"Repent, my friends, or this nation will face judgment!" The shabby man cried, his voice carrying across the courtyard in a booming baritone. But the crowd ignored him, making their distaste for his message known.

"A terrible crisis is coming. The Sovereign has observed this country's sin and reached the limit of His tolerance. In forty days, the Union of Peoples shall collapse!" the shabby man continued. Yet, hardly anyone showed interest in his threat.

"Like I was saying, Roc, a fantastic new store downtown opened up last week. They say it can fulfill your heart's desire."

"Huh?" Rocke said, dragging himself away from the odd man's dire pronouncements. "Sorry, miles away. What were you saying?"

"Still broken up about Jafia dumping you? With these robots, terrible ex-girlfriends are a thing of the past! With these new AI bots, who needs romance? They can fulfill any desire you wish, and without the mess that comes with real girlfriends."

"But it's fake," Rocke said, sipping at his soda. At this hour, the outdoor café bustled with activity, conversation chattering from each table. Girls in tastefully revealing skirts served patrons with forced smiles, wishing they could be elsewhere. "It's not real. Can some AI replace real relationships?"

But his friend only rolled his eyes. "Please. Who doesn't want a girl you can switch off whenever she gets annoying?"

"That's why you're still single, Marsh." His friend's comment had earned dirty looks from the servers. Rocke feared they might spit in Marsh's drink when he wasn't looking. 

Marsh wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Not any longer."

"The citizens of the UOP have become selfish, insular, caring little beyond their own desires," the soothsayer said, as if responding to Marsh's words. "Their pride will bring their own destruction. After several great disasters, the Vanderfall will devastate our great city of Vladus, leaving not a brick standing. The Demons will emerge from its remains and rule this land, so declares the Sovereign."

This pronouncement drew further ire of the soothsayer's audience, earning angry muttering from the crowd.

"The Vanderfall will be our reckoning? The Demons ruling our land? Repent? What nonsense." Marsh's face twisted into an ugly scowl. "The UOP is the greatest nation on the planet! None can match our technology, or military might. You expect us to believe Vanderfall is going to destroy us?" Similar mockery came from the crowd, many turning more hostile as the doomsayer continued.

"I'm saying this to save our great nation. I love the UOP as much as anyone. But unless you repent, it will face the Sovereign's judgment!" The soothsayer kept his tone calm and reasonable, trying to calm his audience's temper. 

"Traitor. Vanderfall sympathizer!" a member of the café's staff said. "We crushed them to tiny pieces years ago. They're not a threat to anyone." It was true. They'd defeated the western kingdom ten years ago. Their economy hadn't come close to recovering yet.

"Demons ruling over us?" His friend rolled his eyes.

"Um, I'm pretty sure they prefer to be called the Olomon," Rocke said weakly. That was their ancient name from millennia past, but they'd earned the Demon nickname because of their naturally fearsome appearance. The Ottomon people have suffered since the UOP displaced them two centuries ago.

The prophet didn't flinch as people threw harsh curses in his direction, some even tossed cans and litter at him. Much to Rocke's astonishment, the prophet continued with his message.

"Repent, o Union of Peoples, or judgment will come upon you. So the Sovereign has spoken."

"Forget him," Marsh scoffed. "Nobody believes in the Sovereign anymore. Any thinking being knows he's only a fairy story. Anyway, Roc, we must go to that AI store. I know what kind of girl you like." His friend made exaggerated curves with his hands.

"No. Besides, I bet Jafia and I can work our relationship out."

"Now you're making impossible predictions of the future." His friend rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Your loss."

"Just don't bring your girlbot anywhere near my room." Rocke shivered in disgust.

As they left the café, Rocke turned back to the prophet as he continued his unpopular message. Someone had thrown paint into his face, smearing it red. Yet, despite this abuse, the soothsayer continued his prophesying. Rocke pitied for the man. Sovereign worshipers were a rarity these days, almost a dead religion. The poor man must realize that his faith would soon go extinct. Yet, he admired the prophet's courage. Few would suffer such humiliation for their faith. Still, Rocke tossed aside the man's dire pronouncements from his mind, ignoring the scorn thrown in the man's direction.

Cars zipped above them as they returned to their apartment building. With Rocke still in college, Marsh had insisted they live together as roommates to save money, a decision that Rocke regretted. While his old friend was a decent guy, he often got into trouble.

Rocke welcomed the gentle breeze as the late spring heat rose to an uncomfortable level. He pulled at his collar, hoping to relieve some heat. Despite the temperature, it was a nice day. Vladus was as beautiful as ever, its towering ivory buildings reaching high into the stars. 

The city showcased the world's highest buildings, each with a unique design by top architects. The city officials seemed eager to outdo themselves with each consecutive building project. They passed an exosuit as it helped lift a steel beam into position for the latest skyscraper. On the project sign, it boasted a 3000-foot building, a masterclass of engineering brilliance. With the UOP's economy booming to new heights, the city had plenty of cash to spare. Everyone in Vladus was prosperous.

Marsh gestured towards a woman in tattered clothes, begging on a street corner, shaking his head. "Look at that." 

