CyberSpace

I know of the many worlds that wait beyond Neo Arecales, the city I call home.

The only one that matters is mine.

While I adjust the black tie I’m wearing on my white shirt, the car’s shock-absorbing tires crush asphalt on the pavement as it turns at the junction. For today, I’ve asked to be driven in a Nissan Skyline GTR-34. I’d specifically had the Japanese Domestic Market version delivered from Torukami for its superior engine and all-wheel drive system not found in the American version. Neon advertisements bounce off the vehicle’s hood, forming pink nebulas and cyan stars across its midnight black chassis. Hovercars never replaced traditional cars, so the decades-old vehicle, having been well-maintained by my crew, doesn’t draw much attention from the passersby on the streets.

The rain comes down in droves. Some might say it isn’t as visually stunning as the Downpours in Downfall. Personally, the sights never amazed me. These days, everyone’s too caught up with their own worries to care. Reeling from the effects of the past.

I think they need to learn to move on.

Han-woo seems unusually tense driving at the wheel. His knuckles have turned ghostly white, and his palms have left moist marks on the steering wheel.

I hope he doesn’t damage the leather.

At last, Han-woo tries breaking the silence that never needed breaking in the first place. I’ve found it rather soothing, actually.

“The palm trees are especially nice at this time of year,” he says.

I have to agree, but I don’t say it out right. Not before I know what he’s trying to shift the conversation towards. Neo Arecales, once more famously known as Los Angeles by the elders, had a sudden surge in the growth of palm trees along the city. I’ve heard the blokes in Hollywood have even considered making a movie about them, even though a film about the event that led to their growth would be infinitely more interesting. The public might find it inappropriate, though.

Neo Arecales’ palm trees have morphed from the summer green behemoths they used to be. Holding up their rose pink leaves are yellowish-brown stumps of pure timber coated with specks of apricot. The locals took a while to get used to the trees, but like all trends, the noise eventually died down.

The Skyline passes a news report playing via hologram. I’ve seen the reporter around a couple times. Not a bad guy. He’s called Matsuki Okawa, a Japanese man in his mid-20s reporting on the scene like always.

“Kakushin Games’ stock has dropped 70%. The C.R.D is expected to move out as early as this week, in what experts are calling the biggest operation in history…”

Kakushin Games’ stocks are already dropping? Their owners must be having a hard time. As for the C.R.D…

What exactly are they hoping to accomplish out of this dreadful situation?

I suspect Han-woo’s next words will be related to my question.

“What’s stopping you from joining the attack?” he presses me for an answer.

I shrug.

“I’m comfortable. What am I going to gain out of tagging along on this expedition?”

I see Han-woo frowning in the rearview mirror.

“You’ll save your family’s legacy.”

And there Han-woo goes again about family and responsibility. I know he was good comrades with my dad, that he chooses to be my guardian despite his C.R.D responsibilities, but does he have to make a big deal out of it?

The mass media isn’t doing any better. There are constant reports about the poor Master Satellite being taken over on Earth. The repetition of the news is like drumming in my head 24/7. Why is the world so troubled by this small setback? Even if the Master Satellite is destroyed, I can build another one. It’ll take a while, and the world may be a little less connected for a few months, but things will go back to normal after.

I have the funds to make that happen.

There’s really nothing to be sorry about if the Master Satellite goes down.

I tell this to Han-woo.

He isn’t amused.

“Spend however much you like. But I’m worried about what could happen in that period when the world goes offline.”

I smile.

“For a war veteran, you’re surprisingly tense.”

Han-woo cringes.

“For a war veteran, I have been too calm.”

He pauses to check the rearview mirror for oncoming traffic.

“If you were my kid, I‘d never let you hear the end of it.”

I chortle at the thought.

“Me? Your kid?”

Han-woo drops his gaze.

Before I know it, the Skyline is pulling into the Leong mansion’s driveway. The household detects and verifies the passengers inside—me and Han-woo—based on our body mass and heartbeats. The flashing blue force field that forms the gate at the house entrance flickers off, allowing the car to enter the driveway without causing a violent, chemically induced explosion.

Raindrops trickle to a stop as the car moves beneath the charcoal-grey shelter. The surroundings are constructed from a hybrid of carbon fibre and subatomically altered concrete to withstand attacks from the outside world. Thanks to Dad, the Leongs have a myriad of enemies that could come knocking at any time.

No wonder he’s missing.

I open the Skyline’s door and slam it shut. I imagine Han-woo cringing at treating the vehicle like a toy without a care in the world. Sure enough, he’s muttering something about the car being expensive when I turn back.

As I peel my boots off my feet, Han-woo slips out of the Skyline and closes the door gently. I really don’t understand him sometimes. It’s not his vehicle. And I’m fine paying for any damages.

Han-woo says, “Seriously, what’s gotten into you?”

I stay silent. Maybe it’s a bit much to bring up his kid, but it was the only way I could get him to shut up. And I’m not in the mood to entertain any thoughts of saving the world.

