Gregory heard Adonis singing. He closed his eyes and let the memory wash over him. Adonis had been strumming the guitar and singing, a sly grin on his beautiful face,
"You say you love me
You say you care
And as long as I'm with you
You conquer your fears
And when you hold me
My imagination runs free
"Someday, I want to see you
start a business of your own
Someday, we'll buy a small house
A place with daisies
and an amazing pool
We'll have two kids
a daughter and a son
We'll hug them and kiss them
"We will never beat them
or stomp their hearts with our words
'Cause when they have dreams
we'll cheer them on
"And someday
we'll raise them to be humble
To be kind
They'll say please and thank you
And when you're down
they'll make you smile."
Adonis stopped, regarded Gregory with a smile, and said, "And that's all I've written."
Gregory had asked, "When can I hear the whole thing?"
"I don't know. I think I'll finish it when I meet someone that I love deeply."
"You want to have children someday?"
A brief silence, then Adonis asked, "Don't you?"
Gregory had walked over to Adonis and had taken the acoustic guitar. "Show me how to play."
He had known how to play the guitar. He had taken private lessons because he had known Adonis liked music, and he had wanted to share the boy's interests. But he had pretended to be dumb because he had wanted an excuse to get closer to Adonis.
Adonis' eyes had sparkled with excitement. The boy had leaned towards Gregory, giving him a whiff of his sweet perfume. The miniature concert had happened a year before, but even then, Gregory had had the urge to hug Adonis and kiss him. Yet, he had restrained himself.
As the memory faded, warm tears raced down the side of Gregory's face. He was confused and lost. He had no idea what was going on. He didn't know why the soldiers had taken him. Did someone rat him out? Not Jonas—it couldn't be Jonas. The car stopped and dropped on the pavement; they didn't bother to give him a gentle landing. Gregory's head hit the car's floor. His head ached in protest. He couldn't see much other than the bright spotlights that lit up the inside of the compound. His body stiffened; he worried he might never leave this place again. He would never get to fix his relationship with his friends— neither Jonas nor Adonis.
How could everything go wrong so quickly?
Gregory missed his brother terribly. His tears wouldn't stop flowing. He hadn't cried since that day in the forest with Adonis. But now, no one was there to hold him, and he was aware of how lonely he felt. The car doors opened, and he was pulled out. His bare feet touched the pavement, and he was marched into the centermost building between two soilders. He stumbled along as they held his arms.
Panicking, he scanned his surroundings. There were men with snipers hidden behind the narrow windows of the guard towers. He was half-carried, half-dragged up the steps into the building. It was dimly lit inside; a few bulbs hung on strings. The floor was cement; its roughness annoyed his feet. They pulled him through a small brown door.
He was surprised to see Raya and her parents talking to an old man in a green suit. They sat at a long table; Raya and her parents on one side, the stranger on the other. The stranger dismissed them. Raya left the room with her head bowed; she didn't meet Gregory's gaze. A cold chill ran down his spine. He got a strong feeling that she had betrayed him. He cursed her in his head. He had tried to protect her, and she had turned him in. Loyalty was dead. The stranger nodded, and the two soldiers forced him into one of the metal folding chairs.
He didn't resist. They had guns; he was emptyhanded and poorly dressed for combat. He was cold. The temperature had dropped steeply overnight, and ever so often, he got the urge to shudder. But he would not appear weak in front of them. He put on his best cold face, sealing his emotions. The stranger smoked an e-cigarette, blew the smoke at Gregory; Gregory held his breath as the cloud passed.
The man had white hair and wrinkled skin. He sat with the rigid, upright posture of a well-disciplined man; he held three folders on his desk. He opened the first and turned it to face Gregory. There was a picture of him—his height, weight, accomplishments, schooling were all written down. There was also a record of his chat history with his friends and brother.
The man smoked without addressing Gregory or introducing himself. His silence was meant to intimidate, but Gregory showed no sign of being pressured by it. He stared blankly at the stranger. He didn't speak; he waited for the man to state his transgressions. Gregory assumed innocence until he was proven guilty. He didn't want to say the wrong thing and worsen his situation.
The stranger chuckled. "Aren't you calm? Is that a good or bad sign? Perhaps, you have perfected the art of lying, and we shouldn't trust a single word you say. I trust you have heard about the no-kill movement. Funny thing how that movement started, don't you think? Someone sent this flyer to hundreds of thousands of accounts on social media." He flipped through pages of chat records to show the flier that Adonis had made. It was a good, powerful piece. Every parent—Gregory thought of his own and corrected himself— every good parent tried to protect their kids. The flier appealed to that protective instinct. That was why it had spread so fast. Unfortunately, his parents felt no connection to him and didn't try to protect him or warn him of the soldiers arrival. They hadn't given him an opportunity to run. Now, Gregory was trapped.
Standing and turning his back to Gregory, the old man asked, "How much money do you think Relar makes?"
Silence.
The man answered his own question, saying, "Billions. It's a vast network. Relar has its own bank, clothing line, posters, toys, video games." He paused to let that sink in, and drummed his fingers on his thigh, before asking, "You know what I don't understand? Why do kids like yourself try to change something that functions perfectly?"
Gregory thought, 'If it were perfect, we wouldn't try to change it."
The man turned around and thumped his fist on the desk. Gregory didn't flinch. The man said, "We have Britain and America riding our asses, telling us to make killing in Relar illegal or they'll boycott the program. The greedy bastards sponsored us when we were hot, but now that we are controversial, they are taking the sides of the protestors. They are demanding that we make killing and rape illegal."
