Pain of The Lone Spectre

by Adrian P

  The big man turned back. His eyes were red from bloodshot while he bit his lower lip so tight that it bled.

  “Why?” Bryant clenched his fists until his entire arm trembled. “The Crowned Confederacy promised us a life of freedom and liberty. They codified it within their constitution, yet, how are we still imprisoned by a predestined fate? Choosing between employment and unemployment. Between becoming greedy rich and poor. Between blind happiness and thoughtful sorrow,” he paused. “Freedom is not the ability to choose from the available options; freedom is the ability to create our own options, our own destiny to live and strive with!”

  He punched the ground again.

  “Why must we struggle to earn our most basic needs? Why must we sacrifice our life in order to live? Why must we sever our heart in order to be loved?” he shouted. “Is this really it? Is this the way our world truly works?”

  “I know how you feel, but—“

  “No you don’t!” Bryant shouted. “At least you can live knowing someone actually loves you! At least you have a secure job at a prestigious company! At least your life is more or less stable, damn it!”

  Audi glanced away. Bryant clenched his eyes shut and turned away.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to yell at you,” his voice quietened to a near whisper. “Please…forget everything I’ve said.”

  “Let’s…just focus on stopping Konstantin, okay?”

  Chapter 2 / Part 6

  Night fell upon Kotabaru, but the city remained bright in shades of yellow, orange, and red as flames of unrest flared throughout the city. Clash between police and rioters spread from downtown to suburbs, and police radios announced the permission to apply deadly force.

  In the near outskirts of the city, a convoy of truck drove up towards a hill with a domed structure standing on its top. Brotherhood Delta Conscripts guarded the roadside with their rifles loaded, keeping a sharp eye on the convoy’s flanks and peripheries.

  Sasha Gryaznov stood on the street-side. Communication was intense over their radio channel, with Konstantin giving out orders every few minutes.

  Sasha put one hand inside his greatcoat’s pocket and heaved a sigh. “So, the Tyrant mercenary is dead?” he turned back to a figure behind him.

  The figure wore a hood which covered his entire face under the shade. He sported standard Brotherhood greatcoat like the rest of the conscripts, but the insignia on his shoulders were distinct. He carried one small handgun on a holster, but his posture was nothing like a soldier.

  “The mercenary shot himself after being defeated by The Bandana Boy,” the figure replied. “How tragic indeed; the fate of those subjected under the Tyrant’s rule.”

  “What a bother. Konstantin is getting out of control,” Sasha frowned. “Can’t I do anything about him?”

  “Unfortunately, Konstantin Simonovsky was allowed free rein by The Upper Echelon,” the figure said. “Under usual circumstances, meddling with his operation will be considered an attack on The Great Liberator’s wisdom itself.”

  “Under usual circumstances?”

  The figure nodded.

  “So what circumstances are unusual enough to allow intervention?”

  “Betrayal against The Brotherhood.”

  Sasha grumbled. “Now consider my argument,” he said. “Simonovsky’s task is to create a weapon powerful enough to act as a threat, a blackmail against our enemies in our Great Liberation,” he paused. “But the bastard has overstepped his responsibility, and started murdering civilians using his weapon. How is that not a violation of The Upper Echelon’s order?”

  “A sound premise and argument, Rear Admiral,” the figure crossed his arms. “Unfortunately, his actions do not violate any parameters and conditions outlined by The Upper Echelon. So you still cannot intervene against him.”

  “Damn it,” Sasha kicked a pebble nearby. “Are you saying that you approve of his atrocities? This is not what The Brotherhood stands for! We are liberators, not a genocide cult!”

  “Well said,” the figure clapped his hands. “Spoken just how The Patriot of War would.”

  “Then find me a way—“

  “You must understand the landscape of Brotherhood’s philosophical discourse,” the figure interrupted. “The Great Liberator has bestowed upon us his wisdom, his wrath against The Tyrant Empire, and the vision of humanity’s future. He has not, however, outlined a specific path that must be treaded to achieve these.”

