The night in Tokeyama was dim, lit by the dying light of the sun across the settling mist. And as the sun faded from the waning day while the night took its place, the brightest point in the dimness, like a beacon in the darkness, was the city’s streets and homes, spread out like a field of soft-glowing wheat, radiant with street lamps and fires throughout the small metropolis. But in the alleys of this cold city, light dared not show for fear of what might lurk there. As dark and dreary as the alleys were, they provided a wonderful place for Zenji to pass through in quiet allure as a curious monkey may climb through the trees in search of a tasty fruit.

Zenji scurried past a shop backdoor, hoping to find scraps on the ground but discovering only rats and a pair of old shoes. He spotted a soft pile of garbage down the alley and away from the street. That might be a good place to sleep tonight, thought Zenji. If only mother was here to help me. Every time his mother came to mind now, all that he could remember was the stone and wood falling on her, the scent and dryness of dust mixed with wet blood.

Zenji pushed the thought of his mother out of his mind, fearing he would tear up. Voices of soldiers sounded from down the stone street Zenji was looking at. He pulled his head into the alley and huddled to the ground in the dark. The men passed unalarmed.

Zenji stood and sleuthed into the street in search of some food. Other than Zenji, there weren’t any vagabonds, commonly known to the Controlites in Tokeyama as vegas, wandering the cobble stones but rather sleeping in the alleys, because the smart ones knew never to stray too close to the streets, instead favoring a dark hole to sleep in.

When he was hungry, Zenji wasn’t the brightest of the homeless. A growling stomach does that to a boy of seventeen. Frankly, it does it to the best of people. It also doesn’t help that he was ejected from the previous community he was part of without warning or plan.

Down another street, Zenji spotted a dark fruit stand, silent in the night. It was mostly locked up, a wooden grate covering the front of the shop as it jutted from the brick building. The grate had a checkered pattern construction, making squares of empty holes that were just big enough for Zenji’s hand to slip in and snatch a few of the small, delicious fruits. There were several kinds of fruit on the stand; they ranged from the small kull fruit to the rui melons that were the size of Zenji’s head.

Zenji skittered over to the edge of the stand, still in the shadows, and reached in with one hand to grab a fruit. He took a bite of his first prize and sank into joy of the wonderful taste of such a bland looking green kull fruit, ball-shaped with a waxy, tasteless rind. It had been a few days since he had left the food gang and hadn’t had a good opportunity to eat. Even the kull fruit was a luxury to him at that moment. He reached in to grab a few more.

So enveloped in his fruit, he didn’t even notice the man stirring to the left of the stand. Still groggy from waking up, the man looked over to see Zenji eating and grabbing his fruit.

“Thief! Thief! Guards come quickly!”

The loud yelling ripped Zenji from his carelessness and he dropped all but two of the fruits. He ran, black hair flowing behind him in a tuft of dirt and strand that streamed behind his head like tassels of a visiting king. A dirty king, perhaps.

How did I miss the napping man? Thought Zenji.

A vaga and ex-food gang member like him shouldn’t have been as careless as that. Fear began to seep in as he heard footfalls on stone behind. There were few more dangerous than those soldiers running after him with nothing else to do. Zenji had suffered at their hands numerous times. A shiver ran down his neck at the thought.  

Five soldiers bolted down the street after him. Panting, Zenji kept running along the street’s edge, seeing only a few people out and about at the late hour. He turned down an alley that was only a few streets away from his normal hiding spot when one of the soldiers who had broken from his patrol grabbed him and rammed his full frame into the ground in a single, fluid motion.

The brute held him down until the other soldiers arrived. That was a feat if it could keep Zenji down like that. Five long years of struggle had hardened him, hardly any fat on the young man. Despite that, this soldier was nearly twice as large as Zenji.

And twice as fierce.

The mass of muscle smiled at him as his comrades turned the corner and surrounded the two. Panic shot through Zenji as he contemplated his imminent death.

Then, the Voice spoke. “You must. Do it now, youngling. Remember what I said before.”

To himself, Zenji whimpered, “No—I can’t. I—” His mother’s bloody face staring lifelessly at him returned, a memory he wished he could forget. It’s all my fault…all of it. The faces of the terrified gang members returned as well. I’m…a monster.

“Even as dire as you are now? No, it is due that you comply,” the Voice lured. “Take your future, before it is taken from you.”

One of the soldiers hissed. “Don’t ‘e look a bit crazy?”

The soldier holding Zenji down spoke. “Aye, talking to himself as well. He’s homeless too. Just look a’ his clothes. Dirty vaga. Dishon’rable he is, making the capitol all dirty like. By Justice, he ought tuh scant off.” Vagas would often disappear from off the streets. Zenji had seen it happen with boys in the gangs. Is this how it happened to them? He thought. To think, the pride of Control might just get me killed…. The fear had begun to swell in Zenji.

“We bette’ put ‘im out o’ his misery,” the other soldier said, uneducated accent coming through strong. That was a common result of a hungry family with nothing, seeing the general army as a solution and a blessing from the Empire.

The hulk that held Zenji smiled again. “Don’t worry, lad. You won’t feel it—much.”

The group of soldiers laughed, and another spouted saliva as they slowly drew their swords.

“For the Emperor.”

“For the Emperor,” they all hissed in unison. No…I can’t—

The Voice returned to Zenji’s mind, less muffled, but tinged with frustration. “Do you not want to show the world what this country is really like? What they do to their own people, the citizens of Control[TT1] ?”

Zenji shook. “Too mm-much.” He stammered. “I can’t—it’s too much like when mother died.”

The Voice responded. “Then what happened in the gang will mean nothing, what happened to your—"

Zenji roared. “No!”

The soldier holding Zenji flinched back slightly and the others slowed their advance. But that was not enough to stop them. After a moment they were again upon Zenji, smiling and unconcerned.

The Voice said, “Then stop them, Pavalok. You do not die this day.”

Zenji softly slowed his breathing, and as the man on top of him was bringing his sword down towards his chest, he closed his eyes, and something inside Zenji cracked slightly like a weakened [TT2] clay pot beginning to leak its precious contents.

Its explosive contents.

“Survive above all.” Zenji gritted his teeth, remembering the final words of his mother. Even if it means using the very power that killed you? he thought. His instincts made the choice for him, his emotions boiling over in the process. In a wave of chills and gooseflesh, Zenji went cold and calculating, demeanor changing in a quick shift in tandem with the chills.

The sword stopped just a few hairs from Zenji’s chest, wavering above the thin and dirty cotton shirt he wore. The subtle movement of the shirt against the cold steel made Zenji’s chest itch, pulling and shifting the few chest hairs he had.

The soldier, shocked, looked at his sword, then to Zenji. His expression changed from glee to concern as Zenji’s eyes shot open, full of hate, as if someone had suddenly switched his mind for another, darker being.

Zenji stared at the soldier above him. The other soldiers had not yet noticed what was happening. Suddenly, the soldier began to rise from off Zenji’s chest, causing the man to whimper slightly.