Lex massaged her head as text continued to stream down her darkglass goggles. Nmail made chatting easy, but it strained her eyes after a while. It didn't help she was in the middle of class, her attention split between the guest speaker and her conversation with Bell. They usually whispered to one another in the one class they shared together each cycle, but the guest lecturer was a severe special forces man that was giving Lex the chills.
Zeus's beard, he stole military-grade explosives! What if he comes after us, what if Manny Grave tries to get even? — You, just now.
At the front of their mouldy old classroom, standing in front of Mrs Agincourt's hologram, was Captain Rolland of the Hunter Killer Division, the Still King's secret police. Mike once told her that their strange name was also their job description, the secret police being both 'Hunters of cracked cyberblades' and 'Killers of traitors'.
Captain Rolland was rich enough to have a thick waist, and his white armour, which only emphasised his impressively muscled mass, was decorated with crimson streaks down his arms and shining red medals on his chest.
Lex had been nervous even before Captain Rolland's arrival. She wore her boots instead of the regulation sandals and had accidentally brought her entire canister of Serum along with her normal auto-injector. It was a bad start to a critically important day.
"Even with the incident of that traitor wearing protector white," Captain Rolland said, his crimson gloves clenched into fists. "You should still consider a life in the Department of Purity. The training is easy and the pay is good—fantastic even, if you earn your Hunter Killer reds."
"Isn't it dangerous?" asked a boy at the front.
"It is the work of warriors," Captain Rolland said. "But the Still King will reward you well with a 30% discount on all brands of Perseus Air and an unbeatable pension plan."
"But I thought only First Floors could become protectors?" another girl said.
"Usually that's the case, but the expanded number of Protector positions this orbit has created an opportunity for brave Second Floorers to take up the call. Only you can stop the unwashed hordes, the criminals, the slime, the Eros, from charging up from Third and Fourth! Only you can defend your homes, your businesses, your community and your King!" He pounded a hand against his breastplate. "We are the bulwark between enginestate and chaos. We are the shield that protects our prosperity!"
Captain Rolland is free to requisition a boot up his ass. — Bell, just now.
Lex stifled a laugh as Captain Rolland continued his speech.
"You get access to top-of-line weapons, how glitz is that?" He grinned as he patted the plasma pistol at his waist. The exotic weapon could pierce even the Hunter Killer's pet cyberblade. The fully cyberised monster had disappeared to prowl the hallways once the Captain had first started talking.
Still, the class gaped. Snubguns were common enough, but plasma weaponry? That was something right out of a holodrama. As he grinned wider, his beige eyes flashed with yellow code. Some gasped while the more eager grinned.
"Oh, these old things?" Captain Rolland said, pointing at his eyes. "High-end, Omnitech-certified, military-grade Hololenses—and thanks to the Department of Purity's partnership with Omnicorp Industries, each recruit will receive a free pair!"
Four boys and three girls stood up and swore themselves to become protectors of the Still King's reign.
"With me then, young heroes, your first mission awaits." Captain Rolland gestured to the hall with a sweep of his blood red cape. "As for those who are still working up the courage to serve the enginestate, come and see me as soon as you can. Although, for those worried, know that service guarantees floor citizenship." He searched their confused eyes, then turned to Mrs Agincourt's holographic glare.
"The protectorate core is a noble organisation," Captain Rolland said quickly, clearly eager to move on. "Only suited to those noble souls willing to shine above the rest." He eyed several male students especially hard. Not the brightest bulbs on 77A's spectrum, but smart enough not to join for the merch.
What does he mean 'service guarantees citizenship?' Why bother mentioning we get to keep what is already ours? — You, just now.
"I've added all of you via Nmail. Shoot me a message if you're glitz enough to sign up. All hail Troezen!" Captain Rolland ended with a crisp salute and slapping heels.
"All hail Troezen," the class said with varied enthusiasm.
Turning sharply, the captain led his eager recruits out into the hall to the tune of him shouting 'left' and 'right' as if they might have forgotten how to walk.
Who knows? If Manny the Man-baby was anything to go by, then I really don't think the average protector is very bright. It probably meant nothing at all. — Bell, just now.
"Darkglasses on, class, we have words from his majesty, King Perseus Troezen, Ninth of his Name, Ruler of Troezen, Protector of the People, and blessed by the gods as the Still King." Mrs Agincourt stood straight as an arrow and live as a faulty wire, her voice trembling under the weight of the King's many titles. "Hurry now, it's starting."
The class slapped their darkglasses on, while Lex adjusted her goggles.
"Connect to the school network, then wait for the transmission to begin."
Lex was greeted by the Still King's platinum face with bronze detailing. Her eyebrows raised; this was certainly new. Mike never mentioned that the Still King himself spoke at graduation. In all her orbits, she had never heard anything more than recordings of his old speeches. If Brackus's grumblings were right, then this would be his first public appearance in a decade.
