New Age

I raise my flags, don my clothes
                   The cold night air of the wasteland cut through his cloths and whipped in his hair. He pulled his jacket closer to him and tucked the red flag deeper into the crease of his arm. He could see the faint glow of the Hut in the distance. He was almost there. He smiled slightly at the thought. He couldn't wait to see her. The women of his dreams was waiting for him there.

It's a revolution, I suppose
                   Three years. Three years the world had been fighting and now they would make their ultimate move. It wasn’t their fault. They weren’t the ones who chose to live they life they were condemned to. Fate had chosen them it seemed and now fate made them fight. There was no way out. Now they all suffered

We're painted red to fit right in
Whoa
                   As he drew closer to the Hut he stepped lightly over bodies and derby. The ground around him was littered with them. His worlds, his cloths, were painted red like his flag. He couldn't help the chuckle that spread when he thought of the rust red that surrounded him. It reminded him of his beloved. Of everything they had been through and more.

I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus
                   The bodies below his feet where old and decaying having died long ago. They were left to show dishonor. The prisoners around him had been nothing more then hired meet that escaped the nearby jail. Sent to fight as a punishment for their crimes in a battle they would never win. Compared to him and his kind they were nothing. They were weak he was strong. As if to prove his point, the wind picked up and blew the loose piece of fabric he called a shirt around him to reveal his toned and fatal body.

This is it, the apocalypse
Whoa
                   Apocalypse that is what they had called it, though no one would have thought that it would happen this way. Human vs. “human” the stronger would survive.  And he planned to be the winning side.

I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones
                   When he thought back to that day that changed it all, he could remember the chill in the air. There had been something, though he couldn’t tell what at that time, that had chilled him to the bone. It wasn’t until later in the day that he realize what was going on.

Enough to make my systems blow
                   They had been told that they were in danger. Their government had made to many enemies. People had always said that nuclear war would be the beginning of the end but they had no idea. The bombs blew up in Denver first and nature did the rest, the wind and rain spreading the radioactive partials.

Welcome to the new age, to the new age
                   Those who survived the initial death and diseases that rid the land found themselves changing. This was not the last time or place where it would happen. Five more bombs, somewhere in Canada, Mexico, South America, Greenland, and Japan, all are reaping the same results. Now the humans were two species, the plain, and the changed.

Welcome to the new age, to the new age
                   So for everyone it was the beginning of the end. The changes were gradual at first then dramatic. Unlike in the movies where people mutated and grew claws and fur the results were far worse. Physical change was not uncommon. Those who were mutated, changed, often grew in size and mass. An average changed child could lift 100 pound with their pinky finger. They were super human.

Whoa, whoa, I'm radioactive, radioactive

Those who got the most dosages were the ones most affected. Physical changes were normal for all the changed but mental changes only occurred in those closest to the initial shock. The ones that the changed now affectionately called Radiominds had IQ’s of 200 pulse. They were the ones who lead the revolution.

Whoa, whoa, I'm radioactive, radioactive

That wasn’t all. There were others who were feared among the plain. The ones who were truly Radioactive, as the term went, were the ones to be feared. The normal changed often found themselves with little brainpower but great strength. The Radiominds found themselves with genius intelligence but not much mussel. But the Radioactive they had it all. These people often looked like the movies predicted. With 250 plus IQ’s and bodies of gods, they presented a threat. Not only that, but many Radioactives’ grew with extra arms or legs after the changing process, mutating farther than most. Some even sprouted wings in their backs, which were leathery and bonny. These were the ones that the plain feared, these where their demise on the battlefield.

All systems go, the sun hasn't died

He was only feet away from the Hut when the sun began to peek from behind the horizon painting a majestic picture. He turned to it, closing his eyes, soaking in its warmth. The sun was a rare thing in his neck of Alaska and each day with it was a blessing. Slowly he stretched out the leathery wings on his back, allowing them to relax and extend to their full with, soaking in the sun.

Deep in my bones, straight from inside

 He heard the door open behind him but he didn't turn.

     "It's time," said the voice beside him and he nodded, a small smile gracing his lips. The girl stepped up beside him and watched his face with a gentle look. She presented a kind smile to him that made his heart skip. He observed her from the corner of his vision, keeping an eye on horizon. She was beautiful. Her deep red hair played tricks on his sight as it blew and flickered in the early morning sun. She had the natural beauty that had become a thing associated to Radiominds.

