zeR0 (Part I)

A cold summer afternoon was as good a time as any to jump in front of a train. I’d do it too, if I didn’t have a long-running plan to turn the world around. Well, more of a concept. A somewhat sound idea? Let’s not get lost in details just yet.

I survived two hours of standing by counting people passing through the station: four hundred and eighteen – if you care. Chances are, you don’t. I’m not too curious either. Embarrassing to admit, but hey, a little bit of embarrassment never killed anyone. Probably. A medium amount might. Humans are fragile after all. Perhaps precious is the word?

The most precious one was busy explaining the delay announcement to an aggressive flock of colorfully clothed grannies. Erica stood out in her shabby gray sweats and sweater, unfazed as hands flew too close to her face. She held her space with the stillness of someone used to defending it. Definitely my fault.

Helping everyone as if her life depended on it sure was a silly flaw. Potentially fatal too. And she enjoyed it… well, we couldn’t be siblings if she were sensible. Not being able to annoy her for the next eleven months would suck.

Wait, that’s some selfish shit. I was supposed to worry about her life in Cade. Nah, after eleven years of comical horrors, she’d be fine anywhere. Moving to another country wasn’t even shrug-worthy. Besides, her odds of getting randomly stabbed approached zero the second she boarded the train.

One of the grannies around Erica stopped mid-rant. Guess she spotted the bistro across the station? She shushed Erica away and marched ahead. The rest of the flock followed, disappearing into the crowd between tall, cream-colored brick walls.

Bet my second‑favorite sister would call them jaundiced and marvel over the structural integrity. Or ramble on about the place being built by prisoners of war.

They did a damn great job. Withstanding half a century without maintenance deserved some praise – wonder how long the pristine NGS vending machines nearby would hold up against time.

“So… how about one last meal in Borea to celebrate your exile?”

“A cig will do.”

Erica flashed an impish smile reserved for a shared secret. I countered with a grimace and handed her my lighter.

“Seriously? Don’t you want to act your age now?”

“Fuck off.”

I let out a defeated sigh. Lowering the life expectancy of people around me was my forte after all. Dark-blonde strands, straight and frayed, slipped across her gaunt cheek as she fumbled with the flame. Her dry lips tightened around the filter. As if I needed further reminders of how finite our time was.

“You look like you want to be somewhere else, Ser.”

“Wouldn’t mind being on my way to Cade myself.”

Ruining the rest of her day with worries about my next task seemed more disgusting than lying. Although… technically, my statement was truthful anyway.

“It’s not about the new school tomorrow, is it?”

Her painfully pleasant breathy voice couldn’t distract from the absurdity of the guess. Maybe it was meant to bait me into talking about the real reason. Nice try.

Admiring our reflections in the window of a blue-striped train was a cheap way to stall, and another opportunity to burn her appearance into my memory.

One of the countless joys of poverty was the ease of getting matching looks, but even Erica couldn’t match my perfectly detached expression. My messy black hair was way cooler too, though she balanced out the aesthetic standoff with a huge backpack, making her look like a soldier returning from the trenches.

“It’s obvious you’ve got something else on your mind.”

“Indeed, that’s how brains work, R.”

“Go on.”

“It was meant to make you drop the subject. Have you packed enough socks? Got the map? Earplugs to protect potential muggers from your lecturing?”

“Not sure if you’re being a prick or if you want me to drag it out of you.”

“Definitely the former. Just don’t fret about it. Please.”

“And you can’t tell me what not to worry about, just because?”

She didn’t even frown. Erica didn’t hit my shoulder either, and instead concluded the investigation with a flat ‘okay’.

I grinned. She answered with a smoke cloud. We shared a long breath of the station’s stale air, laced with her shampoo – a curious blend of vanilla and what must’ve been mustard gas. It’d definitely haunt my memory.

“Actually… I’m slightly concerned about your absence, R. When was the last time it lasted so long?”

“Last year, when we ignored each other?”

“You did the ignoring. And it was just forty-two days… It’s not the same with the distance. We wouldn’t even know if something happened until it’s too late. Picture me arriving at your place, excited to see your ass again – only to be told that you got offed – eh, maybe not the end of the world if you found a hot roommate first.”

“And if she’s not into guys?”

“Then I’ll pretend to be a girl,” I said with a shrug.

