Every dream comes with its constraint, that we lose ourselves as we chase the rabbit.
The rabbit represents many things from his roots… You could name a dream and it would fit.
People want to live forever, to find that fountain or elixir, the rabbit shall represent longevity; to be living with carefree joy, unshackled by the worldly, the rabbit shall represent peace; for riches the rabbit shall represent prosperity.
There are countless embodiments of said rabbit.
The rabbit can also be hunted if it weren't for the moon.
"But I am not a rabbit for you to nurture then culled? What is this contract?!"
And there Forth goes. He currently feels an auspicious itch on his knuckles, like they want to propel at the teacher's face.
Indeed, he could feel his skin stretch, one white, another turning blue. This was his greatest achievement, but it felt like a gameshow.
The cozy office, doused in fusion of palladium architecture and pine, reminds him of the trip to Houghton Street. The midday sun had just finished sending the dew back to its home.
"What about it? The scholastic opportunities are endless. Look at the equivalent value! It ranges in twenty-two-or-so million Yew a year! Three years in this place and the money used to raise your standards of education is not to be taken lightly. Nowhere else would this be offered."
A melodious voice as if descended from the male choir assembled from angels…
Darn Apollo.
This assigned teacher is not suitable for his temper. Did they not know him well enough? Has the ten billion Yew endowment on this campus been for moot?
This is not prestige speaking.
Less on that. Forth pointed to the last clause, the font looks appended as if in a hurry. The parchment felt was a high-gram ornate paper for sure, something of a logistical nightmare for couriers.
< Clause 11, Students are required to pitch their routine to participate in ANGREIFER as a part of their scholastic activities and aptitude by no less than 42 hours a week. Further information will be available for disclosure after confirmation of enrollment. >
"You want me to play games as I enter to pursue advanced studies nowhere else in the nation has to offer? What is this, why has it not been mentioned with the prior cohort? This is outrageous." He sighed, not anymore could be said than:
"Forty-two hours. You know how much that is per year? That's two thousand, and maybe another two hundred hours. I can do about five research, six if I am venerable enough. Do you not want me to pursue what I like and append the 'Verdant Imperial School of Arts and Innovation' to the papers?"
The miniature grandfather's clock on the table clicked as each swing seemed as slow as a snail in the dense atmosphere.
Of course, VISAI. Verdant Imperial School of Arts and Innovation. In the Third Revolution, the school was one of the sixty-or-so academic pillars at the sapling level, outputting future h-index demons and devils after they graduated.
"You can think of it as a lucid dreaming session. It has no effects on your interests, it could even enhance it!"
What… What does this man know?
"Do you know who I am? Look at my facial features if you are not sure." Forth brushed his index finger over his brows, then circled a pinky around his amethyst gaze.
"Uhh…" The teacher put on an amused face, clearly not caring enough about his status.
"I am the student who won the Grand Prize at the International Science and Engineering Fair, and my inquiry was what let this technology run rampant, even without satisfactory safety nets!"
"I am the one who designed the Duplex Brain-Computer Interface, the effect of using these techs instead of sleeping destroys your internal clock within days! Then, your muscles will atrophy!" He placed the same index on the table, knocking at the clock's pace.
Then a laugh resounded.
"I don't care."
"In the past, it would've mattered. A child as talented as you… What do I not know about you and many others who stood in your place? I know that you all are entitled, selfish brats who can't see the world as it is… No."
"You cannot see the world as it was. You cannot go along with the flow of the Earth."
Why should he do that?
"You cannot live to take advantage of what normal people don't know, be rich and satisfied, die a happy life."
Why would one do that?
"Guess what, the world once more will change, yet it is your stalwart nature that will fail."
Doesn't the world change by people like me?
The unnamed teacher pulled back the parchment, lifting it up, Forth's name blinded in the sunlight.
"Go on then, go dream your perfect world back at your penthouse. Heard both of your parents are along the same line. Look at them, have they achieved what they want? They are not even present in your evenings, is that their dream to leave a son back at home while they get what they want?"