I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones

"I can feel it. Can't you? There is something in the air today. Maybe it will finally end. Spot says that they are coming around the hill and should be here by midday. Maze Fire is preparing the troops. This will be our last battle, maybe even the last battle. Radar got in touch with Spark. 17th unit should be done fighting soon," she paused in her ranting, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. He glanced at her watching, her throw back her head and soak in the sun. "I can't believe it’s finally over, after all this time. You know Meg's cried herself to sleep last night. I feel bad for her. After all, tomorrow she will be fighting her own kind, possibly even her family. I guess that the price you pay when you side with freedom." She opened her eyes again in time to watch the sun make it past the horizon.

 
Enough to make my systems blow
            "When it's all over, what do you think will happen? We have a lot to rebuild. I'm already drawing up some sketches but I'm still nerves. Today is the day you know." and he did know. He had been waiting for this day for a long time. He could feel it again, it chilled his bones just like last time but this time he was ready. This time he would win. He turned to the girl beside him and gently placed a hand on her stomach where his future, their future lay. The joy was there, the feeling was there inside her. Today would be the end, tomorrow would be the beginning.
      "Go back inside." he said, his deep voice made the air seem to shake. "Tomorrow's a big day. Let the doctor take care of you. I promise I will be back in time to see our son born." She smiled up at him and nodded, turning back to the Hut and slipping inside. He breathed in the cool morning air and smiled.
Welcome to the new age

(Song writes belong to Imagine Dragons. I only wrote the story)

The Replica

Am I a murderer? He watched a comatose Replica of himself through the thick industrial glass. No. If anything it’s suicide.

He was going to die soon. Ailed with a disease unsolved by science. The Replica was to be free of this burden. It was him in every other regard, ready to continue his research on his passing, to look after his daughter Lily.

Twenty-six times he had failed, each iteration moving closer towards perfection. Maybe this one will speak. What will I tell myself? He fiddled nervously with the control panel activating the machines that would wake the limp form on the other side of the pane.

It was an uncanny experience watching his own eyes open for the first time. The confusion swirling in them as they took in the sterile white room. The Replica went to raise its arm towards him only to be stopped short by the restraints. Confusion began to give way to fear. It looked directly into his eyes, uncertain.

He tapped the intercom. “Do you know who you are? Can you speak?” 

It opened its mouth making a gurgling sound, thick phlegm running down its chin onto the surgical gown. It finally managed to suck in a breath. On the exhale, in a meek, rasping voice it said two words. 

“kill me.” 

It sucked in another breath laboriously, fear now evident in its face. “let me die. please.” 

Blood began to seep from its left nostril flowing slow at first, but gaining speed as it traced a path down its chin mixing with the clear residue. It was a pitiful sight to behold. I had hoped that this would be the one. It can even speak. He was torn away from his thoughts by the Replicas growing volume. 

“kill me. Kill Me. KILL ME.” It screamed tearing its fragile vocal cords.

It was going manic straining against the harnesses, obviously experiencing pain. The stream of blood now a river mixed with an unsavory gray. Something had once again gone wrong.

He decided to grant its request, a look of deep regret flashing across his features as gas shrouded the dismal view.

Twenty-seven.

Twenty-seven suicides.

+++++++

He opened his eyes. 

“Do you know who you are? Can you speak?” The questions reverberated through the colorless room.

At last, success. He tilted his head to the side to cough up the nutrient fluid that coated his trachea. Better say something before I gas myself.

“We’ve done it,” he exclaimed, as loud as his tender throat would allow.

He was filled with relief, he would be able to watch Lily grow up and she wouldn’t have to know the pain of losing a loved one.

He knew months of testing would follow… his Precursor would demand it. He certainly didn’t mind though, he also wanted to make sure he was complete.

Throughout the analysis that followed it amazed him how normal he felt. Aside from slight muscular weakness and a bit of light sensitivity it seemed as if he had just woken up from a long nap suddenly cured of his disease. It quickly became apparent that he retained all of his old memories and had the exact same personality as his precursor. No matter the complexity of the question, him and his precursor gave identical answers using identical body language. 

