13 * 1
January 4th, 2047
As I shook the spray paint can, I grinned at the mural I'd drawn. It was a piece that would piss off the Tower, the cops, and most of all the President. I was putting the final touches on our President's ass—who was kneeling in front of the President of Country X—when a whistle made me jump.
"Hey!"
I saw the cop striding toward me with a flashlight in hand. "Who are you? Hands up."
There were at least five meters between us, so I threw the paint can straight at his face. "They're up."
He groaned in pain, holding his eye. "Bitch!"
When he snapped his baton open in anger, I started running, and he came after me.
"Don't fucking run!"
I cut through the backstreets, running for a while. It was too dark to know exactly where I was, but I was sure I'd gotten far from the Swamp. I ran downhill along the buildings, turned right, and bent over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
"Where's that little shit?"
The cop's muffled voice came from the top of the slope. I peeked from behind the wall. He was out of breath, looking down one road and then the other.
"Fuck!" he growled, swinging his baton randomly before running off to the right.
Once I was sure he was gone, I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets and kept walking calmly.
I'd been running from cops and loyalists for years—we all had. I lived in a country ruled by a dictatorship for ten years. If you could even call it living, considering we were being fucked over daily. Everything started after the 2037 early elections. The whole nation united and chose a monster. I was one of the idiots who believed his promises. I had my share in that disaster.
I felt my back pocket vibrating and pulled out my phone. Z. I wasn't in the mood to talk to him. If it was urgent, he'd call again, so I declined.
Z. was the leader of the Swamp. I'd met him three years ago when he was still a passive dissident against the President.
"One filter coffee, please."
The waiter nodded and walked off. I opened the newspaper in front of me. The world had gone fully digital since 2030, but as underdeveloped countries, we were still using paper. Some journalists even had fax machines. Maybe this was the only part of our backwardness I liked—being able to read the books that weren't banned.
The front page was covered by the President's huge face. An entire page dedicated to praising him and his so-called achievements. There wasn't a single publication that criticized him. Every newspaper, every channel served as propaganda, inflating his image. Everything in the country looked "fine," as if dictatorship, restrictions, and stolen rights were natural. Fanatics accepted the regime. People like me, who saw the wrongness, wanted to speak out but couldn't—because anyone who raised their voice had their vocal cords cut.
I drew exaggerated eyebrows and a mustache on his face and wrote "MURDERER" across his forehead in big letters. That was the extent of my resistance—simple, useless gestures. I knew doodling on newspapers wouldn't topple a President.
To bring him down, to destroy him, something much warmer was needed: blood.
I took a sip of my coffee and drew a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. I smirked—just as a man passed by and dropped a book on my table before heading for the door quickly. I turned toward him.
"Hey!"
He didn't answer and left the café. I looked at the book he'd left.
A World Without a State / Z.
I'd heard of this book. It was written by someone who had organized actions against the President. It had been seized everywhere before anyone could read it last month, and those who managed to get it had been arrested. Holding it in my hands felt like holding a crime.
I shoved it between the newspaper pages in panic. Plenty of university students circulated banned books, but I'd never come across one. As much as I wanted the President to fall, I was also scared to death. That's why I never broke rules.
I downed my coffee and hurried out of the café. I needed a safe place to read this book. I couldn't read it at the dorm; one of my roommates was a loyalist. Even if we didn't bring politics into our friendship, I couldn't trust him.
I went to a tree-covered area on campus and sat on a bench. I opened my textbook and placed the banned book on top.
I took a deep breath. I was holding a loaded gun. If I opened it, I'd be aiming that gun at the President and become a traitor. If I threw it away, I'd stay a good boy.
I let out my breath and lifted the cover.
I had no intention of being a good boy in this story.
Before I could start reading, I saw a note on the first page.
"If you want to join the Swamp, come to the Monument at 01:00.
If not, destroy this book quietly without reading."
I fixed my eyes on the note and waited like that for a few minutes. Joining the Swamp was far more serious than reading a banned book. The book would only help shape my thoughts a little, but joining the Swamp meant choosing a side, fighting against the Tower. Did I really want to enter this war? What I was about to do would be much more than passive resistance. This time, I might have to draw the brows and mustache with blood.
I tossed the book into my bag and walked toward the school with slow steps. First, I needed to eat the school's free meal; anarchy could wait a little.
