The Biomass Revolution

Chapter 1: The Past Unveiled

It was mid-morning and Spurious Timur sat in his cubicle, staring at his goldfish, Archie. Slowly the small fish fluttered his fins and swam about the bowl. Sporadically, he peered through the glass with interest at the outside world, a place so large the small fish could never comprehend its complexity. And yet, the goldfish stared back at him, his gills puffing in and out, as if he was trying to understand what lay beyond his glass walls.

Ironically, Spurious lived primarily in a space equivalent to that of Archie’s. The only difference was the young man was surrounded by four white walls connected to form a cubicle, where he worked 10 hours a day, 60 hours a week.

Archie darted towards the surface of his glass home as Spurious reached over and dropped a pinch of food in the water. He smiled, watching his fish peck aggressively at the small morsels.

“So that’s what you wanted. No wonder you were staring at me. I bet you were pretty hungry,” Spurious whispered, too quietly for other pods to hear.

Forgetting his small friend, he turned and faced his blue screen, slouching in his plush chair. The scent of bleach and paper prompted him to sneeze. The odor was something he had never gotten used to, even after his five years of working in the same place. There were always service workers in their ocean blue uniforms, cleaning the work spaces with bleach in hope of preventing germs from spreading.

The smell never ceased to remind him of his first day at SGS. He could still remember the floors of windowless rooms with artificial light and the stuffy tunnels below the building—their twisted pipes lining the thick concrete walls like synthetic veins. And he certainly would never forget the first time he entered his office, sitting down only to see the web of ventilation above like bars on a holding cell. It was then he knew his cubicle wasn’t a work station—it was a prison.

The clock struck 10:15 a.m. and Remus, a service worker, showed up with his small cordless vacuum cleaner.

“Good morning Spurious,” he smiled, pushing his tiny vacuum into Spurious’ workstation.

“Do you mind if I vacuum in here right now?”

Spurious didn’t need to look up to see the crooked grin painted across Remus’ face. It was the same grin he saw every morning, a grin that repeated itself day after day like everything else. He simply nodded and motioned Remus into his cubicle.

Remus, like many of the other service workers, was developmentally disabled. In fact, most of the service workers employed at his office suffered from some condition preventing them from obtaining other work. Their attitudes, however, did not reflect their miserable jobs.

The only thing Remus and Spurious seemed to have in common was their unique family stories. Both of their parents were killed by a bomb during the early years of the Biomass Revolution. And every day Spurious saw the young service worker’s crooked grin he was reminded of it.

“All done, Spurious; you have a good day now, you hear?”

“You too Remus, see you tomorrow.”

Spurious watched Remus drag his vacuum down the hall towards the paper stations. He stopped to replace the disappearing stacks of yellowed paper with more stacks, reminding Spurious of his aging childhood book that survived the wars.

“Good morning Remus,” chirped Zaria, a secretary that worked just down the hall from Spurious.

“Well hey there, Zaria, how are you doing? Did you watch the last fight at the dome? I heard the Samoan warrior put on a great show,” Remus said, putting a stack of papers back onto the table.

“No. I couldn’t make it, but I have heard a few people discussing his victory this morning. I overheard he has won the past four fights and if he wins the next one, he will gain his freedom. Is that true?”

“Get back to work, Remus! Don’t bother other employees,” shouted his supervisor, Mr. Sturm.

Remus looked back down at the carpet and pushed his vacuum cleaner out of Zaria’s office, acknowledging his supervisor’s request with a simple nod.

Sturm followed Remus and the other service workers everywhere, hunting them with a clipboard and checking off the tasks they performed with the same methodical stroke of his pen.

Spurious never heard anyone call him by his first name, and all of the service workers referred to him specifically as Mr. Sturm. Some days he wondered if Sturm wanted them to suffer.

The slow tick from a nearby clock echoed in his ear, reminding him of how structured his life had become. Having lived his entire life in Tisaia, Spurious knew nothing else. The world beyond the great steel walls was as foreign to him now as it was when he was a child. Like other State workers, he only knew what the State taught him and what he saw with his own eyes.

He could remember only a few things about his childhood. He knew his father was a factory worker in one of the first Biomass factories. His mother was a boarding school teacher for immigrant children before the State had passed Law 99 in 2051. The law deemed any immigrant taken in through the gates of Tisaia in the last decade to be an illegal citizen. The result was deportation back into the Wastelands—a virtual death sentence. A Justice committee was established and a squad of Royal Knights was dispatched throughout Tisaia to find all illegal immigrants and transport them to the camps to process them for deportation. After Law 99 his mother had been out of work.

Spurious frowned, reminded that he could scarcely remember his parents faces. It wasn’t the only thing he had forgotten. It seemed he could not recall what it was like to be happy; his purpose was only to provide administrative support to his superiors. Over the years he had come to accept his fate, but deep down he had always wished there was something more to his life.

Spurious swiped at his holographic blue screen to transfer data from a file he had received to a spreadsheet. As he finished up his report, the crystal blue screen began to pulsate, indicating he had a new message. He swiped the screen with his index finger to unlock the incoming message, watching the blue background fade and a white screen emerge. “Sound,” he commanded.

“Spurious,

We have gotten an influx of new tunnel projects—priority red. I’ll need you to get started on mapping them as soon as possible. Make no mistake, this comes from the top.

Regards,

Miria”

“Beats the plumbing projects,” Spurious said, quietly. With another swipe from his finger, a 3D image of the tunnels underneath Lunia emerged from a tiny opening in his desk. He rotated his chair, and began to study the red holographic lines snaking their way across his table.

The tunnels had always interested him. They were the grand engineering marvels from the early 21st century. And there were so many of them, like the never-ending entrails of a snake, winding their way deeper and deeper beneath the city. What little he knew came from what his father had told him when he was just a child—a fascinating story about the old world. It was a tale about how things once were; when governments sent their emissaries to meetings where they discussed solutions to the laundry list of problems the world faced. They talked about the dwindling supply of oil, global climate change and rising sea levels, but the talks never materialized. Temperatures rose, oil disappeared and the polar ice caps slowly melted. In a last ditch chance to protect cities from the scorching sun and gamma rays, the United States embarked on an engineering feat not seen since the creation of the New Deal and the building of the Panama Canal. They created new cities, completely underground.

Spurious thumbed through the holographic lines and enlarged a section of tunnel underneath Rohania, a suburb of Lunia. It was here, where he was born, that the tunnels were the deepest. It was going to be a daunting mission to map them all—a mission that supposedly came from the top.

He stared at the contours, watching them snake deeper into the ground. What was so important about the tunnels? Why were his superiors so interested in what lay beneath the city streets?

Spurious shook the curious thoughts out of his mind and continued to study the holographic lines crawling across his desk. He knew not to question his work. Mapping the tunnels was going to be overwhelming, but it was his job.

By the time he was done analyzing the new data, it was time for lunch. He looked down at Archie, who peered back with his oversized eyes, his small gills flexing in and out.

It’s pretty amazing that I can’t breathe in there, and you can’t breathe out here.

Spurious smiled at his small companion and stood, stretching with a long groan before shutting off his blue screen and heading to the cafeteria.

Saving energy had become law in the year 2061. The State rarely arrested workers for small offenses. More likely, were write-ups which could cost an employee a promotion. He’d seen it happen to his old pod mate, Paulo.

Spurious thought of his old friend as he made his way through the corridor of cubicles. One after another, the white structures of cubicles lined the walls. All cages, housing people just like him. He never liked to peer into these work stations as he passed, hoping others would respect his privacy as he respected theirs. There was one cubicle he could not restrain himself from looking in. It was that of Lana Padilla, a 25 year old dark-haired secretary with piercing brown eyes. Spurious heard the only reason she was given the prestigious and well paying job was because of her beauty. This was one situation where resumes, experience and name dropping didn’t matter. There had been only one interview before her supervisor, Varius, hired her as his assistant.

