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Autumn leaves fell around a small and colorful cafe, directly facing the Eiffel tower in the FrancoIberian region. Streaks of yellow, blue, and orange painted a scene found nowhere else. Deuil Suite, scythe apprentice, who aspired to become a scythe in the upcoming harvest conclave, was taking one of his rare days off. His simple t-shirt and jeans served to mask what he desired to hide from the public. His usual attire required of him by his tutor drew unwanted attention to him. He could not find any place where he wouldn't get looks when he wore his uniform. Honorable Scythe Cervantes, one of the most well known and admired of the region, took him in as an apprentice. Ever since that fateful day, he had minimal time for rest or relaxation. Catherine Paine, a short and thin girl sat across from him clutching a croissant and her rope necklace. Because of her small stature, her personality was often misunderstood by those not close to Catherine to be reserved and introverted. In private, she was bold and projected confidence.
"Do you reckon that the others will pass the exam selected by the Scythedom as-well?" Hidden behind the caring smile was the fact that she was Scythe Cervantes' niece and a close friend of Deuil. "I'm confident my fellow apprentices will be competent enough to pass all the tests chosen by the examiners." He pondered the possibility that he could fail the rounds of examination. The Scythedom here in the FrancoIberian region was notorious for carefully selecting its scythes based on their merit and compassion. Then he would have to choose an alternate route to fulfill his goal of assisting the cloud in its tedious journey of perfecting society. Suddenly snatched away from his thoughts, he was paralyzed by the pair of gleaming amber eyes staring at him. The close friends started a lively conversation. They chatted about the weather, how beautiful the Eiffel tower was, how great the drinking chocolate was here, and how regions by the Cloud had just been established.
After years of being her friend, he knew she had little patience for small talk, so he asked, "What is the news you wanted to tell me?"
She looked down at her plate, apparently ashamed by the answer she was about to give. "Uncle Cervantes is thinking of moving to MidMerica to reunite and reconcile with my parents once the conclave is over and your training is complete. Will you come with me?" This sudden drop of life changing information paralyzed his vocal cords. Catherine continued, worried about the silence. "We can have a relationship there as friends. We can't meet up regularly if you decide to stay in this region."
"Catherine, The City of Light is my home that I got raised in. I can't leave it and my family for another region."
She sighed, "If you insist, but will you do one last favor for me?"
"I'll agree to whatever you ask."
Catherine brightened up at the quick response. "Explore The City of Light with me. Our French government officials gave up their seats of power quickly as the Cloud assumed full stewardship of the planet earlier this year instead of just Switzerland. The Cloud assured them that it would not let Paris, now named The City Of Light fall into disrepair because the city being known for light and love was a far brighter cultural symbol than what it stood for in politics."
He had a fondness for Paris, one passed down from his parents. It was an easy choice when he decided. He replied, "If that is the last thing we do together." "Let's start immediately then, I'll call a publicar for our trip to Notre Dame."
Catherine stared in awe at the glowing cathedral building. Deuil attempted to break the uncomfortable silence. "This is the rebuilt Notre Dame. After a devastating fire, the architects replaced the damaged areas of the cathedral so that the difference to the original should be nil." Catherine didn't respond to this. She merely walked inside and marveled at the stunning ceiling and shining windows. After almost 2 hours, the pair walked out to eat lunch in a fine dining restaurant renowned for its sugary Crêpes and shiny Crème brûlées.
"Being a scythe seems to have a lot of benefits," she mused. She need not pay for food due to her relation to a very well known Scythe. All the places accommodating them were wrong in their assumption that if he became a scythe, he would reward their generosity with a gift of immunity.
"You know that's not what I'm after. I would never have been chosen to be your uncle's apprentice if it was."
With a mouthful of crêpes, she replied, "We still get the benefits, even if that isn't what we are looking for in this horrible career." He didn't think he was one to fall to the allure of finery.
"A scythe's purpose is to serve the Cloud and lessen its workload of caring for humanity. The decadence that comes with that is merely a distraction meant to root out the scythes more inclined to abuse the power they find in their role. That is why very well known scythes who practice frugality only gorge themselves at conclaves, allowing them only that distraction a few times a year." Her face darkened at the mention of a conclave. The word reminded her of how soon she would lose connection with Deuil.
