In retrospective, bullets are blind. Like an absurd painting of May rain, the automatic gun on each chopper drenched the hot grey asphalt with their lethal stabs. Some pierced flesh, leaving a trail of blood as a trophy claimed. Some grazed the hot ground, and holes bloomed like spring flowers.
Rasita Angga, her lips murmured breathlessly. A person her client specifically asked her to track. A child with a bright future, a prodigy on his own. Her payor.
She was trembling with fear, torn between telling Maryono or not. If she were to tell him, it was because of the obligation as a Companion. If she were not, it was because she was afraid he would be devastated.
At this dire point of no return, telling a lie through her gritted teeth might be the most viable option. She lied once, she would lie twice. Hopefully, Maryono would understand sometime later.
But his decision after the news was not Stephanie's responsibility. If Maryono, in the worst case, chose to end his life as his son would never return, it was not within Stephanie's reach anymore.
What was another death on top of the piling mountain of bodies after the Drop?
Her warm eyelids fluttered. The dim lighting of her flat reminded her of the early days of the pandemic, where slow but sure she was dragged to the demise of her career. Somehow, a memory of the dead dogs found in people's homes, died due to negligence after the owners passed away and the frontline warriors simply collected the bodybags without energy left to visit the houses, resurfaced.
He had the right to know, and that was the only way Stephanie could repent for her brazenness to lie in the first place.
~*~
Frenzy came. Her conscience tortured her at night, the blue bedsheet witnessed as she tossed and turned. Why did she find it difficult to say it? Why did she back out from pressing the dial button on Maryono's number this afternoon?
Would he blame her for not telling him that they had met before, despite Rasita threatening her life?
But Maryono sympathised with his cause, he clearly justified his son's movement.
How would he react?
By right, Rasita was nobody to her. Not an acquaintance, met only once under an unfortunate occurrence that hurt her. She could be professional, exercising her warm and gentle tone and sympathetic face to deliver the terrible news. On a second thought, she could avoid the assault topic easily as it had nothing to do with Maryono.
She could just be the bad news bearer, that Rasita was dead and she couldn't follow this up despite being in the same site as him, because she was also running for her life.
Sounded like the perfect half-truth, but she felt a debt that had to be paid hang in her throat. She would never swallow her food smoothly if it was still there, she couldn't breathe as easily if it blocked the airway there.
So the courage that spread as far as to the seven seas of her consciousness pooled in the middle, suffused her brain with the will to press dial. And she did.
Her fingers didn't stop twitching and she pressed her eyelids for the inevitable talk she would have.
But Maryono didn't pick up on the first dialling tone.
Or the second.
Or the next.
And he didn't pick up the second and the third attempt of hers to call, sparsely within the next few hours.
She assumed he rarely charged his phone nowadays, not that Maryono had found out the truth about Rasita's death so he ended his life.
Stephanie didn't know what to do beside spam-calling her client, but at the tenth attempt, she stopped. Leave it to fate, she thought, for whatever was going to happen, would happen.
Instead, she tapped the pad of her index finger to access more articles about the Lawless.
Moments later, dripping warmness drenched the neckline of her T-shirt. It was surprisingly easy to sympathise with and understand their cause.
Find the Dome and if you're still alive, crawl back to me after you understand why the Lawless are this way. She still heard Rasita breathing the words full of resentment, calling her all sorts of derogatory.
The articles didn't mention anything about a dome-shaped object or whether it was a metaphor. But the Lawless movement was spurred by the fear that the pandemic unintentionally became a reset button to rearrange the civilisation by separating the rich and the poor. It wasn't about the Protected and the Immune to begin with, but about working with a manageable population. Start small, something like that.
Her blurry vision stopped her temporarily to fetch a tissue to wipe her eyes. She continued scrolling.
With the social revolution that was marketed in the message of 'inevitable changes', the commoners saw no reason to oppose.
But what was bad with it?
What was bad was the fatalists hiding in the unified government and councils. What was bad was the strategists who wanted to discard the so-called agrarian community evolutionary hangups.
