EPISODE 1 - PART 2

- FLYING BELOW THE CLOUDS -

[WHITE]

Only the ticks of the clock can be heard.

Whatever, this one is different from Fenik’s, it’s heavier but no less strange, as it gets closer and louder, its nostalgic, that rhythm is way too well known for him.

Light enters on his eyes, as he weakly opens his lids. The vision is burry and turvy, as attempts to focus something above the floor fails.

I’m so tired.

Each second is announced by the muffled clock’s beat.

“This is no good.” The doctor says. “You need to see the bigger picture, or this won’t work. Do you hear me, Fenik?”

A light blinds his right eye, as the doctor sighs.

“This won’t work Mr. Blade; he isn’t fit for this.”

The clock beats are getting louder, quicker, and less metallic.

“It needs to work; we have been planning this for over 20 years.” A bulky voice echoes from the corner, which Fenik recognizes as his father’s. “It needs to work, and he needs to do this.”

Fenik wakes up with a deep breath and in cold sweat. The room is dark, he slides his fingers on the thin blanket, uncovering his body and sitting down.

The beeping is fast, coming from the alarm clock, he reaches it with one hand, turning it off.

‘6:07 AM’ is shown before the screen goes black.

He opens the window, letting the light come in, making him close his eyes by the sudden change.

The bedroom’s tiny, having only a double-door wardrobe, a wooden bed table, and his single bed.

Fenik goes to the wardrobe, opening it, taking a fine white uniform with long sleeves and a standing collar.

A door closes, as he goes outside wearing the uniform, walking in a polite, but hurried manner. He puts his hand on the left pocket on the chest, taking out an old bronze small clock, the ticks are metallic as the pointer changes its seconds roughly, time is passing, but for Fenik each second is like a minute, it’s so stagnating that he wants everything to just end already.

He put the clock back inside, as a distant voice starts to shout, a mob is ahead, to a space on the side which is the entrance to a small public park.

“Don’t use them on your kids! Do you want them to grow in a world where each day leaves them behind?”

Fenik reaches the group of people, only slowing his pace, but continuing to walk on his path.

There’s about twenty to thirty men and women, looking to an improvised stage where a short fat bald man is making his speech.

Two posters are to his sides, the one on the left says: ‘VOTE AMARAL FOR PRESIDENCY’ with his grinning face. While the other on the right says something like: ‘ABOLISH THE VACCINE!’, but Amaral is blocking Fenik’s view.

“We can’t continue ignoring our fate to be extinct by the natural selection,” he says building his voice to a more dramatic tone. “We need to abolish the anti-SAE vaccine!”

Some people in the mob screams in excitement.

People wanting to become SAE? Disgusting.

Fenik clicks his tongue with an angry look, a rare sight from him.

Amaral raises his fist, almost everyone does the same, yelling together: “We need to evolve! We need to adapt!”

Amaral looks on the distance to the white uniform and then to Fenik’s contempt face. Amaral takes a breath as a drop of sweat falls from his temple, his eyes are bright blue.

How many people on that crowd did you pay, bastard?

He continues his discourse, while Fenik vanishes from sight behind the walls of a house.

After two hundred years, people start to forget how SAE is dangerous, and the dreams that are told in history books about the old lifestyle increases the hunger for change.

We are surviving, there were few accidents evolving SAE in the past decades, but still, it’s not the best of life.

Everything got contaminated by an unknown mutation that can evolve all living beings at an extremely accelerated rate, that’s what SAE means, Super Accelerated Evolution, which we informally name the creatures with it.

All plants and animals that we need to cultivate needs to be controlled in protective labs, making it extra hard.

Humans are no different, so we need the vaccine, a cure that was discovered a few years after the first event, which can stop this mutation. Even so, a strange force that appeared in the environment still lives on our bodies.

The Vis, with the big “V”, is a mysterious force that hypothetically can manipulate every aspect of our reality. However, we can’t do much, our biological system can’t control that very well, but a strange metal called Black Cutter produced by many bacteria can.