This teacher, no.
This human being with a title understands nothing. So be it. I write my legacy on my own terms.
A pen.
Sounds of tearing echoed in the small cabinet.
Forth stood with his arm extended, a fountain pen was seen at the end of the sliced upheld contract.
"Good." A smile appeared as the two pieces of useless paper shored apart. Blots of ink painted his sinister intent of a grin in broad daylight.
"Now go."
"Now go.."
"Now go…"
The irritating voice still echoes along the yawn of Tchaikovsky's January that soothes through the timbre of his earphones as he rides the empty bogey back home, completely muffling it. Rayong Central Station's first afternoon route to somewhere north is at last, finalized.
"What a nuisance..."
The closure alarm came in rapid waves as the panel veered on one another. The spritz of humidity and its accompanying parcels of warmth is gone, replaced with a mechanical breeze of lavender. Frigid, void, lavender.
"Welcome to the Eastern-North Economic Bypass Rail Line. Next Station, Kaeng Koi Grand Junction"
Only a bad book would start in transit. As if there was no soul to the main character that came before. He was that character now, empty, and soon cold. But it is his chapter now, ripping a contract to a new world ahead, somewhere unprompted and unplanned.
Not long ago, like about a dozen years ago, Southeast Asia was unified into one zone, including Papua New Guinea, snowballed from the Digital Economy Framework Agreement that happened in 2027, half a century back into a Union agreement, superseding the governing Association and allowing seamless life.
Amongst the rising sea, five capitals are appointed: Chiang Mai, Ho Chi Minh, Kijing, Taguig, and Moresby.
Now it's 2077, and the former capital of Thailand is now knee deep into water. Bye-bye Bangkok, Hello Venice.
Not that the water rose, well it did, but the terraforming of the Australian Outback was too late. By the time the Excavation Soil Bonds were fulfilled and each nation got their landmasses, Bangkok just won't stop sinking, and Bangkok still is sinking fifty years after the critical sea level was reached.
Maybe later, the train ride will be so boring…
Forth stood up from his seat, gave one glance to the luscious forest of the Eastern Bay, and walked the unnerving, empty tube.
He walked past the beige polymer that grooved the corners, the overlooked coffee stain long sought its refuge on the deep maple table, this bogey has seen more active days.
Only stuck up esteemed and heavy economic labourers run this rail in seasons, this was the off-season. He could enjoy the train for himself.
The automatic door that he stood to opens in a wheeze of air.
There's a cafe on this train. Must be good to run a shift during these times.
Better give them some business.
What is that sound?
"Hey! Hey! I know you can hear me with that Openback In-Ear, dude!" A voice rang out from his right side, must've forgotten to care.
Forth flickered his eyes over, his hand holding the gap of the doorframe.
A well-toned man in his fitting auburn cardigan gave a terse look, a fist covering his own heart.
"Uh, yes?" His voice is heavily raspy. He slept as he boarded, the schedule being an hour ahead, he was yet to be in his shoes.
"Damn, you scared me to death by opening the door. I yelped like a glider." Weird comparison. Guess that was not the door wheezing, doors are supposed to be quiet.
With a swift motion escaping the tails of his eyes, pain entered his senses.
Abrupt, deep pain.
It must've been some kind of chemical! This train is drugged! He knew it, Verdant Imperial wouldn't let me leave in one piece and is trying to kill him in an 'accident'!
… Huh?
"Dude, are you going to take your hand out of the door's way?" The Englishman looked with confusion, his composure well beyond his age.
Oh right, he indeed was not in his shoes. The train was, to his dismay, not drugged.
"First Impressions, brother." The man stood up from his seat, towering the moderately tall Forth, extending his hand which noticeably has more burn scar than an esteemed chef, yet deductively a bit less than a house fire survivor. In these days and age where cosmetic treatment is as cheap as dirt, the scar is probably a relic of his pride.
He took the initiation of the Englishman, why not? Must've been entertaining seeing a sleepwalking airhead.
