Illusionary

That was how it all began for Felipe, six weeks ago. Since then Bannerster has become a battleground in the workers fight against the oppression of the bourgeois. And Felipe himself has become a member of the resistance. He had never planned to. In fact, he didn’t know there was a resistance. Not until that day when Piotr came for him, saved his life, welcomed him to an entirely new world. One where he not only fit in but mattered, really mattered. As leader of the resistance, Piotr is not someone Felipe sees as frequently as he used to. Though, his saviour did give him a band of brothers and sisters to fight alongside. Those same people are who he is with now as they stack up on a door in a bourgeois neighbourhood.

Ready to assault the house sat immediately off the edge of the street, Felipe does his best to calm his nerves. Seconds tick away. The dark haired man concludes this is the best he is likely to achieve as far as managing his emotions so issues his orders with a quick series of gestures.

The front door explodes inwards, not from anything other than sheer force. No dynamite or other such substance rests in large enough quantities in the hands of the cities resistance. If it did it might all be over already.

With the door breached, Felipe slips inside followed closely by the remainder of his team; Shayna, Mamo, Scilla and Harl. Each of them is armed, ready, trained enough over the last three to five weeks to be competent.

As the quintet advance they cover each other’s flanks, scanning, searching, securing. The only sounds reaching Felipe’s ears as he stares down the ironsights of his shotgun are those belonging to his team. Principally their footsteps on the debris scattered across the stone floors. He’s disgusted by the decadence not only of the floor but of the remainder of the décor, the furniture. It is lavish, expensive, exclusionary. All the things that the once branded, city of the future, was meant to be for everyone but never once got close to achieving.

He is reminded of Noah, and the woman on the street he didn’t know, who were both taken away. Undoubtedly they are dead and have been for weeks. It sickens him. Though, they were only the first he saw taken. There have been many since. It’s never gotten easier to witness.

Leaving the vast entrance hall for a dining room three times the size of his old studio apartment, Felipe and his team, they have no team for themselves, quickly deem it secure before moving onto the next space, the kitchen. The more Felipe sees of this three storey house, and they are only on the ground floor, the more he is disgusted by all that the haves were in possession of while he, and those like him, struggled to eat. Not because of food scarcity but rather as a result of price and the lack of an increase in the wages of the good hard working majority of Bannerster.

Such things leave him to wonder, as often he does, if when this is over he’ll stay in the city. He cannot say for he dares not think that far ahead. However, it is unlikely the world beyond is much better. It certainly wasn’t when he left it to come here, to this island.

Hearing glass breaking under foot, the dark haired leader of the resistance squad turns his attention back to the task at hand.

The breaking glass under foot came from his teams, not any potential occupants foolish enough to have remained.

No, the bourgeois fled deeper into the city than this, toward the core where the constables still patrol. Vicious to the point of being almost inhuman in their determination, they continue with the oppression of the masses in spite of what should be clear to anyone, that the have not’s want an equal share.

The mere thought of them, their name, sickens Felipe. He tastes the bile at the back of his throat until the remainder of the ground floor is covered and deemed secure. By that time the taste is gone.

“Scilla, Harl; search the upper floors. One at a time. Don’t go being heroes.”

“What you so worried about FR?” Harl queries with an overconfident grin on his face.

“Constables; as you should be too.” The dark haired team lead counters.

“Pfft. They’re all in the core. Not out here.” Is the overconfident statement delivered.

“We’re right next to the core genius.” Mamo says butting into the conversation in support of their team lead.

“Is that why you don’t get search duty, ‘cause you’re a good lapdog?”

“Fuck you Harl.”

“Fuck both of you and your testosterone fuelled bullshit.” Scilla, or Priscilla as her full name actually is, spits showing that she is annoyed by the pair of them and their bickering. Meanwhile Shayna, as is often the case, looks on.

