Pain of The Lone Spectre

by Adrian P

  Suddenly, a muscular brute stood in front of Konstantin. He grabbed his collar and pushed the boy to the wall. “That’s mine.”

  “W…what?” Konstantin winced. “It was next to my foot! I found it!”

  “But it’s not yours,” the brute frowned. “Give it back.”

  “No! I need to fight The Red Banner!” the boy struggled to no avail. “I don’t want to die! At least share it with—“

  The brute grabbed Konstantin’s rifle and snatched it away. He slammed the boy to the ground. “You’re just a lazy, entitled kid. I worked hard to get these bullets, why the fuck should I share it with you? Pathetic loser.”

  He walked away.

  Konstantin clenched his fists and roared like a lion cub. “This is unfair,” he said. “I thought we’re supposed to be united in fighting The Red Banner.”

  The old man chuckled. “Survival of the fittest, little one,” he said. “This is how life is under The White Clan.”

  “Are you expecting me to shove myself through that chaos?” Konstantin pointed at the fight ensuing near the ammunition boxes, while the soldiers only watched. “I’m nowhere near as muscular as they are! I’m just a teen! Is it my fault that I was younger than most people here? Is it my fault that I can’t go through them?”

  “Is it?” the old man asked.

  “Of course it’s not! It’s a rhetorical question, old man!” Konstantin shouted. “I’m sure you’re thinking the same thing! With your ageing physique, there’s no way you can join that rumble arena!”

  “I have my reason to sit here, loitering about like a lazy bottom-feeder in The Hierarchy,” the old man said. “But you’re right; even if this special reason doesn’t exist, I would still sit here doing nothing. Too old. Too frail. No matter how I struggle, no matter how hard I work, there’s simply no way that I can be the fittest of us all. There’s no way I can survive.”

  “Then The Red Banner will kill us!” Konstantin grabbed his rock-tipped hammer. “Is this our fate? To die because of reasons beyond our control?”

  The old man nodded. “That’s just how the world works.”

  “Screw that! I don’t want to die!” Konstantin’s hands shook. “If the Red Banner comes. If they’re here, I will—“

  A gunfire echoed through the cave.

  “They’re here!” the soldiers pointed. “To arms! We fight for our freedom, for our liberty!”

  Miners with rifles yelled and charged forward. As they left Konstantin’s sight, a volley of gunfire echoed through. Screams. Agonies. A voice that the boy recognised—the muscular brute who stole his rifle—whimpering as he fell silent.

  Explosion.

  The soldiers flinched. Miners without guns retreated back into the depth of the cave. Konstantin readied his hammer and tightened his grips. He glanced at the old man; still sitting while stroking his beard.

  How can he remain so calm? Konstantin gritted his teeth. The Red Banner is coming, and they are hell-bent on destroying The White Clan and its people. Why—

  A man in brown greatcoat appeared on the far end of the cave.

  Unlike White Clan’s soldiers, his outfit was loose and baggy, making it impossible to guess what he’s hiding underneath. His hair was short but rugged, and his stature was average: neither skinny nor brawny, neither short nor tall. The way he walked, the way he presented himself was nothing special. A truly average man of the commons.

  Konstantin stood his ground. Red Banner.

  Leader of The White Clan soldiers laughed. “Are you serious, you rascal dog?” he pointed his gun at him. “There are five of us here, and you’re trying to fight us alone without any weapon?”

  He kept silent.

  “You’re even more insane than I thought a Red Banner rascal would be,” the leader sniggered as he looked at his soldiers. “Do you know the shit they talk about? Equality and justice for all, or those bullshits? Giving lazy people welfare even if they haven’t worked hard?”

  “I heard,” one of the soldiers replied with a chuckle. “They’re obviously science illiterate. Only a hierarchy of dominance can ensure the emergence of successful people. Mollycoddling lazy bastards who need to be weeded out of society will doom us all.”

  “Well, that’s the fate of Red Banner in the future after all,” the leader grinned. “They do not respect the idea of Natural Selection, and therefore, they will be selected out of it. Perish. Extinct.”