He tapped the flier and glared at Gregory. "This flier started everything. Whoever did it was a damn good programmer and bypassed a lot of security measures to get this thing out there. The trouble is we can't find out who created the program. You know Raya, don't you?"
Gregory stayed silent.
The man smiled, crow's feet lining the edges of his eyes. "Well, she knew you and said that you coerced her into sending an email to others, trying to get them to join a revolution. She said you and your friends want to overthrow the government."
Gregory kept his composure. He had expected something like that; he had trusted her because their brothers had been friends. When he had decided to back out, it had been too late. The line had already been cast. And he had been hooked. He could deny everything and tell the man the truth, but that would get Raya and her parents into trouble. It would make his brother sad because Chris loved the girl and her parents like they were his own family. Chris was loved by everyone; he was a socialite. He was a good person—loved and adored by all.
Gregory was.... Well, Gregory wasn't sure what he was, but he knew he wasn't Chris.
Not getting a proper reaction from Gregory was starting to annoy the man. He scowled, his jovial demeanor disappearing. The man said, "You know what happens to people that go against the Lanc family."
"They die?"
"Very good." The man smiled. "The military's job is to keep the peace. We have to get rid of people like you who threaten the peace. But you will get what you want." The man opened a second folder that showed Chris smiling. Again, Gregory didn't react. The guy continued, "Losing your brother must have been painful. On the bright side, you succeeded where he has failed—assuming that you had something to do with this poster, and even if you don't, you plotted against the government and that's good enough for us to hold you here. Now, I'm a small fry. I'm a minor army commander, responsible for conveying messages from the higher up."
He opened the third folder.
The first image made the room spin; Gregory felt nauseous. Bile crawled up his throat, but he held it back. "He had nothing to do with it," he said. "Don't involve him in this."
"Handsome lad," The man said, tapping the picture of Adonis, "Rumored to be gay—hard to be gay in this century. Too many laws against them." He pushed aside the photo to show others; Jonas, Louis, Deo, Achilles, Jonas' and Louis' female cousins, and a few people Gregory had never seen before. "As you can see, these are your friends and your friends' friends. We'll let Raya go; we believe she is innocent. You know how girls are easily manipulated by strong, attractive men. You, on the other hand, are thoroughly rotten, and so are your accomplices. I've been told to tell you that the next Relar game will be different, but entertaining.
"There will be no killing, no rape, you guys get what you want with a twist; it will be a fun twist, I assure you, whoever made the flier has changed the game forever. If it's not you, whoever made it, will get to watch you suffer for the mess they created. And you know good people like yourself can't handle guilt well. It drives you mad when people die because of you."
Gregory tried to change the guy's mind. He couldn't let his friend's suffer for his mistakes. "These guys have nothing to do with this, okay? I made the flier. I'll take full responsibility for whatever I did."
The man held up his hand, squinting. "I don't think you did it. But since you are so quick to take the blame— the culprit isn't some random guy out there, are they? No, they're someone you know, and they are probably in the folder. Someone did the dirty work on your behalf. Maybe Deo—CEO, at 14. That's quite impressive— man of many talents. His parents are neutral; they don't necessarily support the government, but they don't oppose it either. But you don't text him, and he doesn't text you.
"The two of you do have a mutual friend though. Adonis. Skipped a lot of classes, but got excellent grades for someone who missed a hundred days of school —high eighties in everything, except gym—. Must be smart. His teachers have reported that a few days before graduation, the grades on his report card changed to ninety and above the night before they were supposed to send it out.
"They assumed, he or someone he knew, hacked into the system. This was the same guy you sent a text to the day the flier was sent out. 'I'm outside.' Then a few hours later. 'I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me. Please forgive me.' The fliers were sent out around that time. Aside from you, he had no contact with anyone else.
"I suppose there are ways of contacting people without being traced: burn phones, encryption software, etc. I wonder what would happen if we seized his devices. But if he is a pro, he will delete any trace of infringement, so we won't find anything. If he's not— and I highly doubt that is the case— we'll catch him.
"On the other hand, you seem to care about him a lot. You text him more than anyone else. Lots of hearts being sent in the texts from both of you, so maybe you're more than friends, and you would give up everything for him. Take the blame on his behalf. But as Raya said, you were planning to overthrow the government with your friends. That poses a threat to society, and I've been given permission to take disciplinary measures against you and them."
Gregory paled; he should have stayed quiet. His friends and a few strangers were only suspected because they knew Gregory, the soldiers had no hard evidence to chain them to what had happened. They were looking for someone to punish. Someone to make an example out of.
The old man said, "Fidel is forgiving. So, the punishment for this will simply be surviving the next season of Relar. If you survive, we'll let you go. Nothing will be written on your criminal record, and we hope this will be an experience you and your friends will learn from."
Gregory would protect his friends if it killed him. He jumped up, sending the chair flying. He was halfway across the table when someone yanked his leg. His chin hit the table, and he tasted blood; he had bit his tongue. He cursed. The two soldiers were on him, pulling him away from the commander and throwing him on the ground. He screamed; it was raw, it was unnatural, it was powerful. To people like Fidel, lives were nothing but toys for them to play with. Someone pressed their knee against his back, forcing his head against the cement. "I'll kill you. I'll kill you!" Gregory shouted.
The man laughed. "Go ahead and try." He said to his soldiers, "Sedate him and throw him in the cell till it's time."
A needle pricked Gregory's neck. He could feel the drug entering his system, spreading unhindered. His muscles relaxed; his anger dissipated under the assault of drowsiness. His eyelids grew heavy and closed. The soldiers carried his limp, unconscious body between the two of them as the commander watched.
***