If there were a light at the end of tunnel then Johann Victor Everett had left it far behind in his life.
The months of turmoil that had buried him deep in his own self pity was let out when he smashed his leg repeatedly on a concrete pole outside the train station. He was all alone, he had been many times in his life, yet he had never felt so lonely.
After the bashing had concluded and he was grieving in pain on the station's pavement, his hands instinctively tugged at his pants to see how much of a wound it had created. His focus though, never went on the injury. It was directed to something that had left a mark on his body for much longer than simply hurting himself in anger ever will.
He caressed the burn on his leg. Feeling as if all his struggles had been futile all along. How long had it been since the old republic? Since he had with a merry group of suicidal maniacs gone in to kill the man who had taken the life of Douglas Campbell and replace him with another Campbell in the hopes that some part of his glory would return.
But he hadn't even seen Campbell in a long time. His countrymen hated the people who looked him. They tried to kill them.
Thomas Trivola was just the largest cog in this wheel, he was a monster no doubt, but the hatred of the masses for who he worked for, people for who he had almost risked his life and burned down the old republic, was even larger.
He shook his foot and got to his feet, leaving the station with a sense of acceptance coming over him.
No one cared.
He could die valiantly in front of a million people for a just cause, only a few years after that they would sought to kill him themselves.
The cold evening air swept through his hair. His nose had grown red, his feet were growing numb.
The streets were empty, save for the rare glimpses of black in the corner, even he wasn't sure what it was yet he kept on moving. He began to think again, like every great man had before they did something reckless. Making some grand moves to bring people to him then rush to the government, yell their hearts out about being betrayed and burn everything down.
He wanted to punch Thomas with his own hands. He would strangle him slowly, making him writhe in agony as the air stopped flowing into his lungs, his face would soon turn blue then he'd be dead. A pathetic death like that of a dog.
But all of this was—as he already knew—the epitome of delusion.
He hadn't the courage to point out Thomas for what he was doing. He wasn't sure of himself, but consolidating every single Aaergalian to one single spot under the guise of authentication could only mean a massacre.
He had lived too long for the people around him, he thought, there was nothing left for him to contribute. He had made all the efforts he could and they were all in vain.
So he had to grab the only thing that mattered to him—his wife and son.
He'd flee the country well before Thomas's migration plan came into effect. They won't be able to track him so he'd sell away everything and start a new life. Ethan and Anastasia would understand, right?
He could hear shouting from some distance away. Pamphlets and posters were being taken away by the wind. The sun had completely disappeared and it would soon be night, until then he could give himself up the boorish environment—that was if he hadn't heard bloodcurdling screams from the other direction.
It was followed by a cacophony of chants and footsteps. He could no longer ignore it.
Paranoia got the better of him again, he sneaked away into one of the alleys, peeking down the grey street to find nothing there.
A certain dread had come over him through all of this. Taking small steps until he was come would be the only option as there were no cabs present in the entire curb.
He stared down the empty street again and then,
"Caught me a big one here. Ye wanna come with me?"
He jumped for a second then immediately brushed off invisible dust from his coat and coughed into his fist.
"What's going on here?"
"Well ye gotta answer me first."
"Why should I come with you? Where are you going to take me?"
"Gonna take you where everyone else is."
"Where is everyone else?"
"Just come with me."
Johann glared at him, "Where is everyone?"
"Haa ye a real treat aren'chya? And here I thought I could pick up anyone from the streets." he sighed, "I was gonna take you near to the parade."
"The parade?"
"If you come with me then I'll show ye."
"I'm not going to come with you."
The man was getting visibly irritated, Johann couldn't make out his face completely, more than half of it was hidden by the alleyway's shadow.
"Getting nowhere if ye don't come with me."
"I am not going." If he was good in one thing, it was being adamant.
Johann turned to leave when the man confessed, "Haa...the fools been organizing a riot in the middle of the city, people like me being roped into it to collect randos like ye."
The chanting in the background was getting louder. He could hear explosions now. Not large ones, maybe those of fireworks.
The whole city seemed to reverberated and the rising moon didn't concern itself with it.
"If I'm being honest, I ain't willing to bust my ass for some faggots getting killed."
"What are you talking about?"
The man gave him a long side eye, it persisted to make sure he didn't live underneath a rock.
"Some random act got passed and now they're squealing because their freeloading bit them in the asses."
"Act...? Do you mean the Trivola act?"
"Ye a scholar or something?" The man laughed and patted him harshly, "Probably that. Personally if they weren't shipping all of them to the way, then still shipping men who weren't Aaergalians, then I would've been the first to tattoo the damn act on my forehead. My wife would've killed me if I did though."
"Where is it?" He asked gravely.
"Someone's interested."
"We're going. Now."
The initial hesitation had been replaced by a queer sense of peril. It was like being strangled slowly.
