James Decker - Fallout

“This world no longer exists in the universe we knew,” my voice said. “The haan have transported us, and our entire world, into theirs. While this may sound fantastic, there is concrete proof of this in front of us every day.”

An image of Fangwenzhe, the biggest star in the sky, appeared in place of my image on the screen.

“The star of Fangwenzhe does not appear in any images, or on any star charts prior to the arrival of the haan,” my voice said. “Our government, with the help of the haan, has gone to great lengths to erase this fact by destroying records, cutting off access to the outside world, and imprisoning anyone who tries to reveal the truth.”

The image on the screens changed again. Footage recorded by Dao-Ming while caged in the meat farm filled them all. A collective gasp passed through the square, and many looked away as they were confronted with the butcher’s block. I’d debated including it, but wanted to be sure I’d have everyone’s attention. I had it. I’d decided to let the scene linger, but not for too long, before cutting away. Uniformed men now stepped through the rows, meeting with men in butcher’s aprons, shaking their hands on-screen.

At that point, both the crowd and the security troops surged. A shocked vibe passed through the square that turned angry fast.

“Anyone who dissents is made to disappear,” my voice said. “The government has sold such dissenters to facilities like these, and worse, the haan have bought them from those same facilities. The haan are not what you believe.”

The image changed again, this time showing a still shot Vamp had recovered from my recorded eyebot session six months before. In it, you could clearly see a soldier holding up a discarded human skin. The skin had belonged to a small girl with ringlets of blond hair. The same girl, completely unharmed, still dressed in the same outfit that hung from the soldier’s rifle barrel, torn and blood soaked, stood only a few steps away. She watched him with interest.

“They have begun to alter us,” my altered voice said. “They have begun taking our places, and have already—”

My voice cut out and echoed down the streets as the screens all went blank.

I turned to Vamp. “What the hell?”

He shook his head while looking at his phone’s screen. He tapped away with both thumbs.

“I’m trying,” he said. A beat later, the screens all came back on to display the protest again. We’d been cut off.

Security had begun to buzz, additional troops moving through the crowd while the ones with the shields held the perimeter.

“Sorry,” Vamp said. “Someone figured out where I came in and—”

“Hey, check it out,” someone called.

Jin saw it first. He nudged Dao-Ming, and pointed up to the building face, where the gonzos there had begun to actually climb out of the windows, and stand on the ledge.

“Holy shit, they’re coming out,” I said.

Even security had begun to stare up at the new spectacle. The gonzos up on the ledge got into position and then unfurled a big banner between them so that it snapped in the wind. There were at least twenty of them altogether, men and women. A security aircar hovered a little ways away from them, shining a floodlight on them and shouting something over a bullhorn.

“What does the banner say?” I asked. Jin squinted up at it.

“I can’t tell; it’s moving around too much.”

Whatever they were playing at, they’d gotten the attention of both security and the news outlets. One of the towering screens across the street stopped showing footage of the square and switched to the people up on the ledge as more camera drones moved in. I expected them to be kids, pulling a stunt like that, but once they came into focus I could see they were all older, around Dragan’s age.

They’re stealing our spotlight, I thought. What the hell are they doing?

“They’re out of their minds,” Vamp said. “Ten yuan says one of them slips and falls.”

As the camera passed over the line of protesters, I could see that each of them held on to the window frame behind them by little more than their fingertips. It made me nervous just to watch them.

“People of Hangfei!” a voice boomed from above. Everyone looked up at the gonzos on the ledge, and I saw that the man positioned more or less in the center of the banner had held up some kind of bullhorn or amplifier out in front of him. I had to admire them. Our fancy attempt to hijack the video screens got shut down, but this guy had every news drone broadcasting him on purpose. His face showed plain as day, and he’d be arrested right after, but for now, he had the audience that had been ours just a moment ago.

He waited for the mob’s attention to turn fully to them. One by one, the other LCD screens in the square switched angles, zooming in on him until he had the audience he desired. Once he did, he continued.

“Lies,” he sneered, glaring down at the crowd. “What you just saw on those screens were all lies. The haan have pulled us from the brink of disaster, and you repay them with nothing but lies.”

He stared down at us from above like a disapproving parent, and then raised his voice to a shout.

“Your gathering here in the new Xinzhongzi colony is unjust,” he cried. “The haan have been oppressed too long, and you are all complicit.”

Boos rose up from the crowd, and I saw the line of officers near the security wall raise their shields and begin moving in a little to herd the protesters away. They’d had enough. Above, a second aircar had joined the first and now both were barking something, which I couldn’t make out, at the people on the ledge.

“You are being lied to,” the man continued, “but not by the haan. It is the government who has lied about the haan, and it has lied about the Impact.”

The tone of the crowd began to change a little, then. A group of younger men nearby had begun to laugh. I glanced over at Jin and saw he’d turned from the protesters themselves to look at one of the big screens where a camera did a slow pan across the banner the protesters held.

“Jin, what is it?”

“The banner,” he said, pointing. I looked. It didn’t say anything about Xinzhongzi at all. Instead, elaborate hanzi spelled out the message:

THIS UNIVERSE BELONGS TO THE HAAN—ONLY HE CAN MOVE THE STARS

“The person who made that video told one truth,” he said, the angry parent returning. He scanned the crowd below, far too distant for him to make out anyone’s face. “I can’t see you, but we know who you are. This is not our world. We imprison the haan inside their ship when we aren’t fit to even gaze on them!”

Another aircar whipped over our heads, then flitted across one of the LCD screens as it headed up toward the ledge. Two more followed, rippling the big canvas protest signs in their wakes. When they passed the screen, I saw the camera had begun zooming in on the people above, framing them as they struggled to hang on while keeping the banner steady.

One of the two security aircars moved in closer, and the door flew open. An officer leaned out while the driver screamed at the protesters and aimed a rifle in the man’s direction.

“Holy shit,” I gasped. The whole crowd had begun yelling and pointing.

The officer with the rifle took aim at the man on the ledge holding the bullhorn. He was going to shoot him—I was sure of it. A third aircar joined the two above as the forces on the ground began marching toward us, moving us out of the way in case they shot the man and he fell.

“The haan will return,” the man screamed. “Rapture will see the return of the haan to their rightful place and only the most devout humans will have a place in their world! We don’t deserve them! They—”