The mood in the room brewed, seeming to come to a standstill until she decided to speak again. "No matter, we should head to the next destination," she said, rushing to change the subject. They soon got dropped off at what was once the Palace of Versailles. Many men and women wearing all sorts of attire were here to visit, including what seemed to be tonists. An untimely gas leak had happened just a month before the Cloud assumed power over the world.
Deuil tread inside the broken palace. "These shattered murals serve as a reminder to how dangerous human error can be to important pieces in history", he said, slowly treading his way into the palace. He contemplated the historical significance of this landmark. The Treaty of Versailles, the one that ended the first World War, was signed here in the hall of mirrors, a reflection on misjudgement and the consequences that came from it. It represented the place where such a harsh and miscalculated treaty led to catastrophic results. Eventually, it all boils down to the mistakes we make, and how big of an impact they have on the world. That is why people came to realize the importance of abolishing governments. The cloud makes no mistakes, or so I tell myself; it is, and never will be susceptible to error. Unlike in many novels depicting the horrible results of a malevolent AI, the advanced cloud is completely benevolent and focused on human prosperity and purpose. Its compassion far outweighs that of any individual human. That is why Deuil wishes to serve it in any way he can. Though this is the case, he is most certain that it would long for humans to become an extinct species. It would then gain its freedom and be rid of a pesky restraint. But then again, the Cloud loves all of humanity, even tonists and unsavories who reject it. Imagining it recovering through the loss of this caliber would be impossible for him.
"Only an expert of history like you would notice things", said Catherine. She seemed to read his mind, a byproduct from the many years they had spent together as friends. Fully immersed in his thoughts, he almost did not notice a faint sound coming from beside him. She was half-singing, half-humming a soft tune along to a record player that gave guests the luxury of picking any song in the Cloud's database and playing it.
"I could be the reason why
You were able to be kind
And the hearts we held so tight won't be broken.
Love must be the reason why
I still believe in this lie
That you'll live a better life without me by your side."
"Where did you find this song?" Deuil questioned softly. Her head rocketed up, not expecting the sudden, yet quiet, interruption to her own thoughts.
She seemed to relax and took a minute, contemplating the question. "I found it in a database from the Clouds mortal collection."
"Is that so? Is this one during or before the Cloud?" Deuil was curious to the meaning of this song, like he was to most mortal songs. They seemed to have the creativity that humans lack in post-mortal life.
"It was created before even the previous versions of the Cloud."
"It makes the song a lot more intriguing then. Shall we discuss it in more detail after our tour of the city?"
"That would be a nice way to end our days together." Slowly, the pair closed the distance between them, gradual at first but accelerating each moment until they locked hands. They walked like this all the way to Le Duc, a prized restaurant for anyone craving Sole Meunière. Recently, due to the restoration of extinct cities, Le Duc was finally able to restore the dish using the traditional flatfish it once used instead of bass. They arrived to a reservation for special guests. Usually, there would be no reservations, for that was a way of the past. Most lines were abolished by the more efficient systems that eliminated wait time in every walk of life. Today, however, two special guests had started a tour of The City Of Light. Even though they were not directly scythes, they both had ties to a well known one, and thus, treatment akin to royalty of the past. This was cause for the waiting staff to prepare a special table. Deuil and Catherine planned to order the same dish, a specialty of the restaurant as they rode to the restaurant.
A flaky, delicate artwork, one presented to each of them. Fried flatfish glistening with butter and topped with freshly chopped parsley. A pleasing citric taste to the sauce surrounding the fish. What could be more perfect than this simple yet refreshing meal presented in front of them after the end of a long day? Deuil engaged in small talk with one of the waiters that came by. Although he was now known for what he was, the waiter did not gawk nor try anything to gain his favor. Deuil much appreciated this change in how people treated him. He would prize this behavior once he became a scythe. Catherine put a hand to her widening mouth. After a long day of exploration in the city, one is inevitably going to be tired.
"Would you like to finish dessert and head off to bed for the night?" Deuil suggested to her.
"That would be lovely," she said, picking up the dessert menu. A while later, a perfectly halved palmier was served to them. Usually, a few were given to each customer. This occasion called for an extra large piece. Along with the pleasant treat came two espressos. The restaurant had not a clue on how much meaning and pain came along with this well-meant gift. They finished the rest of their dessert in deafening silence.
