"Ahhh…" Deon slumped onto a public bench, humiliated and wounded, the cold wood biting into his bruised backside. He iced his injuries with chilly soda cans—a small pittance from the girl he'd saved. It was the *least* she could do. The air hung heavy with the stench of burnt circuits and distant smog, while flickering delivery drone lights buzzed by overhead like angry insects.
Right across from Deon loomed a giant, concrete grey construction—thin and tall, its surface grey as can be, yet scarred by decades of acid rain, with no balconies or windows facing this side of the city. Instead, its blank flat expanse served as a colossal digital billboard for all to see, casting an eerie blue glow over the slums, broadcasting all the local news channels.
**Anchor (sharp, accusatory tone):** "So, Mr. Shay, what are you and your men striving to achieve with the coming elections? What's your strategy for the campaign? Our contacts say you've shared some controversial thoughts. Are you suggesting we sit here and do nothing but wait for our imminent extinction? The bill you proposed only aims to further cut funding to the hunters. With these new budget cuts, you're effectively not only crippling the hunters here in the city and their ability to defend us, but essentially abandoning our fellow men out there on Earth—who struggle and fight day in and day out to secure our homeland. You're leaving them to die."
**Shay (calm, measured, with a smile):** "I see how my statements might have been perceived. This seems to be the major concern on everyone's mind, and it's one that the opposition in the rightist parties loves to keep bringing up. 'Oh, how could you leave them out to die like that? Who treats their heroes that way when they sacrifice so much to hold the front on Earth?' Let me answer with a counter-question. Five decades ago, how many outposts did we have established and well-fortified back on Earth? Ten? Now it's dwindled to two. It is *precisely* because I value and respect life that I propose these harsh steps. Why meaninglessly sacrifice lives out in that wilderness—"
A faint crackling noise distracted Deon from the screen. A sidelong glance revealed the girl crushing her overflowing can of juice, her hand trickling with liquid. Her face twisted in pure repulsion toward the man on screen.
**Anchor:** "But Mr. Shay, how can it be meaningless when it's our only hope? The extract can crumble and turn to nothing anytime now. The researchers predict we have at most another two centuries. This space cannot support life for much longer."
**Shay (chuckling):** "Aw, c'mon, listen to yourself. Who are these researchers? Who are they affiliated with? The Anubizz Corporation, I tell you. It's all fabricated. They're a private conglomerate—they only seek their own interests. They're simply afraid that if we, the citizens, stop being afraid, it will cripple their power and influence. And I assure you, these new reforms will cut down on all the power and influence they've been hoarding this past century—and rightfully so. They have no business controlling us and the government and us for their profit-mongering agendas. I feel bad for these brainwashed citizens who live out months and years away from their families on Earth, risking their lives meaninglessly."
A repulsion Deon was starting to share as the man dominated more screen time—away from the gorgeous blonde anchor.
**Anchor (voice rising):** "But Mr. Shay, Extract can't support us forever—it's a fact. The tremors grow more and more frequent, along with the beast outrages we've been experiencing all over. The forefathers warned us of these exact things."
**Shay (leaning forward, eyes gleaming):** "It's important that everyone understands: I'm not denying that claim. I simply mean to say you all put too much faith in a private corporation. The funds I've cut from the hunters, I've redirected toward more research—and we've made many breakthroughs with regards to controlling the chaos essence. We're on the verge of something big. We won't have to send more men to die on Earth. Hunters would be a thing of the past—redundant. And as for abandoning our men stationed on Earth? The way I see it, *they* abandoned *us*, not the other way around! I mean, think about it—must we send our young out to die like this? I sure as shit wouldn't want to send mine."
**Anchor (nodding reluctantly):** "I do see your point. Can't believe just a few decades ago, it was mandatory service on the borders—just to be swallowed by that forest or mindless monsters."
**Shay (smirking triumphantly):** "Exactly. What's worse is the young have been brainwashed."
Damn, she's fine, Deon thought to himself, eyes lingering on the anchor. I must look her up later.
