Renad Rich stood on top of an apartment building, looking up at the glassteal sky, six kilometers above him, drinking his morning coffee, thinking of what he had to do that day. His skin was brown, his black curly hair was ear length, and he had a hawk nose. He looked at the distant Mount Vis rising three kilometers out of the ground, the tallest thing in the colony, surrounded by the Vis forest. He wondered what the forest was like, he had never been there, it always cost too much to enter the forest. Rich looked down at the street below, he remembered the sound of weapons fire, people screaming and running, a boot against his abdomen, kicking him down, felt the plascrete ground, saw the armored man above him, the but of the police officer’s gun coming towards him.
“Yo.” a man waking up next to Rich said. Rich quickly turned toward the man. “Sorry, did I startle you?” the man asked.
“I was lost in thought.” Rich replied, he looked back down at the street. “Do you remember those protests years ago?”
“Yeah,” the man replied, “freaking anarchists.”
“Yes, damn anarchists.” Rich finished his coffee, walked to the stairs.
He returned to his five and half square meter apartment. Changed into orange pants, a white long sleeve undershirt, orange-red button down long sleeve shirt, with loops of orange red twine instead of button holes, his shirts untucked, the undershirt slightly longer, and put on red shoes. Rich looked at himself in the mirror, looked at his face, and felt his nose. He looked at a man sleeping in the bed, back at his reflection.
Rich exited his building onto pedestrian street, immediately after leaving the building he saw a man sitting next to the door, wearing video glasses, pleasuring himself under a blanket. A homeless woman stopped him asking him for money, he gave her a deb-coin with 10.0705 adiys on it. Rich looked at the street, it smelled of urine, homeless and addicts walked the street, many asking for handouts.
He walked to a small outdoor restaurant a few blocks away, with a small counter and seats. A single man with a thin face, light skin, wearing tan pants, a light blue shirt, white apron and white kufi hat over short red hair, stood behind the counter facing a flat top. A sink was to the cooks right, a prep table to his left, bread and togo containers sat on a shelf above the flattop and prep table. A holo-screen showing the morning news on the Union state broadcast floated to the upper left of the open kitchen.
“The Union is strong!” A woman on the holo-screen proclaimed, tanned skin, dirty blond hair, wearing a red shirt. “Under the leadership of Chancellor Ulin the economy has grown and the enemies of democracy have been once again put down.”
The cook was placing ingredients on a single slice of bread that was toasting on the flat top. Rich sat in the edge seat, the others already taken. The cook turned around, looked at Rich. “Ghats cakes, extra syrup.” Rich ordered.
“Not the regular today?” The cook asked.
“I thought I’d try something different.”
“It is no wonder that once again as we approach election season no one is challenging the Chancellor.” The anchor woman, who probably wasn’t even real, contained.
“That’s not like you.” The cook said.
“I’m not feeling like myself today.” Rich answered.
“Is everything alright?”
“No, it’s one of those things we can’t talk about.” he glanced at the holo-screen.
“But threats can never fully be stopped.” continued the Women, “Anarchists continue to threaten the order of our democracy.”
The cook did not reply, he turned back to the flattop, put two ten centimeter by two centimeter rings on the flat top, then filled them halfway with batter. He took the open faced toasted sandwich off the flat top, put it on a plate and served it to the women next to Rich. The cook looked at Rich, “So how is- Um. Other than-”
“I’m fine. Just trying to get by. How’s the news this morning?”
“Elections are starting but no one is running against the Chansler again.”
“Of course.” Rich replied with disdain barely hidden in his voice.
“We must all remain vigilant! The enemies could be your neighbors, your friends, even someone you love. We must all keep our eyes open. If you see something, say something. The local police-”
“Change media, entertainment.” The cook said, looking at the holo-screen. Looking back at Rich, “Your usual mika juice?”
“Sure”
The cook flipped the two rings, the batter having risen to fill them. He poured a pink liquid into a glass, gave it to Rich. “Thank you.” Rich said, the cook looked at Rich for a moment, slightly confused. The cook put the rings on a plate, pushed out the small cakes from the rings, poured syrup on them, served them to Rich, he took a fork from under the counter and put it on the plate.
“Thank you.” Rich said again.
As Rich ate, the cook noticed he wasn’t moving his wrist. “Hurt your arm?” The cook asked.
Rich looked at his wrist, then at the cook, “I tripped, fell on my wrist, it’s been stiff since then.” he took a bite of his food. “Things have gone downhill here.”
“Yeah, they keep homeless and druggies here, when crime happens, the police seldom come.”
“Punishment for the protests.”
“Yeah.”
Rich went back to his food, to keep himself from saying more.
A man burst through a door on the holo-screen, saying: “Hello everybody!” A laugh track played. “Hello Steve.” Two scantily dressed women replied. “Are you girls up to something?” The laugh track played again. “Change media.” The cook told the screen.
“That was delicious.” Rich said after finishing his food. He drank the last bit of juice in his glass. “I should probably not be myself more often.” Rich said jokingly.