But Rocke's assessment of the city's prosperity wasn't completely correct. Some citizens lived in less appealing circumstances. Society commonly relegated the often maligned Olomon to the city's lower, less appealing reaches. It wasn't their fault. Society didn't offer them enough opportunities.

The beggar woman appeared exhausted, likely from working long hours in the factories. Since the government didn't care what rates lowly workers received, many factory workers barely scraped by. Many were homeless, like this woman.

"A copper for your trouble?" Despite her clothes' shabbiness, the Ottomon's tribal tattoo shone with color, a rainbow of swirling patterns that stretched across her skin. Her orange eyes pleaded Rocke for mercy.

"Here." Rocke slipped two coppers into a cup as he walked by, avoiding eye contact.

"Why give her anything?" Marsh asked, his voice a bit too loud. "You know she'll only spend it on booze."

"She still needs help," Rocke replied stiffly.

"Well, alright," Marsh said, somewhat exasperated.

"Thanks," the beggar girl said, head down. But Rocke noticed the scorn behind her hooded eyes.

"Now that's over, we have a party to plan," Marsh said, throwing an arm around his friend.

"A party?" Rocke said as they walked away. "I have class tomorrow morning."

"Bah, you're smart enough. What's a missed class or two? Besides, I can contrive for Jafia to come."

"Okay, now that's a terrible idea if I've ever heard one." They'd both agreed they wanted some space to think things out. 

"Then just find another babe then! One with bigger boobs!"

Rocke only laughed and shook his head at his friend's antics. His constant skirt chasing was infamous. "Okay, just a small party. Four people max."

"Perfect, you won't regret this!"

"I already am."

"Change!" The Olomon woman said, giving hopeful smiles to passersby. But like Marsh friend, no one seemed interested in helping her. Their looks were contemptuous, wondering why she dared bother them. Rocke sighed and slunk away, trying to put the incident out of his mind.

While modest, their apartment had impressive living space, almost a three-room apartment for the price of one. Its style was modern and sleek, with furniture that was all lines and angles. Cars zipped past their windows, but the soundproof glass made them almost inaudible. He'd need to once again thank his uncle next time he saw him for setting them up with this place. With this and the job at his company once he finished business school, Rocke was pretty much set for life. The building boasted a shopping complex on the 16th floor below them. It even had a miniature water park.

His friend fussed about making their place presentable for their guests. Rocke helped, swiftly checking for misplaced laundry or trash on the carpeted floor.

"I thought you wanted a robot girl? Why are you fussing about impressing a real one?" Rocke asked wryly.

"Hey, I can have both. Besides, maybe I can convince her to share a bed with both of us," Marsh waved his eyebrows suggestively. 

"Now that is science fiction. It's never going to happen, dude."

"Hey, a guy can dream!" Marsh perked up as the doorbell rang. "They're here early, perfect!"

"Hey, how's it going?" His friend said as he answered the door, all cool confidence.

"What a lovely place!" A girl Rocke didn't recognize said. The blond man whose head almost scraped across the ceiling with arms the thickness of tree trunks accompanying her, Rocke did recognize. 

"Yeah, sweet digs." The man said, taking Rocke's hand in a firm handshake.

"Joven! It's been too long!" Rocke said, pleased. "Who's your friend?"

"Marty!" The woman said, shaking his hand next. "His fiancée."

"You're getting married? Congratulations!" Rocke said, pleased his old high school pal had found someone special.

"And so, partying! Let's drink until we're blacked out drunk," Joven said, laughing.

But Rocke coughed. "Class tomorrow."

"Ah, you worry too much," Joven said, dismissing his friend's concerns. He beamed as four more guests arrived. Rocke recognized only a few of them.

"A small party, huh?" Rocke sighed as three more people followed Joven into his apartment. Marsh did nothing in half measure. He hoped his place wouldn't get too trashed. The situation had escalated. Rocke's only choice was to ride it out.

---

"Like I said, I'm gonna be a big shot!" Joven said, bursting into uproarious laughter.

"Big shot!" His fiancée echoed with enthusiasm. She pawed over Joven's massive chest in a way that made Rocke distinctly uncomfortable.

"Oh?" Rocke said, sipping at his beer. Somehow, he'd resisted the urge to over indulge. The alcohol had given him a pleasant buzz but nothing more.

"My uncle's the chief of police. Promised me I'd go far in the force." Joven's drink sloshed onto the floor, making Rocke wince as it landed on his plush carpet. "I can do whatever I please without repercussions."

"Hm, sure," Rocke said, uninterested. He watched the other partygoers who packed his place. Marsh hadn't exactly been truthful about only calling a few friends.

The party dragged long into the night. People had already passed out on the floor, creating a messy scene. Rocke wobbled, eager to get to bed, but his friends insisted on continuing.

"Perfect!" Joven said as he checked his phone. "I gotta surprise!"

"Can't it wait 'til morning?" Rocke said, yawning. Morning classes had long fled his mind, only caring about sleep.

"No! It'll be great. You'll love this surprise!" Joven said, more insistent.

