Minutes later, the Guardians finally arrived in the Registry Room. Ilyas was still standing there motionless with his eyes hollow and detached. The 'confusion' phase in his mind passed. And now the stark reality of what had transpired was laid bare to him, and facing it, he had no thoughts, just emotions surging and crashing against each other like a stormy ocean. It'd take time for them to subside enough for him to think again and 'process'.
But what was there to process?
The deed was done and sealed. His father's words drew taut around his neck, and he was waiting for the stool to fall and his legs to dangle.
He didn't resist when the Guardians handled him aggressively, dropping him to the floor face-first with his hands cuffed behind his back. He was like a hollow husk vulnerable to the slightest gust of wind.
When they hauled him past the hatch and into the grim hallway where a dozen Guardians were awaiting to flank them, a thought finally flared, and he muttered it, barely a whisper:
"I see. Father, I see it now."
Ilyas was blind to people's hearts. But that was a given since he only ever knew a handful of them.
'How? I... am their friend.'
But he saw them now with their most intricate, ugly details. Reflected on their rotten hearts was his blunder.
'Why? Why?! I am their friend. This doesn't make sense. They are a part of me.'
Was that why his father preferred the company of his own self? It made sense.
'Ray.'
He huffed.
'Ray.'
'Ray.'
'Ray.'
How could hatred replace love so fast? But that was just it, it shouldn't have. And the price he paid when he lost himself between those two server blocks was a testament to that.
'Ray. Kim. Kim. Ray.'
Their names were a constant refrain in his mind, accompanied by an immeasurable feeling of malice in his chest.
They consumed everything, possessing him, maddening him.
He didn't even realise that he was sitting on a chair in an empty lounge, and that time had passed since he was arrested.
He looked around languidly.
He knew this lounge, of course. It was where the condemned awaited before the Preservation Judgment Ceremony. Public knowledge for the Dwellers.
He huffed again.
His hands were uncuffed, but the welts remained on his wrists. He didn't care for the pain; in fact, he could barely even feel his arm anymore.
Strangely, what bothered him the most was his bronze-streaked hair tickling his face; he ran his hands through his hair until only a few stubborn strands remained.
The storm of blinding emotions subsided slightly, allowing him, unfortunately, to think things through.
And so the memories struck.
'The breakfasts?'
But they didn't deepen his sadness; all he felt was his indignation and rage flaring to an incinerating degree.
'The Wasteland Crusader Talks?'
His blood simmered as it circulated his veins and arteries, making everything burn.
'Card nights? Talks? Years?'
'Years?!'
His heart protested and demanded retribution. He was a ticking bomb. He needed an out.
'Birthdays?' He chuckled. Then he laughed. Then he laughed some more until he felt his face grow damp. The tears wouldn't stop. But they weren't sad. They shouldn't be. Because he didn't feel any. He was naive. Nice words won't do it for him. Affection won't as well. All of this goddamn-
Clang!
The door to the lounge opened, and three people entered.
Two were in jumpsuits, and one was in a peculiar dress he hadn't seen before. He wore an elegant collared black jacket that fell to his knees. Black pantalons, a white buttoned shirt that gracefully embraced his corpulent build, and a crimson, silky ascot. He had a clearly superficial mournful look on his face... or at least Ilyas believed it to be. He had his hair strictly combed with a strange reflective adhesive to keep it in place, which only served to make his face seem even pudgier than it already was.
'A Councilman.'
The others he could only assume were in similar states to him. One was a man roughly around forty years old with not much going for him, looks-wise. His thinning hair, neglected stubble, and heavy eye bags didn't connote much of a... satisfied life. The other was a very old man who was probably oblivious to his current situation.
The two condemned sat on separate tables while the Councilman made his way to the very front of the lounge to address them.
He took a deep, solemn breath, cleared his throat, and said in a deep, sombre tone:
"When we are, death is not; and when death is, we are not." He let silence follow for an unnecessarily dramatic pause, which only served to aggravate Ilyas even more.