“Thank you.” The cook replied, then took Rich’s plate, fork and glass.
Rich took a flat rectangular silver object from his pocket, roughly half the length of a thumb. Placed it on the counter, the numbers “-1.3535” followed by “Have a nice day” appeared on the counter. He dropped another deb-coin that he had been palming on the counter. Rich put the deb-coin he played with away, “Have a good day.” he told the cook, stood and began walking away.
“You too.” The cook replied, slowly. The cook picked up the coin, it had three letters on it, a, i, and d. The cook felt a small button on the coin. Turning away from the customers he pressed the button. The coin was a disguised holodrive, it displayed a holo-screen with text. The cook looked in the direction Rich walked, Rich stood, looking back at the cook before he turned and continued to walk away. The cook turned the holo-drive off, put it in his pocket, and looked down at the flat top.
Rich walked to the transit stop a block over. Passing an alley with homeless people sleeping next to dumpsters. He took an elevator down to the transit level, fresh graffiti in the elevator and the transit station, then walked to an oval shaped wheeless car. The car was white on the outside, the ceiling and left side had ads for local businesses, and posters about the anarchist threat. The car was 150 centimeters wide, with two long seats facing each other. He sat, telling the car: “Stop Villa Randout.”
“That stop is restricted.” The voice interface replied.
“Special permission Renad Rich 3421.”
“One moment.” pause, “Permission accepted.”
The door closed, the car accelerated, speeding down the underway, away from the city to the colony outskirts. Rich looked down at his right arm, he touched his forearm, finding the lack of sensation odd. Rich closed his eyes, tried to clear his mind. He felt the back of his head, a small scar under his hair.
The car stopped fifteen minutes later, the door opened. Rich stepped out of the car into a clean transit stop the size of a small room, made of granite. He walked to an elevator, pressed the button. Five minute later the elevator doors opened, two Adyis Union security agents walked out, armed with taze guns. They wore black long sleeve shirts, black pants and black shoes. Their hair was short, the agent on the left’s skin was copper colored, with black hair and brown eyes, the agent on the right was light skinned with yellow blond hair. They both were expressionless. The agent on the left waved a scan wand up and down Rich. “Come.” The agent told Rich in a commanding tone. They entered the elevator, the agents standing on either side of Rich.
The elevator door opened, stepping out Rich saw a stone road to a mansion, the wall of the colony’s edge a few kilometers behind it. Trees were planted in rows on either side of the path, looking at the orderly woods Rich saw deer and birds. The air felt clean, the sound of the birds was calming.
“This way sir.” One of the agents told Rich in a commanding tone.
Rich looked at the agent, saw a small vehicle next to her. They sat in the vehicle, then drove on the one and half kilometer road to the mansion. The mansion was over twenty eight thousand square meters, it dwarfed Rich in size. Rich has seen buildings as large, but none for a single family, or single man.
The anteroom of the mansion was nearly a thousand square meters, decorated with columns plated in a silvery white metal, marble statues, granite floors, and a double helix staircase, plated with the silvery white metal, at the end of the anteroom. They took him up the staircase to the third floor. The floor and walls were made of long planks of polished wood, whitish in color. Paintings of Security Minister Randout Bran decorated the hallway, many depicting him violently putting down dissent. The office of Security Minister Randout was big, big enough to be a conference room, made of the same wood as the hall. Out of the window behind a large desk Rich could see the other side of Mount Vis, further away than it is from Rich’s apartment.
“Ah, mister Renad Rich, I almost forgot about our appointment.” Minister Randout said, sitting behind his dark brown wooden desk, nearly half a meter wide. His hair was graying black, his skin lite-brown, he wore a burnt orange shirt with a white undershirt.
“Minister.” Rich replied. Rich walked toward the minister. He raised his thumb, aimed his arm at the Security Minister. Rich’s hand exploded with the “pop, pop, pop” of an automatic gun. The bullets from Rich’s arm struck the Minister in his head. The two agents fired at Rich, shooting bolts of energy from their taze guns. Rich felt energy surge through his body, all his muscles flexing painfully. Rich’s face distorted in grotesque inhuman ways. The gun continued to fire until the barrel shattered from the pressure. The back of Rich’s head burst open from the inside, his brains spraying on the agents.
Both Rich and the Security Minister were dead. The Minister’s face and the top of his head was blown away. They turned Rich over, his face was constantly changing. They pulled a carnelian mask off of him, revealing a man with light skin, thin face, red hair, and a voice changer strapped to his throat. The real Renad Rich was found sedated in his apartment. The assassin was identified as Marik Ken Mane, an anti-Ulin protester who was arrested two years before. He had been broken out of prison with two hundred others three months before in a raid by the Union Liberation Army. Remnants of a micro explosive were found in his skull; it liquefied his brain upon detonation preventing capture and interrogation. His prosthetic arm was designed to be undetectable by scanners, mimicking flesh. The investigators concluded the assassination was a suicide mission, meant as revenge for the violent responses to anti-Ulin protests, and to send a message, that ULA was willing to die accomplish their goals.
C.L. Who Writes 
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