Spurious paused for a moment as he passed the manager’s office. He was a disgusting man, sitting in his plush chair, his gut hanging over the same pair of desert tan khakis he wore every day. And then there were his glasses. They were as thick as a magnifying glass, the rims coated with dandruff flaking off his receding and graying hair.

Spurious frowned and continued down the hall towards the cafeteria, his head down, while he contemplated what he would say to Lana. As her workspace came into view, he brushed a strand of his brown hair back into position and cracked his unmistakable half smile. “Hey Lana…” he said, his voice trailing off as the quiet tick of a clock filled his ears.

He craned his neck further into the office to see it was empty. The only explanation he could gather was she was at home with a cold. There was a virus going around the office—a virus not even the gallons of bleach had been able to prevent.

Spurious shrugged her absence off and continued down the hall towards the scent of food, trying to conceal his disappointment.

The cafeteria was busy for a Wednesday. Most people brought their lunch from home to save credits, but today the dining hall was doing well.

There were two lines: one for deli sandwiches, and the other for salad and porridge. These were some of the only foods the State deemed healthy enough for employees to eat. The entire list could be found in Law 204. It was yet another edict on state workers he had memorized.

Spurious got sick of having the same thing every day, but it was better than what those trying to survive outside the protection of the great Tisaian walls had to eat.

He approached the white, shiny counter, blinded momentarily by the reflection off a metal tray. His vision quickly came back into focus and the toothless grin of one of the cafeteria assistants came into view.

“Hey there, Spurious, what’s it going to be today?” she asked.

He gritted his teeth and tried to hide his disgust. “I think I’m just going to have my usual.”

“All right. One tuna salad on white, with one slice of cheese and tomato.”

“You know me too well,” Spurious said, with a smile, grabbing the tray from her.

The pungent smell of tuna entered his nostrils, reminding him of the smell of bleach. These were two smells he would never escape; another two pieces of the monotonous puzzle making up his life.

He stared down at the sandwich, realizing that, over the years, tuna had become almost tasteless to him. Sometimes he even wondered if it was really tuna, having never seen one in his life. Ever since the Biomass Wars ended, the boundaries around Tisaia were fortified. No one was allowed to leave and no one was allowed in. He knew it was impossible for the State to ship tuna in from the ocean. The only explanation he could deduce was that the State had massive stockpiles of canned goods stored away in vaults underground. Like many State workers, he had heard of these vaults, but never seen one in person, or in any of the engineering design work he analyzed.

“Over here, Spurious,” yelled Paulo.

Spurious made his way down the armada of white tables filled with his co-workers. He spotted Paulo and his best friend Ing at a table at the far edge of the cafeteria. After wading through the lines of SGS employees, Spurious finally sat down with his friends.

“What’s going on?” Ing asked, as Spurious took a seat.

Spurious sighed. “I’ve spent the majority of my day staring at holographic images of the tunnels. Pretty exciting stuff,” he lied.

Ing leaned closer to Spurious and whispered across the table.

“Oh yeah? What can you tell us? Anything secretive going on?”

Spurious cracked a half smile and shot Ing a quick glance before taking a large bite out of his sandwich.

He chewed loudly while he spoke. “You know I’m not at liberty to say, but…”

“But what Spurious?”

Spurious shook his head. “It’s nothing, nothing important.”

Ing rolled his eyes before staring at his porridge. “You get to see all the neat stuff,” he said, swirling his spoon playfully in the creamy soup.

“I wish I had something to keep me busy. I don’t know if I can wait another five years to get out of this place. It really is a nightmare, doing the same old thing day in and day out. Maybe I should get a fish to stare at, too,” Paulo said, frowning.

“Five years isn’t that long. You’ve been here for how long? Twenty years? Another five isn’t going to kill you,” Spurious reassured his friend.

Paulo looked down at his small bowl of browning cabbage. His eyes were rimmed with creases and his eyes were dull. Strands of receding blonde hair crept down his forehead and crawled down his thick sideburns like a vine down a tree. Ing looked at Spurious, blatantly concerned.

Ever since Paulo lost his promotion, things had changed. After waiting five years for a transfer to the Sector of the Treasury, Paulo was to be promoted to Bureau Chief of Insurance Claims, which also marked quite the raise in salary. If he played his cards right, he might have been able to move out of government housing and buy a small condominium outside the Commons, where the rest of the workers lived. That dream ended one day when Paulo forgot to turn off his computer, lamp, and office light before going home from work for the third time. His penalty was a write-up, costing him his promotion.

The once articulate and outspoken man seemed broken and aged. Ing and Spurious knew they had to continue to try and motivate their old friend. With his golden years ahead, he should be managing a group of young people Spurious’ age, but due to a small mistake, his life was put on hold for at least another five years, if not indefinitely.

Spurious took one last bite out of his sandwich before he turned to Paulo, attempting to cheer him up. “Tell us about the time you did an audit at the Biomass factory outside the city limits. I’ve been hearing rumors they are creating an even more efficient Biomass.”

The old man blinked a few times, as if he was trying to remember. “Oh yes, the one I traveled to a year or so ago. It was a magnificent facility. The factory floor was lined with circular fuel tanks that rose hundreds of meters into the air. Workers in blood red uniforms raced about, checking the blue screens on each individual tank. It was quite the operation.”

For a moment Spurious thought of his father who had worked in a similar facility, long after the State assumed operations from the private company that controlled the Biomass.

“Do you remember the Tisaian Corporation?” Spurious asked.

Paulo nodded quickly in between bites. “How could I forget? Those bastards were the first to use the hybrid soybean seeds that created Biomass.”

“Those bastards?” Ing interrupted. “The Tisaian Corporation solved the world’s fuel problems practically overnight. Why do you think they named Tisaia after them? They are heroes.”

“And they also sparked WWIII when they did. Heroes don’t create wars. They end them.” Paulo fired back. “Oh that’s right you are too young to remember The Biomass Wars. When nations fought over the rights for the seeds. And you probably wouldn’t remember these seeds can only be grown in fertile top soil—top soil found in only a few locations after 21st century farming destroyed most of it.”

Spurious interrupted the brewing argument with a cough. “You guys. Stop arguing. It doesn’t matter who created Biomass. All that matters is whether the State can create enough to share it with the outside world.”

“That will never happen, Spurious. I don’t understand why the government wants to hoard the Biomass, but they do.” Paulo mumbled between bites of his cabbage.

Ing laughed. “Well your memory clearly goes back longer than mine, but I’m willing to guess it’s because there isn’t anyone left in the world to share it with.”

Paulo looked up, half way between his next bite. “Then the State has already succeeded in making you believe what they want you to believe.” He glanced over at Spurious for a split second. “Remember, what we’re led to believe is not always the truth.”

“It bothers you that the State denies the existence of other governments?” Spurious asked.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Paulo said, running a hand through his thinning hair.

“Well it’s simply not true, guys. If there’s any government left we would know about it. There would be evidence,” Ing piped in.

Paulo snickered. “Ah, what it would be like to be young and ignorant again,” he said, rising from his seat. “I’ll see you two later. Clearly I’m not going to get through to you today.”

Lunch ended as abruptly as Paulo had lost his promotion. It was becoming a common occurrence. Spurious or Ing would say something that upset him and the next thing they knew he would be headed back to his cube. Today was no different, but for some reason Spurious felt a sense of excitement. Not because he had upset Paulo, but because regardless of who was right, this was truly an exciting time for humanity. If this new Biomass was capable of what he had heard, then perhaps things would begin to change. Perhaps things would go back to the way they were in the old world—the world his father used to tell him stories about.

A freezing rain punished Spurious as he rushed down the cobblestone walkway towards his housing complex. The silhouettes of destroyed skyscrapers towered above in the distance, appearing oblique in the darkness. They were now nothing more than artifacts from the past, like the pyramids he had read about as a child.