The man continued. "Sacrifices kept our Vault operational. Sacrifices kept our vault alive. They allowed your parents, your friends, your children, spouses, and all your kin... to live. To laugh. Prosper. Work... And when the world above drowned in agony and despair, and we were not supposed to be, we made ourselves be nonetheless. That is what your sacrifice means. Each one of you is here due to certain unfortunate circumstances, I understand. You must feel indignant, angry, and sad; that is fine. What I want you to understand, however, is that your death allows the rest of us to survive. It allows for a new generation to rise and continue to carry the torch of pure humanity..."
Ilyas stopped listening halfway through the man's rambling because all he cared to think about was his situation.
'They must've decided to have their child, but the Council refused. So I'm the price they paid for the Council to allow it, huh? I see. That was guilt. All of it was guilt.'
Preservation... And what was the cost? Him? Was he so tainted that all the fucking Dwellers hated to see him coming? As a child. As a teen? As an adult? What was so wrong with him that even those closest to him treated him this way?
Was he the problem if it was a rule that he was to be isolated and avoided?
Ilyas continued staring into space for some time, recounting many things in utter stillness and silence. His father's words resurfaced more frequently, and he began to assess his situation more pragmatically.
It was a few hours later, when Ilyas's thoughts were still in a state of utter chaos, that the two Dwellers stood up and he belatedly realised that he must follow. The Councilman had left, returned, and now he was leaving again, but this time, they were too.
It was time.
Two dozen Guardians accompanied them as they marched down the hallway for the ceremony. It was like a VIP procession. They weren't even handcuffed. The councilman walked at the very front while he and the two other Dwellers followed him in a straight line. The Guardians created two flanks as if to encase them.
Eventually, they exited onto a platform that loomed over and oversaw the Congregation hall for Level Five.
Eyes.
Eyes from everywhere turned to them.
Six hundred Dwellers were standing in the hall, all in jumpsuits and mournful expressions. The murmurs were low and subdued, and their eyes carried glints of remorse. After all, they were all about to see dead men walking who didn't quite deserve it. Not all those from Level Five attended the ceremony, but most did out of respect and appreciation.
The Councilman was the first to enter the looming platform, and he immediately moved aside to allow the condemned to face their 'fellow' Dwellers. The old man was the first to enter, albeit he still seemed utterly confused by his situation. The forty-year-old dishevelled man was the second, and he now clearly bore a terrified expression. He was muttering something under his breath to calm himself down.
Ilyas was the last. And Ilyas seemed indifferent. Not because he actually felt that way, but because he didn't know how to express these impossible emotions, so they remained within him.
He already struggled with facing strangers; add to the context of it all, and he... he short-circuited.
The only thing that somehow managed to seep onto his face was his subdued, boundless fury, which was, however, also a consequence of his fear.
He was afraid.
In fact, when he finally stood still on that platform and felt hundreds of eyes pierce him, cementing his utterly hopeless situation, he felt a deep-seated terror.
However, that only exacerbated his indignation and anger even further. Because he wasn't supposed to be afraid, he was supposed to be at his interview blundering with an awkward jest. But here he was, an unwilling sacrifice for his lifelong traitorous friends.
How could he not be?
And then came the looks of pity.
'Keep your eyes to yourselves, you pests!'
He wasn't supposed to hate any of these people. They were practically innocent in his regard. But emotions weren't always synonymous with logic.
He subconsciously scoured the congregation for familiar faces until his eyes found Ms. Henriette. And...
'Why is she crying that hard? Our friendship is barely beyond breakfast time... Although now that I think about it, that's when I do most of my socialising... Alongside fighting for the most seasoned tomato slices... Wait!'
His eyes scoured the crowd again for that bastard Antonio. If Ilyas, as a breakfast warrior, had a nemesis, Antonio would be without competition.
'Where is that scummy skunk?'
Eventually, he found him. The tall beast...
'What the hell?! Why is he crying too?'
Indeed, the man was trying to maintain a nonchalant, stoic countenance, but his eyes were clearly red, and every few seconds, he would pretend to cough so that he could wipe his face and relieve the built-up sobs.
Ilyas sighed. He was feeling the sadness now. It was quelling his rage somewhat. The common things he was accustomed to, the people he smiled at in his day-to-day life, who knew how to disregard the mass majority of Dwellers who were repulsed by him for whatever reason. Yes, Antonio was an adversary who was always on his nerves, but at least he felt like someone worth something around him.