As testing progressed it became clear that as his emotional disposition improved his precursors rapidly declined. This was to be expected though, the precursor was no longer necessary and tomorrow was the day he would take his place at home. I can’t wait to see Lil’s smiling face…

+++++++

He watched the screen, horrified and fascinated as the Replica entered his house. He half hoped that Lily would recognize it as an imposter. He would get to spend at least a bit more time with her then. If this test of integration was successful it would be the last nail for the coffin of his usefulness and worse than that he would never be able to see his daughter again. It was more painful than he could have possibly imagined to watch himself slowing being replaced by something he himself had chosen to breath life into.

The Replica was now in the kitchen fixing up Lily’s favorite, PB&J. It toasted the bread and spread on the peanut butter and jelly in a 2 to1 ratio before cutting off the crust and slicing the sandwich in half. It was like watching a tape, he had to keep reminding himself he was seeing a Replica and this wasn’t just him from the past.

There she was, his angel, skipping into the room. A tomboy if there every was one, her bobbed hair stuck out at all the wrong angles blown into disarray, knees and elbow were covered in mud and scrapes. She was the scrappiest little 9 year old he had ever known. It broke his heart watching her hug the Replica warmly as it tousled her hair handing her the sandwich. It felt as though he had betrayed her given her something fake in his stead. He knew it was irrational, the Replica was him in every sense, that was why he had created it, but he had never counted on the pain of being replaced.

Over the next few weeks he silently rooted against his creation, but it passed every test with flying colors and Lily was none the wiser to its presence in her life. It had even begun to continue his experiments where he had left off, trying to find cheaper and more efficient ways to produce replicas. Replicas making replicas… it seemed so wrong now. 

If no tests were failed in the next three months, it would spell the end for him, it would be a job well done, the culmination of a lifetime of work. He dreaded every second of its success.

+++++++

Looking at the remote in his hand he knew what had to be done. For the sake of his work, for the sake of his daughter.

It had always been part of the plan, they had warned him what success would entail. Now he sat alone in the room where so many of his creations had met their end. One quick flick of thumb and he would join them, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

No matter how many times they told him he was no longer necessary, no matter how many times he told himself, he couldn’t come to really believe it. He had done so much up to this point. He had carried the Replica project on his shoulders and death was the sour reward that he had given such little thought to.

He looked up and found the Replica gazing at him through the glass, a look of disappointment and pity written across its features. Maybe I can work this all out, maybe I can see Lil again. I’ll explain everything and we can send the Replica away. I have at least another year before the disease takes hold. I’ll just have to— He stared on in shock as the Replica pressed the button. The world rapidly faded to black.

The Writers

Clank stomp clank stomp

The continuous rhythm of the Under Pod beat in her ears as she lay in her bed. Staring at the ceiling like she did every night, she thought of home. Five years. Five years she had been here, away from it all. She had one more year till she was free. She would be home, with the sky above her and the earth below. Even though she longed for home she couldn't help but feel the trepidation. She had heard the stories of what happens after The Pod and she had seen some first hand. After all, like most people here, her family was first generation Podies. All the teens knew what happened when you turned 18. You finally became an adult and began your new life. You would leave The Pod and go fulfill your mission.

The Pod was training, they say. Training for what you will find above. When you leave The Pod you will be “equipped” for your life above. If you were a Reader, like she was, your eyes would be reconstructed. If you were a Runner, your legs would be implanted. If you were a Digger, your body would become new. Leaving The Pod meant changing yourself. A new step, a new you, the posters said.

One of the things she feared most about leaving was the implant. She had heard rumors of the pain she would feel but that wasn't what she was worried about. When she really thought about it, the pain was the least of her concerns. What she worried about was the other rumors, the ones that traveled in the deepest part of The Pod. The ones that no one would speak out loud in the light but were shared through whispers in dark times when people slept. These rumors were worse than any other. Failure they said, failure is not an option. There are those that go into the reconstruction and never come out.

Every person in The Pod was required to go through a series of tests before they could pass to the next world. No one knew what these tests were but they knew that failing them was not an option. She had heard once from her bunk neighbor #409, that they tested for writers. Writers, the very word was a forbidden one, and after hearing #409 say it, she immediately retreated to her bed and pretended to sleep. Writer was an old word, one that very few people knew the meaning of now. But she knew it. Her grandfather had been a writer and her father had as well before they had equipped him for reading. She could remember stories that her father used to tell her at night about writers. He said they weaved stories, stories about things new and old, things real and unreal. They were powerful.

