Super Strontium

Season of Reckoning - Episode 10

2010-12-26T07:47:00.000-08:00

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

Episode 10 – Generation Gap
Written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
Co-directed by: Jacob Madrid, Candy Dacalos, Rebecca Yu

Previously, on SR…
It wasn’t that Poco didn’t like Ma’am Kiel as an adviser; he only wished that she didn’t keep on wading waist-high into everyone’s issues.
“I’m warning you now; anything less than a perfect score in the periodic exam will get you a 2.75 in my class.”
“I’m hardcore, and stronger than you’ll ever be.”
“Believe it or not, I care about you, ‘cuz, so I’m going to do what’s best for you. I am a grown-up, and grown-ups need to make tough decisions. I didn’t want to have to do this.”
“Yvanne, Domz, Renz – you all have something in common; you all need cash. The secretary, the budding inventor, the politician in the running.”
Now, SR continues.
______________________________________________________________________________

Desi taps her fingers impatiently on her desk as her expensive mahogany office door eases open. A snowy white head, not unlike that of a polar bear, peeps in through the crack.
“May I come in?”
“You’re already letting the air-conditioning out into the hallway,” she replies briskly.
The plush tiger-coat carpet on the floor rustles as Domz makes his way toward her desk. He sets down a small red package before his boss, crudely wrapped in white ribbon, and then places his weekly report beside it.
“This covers all the testing results we’ve gathered. Operation Black Market should be up and running by the New Year if all goes well, Ma’am. Open your Christmas present,” he adds, with a sheepish grin.
“It’s the second week of December,” Desi says, rolling her eyes. She does take the gift though, nimbly untying the ribbon. The box falls apart to reveal a small potted plant, tiny green leaves bobbing up and down on a stump of a stem. “This is the most hideous paperweight I’ve ever seen.”
Domz laces his callous fingers together, twiddling his thumbs. Desi’s eyebrows flatten into a straight line, and the wall clock, gilded gold and silver, ticks through the silence.
“What do you want?”
“I was kind of hoping to ask for an official leave. For Christmas.”
“Evil doesn’t go on holiday, Albao. What could possibly be more important than working for me and doddering around your precious lab equipment?”
Domz fishes a small white handkerchief out of his pocket, and dabs at some beads of sweat on the side of his head. He begins to turn a bright cherry color, which Desi finds disgusting.
“Out with it, Domz.”
“I have to go see my father. He’s in town for a while and we haven’t spoken in months.”
A peculiar feeling washes over Desi as she sits and stares blankly at her technological consultant. She twirls a fountain pen in her hands, and remembers her own father.
Mr. Mina. CEO of the largest banking establishment in the entire country. All these flashes – her sitting on his lap, him at her graduation party, and that tie he was always wearing. Those stupid golf club designs embroidered on it.
She was always forced to stare at them when he lectured her.
“Ma’am?”
“Get out of my sight, Domz. Be back after the New Year. This is not a paid absence, do you understand? Go and see your father.”
The inventor nearly leaps out of his seat with joy. His childish excitement begins to cause Desi an acute headache. “Thank you, Ma’am! Have a Merry Christmas!”
“It’s only the second week of December!” she yells after him, as he speeds out the door. She snaps open her desk drawer, and frowns as she tosses her father’s fountain pen inside.