Unlike...
'There they are.'
Ray and Kim.
Kim was crying on Ray's shoulder, trying to avoid being seen by Ilyas. But Ilyas saw her. He saw them. He saw them ever so clearly. Ray was also sobbing, but he seemed to want to take responsibility for it. That face that always looked like a sanctity for his child self, and even yesterday, was the most terrible thing in the world right now.
The rage didn't surge at the sight of them, though, which was quite strange. Ilyas thought he would lose control of himself and lunge at them, trying to claw their throats out, saying the most abhorrent things.
Instead, he just raised his chin, furrowed his brows, and stared them down directly with the most disappointed, reigned glare he could muster.
Because they looked so small now. So insignificant. They amounted to nothing. They were people who discarded their friend because of a mistake they made with cold hearts. How could they be considered humans, people, after that?
But that did not mean he would not drown them in the bloody consequences. The feelings subsiding within him did not vanish; they were just kept away in their own small sanctuary for when he would need them.
Right now, he cannot afford them.
'If father said I might die, he knew this would happen somehow in his deranged way. So he knows that I have a chance to get out of this damn predicament. Does he have connections with the council or something? That would be something.'
If he were to abide by his father's words, then his emotions needed to be in check to allow a pragmatic mind its space. He became aware of this fact a few hours back in the lounge while that councilman was reading them... strange poems? He wouldn't and didn't care to know.
But the longer he saw those two, the more he was tempted to scowl at them in defiance. He eventually caught a glimpse of an unusual attendee at the very back of the hall. He was taller than most, draped in a black mantle - unusual since all Dwellers only dressed in their assigned jumpsuits - and had a smug look on his face that spoke 'I told you so'.
'Father?'
His father seemed beyond himself, which kind of... made him feel a little better?
How strange?
Wasn't he about to be condemned? Shouldn't his father's smugness infuriate him even more? So why is he feeling more hopeful?
'Yes, I knew it.He must know something. That old sloth is a useless burden, but he isn't without his peculiarities. So why isn't he doing something, goddamit?
After allowing the condemned and the crowd of Dwellers to face each other for a few minutes, the councilman finally repositioned himself at the very front of the platform and looked down at the crowd.
Silence enveloped the hall.
The councilman raised both hands as if embracing the crowd and said: "Know that you all live to see tomorrow because of their sacrifice. Let it be felt in your hearts as we bid them farewell! Fellow Dwellers, these words are familiar now, so let us speak with our hearts."
The councilman swept his arms to the condemned and said, "Let us hear their voices! Karmin 0100587, how do you want to fare?"
The Old man, hearing his name, strained himself forward, mumbled something, then asked in a raspy, weak, barely audible voice, "What do you mean, kind sir?"
The Councilman turned to him with a genial smile and repeated his question. This time, however, he leaned forward to whisper the situation more clearly in his ear.
Old Karmin didn't fret once he understood his situation. He merely nodded and sighed in resignation. "The Garden. I would most certainly prefer to fare in the Garden."
Commending murmurs and a wave of nods passed through the crowd. As expected.
The Garden was a chamber preserved for the condemned who preferred an instant and painless 'ending'. The alternative was rarely an option: Exile. Actually, throughout his whole life, Ilyas had never heard of anyone daring enough to choose Exile.
That was why he could barely compose himself at the moment.
Exile meant that one would be left to one's own devices... outside the Vault. There, the horrid sky and the vile sun imposed on all. The toxic atmosphere promised a slow, agonising death.
Ilyas huffed at the thought of it.
"Ilyas 0655955, how would you like to fare?"
Ilyas took a moment to gather his breath and not focus on the fact that the silence was all weighing on him.
His chest didn't catch a break today. His birthday.
Before he answered, he took one last look at his father, who was grinning at the back with his index and middle fingers raised to indicate 'two'. He then turned to Ray and Kim, who seemed absolutely squashed by the burden of their actions. Ms. Henriette's sobbing was even louder in the silence, and Antonio's facade seemed even more superficial.
"Exile," Ilyas muttered in the silence. But following his answer, the silence grew heavier and persisted for longer as hundreds of perplexed eyes anchored on him. Even the Councilman jerked to face him with gaping eyes, startled by his answer.