  The Red Banner kept silent.

  “Kill this maniac,” the soldier said.

  The Red Banner’s eyes turned crimson red.

  And the soldiers pointed the gun at their leader.

  “What the—?“

  They fired.

  A barrage of bullets showered him, tearing his flesh apart towards all directions. As the remnant of his body fell to the ground, the soldiers convulsed and shook. Their entire body twitched for ten seconds. They stopped. The soldiers stood straight, pointing their rifle upwards under their chin.

  They fired.

  Chunks of flesh, brain, and skull painted the cave ceiling. They fell in simultaneity, leaving their smoking gun laying on the floor.

  The Red Banner’s face remained neutral as he walked among the suicidal corpses, walking towards Konstantin, who shivered while clenching his hands tight onto his hammer. The boy gritted his teeth and charged.

  “Die, Red Banner!” Konstantin charged forward.

  His legs lost power and the boy fell down.

  What? Konstantin laid flat on his stomach. His arms won’t move, and his face won’t twitch. Fingers. Toes. Shoulders. His mind spun into a vortex like a black hole appeared at the centre of his brain. Static. Noise. A gibberish voice spoken in a foreign language buzzed through his ears. He tried driving the voice away, but it won’t, like his mind was forcing him to listen to it. Slowly, the words began to make sense. The structure began to make sense. Not in a particular language, but he understood them regardless.

  “We’re not here to kill you,” the androgynous echoing voice materialised.

  Don’t tell me, Konstantin forced his eyes to glance up. The man with crimson red eyes still stared at him. This…Red Banner has the power to read minds?

  “A little more complicated than that,” the voice echoed again. “But roughly, yes.”

  The old man grabbed the Red Banner’s shoulder.

  “Never invade other’s brain unnecessarily,” the old man said. “Release him, Lytkin.”

  The Red Banner named Lytkin sighed. He closed his eyes, and Konstantin’s body shook in abrupt.

  Like an impulse, Konstantin jumped back towards the wall and slammed his back. The boy’s mind remained spinning, wobbling, incoherent. The voice was gone, and his entire head ached; nowhere in particular, but the pain spread uniformly underneath his skull.

  “He’s fine, old man,” Lytkin said. “I just disabled his motor function a little. Spoke from within as well.”

  “Get it wrong, and you’ll meddle with his cardiac function,” the old man replied. “Until you master your Bionika further, I forbid you from using anything other than telepathic power towards non-hostiles.”

  “You’ve no idea how much I’ve trained my Bionika over the past few years,” Lytkin sighed. “But I’m not here to listen to your lecture; I’m here to bring you back to us.”

  Silence.

  “Why did you leave us, old man?” Lytkin asked. “Don’t you know how much he needed your guidance? How lost he is without your wisdom?”

  “His heart is tainted with anger and hatred. With pain and agony,” the old man replied. “I want to support him, but he won’t listen to me. Until he realises the mistake in his attitude, his misunderstanding of his reason for existence—nothing I say will make a difference—“

  “That’s why we need you more than ever!” Lytkin shouted. “The Red Banner is nothing without his leadership. We are finally gathering momentum in the war against White Clan, but our cause cannot be sustained with such darkness painting his hear
t. His broken heart,” he paused. “This war begun as the liberation of our people, but now, it is simply his war of vengeance against a past tragedy long gone.”

  The old man sighed.

  “We need you—!”

  “I get it,” the old man kneeled in front of Konstantin and lent a hand. “But bring this boy with us.”

  “Him?”

  The old man stared at Konstantin. “Do you want to join the Red Banner, little one?”

  Konstantin stared at the old man with confusion. “Why?” he frowned. “What makes you different from the White Clan? What guarantee do you have, that the Red Banner won’t impose a tyrannical rule and deny the freedom of the people like the White Clan did?”

  “Tyranny and freedom,” Lytkin spoke softly. “What do you know of these, young boy?”

  “What?”