*****

“Good morning, Chester.”
Rubbing the sand out of his eyes, the dormer yawns and tries to take inventory of his early morning surroundings. He couldn’t be in class yet, but somehow Ma’am Kiel’s voice was drifting into his ears. He knew the tone all too well; it was preppy, calm, and dangerous, all at the same time.
He stops at the bottom of the staircase, and grasps the ends of his towel, slung over his neck. His adviser has made herself comfortable on the pale lime couch sitting in front of the reception desk. “You know what they say, Ma’am. Trespassers get shot,” he grunts, looking up to the badly drawn sign hung over the doorway. Boys’ Residence Hall – Main. “Survivors get shot again.”
Ma’am Kiel rises to full height, primly straightening out her blouse. She stands right under Chester’s nose, and hands him a folder full of review material.
“I just thought you’d like to be reminded that you need a perfect score on your periodic exam this week, or you’ll flunk my course. I trust you spent the weekend in tedious preparation.” As she says this, she smiles. Preppy. Calm. Dangerous.
Chester looks back on the last two days. The wild and intoxicating atmosphere of the November Carnival. How the stars seemed to twinkle brighter under their cloudless sky. He was preparing, alright. Just not for the exams.
He thanks his teacher, and tossing the material carelessly aside, he picks up his bathroom kit and walks toward the back of the hall. Ma’am Kiel stops him, though, before he gets very far.
“It’ll be harder for you, of course. With your powers and all,” she sighs.
“Discriminating against me just because I’m a special will get you sued,” Chester answers, teeth grit. There was some talk in his last Social Studies class – or the last one he was awake in, anyway – about a new government organization created to handle posthuman affairs.
“That’s not what I meant,” Ma’am Kiel snaps, just as Jethro, Elise, and Chari appear at the entrance. Poco trots down the stairs in a plain white shirt and some old shorts. “Your friends are here to see you.”
Chester swings around, snatching his backpack from beside the pingpong table. He yanks the zipper open and rummages through the contents, finally tossing Jethro a dowsing rod. It was tipped in topaz and painted gold, a relic exactly like his.
“Carnival souvenir,” he adds, catching Chari’s eye. They take a moment to share a sweet look, before Chester asks the other four to breakfast at the cafeteria.
“Don’t forget your brown enve-” Ma’am Kiel begins to say, but her students walk past her into the lobby. She sees Jethro laugh at a joke Chester cracks, and Chari lay her head on his shoulder, and Poco and Elise following quietly behind. She pauses for a moment, absorbing the scenario.
“Hey,” she cries, anger in her eyes. “Chester, I’ve tried to be patient with you. All I want is for you to pass this quarter. But you’re just pushing me to my limits. As your adviser, it’s my job to make decisions for your own good, so listen carefully – all of you.” Here she turns to his friends. “You are not to get anywhere near him this week. Give him space to organize his thoughts and prepare on his own. No Paskorus practice, no Paskoncert practice, and no playing hooky!”
Elise, Jethro, and Chari each flinch in turn. Poco shrugs and mutters, “Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh, Ma’am?”
“Hardly. If I see any one of you so much as say a single word to him all this week, I’m going to send you all to the Discipline Office. You’ll thank me for this Chester; I promise you that you will.”
The other four bite their lips and wait for Chester to react. He does the last thing anyone expects him to. He laughs.
Chester leans back, throwing his hands up in disbelief. His jaw muscles grind and lock, and he hisses as he sucks in air, sputtering pieces of terrible, broken laughter. He kicks the bathroom door open, and glaring at Ma’am Kiel – at all of them – he slams it shut.

