Osa slouched on the sagging couch in his cramped living room, a half-empty beer sweating on the coffee table. Noah leaned forward, phone in hand and eyes bright with opportunity.
"I can't thank you enough for your social networking. Now, my business is flourishing." Osa said.
"You see? I know how to make you money. Speaking of — has Jared paid you back?"
"No. He still owes me."
"I heard his mom got cancer. Maybe give him a break?"
"How do you know that?"
"Saw her at the hospital downtown. I haven't seen her in years — not since my high‑school graduation."
Osa shook his head. "I can't afford to cut corners. I have a family trying to immigrate to Cascadia. Every dollar counts."
"How big is your family?"
"I have ten siblings. I've sponsored my four brothers and two sisters to come to Cascadia. How do you know Jared?" Osa raised an eyebrow.
"High school. Same history class. We studied the Crimson War together—the Sumer massacre, Anau called 'population control.' Millions butchered.
Osa snorted. "Bloodiest lesson in the textbook." He snatched the remote from the table and jabbed the power button. "News is on. Yesmin invited Milton Sudan to Jayland to gawk at the new parliament upgrades."
After a minute of channel-surfing, he landed on the live feed. Yesmin and Milton sat across from each other on garish yellow sofas in the parliament's common room, a low table between them like a barrier.
Yesmin sipped from her mug, voice measured. "Zo-pak speakers are unhappy with you as ruler. They say Cascadia offers no jobs for them—no path forward."
"That's so true," Osa muttered, leaning closer to the screen.
"I can't afford to accommodate Zo-pak speakers in my country," Milton replied. "The problem is that the Sumer population is out of control. Too many illegal immigrants are coming into Cascadia through boats. I need more money invested in patrolling the border."
"Bullshit!" Osa barked and turned off the television with the remote control. "Milton Sudan is a fucking idiot! Won't even help his own people. Zo-pak speakers built half of Cascadia's docks and farms, and he treats us like invaders." Osa grabbed his beer bottle from the table to drink. "The leadership and laws in Cascadia need to change. Milton Sudan doesn't give a shit about Zo-pak speakers."
Noah took a swing from his beer bottle. "I can't argue with you about that."
Osa's eyes gleamed now, dark and feverish. "I'm planning a rally. Big one. I want you there—front row, spreading the word."
Noah set his bottle down carefully. "What's it for?"
"To protest the government," Osa said. "Zo-pak speakers have been second-class citizens too long—denied jobs, housing, respect. No more waiting for scraps from Milton's table."
Noah grins. "Count me in. But how do you plan to pull that off?"
"Through all means necessary. I'm not scared to get my hands bloody." Osa smile darkly.