The Intrepid Three, page 2
In the past, Dez coded mediocre E-Corp products from toilet paper to appliances. She was working on Vac-Trition meals, the most common and affordable vacuum sealed meals in Euporia. If there was ever a question of E-Corp’s depravity, these meals were evidence. It was her impossible job to make these almost inedible brown, moist mounds seem appetizing. There were different flavors, but in reality, the meals all looked and tasted the same. The only reason people purchased Vac-Trition was because fresh food cost an exorbitant amount.
Suddenly, the blacked-out windows turned into a live video feed. In view was the floor manager, Ms. Mayflower. Her name was fitting since she always dressed in floral pantsuits. “Good day, darlings,” rang out Ms. Mayflower. Her employees found this pet name to be more demeaning than endearing, especially since she almost never made an appearance on the floor. “Our esteemed CEO, Mr. Rothchild, has a special message for you today. But first, I would like to remind everyone that our productivity numbers are stagnant, and we must always strive to be better, better, better than before.”
Ms. Mayflower abruptly disappeared and was replaced by a video feed of Mr. Rothchild in his extravagant office. White-haired and pale, Mr. Rothchild dressed in an expensive teal suit with an orange bowtie and pocket square, which, despite the brash color combination, was perfectly tailored. Mr. Rothchild’s large stature and bright attire made for a blinding and frankly ridiculous sight. The employees on floor thirty-three paid special attention, as this was a rare instance to see the CEO on a live feed.
“At E-Corp, we take great pride in our image. Over the last month, our productivity levels have steadily declined, and it’s not going unnoticed by anyone. I wouldn’t be surprised if even the Forgotten have heard about it.” Dez could hear whispers from the surrounding cubicles of her coworkers discussing their steady or increased productivity ratings. She knew that while her personal numbers had decreased in recent weeks, the company as a whole was outperforming last year’s productivity average and was more profitable than ever.
The CEO continued, all the while with a fake smile. “Due to this slide in your standards, E-Corp is initiating a new and improved motivational campaign. As you all know, we previously corrected course when individual employee productivity ratings fell below 2.0. You’ll be glad to hear that Management will now assist you if you fall below a 3.0.”
Dez, along with the other employees, wondered how this system could be new or improved. As the helicopter warmed up on the landing pad outside of the twenty-foot-high wall of windows, Mr. Rothchild ended his message with, “I am a very busy man, so I’ll leave you with this last thought. Another testing day is next week, and we will soon have new and eager employees on your floors. Remember, you are a valued member of the E-Corp team, but you are replaceable.” The live feed faded out, the opaque windows returned, and all the computers on floor thirty-three flashed red.
Anticipation was almost palpable as the Murk looked on from Animus. The creatures knew that as the fear-driven evil actions of Euporians multiplied, so did the number of Murk. There were so many Murk amassed watching the scene unfold, they could not believe their presence wasn’t felt by the citizens of Euporia.
2
AURELIA MONDAY 8:18 A.M.
The world was full of sunlight, green spaces, and mansions on every street. In Aurelia, with every increase in block number, the houses became impossibly grander. While there was an obvious distinction in wealth, the lowest Aurelian did not want for material possessions. On the meticulously curated sidewalks, people walked along with smiles on their faces, pet leashes in hand, and a friendly greeting for every passerby. The beautiful people proudly wore clothes embroidered with the Aurelian flag, an emblem of a bright-gold sun rising against a navy-blue sky. Every sight was picture-perfect.
At 1000 Golden Ray Avenue sat the largest home in Aurelia. A stone wall enclosed the vast estate. A black iron gate was the only point of entry to the gigantic stone manor. Luxury cars lined the semicircle driveway, and undoubtedly even more expensive cars filled the detached garages.
“Pull back on the reins, Arabella,” reminded Mr. Penderbrook, her riding coach. In the early morning light, Arabella’s golden-brown skin shimmered with sweat. Her black hair shone in the bright sun; the light revealed natural blond strands strewn throughout her black locks. She felt out of character in her riding attire, as she was far more comfortable in a monochromatic A-line dress.