*****

There was something missing from the PSHS Ilocos oval on that day, David thought. Even as he stood on the roof of the Science and Humanities Building, watching Chester and his friends take off in different directions from the dorms, he licked his lips and thought.
December winds were whipping through the acacias, and their leaves were an ocean of variegated green and brown shades. He listened to them whispering, about something coming. Some catastrophe, a terrible uprising that would lead to the destruction of the school.
Perhaps that was merely the wild imaginings of a troubled mind.
Poinsettia, chuckles David, taking his fedora off. His thick, vine-like hair falls over his muted eyes as he raises his gloved hands toward the field, concentrating.
The ground begins to tremble; something is pushing, wriggling through the earth, breaking into the open air. Tiny stems erupt through the soil, twisting and coiling as they grow toward the sun. Their roots take hold, and their leaves unfurl, and soon, little buds start to sprout.
David exhales, and the rim of the field explodes with brilliant Christmas red – hundreds of flowers swaying left and right amongst the blades of grass. The students walking around on the asphalt squeal with delight, and some astonished cries travel across the field.
A blast of wind to his right alerts him to Jowi’s arrival.
“The soccer team won’t like that at all.”
“How did you get up here?” David asks, smiling. He didn’t think he was going to see Jowi again, after what happened under the bridge.
“I ran up the side of the building,” says Jowi, beaming. “Came to deliver some news. Captain Adre and the others are planning to intercept The Establishment. They’ve gotten word of Desi’s plans somehow and are mobilizing.”
“How? I can count the number of fugitives who can fight on one branch.” Just as he says this, David’s grin collapses. “Well, it doesn’t matter. If Adre’s leading the charge, they’re going to be okay.”
The biology teacher turns toward the field again, and stokes his chin. A strong gust causes his hat to tumble off the edge of the roof. David watches it fall three stories and then disappear.
When he sits on the edge, Jowi hands him his hat back.
“Thanks.”
“Captain Adre wants to know if you’d like to join them for the mission.”
“Does he, now?”
Jowi pauses to consider, and then shoves his hands down the pockets of his pants. “No, but I think they really need you. Don’t you want to go and help?”
The bell rings for first period, somewhere in the halls below them, and David sighs.
“The problem with being around such sublime beauty,” he says, gesturing at the field, now ringed by Christmas flowers, “is that you’re constantly reminded of the contrast. Everything around you is so picturesque, but on the inside, you’re a wreck. Makes you feel crummy.”
Jowi nods his head solemnly.
“I’m starting to hate the holidays like that. I hate the feeling that I’m the only one who doesn’t have anyone to spend Christmas with. And I feel like I deserve it, too. I’m on the naughty list,” he scoffs. “You know, back when the Company was still up, I used to make the list.”
Both men laugh.
“Tell Captain Adre – dear Lord, what a funny thing to call yourself – tell him that I’m sorry. But I’ve gotta put my own life in order first. Figure some stuff out. And take care of these kids, too. I realize that.”
“Don’t you have any family?”
“I have a niece. And maybe some distant, distant relatives.”
“I don’t remember what life was like before the Company,” Jowi confesses. “Everything’s been moving so fast since you guys found me. I’ve lost touch with the outside world. There’s this big gap between me and my parents. I don’t even know where they are, and they don’t know where I am, and…I don’t think they miss me.”
David smiles sympathetically, and notes how young Joseph actually is. Probably no more than twenty-five. He pats him on the back with his creaky tree arms. “Don’t say that. I’m sure they think about you all the time.”
Jowi thanks him, and gets up to leave.
“Are you coming back?” David asks.
“I could. You look like you need someone.”
A moment later, the teacher is alone on the rooftop. The bell rings again.