Writers could change people’s views; they could make new worlds with the flick of their fingers and cause the downfall of nations with a bat of their eyes. Her father used to tell her stories, ones he had written of before they were banned. She didn't remember all of them but there were bits and pieces. Things about knights and wars and revolution. The government had deemed writers dangerous and gotten rid of them.

During the first Reconstruction and Equipment crusade, they had wiped them out. No one could train to be a writer, even if you paid. Many people often wondered what the Readers read if no one wrote for them. The answer was a lot, where it came from, no one bothered to ask. Official documents, historical papers, declarations and decrees, all these things the Readers read and all these things they understand. Readers hold an honored position and a difficult one. Readers can also be Speakers because they have to tell other people about what they read. No one else can read, so Readers have to dictate everything.

Secretly, she had always wanted to be a writer. She knew they were the ones that put the words on the pages she read. In private, she had tried to copy those words and shapes. Her writing never seemed to look as good as the ones she read and it was never quite right but she did it anyway. She wrote stories of her own, about her experiences and places she imagined. These works were the things she locked up deep inside. They were her secret and her deadly sin. That was why she was worried about the tests for her equipping. Her sin, if found, would be her downfall. A shrill noise broke through the rhythm in the background of her mind and woke her from her thoughts. It was time to work. She dragged herself from the bed and plopped down onto the floor.

“Watch it,” her bunkmate #556 said as she barely missed her head. “You’re not some freaking Killer you know.” Killers, now that was a job. They were even rarer and more revered than Readers. They trained day and night, harder than the Runners and Throwers and Players. Their job was a shady one and not many people knew what they did but there was one thing everyone knew. Killers were scary. They were as graceful as cats and as quiet as mice. They could take out a person in under a second.

She dragged herself along the room, grabbing her grey sweatpants and baggy worn t-shirt. She followed the crowd towards the showers. It was always the same day and night; nothing ever changed. As the group passed by sector 99, she lingered behind. Sector 99 was where the Killers trained. It was no secret that she had always wanted to be a Killer as well. This was a declaration she could and would often proclaim to the world. Next to a Writer, she saw it as one of the best jobs. She wasn't alone in this thought. Many people longed to be a Killer and they treated those who were with great respect. As she passed 99, she watched the trainees from afar, admiring their grace and strength. In reality, she never wanted to kill anyone but she did want to be a Killer. Killers had a different attitude than anyone in The Pod. There was something about the way they walked and talked that suggested that they knew more and had seen more than anyone else, even the Readers. She noticed she was lagging behind the group and with a sigh, turned to join the crowd again.

It was then she heard it. A giant crash emanated from 99. She turned and watched in awe as a door fell down, dust and debris flying in its wake. From behind the door and dust rushed a boy. From the look of him, he was no older than her. His body was well-built, like any other Killer, and his hair was a light blond, lighter than any blond she had ever seen. She didn't know what it was but there was something different about the boy. He seemed brighter than the others. His very presence seemed to bring light to The Pod. So much so that she didn't notice how dark it had been until she saw him.

            The boy looked around the clearing, his eyes blazing. They searched the crowd and seemed to stop when he spotted her. A commotion could be heard from within the building behind him and the boy turned to look back. The crowd had stopped now, their daily routine interrupted by the strange events. In one swift movement that almost seemed like a blur, the boy was running towards the crowd, towards her. The people around her screeched and darted around but she didn't move. The boy drew closer and in seconds he was on her. She felt something brush against her hand and caught three words whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine before he was forcefully dragged away by The Patrol.

"Keep this safe." The words rang in her ears as she stood in a daze watching him as he was taken away by The Patrol. It wasn't until they had dragged him back into the building unconscious and tied and The Patrol was ushering the crowd on their way that she registered the feeling of the paper in her hand. She had always been a rule follower. She knew she had never disobeyed other than her writing but for some reason when The Patrol passed by, she shoved the paper into her pants and continued following the crowd. She couldn't take a shower; she knew that. Once she stripped, the paper would be found and she would be punished. She had mere minutes to come up with an excuse. By the time she arrived at the wash house, she had her escape planned.

"Move along," ordered the gruff voice of a Patrol as he stood above them, taking the normal spot of the soft-spoken women that usually guarded the wash house. Relief flooded her when she saw him. Her old plan was gone and a new one formed. She stopped at the door and veered right instead of left. Right before she passed through the doors, a calloused hand caught her arm.

