Season of Reckoning
Ordinary People. Extraordinary Abilities.
Real People. Unreal Adventure.

Episode 5 –
The Walls of Jericho
Part One
Written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
Co-directed by: Rebecca Yu, Benedict Almirol, Domz Albao, and Myrtle Antioquia

Previously, on SR…

“Oh. So you’re still hallucinating.”
“It’s like a superpower, man.”
“Everyone likes the pretty girl until she starts to talk.”
“The result is unique perception – seeing sounds as colors.”
“There is now a division which handles superhuman affairs.”
“We’re going to create a bank system that sells superpowers.”

Now, SR continues.
_________________________________________________________

Two Ancers sit at two identical tables, muscles tensed. One of them continues to drip acrylic ever so slightly; the paint dribbles down the cold canvas like blood fresh out of a wound. The other, three-dimensional Ancer drums his fingers on the table, staring grimly at a mug of hot chocolate.
The minute hand on the wall clock across him moves; in the thick silence, it sounds very much like the sky falling. His heart thumps in his chest, and a hopeless mix of panic and fatalism pounds in his ears.
Finally, the doorknob begins to turn.
Ancer glances over at a second painting. His gaze darts across the room, and the prophecy is fulfilled seconds later – several armed men in padded Kevlar armor step onto the dusty wooden floor of his apartment.
“You’re late. You stopped to buy that hotdog, didn’t you?”
Sarcasm welling up in his throat where bravery should’ve been, Ancer rises from his chair. Automatically three stun guns cock into position. Two more paintings by the windows reach completion.
“Don’t know what you want; can’t fight you. I’m just a painter. So…cuff me.”
The intruders circle around Ancer cautiously, boots scraping against the floor. One of them smashes the butt of his gun against the teacher’s head; Ancer’s thin frame goes down all too easily. A second agent bags his head, and another twists his arms behind him to bind.
Desi appears at the doorway, and tacks a notice by the knob.
“And the first has fallen.”
She briskly sweeps through the entire apartment, pulling plugs out of their sockets and switching lights off. Several more men follow close behind, snatching up clothes and personal belongings and tossing them into large, black plastic bags.
“Take the paintings too. All of them.”
Again the minute hand shifts. The room is now empty.

*****

Domz slowly massages his throbbing neck, eyes still glued to the high definition flat screen hoisted upon the wall before him. It was the politician talking – no, rambling – to an eager audience. He could see it in the way they pushed and shoved, the way they strained against gravity to get their microphones nearer his smug, lying grin.
These people were hungry for something. A change, perhaps – any sort of movement. As long as the government was tossing some funding one way or another, as long as they dressed smart and read properly from their Teleprompters, the savagery lying beneath their civilian skins would be assuaged.
Or maybe fed. Domz couldn’t quite decide.
Behind him, Renz swivels around on a cushioned chair, quite pleased with himself.
“What are we doing?” the inventor asks aloud. He keeps his back turned to the row of contraptions lined up on the table behind him. Each weapon was aligned with a file on the corresponding posthuman and their abilities. Domz looks at his hands – pale, calloused, still tingling with anxiety. They’d made those weapons. And in a few hours, they would be using them.
“Creating an establishment in the nation’s best interests,” yawns Renz, repeating his press conference speech verbatim. “We want to protect our regular citizens from the dangers of abilities, which we are now aware of and which we now cannot ignore. At the same time, we want to offer specials a place where they can be protected and where their powers can be catalogued and disciplined.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“It’s half true.”
In the other room, watching them through one-way glass, Yvanne frowns. She puts her phone to her ear, and her teeth graze her lower lip.
Someone picks up.
“Good morning. This is Rika Meyes; you’ve reached the office of Detective Dominic Ecat. How may we help you?”
“I’ve got a job for you.”
“For me?”
“No, I want you to give this job to Mr. Ecat.”
“I have to give Mr. Ecat a…job? He has a job, ma’am. He’s a detective.”
Yvanne’s lips tighten into a flat line, and she mentally goes through her colorful vocabulary of swear words. “Listen here, Rika Meyes. Are you his secretary?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“My name is Yvanne Cuesta, and my younger cousin has gone missing. I’m worried something’s happened to her; it’s been two days since I last saw her. Now, I can’t go through all the details over the phone…”
The banker hastily recites her address and contact numbers, hoping to high heaven that the detective’s answering machine was taking notes. Outside, she can see Domz and Renz rising to meet Desi; she hangs up and pockets her phone.
“Look, Desi,” she begins. “I don’t plan on getting my hands dirty for you. I’ll play along but I certainly won’t be on the frontlines.”
“Fine by me. Do what secretaries do: sit on your ass and wait for the important, significant people to give you orders. You can manage that, can’t you?”
Yvanne rolls her eyes, flipping her hair to one side. Desi laughs.
“I’m joking, Yvannity. Hold down the fort, okay?” she adds mockingly. “The two of you,” she barks, turning on Domz and Renz, “let’s head out.”
The inventor bows his head, and trudges through the door.