  Silence.

  “It is, in itself, one of the greatest wisdoms of The Great Liberator—to let us, Brothers and Sisters of The Brotherhood, contribute in crafting our destiny,” he continued. “We are given a decree to hone ourselves intellectually, interpret his wisdom, and pave the road to humanity’s ultimate destiny: to reign supreme above all that lives.”

  “So what are you saying?” Sasha crossed his arms.

  “That Konstantin simply interprets The Great Liberator’s wisdom differently from you,” the figure replied. “You belong to The School of Re-Education, while he belongs to The School of Annihilation—both accepted by The Society Overseer as legitimate jurisprudence.”

  The Rear Admiral clicked his tongue.

  “Do not despair, I do have an advice for you to take action against Konstantin Simonovsky.”

  “Spit it out.”

  The figure cleared his throat. “Konstantin might be a follower of the School of Annihilation, but at the same time, he is a part of Fleet Voina.”

  Sasha widened his eyes.

  “Exactly,” the figure nodded. “The Patriot of War, your and his admiral, is an ardent proponent of The School of Re-Education—the most famous and powerful one while at it. Therefore, any action Simonovsky pursues which goes against the official philosophy of his fleet is a violation of the Guidance Principle.”

  “You’re saying I should act as an agent of the Patriot of War, disciplining Konstantin as my justification for intervention?”

  The figure nodded again.

  “Excellent,” Sasha turned up towards the hilltop, where the observatory was located. “I will make a preparation to—”

  “It won’t be easy,” the figure interrupted. “Don’t you remember? Konstantin’s Bionika power is an Alpha-class, while yours is merely a Beta-class. No words will convince him to stand down,” he paused. “Do you think you can fight against someone exponentially stronger than yourself?”

  “Even if I die, let my struggle be known among the Brotherhood,” he said. “That our Great Liberation is highly prone to perversion, but at the same time, there exist those willing to prevent this from happening.”

  The figure chuckled. “Truly a disciple of Patriot of War. He would be proud of you.”

  “But if I must die, then something needs to be done beforehand.”

  “And what is that?”

  Sasha clenched his fist.

  “Killing The Bandana Boy.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “The philosophers have only interpreted the world, in various ways. The point, however, is to change it.”

  -Karl Heinrich Marx-

  Chapter 3 / Part 1

  Kotabaru’s suburb was a recently gentrified area built with massive loans to major interstellar banks and lenders. The houses were uniform in architecture without any unique characteristics for each: from wall colours, garden designs, and even the doors. The roads within formed a maze with many dead-ends, seemingly built at a whim without a shred of urban planning. Many have left their house, but a street was guarded heavily by Troopers of The Armed Forces. Soldiers patrolled within a perimeter of three streets, centred about a two-storey house with modest-sized garden in front.

  The house was not for residence; it was a safehouse made to protect members of the royal blood. The top floor was luxurious, filled with complex facilities befitting a palace, but the ground floor and basement mimicked that of a military barracks. Armory. Security room. Hidden automated turrets.

  Charlotte stood in the basement residential
section, sitting next to a door while hugging both her legs. She leaned towards the door and pressed her ears. Silence. She straightened herself and plunged her face between her knees.

  Footsteps echoed through the darkened, concrete corridor. Rachele. She walked with a hastened pace towards the girl, stopping in front of her.

  “How is he, Charley?” Rachele asked.

  Charlotte shook her head.

  Rachele leaned on the wall. “Bryant acted the same. Chrissie has been trying to drag him out of his cabin for hours, but nil. Something terrible must have happened,” she sighed. “I thought they won against Konstantin’s ambush.”

  “What do we do, Ray?” Charlotte asked. “We still have to stop Konstantin, but without him, we can’t—“

  “There’s no other choice,” the woman took her communicator out. “If they can’t help us, we’ll deal with Konstantin himself, and kill him—“

  “No!”