"Where do you think you are going?" The Patrol demanded, glaring down at her.

"Sir?" she asked him, playing coy.

"The wash house and showers are through that door," the man said. She faked an embarrassed expression looking down at her feet.

"I know sir, but I am not allowed in the wash-house at this time," she replied.

"What do you mean?" he demanded. Keeping up her act, she pointed to the sign above the door. The man looked up, seeing the sign for the first time, she could see the blush on his face. "Oh carry on," he said, letting her go. She smiled to herself as she passed through the door. This section of the wash-house was made especially for those who were experiencing their monthly cycle. The man was so flustered that she knew he wouldn't check to see if she was even supposed to be there. Since it was required that they time in, there was a chance she would get in trouble. luckily she was the only one in the room for now. She stripped quickly, hiding the paper in her clean clothes.

When she was done and dressed, she joined the crowd exiting the wash-house, heading off to work. The crowd thinned as she headed to sector 100 and soon it was just her and the ten other Readers. She knew some of them well and would even under torture, call them friends. One of these friends, # 770, waved to her as she passed and she nodded to him. Once inside building 100, she split off from the group, heading to her perspective room. The best thing about being a Reader was the privacy. The officers left them alone in their rooms to read. Their freedom came with trust, trust that the Readers would finish their work and not complain. Trust that no funny business or problems would arise from them. Not that they would ever slack off. Every Reader liked their job and wanted to keep it.

She shut the doors behind her and quickly rushed to her table. She was the fastest Reader in history and always had free time when she was done with her work. It was one of the reasons she had the biggest room and a personal library. So when she picked up her work and went through it in record time, she didn't even notice. The piece of paper in her pants burned a hole in her skin and she quickly pulled it out as she shoved her work aside. As she inspected the paper, she noticed it was not one but many pieces folded and stuck together. Slowly she unfolded them, careful not to rip them, treating them like treasured gold. Once they were unfolded, she separated the pieces and laid them out on the table around her.

She stopped to stare at the strange thing below her. She recognized the words but was puzzled by them. They were scrawled on the paper in an uneven form, some letters bigger than others, some more slanted or smudged. They were unlike other words she had read. Those words were clean, crisp, and straight. For some reason, the rough font in front of her was more interesting and exciting than her usual work. In a way, they reminded her of her own works but they were messier as if done by an unpracticed and unsteady hand. Slowly and carefully, she began to read.

Soon, she was caught up in the work. There were words in the story that she did not know. Words like war, hate, death, and sadness. She had heard of some of them before. They had been part of old stories told in the night, ones that people used to scare the young ones into bed. Words that her father had thrown about before the Reconstruction. But she had never known their meaning. Finally, her eyes fell on the last page and her face creased even more in confusion than before. As she read the last sentence, her heart stopped. A knock at the door made her jump.

"Hey there. It's me, #809. I was wondering if you want to go to dinner with me during free time," called a voice from the other side of the door.

She took a breath, her heart still beating fast. #809 was a good friend of hers who shared the room nearby. He was handsome or at least that's what everyone said and he had often came to her for advice and a good conversation. #300 had once told her that #809 and many of the Readers liked her.  She hadn't believed her until #809 had started to come to her, going out of his way to find her. #809 was a nice guy but she had never had true feelings for him. It was out of respect that she answered his advances with a yes. She was about to tell him to wait at the doors like he always did when she stopped. For some reason, the bright blond headed boy from this morning popped into her head and she couldn't bring herself to speak the words.

"You know, 809, I'm not feeling well today. I think I will turn in early. Thank you for asking," she replied trying to keep her voice even.

"Oh that's alright," he said and she caught the disappointment in his voice. "I'll see you tomorrow, 666." And with that, he left.

666. The number made her heart skip a beat as she looked back at her desk and the paper that laid there. The last section seemed to pop off the page, taunting her. She stared at it again, her mind trying to form the meaning behind it. It struck a nerve in her and she knew it was important but she couldn't figure out why. Finally, with a sigh, she grabbed the papers and shoved them in her desk drawer where she hid all the stories she had illegally written and locked the drawer behind her. As she left building 100 and headed home, the words continued to ring in her ears.

"666, with the numbers of the devil, the righteous shall be set free and the blind will see. By her words, she will lead them. The revolution shall begin."