*****

The door to the Math Unit swings open, and Ma’am Kiel hastily steps inside. Tailing her are Elise and Chari, who are each carrying a stack of quizzes on trigonometric functions. The three ladies take a seat on the practice bench by the whiteboard.
“So girls,” begins Ma’am Kiel, casually. “Do either of you have dates yet?”
“No,” answers Chari curtly. “Why do you ask, Ma’am?”
“I’m trying to distract you from the scores you’re going to get,” their adviser laughs. She uncaps her favorite pink ballpen, and drags the first unwilling test paper out of the bunch. Lazy scribbles merit no partial points, she decides.
“I feel like a zoo exhibit,” sighs Chari. “Everyone looks like they mean to say something but all I get are dropped jaws and mid-sentence excuses to the bathroom.”
“And Elise?”
“Still waiting for Che,” she says, sticking her tongue out. By now, Chari has learned to read between the shiny teeth; there was a hint of disappointment in those gleaming eyes. But only a hint. “I’m pretty sure he’s more interested in Chari though.”
The new student snaps her fan open, creating a wall between her upturned lips and Elise’s apologetic grin. Her shoulders sag, and she begins to inch away. Ma’am Kiel watches their conversation play out, all the while cataloging scores.
“Hey, I was just joking. You know that kind of stuff doesn’t actually bother me.”
Chari breathes a genuine sigh of relief.
“Sorry. It’s just… I’m used to not getting along well with the other girls.”
“Why’s that?”
Elise twirls her hair, waiting.
“They always think I’m going to steal their boyfriends or something,” Chari replies, laughing nervously. The expression on her face tells Elise she’s remembering something from her previous school. “But I’m not like that. Really. Honestly, I’m not.”
“I believe you,” Elise chirps. “And don’t worry. I’m nothing like those girls.” She sticks her tongue out, winking, and slips her fingers between Chari’s. The newcomer flinches slightly, before warmly gripping her hand. “Relax. And besides. Dad says no boys. So prom’s not looking too bright for me.”
Ma’am Kiel finishes checking Elise’s answer sheet; she stamps a star onto the upper right corner. Chari hesitates, and then leans in to whisper.
“But you like Chester, right? Just making sure.”
“It’s not even that big a deal.” Elise’s voice rolls up and down. “He’s just cool and mature and stuff. And well, let’s be frank – he’s kind of hot.”
The two girls laugh; their math teacher smiles good-naturedly.
“Well, since we’re being frank…” Ma’am Kiel says, clearing her throat. “Chester’s not doing so well. Those recent perfect scores on quizzes and seatworks might not be enough to pull up the rest of his grade. He might not even go to prom, unless he does a total 360.”
“Two pi,” mutters Elise. Again they laugh, but the conversational atmosphere in the room has died down. Suddenly, the bench they are seated on jerks back several tiles, and the girls almost fall off. The table tips over, and to Ma’am Kiel’s horror, all her neatly arranged paperwork scatters onto the floor.
Chari bends over to help her pick them up; something heavy presses against her fingers, and she cries out. Elise feels someone shove against her, but when she pulls apart her curly locks, no one is there. Footsteps echo around the room; abruptly, the door swings open and then slams shut.
“What was that all about?” Ma’am Kiel’s nose wrinkles, and Elise can almost see the scar on her chin throbbing. When they finish putting all the test papers in the proper order, their adviser sighs. “Oh. And one more thing. How is our buddy system working out?”
Elise sticks her tongue out yet again. “No one actually pays attention to that.”
“Well okay then. You’re class president. I’m assigning you, Chari, and I suppose Jethro and Chester, to make friends with Poco. You’ve noticed he’s been quite down recently?”
Chari and Elise exchange looks, then nod.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard his father died. He was…murdered. By a special.”
The newcomer quickly slips her fingers into Elise’s hand again; Elise responds by putting her head on Chari’s shoulder. The scent of strawberries was thick in the air.
“That’s terrible.”
“Well, Poco won’t admit it to you, but it’s clear he needs help adjusting. Talk to him a bit; see if you can distract him from thinking about it. His grades desperately need a boost.”
“I don’t think I can help there,” says Chari. “But I’m sure Jethro and Chester can. They’re just full of happy thoughts. And of course, there’s Elise.”
“Well, good luck with that. I’m going to eat lunch now. Don’t forget, Paskorus practice during your next break. I’ve already bought the blacklights.”
Ma’am Kiel gets up, daintily waves goodbye, and then disappears behind cubicle walls. Chari follows Elise out the door, but not before noticing traces of dust and sand in the cracks between the tiles.

