Old Singaporeans were only entitled to attend school once a week. There just weren’t enough teachers to go around. Most of the good ones were sent to other states. Some of the better ones were too smart and joined the rebellion instead. The unlucky ones who were neither were assassinated by the rebellion. The route to school became smooth and the military truck soon picked up speed, no longer rolling on rocky road. Jade recognised this and knew they were on the highway despite being unable to see through the loud-flapping canvas of the supply truck. The truck veered left, through a military checkpoint and past several torn and rusted fences. A tall tower greeted her alongside the morning sun. soon enough, she would see it—the Sceptre of Hope.
The airport control tower.
Long ago, Old Singapore was home to one of the best international airports, famed for its futuristic and aesthetic installations for tourists and locals alike. Now it was a relic of the past. The conclusion of World War Four saw the demise of tourism and de-globalisation. Everyone receded.
Global trade died; in this era, it was every economy for itself.
It was a battle royale for all resources—even manpower.
Changi Hyper-International Spaceport was no more, gone along with the Moon and Mars starbases. Now, it was given a new name and purpose. The Royal Changi Education Site. The only government school in Old Singapore responsible for training twenty-seven thousand adolescents to the eligible age to take the X-Levels.
Military transport helicopters hummed overhead. Within their aluminium bellies, they carried the teachers coming in from Sentosa, escorted by light attack helicopters. Their grand entrance would be short-lived, however. The rebellion hated the X-Levels and today would be just another day on the job to strike at the system they did not believe in.
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They could not care less about civilian casualties. To them, it was better for Singaporeans, young and old, to die in the crossfire from bullets from patriot terrorists than to live as puppets under a foreign throne, believing they were simply freeing them from the chains of the X-Levels.
From the back of the truck, Jade saw white smoke trails scream out from the treeline, screaming into the flock of helicopters. They deployed flares and banked desperately, but to no avail. Such missiles made by “foreign donors from far away” were smart enough to not be tricked.
Three choppers became flaming coffins.
And then, the very same smoke trails of death screamed towards her.
A thick red beam from Jade’s blindspot sliced one smoke trail in half, the two pieces rolled and rattled onto the tarmac, melted and silent. However, three smoke trails remained and found their targets. Three explosions were heard, and Jade’s ears felt a sharp piercing pain. Only then did she see three blackened hulks of metal as her truck continued to power on.
Too little, too late, arrow-shaped silhouettes burst forth from the clouds, dropping giant olive green pushpins into the tree line, that exploded and burned everything green or living.
None of the remaining children in the school convoy gasped or panicked. This was not the first time they had journeyed to school in the middle of a firefight. Every other day, someone in their village or district would die because a government doctor would only be flown in by helicopter every quarter of a year. That is if the terrorists did not shoot it down.
“Students, dismount and line of for attendance-taking! Present your barcodes. Refusal to do so will result in immediate disqualification in the X-Levels in which the punishment is death.”
Jade obeyed and pulled up her fringe, exposing the tattooed barcode on her olive forehead. Soldiers with laptops and barcode scanners went down the lines, lasing the black lines on children’s foreheads, beeping and entering it into a spreadsheet. Even the soldiers with their golden berets had barcodes. All of this was normal. Nothing was wrong. All was right.