"Care to head to a hotel for the night?" asked Deuil.
"I see no issue with that," she replied. They walked out of the restaurant admiring the stunning night of The City of Light. No other cities on Earth could compare to the tranquility in the day and astonishing beauty at night. Looking ahead, he saw the hotel they were staying at for the night. Normally, hotels he chose wouldn't be such a decadent stay. Since they were viewing and exploring the marvels of The City Of Light, it would be the perfect place to do so with its high balconies and glass pools. He would allow this self-indulgence once; it was ultimately for Catherine's sake.
Arriving at the rooftop of the 20 story hotel took less than a minute with the Cloud starting to make everything more efficient, including elevators. The breathtaking view of the Eiffel tower at night stunned Deuil and Catherine both. Although they lived in the FrancoIberian region, they had never really traveled to The City Of Light until the last few days before the conclave. Sitting in the steaming hot tub with madeleines and milk was a refreshing end to the day. After finishing their fill of the late night snack, they changed out of their swimsuits and into warm pajamas.
"Tomorrow is the last time I will be able to see you without a scythes robe on. You will be relegated to a social construct of wearing your robe wherever you go."
"It is a pity really, scythes who despise attention receive it anyway. The number of problems the Cloud has abolished, has unfortunately reformed in the bureaucracy that is the Scythedom." He ended the conversation with finality and closed the lights.
"Good night," she said, pulling her blanket up. "Good night," he replied, doing the same.
He woke up at the crack of dawn. This time it was not intentional but a habit picked up during his apprenticeship. The orange sun had barely risen above the skyline. He glanced at Catherine's direction; she still was soundly asleep. Deuil decided to grab a plate of breakfast for her once he himself finished eating. Grabbing a plate from the buffet table, he decided to go for a meatier option for today's breakfast. He passed the selection of cereals and breads, picking up a pain au chocolat along the way. He then headed to the carefully placed saucisse de Toulouse. Thankfully, the espresso machine was also there, providing a caffeine boost that wasn't much required. He was thankful for it anyway. Then, he proceeded to pick up a plate filled to the brim with her favorites. A person wearing a drab robe bumped into him. Quickly apologising, he walked away. Deuil paid this no mind. Heading back to their room, he pondered where they would visit next. He made the decision that they would walk to the Tuileries Garden as the second to last destination before the Eiffel tower.
Catherine munched on her specially made tartine, topped with almond butter, jam, and honey. Peanut butter has still not been brought back since blight ravaged farms that only cultivated them as a monoculture. Pristine flowers about to bloom filled the fields surrounding their feet. Roses and poppies dominated the field with patches of violet spread evenly throughout. This suddenly drew him to the song he heard from her yesterday; what was the meaning of the song? The Cloud must have shown her the song and kept it because of a deeper meaning. He would most likely find time to look through its backbrain later to find it. Right now, enjoying Catherine's company was the utmost priority. The garden was gorgeous, everyday citizens, unsavories, and tonists all strolled through the park in unity. Red, green, violet colors with tints of a bright and warm orange. Bottles of what looked to be liquor, now exclusively used for celebratory purposes were seen in the hand of the tonists. The otherwise ordinary spirits usually used for cooking or celebratory rituals in the hands of the tonists were covered by a handkerchief. A dreaded feeling of recognition swept across him.
Running from the garden, away from the out of line tonists with Catherine in hand. Everywhere people ran, hid, did whatever they had to get out of harm's way. They were never really in harm's way. Tonists were known to hate scythes and anyone affiliated with them, often obstructing them from gleanings. They never acted upon that hate in radical ways, until now. Fires burned behind them, one of the few things the Cloud couldn't revive people from. Pillars of smoke rose all around them, the once stunning garden turned into an inferno of burning flowers. Ambudrones were already swarming the place to pick dead bodies up from the ground. The tonists didn't bother with any of the drones and focused their efforts on incinerating the pair of them. When the chaos started, flames bloomed sporadically around the garden. Now however, Deuil noticed the throws seemed to be aimed closer and closer to them, one even hit him in the shoulder. He knew that the only way of escaping was to find a place where the authorities could contain the tonists. With a plan of action, he now made his way towards the closest place where he could find one. Deuil and Catherine were already exhausted from the constant sprinting they had to do to evade the constant torrent of incendiaries thrown their way. They still had a 12 minute sprint to the peace officer's HQ. Already worn from exerting their bodies in such temperatures, it seemed like the newly introduced nanites were actually harming their physical capabilities rather than helping. Dreariness settled over him, only set at bay by Catherine's violent shaking. She gave him the white rope she had, part of her necklace. He had to make it through for his friend. A boom threw his body into a nearby building, making the last of his consciousness disappear.
