can cure internal pain.

  “Thanks for the advice, Drake. I got a feelin’ that it’ll be helpful.”

  “No problem, after what you did for me. I’ll continue to see you, then. Just to talk, not about the arm.”

  Although Drake’s advice was interesting, Drake using it for his ‘revenge against Mayhems’ was still dangerous. Poll didn’t want to see Drake hurt. “Keep fightin’ and winnin’, but be careful.” He knew that Drake’s type was sometimes rash. “Don’t jus’ jump inta battle at every chance. Please, think through what you’re doin’.”

  “…Okay…?” Drake smiled and left, not understanding yet the useful words of advice given to him.

  After Drake left, Dr. Poll looked up once again. The clouds had parted for a clear sky. He smiled, and for the first time in a long time, it was not fake. Thank you, Drake. This may be what I needed. Let’s hope for a good future. One that we’ll work hard towards.

* * *

  It was the 4th of July, a day that was important in the history of American civilization, but unlike how it is normally commemorated, there was no celebration, no joyful congregations of families, no fireworks, nothing but gloom.

  On this joyless occasion, Drake went to his father’s home, an apartment that was annoyingly nearly on the opposite side of the city. Drake and his father sat on the balcony and gazed at the empty sky. Apart from there being no fireworks, birds had nearly gone extinct after most of them got mutated that day. Those that survived had to perch on the ground at some point, and when they do, Mayhems try to touch them, turning those birds into Mayhems also. Evidently, Mayhems could mutate normal animals by touching them. It was an interesting and important effect that people discovered recently. The last humans of the City of Rencia were putting a lot of effort into researching these things, and it was yielding results.

  “How has your training been going?” Bill asked as he looked out at the city around. It was a pleasant view.

  “Good. We’re almost done, and then, all the students will have to take a final examination. We have to kill one Mayhem each. All those lazy guys who haven’t killed any yet will finally have to work themselves hard and finally act.” He thought a moment. “Actually, I think most of the class hasn’t even fought yet.”

  “Good,” Bill said, not paying attention.

  Drake sensed that his father was acting strange. He was usually light-hearted and went off on tangents, talking about useless stuff.

  Meanwhile, Bill was in thought. There was a question that he had been meaning to ask for a while. One that would give him information about Drake’s psychology.

  “Drake,” he turned and looked at him, “Did you join the Militia because you don’t want Mayhems to kill more humans, or because they already killed them?”.

  The question was whether Drake simply wanted revenge and risked his life for it, or he wanted to stop potential human deaths and help out Rencia. Bill already knew that words wouldn’t be able to convince Drake to leave the Defense Militia, but if he could understand Drake’s desires and goals, he could be able to think of a way of solving Drake’s desire in another way somehow.

  “I thought I made it clear. It’s to get revenge. You make it sound like a bad thing. How many people did they kill? How much did they destroy? Don’t you hate them? Everyone acts the same way as you. As if hating Mayhems is weird. It’s normal. Everyone in the city being all cowardly and not fighting is the weird thing.” Drake replied with conviction.

  Bill looked down and sighed. “I see…” It was like his son was possessed with meaningless revenge. What would it accomplish? It pained Bill’s heart to see it, as a parent. “Then let me ask you another question: Do you think your mother would be proud of what you’re doing? Your choice to join the military and kill Mayhems, that is.”

  “What do you mean? Of course, she’d be proud of me! She was constantly nagging me to do some work and stop being lazy and daydreaming. Well, here I am. I have a job. I’m working hard every day, with physical training. I’m actually attending and paying attention to lectures, for once. I’m healthy and no longer jobless. I’m sure she’d be proud and happy to see what her son has become.” Drake only wished she was alive to see her react to it all. “In fact, you should be proud of me too. You always told me to find a goal and work hard towards it.”

  “…” Bill remained looking down, in thought. He had a sad frown on his face. He was about to say something, when a large sound disrupted the conversation. It was a deep thud, coming from far away in the distance, probably behind the Walls. The thud repeated.

  “What the heck is that?” Drake questioned. He got up and looked around from over the balcony wall. His smartwatch sounded. He was being paged from the Defense Militia. “I got to go. Later.”

  Drake hurriedly left his father’s apartment and went to the Defense Militia building, the Quarters. In the meanwhile, periodic thudding noises continued, slowly getting louder and louder. He must have been too deep into the conversation to notice it earlier, when it was faint. At the Quarters were his classmates, who had apparently also been paged. They were told to put on their gear: the suit, jetpack, and weapons, and go to the top of the Rencia Wall. Drake and his friends did so.

  Waiting there was General Arthur. He was looking out into the distance beyond the Walls with a serious face. Drake followed his gaze to the source of the sounds. Everyone stood still when they saw it. Some of their jaws dropped in utter shock. Far away was a gigantic Mayhem, almost as tall as the Walls, slowly walking towards the city. It was a giant Gorilla, and it had its sight set on the inhabitants of Rencia…

MAYHEM ON EARTH: Volume 2. / End.

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