*****

“Are you…nervous?”
Blurring green and gray is all Agent Adre can make of his boss, who appears to be ransacking his own office. Ancient files from missions completed long ago flip through the air as David’s branch-like arms dig deeper and deeper into the growing mess.
“Normally people work at my pace. It’s been a while since I’ve had to worry about being late,” he says roughly, before finally hooking out a lesson plan and several reference books. “The green skin and blatant disregard for teachers’ uniforms is bad enough; I don’t want to push the envelope by being tardy.”
“So you are serious,” breathes Adre. The air is cold against his silver lips; David looks up for a moment and comes face to face with the steel in his eyes.
“Look, Abednego. You’re my right hand man,” he begins, realizing too late what it implies for the war veteran. Adre subconsciously hides his metallic hand in his jacket pocket. “If you give me the thumbs up, then I’ll be sure I’m on the right track. I do deserve some time for myself, don’t I?”
Adre shakes his head, and grasps the doorknob. Before he can open it, David continues.
“But if you’re against my leaving, then I’ll have to take that into consideration.”
“When have you ever needed a second opinion, boss?”
Father JI Bautista throws his large, priestly hands up in surprise as the door swings open. His bowl-cut hair quivers as he shakes his head.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. Although I can’t really help it,” he says, pointing to his ears. “But is it true, what I heard? Are you really leaving the island for good?”
David shoots Adre a look. We’ll talk about it later.
“Something to that effect.”
“Then you won’t mind if I take a permanent leave as well.”
The holy man steps inside, and Adre reluctantly shuts the door. David looks up at the wall clock, and wonders if his students would dare walk out on him. He then turns his attention to the priest, slumped heavily against the sofa.
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want to be a priest anymore,” JI says, quite plainly. “I don’t know how to explain it exactly. All I know is that since all this business with the powers, things have changed and I think… I think I’ve lost a bit of my faith.”
David gives up on the idea of coming to class on time, and instead takes a shifty seat on the arm of the sofa. He thinks back to a recent Company mass, facilitated by JI of course. He’d come, but hadn’t participated in the praise or communion, choosing instead to sit in the pew farthest from the altar. To do some thinking.
Words didn’t seem to hold enough promise for him nowadays, but the fact that the priest was unsure of what to say troubled him. What was a preacher without his gift of tongues?
“You’re a teacher now, so you’ll understand better, yes,” mutters JI, snapping David out of his reverie. “We can’t go around telling people what to believe, can we? Not if we don’t believe it ourselves. Normality, the right way of living, right and wrong… Do you see how these incredible powers have changed all the rules?”
“Rules and people, friend,” coughs Adre.
“I just need some time off. Take away my robes, but give me back my certainty.”
The question comes to David’s parched lips before he can stop himself.
“Aren’t you afraid that God will be angry at you for turning your back on him?”
The Company founder’s heart, pumping sap instead of blood, begins to race. The priest’s superhearing registers this; his palms begin to sweat. He hadn’t thought about that.
“God will forgive me. There’s nothing I can do but trust that, because sadly my heart’s not in this anymore.”
Adre pushes himself off the table, and opens the door deliberately. David cranes his neck to look, and then rises from the sofa. He pulls the priest up; JI’s nose is just on level with the top of his fedora.
“Why don’t you join me and Adre today? Take a walk; be with your people on the outside. And who knows? Perhaps things will have changed by the time we return.”