Agrarian community, the root society of all the laws and systems we had today, was believed by some as the point of no return of how human evolved. Previously, in the hunter-gatherer community, it was more equal. But then the structured society started dividing roles based on gender, how much they made, and so on.
The root of inequality.
The smarties and geniuses of this era wanted to ride on this wind of change to revolutionise the civilisation.
Those were the key personnel wanting to change how humanity organise itself.
Let alone humble Companions like her, she couldn't even derive how the social connections would be maintained in the new system.
She read about financial independence at one part of the blog post which was mild enough, the only reason it was not taken down by the internet censorship about Lawless. As opposed to the previous articles that portrayed the Lawless' view as ridiculous and baseless accusation to instigate rebellions, this one was more sound and analytical.
In the new system, the anonymous blogger wrote, the poor would still need to fend for themselves, just like forever. Only, the oppression would become far more visible. Ranging from public facilities to future planning, the privilege gap would favour the rich.
The blogger didn't explain further, probably afraid of stricter censorship. With this vague coverage which didn't highlight the key differences with the privilege problem as old as time, it was difficult for the readers to understand the real danger.
~*~
"The class problem is indeed classic, but that shouldn't diminish our will to help. Those like our clients who receive beatings in the shadows, those homeless Lawless on the streets that the next day will be carried in body bags . . . If the financial independence can restore them back on their feet, then let's do it," Gema's steady voice presented the slides he had prepared.
They were talking about a safety net for the domestic violence victims, a temporary payment for their clients to survive on their own, away from an abusive household.
"And this is where the straight out robbery comes in?" Val chirped with his frowned forehead. Val was back at the office, although Stephanie would need to get back on the road in thirty minutes for another appointment.
With their limited knowledge in world finance, the usual solutions like taxes or government's vaults were thrown about before the recommendation slide.
Satisfied with the outline, they switched the topic to the transportation plan for moving Aluna to the safe house, due in two days. For the ethical reason, Gema would be the Companion on duty, as both Gema and Stephanie expected Val to keep a distance to indicate his atonement to the world. To face the Council on Friday next week, their record had to be squeaky clean.
"You'll have a meeting with the Wellbeing people, S?"
"To consolidate the report of actual domestic violence victims who are detected by Companionship. So other companies will join this, too. And it would be a sitting meeting, not a video call. High confidentiality and such."
"Also," she continued, "if you're at odds with this safety net proposal, I won't burden you. The best way is to make a separate team who are on board with this idea, so Prattle's reputation won't be tainted with this plan."
Gema chuckled, "If I weren't on board with this, why would I still be here?" Val echoed the sentiment.
As the appointment came nearer, she stood up to collect her backpack and water bottle. When she reached the door handle, the metallic bottle brought back a memory of how she obtained it.
She took a glance backwards to her loyal colleagues, "From now on, there's no way back. We rob dead people's money. Whether history focuses on the outcome, or the path that we take, I hope it won't burden your heart. Our conscience is clear."
On any other occasions, before time, the normal situations where robbing from other people's properties never crossed upright citizens' minds, this kind of proposal would yield disgust.
Unsurprisingly, with one co-founder somewhat robbing someone else's wife and another co-founder regularly 'collecting' scraps from dead people's houses, this idea was worth being slept on.
~*~
The following Monday, the transportation day, Gema said that the thunder heard clapping in Aluna's area. He wanted to reach Ciledug area where the safe house was quickly before the rain fell, but the van from the Department of Wellbeing was just rolling out from the garage.
"How is that possible? I thought with the professional no-nonsense look that I got this morning, everything in their administration is top-notch," Stephanie's breaking voice was heard through the speakerphone of Gema's device. She was already in the safe house as a welcoming committee.
"Clearly you overestimate their punctuality. Oh, now the van is on the way."
They talked and sometimes let the silence fill the air before Annisa and Val who joined the call to monitor Aluna's condition signed out.
"You can leave, you know. I'll call you back when we're near."
