(February '17) Prompt #2- "Independent and Free!"

[.Karma.]

February's 2nd prompt is "Independent and Free!"



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[ArtisticVicu]

"Independent and Free! Independent and Free! Independent and Free!"

The mantra was thunderous and sharp, seeming to shake the entire world as it was repeated in the same thunderous way all around the world.

"Independent and Free! Independent and Free!"

"They're gonna get themselves killed."

He scoffed at her words, eyes not wavering from the crowds below, the shouting of the crowd barely muffled by the window. "At least it'll make our lives easier."

"Yer an ass," a separate female commented from behind him.

He looked over at her, arching an eyebrow but not challenging her words. The female that had spoken first clicked the rifle pieces together a bit sharper than necessary. She locked eyes on the female he was currently looking at and supplied instead, "He does have a point."

"Thank you, Nine," he said, dipping his chin to the sniper before turning his gaze out the window once more.

Nine clicked together another portion of her riffle. "Was not supporting you, Twenty-Six."

He shrugged his shoulder. A gruff voice growled from the back of the room. "Shut it, you three. Twenty-Six, any sightings yet?"

"None yet, Thirteen. Thirty-Seven?"

The unnamed female in the back shifted, adjusting her headset and a few dials on the instruments before her. "Sounds coming in clear. Still waiting on the signal."

"Are we sure about this?" Twenty-Six challenged, turning his gaze back to the crowd below. "Can we really trust One's intel?"

"Ain't my intel you're challenging," a young man-no, a boy spoke, stepping up to Thirteen's side. The seasoned soldier saluted the small youth. "Madam gave me the information directly. She wanted you on this job specifically."

Twenty-Six frowned. "Why not inform us directly?"

One shook his head. "None of the teams were informed directly. Only those within the First were informed."

Nine's hands stilled, her glare snapping to One. "Which First? Because I wasn't told shit."

One offered a soft smile but it was disconcerting as it didn't reach the youth's eyes. "The First Selection. Not the First Tier, which you and I both fall into."

Silence fell over them and the mantra from the crowd swelled.

"Independent and Free! Independent and Free! Independent and Free!"

Twenty-Six turned his gaze to the streets, inquiring, "Madam's sure this'll work?"

One shrugged. "Does it matter? Do as she's directed. That is all any of us can do."

"One?" One turned his gaze to Thirty-Seven. "Why aren't we encouraging the protests?"

Twenty-Six scoffed. "Could have answered that for ya, Thirty-Seven."

Thirty-Seven glared at him. "And I know you'll just be a jerk about it." She turned her gaze back to One, her headset shifting as she did so. "One?"

One held her gaze long enough to nod at the window Twenty-Six was supporting with his shoulder. "Do you know what they are calling for, Thirty-Seven?"

"Independence and freedom from the World Power," she recited easily.

One nodded. "Do you know who started that mantra?" Thirty-Seven shook her head. "Madam."

"What, what?" Twenty-Six snapped, spinning around. Nine settled the mount of her riffle on the window ledge. "Madam is the head of all this?"

One tipped his head to the side, expression blank. "Yes. And no. She started this. She is not leading this. You know her goal. You know the ideals of the Selection and their roll within the Resistance. We stand to help bring independence and freedom to all but what those people out there are doing is not the way to go about it. Rioting and violent protests are far from what they need to be doing."

As if to taunt them, the voice of the crowd "Independent and Free! Independent and Free!"

One dipped his head towards the window. "Follow Madam's orders. We will bring independence and freedom from the World Power but not through these archaic methods."

Thirty-Seven jerked upright, hand flying to the dials before her as she quickly spewed, "Target leaving shelter. Viewing ETA 1 minute."

The entire room tensed. Twenty-Six swept his gaze over the crowd as Nine waited on his word. He found their target even in the madness below.

"Independent and Free! Independent and Free!"

"South, walking north toward the stand. Quadrant 2D."

"Locked on," Nine spoke, voice crisp, clear.

"Informing motion," Thirteen spoke in a low voice before he ducked out.

"Guard information inbound," Thirty-Seven spoke. "Unit AI. Count 3."

"Spotted," Twenty-Six and Nine confirmed. "Count 1 and 2 at side," Twenty-Six informed, Nine continuing, "Count 3 on opposite roof, 2 o'clock."

"Relaying intel," Thirty-Seven replied. Briefly muttered words filled the lulled silence. She spoke up again. "Snipe count 3 at ready."