“Cut the chatter. Scilla, Harl get upstairs and confirm secure, that we’re alone.” Felipe commands before repeating his previous order that brings an immediate end to the conversation which didn’t have any purpose.

“Mamo secure the front. Shayna the back, as best you can. If the kitchen is a loss lock it off.”

There is no resistance to the orders given. For all his teams bickering they follow his commands. Maybe not as immediately as Felipe would like, which would be on first issuing, but they get there. Yet, he doesn’t feel able to relax, to calm himself. This isn’t usual, not anymore, for the dark haired man dressed in a mixture of typical worker fatigues and liberated body armour.

Where exactly the armour has come from he still hasn’t managed to ascertain from Piotr who has been overly cagey about such matters. Something that is quite uncharacteristic of the revolution leader. To Felipe that suggests one of two things; either someone outside Bannerster has provided it, or it was the people who made the first strike against the establishment and stole it from some sort of armoury or lockup.

Of the two options Felipe would prefer it to be the second. The first doesn’t sit well with him at all. Chiefly, he thinks, because it would make this resistance fabricated rather than natural. As if the people are still being controlled. When things calm down, whenever that might be, he’ll have to push Piotr on the issue. Not give up until he gets an answer, whether he likes what it is or not.

“FR, we’ve found something. You’ll want to see this.” Harl says with a look that lacks any emotion, most unusual for him seeing as he is always making efforts to prove he’s the best. Largely, it appears to be more for himself than everyone else.

Whether the others have noticed that he can’t say. Doesn’t feel it necessary to ask either, for it isn’t important to their cause, their efforts, their mission. Not that they always have the same mission. Sure, in the grand scheme of things yes they do, but from one operation to the next, not so much. At least that is how it feels, to Felipe. He could very well be alone in that.

Don’t overthink; you have a place, a position. This is where you are meant to be, he thinks while climbing the ornate staircase carved and polished to a near mirror sheen, plain to see even under the flickering and failing lights of the house.

Getting off on the first floor, Felipe follows Harl down a corridor and into a back room. The corridor is most unlike the ground floor. It lacks the ornate carvings, the furniture, the grandeur. That confuses and surprises him.

They reach a bedroom, its small and a complete mess.

“You do this?”

Harl shakes his head then gestures that Felipe should aim for the alcove at the far end. It looks like a dead-end. The lead of the quintet can’t imagine why this is something he needs to see.

Navigating the debris, the detritus as he sees it for he cares not a dot about any of what is here, which chiefly appears to be shredded packets that once contained food and water, the dark haired man weaves his way to the end of the room. Once in the alcove he spots a doorway to his left. It would be difficult not to. He turns toward it, the door is ajar, not fully closed.

“Scilla?” The teams commander feels it prudent to call out, especially as he is yet to see the woman since she and Harl broke away to carry out his orders of securing the other two floors of the house.

“In here FR.”

Her voice is calm. Felipe takes that as a good sign, so pushes at the door. It swings away gently. The dark haired team lead steps inside. There he finds Scilla, gun levelled, standing his side of a low wall covered in cream tiles, the sort he had in his apartment bathroom before all this began for him.

His guess is that the wall forms part of a walk-in showed cubicle of some sort. The design and configuration odd, as if cheap, he has to admit.

“What you found?”

Felipe feels Harl appear in the doorway behind him.

“Take a look, you won’t believe it.” Are the words delivered alongside the firearm in her hand gesturing.

Cautious, the dark haired leader of the revolution squad edges forward until into view slip three hunched and terrified bodies squeezed together on the opposite side of the low wall to Scilla.

Without filtering his reply Felipe admits, “Huh. Wow. You’re right, I don’t believe it.”

“Please. We are innocent. Mean nobody any harm. Take what you need but leave us in peace.” The man says, voice trembling.

Ignoring the fear the dark haired Felipe asks, “This place yours?”

“Of course it’s ours. Why else would we be here?” The woman blurts in a tone somewhere between fear and anger.

“Mary, please.”