●●●
"You came," said a voice from the other side of the Monument.
I flinched a little at the sound and was about to get up when he spoke again, making me freeze. "I thought someone who enjoys state food this much would just burn the book."
"Anything free is enjoyable," I said. "And I'll enjoy reading the book too."
A quiet chuckle came. "Have you thought it through?"
"To be honest, no. I haven't. I'm afraid."
"Then you can leave."
"Well…" I said hesitantly. "What if I join you a little, and if it doesn't work, I leave again? Can I do that?"
"Are you buying a Netflix subscription?"
I pressed my lips together not to laugh.
"Open page 13 and read the first paragraph."
"Just a second," I said, pulling the book out of my bag. I found the page he mentioned and skimmed it before reading silently.
"Read it out loud."
"Ahem! Hmm!" I cleared my throat and started reading.
"The hardest return is the one to yourself. Especially if you've been away from yourself for a century… Forget returning—one goes mad at the slightest detail about oneself. Within you lies the truth, and truth is madness. Drift away… Drift away… And drift away… There lies the translucent peace of lies. The magnificent flow you think you see through, the order you believe runs smoothly. Not as dark and chaotic as your insides. A world where questioning is forbidden, where everything is clear, where every answer exists, where there are not even any questions—a world flat as the path you've walked for centuries, a world from which you dangle your feet over Antarctica at day's end. You must return. To yourself, into yourself… You must awaken. One must wake up at least once before dying."
I closed the book and walked around to the other side of the Monument. In front of me stood a tall, thin man whose face was unclear in the darkness.
"I accept," I said. "Whatever you want, I'm ready."
I declined Z.'s call once more and quickened my steps. I wanted to reach my room without trouble, but the voices coming from the dead-end alley didn't seem like they would make that possible. I ignored them and kept walking—until a woman's voice stopped me.
"Help!"
I took a deep breath and headed into the alley. In the darkness, all I could see was a group of men with their backs turned toward me. I walked a few steps closer.
"Evening, gentlemen."
When their heads turned toward me, I bowed my head slightly. "Am I interrupting?"
"Yes," said one of them in a rough voice—the one in the middle.
"Great. That's exactly why I'm here."
"Sis, fuck off. Don't get yourself killed."
"Help," said the woman behind them, the one I still couldn't see.
I leaned sideways, trying to catch sight of her, but the first thing that caught my attention was a man barely standing, clutching his leg.
"One against five," I said, clicking my tongue and shaking my head. "Not very fair."
Well, a bit of warm-up before going to the Swamp wouldn't hurt. I made fists and took a fighting stance. "Alright, who wants to get beaten first?"
They looked at each other and burst into laughter. Getting beaten wouldn't bother me, but not being taken seriously—that pissed me off.
The shortest one stepped forward. "This counts as overtime," he told his friends, looking at me.
"I was sayi—" His punch hit my chin mid-sentence and pushed me back a step. I shook my head to pull myself together and looked at their grinning faces. "Would've been nice if you'd let me finish, you son of a bitch."
I stepped toward him in anger and jumped, kicking him square in the chest. As the short guy staggered back, I punched the one closest to me. Meanwhile, two others attacked. I threw punches at whoever came near. When I dodged the fat one's swing, the blow I took to the back of my neck made me groan. Five at once was going to be tough.
I backed away and searched for anything useful. When I spotted the pile of wood near the wall, I ran for it.
As I passed the wounded man, I yelled, "You're still just watching? Seriously?"
"Huh?" he said, as if waking up.
I tossed a piece of wood into his lap. "A little help would be great. I don't think I'll last long."
Without a word, he slowly got up and came beside me. As we watched the men rush toward us, I took a deep breath. "The three on the right are mine. The rest are yours."
He cracked his neck and stepped forward. "Which one of you stabbed me?"
"I did," said the one on the right.
"Oh no, come on," he said, shaking his arms. "You were with the girl. If it's not a problem, could you move a bit to the left?"
"Sure," the man said, stepping left.
"Thank you, so polite."
"You're welcome," he replied with a gentle smile.
I rolled my eyes and swung the wood in the air. "If you're done chatting, can we beat each other until one of us drops dead?"
"Oh! Of course," he said. "After you."
I turned toward the men and smashed the wood across the face of the one on the right. Caught off guard, he fell back, and the others yelled and attacked.