"Nah, no worries. We've got all day," Mark jumped in.
"Oh, Mark, you're there, too?"
Stephanie could sense the calculating mind of Gema's at work.
Gema caught this up. "Don't roll your eyes, I can practically hear it," he said.
Stephanie, as in auto-mode, rolled her eyes far back it almost looked like she got possessed.
He quickly supplied with another topic as his eyes surveyed the surrounding. "Oh, the van said they couldn't park on the driveway of this apartment lobby. There was a commotion just across this tower."
"What commotion? Nobody would be concentrated in Aluna's area since everyone gathers nearby Senayan now, wouldn't they?" Stephanie said after quickly confirming the protests for the Memorial Day incident. It had been an annual tradition by then, to commemorate those losing their lives in the pandemic.
"The driver said the same thing. So Aluna and I must dash out now before it gets worse. I'll ask the driver to park somewhere at the back of the tower, there must be alleys for the van to sneak out of the mass."
While both of them sounded like hustling to find the way to reach the pickup van around the apparent demonstration, Stephanie browsed news sites in case someone started reporting the demonstration had outgrown their target area.
Nothing was found.
"Too early, maybe?" Mark chipped in. "All's good. Besides, it's gonna rain, no protests would sustain. Let's just wait for them here. Do you want me to make you some coffee?"
And after Stephanie agreed, Mark sauntered off to the kitchen. She could hear the flipping switch of the electric kettle.
"Steph," Gema's voice called.
A little bit later, Val's voice was heard. The participants of the group call became three again. "I can't find what they are protesting for from any news outlets, but it appears there are organisations consolidating outside the eyes of the government. They demand someone to be punished for the massacre on Memorial Day. Look at the banners!"
Now, Mark showed interest, too. He scooted closer to where Stephanie sat. Both watched the reportage from Gema's camera. Letters in big font and size printed on the banners: Global Government Equals Modern Slavery. The camera panned out, and another banner came into the lens vision. This one said Die of Virus or Die of Slavery?
What slavery? Mark and she looked at each other, confused. She scrolled down the news page, pulling down the dashboard to refresh any news to no avail.
"Can't find it, either," Stephanie and Val confirmed at the same time. "Gem, is the van nearby? Does the driver know he has to turn around so you both can approach it from the back of the tower?"
"Yes, yes. I only needed to hop in this scrubby area, then he will— Oh, shit!" The video on the connection got shaky just like real-time footage of war documentaries. Worry laced his voice, rising the tone up a notch.
"What's happening?" Stephanie hated to admit terror began to creep in her voice. She threw a glance at Mark, who also gave her a side-glance.
"The protesters . . . they are marching my way."
"But they won't hurt you, right? You're wearing the Companion tag that the Wellbeing people suggested?" Based on Val's trembling speech, Stephanie knew his pal's conviction faltered, too.
There was no noise to verify that both Gema and Aluna were okay. But, then, after a few minutes passed, Gema could be heard again panting.
"We're good, we're good. The protesters didn't harm us. They just nodded to us and carried on their way to the main road behind."
Relief sighs echoed through the phone connection. The water was now boiling loudly in the kettle.
"Okay, okay, we're moving outside the tower's perimeter. And we're about to hop over this short iron fence . . ."
It appeared that Gema had put the call on speakerphone since they moved out of Aluna's place because Stephanie could also make out the background noise of the protesters. It was a low hum after Gema mentioned they were about to leave the perimeter.
Stephanie frowned when the background turned noisy again, with the orders to stop, freeze, or show one's hands.
Her heart thumped louder in her ribcage.
"What's wrong?" she caught herself murmuring to the phone. She held her breath.
"The police are chasing the protesters."
"You're wearing your Companion tag, right?" she needed to reassure everyone on the phone. As if it were a miraculous shield.
"Yeah, I, oh, they pass us. They—"
Gunshot. More background noises.
Then after what felt like forever, Aluna's voice heard through, trembling and choked with sobs.
"Hello, Stephanie, Val? Gema was shot. Headshot."