"Marked and initializing," Nine supplied, shifting slightly before compressing the trigger. There was a puff of air. "Count 3 out."

"Count 1 and 2 aware. They are searching," Twenty-Six urged, glaring at the units below."

"Can they triangulate?" One asked, voice hard.

"Listening," Thirty-Seven informed at the same time Twenty-Six responded with, "Doesn't appear so."

"Confirmed," Thirty-Seven quickly relayed. "Count 1 and 2 had not seen any of it. They are breaking off count 2."

"Confirmed," Twenty-Six spoke. "Count 2 heading to adjacent building."

"Received intel: take out count 1 now," Thirty-Seven urged.

"Marked and initializing," Nine responded, already moving. She compressed the trigger. "Count 1 out."

"Count 2 did not see any of it. Is now rejoining target. Only target appears to know that anything is wrong," Twenty-Six supplied, eyes on the ground. "Crowd is still blind to it all."

"Received intel: take out count 2 now," Thirty-Seven spoke over him.

"Marked and initializing," Nine confirmed, once more compressing the trigger. "Count 2 out."

"Hold on Target till mark," Thirty-Seven relayed.

Nine shifted. "Marked and ready."

Twenty-Six narrowed his eyes, trying to take in the target. Something was wrong. He glanced at One to find the youth's eyes on him. Twenty-Six frowned, trying to decipher the lack of expression. There was like a click in the back of his head as Thirty-Seven's words seemed far away. "Take out Target on mark."

"Our target is Madam," Twenty-Six spoke, the horror of the thought raging into terror at One's minute nod as Thirty-Seven spoke, "Fire."

The chanting outside held but it only lasted till the end of the slogan. It began to waver, repeating a second time. Somewhere in the middle of the third, someone screamed.

[m139]

Independent and free
Part Three of the Happiness box
( ~ part 1 (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=86025&p=2880127&viewfull=1#post2880127) ~ part 2 (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=86023&p=2880125&viewfull=1#post2880125) ~)


Later that night, while Jack was taking watch, a restless Robert slid out from under his thin blanket in the old building's lobby and passed the sleeping forms of his sister, Lacey, and Harvey as he stepped out of the door. Marianna had refused to even sleep in the building, and he saw her sleeping just off the road near the fire. But he was not looking for her. He wanted to talk to Jack.

He found Jack leaning against a tree, staring out in the blackness down the long unused road.

"Yes?" Jack said, quietly, not even turning around as the other approached, "What do you want, Robert? You know it is not nearly your turn for watch yet."

"I know." whispered Robert back, "but I could not sleep. I've been thinking-"

"Dangerous."

"-about what was said today. And I realized that I still don't know the reason why they made the happiness boxes. Could you tell me?" Robert's face, although difficult to see in the dim lighting, was covered with a sheepish grin. He always felt this way when asking any question, for it seemed to him he was so behind compared to what the others knew. Never before had he encountered a community like this one before: while most communities placed an emphasis on something like 'how to farm' or 'trading with advantage' this was the only one he and his sister had come upon so intent on keeping the stories of the past. And, having encountered this one, he suddenly realized how little of the world before he or anyone else knew.

"Well," Jack began, neither somewhat in fake shock, as Marianna would have been, nor overly apologetic, as Lacey would have been, but in an almost disinterested way, "to begin with, happiness boxes were created long before the war. The original inventor was apparently trying to improve quality of life for paraplegics or people with other disabilities. Here was a way for them to be happy in this world, even if they were not like 'normal' people.

Of course, although some people took this as something amazing, a lot of people saw it as an insult. 'You can be happy even if you are not like everyone else' they said, 'missing a limb does not mean you miss out on happiness'. There was a huge argument about this, and, with every side throwing every sort of insult at each other, it is likely the happiness box would not have made it anywhere if it were not for a couple of scientist who tried it out on regular people, who, even after only a few hours on the thing, were begging for more, and claiming things like 'I've never been so happy in my life'. They were scrambling to get just a minute more.

Naturally, when the results were published, the happiness box received even more bad reputation from top sources. 'It is basically an addictive drug.' they said. Churches screamed that this was an evil. The end was that it was banned from many countries, but not all.

You see, the device worked, at the very least, for generating uninterrupted pleasant feelings. And, if it was said that money could buy happiness in the forms of drugs and sex, then it could buy a few minutes of pure feelings- even stronger than before- in the happiness box. And more money could buy more minutes.