  “By appeal and recruitment alone, The White Clan attracts so many more people due to their promise of freedom and liberty. Of their folly guarantee for individual rights. Of their promise to ensure everyone will be paid justly according to their hard work,” Lytkin paused. “Have they fulfilled any of their promises?”

  “I don’t know,” Konstantin gritted his teeth. “I’ve spent so long underneath this unknown space rock, mindlessly mining tonnes of ores for whatever reason The White Clan needs it for. After all this, I don’t even know what The White Clan promises actually mean. Hard Work. Success. Prosperity. Dream.”

  “In that sense, The White Clan has fulfilled their promise.”

  “How so?” Konstantin’s voice stiffened. “Am I happy? Am I successful? After avoiding deaths so many times?”

  Lytkin’s eyes turned crimson red as he stared at the boy. Konstantin’s head suddenly buzzed and spun, albeit gentler than before.

  “Stop reading my mind—!”

  “Your memories said you came here out of free will,” Lytkin interrupted. “The White Clan did not manipulate your family and lured you into slavery. You chose to work whatever bad jobs available because you need money. Money for your family.”

  Lytkin grabbed Konstantin’s collar and pressed him to the wall.

  “The White Clan’s world is a world where everyone is responsible for their own demise, even if this demise is the result of a cruel fate. Like your family’s poor background, which is an inherited familial trait.”

  Silence.

  Lytkin released the boy and stepped back. “The Red Banner’s true philosophy is difficult to understand by the uninitiated such as you, but we operate on one simple principle,” he paused.

  “To create a world where everyone can live according to their destiny.”

  “That…”

  “The White Clan’s premature, no, immature understanding of freedom and liberty is humanity’s bane,” Lytkin bumped his fist onto his chest. “Join The Red Banner, and you shall become a part of our Great Liberation, liberating humanity from a lesser existence into a greater one. From a life of work, to a life of purpose. If we have to suffer, if we have to work hard, we will do so in the path of realising our larger destiny—not simply to survive.”

  Konstantin listened.

  The old man approached the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s too late to reclaim the happy childhood you’ve lost, little one,” his voice was low. “But even if our generation’s forsaken, we live to fight so our children, grand-children, and great grand-children do not have to suffer the way we do.”

  “Is that true?” Konstantin turned to Lytkin. “If I join the Red Banner, will you ensure that everyone is freed from the bondage to wealth? Will you create a world where nobody has to suffer illnesses simply because they don’t have the financial means to cure them? Will you create a world where people are guaranteed the rights to live, regardless of their birth condition?”

  Lytkin kept silent. He took a deep breath.

  His Eyes Were Crimson Red.

  Konstantin’s body convulsed. He shook in violence as his eyes turned crimson red. A surge of electricity expanded from the back of his head towards his spine, towards his entire body. The surroundings twisted, and bizarre clouds glowing blue appeared in his vision. The ground shone bright. The walls shone bright. His hands shone bright. Like a sudden force punched him from around, Konstantin’s arms moved uncontrollably. His head ached. He screamed.

  Suddenly, electric sparks jumped out of his surroundings. From rocks. From hammers. From left. Right. Top. Bottom. Himself.

  A lightning explosion blew out of his chest.

  Lytkin and the old man jumped to a large rock’s behind as the thunderstorm blasted throughout the cave.

  “Fascinating,” Lytkin grinned. “His Bionika may become one of the strongest in the galaxy. You’re right in saying we need him.”

  “Stop it, Lytkin,” the old man said. “Unless a Bionika wielder is allowed to grow naturally, the power will immaturely manifest and cause trouble down the road,” he paused. “Let the little one train organically.”

  “Very well,” Lytkin’s eyes turned back to normal.

  Konstantin fell to ground, and the thunderstorm stopped.

  The boy’s vision remained blurred. Konstantin tried mustering the power to stand, but his leg muscles gave up. He fell sideways and laid silent on the wall. He tried speaking, but he couldn’t. Like his energy was all drained in one go.

  Suddenly, his head turned into a vortex. His vision disappeared. A voice. Gibberish voice. Started as random noise, the voice began to form meaning. Structure. Sense.