They made it to a clearing, the noise had reached its crescendo and Johann saw it.
A blend of people, thousands of them like a smorgasbord of all people, heads of blonde and brown all shouting their lungs out. Some threw cans that let out trails of red smoke. Banners were hoisted in their arms with large red crosses on them with the country's flag.
This was a riot, he thought.
If there was something that could overturn his worries, it was this. Everyone together at one place, as one entity, fearless of what's to come. Screaming their heart out in attempts of altruism or genuine care.
A grin crept up on Johann. If there was anything that could make a change, it would be this.
Then the hint of anticipation was gone. His grin broke into a frown and the people turned to one another.
They were arguing.
Amongst one another.
Between all of this.
Shouts become cackles. People were being trampled. Men carrying bottles of finished alcohol smashed it on the nearest heads. Women took poles in their hands, impaling anyone in sight. A kid with a gas can in its hand had not let go, she sobbed as it exploded in her face.
The man put a shoulder around Johann, "That's why ye never trust these fools. The government gotta control them somehow don't they? Some lives gonna be lost, maybe mine maybe yers, whatever it is, I ain't interfering. Make sure to not ye family out. My wife's sis got into labor, I whooped her ass before she could go and visit. Ain't no way I'm allowing someone to die like that, and I ain't sacrificing my life for anyone."
"You sure talk a lot for someone who's a racist asshole."
"Ohh? Racism ain't it? Well here's the thing ye moral police, I got my shop, I got my family, my son's bout to go to college and daughter's bout to get married. I have no interest in dirtying my hands over these fools. Ye want to? Go ahead."
Johann clicked his tongue. The man—even if wildly frustrating— was right. No one here knew what they planned to do. They had rushed with banners in their arms and a coordination of maggots.
In the distance, Johann saw a light glow brightly.
It was a white light, from what he could make out. He appeared before the crowd, and before they could respond it had already killed many of them.
Blood rained down from their bodies and stuck to his clothes, arms ripped from their hosts, pink red intestines flew out into a messy coil. It landed on a woman, smashed against her bloated face and led her to hysteria. She yelped so loud it nipped him in the ear, she ran off in the front. The guards quickly besieged her. Their batons landed one strike at a time.
It ripped her head open, shattered her legs, ripped her jaw off.
Running.
Run.
As fast as you can.
His feet broke out instantly.
He was gasping.
There were at least a hundred other people beside him.
They were running like dogs. The police in full black clad uniforms marched towards them and closed the street off.
He ripped at men he could find. Burrowed through the crowd in attempts to get to the front.
The crack in his leg came shortly after when he fell down after slipping on something.
Something.
He kicked the arm off into the pavement and continued running as fast as he could.
Until a hand pulled at him. It dragged him to a corner, then to an alleyway.
"The name's Fern. Come to shop sometime, alright?" He pushed him harshly into the alley after those words.
Explosions went off behind him, they were more brighter than last time. Blood red gas filled the entire streets. Where they red, or was it the blood that made them so? He didn't know. He didn't have the time to know.
Bolting through the streets he took sharp turns. A slight sense of deja vu came over him, buried underneath the lakes of sweat drenching him.
He made it out shortly after. Staring at the alleyway that had passed, he turned to find it.
Lights were there, it was headlights lining the roads. The bushes were neatly trimmed. The entire pathway had been scrubbed clean from all angles.
And a troop of soldiers guarded the entire perimeter of the Goldford district.
There was a sense of relinquishment coming over him. The soldiers were coming to him, they would take him home and let him be with his family.
His family.
Oh god.
His eyes widened in horror. Had anything happened to his family? His worn out legs tried to move from their position. He faltered. Syringes were being stabbed into his legs repeatedly.
It must've caused a sprain.
There was nothing to worry about anymore, it's alright. He was going to be taken home. He could run away after a few days then, he would take his family and run to a new country.
Just like he had before.
When he promised Anastasia under the embers of the tree that he'd be with her for life. She had covered her entire body at the time. The fires were really hot yet even in the sweltering heat her smile didn't falter at the time.
He wished he was back home in her arms. Embracing her lovingly. Whispering to her all he found wrong with him. She'd comfort him. And he'd do the same for her.
"Shh..geez...It's alright now, it's all fine you big baby, breathe now. Breathe."
The soldier in his dark green uniform with a robust mustache and a chest full of hair came down to his level.
"Keep looking at me ok? I'm right here. I'm right here-"
"We got fresh meat on the block. This one looks like a treat. Got the pass buddy?" The military knife sliced at his cheek, cutting through the flesh like butter.
"What?"
"I ain't interested in an old man." The one behind him said.
"Me neither, but I reckon he's got a family. A healthy wife."
"You wanna go for used hags damn asshole? I like a bit more flavor. Wonder if he's got a daughter or two."