He pulled his eyes away from the eerie structures, tugging his hood over his head to cover his chapped face, protecting his eyes from the cold, unforgiving wind and rain. A row of street lights glowed within the protection of their glass cases, illuminating the archaic brick walkway below. A strained power line whined in the wind as it carried the Biomass life source to the commons buildings, like blood through a vein.

Spurious continued down the path, nuzzling his face into the collar of his coat. He had taken the six o’clock underground trolley home tonight, opting from walking the near five miles from his office to his apartment due to the freezing rain. He clutched the copper railing tightly, the metal stained green like the rooftop above. A radiant orange glow from several lights guided him to the fourth floor, where he pulled open a massive oak door revealing a hallway lined with blood red doors. His apartment was at the far end, the last door on the right. He slugged down the creaky wooden floor and inserted his key into the lock with a mechanical click.

Dwarfed by the skyscrapers in the distance, the commons buildings were small and cramped for large families. The architecture was late 20th century, defined by pointed arc windows, steep gables, and stone veneer. Before the Biomass Wars, they were used to house distinguished politicians who traveled to the capitol city once a year for a three month legislative session. After the war ended, the common buildings had been rebuilt on a massive scale to house all State workers. It was one of the few perks these workers shared. The citizens living outside Lunia enjoyed far less luxury, often squatting in the metal intestines of destroyed skyscrapers, or congregating in stone buildings constructed hastily in Rohania.

Inside the apartment Spurious was greeted with the familiar sound of Anya’s voice. She was the artificial intelligence his flat was equipped with.

“Good evening, sir, what can I do for you?” she asked.

While Anya was nothing more than a hologram appearing on a stand in each corner of the square room he called home, she had the capability of fixing him dinner, turning on his favorite program on the blue screen, regulating the water temperature in his rain room and explaining any new laws the legislature passed.

Spurious set his bag down on the ground. “Would you warm up a cup of tea for me please?” he replied.

“Certainly sir. Is there anything else?”

“Any news about the new Biomass factory?” he asked.

Anya’s image jumped from one stand to another as he walked through his small apartment towards the kitchen.

“No news yet, but let me check the mainframe. Give me 31 seconds.”

Spurious smiled, grabbing a full mug of warm tea from the automatic food processing counter. He admired her attention to detail, something programmed into her years ago. She was connected to the same system as all the other AI’s and held considerable power. Her intelligence was remarkable. She was the ultimate multi-tasking machine. In a millisecond she could be warming up his tea while combing through a massive database of information. It was, in a way, frightening to Spurious. On the one hand she catered to his every need, but if he broke any State law she could report him through the system immediately, prompting a visit from a Royal Knight.

The thought sent a chill up his spine as he made his way to the loft nestled against the east wall of the apartment. Beneath the bed was a leather couch with a perfect view of the blue screen protruding out of the wooden floor in the center of the apartment. He sat the mug down on a table and headed for the marble rain room jutting out of the north wall of the room.

“How was your day, Anya?” Spurious asked, running his hand through his wet hair.

“It was the same as any other day; I downloaded new updates from the State system and read the latest legislation up for debate at the Capitol building. Shall I prepare the rain room for you?”

“I’d appreciate that very much, Anya, please set at 88 degrees. And while you’re at it, why don’t you describe some of the interesting pieces of legislation to me. What type of laws are they going to impose on us this session?”

“Sir your tone would not be looked upon positively by Council of Royal Knights. I think you should…”

Spurious quickly interrupted her. “You aren’t going to contact them, are you?” Spurious asked sarcastically, as he walked towards his rain room, still shaking from the cold.

“As you know, my loyalties are first and foremost to the State, but as you may know I’m programmed to keep you happy, clean and well fed. A quandary, isn’t it? So technically it would go against the purpose of my very existence to turn you in to the CRK.”

“And don’t ever forget that, Anya,” Spurious said, smiling, as he stripped out of his work clothes and entered the rain room.

He crouched and sat on the marble floor, resting his back on one of the stone walls. The warm liquid poured down his dark hair, matting it to his head as steam rose around him. Instant relief rushed through his body as he finally began to warm up. His feet tingled as the blood rushed back into his toes. Closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep as the water massaged his anxiety-riddled body.

Spurious approached the gates of the SGS building, nodding at the two fully-armed guards who stood motionless at each side of the stone entrance. The blue glow from the soldiers’ goggles followed him as he walked towards the offices. For a second he paused to check his watch, stealing a glance at the Knights’ shiny armor suits.

Tin Cans. It’s what the rebels called them on occasion. But Spurious knew they were nothing like the tin cans his tuna salad came from. Their armor was made of a material called gmetal. It was bullet proof, in most cases, and covered their bodies from head to toe. Their armor, combined with the blue night vision goggles attached to their helmets, allowed them to fight in the most extreme conditions.

Spurious forced a smile at the two Knights and continued forward until he reached the gates. It took only a few seconds for the laser to scan his identification card, prompting the gate to swing open. He cringed as the metallic entrance whined and creaked.

Slowly he passed through the stone square surrounding the massive SGS offices on all sides. Leafless trees extended out of the frozen ground, their naked branches reaching towards the gray brick walls of the building.

The office itself was four stories tall and housed about two hundred workers total. The windows were replaced after a sniper killed a worker a few years back. The glass was removed and in its place, the SGS insignia had been edged into the brick.

The top of the office had a copper dome roof tinted dark green with age. All four outside walls had been overtaken with massive vines crawling like bloated veins across the brick exterior.

Spurious entered the first floor of the building, relieved to be out of the cold. He took off his wool beret and tucked it under his armpit, continuing down the hall lined with cubicles on both sides.

His office was on the third floor and could be accessed only by stairs. The elevators had been shut down after another law restricting energy use was passed a few years back. The floor was unusually busy and he shuffled through the crowd of employees to his cubicle, quickly peering into Lana’s work station, which still remained empty. She had now been gone for three days straight, and he was beginning to worry.

He took off his thick coat, dressing the back of the chair. The first part of his day was always the worst, but he found ways to pretend he was not at the office. Sometimes he imagined he was at his apartment listening to his pirated copies of old industrial music by DJs from the early 21st century. Other times he imagined he was reading one of the philosophy or history books from his freshman year in college. Mostly though, he just imagined he wasn’t at the office, and was perhaps strolling through the beautiful State courtyards and admiring the fountains. These modern gardens had been constructed by the State for that very reason, to remind the citizen they lived in a world of relative safety and abundance, much different than the world outside the great walls.

As he settled into his desk he noticed his blue screen was glowing again. He swiped the message button.

Urgent — Open At Once.

His heart stopped and a wave of anxiety rushed over him as he scanned the title of the message once again.

He sat down to examine it closer. It was from an anonymous source. Typically, messages like these were quarantined by the technology workers, but somehow this one had made it through their constant scans.

Should I open it?

Without thinking, his index finger clicked on the holographic blue screen. The message instantly appeared.

Spurious: Meet me at the Ale House tonight. Don’t be later than midnight. Come alone.

As soon as it appeared the message was gone. The burning uneasiness rushed through him again, intensifying. His heart began to race, and his breathing became labored.

Spurious tried to calm himself, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. It wasn’t every day he received an urgent message asking him to meet an anonymous person outside of work. He stared blankly at his cubicle wall, his mind beginning to race. Whoever it was from, he had all day to make a decision on whether he would meet them.

A mist rose a few feet above the damp city streets. Spurious placed his gloved hands in the pockets of his coat, wading through the thick fog, and making his way down the brick street.

Against his better judgment, he decided to meet Paulo and Ing at The Ale House located in the East Village about five blocks east of the Commons Buildings. Spurious was already 30 minutes late, having fallen asleep after coming home from work.

He took in a large breath and exhaled a puff of visible air into the night, realizing how unusually excited he was. For some reason, he had a burning desire to know who this person was, regardless of what danger was associated with them.