Even though Arabella was naturally beautiful, she still awoke early every morning to follow the customs of Aurelia, a detailed face and hair regimen. Arabella wore a full face of makeup and a highly styled wavy updo. She was a typical Aurelian fourteen-year-old, struggling to focus on what she was doing at eight in the morning after spending far too much time on her morning ritual.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Arabella was scheduled for mandatory riding lessons. The national pastime was caballian pageantry. These caballi were not your typical horses, though. Aurelian caballi, commonly known as Monarchs, spanned eight feet high, twelve feet long, and weighed about two thousand pounds. Mastering this sport was very difficult because of the temperamental nature of Monarchs. For most, it took years of dedicated training to grasp even the most rudimentary skills of mounting and trotting.
Arabella was introduced to caballian pageantry at the age of five. Onyx had been her personal Monarch for the last nine years. He was given to Arabella on her fifth birthday, before she could even reach the hanging reins. Onyx’s coat shared the same black with blond highlights of Arabella’s hair. The petite teenager did not care much for competition, but Onyx made the sport well worth it. The Juniors Championship was weeks away, and as a daughter of one of the heads of state, she was expected to place.
“Hey, look! It’s Arabella Rey!” yelled a tourist riding atop a double-decker bus going by. The tired teen wasn’t the only person up at this hour. As long as the sun was up, there was a constant flow of tour buses to sneak a peek at the family home or, even better, one of its residents. Wanting to avoid gawkers, Arabella set up for her last pass before breakfast.
The small teen gave a gentle tug on the ornately jeweled reins around Onyx. The caballus bowed its tremendous, adorned head to the ground, practicing its salute. With a firmer tug on the extravagant reins, Onyx sprung forward into a steadily quickening pace. The duo maneuvered effortlessly around tight turns, through suspended hoops, and over impossibly high apices.
After the pass, Arabella hopped off Onyx, and the beautiful beast bowed as if knowing the significance of the child’s Aurelian heritage. The rider placed her slight hands on the mammoth caballus’s ears, and rested her forehead on his. “It’s time for breakfast. Yours is waiting for you too. I’ll miss you, friend. Until Wednesday.” They both closed their eyes, and Arabella took a deep breath before parting ways with her companion. The small teen looked over her shoulder and smiled at the massive animal that appeared built for something more than just prancing.
Arabella made her way inside and navigated the endless hallways to the dining room. On the table sat an array of breakfast platters. She wondered why so much food was made for her family every day when only three people actually dined in the house. In perfect posture at the head of the table sat her mother, Benjamina. The girl adored but feared her mother. That dichotomy had only grown since her father died unexpectedly four years earlier.
Sitting next to Benjamina was Arabella’s twelve-year-old brother, Maximillian. Beside his chubby frame and combed-over hair, the brother was a spitting image of his sister. Despite their frequent attempts to annoy each other, the siblings were best friends.
“Good morning, Arabella. Come sit down next to me.” Benjamina spoke hurriedly to her daughter.
“Good morning, Mother. Good morning, Maxi Poo.” Arabella sarcastically whispered at her brother as she walked by him.
“You know I hate that name,” he loudly retorted as he flicked a piece of syrupy cinna-stack her way. Arabella swatted the flying Aurelian breakfast bread onto the floor.
Benjamina glared at the children. “I won’t have this disgraceful etiquette at my table. Apologize to each other. I have a very busy day ahead of me, and I don’t want to hear any more fighting. You need to behave.” Benjamina quickly got up from the table, having barely touched her breakfast.
As always, she wore a fitted navy dress with a large Aurelian flag stitched over her heart, her black hair slicked back in a bun, and her gold signet ring on her right ring finger. Benjamina’s appearance rarely changed, but since her husband’s death, streaks of gray hair had multiplied, and slight bags had developed under her eyes. Arabella watched as her mother left the room, and she wondered how someone so diminutive could be so commanding.