It’s just not my thing.

An infrared camera above the front door scans my body to check for poison. When the procedure concludes my drink from earlier wasn’t spiked, the reinforced door slides open to the side with a whoosh.

Han-woo starts pressing my buttons like I pressed his.

“Is it about running Kinetech?”

My body freezes on the spot like he has dropped time. I shut my eyes and keep my head down, leaning on a dining chair lined with velvety silk. The chair isn’t one I’d usually sit in, being the furthest from the main stairs and the kitchen. Then again, I’m the only one who uses the dining table. The cooks eat in the kitchen.

Come to think of it, I’ve never noticed where Han-woo eats.

“We talked about this,” I say trying to alleviate the situation, so we can all have a warm shower and I can wake up early for another day of fun.

Han-woo says, “But a proper discussion‘s long overdue. Time‘s running out by the second.”

I pull off the blazer I’m wearing and toss it onto a lone coatrack.

“I’m checking on Mom,” My voice lowers. “Can we both keep it down for a while?”

Han-woo exhales out of exasperation, but says nothing.

And so begins the trek up stairs.

Various versions of Kinetech’s weapons line the mansion’s walls—the MPKR-100 Mass Production Kinergy Rifle, REKR-10 Recoil Eradicating Kinergy Rifle and the POS-15 Point Sight.

The company’s first major weapon, the infamous TRIN-12 Trinity shotgun pistol awaits me at the top. The pistol features three barrels stacked on top of each other in the shape of an inverted triangle. It’s a primarily semi-automatic make, firing at 1.33 rounds per second with a magazine of 3 shells.

The staff are strictly forbidden to touch the weapons on the wall. I’m sure they’ll be perfectly usable once a magazine of kinergy is loaded in, but I’ve never thought of using them.

I can always toy with Kinetech’s newer prototypes in the basement whenever I want.

The stairs are deep lacquered wood adorned guardrails shaped in a vaguely floral pattern. The Leong mansion is only a few generations old, but the ground it stands on reeks of riveting bloodshed. It’s one of the reasons the house won the Best Architecture Design Award on occasion over the years, only beaten out by the Kakushin Games’ Headquarters.

When I see the master bedroom door is slightly ajar, I know someone’s getting fired the next morning for slacking. Bright orange morsels line in a single file outside the room like cheese bits to a mouse trap. I can identify the snack as Tibbits, that brand of potato crisps infamous for its high sodium content and refined carbs. The snack’s always getting backlash from helicopter parents on the Linked for glamorising childhood obesity, but you’d think they’d be happy their children have something to eat.

Technology advances. Humanity does not.

I crack the door open to find Mom’s comatose form lying deadly still on the new MaxMed bed I had delivered yesterday. The rectangular packaging is still sprawled along the corner of the room. Tuffs of bubble wrap line the box like fences of a military installation.

Lines of Mom’s heartbeat beep on the MaxMed’s main screen, forming lime peaks and valleys with the rhythm. At the top right is an icon of a lightning bolt in a battery, showing the bed is charging as designed.

Han-woo inches forward, hiding his hands behind his back. His brows furrow as he examines Mom’s sleeping form.

He glances down at my knuckles turning white.

Han-woo sighs.

“There was nothing you could’ve done.”

I scoff and clench my teeth so hard my molars crunch against each other.

“As in nothing at all? I am one of the most powerful—scratch that. I am the single most successful arms dealer in the world, and I couldn’t even protect my own family. How do you think that makes me feel?

“Michael…”

“Oh, save it, Han-woo. What’s up with this misconception you have of me rising up to be this great leader? Just because Dad was?”

I feel the borders of my mind start to crumble under their own weight.

“And don’t even get me started on the Excalibur Expedition.”

“Enough.”

“I’m not meant for this mission. I’m just a guy who happened to be born into the right family!”

“Enough!” Han-woo bellows. The reverb shakes the room and echoes down the hall through the open door. For a moment, I even think I see Mom’s arm stir, that me and Han-woo’s shared anguish is enough to wake Mom and end our misery once and for all.

It isn’t.

Han-woo shuts his eyes and squeezes the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He steps back and rests his hands on his hips.

“No matter the outcome, the Excalibur Expedition accomplished its goal. Dozens of incurable diseases now have a cure. And regardless of what happened…”

Han-woo’s words trail off, as if he’s trying to find an upside to the chaos we endured.

We both know searching for one is futile.

“Do you think it was worth it?”

We stand at Mom’s side for what seems like eternity. At last, Han-woo puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Only you can decide for yourself.”

I take Mom’s hand and squeeze it. It’s warm. She’s still comatose, but she’s alive.

She just needs a catalyst to wake up.

Han-woo keeps telling me the incident wasn’t my fault, but he’s probably just trying to make me feel better.

I won’t hide from the truth. I know how Mom fell into her coma, because I’ve seen the holorecordings at least a thousand times. Every time I recall what happened, I dig deeper into the hole I want to vanish into and descend further into the abyss.