He stopped to peer into the window of one of his favorite stores. The wood sign hanging above the window read, The Magician. Several candles in the windowsill gave off a warm glow, illuminating a shelf full of antiques lined with items from the past.

He had picked up a few trinkets here—a wooden cross the owner had explained held significant spiritual value and a small handheld device with a tiny apple engraved on the back that read, iPod. They were artifacts from the old world, where technology and spirituality were both meant to comfort. But those days were long gone. Religions of the past had all but been forgotten—religion was now the State. God was no longer a being, it was the government.

The East Village was one of the only places left in Tisaia that wasn’t State subsidized. These small businesses consisted of bakeries, taverns, boutique stores, and bars. They were the last of their kind, a haven for the curious State worker who wanted a glimpse into the world as it once was.

Spurious knew the unfortunate truth—the shop’s days were numbered. With more and more of these businesses forced to close their doors each year as the State passed laws banning their products. It was only a matter of time before they were all closed. Some of them broke health laws while others sold illegal electronic devices that wouldn’t pass energy audits.

Fortunately, the State did not have the time or the resources to enforce their laundry list of laws, and while his superiors constantly advised him and his co-workers to stay out of the East Village, most of them never listened.

In the distance, Spurious could see a line of citizens waiting to enter The Ale House. He cracked a half smile and dug his hands deeper into the warmth of his pockets.

The State has a long way to go from shutting this place down.

He entered the back of the line and kept his face nuzzled in his collar, inching forward with the mass of citizens. Within minutes he was inside.

“There he is!” Ing shouted over the noise of the growing crowd. Paulo and Ing had been lucky and found the first wooden table in the bar.

The Ale House was small for an eatery, consisting of only two floors. The first floor was built with rich cedar, salvaged from before the Biomass Wars. The walls were lined with framed magazine articles and newspaper pages also from the past, long before the Lunia Post existed.

The first floor was reserved for tables and patrons ordering food and ale. The underground floor added to the charm of The Ale House. It was made completely of stone and was used mostly as a dance floor, although there was also a bar downstairs. This area was known as “The Cave” and had a rich history. It was supposedly a hide out for the rebels during the first stages of the ongoing Biomass Revolution. It was said that the first rebel leaders of the Tisaian Democratic Union were betrayed by one of their own and ambushed there not two years ago. The Cave was also rumored to have several underground passages leading into the tunnel system.

Spurious raised his hand to summon a bar maid and glanced over at Ing. “Sorry I’m late. I fell asleep in my rain room again when I got off work. I just can’t seem to get enough of it lately.”

“What’s with the naps, man? You sure do sleep a lot,” Ing replied.

Spurious shrugged. “Work has been really stressful lately,” he said, grabbing a tavern chip from a basket in the middle of the table.

“It isn’t a big deal. Just seems like when you aren’t at work, you’re sleeping in your rain room.”

“Consider it a hobby of mine,” Spurious said, laughing.

“Beats what I do after work,” Paulo chipped in. “I’m always exhausted after I manage to get out of the office. I usually don’t make it past my couch. At least Spurious gets to the rain room.”

Ing rolled his eyes. “When did you guys become so boring?”

“So if we’re so boring, why don’t you explain what you do after work?” Spurious said, irritably.

Ing took a long swig of his ale. “You know, stuff. I watch the blue screen and come here.”

“Sounds pretty exciting,” Paulo sneered.

“Just in time!” Spurious exclaimed, ignoring Paulo and reaching for a pint of ale the bar maid carried towards their table.

“Thanks,” he said, rubbing his hands together and grabbing the cold mug. He took a long swig of the ale and then stole a glance over his shoulder to mentally map out the bar. There were a few familiar faces, other State employees he had seen before, but no one out of the ordinary.

He turned his attention back to his friends. “What’s the plan tonight, gentleman?”

“Actually, we were hoping you could tell us why you invited us here. This isn’t like you. What’s the occasion?” Paulo asked.

Spurious avoided the question. “Does anyone want to check out The Cave later?”

“My old bones could use some dancing, I suppose,” Paulo said with a smile.

Spurious laughed. “I’d love to see that.”

“You know I have been dancing longer than you both have been alive. In my home country of Brazil, dancing was taught at a young age. Growing up, we were so poor it was one of the only things to do for fun.”

Ing cringed. “Dancing, fun? If you say so, old man.”

“Ing, you’re proving you have the mind of a child.” Paulo muttered. “I thought I taught you more than this.”

That’s Paulo! Spurious thought, sitting back and watching his old friend emerge.

“I have the mind of a child because I don’t believe in conspiracy theories? Did you stop to think maybe I just don’t care? Did you think maybe the reason I don’t ask questions is because I don’t want to end up being visited by the Knights?” Ing shot back.

Spurious frowned and ordered another pint from a young barmaid. Her face lit up as he dropped a credit on her tray.

“That’s to keep the ale flowing,” he shouted.

A loud beat of electronic music exploded out of the entrance to The Cave, drowning out his arguing friends. He wiped away a few beads of sweat forming on his forehead and watched the tavern fill with patrons. One by one he scanned their faces, searching desperately for whoever may have sent him the message.

Slowly intoxication gripped him and he found himself staring at the bar, admiring the waterfall creeping down the granite.

“You better slow down there, Spurious. You don’t want to get lost on your way home tonight. I heard the Knights have been snatching State workers up in the middle of the night,” Paulo said with a grin.

Spurious cast Paulo a quick glare while he took another swig of his ale. A few strands of hair fell down his sweaty forehead, but he quickly brushed them back into place. He knew he should keep his wits, but the anonymous message earlier in the day had brought on a wave of anxiety only ale could relieve.

“Ah, I don’t worry about that anymore,” he lied.

“Shit, Paulo, why do you have to dampen the night with some of that crap. I just want to stare at some ladies I’ll never sleep with, get incredibly drunk, fail miserably while asking one of them to dance and finally go home and pass out,” Ing replied. “Is that too much to freaking ask?”

“Come on Paulo, you know just as well as I do those stories are bull shit and are supposed to keep us out of places like this,” Spurious said.

Paulo’s grin faded and his aged face turned stern. He rested his mug on the table and looked away from the crowd, staring at his two friends. “Remember our conversation about the new type of Biomass the other day? When I told you that not everything is as it may seem… Well, there is much you two young men don’t know. Much I haven’t told you.” Paulo turned and quickly scanned the crowd to make sure no one was listening.

“Truth is, when I was written up at work, it wasn’t just because I failed to turn off my lights a few times. My supervisor accused me of spreading negative rhetoric about the State.”

Ing raised an eyebrow. “What kind of rhetoric?”

“The type that gets you locked up. Luckily, the case never made it to the Knights. My supervisor dropped it when his boss got involved. It was blackmail. He wanted the position I had been hired for. So he accused me of spreading lies about the State. The truth, however, is more complicated. I had been discussing many theories about the State with another co-worker. This man told me he was getting info from the TDU. He disappeared a couple months ago.” Paulo paused and took a short swig from his mug.

“I’d be locked up for telling you both, but I don’t care anymore. I have nothing to lose. The State isn’t what it’s cracked up to be, boys. This life as a State worker, it’s all a facade. We’re told lies to hide what is really going on. Do you really think there aren’t survivors in the Wastelands, or in the skeletons of what used to be cities?”

Ing raised his hand to stop Paulo before he could go on any further. “What you’re saying is bordering on treason. You do realize this, right?”

“And I don’t care, Ing. I’m telling you this because my life is over anyways.”

“Let him talk,” Spurious barked. Ing looked over at his normally quiet friend and quickly nodded.

“Go on Paulo. I’m listening,” Spurious said.

“I know there are survivors because I have heard the transmissions. I’ve heard the broadcasts, people on the two-way channels that are asking for help,” Paulo exclaimed.

“Try and keep it down a bit,” Spurious interrupted. “We don’t know who is listening.”