I dodged punches and kicks, swinging the wood wherever I could. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the stabbed guy beating the man who stabbed him into the ground with his own stick. When I turned back, the last man standing kicked me in the stomach. As I swung the wood at him, it hit his arm and snapped in half.
"Shit," I muttered, staring at the small piece left in my hand. When he lunged again, I threw it at his face. He tilted his head easily to dodge. I didn't waste a second—I leapt on him and punched his chin. Before I could pull back, he grabbed my collar and hit me. My head jerked back, stars spinning in my vision. I elbowed his shoulder, trying to free myself, but he was stronger. I twisted, pushing my back against his chest, and slammed my head backward into his face. He staggered, loosening his grip. I tried to escape, but he grabbed me again by the back of my neck.
"Bitch," he spat. I'll have to wash my hair five hundred times now.
He wrapped his arm around my throat and started choking me. "I'm going to kill you."
I bit his arm and elbowed his face. "Sure thing, dude," I said, turning toward him. "You're go—" I punched him. "—nna."
He growled and tackled me; we fell to the ground. He straddled me and squeezed my throat even harder this time. I turned my eyes toward the wounded guy—he was still beating the one who stabbed him. He must've snapped completely. When I tried to call for help, no sound came out. I was actually dying. And I still hadn't overthrown the president.
My vision dimmed, sounds turning into a distant hum. When the darkness shifted into a white glow, Gumball appeared through the mist. "Dude, you're pathetic," he said, reaching out his hand.
"I don't want to die," I said. "I can't go with you."
"Devonian."
"What?"
"I'll take you to the Devonian."
"I want to go back to the Swamp."
"It's time you crawled out of the water," he said, dragging me by the arm.
"I said I don't want to."
"You are the ideal vertebrate," he said, his voice suddenly holy. Monastery music played in the background.
"Please, Gumball."
Just as he was about to answer, a bag slammed into his head and sent him flying into the sky. I stared after flying Gumball and opened my eyes, coughing violently. The man choking me had collapsed beside me like a sack of potatoes. I slowly lifted my gaze.
"Are you alright?" asked the woman I had risked my life to save. She held her bag tight to her chest, looking at me with watery eyes.
I sat up. "Did you knock him out?"
She lifted her bag. "Yes."
"Right… The bag," I muttered. "Lethal move."
After I recovered, I sent the woman home safely, made sure the beaten men were alive, and heaved the wounded guy over my shoulder to get him out of there.
"Thank you," he said, breaking the silence between us.
I didn't answer, just adjusted his arm to carry him more easily. Under the moonlight, the street was empty except for us.
"You need a hospital," I said. "I'll call a taxi."
We sat on a bench a few steps away, and I pulled out my phone to call a taxi station. When the call ended, I glanced at the man beside me. His head hung back, eyes closed. His black hair was messy, his scruffy face covered in blood and dust.
I cleared my throat and held out my hand. "Berkin," I said. "We didn't get to introduce ourselves."
He lifted his head, looked at me, then at my hand. "Kayra," he said, shaking it. "Really nice to meet you."
I smiled. "Rough night."
"You're really good at fighting," he said. "Where'd you learn?"
"My family sent me to judo classes when I was a kid."
It was a lie. Z. had taught me.
He nodded. "I learned on the streets."
"How did you get stabbed?"
"Trying to save the woman."
"I see," I said. "You may know how to fight, but don't go charging at five guys like you've got nothing to lose."
He laughed. "Says the person who did the same."
Before I could reply, the taxi pulled up.
"Um…" he said awkwardly, glancing at the taxi then at me. "Will we see each other again?"
"I don't know," I said, shrugging.
"Give me your number," he said, holding out his phone.
I typed my number in and handed it back.
"Get in," I said, pulling him up by the arm. I helped him into the back seat and leaned on the door. "You're on your own from here. Take care."
"Thank you," he said. "I'll call."
"See you," I said, closing the door.
I stood on the sidewalk until the taxi disappeared. Then I took a deep breath and headed toward the Swamp. It had been a terrible, exhausting night. I had barely taken a few steps when my phone buzzed. Z. again.
"Yeah?" I answered weakly.
"Where are you?"
"I'm coming. Something came up."
"What came up?"
"We'll talk when I get there."
I hung up without waiting for an answer. Shoving my hands into my hoodie pocket, I slipped into one of the alleys that would lead me straight into the Swamp.
●●●