[WARNING: Strong Language, Violence]

 

“Damn brat.”

“Don’t you ever fucking talk back to me again!”

I'm choking on my own blood—it's hot and sticky like honey—and I can't breathe. My face turns red from lack of air, and I wake up gasping for breath. It feels as if there isn't enough oxygen to go around, and I have to struggle just to draw breath into my lungs.

Then suddenly, it stops. And I realize that the reason the dream is finally over.

Some prefer to call it a nightmare but doing so would imply its only purpose is to torment. They are painful, but also necessary as reminders of my past. For without those experiences, how could I know where I came from? How could I understand who I am? It also serves as a warning, of what would happen if I were to stray from my path.

It was my first time sleeping in such a spacious bedroom. I have been used to tents with makeshift beds on top of the dirt. This room felt like heaven. It had a bed that could easily fit five people, a desk with a chair next to it, and a wardrobe. My clothes were neatly folded for me inside the wardrobe. A large mirror sat opposite me on the wall. The ceiling was more than high enough for me to stand straight up.

I put on my uniform and stepped out onto the balcony with freshly brewed coffee. I was not greeted by gunfire nor artillery shells, but instead by a group of energetic young recruits marching.

They all looked eager. Their faces were flushed, sweat dripping down their foreheads and arms, and I swear I saw one boy crying for a moment. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he lifted his hands over his head, pumping his legs with all his might. His fellow soldiers cheered him on as he continued to march, raising his arm in victory as he reached the end of his route.

He collapsed to the ground, but not before he got a round of applause from his comrades. I was impressed by the strength of his spirit. It truly is a shame how we do not hold politicians to the same expectation of perseverance.

One thing I have learned throughout this journey is that people need to be reminded of their worth every once in a while. Otherwise, they will lose sight of why they are fighting in the first place.

“Outstanding. Out-fucking-standing!” I clapped while putting on my loudest yet commanding voice.

I stood too far away for their drill instructor to fully identify me, I was either a superior or someone insane.

“Platoon, fall in!” The instructor played it safe.

The group lined up and performed a well-synchronized salute. I smiled and returned it back for them to resume their regular training.

I’m envious of those recruits. Back then we were merely a rebellion: a group of disorganized ragtag fighters using any scrap weapon we could find to fight. There was no time for values like honor and discipline to be taught. 

Discipline is especially important, as putting anyone in a fast-paced environment and expecting them to achieve requires placing discipline as a core foundation. I very much look forward to the next generation of our leaders; military ones.

***

Today I was to accompany the chancellor as one of his military advisors at our first-ever press conference. Democratization encouraged various independent news outlets to start up, all of them desperate to publish their major first article regarding this event.

It was a long carriage ride to the congress building, I frequently looked out the window to admire the city’s architecture. It was impressive as the buildings are built right beside each other, creating an interconnected network. Each building is different in shape, size, and color, making for a more lively and vibrant atmosphere.

But some blocks were not so lucky. Markings of destruction and debris were still waiting to be cleaned up on these streets. I could see some people working hard, clearing away the rubble. 

 We passed through a big intersection with many shops lining both sides; I saw books, magazines, snacks, and used armor. The shopkeepers sold whatever they needed to sell, whether it was something that would pass as a legitimate business or not. 

The economy was still feeling the blow from the massive spending left by the previous empire. Small businesses are going bankrupt, unemployment is at an all-time high and now the people are carefully watching what the new government will do to save them. The stakes are high, one wrong step would ignite yet another revolution.

***

Our carriage arrived at the congress building, a huge structure that stands tall above the rest. It has two floors and a dome atop it. Despite being made up entirely of stone, it somehow managed to feel warm and welcoming. I was led along a path through the reception hall filled with journalists and their assistants.

A journalist was there alone. There was something about her that caught my eye, and I don’t mean superficial things like physical attraction. No, there was something familiar about her aura. I could tell she was similar to me; an ambitious person wanting to leave their mark on the world. The rest of them were too busy going over their questions. But not her, even if I was most likely low-hanging fruit she was the type to take anything she could get.

“Excuse me, sir, are you going to be attending the press conference?” she approached me and went straight to the point, not even an introduction.

“No comment.”

I put on an aggravated look. To my surprise, her expression of ferocity and determination had not changed nor did she show any signs of being intimidated.

“Do you know what the chancellor will talk about in his opening statement?”

“No comment.”

“I understand. Still, if you have anything you want to share please reach out to me.”

Being professional, she reached into her pocket and handed me her business card. I would have ignored it had it not been someone interesting like her.

I walked off in silence.

***

The briefing room was filled with soft mutters, it was absolutely chaotic.

There were plenty of other advisors for issues on a wide range of topics who sat next to the chancellor, giving quick rundowns of the situation in their area of specialty. I took a seat, opened my briefcase, and pretended to go through my documents to look busy. Truth is I wasn't really needed here, it’s been predicted that most of the questions asked will be regarding economic policies. 

It was time to head onto the podium. Contrary to last time, I was seated furthest away from the chancellor. There were a few minutes left before the doors opened. He mumbled to himself, practicing answers to what were believed to be commonly asked questions.

When the doors opened, all of us were shocked to see the sea of photographers and journalists flooding in. There were more of them than the seats available which left a large crowd standing at the back. The chancellor soon began his opening statement.

My gaze drifted toward the corner of the room. I saw the journalist from earlier, seated in the front row. She was writing furiously as if her life depended on it. Out of boredom, I took a small glance at her business card. 

"Aurora Snow: Political Journalist" What a bold choice of name.

I took another look at the room, something was very off. There were too many visitors compared to when I first entered the building. 

Maybe last-minute attendees? But if so then this place still couldn’t have possibly checked them all thoroughly given such a short amount of time.

A group of 4, maybe 5 in the far back had a notebook and pen in their hand yet were not writing down a single thing. Their eyes wandered around every nook and cranny of the room, looking everywhere except at the chancellor himself. I quickly realized it was the guards they were watching.

I didn’t know what to do. That other side of my head was trying to reassure me, telling me that I was just seeing things. I’d be a laughing stock if I did something prematurely only to find out I was wrong.

“Traitorous demons!” a man in the back shouted.

“Nothing but rebel dogs in fancy clothing!”

The head of security ran to grab the chancellor but it was too late.

Pop!

A gun, presumably a handgun went off. Just a split second later two more rounds were fired, then three.

I heard a thud, and the head of security was on the floor struggling to get back up.

My mind and body were in full instinct mode, and I immediately crawled my way to somewhere safe. A bullet whizzed by and slammed into the wall right next to where I sat moments ago.

Screams of terror filled the room. The shooters were blending themselves amidst the chaos and sheer panic of the crowd, all desperately pushing each other to escape. I watched the guards aim their rifles, only to be unable to fire a single shot.

I could now think clearly again and it was then I turned my head to the podium, checking what mattered most in this situation.

And to my horror, what I feared most became a reality.

 

“Hey… hey! Get a medic! The chancellor has fallen!”