“Radio transmissions? Come on, that’s a bunch of shit. How do you know this?” Ing asked.

“I know because I have a two-way radio. The co-worker gave it to me before he disappeared. He was getting paranoid and said he needed a safe place to keep it, so I stashed it under my mattress in a metal box that blocks signals from being traced. And at night, I take it into my bathroom, where my AI can’t hear the transmissions.”

Ing slammed his mug down on the wooden surface of the table, which was already covered in empty glasses. “Man, this is ludicrous. You’re going to end up in prison, or worse, dead! And I could end up there with you, just for listening. Forget this. I’m finding myself a female, and will pretend I never heard this conversation.”

Paulo stood up to stop Ing as he made his way into the crowd.

“Let him go. Let’s move to a leather booth. Over there,” Spurious pointed.

Reluctantly, Paulo obliged and they moved across the room to a booth in the corner. It wasn’t long before Spurious realized he had all but forgotten the message. He sat down in the plush booth, sinking deeper into the comfort of the aged leather. His curiosity was getting the best of him tonight; first the message, and now Paulo’s stories. After living with such a monotonous routine, it was finally good to have some stimulation, even if there was a risk.

“What type of transmissions are you hearing?” Spurious asked.

Paulo looked down at his drink and picked at the wooden table nervously. “Perhaps Ing is right. Perhaps I should not bring you two into this.”

“Ing just doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

“That maybe so, but it’s selfish of me to put you two at risk. You don’t know what the State is capable of. What the Knights are capable of.” Paulo paused and picked at the table some more, before his drunken eyes turned back to Spurious. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you two.”

“It’s going to be all right, you know that, Paulo?” Spurious said, reaching over and patting his friend on the back.

Paulo smiled, revealing a set of perfectly aligned white teeth. “No it won’t. My life is over. I have nothing left to look forward to, but you…You have so much!”

Spurious raised his glass to his mouth, gulping down another swig of the sweet nectar. “You’re right. I do have a lot to look forward to. Many years of working for the State,” he said laughing.

“I guess I will drink to that,” Paulo chuckled, polishing off the last of his pint.

As the night wore on and the crowd began to dissipate, Spurious caught a side view of a young woman dancing across the wooden floor. His eyes followed her, watching her graceful moves. She swung her arms through the air, gently tossing her long dark hair up and around her face. When the young woman smiled he instantly recognized her. It was Lana.

Shocked into motion, Spurious slid out of his booth, patting Paulo on the back once more, and placing his half-full mug on the table. He pushed through the mob of customers, thrusting his way through them before losing sight of her at the entrance of The Cave.

For a split second, he saw Ing out of the corner of his eye, and he paused to watch his friend flirt with a woman wearing bright red lipstick. A smile curled across his face before he continued on.

The Cave was dim, save for a few candles burning violently, their white wax bleeding down the stone walls. The music was piercingly loud, the echo of bass pounding in his ears. He rested his back against the rough edge of stone, scanning the room for Lana and watching intoxicated patrons grinding against one another. His eyes stopped on a pair of women kissing in the corner, nothing but the shadows covering his eyes.

And then he saw her, dancing in the middle of the room with two of her friends. He froze, watching her as she threw her hands into the air, laughing, while her friends danced around her. He smiled as one of her friends softly bumped into her, throwing her off balance.

A short break in the music revealed the sound of his heart beating rapidly, the pulse pounding in his skull. He wiped a bead of sweat off his flushed face and brushed his hair back into place before making his way towards her.

With a half smile, he grabbed her softly by the wrist. She paused, turning as her eyes locked with his. Instantly she recognized him. “Spurious, it’s so good to see you!” she yelled. “I didn’t think you would come.”

“Come?” he asked, a puzzled look on his clearly intoxicated face. “Wait, you sent me that message at work?”

Lana smiled playfully. “I did, but for now, let’s dance,” she yelled, grabbing him by his hand and pulling him further out on the dance floor.

“It’s so good to see you. I missed you at work this week. Where have you been?” he asked, shouting over the loud music.

He couldn’t stop staring at her. For a moment everything seemed to slow to a stop. The music went silent and the room emptied; in his mind it was just the two of them, shrouded in darkness. It was then he knew that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. “Come on, dance, Spurious!” she yelled, pulling him back into reality and leading him into the crowd. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began to move her breasts against his body. Lana kissed him softly on his cheek and looked at him. “I can’t go back there, Spurious, I just can’t,” she said, in his ear. Spurious looked at her, recognizing the fear in her face.

“What is it? Why can’t you go back?”

Lana looked at her feet.

“I can’t…”

Spurious stopped dancing and nudged her chin up with his fingers so he could see her eyes. “You can’t what Lana?”

“I can’t tell you. Not here.”

“All right, let’s get out of here then,” he said, as he led her out of the darkness.

A soft blanket of snow covered the stone ground of the courtyard outside the Commons Buildings. The enclosure was built in the shape of a rectangle. Each of the four corners represented a stone statue of the burning flame, the symbol of Tisaia’s life blood—Biomass.

At the front gate a single Knight stood guard, his goggles a cool blue into the darkness. From his viewpoint the courtyard appeared completely empty. Spurious and Lana had evaded his detection by entering the park from the back and sat huddled together on a park bench, facing the memorial fountain. The water was completely frozen over, but the fountain still attempted to work, with the occasional spurt of water exploding into the frothy air.

Spurious held Lana in his arms. For what seemed like an hour the two of them remained there, shivering. Spurious wasn’t worried about the cold, nor was he worried about being caught in the park after hours. His only concern was what Lana wanted to tell him at The Ale House a few hours earlier.

“What is it, Lana?” Spurious whispered in her ear. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

“I can’t tell you, Spurious. I just can’t. You’ll never understand and will lose all respect for me.”

Spurious reached over and wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’d never lose respect for you. Not under any circumstance. Why would you think that I would?”

Lana sniffled, wiping her nose with a quick brush of her hand. “You’ll lose respect because I should have told someone a long time ago.”

“Lana, trust me, I know what you mean. There are things I have kept in for years—things no one knows and probably never will. I just hope you know you can trust me.”

“Okay, but what I’m about to tell you is something you can’t share with anyone. Promise me!”

Spurious nodded. “I promise, Lana.”

Lana took a deep breath. “For two years Varius has treated me like a slave and I have completed every project for him. Lately, he has become even more demanding. He touches me when no one is looking, and gropes me when no one is around. Worst of all, he’s demanded that I sleep with him. He said, if I don’t, he will have me fired.”A pair of tears raced down her cheeks as she pulled her collar down, revealing a dark purple bruise lining her neck.

“Oh my God…” Spurious said, choking on his words while imagining the abuse she suffered at the hands of Varius.

“I can’t go back,” she said, sobbing.

“That bastard, he isn’t going to get away with this,” Spurious whispered, sliding back on the bench and pulling Lana up from his lap. He wiped another tear from her face. “You must turn him in, Lana. You know you must.”

“He told me he would fire me if I didn’t sleep with him, and he said he would kill me if I told anyone,” she whimpered. “I don’t know what to do, Spurious. Now that I told you, he’ll kill me for sure.”

Spurious glanced over at her, his mouth quivering, before he dropped his head into his hands, unable to speak. He ran his fingers through his thick brown hair, raising it into a spike.

“He will never lay another hand on you again, Lana; I can assure you of this. This is what you’re going to do. For now, you need to stay home until you’re fully healed. Do not go out. Don’t risk being seen,” Spurious frowned. “What were you thinking, going to The Ale House tonight?”

“I wanted to see you," she quickly replied.

“What if someone from work had seen you there? You need to think about the repercussions. Varius is a dangerous man and is well connected.”

Lana looked back up at him, nodding. “I know. I know. It was stupid of me to try and meet with you, but I had to tell you. I don’t know who else to trust.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about that now,” Spurious reassured her. “It's obvious he’s infatuated with you, and if you tell him you’re sick, he will more than likely let you stay at home to rest for a few days, am I right?”