The door to the dining room was quickly shut by one of Benjamina’s bodyguards. Even though Arabella could no longer see her mother, she knew the powerful woman was off to help lead the country as national financier. Her mother was one in a long line of family members to hold that position over the past fifty years.
Arabella did not know the origin of her family’s power, but most people in Aurelia did. The true money and power of Aurelia was controlled by an elite group of families, including Arabella’s. These oligarchs passed money from generation to generation, and with each passing generation, the wealth compounded, along with their power.
In Aurelia, elections were held every five years, but most candidates ran unopposed. The same surnames appeared on the ballots year after year because the cost to register as a candidate was exorbitant. Only the wealthiest families in Aurelia possessed enough money to run for office.
The citizens of Aurelia seemed content with this system, or at the very least accepted its inevitability. There was no reason to protest because the powerful seemed benevolent and frequently bestowed gifts on all Aurelians, perks such as vacations, furniture, and, if necessary, cars. As long as life remained easy and light, no one complained or challenged the status quo. Providing comforts eliminated the desire by common citizens to strive for better, discover more, or excel beyond average.
Maximillian and Arabella polished off their decadent breakfast and pushed in their chairs. The children left their dirty dishes behind, knowing the house staff would instantly be behind them to clear their mess.
“Did you get your homework done?” asked Arabella.
“You know I never do my homework. It’s so boring. I’ll do my homework when they let me get my hands dirty. I’m so tired of having to be a stiff,” responded Maximillian.
The two siblings couldn’t have been more different. Arabella always completed her assignments on time. She feared the retribution of their private teachers and the inevitable disappointment of their mother. Maximillian, on the other hand, seemed to care much less, or at all. Maybe it was because he was twelve, or maybe he was just more self-assured.
Maximillian walked obstinately slow while Arabella dragged him along to the north wing of the house for their daily lessons. Mr. Flores, a man of average build with a sharp tongue, was waiting impatiently outside the classroom. His brown eyes peered down his long nose and through his thick spectacles at the approaching pupils.
As he tapped his foot, Mr. Flores said, “Class should have started one minute ago. You know the rule, every minute late is an extra homework assignment.” As Arabella cast her eyes down, Maximillian snickered, knowing there were no consequences for the pair.
Arabella hurried into the classroom and took her seat closest to the teacher’s podium. Maximillian begrudgingly took his seat behind his sister. The big room was full of floor to ceiling bookcases stuffed with thousands of matching leather-bound titles. Behind Mr. Flores’s podium stood a huge dry-erase board that still held some of yesterday’s lesson on Aurelian Civics. Mr. Flores instructed the children to stand for the pledge. Arabella and Maximillian stood and turned their attention to the huge gold and navy-blue flag hanging from the rafters. In unison, they all recited, “Aurelia gold and free. There’s nowhere we love as much as She. Fortune, abundance, and security. We pledge ourselves to thee.”
Immediately after the pledge, Mr. Flores quickly erased the whiteboard and jumped into the morning lesson. Arabella barely had time to open her favorite notebook to begin taking tedious notes. Like most days, the lesson was slated for more Aurelian Civics, but today’s specific focus was on the nation’s finances. Arabella was excited for this topic; she hoped the lesson would give more insight into her mother’s job.
Part way through the lesson, Arabella, the quintessential teacher’s pet, raised her hand. “Mr. Flores, after everything that you’ve taught us, I think you would do a great job working for our mother’s agency.”
Mr. Flores quickly retorted, “Arabella, my family’s ancestors do not appear on our nation’s currency, nor do I have enough zeros in my bank account. Expertise only gets you so far in this country.”
“What do you mean?” She was puzzled.
Mr. Flores quickly turned his back to his two students, but not before a look of frustration passed over his face, “That’s a lesson for another day. Let’s take a ten-minute break before we start our next section.”
Arabella was back in her seat halfway through the break, while Maximillian plopped into his seat just seconds before the ten minutes were up. The morning lessons carried on until finally it was time for lunch. After eating a meal just as lavish as their breakfast, the siblings headed to the south wing for their music lessons.