“Listen to your husband, Mary.” Felipe urges before adding, “Is this your daughter?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Scilla, stand down.”

“FR, you can’t be serious?” Is the exclamation from Harl who is still in the doorway, just.

“Deadly.”

“Don’t do it, Scilla. They could…”

Spinning around, ignoring the indecision on Scilla’s face as she ways up the potential risk, Felipe glares at Harl and spits, “They could what? Attack! We’re fucking armed Harl!”

Taking a second to compose himself, the dark haired team lead then turns back toward Scilla and the family of three.

“Lower your weapon, but keep it at the ready.” He feels it necessary to make the point that he is not asking her to surrender the firearm.

The father’s face sinks to a whole new level of terror. It’s as if he believed the weapons would vanish. Foolish if that is indeed what he believed. Still, he has the sense to tighten his grip on his wife and daughter. Something Felipe can’t blame him for doing. He’d like to believe his response would be the same if their roles were reversed and he were the one with the family at gunpoint.

Thoughts of Noah float to the forefront of his mind. He did, to a degree, act in the comparable manner.

He looks away from the family while Scilla lowers her weapon. She makes sure to keep it in view however. Likely as much a deterrent against the family as a security blanket for herself.

“Go get Mamo and Shayna.”

“Why, aren’t they securing the…”

“Just do it Harl.”

There is a pause, then a scurrying of footsteps that confirm Harl is following orders.

It takes a couple minutes for Harl to return with Shayna and Mamo.

Felipe knows once they have arrived for he hears Mamo exclaim, “Bourgeois?” in surprise.

“Now we’re all here, I have some questions.”

“Anything, just please…”

“Don’t speak to them! They did this!” Mary is becoming hysterical; Felipe ignores her and locks eyes with the husband, urging him to accept. He nods not too long after confirming that he understands and will obey.

“Re-confirm, this is your house?”

“I-it is.”

“What happened here?”

“What do you mean what happened? You burst in.”

“I mean, why is there crap scattered all over the adjoining room?”

Confusion fills both Mary and the man’s face long before a response is provided.

“Did someone break in? Or did you do it?”

“It’s always been like that.”

Exchanging looks of disbelief, the team say not a word to allow Felipe to continue his questioning.

“But the ground floor, its lavish. Up here its…”

“All the houses are like this.” Mary blurts defensively.

“So who did it?”

“No one. Things aren’t what you believe them to be, alright?”

“What does that even mean?” Harl butts in unable to help himself, to hold his tongue.

A quick glare from Felipe returns him to a silence he isn’t likely to break anytime soon.

“We aren’t rich. You call us bourgeois but we are prisoners, just like you.”

“Look at the way you’re dressed, do you think you look like prisoners?”

“Looks can be deceiving. A cage, even gilded, can still be a prison.”

“True. Yet, people like you swan about with a care in the world. If you are ‘imprisoned’ then why do it?”

A snort in stereo comes from both Mary and her husband.

“It’s an act. We have to maintain it.”

“You can’t be serious.” Scilla mutters quietly.

It’s unsurprising she is sceptical of these words, Felipe is too. Especially, after everything he has seen. Still, he feels he needs to see this through to the end and so asks, “Why do you have to maintain this act?”

“If we don’t…” There is a pause, hesitation. The husband looks away. It is Mary who finishes the statement.

“…they cart us off; just like they do with you.”

“For what? To be killed?”

“No. No. To be re-educated.” There is horror in the couples’ faces as if they are both remembering past traumas but have no control over what they are recalling.

“Is that what happens to all of us?” Mamo feels it imperative to ask.

Felipe fully understands why, because his brother was one of those the constables came for. They dragged him off. Mamo tried to fight them, to free his brother. He couldn’t. Piotr freed Mamo with a squad which included Felipe. That was four and half-ish weeks ago.