Lana nodded again.

“Okay,” Spurious replied. “In the meantime I want to see you. We’ll have to do it secretly, but I need to see you, Lana. I need to know there is something more to life than the work we perform every day and the revolution. This war, the death, the pain… sometimes it’s too much to handle alone. I need to know hope can exist.”

Did he know what he was saying? Seeing her could mean a visit from the Justice Knights and his job, but something about it felt convincingly right. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, and for a few moments he felt safe, their hearts beating in unison.

Love was an emotion he hadn’t known since the death of his parents. And he knew how fragile love could be in Tisaia. He had seen it ripped from the hands of so many others—had it ripped from his own hands as a child.

Spurious squeezed Lana closer. His heart began to pound faster, deeper in his chest. He wouldn’t let anyone come between them, not even a Justice Knight would take her from him. He wasn’t going to lose her like he lost his parents.

Spurious strolled through the streets of the Rohania market area, his head tucked tightly into the breast of his collar. He wasn’t even sure what had compelled him to get out of bed; usually he would have slept in until at least nine, especially on a day as gloomy as this one. Yet he had risen, showered and forced himself to explore the streets.

Something had encouraged him to come to the area that was off-limits to State workers—something had driven him to take the risk. So he told Anya he was working overtime and he took the underground trolley to the last stop; where he promptly got off and headed for Rohania, combing his way through old stone alleyways and ducking under a barbed wire fence. He knew all the portals linking the east and west together, some consisting of nothing more than idle storm drains or broken chain link fences.

He pushed the thoughts of Lana and Varius out of his mind. Today his goal was to find something; he just wasn’t sure what it was yet.

As he walked, he kept his eyes fixed on the aging brick street, the suspicious eyes of the impoverished following him. He was out of place; his dark black pea coat was new and expensive, not one easily purchased in the area.

Fortunately, there really wasn’t as much security guarding the border as there used to be. State employees rarely risked venturing to Rohania, and the Rohanians generally kept to their side of the city. Most people in Rohania knew their place. And the CRK had been forceful enough in the past to deter any citizens from Rohania from trying anything in the commons area. Thieves did risk burglaries in Lunia from time to time, but when the State made it a crime punishable by death, the number dramatically decreased.

A shiver crawled down his spine as he approached the neighborhood he grew up in, the same wooden welcome sign creaking back and forth in the chilly breeze.

He stiffened and tucked his head deeper into his collar, scanning the copper roof tops stained perpetually with white pigeon droppings. The past decade had camouflaged the shops and apartments with vines and fading paint. Most of the windows were cracked and boarded up, empty except for the face of a child peering down at him like a ghost from the past.

Slowly he made his way through the old town square, the heart of Rohania, and saw the boarding school he was educated in before the revolution began. The four pillars holding up its white stone roof were now cracked and broken, one of the pillars nothing more than a pile of broken white stone. A rusty sign hung loosely off the front of the building, peppered with bullet holes, but Spurious could still make out the name — The Rohanian Boarding School for Boys.

Spurious slid his hands into his pocket and gazed at the sign, tucking his face back into his collar just in time to shield himself from a cold blast of wind. He shuddered, freezing, but did not move, his eyes locked on the old school house. The last time he heard the voice of his parents was also the last day he saw this place.

He could vividly remember his teacher Elma, a little old demon of a woman with deep wrinkles and a nasty cough, coming to retrieve him from class and take him to the office of Superintendent Angelo. It was there, in that dimly lit room, he was informed half-heartedly of the untimely death of his parents. The next day he was shipped off to the Tisaian Academy for Youth. He had thought The Rohanian Boarding School for Boys was hell, but it wasn’t until he entered TAFY he truly understood what it meant to be miserable.

Another gust of wind shook Spurious out of his trance. He was exhausted, freezing and petrified he would be caught, but now he knew he was close to his old apartment. Tucking his head back into his collar he pressed on, his walk turning into a jog down the narrow brick street.

He pushed his way through the citizens, ignoring their gloomy faces and disregarding the smell of broiled cabbage filling his nostrils with every step. In the distance he could make out a market area where vendors displayed vegetables and fruits grown on rooftops and community gardens.

Spurious continued on, paying little attention to the shouts of the vendors who desperately tried to sell their goods. He would not let the noise of the crowd distract him from his mission of finding the place he once called home.

The state of the buildings could not help but remind him of the refugee camp he visited less than a year ago. The camp was called Halo by the State, but was known by the locals as The Inferno. Its purpose was to house all immigrants captured and awaiting deportation. The conditions at Halo were atrocious, and the State purposely built the camps far from Lunia, hiding the view from the State employees. Spurious had toured the camp to become familiar with the plumbing upgrades the State had commissioned to help mitigate the stench the camps created.

He knew comparing Rohania to Halo was a considerable exaggeration, but he also knew many of the residents, especially those dwelling in the Boondocks, were not living to see the age of fifty. He’d seen the statistics himself in a report a few months ago. These few notorious blocks were a black hole, and he was being extra cautious not to drift into their dark alleyways.

By mid-afternoon he was exhausted, struggling to make his way down the winding cobblestone streets. It seemed like he was traveling in circles.

Shaking his head, he veered down one last street he hadn’t seen before, realizing he might never find his old flat where he had spent his youth.

He tucked his hands deep in his pockets, and surveyed the new alley for a sign from the past. And right when he thought about giving up he saw it — a metal door covered in two-by-fours.

His calm stride transitioned into a jog as he made his way towards the door. Seconds later two gargoyle faces carved into the thick wood came into focus, their ugly faces barely recognizable behind the wooden boards imprisoning them.

Spurious stopped as he reached the door, raising his hand to the soft wood exterior and running his fingers across the incredibly smooth impressions of the gargoyle’s faces. He remembered this place. It was the door he used to sneak out of when his mother had chores for him to do.

Finally, I’ve found it!

He paused, overcome with nostalgia. Moments later, he was rushing back down the alley towards the front entrance, quickly noticing the red brick wall ended where he remembered the front of the building used to be. It was here a wall of white stone had been constructed and connected to the red brick of the old building. Puzzled, he took his first right onto a sidewalk, and looked up at what should have been the entrance to his old building. Instead, the same white stone wall towered over him; no door or windows, just stone.

His eyes scanned the exterior of the building, stopping on the remnants of an old CRK poster flailing loosely in the wind. The ghostly blue glow of a Knight’s goggles stared back at him. It was the same image posted throughout Rohania and Lunia, one he was accustomed to seeing on a daily basis, but he read the words he had memorized nonetheless.

Do It for Your Future! Secure Your Spot in the World’s Last Honorable Army — Sign up for the CRK Today.

The poster, riddled with bullet holes, was in the wrong neighborhood. And its frayed edges implied it had been there some time. He shuddered at the propaganda, his eyes fixating back on the stone wall.

What was the State hiding? The white stone appeared new, smooth and almost polished, like weathered bones. It was a clear error by whoever designed it, if their intent was to hide something. Or, it was a warning to keep away. Spurious wasn’t sure, but as he examined the exterior of the wall closely, he realized the material did not match anything he had seen in Rohania, which meant the State had hired a contractor to come in and build the wall to cover up the building.

Spurious plopped down on a park bench across the street, studying the building, while questions raced through his head. He sat for what seemed like an hour, the urge to find a way into the building growing inside him. And yet he stayed, contemplating his past and watching the faces of strangers pass.

Ten years ago he would have recognized nearly every face, but now they were no different than the faceless Knights. He realized it had been over ten years since he last saw Rohania. Up until today, he had no desire to remember the past, and especially not to revisit it. Yet for some reason, his conversation with Lana compelled him to seek answers to questions suppressed for years.