Johann gritted his teeth. Blood trickled down from his forehead to his left eye. Lathering it in red. Sweat and spit had their claim over his face. His wrinkles had never been worse.
"Looks like he got something to say." A soldier grabbed him by the collar, hoisting him up with a dirty pup, "Interested in telling me where they are?"
Johann looked in his eyes with putrid hate. Every ounce of this man had him want to kill him even more. He was spewing horseshit about his family. He was planning on killing them.
If he didn't tell him though, he was sure he'd be the one dead.
So there was only one option.
"Ha...someone's made their decision? Hope it's a good on-" He recoiled as Johann's bloodied spit laded in his eye.
"Go fuck your mother."
"YOU FUCKING TWAT!"
Johann kicked the man in the groin and made a dash for it, his hand though was stopped by the other soldier. He pulled his hand, then pointed the military knife at his lower jaw.
Only the tip had begun to penetrate when a bullet grazed his ear.
"WHO THE HE-!"
He dropped the knife to the floor.
No.
It dropped on instinct.
"Leave the man be, will you lads." The unbearably fake accent did not sting him for the first time in his life.
Putting a gun to the soldier's head Hannes demanded him to let go, Johann fell to the floor when he did.
"The two of you, need both of you at camps now alright? Don't do some tomfoolery now, go go, shoo." he said, waving his hand, "Now what the bloody hell happened to you."
"Things, I suppose." he said with a pained cough.
"Ah shit. Alright, first things first.." He pulled out a silver card from his breastpocket, "Just gonna...." and cautiously hid them in his jacket, "That's two of em' you're gonna need that when going out now."
Johann could barely stare up at his cheeky face. He looked happy in some way.
"Mate, you gotta get on your feet now. Make it to your home some way or the other, alright? I'll help you to get a little close."
Hannes lifted him up callously, causing him to groan which he ignored.
"Why...what the hell is happening?"
"Measures lad, measures." His tone was accepting.
"Why are you even..? Why are you not doing anything about it..!" He managed.
"Cause' I don't have any other choice do I?"
"Choice?"
"Yeah like those grandiose words some old man shits out his arse in front of people. And then the people suddenly love him like he's their granny who got resurrected."
"You don't need grandiose words Hannes...we just need to do something...Anything."
He didn't want to let things just happen to him ever again in his life.
Life was unpredictable. A phenomenon you can never guess. Letting it flow without ever being in control of its direction will always leads to a sewage of sorrow and misery.
Johann was well aware of that. Better than anyone else. The imagery of over twenty years ago floated in his mind as if they were someone else's memories. A white tiled bathroom with an unclean sink. The toilet was overflowing, it's brownish content was repulsive. The smell was enough to kill a wasp of nests. The only thing that Johann could register though, was the gun he was pointing at his sister's head.
"Johann. You gotta know mate. Not everyone's got big arse aspirations like you or Trivola does. Most of us just wanna live our lives in peace, make some bag, get some women in our beds and die with the eternal ticket to hell." His smile had contorted his face too much for it to just be considered as pained, "Alright. That's as far as I can go. You take care alright?".
Johann could finally support himself by his own legs. He thanked Hannes with posthaste.
"Gonna send a medic for you shortly, hope you didn't get much hurt." Were his parting words.
Johann stood in front of his house. The glamour of the entire street was dead. The entire Goldford district seemed dead. If it had not been for the open lights in all the homes, it could've been mistaken for a ghost town.
"What the hell just happened?" He said to himself.
Everything had gone by in a flash, now he stood outside his home, battered. There was no reason to stay here anymore.
All the hopes he and his wife had when they departed to this land were already dead. This had been the final nail in the coffin. A nail large enough to crack the skull of the carcass inside.
He wiped blood on his mouth with his sleeve, it was stained for the entire duration it existed now. He needed rest. Some sleep would be heaven in such a condition.
He sat down slowly on the front porch of the house, gasping for air, pulling at his hair.
What had he ever been successful in his life?
He had failed as a countryman.
Failed as a comrade.
And would soon fail as a husband and father if he didn't run away from here.
Promises was something he held in high regards in his life, yet the lifelong promise he had made with his wife of never leaving his place was about to break.
He would leave everything behind, just like he had twenty years ago, maybe with less blood.
At the very least they were still alive.
That won't be the case for long though.
Thomas knew where they lived.
He pulled out the silver cards that had been thrust into his pocket by Hannes. He inspected them under the light of the moon.
There was the side profile of someone engraved on it. With a special print that read, "Authorized personnel." Like they were damn brutes at war not people trying to live their lives.
"'Just wanna live in peace.' huh?"
Light shone on his back. The silent creak of a door opening whispered to him like a tune. The smell was homely, and goosebumps raked on his skin.
"Dad?"