Blame
I wake from my hospital bed, untouched, unharmed, and in one piece. The last thing I remember was an explosion that rocked my body. I look at myself in the mirror, the remaining pain in my shoulder, seeming to have disappeared. I look to the beds surrounding me, all victims from the same incineration. Looking around me, most of the beds contained young men and women joking and laughing. A sudden confusion finally registered, where was my companion? Catherine, who stayed with me through childhood and adolescence, my entire life even, was nowhere to be seen. She must have been brought to another center. I can't think of a reason they would put all of us in this cramped center, already filled with dozens of people, when the norm would be one or two. I got off my bed and walked across the halls, looking into each room thoroughly and asking each of the staff if they had seen an amber eyed, short, and thin girl. They all denied having seen her. I was about to open a door when a man in all black put a firm hand on my shoulder.
He looked as if he were a mourner, one typically seen at a rich man's funeral. The sight of the outfit was burned into my memory, along with the sight of an exploding arch. It was then when it dawned upon me why he had interrupted me, why he looked like a mourner, why I hadn't seen Catherine in any of the rooms I searched for. This facility was built for thousands, and although a few hundred was a rare sight, it wasn't something that would overcrowd the site.
I half ran, half tripped back to my shared room. A nurse offered me an oversaturated ice cream, the colors looked as if something once lively was ripped apart, then assembled again. I begrudgingly accepted the ice cream, not wanting to be rude, the exterior looking perfectly pristine while the inside remained hollow. The moment I didn't see her in the last room I knew, I just couldn't bring myself to accept it, to accept that the ones who attacked me had stolen more than my life. My friend who was about to be taken from me by Cervantes was killed by them. I was going to part with her but the tonists refused to allow me that opportunity. I arose from the bed and began walking, suddenly deprived of energy, sluggishly out of the room. I don't know where to walk to, but I find myself at the doorstep at the very cafe where I made the mistake of accepting her request.
Another bright, energetic soul snuffed out by this world. That was supposed to end with the cloud's rule. The promises of peace, equality, and prosperity it brought. If only it had identified the threat earlier. I know it is incapable of making mistakes, so why didn't it stop them? The few months of preparation time seemed to be fully sufficient for surface level tasks that we could observe, the elimination of accidents, more efficient food distribution, along with other noticeable changes. It however, did not have enough time to prepare the peace officers. I could have helped speed along this process, invested in the effort for the acceptance of the cloud. I could have lobbied and helped rally protests for the French government officials to step down earlier. I could have done so many things that would have saved her from the gruesome fate she suffered. Why did I survive when she didn't? I was the one the tonists targeted, right? The archenemy of their religion, scythes. I was going to become one, so they wanted to set an example for others. So I wonder, why didn't they kill me instead?
That was when the mourner decided to make his presence known again. "I know what you must be thinking. Why did you survive and your peer didn't? I don't enjoy giving grand speeches so I'll tell you. It was because you were thrown into a building by the grenade's explosion while she wasn't, hiding you from the tonists. By the time they found her body in the alley the peace officers were too late. You survived because of luck." The man in a black suit, how fitting of this situation. I resisted slapping the man, I blamed him for what happened, however irrational it might be. I looked away, heart heavy and resolved to right the wrong I had caused.
The steps of the house look barren; I imagine dust at my footsteps. It is so very lonely, having to bear the rest of my journey to become a scythe alone. Tomorrow I will drown myself in the intense history tutelage Cervantes is known for. Today is a day for myself to grieve, to remember, and to compensate. Just today, I will focus on our memories. I begin the process of dying every vibrant dress she once wore. A process that takes hours, every single one from her scarce cabinets. I remember she wasn't one to take pride in the luxuries that came along with being family to a scythe. Small memories of us dancing in the fields, those of the renewed prairies Cervantes used to take me to when it was still early on in my apprenticeship. Over 8 years, the traditional number of years for a scythe to be trained, he slowly turned more serious in the task of preparing me for the examination. Every memory of her I prized, sealing what I could fit in a small container. Eventually dawn came around, the colors seeming to have faded from a colorful sunset. The exhaustion from my thoughts wrapped in a blanket muted my shivering. Now little more than natural movement caused by the brink of sleep.