*****

Domz unsuccessfully attempts to reposition the podium microphone, cringing as it casts earsplitting feedback across the hall. The platoons of soldiers before him all stand straight and still, waiting for him to continue.
“And this,” the inventor says, “is a thick chemical cream I concocted myself. Cover Agent Satorre with this, and the gunk will cause his pores to close, preventing him from using his signature spike projectiles.”
The next slide of his presentation flashes on screen, displaying a handheld weapon similar to a common grocery barcode reader. Domz picks up a replicate lying on a cart before him, and brandishes it with solemn pride.
“You can call this a Cancellation Ray. Since all of Toni Monserrat’s clones carry the same electrical signature, I’ve created something that effectively terminates all of them simultaneously using a counteracting electromagnetic force.”
On the floor above them, Desi’s head slumps onto the plate glass window.
They don’t want to hear about the technical details. Just show them how to point and shoot, Albao.
Months had passed since the horrors of the eclipse, but Desi could still remember exactly the way Iego’s face looked – disappointed, furrowed eyebrows – when he’d told her she’d been booted out of the mission. She hadn’t even been invited to the general assembly, the biggest of all Company meetings to date. The High Executive needed no reasons; at least, not any he could explain to her.
Desi brings a finger down on the PA system.
“Listen up, all of you. Absorb everything Mr. Albao is explaining to you. Internalize. Because tomorrow, there, on the battlefield of the Company Mansion, it’s every man for himself. There’ll be no time to think, no time to question your orders. You will be doing what no special ops team before you has ever done – you will be taking down an entire hive of super powered mutants.”
Renz leans back in his chair, captivated by Desi’s crisp tone.
“And the bad news is, they’ve got the advantage. It’s everything in our power to even the playing field with these weapons. But these hunks of metal are useless if you don’t have the killer instinct.”
The soldiers’ ears stiffen, listening. Domz can just barely see the deadly look on the bank executive’s face as she continues.
“When you attack, don’t hold back. They might look like people, and they will certainly scream like people. But those Company employees are nothing but monsters. Keep the term in mind, soldiers: posthuman. Used to be. Effectively, never were. They are now to be recognized as terrorists, threats to national security. You will be doing your country the greatest service by subduing them. And one last thing. Renz Cabanto and I hereby authorize you to use whatever means necessary to bring them in…alive. Are we clear?”
Thirty rows of trained agents salute in unison, boots crashing down on the ground. Domz throws Desi a disgusted look, shivers running down his spine.
It wasn’t like she wasn’t one of them. And yet here she was, rallying normals against them. Against her own kind.