*****

The angry blaring of car horns spills into the room as someone enters the café. Mellow music takes over again when the door shuts, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee continues to circulate. Newspaper pages ruffle as quiet sipping resumes, and every now and again the cash register chimes as orders are filled.
Domz plunks into one of the cushioned booths by the wall, and leans back, waiting for the man behind the magazine to look up. Vintage records hang on the walls, flat against solid red brick, and portraits of old artists smile above the heads of the customers typing away on their laptops.
“Hey, dad.”
Albao Sr. puts down his copy of Time, laying it aside, and looks his son over. Dominic had grown some, but the glee in his face reminded his father of the young man who had run off to the city several years ago.
“So are you going to fill me in on everything or are we just going to sit here?” he laughs. “How about we get you something to eat first, huh?” A waitress appears by their table, flipping through her pad and unhooking the pencil from behind her ear. “A cup of decaf for me, and – Domz, what’ll you be having?”
“Just some pasta will do,” Domz says, grinning. His father notices the brand new watch around his wrist, loaded with three tiny screens and a bunch of blinking lights. The waitress nods and leaves.
“That’s a nice piece you’ve got there, Dominic.”
“Made it myself. It has GPS, satellite imaging, weather forecast data, wireless internet connection, a barometer, and can store up to a hundred MP3 files.”
The older Albao laughs, and Domz sinks comfortably into his plush seat.
“I’m assuming there’s a clock in there somewhere?”
Domz frowns. “That was the one thing I couldn’t get right. It’s always too fast or too slow. You won’t believe the trouble I went through trying to figure out where the clock face is supposed to go.”
His father chuckles, digging through his knapsack. Domz notes that he actually looks younger than the last time they saw each other. There were less wrinkles and his hair was surprisingly less gray. He clips a small device onto Domz’s do-it-all watch, and presses a button. The gadget beeps three times, and then unlocks.
“There you go. That’s what I’ve been working on. A way to fix any time-telling device. But where’s the old Rolex I gave you after your graduation?”
“In my apartment somewhere. It was too clunky for all the radiation experiments I’ve been doing.”
“Right, right.” The smallest semblance of sadness twinkles in Albao Sr.’s eye. Just then the waitress arrives with a steaming plate of spaghetti and a cup of lush brown coffee. Domz’s father continues to talk while he stirs. “So, m’boy, which exciting companies are you head honcho of now? Wouldn’t surprise me if you swallowed up Google, really.”
Domz puffs up his cheeks as he decides how to phrase his reply.
“I’m kind of taking it easy for now. I haven’t gotten around to multimillion dollar firms yet, but I am the technological consultant for one of the branches of the PCAT.”
“What? What on earth is that?”
“The Posthuman Crisis Aversion Team. It’s the division that handles specials.”
“Ah,” his father nods, adjusting his glasses. “You mean the people with superpowers. Crazy, isn’t it, how these amazing, unbelievable events just randomly happen? I’ll bet they’ve been living under our noses for centuries and we were just too silly to realize it. It kind of undoes all the science I taught you back in the day, eh Domz?”
“Yeah, but their abilities can be explained in their genes, dad. There’s nothing phantasmal or outrageous about it. It’s just cold, hard science.”
“Maybe, maybe.” Albao Sr. takes another sip of his coffee. He watches his son, big man that he is, gulp down forkfuls of pasta. He leans over to try and wipe the sauce of the side of his face with a napkin, but Domz swats his arm away. “You were always a pretty messy eater, son. You remember the chocolate cake disaster of ’92? You were already, what, eight years old back then, and you still got icing all over the new sweater your mom made you.”
“I’m an adult now, dad. I think I can handle a plate of spaghetti.” Domz places his fists on the table, and goes on. “I was just saying that they’ve got me constructing all of the weapons and containment facilities for their prisoners.”
“Prisoners? What I thought was that they were representing specials, and putting up some kind of big hospital to give them therapy and teach them to control their powers.”
“That’s just the façade,” Domz confesses, leaning in closer. “We’re actually learning how to make powers commercially available. We’re doing experiments on them – don’t worry, it’s all very contained – and monitoring them. It’s going to be the biggest advancement in scientific history, even bigger than stem cells or space missions. We’re going to change the world!”
Domz plops back into his seat, and raises an eyebrow at his father, who is gingerly folding a used table napkin under his saucer.
“Change it into what?” he asks bitterly.
The younger of the two inventors blinks. The café doors open and close, momentarily letting in the smell of car exhaust and wet cement. Rain had started to fall outside.
“Wait, are you disappointed?”
“No, of course not. I’m very proud of you and your job as…techno cashier or whatever.”
“Technological consultant,” Domz corrects him, frowning.
“Sure. All I know is, I taught you to be smarter than that. What’s more is, I raised you to be a better person than that.”
“I don’t understand.”
The waitress returns to clean up the table. She loads the dirty dishes into a tray, and Albao Sr. hands her a tip. Then he flips open his magazine again, and casually browses through some articles.
“Dad.”
“You know what I mean, son. What happened to your work ethics? Your principles? Deceiving people, testing on them – why, in high school, you wouldn’t even train lab mice! Are all of your human specimen agreeable to your arrangements?”
“Well, not exactly, but they’ll see the light soon enough. It’s for them, after all.”
“I thought it was for the rest of humanity?” Albao Sr. says. This time it’s his turn to throw Domz a questioning look. “Which by the way, brings us to an interesting point. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all my lessons about balanced ecosystems and invasive species.”
“No way.”
“Then you’ll remember that it’s a bad idea to introduce drastic change to an environment. If you start handing out superpowers like lollipops, just think about all the backlash on society and our way of living. People like me will start to lose jobs, for one.”
“What is your job now, dad?” Domz says, going red in the face. “Still tinkering with odds and ends? Time-telling devices and chocolate stain removers?”
“The way I work, Dominic, I like to help people out. Improve living conditions. I’m working on a computer system that recognizes voice patterns so that blind people can vocally operate PC’s and laptops. They can access the internet, join social networks, and post their opinions online. And I’m working on something that will eventually help those with spinal injuries exercise and maintain their damaged and paralyzed muscles. Doesn’t that sound more worthwhile? Inventors are supposed to be helping people live outside the box, not put them in one.”
“You don’t understand, dad. The science I’m working on now is exciting. It’s epic, for God’s sake. Coming up with cool guns and lasers like in all those James Bond movies we used to watch. I’m like a super-secret government agent now. You have to move into the future.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Everything I’m doing is about the future.”
“I mean, you’re working on helping out disabled people and making mundane household chores more enjoyable. We’re breaching the limits of science here. You taught me all about evolution, dad. Survival of the fittest. For humanity to carry on, we have to step up our game. Make living like specials possible for everybody- focus on passing on desirable qualities rather than trying to salvage the slackers.”
“Well,” Albao Sr. says, getting up, “if you’re so inclined to power forward, then don’t wait up for old-timers like me.” He swings his knapsack over his shoulder, and heads for the door.
“Dad! Wait!”
“Don’t worry, I paid for the bill,” he says, not looking back. The door swings open, giving way to the sound of unfolding umbrellas and pouring rain.