Erica narrowed her eyes, torn between confusion and skepticism. Pretty sure a little bit of contempt made her nostrils flare up too. Then she flicked the stub into a trashcan two meters away and exhaled a feeble smoke cloud.

“Please, don’t get yourself killed before we can start living, Ser.” Erica inhaled slowly and flashed a sudden smile. “Damn, I wanted to say that you have no clue how it feels. And you really don’t. But–” Her tone dipped. “Sorry.”

“Come again? What are you even apologizing for this time?”

“Me escaping first, you helping me, the usual.”

“Who cares. You’d do the same for me, R.”

“But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Now you’ll say I’m not a burden or some shit like that, but how am I supposed not to feel like dead weight? Sorry if that came out like a question. It’s my own problem to figure out, okay? Sorry.”

“Just for the record, the only burden is your idiocy. Bet whoever delayed your train was trying to figure out too much too. Eh, whatever I say won’t make a difference anyway. Just three hundred-ten days left and you’ll be able to claim the overbearing-big-sis role you’re dying for.”

I was halfway into my cocky grin when Erica fell into me, collapsing with her whole damn weight against my chest. My grin froze while my lungs forgot how to pull air.

As far as hugs go, any heavier counted as assault. Only fair to retaliate by reverse pickpocketing a bundle of notas into the front pocket of her backpack.

“Shut up. And go, okay? I need time to quit Borea… by myself. Please.”

Her breath tickled my ear, though the words barely reached me. Erica released the hug and punched my shoulder. Of course she did. But she held on to my arm, her hand trembling. Her smile remained mostly firm.

“Wait a sec, Ser. How about something unexpected? Emotional blackmail! I love you. Remember that when you gamble with your life.”

She gave me a peck on the cheek and pushed me away.

‘I love you more’ was on my lips. It wouldn’t have matched her. I never could.

This was the moment then. We would part ways. All according to plan. And I failed to convince my muscles to move. Great start.

Surely there was one more joke or jab left in me. Maybe even something helpful… yeah, right. I managed to take the first step. And then another. I felt my grin dying.

Leaving Erica on the platform, hemmed in by sleepy businesspeople and pensioners, seemed slightly less cinematic than my fantasy of watching her dark-blonde hair swaying in the wind as her wagon tore away.

Come to think of it, international trains didn’t even have windows you could open. The sun failed to dip low enough too. The scene never had a chance.

I failed to decide whether to keep walking or to turn back and wave, and instead stumbled straight into another group of grannies. Naturally, my apology was met with a barrage of insults. Unfortunately, nothing creative or noteworthy.

Oh well. The hardest part of my day was done. Only the package remained. Strictly speaking, you can’t gamble with an asset you don’t yet own. I was just securing the capital to start the real game. Checkmate, Erica.

Smells of sweat and fried dough clinging to the benches made the central bus terminal suboptimal place for reminiscing about her.

Aya Mori’s glossy poster caught my eye instead. Bubblegum‑blue smoke curling like stage lights, lavender‑silver hair caught in the glow, and her sharp expression cutting through the sweetness. Pretty cool look, actually – though the pink washing machine ad beside her felt more fitting for the market. A missed opportunity for a collab; doubt too many people in Askania could afford wasting notas on cassettes.

The honking from the street wasn’t much help for ruminating either. Maybe not knowing what I was supposed to picture was the problem. Erica being able to buy a washing machine?

Helping her escape had been my only achievement in life – fairly subpar return after almost two decades. Especially, considering the negative impact on more people than even I could be bothered to count.

Realistically, the debt had to be quite below half a million lives… unless we consider the indirect harm too. Seems only fair actually. Theoretically, I could’ve freed the city from Magreb, but it’s not like every person in Askania suffered because of him personally. Besides, it wouldn’t take away the suffering already caused.

Let’s just say four hundred thousand then? Enough to fill five stadiums… could be worse. My life was only supposed to start next year.

Another half hour of waiting passed – sometimes I wondered why timetables were even a thing here. I suppose, anticipating the delays gave people a sense of purpose? Not that the argument about it by an old couple standing just an arm-length away appeared particularly purposeful.

By now, they must’ve cleared the largest pieces off the tracks, and Erica was on her way to Cade. Probably six hours away from seeing the ocean for the first time. At least in passing.