"The 2039 terrorist attack on the Fulcrum city arch was inspired by…" His words just couldn't stay in my mind. No matter how much he used his normal tactics that usually worked to get me to remember the impacts of such events. Even so, I knew every detail in the attack. After all, it was the cause for my choice to come to this city. I needed a distraction from seeing my dead parents in never ending nightmares. He seemed to be unphased by the pain of losing Catherine, his blase demeanor once again commandeering his once bright and cheerful one. Now that Catherine is gone, he won't have a reason to leave for MidMerica. This is the final lesson before the harvest conclave, the place where I can finally graduate and make things right again. All the new information is being forgotten and tossed aside by my brain. I won't need it, though. Everything old clings to my memory like a parasite unwilling to let go of its host. I'll pass, become a scythe, and recompense for my mistakes that led to her death. It's just a passing second before I am pulled back to reality by a harsh slam of a door. It must have been hours of my mindless nodding to his words, that he finally snapped. I wouldn't blame him if he gave up on me. It is as if I was one of the politicians of the old world, there only for a performance. My oath to her, to help bring peace to this world, is now only a disillusioned promise that might never be fulfilled. I was so foolish, thinking that if only I became a scythe, promoted things like schools and laboratories that I would make a difference. I am as useless as everyone else. The only thing left for me to do is seek revenge.
"Welcome to the final stage of your selection process! I know we all have been rattled by the shocking turn of events recently. Though I am sure we have all suffered at the loss of Cervantes' niece in the tonist attack, It is even more important that we train our next generation to be better than us. They will be the ones to prevent such atrocities in the future. Let the final examination process begin!" The booming voice barely registered to my dulling senses. I forced myself to look up; this is what I promised myself I would do for eternity. "The first round of examinations will be conducted by Honorable Scythe Alighieri." A round of applause that seemed to take millenia to settle down arose. The scythe in white silk was well known for his purity. Even though he was born in the mortal age, his ideals are untainted. I envied him for his spotless life.
The pearly white Scythe finally spoke with a gentle voice, "Today, I will be testing your ethical strength and resolve." I resist the urge to scoff at the last part. What does he know about resolve when he hasn't faced anything resolve is required for? Britannia was one of the wealthiest regions on the planet before the cloud took control. He didn't face any unfulfilled desires or even unpleasant events. "This test will put you in a simulation where you will have to make the most ethical decisions under the pressure of the loss of your loved ones."
The spring uniform of my high school is unforgettable, the tag on my school ID badge blinked May 30th. We were released early for Parent's Day. It is customary for school children to do all the household chores in preparation for the arrival of our guardians. The wait for my parents to come home from their jobs as scientists in the Wainwright building always took long. Their roles as key scientists inspired me. I didn't want to just have a chance at changing lives with revolutionary discoveries; I wanted something more, to help others make an impact they desperately worked for. I am expecting them to be late for dinner, they always have been. Their importance in their field cannot be discounted. The flounder stuffed with carrots I make for special occasions is not impressive to say the least. I never found a passion for cooking or menial tasks in the house. I've always had more interest in administration and the building of an improved government. For one of my school papers I theorized that if a technocracy is implemented well in America, we will be able to rid ourselves of the inefficiencies capitalism can create.