A group of children ran by him, their laughter distracting him momentarily, and for the first time in the day he smiled. He remembered what it was like to be a child; to run and play and not have worries, and above all, to be free. The last time he felt any of those things he was living in the building across the street from where he sat, a building now covered by a mysterious stone wall.

A small piece of paper caught his eye as he looked down at the brick street. His eyes followed it as it floated in the breeze, until it came to a stop next to his left boot. He reached down to pick it up, frowning as he realized it was just another advertisement for the CRK. In fact, it was the same image posted to the stone wall across the street from him. The only difference was that the last sentence read “Become a foot soldier.”

The unmistakable sound of a loud speaker broke out in the distance, shocking Spurious from the bench. He instantly followed the noise, curious about the source. Carefully he maneuvered his way back into the crowd. He pushed through the patrons, catching the occasional sound of the loudspeaker in the distance. Standing on his toes, he tried to see over the heads of the people in front of him, but to no avail. A block later he came to the market area where his mother used to hunt for cheap food.

In the center of the cobblestone plaza, a growing crowd gathered around a black truck bearing a CRK logo across its midsection. In the bed were two heavily armed soldiers, their machine guns pointed at the growing crowd. Between the two guards, a man dressed in military fatigues handed out the same yellow flyers Spurious held tightly in his hand.

Spurious stood on his toes again, listening to the rhetoric spewing out of a loudspeaker mounted to the roof of the truck and into the desperate ears of the commoners. The CRK never recruited in Rohania. At least not that he was aware of. If they needed soldiers then the war with the TDU wasn’t going as well as reported.

Spurious ducked behind a wooden trailer full to the brim with tomatoes, realizing there could be Knights disguised as Rohanians combing the crowd for dissidents and State workers.

And yet he stayed, partly hidden from view, peeking out from the protection of the trailer. His curious eyes followed the young men, who looked desperately in need of work, file into a line one by one.

“Sign up for the world’s last honorable army!” the man from the pickup yelled into his mic. “Good pay. Time off. And food for you and your family,” he continued.

Within minutes Spurious had seen enough to realize Paulo was right. The State was lying to them about more than just the Wastelands. They were lying about the Biomass Revolution.

He turned to head back the way he came, tucking his chin back into his collar and diverting his eyes to the street. Everywhere he walked, he felt the eyes of curious observers burning into his back. And to make things worse he felt the sensation of someone following him. His suspicion intensified when he noticed a scruffy old man clearly on his trail.

Spurious rounded a corner, cocking his head just long enough to catch a glimpse of his follower. He looked to be about 60 years old, with a light grey beard latched to his face like a cobweb. He wore a ragged old blue coat riddled with holes.

At least I know this guy isn’t a CRK agent.

Relieved, he began to plan a route back to his apartment away from his new stalker. An hour passed and Spurious was still making his way quietly through Rohania. He checked the street number and saw he was almost back to the border. When he rounded the next corner he turned to see the same man discreetly hugging the walls of a building.

“Damn, this guy doesn’t give up.”

It was getting late and Spurious knew if he wasn’t back in a few hours Anya would send an alert to the CRK. And the last thing he needed was a visit from a Knight.

Overhead, the distant sun began to disappear in the gray sky. Spurious pulled his chin out of his collar and gazed up at the tint of orange streaked across the horizon. He paused to catch his breath, watching a pair of birds hug the gray cloud line like dolphins catching a wave in the ocean.

He shook his head, mindful not to let a distraction slow him down. At the end of the street he could see the alleyway he used to enter Rohania. He glanced over his shoulder and quickly scanned the street. His follower was nowhere to be seen.

A smile of relief crawled across his face, happy the man had lost interest. He hurried towards the narrow alley, admiring the stone buildings one last time. The aging structures were plagued with vines, their green limbs attaching to metal pipes and loose gutters. Rohania always reminded Spurious of the pictures he had seen of medieval Europe while studying art at the University of Tisaia, a year before they abolished the class. The area was designed to be a ghetto, housing as many people as possible. They were made almost completely of old stone and brick, constructed out of the rubble from the Biomass Wars.

A drop of water from a leaky rooftop plopped into a puddle in front of him. The splash reminded Spurious of how poorly constructed the beautiful buildings were. The aging stone and oblique structures illustrated the division between Lunia and Rohania — the privileged vs. the impoverished.

As he turned down another street, he realized how blind he had become. When had he stopped seeing the truth? He of all people should have known what the city had become, having grown up there. Within a decade the city had fallen into shambles, crumbling one building at a time, the citizens starving while the State workers and Tisaian politicians prospered in Lunia not a mile away. And it was then it struck him—the Biomass Revolution wasn’t just about energy, it was about greed. This was something he chose to ignore in the past. And it wasn’t the only thing he ignored. He had become so complacent he stopped questioning what lay beyond the gates of Tisaia. Paulo was right about everything.

He paused to catch his breath again, confusing thoughts racing through his mind. For a second, he realized how little he really knew of the rest of the world. The only thing he knew about the outside was derived from the images contained in his old textbooks, now nothing more than ash in some landfill. Most people in Tisaia didn’t even think about the Wastelands; let alone what was beyond their border. Their world was Tisaia. And ever since history books were abolished, people had all but forgotten the past, the great Tisaian wall solidifying the small world defining their lives.

Spurious forgot his questions as the view of the barbed wire fence marking the border came into view. Relieved, he headed towards the idle storm drain he had used to enter earlier.

“Rohania is no place for a State worker,” said a voice from the shadows in the alley. Spurious turned, his eyes scanning the darkness.

“Who’s there?” he asked nervously, pulling his hands from his pockets and rolling them into fists. A few moments passed before Spurious entreated again. “I said, who’s there?”

The alley remained still as Spurious waited for a face to emerge and take claim to the words. But silence followed the echo of his voice. Without further hesitation, Spurious rushed back into the alley, his fists raised to a fighting level.

“Over here,” said the same voice again. Spurious turned, looking in all directions, trying to pinpoint the location the voice came from, but to no avail. Whoever was trying to get his attention did not want to be seen.

Another wave of panic gripped him. He knew it was imperative to escape back to the safety of Lunia, but something kept him from leaving. Perhaps it was the fear, or maybe the curiosity or a combination of both. Whatever it was he remained frozen.

“What do you want?” Spurious yelled, his eyes nervously darting across the shadows. In the distance he saw a street lamp flicker, struggling to turn on as night settled in. The light of Rohania was already dim at best, and the alleyway was just minutes away from being consumed by darkness.

He turned to head towards the storm drain. Within seconds his nervous hands reached for the cover of the storm drain he had hidden behind a large wooden crate. A bead of sweat crept down his face as he removed the box and pulled a small knife out of his breast pocket turning again to see if his stalker had emerged. But there was nothing but the constant sound of a leaky gutter and the intermittent glow of the light pole.

His hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to twist the screw out of the drain cover. Twice he dropped the knife as his fingers shook nervously. Anger overtook him as he tried the screw again.

Finally the screw popped out and he pulled the drain cover off; setting it down softly on the brick ground and shooting another fast glance back at the alley to make sure whoever was there wasn’t sneaking up on him.

“You do not need to fear me, young Spurious,” a voice said from the alley. Spurious froze before turning to face the man that had been following him for some time. He looked at him suspiciously, wondering how the old man knew his name.

“Let me begin by introducing myself. I’m Leo, brother of William Smith and son of Dave Smith.”

The names immediately registered. They were old world names. Names his father had mentioned when he was a child, long after the Tisaian government assigned names to all citizens, in order to weed out immigrants.

Spurious raised a furrowed brow, curious as to why the stranger introduced himself by names from the past. “Those names mean nothing to me,” he lied. “Why don’t you get on with what you want and stop wasting my time?”

Leo paused. His features flexed, illustrating the deep lines of age engraved across his forehead. He rubbed his white beard, which appeared to be neatly groomed, unlike his coat and pants which were covered in dirt.