  “If you want to free the people from the bondage of wealth, then let that be our joint purpose,” Lytkin’s voice echoed in Konstantin’s consciousness. “Our leader, The Great Liberator, will be delighted to welcome you, Konstantin Simonovsky,” he paused.

  “The war against White Clan is but a small step in the long road to our Great Liberation.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  “This disposition to admire the rich and powerful, and to despise persons of poor and mean conditions, is the most universal cause of the corruption of our moral sentiments.”

  -Adam Smith –

  THREE DECADES LATER

  Chapter 1 / Part 1

  What’s the point of living if our actions are not our own? The Bandana Boy thought, standing in front of a mountain of corpses. When our destiny is but a reaction to the world? When we can only choose our path through the process of elimination?

  Audi Prabian kneeled. The boy covered his lower jaw with his scarf and tightened his dirty white bandana.

  Click.

  A noise came from his left hand’s wrist gun—a multi-purpose tactical gadget with built-in retractable dagger, spear-tipped launchable rope, and expandable bullet-proof protector. He opened a hatch, unveiling a tangled rope. The boy clicked his tongue and pulled the rope out, untangled it, and stuffed it back into the device. He slammed the hatch tight and locked it with a snap of a button.

  He scanned his surroundings: a ruined city devoid of life with all its buildings tattered like they’ve been subjected to hours of bombardment.

  But the boy has no fear.

  No shred of eerie cold shivering his skin. He was calm, almost serene even. Death was a part of his life. Randoms. Unknown faces. The corpses around him have yet to rot, and they were wet. Puddles everywhere, like a huge storm just passed by. A breeze of moist air blew onto his face, showering his nose with the stenches of petrichor, wet concrete, and musty clothes.

  A massive reflective window sat next to him. Its edges were shattered and its surface was cracked, but the boy’s reflection was clear as day. He approached it and placed his palm on the slippery glass. The boy glanced at his own eyes, brown. His skin, olive. His hair, jet black. He pondered, wishing his ethnical origin was less vague. On the planet he grew up, his skin tone was light. On the planet he lived currently, his skin tone was dark.

  He forgot how his parents looked like, for their deaths were far in the past. No. He didn’t even witness their death. His mother forced him to abandon his dyin
g father, while she herself was directly hit by an orbital bombardment. Whatever her dying face was, it cannot be more complex than a collection of vaporised dust.

  I didn’t choose this life. The boy thought. I didn’t get to choose my skin colour or the parents I was born by. A shit fate, forcing myself into wasting my youth as a poor mercenary living in a desert planet, while many others get to live a happy, normal childhood.

  Why do I have to live like this?

  Why was I not born into a better family with better birth conditions?

  Who chose this all for me?

  The pile of rubbles behind him shook.

  A red-haired, muscular man emerged like a volcano eruption. He dusted his pale green exoskeleton armour: a hulking piece of battle suit with its exterior twice-reinforced, installed with built-in strength-multiplier engine. Its outline made the man look twice as broad, but the way he walked, the way he moved implied an already brutish individual running the suit within.

  A tirade of swear words. The big man climbed over the ruins and jumped down. “Did you just ignore me?” he shouted to the boy.

  Audi turned back and stared at him for three seconds. He turned back to the corpses.

  The big man marched towards him. “That building fell on me, and your reaction is mere silence?”

  “I knew you’d be okay, big man,” Audi replied in monotone. “More importantly, this city is in a far worse shape than I imagined.”

  The big man sighed.

  Audi opened his UFX-PDA—a console device with software applications and data storage mechanism. He stretched the display to one arm’s length and accessed an orbital view of the city.

  “Benteng City was a glimmering, if not perverse, metropolis capital of this planet. Look at it now,” the boy said. “The barren surface of an asteroid looks more civilised than this.”

  “I cannot fathom a reason why Konstantin would do such a thing,” the big man frowned. “He fired his superweapon and summoned a gigantic storm over this city, killing millions of civilians who pose no threat. Why? Why would he commit this atrocity? I thought it was us he wanted to kill for disrupting his operation?”