  Rachele flinched.

  “You cannot kill Konstantin,” Charlotte grabbed her arm. “If you kill him, Audi cannot get the medicine he needs. Only Konstantin knows where it is.”

  “If we delay our operation any longer, then Konstantin will deploy his superweapon again. Millions of innocents will die,” Rachele replied. “There’s no time, Charley.”

  “He’s gone a long way across the stars to obtain this medicine!” Charlotte raised her voice. “If you kill Konstantin, then all his efforts will be in vain. I cannot let that happen.”

  “So you’d rather let millions die?”

  “That—“

  Rachele sighed. “You know, I’ve been wanting to ask you about this,” she paused. “Why do you care about him so much?”

  Charlotte glanced away.

  “I’m not blind, Charley,” Rachele continued. “If you think I hadn’t noticed something going on between you, then you don’t know me well enough. Having a sharp eye for details is my job description in Petit Fantome.”

  Silence.

  “What you do and how you feel about others is up to you; you’re twenty-one, and I’m not a naggy mother,” she continued. “But Konstantin is a dangerous lunatic who has no remorse for committing atrocities. Our job as Petit Fantome is to take him out.”

  “Because we’re not getting paid otherwise?”

  “Money is of secondary concern!” Rachele yelled. “Chrissie worked her entire life to prevent dangerous people from ruining the galactic environment, and Konstantin’s superweapon? That’s capable of beyond trivial destruction.”

  “So why do you care, Ray? You’re never part of William’s Green; you’re neither vegan nor an environmentalist,” Charlotte said. “If Konstantin’s superweapon destroys the galactic environment, what’s your stake in it?”

  “Because I know the pain of losing my loved ones!”

  Charlotte flinched.

  “I lost my husband in that tragic accident, Charley. A cruel, tragic fate he did not deserve,” Rachele gritted her teeth. “He was a kind soul, but like that doesn’t matter, he was thrown off the cliff in a flash.”

  “Ray,” Charlotte fidgeted. “I’m sorry, I—“

  “And as if that’s not enough, I lost my child too. Stillborn. Someone who has yet to see the world. To understand the world. Gone,” her voice quietened. “What wrong have I done to deserve all this, Charley? What? What was my sin to this world, that it inflicted suffering and death to those who least deserve it?”

  The girl remained silent.

  Rachele took a deep breath. She placed a palm on her chest, glaring at Charlotte with a sharp, yet mellow eyes.

  “I understand that you want to help him, but what currently at stake is bigger than an individual,” she said. “Konstantin could launch his weapon at any time, and we, the world, cannot afford the casualties that might arise,” she paused. “Convince him to fight again before tonight. Otherwise, Petit Fantome—and that includes you—will take over the operation to kill Konstantin.”

  Charlotte bit her lips and glanced away.

  “That’s as far a compromise I’m willing to give. I’m sure Chrissie will agree with me too.”

  She walked away.

  The girl sighed. She walked to the door and knocked it lightly. “I know you listened,” she said. “If you don’t come out, then I will be forced to kill Konstantin.”

  Silence.

  “You’ve risked your life and gone so far in order to obtain the medicine. Are you going to waste you effort like this?”

  More silence.

  “I want to help you, more than you think I do, but you’ve got to let me,” she said. “We’re all fighting against Konstantin out of moral duty, but you have a personal reason to defeat him. Remember that. Didn’t you say this person who needs the medicine is suffering—?”

  The door opened.

  Audi stood with his sight downwards. He still wore his combat gear and outfit, from head to feet, and his face was pale. Charlotte waited for the boy to speak, but silence; even his breath was near inaudible.

  They kept standing for minutes without a word exchanged. Charlotte sighed and pushed him lightly into his room, forcing him to sit on his bed. She grabbed a chair and sat, putting both of her hands on her lap and clasped them.