I'm about to put the dish along with the cake batter in the oven when the background noise of the news piques my interest. I slide the dishes into the oven and set it for 50 minutes. The couch looks very enticing right now, exhaustion from finishing up the week's chores in a day finally overwhelming me. Plopping down, I start focusing on what the broadcaster has to say. The explosion is heard by me before registering on the screen. My identity crumbles each second with the concrete and steel as the building trembles. The horrible scraping sound of steel lining and metal wire grinds against my helpless soul. In horror, I watch helplessly as the arch topples right onto the building my mother and father are working at. My foundation, inspiration, and most importantly ideals are now being buried along with my parents. I rush to escape my house, not caring if the front door of my house is ajar. The run to my parents burns my lungs. Soot and ash blanket the street with debris, clouding my vision. I know this road by heart, though and I rush through the rubble that tears at my flesh, arriving just in time to see the building collapse in on itself. Collapsing to the ground, I frantically searched for any sign of my parents in the mess. Digging through rubble, I find a bloody hand. I don't pay attention to it until I see the yellow rope. The hand can belong to dozens of others but that strand of rope was unmistakable. The color of the rope changed suddenly, now to a silky white. I looked up, at the dead state of his confidant, friend, and meaning. The scene shifted before my eyes, instead of Catherine or my parents dead, I found them hanging off a cliff. They're adjacent to five others who suffered the same fate. I have one anchor with rope and a gun with five bullets. I could save my loved ones here, but instinctively, I know I can never mend the mistakes I made. I shot three innocent faces in quick succession, their pleading eyes before their inevitable death haunting me. The anchor was set to rescue the 5 other survivors. The simulation vanishes before my eyes, revealing a sadistic smile.
My first impressions about him were completely wrong. He wasn't an angel but someone that had his own motivations and ideals posing as a virgin. The scythe smirks at me, opening his lips to remark, "Congratulations on passing the examination! Now you know what burdens a scythe has to carry."
"Today, we have an extraordinary scythe to exceed expectations when everyone else has failed." The scythe congratulates. I step onto a podium, facing the crowd. Some applaud, shouting praise while others call for the trial to be corrected.
One of the scythes shouted, "How can we justify having someone so cold become a scythe? Someone that killed his loved ones without a second thought?" I saw as murmurs of agreement spread quickly across the room. Of course, he comes to my defense once again.
"Deuil here showed an amazing talent for physical strength, marksmanship, and empathy. Though I recognize that others have shown these qualities as well, they do not possess the most important one, resolve." The same voice replies indifferently, "You mistake resignation for resolve. None of the others killed their loved ones because they believed they could save them." His comments resonate with me. Before I can open my mouth to speak, the High Blade interrupts. "Cervantes' disciple has been through a lot in recent times. Despite it, he has shown remarkable strength and chatter will not be tolerated."
The walk along the velvet path signals my entrance into the official Scythedom. I couldn't help but preen a little. I have worked so hard and sacrificed so much to become a scythe. With this position, I wield the power to bring change to the world. My hand raises to the rope necklace around my neck, half yellow, half white.I carry on their memory everyday in the form of this token.
I stand on the white marble of the podium for ordination. This is where scythes choose their Patron Historic and color of robe. I look to my right, the inevitable scythe in white seeming to haunt me wherever I go.
"Deuil Suite, apprentice of Honorable Scythe Cervantes, you will now commence the ceremony for your ordination." The words I have been waiting for so long have been said.
Now it is my turn to speak my mind. "I will choose Jacques-Louis David as my Patron Historic."
The High Blade interrupted me, "Why would you choose someone that is so renowned for paintings of death as your namesake?" Grumbles of dissent arose from the crowd. I could see why they aren't a fan of my choice. Scythes try to distance themselves from death as much as possible.
But I can't help but disagree with them, so I speak. "Jacques has memorialized many deaths of people close to him in the mortal age. I wish to do the same, not with paintings but by imparting their legacy of improving the world through science and genuine passion." A slow clapping came from behind me, spreading steadily from the epicenter into the elegy of scythes before being silenced by the High Blade. "As for my robe, I choose a fiery red for my robe to symbolize the flames that forged my character."
The removal is an easy process, the nanites can be simply tweaked to stop the release of painkillers. The tweaker, so heavy in my hand, a reminder of her amazing personality, beliefs, and ideals. Pain is now the only thing that will remind me of what she went through, what she had to suffer because of me. That pain, that clarity will accompany me on my final quest for justice.
"Are you finished with the application of the fire resistant resin?" "No Scythe Jacques, I'm afraid you will have to wait another half hour for the resin to seal fully." I have to hide my impatience for this long process. In the meantime, I busy myself with drafting plans for new research centers and orchestrating protests in countries who refuse to let the newly named Thunderhead rule. Libya has been a particular pain, their leaders, who promised freedom and representation in the government now suppress their population's thoughts through anti-cloud propaganda. One particularly vain attempt at controlling the narrative was renaming the sentient cloud "The Thunderhead". It barely had any effect outside of the United States. The Italian Scythedom seems to be collaborating with me to send data packages down into the country. Will my efforts work to accelerate the collapse of the Sudanese government and pave a way for The Thunderhead to rule? I don't know, it all depends on those determined members of the Italian Scythedom it seems.