Then, the whispers turned into murmurs, which then turned into a din. He could somewhat discern some of what was being said in the front rows.
"What the hell is wrong with him? Is he..."
"It kind of makes sense. I mean, have you heard he was caught breaking into the registry room to cheat himself more merits?"
"Oh, more merits?" Another voice joined the two conversing partners. "I know of him. This brat is a lunatic! All he does is obsess over merits day and night."
"Of course he isn't satisfied with..."
Before his anxiety could get the better of him, Ilyas forced himself to stop listening and looked at the Councilman pleadingly, hoping for him to make them be quiet.
'I'm a dying man here! I changed my mind! Show some pity!
'Hey! Who just called me a fiend?!'
Eventually, after the Councilman unfurrowed his contemplative frown, he took a deep breath and raised an arm.
The hall went silent... except for his father's giggling at the back. This earned him a few reprimanding stares.
The Councilman cleared his throat, briefly stole a curious glance at Ilyas, and turned back to the crowd. "Well, if that is your wish, then... who are we to stop you? But I must insist that you reconsider, young man. The surface isn't so loving of us. It's a vile, putrid thing, if I may be so vulgar. You will-"
Ilyas had had enough of the man's voice and interrupted bluntly with, "No, I'm fine. I choose exile."
The crowd was about to reinvigorate their outburst, but the Councilman boomed, "Very well then! Benjamin 0788100, how would you like to fare?"
Benjamin mumbled something under his breath and then turned to stare at Ilyas with gaping eyes.
Ilyas felt incredibly unnerved and self-conscious under his burning stare.
'What the hell is this lunatic looking at? Goodness, he's creepy.'
Benjamin remained silent, then uttered with just enough volume, "I choose exile. I choose exile, too."
'huh?'
Ilyas was the first to jerk his head and stare back at the strange man with a stunned expression. For some reason, he was just as confused as everyone else in the hall... if not more.
Now it made sense to him why everyone reacted that way regarding him.
'Did I hear him right?'
The Councilman, as if echoing his thoughts, said, "Did I hear that right? What the hell is wrong with these people this year?" Then he immediately covered his mouth after realising he was speaking his thoughts out loud.
But no one seemed to care, because they were all perplexed in their own right.
Ilyas, unfortunately, was still being pierced by the creepy man's stare.
'Why the hell is he still staring? And why is following me?!'
A few moments later, the Councilman continued, his voice sounding a little forced and rushed this time. "By the power and grace bestowed upon me by the Chiefs of the Chamber, I pray that with your sacrifice, mercy accompanies your souls."
The gathered Dwellers, as if on queue, parted to allow for a clear central pathway between them, leading to the Parting Platform: a platform covered with lillies on the opposite side of the hall that ascends to Level One.
On Level One, the Chiefs of the Chamber resided, administering and managing the vault. There was also the 'Garden' and the 'Gateway', annually used to 'process' the condemned.
As they descended their current platform, Ilyas started feeling his innards squirm more and more. His breathing became manual, and his throat struggled to maintain its moisture. But he made sure not to express any of it, remaining impassive so as not to give out a weak last impression.
But dear god, was it difficult.
'One... two... One... Two..."
He paced his breathing, hoping to steady it, but his mind was growing hazy. He couldn't even see when Ray and Kim made an effort to be as far from the pathway as possible, drowning themselves in the crowd of Dwellers, so as not to have to face their sin.
But damn them. He couldn't care less right now, because he was about to face his death potentially.
'One... Two..."
Hands reached out from the parted sea to 'console them'.
'As if. Hands off, you lucky bastards.'
They caressed his shoulders and back as he passed, occasionally grabbing his weak shoulder as a show of solidarity or some nonsense.
They reached the platform, and Ilyas could almost pass out from the pressure. His father was nowhere to be seen.
'Of course. Father of the year right there.'
Once the last few Guardians stepped onto the platform, the Dwellers began bowing ever so slightly in gratitude and compassion. Ms. Henriette's guttural crying could be heard from somewhere amidst them alongside an unusually sick man.
The platform began ascending... too slowly
'Agh, let's get this over with, goddamit!'