The wind slipped through the trees of the bucolic forest; a rustling sound eased itself lazily from the grass. Birds chirped as they went about their inscrutable business. The mid-morning sun soaked the pastoral fields with its gentle glow. Slowly, the chopping sounds of large rotary blades overwhelmed the pristine tranquility. A metal box, the size of a shipping container, slowly lowered itself to the ground, its propellers scattering the leaves and a curious squirrel or two. It touched down with a clumsy thud. Immediately, one side opened, and a few people peered outside, squinting in the sun. Some stepped out, looking around uncertainly. The whine of the rotary blades abruptly raised in pitch, lifting the back of the box, dumping its contents awkwardly on the forest floor. As it slowly rose, two stragglers lost their grip and tumbled onto the others. The door swung closed, and it quickly spirited itself away.
“Where are we, man?” asked one lad. He wore a black Dead Konformists shirt, bearing the classic white DK strokes.
A young lady, wearing a multicolored knit cap, peered into the distance. “I think that’s the city over there! But it’s so far away…” She reared slightly. “…and there’s a fence blocking our way.”
A tall youth with medium-length ash-blond hair, wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt, walked up to the fence and peered closely at it. “This isn’t just razor wire…it looks more lethal.” He grabbed a nearby stick and brushed the fence with it; the stick disintegrated upon touch. “What the…?!”
A callow young man, with short black hair and bottle glasses, leaned in for a closer look. “I’ve never seen razor wire this shiny! And what it did to the stick…hey, wait a minute…” He grabbed a nearby rock and dropped it into the fence; it shaved thin, wispy flakes of stone. He jolted back. “This is some sort of carbide-steel alloy…maybe even nanoconstructed!” He cocked his head as he looked again. “It’s got a bluish-gray tint. If I didn’t know better, I’d think…hey, you suppose this contains cadmium?” He glanced around, taking in his nervous audience. “That would make it highly toxic.”
A pretty ingenue cried and grabbed onto a stout young buck in a sports jersey. “Who would do this to us? And why?”
Sports Jersey’s face glowered. “The last thing I remember, I was protesting…”
A tall, lanky adolescent in a golf shirt snorted. “Be honest…you were looting…”
Jersey stared back sullenly. “So? You were too.”
“That’s probably why we’re here.” A pimply-faced man-child, still wearing a helmet, smiled grimly.
“Is that a sign down there?” A nubile brunette, wearing a black turtleneck, pointed down the length of the fence. The group indolently trudged towards it.
“There’s nothing on this side; I think I can get my arm through here.” A pale, gawky teenager with auburn, bristle-brush hair slowly snaked his arm through the fence, holding his cell phone. He read the mirrored image: “Millenniaburg…Wildlife Sanctuary? What the heck does that mean?”
“I’d look it up, but my phone gets zero bars out here.” A round maiden with pigtails tapped blithely on the screen. The others verified their lack of cell reception.
“Maybe it’ll work up there.” DK started to climb a tall, straight pine tree. His deft moves between the thick branches made quick work of the height. As the trunk thinned, he braced himself against a sturdy growth and held up his phone. A few tense moments passed. “Hey! I got one bar!” A few others tried to climb other nearby trees, but ungracefully plummeted to the earth.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“So it says here that Millenniaburg is the new name of the city, given to it by…its new owners?” DK scoffed. He kept reading. “Apparently, after months of rioting, and so many businesses leaving, the city defaulted on its debt and went bankrupt, then…a group of investors purchased authority over it.” He frowned. “Can they do that?”
“Hey, this sign faces inwards!” Golf Shirt called from further down the fence. “It says Welcome To Millenniaburg: Permit Required To Enter.”
“Permit?” Turtleneck was adamant. “Whatever happened to freedom?”
“I’ve heard of this happening in smaller towns,” Bottles gravely intoned. “But nowhere as big as…well, I guess it’s Millenniaburg now.”
DK’s face froze. “Oh, wow…I couldn’t possibly read all of this…but apparently, living in Millenniaburg is subject to terms and conditions.” He looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh, that must have been that huge e-mail I ignored. I thought it was a joke.”
A scrappy fledgling, wearing a green t-shirt, had managed to climb another nearby tall tree. “Apparently, the company is called Unlimited Partners. They’ve incorporated as a city-management firm and…a social-media company? Oh yeah, I remember getting some spam about joining it. I never did.”
DK angrily tapped on his phone. “That name just brings up a bunch of glowing press releases. I can’t find a single unsympathetic word about them!” He groaned uneasily. “Like any dissent has been wiped clean.”
“They can’t do this to us!” Ingenue insisted. “We have rights! There is recourse!”
“Not necessarily,” Bottles lamented. “Social-media companies can ban someone for violating their terms and conditions. They don’t have to provide evidence, allowing an appeal is almost unheard of, and the government rarely lifts a finger to stop it.”
Bristle-Brush stomped angrily towards a large log. “Come on, guys, help me move this to the fence! I’m going over!” Several others, happy for the chance to do something, helped lift it, carry it, and tip it on its end. With a crash, it split in half at the top of the fence and sunk several inches inside, but appeared to hold.
Bristle-Brush whooped with joy. “I’ll bring back help! Wish me luck!” Nimbly, he dashed over the log to the other side; it fell further into the fence, the gleaming ridge now poking out from the splinters.
He had run no more than thirty yards when a furious buzzing sound broke the silence. Something in the air headed towards him. He noticed it and raised his arms, but the drone fired. He shook rigidly; the sickening sound of electricity cut through the stillness. As they gawked, a low thrumming became noticeable as a larger rotorcraft approached Bristle-Brush’s motionless form. Large claw pincers wrapped around his body before it gracelessly lifted him into the air. Smoothly flying back over the fence, the rotorcraft tried to put him back.
“Don’t let it land! Stand your ground!” Pigtails commanded. They began to crowd underneath, waving their arms and shouting fiercely. After a few indecisive darts, the claw simply opened up and dropped Bristle-Brush on top of them, sending them all sprawling. It then flew away.
“There’s no escape!” Knit Cap whined. “What are we going to do?”
A low throbbing shook the air; some distance away, another large metal box was descending. Near the surface, it opened its door, tipped out its contents, and flew away immediately. The group ran over to them, happy for reinforcements, when Flannel suddenly stopped. “Hey…why aren’t they moving?” Pimples jumped back, startled. “Because they’re dead!”
It was another group of youths, looking much like them. They all showed signs of violent ends; some shot, many stabbed, but most of them bludgeoned. They stood and shivered, whimpering to themselves. Pigtails blubbered. “This can’t be happening!”
They noticed a thicker thrumming sound growing louder. Squinting in the sunlight, they saw three more metal boxes, off in the distance, come in for a landing. Knit Cap groaned. “I hope it’s not more dead bodies.”
The propellers eased the boxes onto the dirt, and the doors swung open. Through the trees, the disembarking passengers appeared to be dogs. They sniffed the ground uncertainly and looked around.
“Puppies!” squealed Ingenue. The dogs heard her, and began running towards them.
Bottles’ face went ashen. “No…those aren’t dogs…this is a wildlife sanctuary, remember?” The others looked at him hesitantly. He continued to stare straight ahead.
“Timber wolves.”