*****

Click. Click. Click click. Click.
“Could you hold it up? Like it’s in mid-air, falling.”
Jethro’s voice echoes into the desolate ruins of the second floor faculty center. Piles of rubble were scattered all around the floor, and singed floorboards and beams were in a heap to one side. Most of the broken glass had been swept under the open windows, where light entered and fell in shafts across the charred remains of last year’s fire.
(Like this?) Golda asks, holding a plank diagonally beside her. She throws up some dust with her other hand, and Jethro’s camera takes shot after shot of the wreckage. The photographer steps back to admire the morbid beauty of the scene.
It didn’t matter that his invisible voice wouldn’t show up in the shots – he could still feel ghosts around him. The terrible laughter of crazed Andro Milla, come to steal his powers; the sizzle of his lightning and the shattering of icicles. The deafening explosion caused by another special’s powers.
All of that, and the sound of Duke’s cries for help.
The haunting strains of Strontium’s Hymn of the Wind, down the hall, weren’t helping his nerves at all. He moves his tripod, and adjusting the aperture, takes several more shots. Jethro recalls the end of quarter assignment – to capture a part of your pain, projected into a photograph. For that, there was no better place than this – where everything stopped making sense. The place he was mercilessly hunted down by a serial killer, and where he lost his best friend.
The first time. Here he lost Duke the first time. Here he realized being special wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
(How is Chester doing?)
“I’m worried for him. His powers might be messing him up.”
(You’re not happy for him and his ability? A lot of people find the whole synesthesia thing fun and… very useful. I’d like to see some color every now and again. From where I’m standing, the grass literally isn’t as green.)
“I learned that just because you have an ability doesn’t mean you have to use it. To show off or anything. It attracts unwanted attention. You saw how hard Ma’am Kiel came down on him for his ability.”
(…well, yes. But that wasn’t all Chester’s fault…)
“Doesn’t really matter.”
(But you’ve got amazing powers, Jethro Jamon. Very flashy. If I liked you, and, uhm, I’m not saying that I do… I would be very impressed. And powers like mine, they come in handy a lot, so I don’t see why you shouldn’t use them.)
“I used to short-circuit everything I touched. TV’s, laptops, cars. Powers cause trouble,” Jethro replies sadly, folding up his equipment.
(But only if you can’t control them. Or yourself. And how can you control them if you don’t practice, right? Go ahead. Use your ability to give your pictures some sizzle. I’ll take the shot,) Golda says, lifting Jethro’s prized DSLR in the air. (Go. Shoot some lightning at that pile of rocks. I’ll capture the explosion!)
“I need to have absorbed the electricity somewhere else first. I don’t make my own energy; I only absorb it,” Jethro reveals.
(No problem. There, some cables. Put your hand on them, and you know. Do your stuff.)
Golda waits patiently as Jethro grapples with his morals. Finally, he sucks some electrical power from the wires running along the walls. The lights fizzle out for a minute, and then come back on.
Jethro stands apart from the ruins of the faculty center, inhaling and exhaling loudly.
(This is a perfect chance to vent some frustrations. Get some stress off your chest.)
Looking behind him to make sure no one can see, Jethro charges up some lightning in his fists. Sparks begin to fly from his fingers. At the count of three, he throws the electricity forward - a blinding blue bolt of fire like an arrow, whizzing through the air. It strikes the pile of debris and causes it to explode, throwing up pebbles and clouds of dust.
His invisible friend hands him the camera back, and shows him the picture. It was glorious, the way the raw anger and destructive forces had been captured.
“This is…not bad at all.”
(See? Powers aren’t all bad. They’re an extension of who you are – a way to express yourself, just like photography. In fact, why don’t you use your abilities when you ask Elise to prom?) Golda nearly chokes on her words. She clears her throat. (If you want her to like you, she has to like all of you. But you have to like all of you first.)