"Must come, you must. You'll love it!" His fiancée added.

When it seemed clear the bigger man wouldn't relent, Rocke agreed. "Fine. Lead the way."

After retrieving a passed-out Marsh, they entered Joven's car and flew to the special surprise. Thanks to the self-driving option, nobody had to drive drunk. Much to Rocke's confusion, they arrived at the Southside Bridge. The night's clouds cloaked everything in a near-impenetrable darkness.

"Why are we here, exactly?" Rocke asked, glancing around. Beyond a red sports car, the area seemed deserted. The Freshka River seemed eerily calm, its surface like polished glass.

"Got what you wanted!" A curly-haired man wearing a red jacket said, waving. He beamed as they approached.

"Carv! Did nobody see you?" Joven asked.

"None! I doubt anyone would care, anyway." The other man replied.

"What's going on?" A bleary-eyed Marsh said.

"Just taking care of some unpleasantness. I'm sure you've seen him around town. I thought it'd be nice to take care of him." Joven said, showing the white of his teeth.

"What are you…" Rocke's heart stopped as a familiar face emerged from the sports car's trunk. While gagged and battered, he'd recognize him anywhere. It was the prophet from earlier that morning.

"What is this?" Rocke said, his heart beating painfully in his chest.

"You heard him, didn't you? He said that our great UOP would fall. He said demons would rule over our country, Promised disasters if we didn't repent!" Joven said, his voice full of contempt. "So we're taking care of him. The fun way." From his car's trunk, he pulled out several baseball bats.

"I'll leave you to it. Have fun!" Carv said before getting into his car and flying away.

"You can't be serious," Rocke said, his voice tiny. "You're not planning on murdering him, right?"

"And why not?" Joven's fiancée said, taking a bat and throwing an experimental swing. While drunk, it still had enough power to do serious damage.

"And my uncle's chief of police. We won't get into trouble. Besides, he ordered this," Joven said. "He wanted this disruptive rabble dealt with."

Rocke stared in open mouth shock. While the prophet's eyes were terrified, he composed himself to die with at least some dignity.

"He's a prophet of the Sovereign. This isn't a good idea." Rocke said, sobering up quickly. "Right, Marsh?"

However, his friend withdrew, refusing to meet his gaze. He didn't dare to stand up against this.

"The Sovereign, really?" Joven said, his voice full of mockery. "You expect some fairy story to strike us down? Throw deadly plagues against us like the ancient stories? No one believes that junk anymore!"

"It still shouldn't be done." Whether the Sovereign existed didn't matter. He needed to save this man's life. Rocke glared at them defiantly.

But Joven only roughly thrust a baseball bat into Rocke's hand. "What? Are you a traitor too? Think carefully before you say anything else stupid."

"Who cares?" Joven's fiancée added. "He's just some hobo. Nobody will miss him."

Rocke stared at the heavy wooden bat like it was a poisonous serpent. They weren't serious about hurting this poor man, right? But Rocke saw the violence sparkling in Joven's eyes.

The blood rushed through Rocke's ears, the hand gripping the bat trembling uncontrollably. He watched as Joven smashed his weapon into the soothsayer's chest, the poor man howling in pain behind his gag. Another smack, and Rocke swore he'd heard bone cracking.

"Come on, Rocke! Join the fun!" Joven said, laughing. "Prove to me you're a patriot! Whether you like it or not, you're involved now. And if anyone learns of this? I'll swear it was your idea! You might as well enjoy the fun!"

Again and again, Joven enacted his cruelty on his helpless victim. His fiancée laughed as she joined the show. Even Marsh reluctantly helped with the beating. Only Rocke stood stuck rigidly to his spot, sweat pooling in his palms, gripping his bat hard enough to hurt. This was wrong! Someone had to do something. The pleading look in the prophet's eyes would haunt Rocke's nightmares.

Something inside Rocke snapped. Before he knew it, he stood above a cowering Joven, blood dripping from a nasty wound on the other man's head. His friend pleaded for mercy, but Rocke only struck him harder. Everyone else just watched in paralyzed shock. When Rocke was heaving ragged breaths as he finished.

"Roc, what have you done?" Marsh said, his voice quiet as he stared at the bloody remains of Joven's face.

"I didn't mean to." Rocke dropped his cracked, bloody bat. This couldn't be real. He'd never do such a thing. This must be a nightmare. Joven's fiancée screamed, and Rocke realized he needed to escape.

He lifted a leg to flee, but a hand stopped him. It was the soothsayer. While battered and bruised, he was still alive. In the struggle, the gag had gotten torn from his mouth. "Please, help me."

Not knowing what he was doing, he pulled the injured man to his feet. The prophet was surprisingly light, and he dragged him to Joven's car. Marsh and Joven's fiancée only stared at him, dumbfounded, before rushing over to Joven. His friend was already calling emergency services.

Marsh glared daggers at him, hate blazing in his eyes. They called his friend a coward. Already unlocked, Rocke gripped the steering wheel hard as they zipped away. Hopefully, if he ran far enough, the nightmare would end.