Since then Mamo has been looking for his brother, holding onto hope when perhaps he knows he shouldn’t. But it’s what keeps him fighting and so neither Piotr nor Felipe have dissuaded him. The remainder of the squad don’t know.

“No. They re-educate us. You, the workers, well that depends.”

“Depends on what?” Is the question put forth by Felipe who drops into a squat that puts him on level with the family of three.

“Whether they pass the test.”

“What is the test?”

“No one knows except workers who undergo it, and those that pass are never the same again. They cannot speak freely. It’s why they become constables.”

The revelation hits Felipe like a brick fired from a cannon. His reaction is much the same as the rest of his teams. Put simply, none of them can believe what they’ve just been told. It has to be lies.

“We need proof.”

“Only proof is in the core but no one is getting in there, not even us.”

“But you’re bourgeois.” Shayna reminds as if somehow the couple might’ve forgotten.

“The veil has fallen, we are no longer needed. It’s why we’ve been abandoned without food or fortune. He wants us to die, like he wants you too.”

“Who is he?”

“The Governor.”

“Who the fuck is the governor?” Scilla says speaking her mind.

“He is the one who controls this place, and its people. He made Bannerster.”

“Do you mean the founder? Alexander Eustice Hallerthorn?”

“No. We was naught but a face. A pawn now long dead for he outlived his usefulness, and not the first either.” Is the explanation provided by Mary as she stares off as though in a trance.

It’s a harrowing look truthfully; entirely devoid of any warmth or comfort.

Felipe feels it wrong to shake her from it when they are learning so much. Whether, any of this is true or not it is impossible to know without corroboration, and the family have offered naught. He doubts they possess any. Yet, it sounds too elaborate to be machinations of their minds. He can’t say why but makes attempts to follow the strand in his own head. It ends suddenly as if it’s been cut. That concerns him deeply.

“Then who is The Governor?” Shayna demands to know, taking up the slack from Felipe who has been deep in thought.

“He is the father and the mother. He is the dawn of Bannerster; its kings, its emperor, its leader, its ruler, its organiser, its designer, its creator. And it is he who shall guide us into the new world, into the future. We are the herald, the tip of the spear.” The husband now too has the same trance like expression on his face and speaks in a voice without intonation or inflection. It mirrors Mary, his wife.

“Is anyone else getting creepy brainwashing vibes off these two?”

“Yep.” Is the collective reply to Shayna’s question.

Ignoring this sub-plot of a conversation, Felipe steers them back to what he hopes will be on-track.

“Where is this Governor?”

“In the core. He is always in the core; watching, waiting.” The couple speak in unison now, as if linked somehow. It’s beyond creepy, unnerving.

Feeling a change of tact is needed the dark haired leader of the rebel squad locks eyes with the daughter, the little girl with long brown hair who thus far has said nothing, not even once.

“Are your mummy and daddy OK?”

“He is in the core; watching, waiting.” Is all the girl offers in reply before Mary and her husband then join in to create what is effectively a chant.

Concluding that any hope of learning more is past, Felipe rises to his feet and orders his team out of the room. The door is locked behind them. They think it better the family of three are contained, as much as for their own safety as the rebels. After all, what they are exhibiting is not normal, so it could be anything might happen. Perhaps they will turn violent, attack. Anything is possible.

“So what’s the plan FR?” Shayna queries, the first to break the silence as the four of them surround their team lead.

“As unbelievable as it sounds, we can’t pass up this opportunity. We have to head for the core. Radio back to Piotr because he needs to know so we can throw everything we’ve got at this.”

Having found his voice finally, Harl gives his opinion, “Sounds like a crock of shit if you ask me.”

“Noted; anyone else want to voice their disdain for my orders?”

“No FR.” Is the reply from the rest.

“Good. Then it’s decided; we push ahead. Or do you have an issue with that Harl?”

“None.” Is the forced reply from the resigned member of the squad.

“Mamo, radio back but let’s move out. More ground we can make, and the sooner we make it, the better.