*****

“I wish I could sit beside him through this. I know how much he hates math.”
Chari looks through the frosted glass door of the library, and sees Chester crumple page after page of pad, tossing it angrily into a nearby wastebasket. Poco leans over, much to the librarian’s chagrin, and takes a peek, too. When their friend looks up, the two move away.
The scent of sweet, sweet strawberries was very strong in the air, and Poco was having a difficult time keeping his distance. There was something about their transferee classmate – more than her hair, her eyes, or her smile – that made her extremely appealing. He knew she belonged with Chester, but against all reason his heart was beating madly.
“You smell nice,” he blurts out, before banging his head on the door. The librarian shoos them away. This was why he disliked talking. Expression was so much safer on paper, where he could erase anything he wrote if it came out bad. Why had he said that? He was almost dizzy from standing next to her.
Chari merely giggles, although she does spread a fan in front of her face. She sighs, then turns back to Chester, vigorously rubbing his head as he attempts more practice inside. “Really? People keep saying that, but really, I promise, there’s nothing there. It’s not a perfume or anything.” Her shoulders sag, and Poco can tell she’s remembering something. “I’m starting to get a cold, too.”
Here she sneezes. Even her sickness is dainty and delicate, Poco thinks.
Snap out of it.
“Maybe you caught something at the carnival,” he says, shrugging.
“Maybe,” Chari replies. “When I was younger, my grandmother used to make me this kind of herbal tea. It was a local remedy for everything, she said. It really worked. I missed that.”
“Being a dormer’s pretty tough. There’s a lot to get adjusted to.”
“Do you ever miss home?” Chari asks.
Poco tries to refuse a reply, but no matter how awkward and complicated the issue is, the scent of strawberries overpowers him. He has to answer.
“Yeah. I miss Pa.”
Chari suddenly remembers the story of Elihu, the farmer who was Poco’s father. He’d been murdered by a special months after Poco came to PSHS Ilocos. That’s all anyone ever said of Poco – except Chester, who insisted he was a talented poet. “I’m so sorry,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder.
She nearly flinches, but fights the urge to let go. She had to get over her fears. It was only a pat, a gesture of consolation. It was barely even physical contact. Chari gulps, and just as she’s about to let go, Poco hugs her.
What am I doing?! he thinks, but the embrace soothes the ache in his heart.
The door to the library swings open, and Chester walks out, defeated and grim. He sees the two hugging, and they see him. Poco immediately steps back, ashamed and confused, and Chari bites her lip. None of them say a word to each other.
Chester shrugs at them, eyes closed, as if to mean he doesn’t mind. He gives Poco a friendly jab on the shoulder, and smiles at Chari, before turning his back and walking away.