**Anchor:** "And now to end this—is there something you'd like to get off your chest before we conclude?"
**Shay:** "Yes. I'd like to reiterate and make sure everyone knows: it is natural to be afraid. The fear of the unknown is nothing to be ashamed of—it's as natural as puberty. Earth is a big, vast unknown for us. How many more lives do you want to sacrifice? I will have you know I have the best researchers working on the {chaos force}. We've made much progress. I understand it might amount to a drop in the bucket, but the little we've accomplished really fills me with hope. If we can harness its power, we can repair our home—repair our world, the world our forefathers left us. This... Extract... was so we could live. No—so we could *prosper*. Why must we send such young people to Earth? To die? I would not want my children to be the pile of dead bodies you stack against an unrelenting environment that we humans are not suited for."
**Anchor:** "By this, are you maybe referring to the little incident that happened with the heir of the Anubiz Corporation?"
**Shay:** "Yes. I really felt that this issue needs to be addressed."
**Anchor:** "For those who haven't kept up, I'll play the clip now."
What followed was a shaky shot that had gone viral on the internet—right at the gates of Anubiz headquarters, against the black glassy backdrop of their personal skyscraper. Reporters swarmed the father-son duo emerging from it. The young man wore mirrored shades and a black bio-weave suit that shimmered with embedded hunter-grade nanites; his father wore the same, but ash-grey. Corporate guards in matte-black exosuits rushed in as they pushed the crowd back. The reporters surged forward in kind. From the crowd popped one reporter—a hairy dude with unkempt hair and big, wide circular glasses.
"Is it true that you have decided to expand toward the two previously lost remaining strongholds we have on Earth?" the reporter asked, frantic and panting.
All went quiet. The air thickened with tension.
"Fuckers—they encourage talks of sexuality and bodies, but *this* is too much for them? Our original goddamn homeland," the fair maiden cursed. Clearly, her thoughts incriminatingly aligned with the rightist ideologies.
Made sense. For right next to Deon sat the lady of the Carnentis family—the twin of the boy on the screen. Daughter of the current leader of ANUBIZZ CORP. The same corp that controls 47% of all hunter-grade and non-hunter-grade chaos-tech. The same corp that could buy and sell this entire slum district for pocket change.
"Yes, yes, we are," replied the young man. The crowd exploded. The statement only served to further excite them.
"The people living in those strongholds are still our people. If you don't wish to help them, at least don't get in our way of doing so. We cannot live here forever; we must go back," he let it all out. He felt he had more to scream about, but his father grabbed him and tugged him away back into the building.
The clip ended there, with people throwing bottles and pebbles at them.
**Shay:** "WE NEED TO ACKNOWLEDGE the fact that this is our home now. We do not have resources to spare. We are safer in here than out there. The people out there abandoned us, not the other way around. I hope everyone understands that."
**Anchor:** "Alright, we will conclude our show here for today. As usual, thank you all for watching, and special thanks to our special guest this week, Mr. Shay. We will see you all again next week. Sayonara."
*[Outro]*
"Well, that was something," Deon commented.
"I know, right? So cold—the way he walked up and said 'yes, we are.' Like walking into one of those victim camps and saying 'you all are weakling pussies,'" the fair lady of the anubiz corp. responded.
"I don't think that's cool..." said Deon, immediately second-guessing his life choices.
"You don't?" came a look of slight disappointment that hit him like a gut punch.
Abort abort—"I think it's fucking drop-dead cold!" Deon immediately corrected himself. Not wanting his relationship points with a pretty lady to drop.
"Right!" came the desirable expression change, her face lighting up like a tier-3 neon board. "Oh shit, right—I haven't introduced myself yet, have I?"
"No need," Deon spoke, channeling every ounce of angel and good left in his battered body. "Everyone recognizes you."
"Laurel," she extended her hand—perfectly manicured nails and soft white skin gleaming under the glow of the neon lights as the night black took over the evening grey of the sky.
"Deon. Deon von Deluge," Deon shook, trying not to think about how her grip felt.
"Well, Deon, what do you think of the ordeal?" she spoke, suddenly closing the distance between them—eyes eagerly awaiting an answer, close enough that he could smell her expensive perfume cutting through the slum smog.
Oh fuck me, she's actually asking my opinion. Say something cool. Say something profound. This is your chance, Deon. Don't say 'Please be my sugar mommy.'