"An impression was already made by us being a VISAI declinee."
It must've been the shock of learning that maybe the Imperial School is just a shitty sponsored tax haven.
Oh wait, it literally is. It is literally backed by the Thailand Initiative in Petroleum.
"Sorry you had to see all of that, hope we can make the future worthwhile." With two hands occupied, Forth gave his best, albeit strained, smile.
We are the losers of today.
"Where are you going anyways? I thought I was alone on this bogey." The Englishman dropped his hand, the automatic door finally reversed on its path after he kicked the thing.
"Cafe. You're here because you declined the scholarship too, right?" The man shifted his cardigan's folds and lining.
"Indeed, can't take Clause 9. I cannot live with that." With a sigh, the man shrugged and stretched his body.
"Clause 9?" Forth took his time pondering the world he left behind this lunch.
"That's no terrorist or high power ordinances in the residential zone. Why not?"
"You keep track of the TEKNOFEST International Rocketry Challenge or not?"
Magnanimous, another passionate knowledge lover?
"Nope. Heard of it, but no. Is it the same competition that caused a fire in the National Park near Las Vegas last year?"
"Uh… Great Basin is not that near Vegas, but yes."
"It was me."
Great, so he is a madman.
"Oookay? Uh. Let's go back two steps. What's your name? Mine's Forth."
"Morrissey, I prefer you call me Mort."
They walked down the moving hallway, the outside visage soon turned mountainous and the sun was shielded.
"Ever heard of ANGREIFER?" He had to start the conversation, Morrissey didn't seem too interested in bringing Clause 11 up, so maybe, a shot in the dark is needed.
"Yes, planned on playing it. How about you?" The Maglev softly rattled as the tectonic shift over 50 years caused some minute defects.
What is with this man and shortening his sentences?
"I don't plan on playing it. Seems like a waste of time, it's like they are looking for testers. I am not free labor."
Morrissey looked Forth up and down.
"So you're a man laser focused on his passions and arts? Let me tell you that it is a commercial product, a lifestyle perhaps. Not tied only to a slave contract at all."
The cardigan tensed as the Englishman's hand knocked his plain t-shirt. Now that he thought about it, why is Morrissey wearing a whole cardigan in this tropical weather?
"A lifestyle? You're one of those hardheaded gamers or degenerate gremlins hyping ledger projects up?" Justly so, his words are the arrows. Accurate.
"Alright, that's worse than I thought. You are not in touch with culture at all. Man… Thought that Serafijnen IEM was for a man of taste, you're deadbeat."
Am I considered below the earphones I am wearing?
"Then your cardigan is a false prophet hiding the nonsense inside your head. That's why you nearly rendered Great Basin into ash—
"Whoa, whoa, too far. Chill." Morrissey pulled his neck in close.
"Owh!" Too many arguments lead to toes being stubbed. Something changed between the bogey. There's something in the way for the Englishman.
Then his gaze picked up the unlikely beauty of the scene. The townhome wide area is a pipe of dreams. The right side was open-air in a way that allowed true sightseeing to the best terrain Thailand has to offer, unseen by most of mankind.
An ornate set of air tunnels lined the opening, a defiance against aerodynamics. The afternoon sun, without its heat, mediates in deep to the bar-like cafe where a brown-aproned man stood brushing his glass shot with a micro fiber, finally veering over to the duo.
"Eh! Slow down. With that clumsiness you will break the whole cafe." A new face entered the fray. With the current pacing of the train, it would be around 2 hours to the Grand Junction.
Huh, why does he have a VISAI emblem? Is this a job over the winter break kind of thing?
"Why are you working in the winter?" It escaped his mouth.
"It's a Service Curriculum requirement. I won a League match against my friend so I get to be at the best place, in the best time." Ew. Another one obsessed with games.
Morrissey is still caressing his foot as Forth took his bar stool.
"It's so empty here, though. Only three of us… Uh. Long Black, 4 shots." To the wide eyes of the student attendant, he helped Morrissey get on the stool.