The live feed began in a marble throne room, with a huge bronze shield on the far wall shining like a star and etched with the snake-haired Royal Medusa. Below, on a floating platinum throne, sat a huge man with marble white cybernetical arms and legs. Every inch of his clothes, every piece of his hovering throne and every ounce of his magnificently complicated, bronze-highlighted, platinum armour had been painstakingly detailed with depictions of each Graexian god.
The King's beard was brown with streaks of grey and fell in a tumble of handsome curls. Atop his stern brow sat a heavy platinum crown, glowing with a white diamond shard that shone with an inner light. He opened his eyes, each black orb peppered with white stars.
At his left and right were empty thrones. A decade ago, at the royal wedding, had been the first and last time the Still King's Maketonian wife had ever been seen in public. His Crown Prince hadn't been given even that—no name, no public addresses, with only rumours to sustain him in the public mind.
Alone on his tall throne, King Perseus the Ninth sat stone still.
Behind the thrones stood a small figure in a white toga who seemed unmoved by the grand sight, save for his tight frown. The little man had brown hair, a hooked nose and a ruler-straight posture; if Lex hadn't recognised him as Grendel Finks, the King's Scion Prime and right-hand man, she would have assumed he was there by mistake.
"To my loyal subjects," the Still King said, his modulated voice rich and regal like honey drizzled over gold. He sounded like Lex dreamed he would, the old records unable to capture the magnetism of his tone. "This is a period of change. A time that requires sacrifice. The crown is working to bring prosperity to all of Troezen, from the darkest cracks of Undercity, to the brightest heights of my Acropolis. We are all gears in the Great Engine, all sparks blessed by the Sparkfather and predetermined to fulfil our destiny. All I ask is that you flow as one within the river of fate and save yourself the pain of denying the inevitable."
Lex pursed her lips, trying to understand where this was going.
"You, my loyal [ Daughter ] of class [ 77A ], I declare that you have passed your examinations and are ready to receive your Offerings. But first, the low amongst you must be culled; weakness is a rot that would spread the longer it is ignored and can only be cured by separating the healthy from the sick. The false from the true. The deviant from the pure."
Brakes screeched to a stop in the parking lot outside. Turning her head to the window, Lex saw a fleet of Department of Purity armoured transport vehicles rolling in one after another to park beneath the great blue light of the pylon. Most were empty, while a few birthed squads of white armoured protectors; the Still King's face imprinted onto their riot shields, helmets and FLEX-batons.
A black hovercar swooped down from the sky, crimson armoured Hunter Killer agents falling from open doors to hit the ground hard. Amongst the four, one moved with bladed feet, a sensor-riddled head and twinkling amber eyes. A Hunter Killer cyberblade.
"We each have our place in my world. The Paradise Dome is reserved for my highborn. The First Floor, our loyal servants. The Second, our clever makers. The Third, the masses. The Fourth, the Eros. Yet deviants have long hidden in plain sight and, as of today, that is forbidden. As of this moment, deviants from the Paradise Dome, First Floor and Second Floor will be removed for the greater good. The gods have weighed in where they will, as has the Scion Senate and Troezen's finest experts. The ruling is unanimous, and purity must prevail."
The Still King froze like a puppet without orders; his star-filled eyes locked on Lex's own. Then he jerked back into motion.
"All hail Troezen!" thundered the Still King.
The camera zoomed out to reveal the long rows of golden cyberblade Royal Guards with spears tipped in bright amber plasma. They snapped their heels together as one.
"All hail Troezen!" the Royal Guards said with thumping spears.
The camera pulled further to reveal the senate stadium holding three hundred glittering members of the Scion Senate along with thousands of their servants.
"All hail Troezen!" the Scion Senate chanted.
"All hail Troezen!"
"All hail Troezen!"
"All hail Troezen!" spluttered class 77A, the words reverberating through the walls as every class in Hera High shouted together, as if the Great Engine itself had shouted the words.
The Still King raised his head, the chant died, and his star-filled eyes focused on the camera. Lex was ensnared in their depth. The camera zoomed in until Lex drowned in stars.
"Citizen of the [ Second Floor ] [ Alexandra Vulcan ] you are declared by my royal decree to be a [ Passingly Pure Citizen ] who will [ Maintain your current status as a Second Floor citizen and have Offerings for positions above your status withheld ]."
Files downloaded into her slate. Her grades. Her filtered Offers. Lex was too bewildered to hear the Still King's final words as a high-pitched ringing filled her ears.
"Stay seated, REMAIN SEATED!" Mrs Agincourt's shrill voice pierced Lex's melancholy like bolt cutters a lock. Lex peered around, the class ruled by a mixture of alarm and terror.
"I'm a deviant, it said I'm a deviant! What does that mean—what's that mean?" said a boy with soft brown eyes and shaking hands. His concerns were echoed by others—what was a deviant? The Still King had mentioned removal, but how, and to where?