It so came to pass that, despite the intentions of some governments, many churches, and some groups of scientists, that people rich enough wanted to pay for their whole life in these machines. So, to receive the money, some people built facilities to accept them. They were always built out in the middle of nowhere in some country that they were still legal in, for there were always groups of common folk who would descend upon these complexes, some out of religious fervor and others out of jealousy. They also always had their own power supply, and usually their own backup, both of which were well protected. After all, reports had shown that the longer a person was hooked up to a machine, the more likely they were to become violent if off it for a minute. Hmph. Not so 'independent and free' then." Jack chuckled.

There was a moment of silence, and one could hear the chirping of crickets, the crackling of fire, and the very faint, barely perceptible humming of the generators for this small facility. In this silence, both thought about the words spoken.

After a bit, Robert spoke again. "I think I understand, at least mostly. But... What do you mean by saying, 'Independent and Free'?"

"I had forgotten how little you know." Jack commented, in a very matter of fact sort of way, then continued, " 'Independent and Free' was apparently the selling phrase they used for these things. The full out pitch, from what I was told, was something like 'Independent of the World, Free from all care. Find your own happiness.' On paper, it was generally accompanied by a of some smiling person outside or something. They never showed anyone in the box, and you and your sister have seen why."

Robert nodded thoughtfully, then asked, "But... how were they even able to state that one was independent, if they were stuck on the machine?"

Jack smiled, looking straight forward into the darkness, "If you have questions like that, you should ask Marianna for the answer. She would probably say something like, 'They are not' and then add something like, 'They were not even to begin with. After all, they were part of a society which depends on all its members.' "

"And what would she say about 'free'?" Robert pressed.

"She would probably something similar to what those people said about drugs and addictions forcing you to act in a certain way. Either that, or something about freedom needing to be a constantly active decision- which lying in a box does not allow you to make."

"I see." said Robert. "I suppose I cannot get your own opinions?"

"No." Jack responded flatly.

"Not even on the last part? the 'find your own happiness'?"

Jack huffed. For a moment there was silence, and Robert feared the old man was not going to speak again. But then, the old man actually turned to Robert, and looked him in the eyes.

"Tell you what," Jack said, gravely, "I'll answer your question, if you can satisfactorily answer mine: 'What is happiness?' "

[Evening Rain]

It was a cold night.

The sort of frosty, starless evening that turned one's breath to mist and robbed their hands of feeling. The streetlights themselves seemed to shiver in that quickening chill, casting a pale, eerie glow over stark concrete and bleak, featureless walls. Any warmth and colour that might have been felt in the city by day was now nothing more than a spectral echo.

Lost amongst the sprawling maze of cement, a girl trudged through a nameless alley, blonde hair cast silver-white by the sheen of a weathered iron lamp. She was a stranger in an ocean of strangers, where none knew the next, where husbands and wives would pass in the street without the wispiest spark of recognition. As she walked, she passed a vacant-eyed man staring up at the sky. What he was looking for in that empty, inky void was beyond her. It did it not concern her. He could have been her father, and she would still have passed him with the same blank indifference. That was how things were in this city. It had been that way for as long as any of them could remember, and none of them seemed to mind.

So when the sound of a soft, tinkling bell caused the girl to look up, startled, from her lonely reverie, it was odd for two reasons. Firstly, nobody who lived in that grey, urban sprawl ever seemed to bother with music. In fact, none of them seemed to make sounds at all past the shuffling of their feet, and their shoes tapping against the pavement. Secondly, if someone were to make an original noise, it was inconceivable that any of those around to hear it would take any notice whatsoever.

But the girl blinked, and turned, and craned her neck from side to side - searching for the source of the silvery sound. Why was she so interested in discovering it? Just moments ago, she had been dutifully minding her own business like everyone else - and then this nuisance of a noise had to go and spoil it. Folding her arms and screwing her eyes shut with the stubborness of a teenager, the girl resolved to forget about the stupid bell, and go back to what it was that she was doing before.

...what was she doing before?

Surely it was something important, otherwise she wouldn't have been so utterly focused on its consummation. Surely. But nothing came to mind, as if she were trying to muster up memories from the womb. It had seemed the most important thing in all the world at the time, hadn't it?

She couldn't even be certain of that anymore. This was far too strange, far too complicated. Everything would have been much simpler if it were simply straightforward, so why did her mind have to go and process everything from the noise of a stupid bell to the process of her processing the process of - ugh, this was just ridiculous!