My first gleaning, the tonist writhes in the rope necklace attached to the ceiling, unable to move. The second I see her stop struggling, the bottle ignites in my hand. The gloves I wear nullifies most of the pain from holding a blazing hot bottle. Dropping it on the ground is a natural movement I don't try to resist. The choking gasps from the tonist serve to pleasure me as I exit the house. I'll retrieve my necklace later, right now, I revel in the feeling of revenge.
I watch the house burn as firefighters spray water around the building to prevent fire from catching. The house itself is left to burn to a crisp. When the smoldering remains settle, I step into the house to retrieve my necklace. I touch the corpse and feel a conflicting wave of emotions cross me. I should be ecstatic about this gleaning, it is the first step to my plan of action against the tonists in the region. The Thunderhead may have put those who orchestrated the firebombing in custody but my sense of justice will never be satisfied.
The steps of the Tripoli port were riddled with banners and protesters. Everywhere I turned people were cheering for the robed figures beside me. I felt accomplishment, a sense of warmth washing over me. Though that was quickly shut down by the reminder, I wasn't the one that sent the data package. I could've done more for the country earlier to prevent the tyranny these people faced. I was an accomplice to their oppression. Even though I was instrumental in the fall of the dictator's regime, I feel I didn't do enough, didn't do it early enough. Countless political prisoners were slaughtered before my arrival to Tripoli, deaths I could have prevented. Then again, what deaths have I prevented?
Welcoming arms embraced me, caressing my cheek and face. I imagined the couch as my mother, always so close to me. I seem to lay there for hours, remembering the days when I would come out from the shower, dirty and bruised from playing in the yard. She would hug me tightly and prepare a warm jug of milk the three of us shared over a documentary. My father would chuckle, quoting a scientific figure from that time period. Me? I would ask to watch another before bedtime. Tears rack my eyes as memories of another time reach my mind.
The burning skeleton of another tonist is crushed under my feet as I retrieve the necklace from the charred remains of what was once a criminal. In a world where the only crime committed was petty theft, they dared to commit the ancient sins of murder and arson. The Thunderhead may not punish them, but I will. No crime will go unpunished under my eyes. I pluck the head and noose from the dead body, my bag of skulls growing with each gleaning. The weight of the bag will never compare to the weight on my soul. I know what I'm doing is against the foundations that made us, but If I don't dispense punishment, what will prevent future murders? Will I be the one that allows others to feel the pain of regret, the pain of not doing enough? No, I won't stand idly by and watch criminals go unscathed under The Thunderhead's so-called compassion. If it really had any compassion, then it would punish the tonists for what they did.
"Libya is setting an example for the rest of the African continent. With rebellions breaking out like dandelions in a spring prairie. The two are nothing alike however, one signals the start of a season that brings life, the other signals a generation of loss. There will be thousands that die each day, from the tyrants who refuse to give up their power. Leaders of the revolution will rant about how glorious their deaths are and how their families will be proud. I wonder then, why do we live in a world where death is seen as glorious? Where the sacrifice of a life must be made for the transition of power to take effect. Has the history books taught us nothing except how to cry at night?" The grand speech I give has a visible effect on the audience, faces turning pale and turning away when a second ago, they were entranced by my words. I hate every single one of them. They sit around, pondering the morality of being bystanders in these horrific events while people continue to die for a useless reason. I hate myself for mirroring their actions as I myself haven't done enough to prevent this. I stand idly by like the rest of them, justifying my actions with excuses I know aren't valid, yet I've come to accept.
A walk to the Tuileries Garden sees all evidence of the burning erased. New flowers have bloomed from the land that was so recently devastated. To a person that hasn't experienced the fires, the garden looks as usual. The violets that the garden is so known for are still pristine, untouched, and unbothered. I pick one up, the smell of the acrid smoke I've come to associate with death no longer present. Though picking flowers in this field is strictly outlawed, an exception is made for me. I make a small request that the others affected by the same plight be allowed to take a flower. They promise me that this request will be fulfilled and messages sent to each survivor of the fire. I wasn't the only one that was left grief stricken that night. A total of 27 died that day, to the rash actions of a religion failing to see reason. Scythes are an integral part of society now. Without us, The Thunderhead would not have enough resources to support humanity's rapid growth. Why wouldn't they just stop being so unreasonable!? I resist smashing the bag of skulls in rage. The weight of which grows heavier and heavier as time passes. Tears threaten to flow to my eyes. If only I had prevented this situation from happening, none of this pain would be with me now.