Surprisingly, they arrived before their teacher, Ms. Bridgewater. The music room was filled with enough instruments to compose an orchestra, but Arabella took her seat at the black grand piano while Maximillian grabbed his drumsticks. The room was primarily made of glass, and the light bounced beautifully off the sheet music.
Arabella began to gently play her favorite melody, “A Daughter’s Dance,” a song her father taught her years ago. Every time she played this tune, Arabella recalled a different happy memory of her father, Caius. Today, she drifted into a recollection of the first time she performed a routine with Onyx. Her devoted father was there, as always, to watch and cheer her on. As soon as she finished, Caius jumped to his feet and yipped, “That’s my girl. I knew you could do it.”
Clicking shoes awoke Arabella from her memory. The daydreaming girl could hear Ms. Bridgewater approaching. She jumped to her feet with the sudden urge to be near her father again. The only way Arabella knew how to achieve this closeness was to sift through Caius’s belongings that Benjamina moved into the basement shortly after his death. Uncharacteristically, Arabella slid out of the music room through the door closest to her while her music teacher entered through the door nearest her baffled brother.
The emotional child’s feet carried her more quickly than she had ever moved before, as if something was pulling her to the basement. She ripped open the basement door and descended into the darkness.
The Lumen buzzed with excitement as Arabella reached the bottom step. Would she find what’s hidden this time? There was a new and faint light in Animus that gave the bright beings hope. Almost impossibly, this fourteen-year-old girl reinvigorated the Lumen. They began to believe the spoiled and complacent Aurelians were not lost yet, and the Lumen might just have a fighting chance against the Murk. The guardians remained at their posts as they kept watch.
3
IMMERXIA MONDAY 8:31 A.M.
The world was full of cookie-cutter neighborhoods, telecommunication towers, and homes stuffed with a deluge of electronics. In Immerxia, life revolved around buying, posting, and sharing online. Every man, woman, and child had numerous ways to electronically connect with their fellow Immerxians. Automobiles, house appliances, clothes, and even toilets had internet links. All personal information was intentionally displayed for the world to see. If two people were outside at the same time, it’s unlikely either of them would notice the other, as their eyes and thoughts were always focused on a virtual reality.
Walter Johnson, a seventeen-year-old, began to stir to a repetitive chorus of dings. His dark hands immediately grabbed and pulled his CommX8 off the nightstand. He quickly mashed the alarm’s “I’m awake” pop-up icon on his latest communication device’s touchscreen. This sent out an instantaneous notification to anyone that was paired to him online. As he rolled over in bed, his short, black, coarse hair barely stuck out from underneath the covers. He pulled off his blanket, lamented his average build, and wished his growth spurt had given him a couple of extra inches this past summer.
Before climbing out of bed, Walter mundanely scrolled through the exceptionally long list of morning posts shared by his e-quaintances until he reached his friends’ favorite online personality, @JerrickKnowsAll. Even though no one knew who was behind the persona, Jerrick’s followers unwittingly adopted many of their beliefs based on @JerrickKnowsAll’s flaunting representations. The social media mogul’s page boasted tens of millions of followers, thousands of sponsors, and endless uninformed opinions.
What’s up, my Know It Alls?!
Yours truly posted all last week about the planned statue of our terrible Mayor!
What do you think about this monstrosity going up in downtown Immerxia?
Walter did not know much about local politics but knew everything about @JerrickKnowsAll’s feelings on the topic. He tapped the comment box to see which of his friends had responded so far. Upon clicking, a five-question poll popped onto the boy’s screen. Each question came with only two polarizing answer options. At the top of the poll was a bright-flashing button that said, See what Yours Truly picked! Walter mashed the option and read through all of @JerrickKnowsAll’s choices. The teen decided to shelf the quiz, knowing he was still ignorant about the subject despite spending the last few minutes sifting through the useless content. He wondered if any of his hundreds of peers really knew enough on the topic to have an informed opinion. He doubted any of them clicked on the small, inconspicuous link that would take them to the “learn more” page about the monument.