*****

“Did you find him?”
Company High Executive Rebecca Yu leans forward, the usual cheerfulness in her face absent as her glasses slide along her nose. Her arms are folded rigidly under her, resting on her desk.
Agent Joseph Villas takes a moment to look around the room. Perhaps the proper words could be located on the extensive bookshelves lining the walls, or bobbing up and down on the strangely balanced artifacts on pedestals, ticking and swinging in rhythm.
“Joseph!”
“No, Ma’am,” comes the bitter reply. Already the gentle veterinarian’s feet are itching to speed away. Becca used to be Company sunshine, filling the halls with her merry, spontaneous laughter. In the past few months she had acquired rain clouds instead, and shadows under her glasses.
“But you ran to the weaver, like I asked? Did Aleysha weave you a map?”
“No, Ma’am.” Strike two, Joseph knew. “She was absent from the village as well.”
Becca jolts from her seat, startling the poor agent. The outlines of armor plates were forming on her arms. If Joseph didn’t find a way to diffuse her anger, the High Executive’s office would become a victim of her own armadillo mimicry powers.
“There’s one more thing, Ma’am.”
“Yes?”
“Ancer is gone as well. I took the liberty of dropping by his house. There was a notice tacked to the door, and all of his belongings were gone.”
Agent Villas hands Becca the brittle letter, written in exquisite cursive.
“What? Extended and indefinite leave? Our contract says we must be made aware of all major travel affairs, doesn’t it?”
“I think so.”
In her fury, Becca’s back begins to arch. She was disturbingly close to rolling into her destructive ball form.
“First my Uncle Jacob. Then the weaver. And now Ancer. Where are all our human resources going?”
Trillions of thoughts race through the speedster’s mind in the time it takes for the second hand of the wall clock to move. Becca was being…overprotective? Was that the word for it? Keeping a hawk’s eye on the few remaining recruits and allies… Since the Icarus Incident and Iego’s mysterious departure, the Company had been shrinking in size.
Soon they probably wouldn’t even be called the Company. Something smaller, more suitable. Like…The Group. Or The Friends.
Deafening siren wails echo through the corridors, snapping both specials back to the present. Blinding orange and red lights fill the room, blinking in warning.
Someone was approaching the island.
“Maybe it’s an airline or shipping vessel?” offers Joseph.
“But then the alarm wouldn’t have sounded.”
High Executive Rebecca marches out into the hallway, the agent at her heels.
“Get up on the roof and ask the surveillance team – all Tenten’s – for a visual. Then rouse all of our agents. The ones that are left, anyway. And get David.”
Delivering bad news was so unfortunate. Joseph hated that part of his job, having to be the storm bringer when the chips were already down. He sighs, and speaks.
“David’s not here, Bex. He…went to school.”

*****

Everything was happening in slow motion. Becca could even see Joseph’s footsteps as he dashed up the stairs; the intervals between flickering neon red and orange seem to stretch into eternities. Her legs are made of lead now, and several tons of anxiety pile onto her shoulders.
She makes her way down the grand entrance staircase, eyes deftly meeting Myrtle’s, which were growing with fear. She could see fingers twitching, legs ready to give way and bolt. She knows that it takes extreme danger for the other High Executive’s animal instinct to override her human reasoning.
Agents scurry past her, left and right, preparing for confrontation. Still, all of them seemed to be wading, wading, wading, hopelessly slow, through a viscous mix of panic and urgency.
The intruders to the island were already at their doorstep.
Rows of windows above them dim as massive silhouettes block out the sunlight. The mind-numbing drone of helicopter propellers fills the mansion, and the ground begins to quake. The glass shatters, simultaneously, as military raiders break through to the front lobby.
The ancient oak double doors tower over them for fractions of a second more, before being blown apart completely. Fire sears through the cracks, and smoke floods the hall. Grappling hooks and rappel lines fall from the sky like rain. Like ants overwhelming their quarry, soldiers spill in from all sides, encircling the two Company Executives.
Once more, the Company was under siege. But this time, there had been no warning.