Then the soft, merry tinkling of the bell sounded agan. Closer, this time. With it came the sound of slow, measured steps, moving across the street with a profound sense of purpose. It wasn't the listless, self-absorbed sort of purpose that possessed the rest of the cityfolk. Rather, it was a statement in itself. Bold, eccentric, the footfalls had a curious rhythm about them that flowed and broke and flowed again, as if to boast a character uniquely their own.
From around a corner, stepping into the centre of a luminous ghost-light, came the figure to which the footfalls belonged. He was tall, with shiny boots and silky trousers. An elegant blue shirt was tucked tightly at the waist, over which fell a long heavy cloak of crimson and gold. One of his gloves was green, the other purple, and the porcelain mask that covered his face was so detailed that for a moment the girl mistook it for his real features. In contrast of the vivid and rich colours that surrounded him, the mask was pallid white, with dark sunken eyes. Its lips, though, were full and red – a bloody scar slashed across a pale canvas.

The girl took a step back, eyes wide with confusion and curiosity and fear. She turned her head sharply to look behind her, seeing nothing but darkness blotted with stark light. Perhaps she should run. This mysterious figure that approached her certainly showed no signs of slowing…

“So, you do feel fear. That is good, but you need not be afraid.” The stranger’s voice was soft, consoling, and some soothing quality in it made the girl feel a little better. This was the first time she’d ever heard the subtle patterns and inflections of speech, and yet she found that she understood it as keenly as she understood how to walk. The ease with which it returned made her doubt that it had ever been gone.

“Who are you?” The girl’s voice was indeed without fear. It was coloured instead with curiosity, interest, and the thrill of discovery.

“Some call me a dancer. Some a singer, some a playwright. But I think it would be simpler to know me plainly as an artist.”

The ‘artist’ had stopped, now. He simply watched the girl from a few paces away with the bland expression only a mask could possess.

“An artist? Until just now, I didn’t even know what that meant… Hold on - what was I even doing before you came along? I feel like I was having a perfectly splendid time, until you barged in out of nowhere and suddenly made everything so much more difficult. I felt content. I’m sure I did!”

“People in your position often do.” The man replied gravely. “But tell me, now that your eyes are open, are you happy to be woken, or would you rather remain asleep?”

The girl frowned. Just what exactly was this creepy man in a mask getting at? She felt the cogs work in her mind as she struggled to formulate an answer. “I don’t… I’m not really sure.”

“It may become clearer in time.” The artist conceded. “What is important is that you now have the means with which to find the answer. You need not be certain as to what it is just yet.”

“But… what about the others?” The girl’s voice was almost plaintive this time. “You can’t mean to just leave them how they were.”

“No.” he said sadly. “I intend to help as many as I can, but some are simply not ready. It takes time to work up the courage to open your eyes, you know.”

“Can’t you just… tinkle the bell? Wouldn’t that just make them, sort of…” she made a vague gesture with her hand, which she supposed didn’t really give much away.

“The bell is always ringing.” The man murmured sadly. “But few are prepared to listen.”

“Alright, but what am I supposed to do now?” The girl looked awkwardly about the claustrophobic warren of streets. “Where should I go?”

“That is not for me to decide, child. You are independent now. Independent and free. You may make the most of the gift I have given you. Or you may not, and simply go back to living the way you lived before. It is not for me to decide”

The girl considered that for a few moments, before nodding doubtfully. “Do I have a name?”

Were it not for the mask, the girl was sure she would have seen a wry smile on the artist’s face. “Yes, you do. But it is not for me to say.”

The girl retreated into her thoughts again. It made a refreshing change from endless, meaningless plodding. “How about Mya? I like Mya.”

“So do I, child. Mya is a fine name.”

Mya. she thought proudly. It was becoming increasingly obvious to her that the enigmatic stranger had done her a profound service.

“Thank you.” The words were simple, but the intention sincere.

But she did not know whether or not he had heard her, for when she looked back up from the dreary concrete, he was gone. Where he had stood, instead there lay a small silver bell, with a tiny slip of paper wrapped around it. Stooping to pick it up, Mya unfurled the little scrap of parchment and carefully read the spidery handwriting that ran across it.

when
sleeping
so
sound
nothing
ever
will
you
see,
but
once
woken
you’re
ever
Independent
and
Free!