My bus arrived before I could fully map out her journey. It was tricky to tell under the rust and grime, but I bet it was red decades ago. Naturally, I headed straight for the back. Physics and potholes turn it into the liveliest spot.

I squeezed past enough pensioners to populate a small retirement home – aside from the whole safety‑and‑opportunity schtick, Cade also offered a better chance to meet someone under sixty. And their city names sounded fresher too – would you rather live in Askania or Blueberry? Manzana or Hrensk? Exactly.

The bus had barely hit the country road when the grannies in front of me decided to interrupt the pleasant rumble of the engine. At least visually, they were passable, with identical, ball‑shaped haircuts – aiming for a matching chess‑piece vibe?

Or a chessboard, since the one with white hair had skin almost as dark as fresh asphalt, while the one with dark hair was nearly as pale as me… which is pretty fucking pale, possibly on par with old paper.

Their conversation started predictably: potato harvests, stolen park benches, grandchildren studying in Senapolis. Then came the apple‑pie recipe that blew up into a bus‑wide butter war. They lost that round. Then rallied with a pelmeni manifesto and kept talking like the journey depended on it.

My ass definitely depended on arriving in time. Wait – poor choice of words. It wasn’t even true; my behind was fine. Safe too. The AAA-family might get annoyed by the delay, but that’s their problem. Nothing noteworthy could happen. Maybe I’d get stuck in some swampy backwater for a night. Not ideal but that probably never killed anyone.

Erica would’ve made a damn list of potential disasters anyway. She’d have accounted for the humidity, the lack of streetlights, and the probability of being shanked for my holey sneakers. To be fair, mosquitos were potentially fatal.

Surprisingly, the grannies still didn’t notice me, and their argument drifted into politics – Arianna and Zoya had dangerously little love for the Sacral Houses, and complained about the Borean president’s fixation with football.

Hard to blame him; Polis had an amazing season last year despite drawing their first ten matches. Arianna griped about his limp Year Day speech, Zoya disagreed, and soon both were shaking their ball‑shaped hairdos in perfect unison.

One of them glanced back, and as expected, their full attention swiveled to me.

“Why aren’t you a beautiful angel!” she gasped, eyes on me like I was a cold bottle of vodka. From what I picked up, she had to be Zoya.

“Though so skinny!” Her friend who logically must’ve been Arianna chimed in, critiquing my lips and cheekbones.

“The exact same irrepressible black hair as Masha!”

“I hope Masha isn’t a dog,” I muttered and mimicked a smile with my eyes.

It had the intended effect – they laughed for twenty seconds straight. Sure, I lacked Erica’s sincerity and curiosity, and her soothing voice, but this rarely stopped people from appreciating my company.

They started with the usual questions: what do my parents do, what do I plan to study, what do I eat – and my improvised answers cleared the audit. Somehow the conversation drifted to the Small War, so I recycled a few of grandpa’s stories.

I’d be surprised if he actually did any fighting. Unless you count hangovers. ‘A veteran of bottles’ had a better ring to it anyway. Too bad he’s not around to probe anymore. Which meant I didn’t have to wonder whether passing potential lies counted as lying. My intent wasn’t to deceive them, so probably not?

Not sure why I bothered talking to them to begin with when I’d rather enjoy the road – green and gold fields stretching out in the light of approaching evening. Same view Erica would see for the next hours.

Until her train reached the mountains. Experiencing them for the first time had to be memorable.

Maybe I was just angling for a free meal? If it was some pathetic, underlying desire for approval… it was hidden too well for me to see. I’d welcome it if they switched from calling me a well-spoken young man to debating whether I’m trash or garbage. Either way is true – but I’d love to know the difference.

I couldn’t even attempt to guess Erica’s answer. Knowing so little about how her mind worked when I could’ve just asked… Maybe my brain just had a bunch of concepts and patterns stored under ‘Erica’ without ever making the effort to see the person. Though weren’t people patterns anyway?

Oh well, too late for that now. My second‑favorite sister would’ve appreciated the topic more anyway, probably turning it into a lecture about logos, semantics and causality – fuck, she’d find a way to drag thermodynamics into it.

Just don’t confuse this for curiosity. There’s a practical element to knowing stuff for my climb to the top of the trash heap. Eh, that sounds a bit bleak. I do like the world. Actually, I like everything…