"Not three, look over there." The attendant pointed to the seating in the distance, a girl was seen dead on the floor.
What?
Grotesque. Disheveled hair lining along the floor, some type of liquid is pooling along the indented padded rubber, indeed comfortable.
The only saving grace is that there is movement.
"I can't wake her up. Don't bother. She's been napping on the floor with those tears pooling right from the start. She's probably sad for life, VISAI is most's dream, after all." Those are not tears. The liquid looks more of a mouth quality than an eye quality.
Pretty sure that is illegal.
"Get a drink, Morrissey. On me." Forth brushed his wrist then reached for his wallet.
"Ofiget!" The Englishman was not that English it seems. His blonde never did reach his shock.
"Drink? On you?" And he's clearly misunderstanding this. Time to rectify.
"I buy a beverage of your choice, get any. I pay. You look like a Cortado guy." The attendant quickly reached for his phone in hurried motion.
"Oh… Cortado? What's that?" He sighed and looked at the menu, before continuing:
"Caramel Milk, Banana Latte, Doppio, Advoca—"
"No alcohol." The phone screen of the attendant showed a recipe search, clearly untrained.
"Who's drinking?" A scruffy voice emerged from behind, full with depth and interest at the matter.
"No alcohol." The attendant repeated as he roll the grinded coffee into the tamper. Two of them.
"Oh look, the drooling girl." The place she was sleeping was pristine. The nearby bin ajar with paper towels. This happens often it seems.
"Who's speaking Advocaat then? My favorite drink. Don't mention it if you won't make it." The old rose stylized hair is getting on his nerves. Water-and-amylaseproof makeup it seemed.
"I'll get a- uh. A cup of tae please, English Breakfast." Forth moved forth and lingers close, before speaking:
"A cup of what?"
This man has a Russian exclamation, but an Irish pronunciation of tea… Huh? He's not an Englishman?
He looked deep into the faux Englishman's murky blue eyes and approached as close as a jeweler would examine a gem of amethyst.
Then mint hit his faces.
"Tea. Tea. Tea. Got it?" Got it.
He turned to the standing alcoholic.
"What do you want, Miss Drunk?" With a judgemental gaze to a person of the same ripe age of 3-half-a-dozens, his long black slid over.
"Mmm… I see Agrestis. Pour it over ice with some tonic, the prices' 250 normally, but I can give you 300 Yew just for getting it done." The drunkard pointed to the bottle in the back, labeled with 'NA', Non alcoholic, but couldn't she get a normal drink?!
"Tea in a pot or no? If yes it would be better for the girlie here to clean her palate up after." The attendant pointed to the pot on the induction outlet covering the foot of the teapot.
"Where's the fun in that? It's not even good for me." She sighed.
"Hey, not the French press! You don't French press tea! Go for the full pot, I am not the one who pays for it anyways. Also, a milk carton." In his shock, the cloudy blue irises of the man were challenging as if 'Here's to you attacking my inventions.'
Then, an alert sounded throughout the bogey.
"Attention all passengers. There is currently high tension and terrorism activities along the Greater Southeast Asia Border, do your due diligence as you plan your travel here on out. Thank you."
With a monotonous bomb dropped, the four dropped their actions and reached for their phones.
"It's Devil's Brigandine, 10 Yew." The drunkard quipped.
A post-Union crime syndicate or Raskol originating from New Guinea, pushed from their roots to a greater strength in response to greater governance.
It snowballed into the largest syndicate that Southeast Asia has ever seen. With economic incentives of the Old World's Princeps Group and the tenacity and violence of the Highlands, Devil's Brigandine is an accumulation of at least 5 groups that no longer have bases in their own homes.
"It is indeed the Devil's Brigandine." Forth looked at his Bluesky, scrunching his brows together. A major sudden attack has happened along his planned route after he would've landed in Chiang Mai.
Fuck.
The four of them turned anxious.
"Anyone wouldn't happen to have planned routes along or beyond the borders, right?" As if noticing his face, the forest burner looked over with a poisoned tongue.
Fuck you.