Spurious noticed the man’s trembling hands and his twisted spine. For a second he almost felt empathy for the old man. His age and crooked back both indicated he had worked in the early Biomass factories, long before they were closed due to safety concerns. Most workers developed physical problems far worse than from the ones Leo appeared to be suffering. Yet he knew appearances could be deceiving and he could be suffering within his body as well.

“Spurious, when I saw you pass by a few hours ago, I knew I’d regret not talking with you. I also know as I stand here and speak with you that the threat of being caught runs higher and higher and yet I’m compelled to tell you a story — a story about the meaning behind the names I mentioned. You see, William, my younger brother, was your father’s best friend. In fact, they were both TDU staffers in the beginning of the Biomass Revolution.”

“Wait, TDU staffers? You have to be mistaken. You’ve confused my father with someone else. He was not part of the TDU. He was a factory worker.”

“By day he was a factory worker. This is what you were told as a child, Spurious. Let me go on. Promise me you’ll have an open mind.”

Spurious frowned. “How do I know you aren’t lying to me?”

“Just give me a chance, son.”

Spurious stood at the edge of the drain, contemplating whether he should just climb into the tunnel and be done with the old man’s nonsense, but once again curiosity kept him frozen in place. “Go on,” he finally said, curiously.

Leo smiled and cautiously approached Spurious. “My father knew your father when he was a boy and young man. He helped train my brother and your father in peaceful ways to fight against the CRK. The building you visited today, the building you grew up in, was not just a flat for families. It was also an underground TDU stronghold, one of the first of its kind,” Leo paused, waiting to see the reaction in Spurious’ features.

Spurious, however, did not flinch. His defined jaw was tight and his dark brown eyes locked on this new stranger. He studied him, wondering if he should trust the old man.

“You look much like your father, but your curiosity to find the truth of what happened to your parents and your childhood home is what gave you away. You see, Spurious, I’m somewhat of the keeper of this side of Lunia. Everyone knows me, and I know everyone. I have kept myself alive by avoiding the CRK, thieves and stragglers, and now it has all been worth it, because I have met the man that will help free Tisaia from tyranny.” Leo coughed, his face alive with excitement.

Perplexed, Spurious stared at the man, not sure what to say or do. The only thing he knew was he came to Rohania to find something about his parents and something about his past. He wasn’t certain what it was, nor was he sure he would know if he found it. What he did know was the old man standing in front of him was the closest he had come to finding out anything about his parents for years.

“So…” Spurious paused, “so my parents were part of the TDU?”

“Spurious, your father was one of the founders of the TDU, and your mother was instrumental in bringing together women to oppose the first leaders of Tisaia. They kept these things from you to protect you from the fate they knew would eventually find them.”

“Hold on, hold on, just one second,” Spurious said, flailing his arms in the air. “You’re telling me that my parents, who worked normal jobs, created the organization now recognized as the most significant terrorist threat to Tisaia? And if there is any truth behind this at all, then why am I, out of all people, still alive?”

“That is a good question. You’re alive because the CRK never knew who you were. Your parents made plans for you before the TDU was conceived. In fact, they even had your birth records changed. To further protect you they registered you in a boarding school. They had an arrangement with Superintendent Angelo, who was one of the early members of the TDU. Luckily, the CRK never found out about you. After their deaths, Angelo had you transferred to the Tisaian Academy for Youth to further protect your identity.”

Spurious kneeled, placing his head in his hands. The same warm rush of anxiety he felt just the other day passed through him as his knees hit the ground.

Leo stood at a distance, watching Spurious with a curious eye. He knew this information would be troubling to Spurious, but he did not know it would bring the young man to his knees.

“Are you okay?” Leo asked sympathetically.

Spurious kept his head in his hands but responded with a slow nod of his head.

“How do you know all of this?” Spurious asked.

“William told me most of what I know. I’m all that is left of my family now. And you’re all that is left of yours. I tell you these things because when I saw you today I knew you had the right to know who you are and where you come from. You must be careful though, Spurious. If the CRK ever discover your true identity you’ll never see beautiful Lunia ever again.”

He paused, breaking into a coughing fit again before continuing. “I presume you’ll soon be at a crossroads in your life. You’ll question whether you should sympathize with the TDU or stay loyal to Tisaia. Whatever you choose is up to you. Your destiny is not written in stone. I can’t tell you how or why, but you have the ability to shape the future of Tisaia.”

Instantly Spurious brought his head out of the safety of his hands. He brushed a strand of brown hair from his eyes before he gazed back at Leo. And for a second he felt a tint of nostalgia, a connection founded by a history he had not known until this moment.

“What do you mean I’ll have the opportunity to shape the future of Tisaia? Do you realize I’m just a simple State employee? I review maps. I go to work and I come home, that is it. I’m not part of the TDU. I don’t have any special abilities, nor am I a soldier.”

“Ah, but you do,” Leo interrupted. “You have a connection with the past. The rebels are losing the battle for Tisaia’s future. They need hope. And they need to know the son of the TDU’s founders is still alive.”

“I don’t want to have anything to do with the TDU, I told you I am nothing more than a peon!” Spurious exclaimed.

Leo smiled. “You’re much more, Spurious. This is why I tested you not ten minutes ago in the alley. I wanted to gauge your reaction. And react you did. Do you remember raising your fists? Do you remember rushing into the darkness? Deep down you have the same fears as your parents, but you also share their fighting spirit.”

Spurious glanced down at the brick ground. Realizing what Leo was saying was true.

“You’ll see, but for now you must get going. The future isn’t set in stone. And you must take precautions, starting with returning to Lunia before anyone reports you missing.”

Spurious nodded, turning for the storm drain. “Please don’t tell anyone you saw me here Leo. I appreciate the information, I do, but I don’t want to have anything to do with this. Goodbye!” Spurious yelled, climbing into the tunnel leading back to Lunia.

Leo stood in the darkness of the alleyway and watched Spurious as he crawled through the narrow storm drain. “Godspeed, my friend,” he said, as Spurious disappeared from sight.

Two crows sat perched on the roof of Commons Building 21, home to Spurious and 50 other State workers. Their caws broke through the air like the sound of ice cracking on a frozen river. No one seemed to notice, except Spurious, who sat at his desk staring out his window at the two birds, the skeletons of shattered skyscrapers in the distance.

Demons. Two little black demons.

Behind him, the crackle of the fire in his stone fireplace drowned out the two crows, bringing him back to where he left off in his journal.

Spurious rested his pen on the table and gazed out the window. The two crows were gone, their white droppings the only evidence they had ever existed. In the distance he could see the eerily opaque images of skyscrapers, shredded and torn by the fiery blasts of the nuke that hit miles away. He never understood why the State didn’t have them demolished; perhaps it was a reminder to the citizens of how lucky they were to have survived.

He groaned and walked over to one of the AI portals. He certainly didn’t feel lucky.

“Anya, I want you to tap into the SGS mainframe and see if you can find any information about the first years of the Biomass Revolution.”

The portal lit up and a blue hologram of Anya appeared in front of Spurious.

“Spurious, you know most of that information is classified; in fact, I doubt I’ll be able to find anything at all.”

“Just do your best,” he replied, making his way over to his loft and plopping himself down on the soft bed.

“Sir, why are you interested in this information?”

Spurious rolled over and stared at her hologram. Her voice was feminine, but firm. He didn’t want to make her suspicious; she had the power to ruin his life if she thought he wasn’t patriotic.

“It’s for one of the tunnel projects I’m working on, but don’t worry about it,” he lied.

A bead of sweat crawled down his forehead as he waited for her response.

“Very well. Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?”

Spurious shook his head and closed his eyes. He couldn’t escape the scrutiny of the State or the laws and the Knights that enforced them. They were all tools the government used to keep him obedient. But he was sick of being a sheep—sick of being compliant.

As the lights dimmed and darkness carpeted the small room, Spurious decided it was time for a change.