  “I know how it feels to fall ill,” she began. “To be helpless. To feel worthless. To have my dream dust away as my own body betrayed me.”

  Audi looked towards her.

  “So don’t let your suffering costs other and drag them into their own hell of suffering too. If you have suffered, then it is your responsibility that no one suffers as you did.”

  The boy closed his eyes and nodded.

  “Good,” she straightened her pose. “Are you ready to talk now?”

  “I…we…met Matthew.”

  “Your other companion?”

  Audi nodded. “He fought for Konstantin, but when we beat him, he shot himself.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Why?”

  “The world.”

  She frowned her eyebrows.

  “He cannot bear a life in a world which refuses to give him a chance to live,” he spoke softly. “Born to a family that’s poor for generations, unable to break out from their status, no matter how hard he worked,” he paused. “When the world robs you from your chance to pursue your own destiny, is there any more reason live?”

  “I…see,” Charlotte glanced away. “So he chose death over suffering.”

  “Wouldn’t anyone?”

  The girl listened.

  “Why were we born into this world? Why this time, when society seems to be at its worst?” he asked. “When population is so massive, that individuals are practically replaceable? When one’s existence and suffering are so insignificant that they can be reduced into a study of statistics?”

  “Everyone suffers in every era,” Charlotte replied. “Even if the details of their sufferings differ.”

  “And why have we let people suffer all that long?”

  Silence.

  “This is not normal, it should never be normal,” Audi’s teeth chattered. “Survival of self is the most primal instinct of living things. For the world to be cruel enough to convince ourselves to betray this most powerful instinct—“

  Charlotte pinched both of his cheeks.

  “It is your first time seeing a suicide, isn’t it?”

  The boy kept silent.

  “Tell me,” her tone stiffened. “Have you ever had thoughts of suicide before?”

  “I…once.”

  “When?”

  “In Gleicherde three years ago,” the boy replied. “I was cornered, and hundreds of drones was about to swarm me with bullets. I thought I was doomed. There’s nothing I can do. I grabbed my pistol and aimed it on my temple. Finger on trigger. Then—“

  “Why are you still alive now?”

  Audi paused. “I was saved by my friends.”

  Charlotte nodded. “We’re much more alike than I thought.”

  The boy turned to her.


  “I’ve been there too, you know, in the edge of despair,” the girl said. “I killed my father and ran away from home, and thus I was left with nothing. No shelter. No home. No planet. I was forced to venture across star systems, steal my way into spaceships and rummaged trash cans behind restaurants,” she paused. “My life was reduced to mere survival; a cycle of sleep, hunting for food, eating, and back to sleep. No purpose. No destiny.”

  She put one hand on her chest.

  “But a twist of fate happened; an old man found me and introduced me to Chrissie and Ray,” she paused. “Turns out he was Petit Fantome’s arms dealer.”

  “So he gave you the stealth suit?”

  Charlotte nodded. “Chrissie and Ray had their share of suffering themselves, and I finally found a reason of existence, a reason to keep on living in this world filled with suffering,” she clenched her fist. “To make sure nobody else must go through what I have. To ensure that everyone, every baby, every soul that is born to this world is guaranteed life—“

  “Is it really that simple?”

  Charlotte stopped.

  “Matthew killed himself because nobody is willing to guarantee his family’s life, except him,” the boy said. “The burden of many was placed on him, someone with neither the political power, economic power, nor the social power to support even himself.”

  “The way the world works,” Charlotte tightened her hands’ clasp. “The Crowned Confederacy champions the ideal of freedom, liberty, and individuality. Everyone is free to chase their dream. Everyone can do what they want with life. Everyone is free to believe in what they want.”

  She frowned.

  “But that also means everyone is responsible unto themselves, regardless of other factors,” Charlotte’s voice quietened. “I was born to a shitty family who only cared about status, parents who only cared about shaping my future in their own twisted image. They were free to do what they want, that is including, the freedom to deny me from my dream.”

  “How freedom backfires.”