Black Cutter, of BC for short, is a rare black metal, having a density of over 110g/cm³, being five times higher than osmium, the second heaviest metal on Earth. It has all characteristics buffed up: it is harder than diamond; while being extremely resistant to impacts and pressure; can cut on an atomic level; and can be mold and make alloys.

The majority of the grown SAE creatures have skin with some of it, it’s not pure, but is sufficient for steel to not cut through, so we need weapons with the edge made, at least, of an efficient Black Cutter alloy.

And because it can also control Vis better than us, making Vis-based circuits is possible. Generally, it’s used on weapons or gear to make them lighter or the wearers stronger.

We can’t transform ourselves into gods, far from that, if you were a strong soldier and you’re both a trained prodigy and had the best equipment out there, you could go near eight times what your normal body could do, sure more Black Cutter would improve your stats, but it also makes the equipment heavier, so we can’t just have more to be more.

Because scientists didn’t get that far with the BC circuits, we only can manipulate things on a small scale like adding vectorial force, increase impact or pressure resistance, and change the temperature. So, even if it’s theoretically possible to float, we still can’t do that. Scientists are still tinkering with BC and Vis, especially on Liberty, where’s known to have the best heads of science, also being the most prosperous fortress still alive. While here in Windcut people are getting constantly fired from their jobs and being poor, there they are making progress on technology.

Whatever, that’s all common knowledge or gossips, meaning that those can be wrong, or that somethings are being held as secret, as some people want to believe.

Fenik stops walking, looking up, an old uneven metal board written ‘Windcut Military Rookie’s Academy’ welcomes him to enter on an open black gate in a stone wall.

The street is narrow and people are walking fast, making constants winds that move his silver-blue hair. The daylight’s essential to save electricity, the best time to work.

“It’s here?” A boy asks, two people stop on Fenik’s side, pointing to the board.

A girl and a boy, both with red soft-spiky hair, the girl having less of it by its long size, going a little further than her shoulders. Both of them having the same white uniform.

Fenik starts walking in, but the guy holds his shoulder.

“Hey, you are from the academy, right?”

Fenik turns, the boy’s eyes are of excitement, which contrasts with the cold eyes that are staring back.

“Don’t ask people like that!” The girl mumbles, covering her face with shame with one hand and pulling the boy’s clothes in a gentle pinch with the other.

The boy looks to her, opening a friendly smile, turning again to Fenik.

“Sorry about that, didn’t mean to disturb.” He takes his hand off Fenik's uniform.

“Yes, and this is the academy.” Fenik answers, stepping forward.

“My name’s Zack!” He starts to follow. “This is my sister Ray. So, you are a rookie as well?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Fenik’s voice is even colder.

“Cool! We are going to be on the same platoon then!”

Fenik stays quiet, ignoring Zack, as they enter on a corridor with multiple closed doors. A big arrow points forward, showing where the first year’s students should go.

“Silver hair, huh?” Zack says contemplatively. “Isn’t it rare?”

“Stop it! That can be too personal!” Ray scolds him.

“Sorry, sorry!” He opens a grin.

Their steps echo back on the long corridor, until they walk off it, the sunlight forces Fenik’s instinct to put his hand to protect the eyes, stopping before blocking it completely.

“You are late rookies!” A strong voice shouts in front of a dozen other kids, that are on their foot lined up like soldiers, all of them with the same white uniform.

As the three go forward, joining with the others, it’s possible to see that strong man better, he has a tall muscled body and a short black hair that has some grey strands.

His uniform has the same design as the rookie’s, but it’s black with white edge lines, some decorative golden awards are in basics shapes or as small stars on his collar, with some acronyms or numbers pressed on them. On his chest there’s his rank: “Corporate Captain”, and his name right below it: “Renee Giles”.

Giles opens a big grin, looking to everyone’s faces.

Some of them are afraid, others thrilled, and some serious or bored, being all on the range of 15 to 17 years old.

“You are now the 208th Official Platoon of rookies, be proud!”