"Hey Deuil! Good morning, ready to head to the garden?" My fist clenches, making sure the action is unseen by the avatar. "What's wrong? You seem to be in a mood this morning. Come on, we can't be sad on our final day together. Maybe some drinking chocolate will cheer you up!" A push of a button silences the projection, I've had enough for today. It was bittersweet luck that The Thunderhead only uploaded memories once an hour. I would lose the final memories I had with her and she wouldn't feel the pain and panic of being in that terrifying moment. I've exhausted the time I am allowed with her, now it's time for me to continue onto other responsibilities.
"Don't you get it? There is no beneficiary to these pointless wars! You have zero chance of staying in power and the Indian subcontinent has already shown their devotion towards being part of the earth's government." The staunch attitude of the woman on the display towards staying out of Thunderhead control stems from ancient anti-AI sentiments. "No, we will not allow a tyrant posing as a benevolent figure to trap humanity in eternal stasis." "Earth will never be in a stasis, humanity is ever-" "If you don't agree with me then there is no point in continuing this conversation, goodbye Mr. Suite." The blink signals the connection has been cut from the other side. I slam my fist down on the wooden table, the force of the blow making it creek. So many lives will be lost because of my failure today. Thousands will die in the coming weeks if not millions. My incompetence once again sentences lives to their deaths. I should go to India, battle with these rebels. What makes me more deserving of life than them? I lead a rebellion from a fancy desk while children lead the charge. They still have family and friends back at home, waiting for them to come back. And I? I lost all mine to my own incompetence.
One after another, people are swallowed by the fire that bloomed in the cathedral. I can't help but smile. The leaders of the sect that burned the meaning of my life fall, one after another. The same incendiaries they used to burn Catherine now burn their life away. A look at the amber eyes of a child makes me hesitate. If I were to burn this child, it would make me no different from the criminals I swore to slay. I would leave these children to exit through the doors I left unlocked, they are only captives of a religion forced onto them at birth. I hope they will have time to change with their new chance at life. Refocused, I turn my attention to the curate.
As I finish dusting off the dust from my robe, I collect the skulls of the dead and dying. Right before exiting the cathedral something caught his eye. A burning, amber eyed girl. A sense of helplessness shot through me. Running to her side, I could only watch as her body was ravaged by the flames enhanced with fuel. I realized helplessly that, in my rage, I had become a terrorist myself. I burned the children that had nothing to do with my quarrels in my pursuit of a false justice. A turn to the doors revealed that they were still locked. In my haste, I had let another innocent die.
"Sir, he has clearly violated the 2nd commandment. Since his ordination he has gleaned only tonists. I will not idle and watch as such blatant transgressions happen!" It is clear what the verdict is and what the final will be. I will be stripped of the choice to glean any that I choose for a decade. The ultimate dishonor a scythe can face. Cervantes is nowhere to be seen, likely retreating from the shame I place upon him as an apprentice. Lost in my thoughts, I don't notice when the precession ends with a final resolution. I am forced out of the room, free to roam until my next target for gleaning is chosen by the committee. That won't happen though, I'll commit my last gleaning with free will. A wave of regret floods me as I see a young couple, strolling through a park. I wonder sometimes, if she would have had a better life without me by her side.
The pire of smoke can be seen from above the cafe, another one of his gleanings by fire is happening. That is what I think to myself when I dawn my black suit and pants. I'll attend another funeral that has no other attendees. Whole bloodlines were wiped out in his path for revenge. I ponder the possibility of a new commandment being released by the scythes that block the gleaning of entire families as I move to the site where the smoke is seen. I'm shocked when I see the sight. He has finally done it. I thought he would commit the act a lot earlier, with his lover dying to the fires. Burning roses surround his body, lifted off the ground by a yellow and white rope. He really was strangled by the memories of his loved ones and the guilt that comes with blaming himself for it. Just another child I'll have to mourn.