*****

The cell door glides open, and Yvanne steps inside. Her cousin lifts her head at the sound of three-inch heels clack-clack-clacking on the cold floor. Claudine tries to get up, wrestling with her handcuffs, only to crumble back to the ground, breathing heavily.
“How long…” she grumbles. “How long are you going to keep me here?”
“Until it’s safe.”
“How many days have passed?” Claud pushes. “…Am I spending Christmas in here? Oh god, Yvanne, please, have a stupid heart and let me out of this nightmare. Just untie my blindfold; let me see again! It’s so dark here and nothing ever makes noise and I think I’m going out of my mind.”
“I read your profile before I trashed it. You’re what they call a bodysnatcher. So…the blindfold stays on for now. But I brought you a home-cooked breakfast, for a change,” Yvanne whispers. She slides a tray closer, and neatly arranges the buttered toast and eggs beside the orange juice. “If you promise to behave, I’ll unlock your cuffs.”
“Nope, wait, you’re out of your mind. How could you possibly come in here,” says Claud, heaving, hair matted underneath her pale, dirty face, “and think that this peace offering would make it okay? You’ve made your own cousin a prisoner!”
“Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be, Claudine. Just let me eat and talk with you. I know how lonely it must feel. I know how trapped you are.”
When Claudine doesn’t move, Yvanne takes it as a sign of resignation. She pulls out a keycard, and runs it along the groove on her cousin’s restraints. The locks pop open, and Claudine wrings her bloody wrists before her, sitting up straight at last.
“Here, let me wipe that -”
“No! Don’t touch me.”
The bodysnatcher cleans up her tarnished hands, wiping them on her skirt, and gropes around for the food. She knocks over the glass, and half of the orange juice has spilled out before Yvanne can turn it right side up again. Finally though, she locates the bread, and brings it to her lips, ravenously devouring it.
Yvanne sighs, and watches sadly.
“We’re not too different, you know. Plans go wrong, circumstances keep us from doing what we really want to. You’re trapped in this cell, and I’m…trapped in this job. Your mother and father used to tell me that the next generation always inherits the sins of the first. I’m so sorry I had to do this to you.”
“No, you’re not,” Claudine growls, before wildly tossing the empty plate through the air. Yvanne ducks, although the dish lands nowhere near her. The shattering sounds alert the guards, who appear at the door of the room.
“Time’s up, Miss Cuesta. Let’s go.”
The secretary gets up, as the guards come in and secure the handcuffs on Claudine once more. Just as she is about to leave, her cousin yells from the corner of the cell.
“You’re wrong, Yvanne. We’re nothing alike, so don’t flatter yourself. Do you know what the difference is? One day, I’ll get out of this prison. I’ll escape. But you? You will always be trapped in your stupid job, in your stupid ‘circumstances’. You have no reason to fight your way out. You’ll never escape.”

*****

Domz finds his father seated under the doorway of an old bookstore. The rain has subsided into a drizzle, and the traffic has disappeared, leaving the street peaceful and empty. He leans over his old man, and smiles apologetically.
“I didn’t know what I was saying in there, dad. I just missed you a lot. I got to talking too much again. Are you okay?”
“There’s the Dominic I remembered. Come here, boy.” The two inventors lean in for a warming embrace. “I’m alright. The fabric in my jacket is self-heating.”
Domz laughs. “That’s just…awesome, dad.”
“I came here because I didn’t know any place else. Big city’s chock full of smoke and gangsters who shove their shoulders at you when you pass by. Makes me miss Davao already.”
After a moment of contemplation, Domz answers.
“Let’s go back.”
“What?”
“Back home, to the old house in Davao. I have the whole month off from work, and I wanna spend some time with you, dad. And I kind of wonder what my room looks like now. Wow – seven, eight years ago. You haven’t cleaned out all my shelves and equipment, have you?”
His father pats him on the back, and the two walk down the street.
“Of course not. Now let’s go, before the weather acts up again.”

*****

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.
Walking into the room, muscles tensed, eyes to the floor.
He knew they were watching him. He knew how hard they were trying – to believe that he could snake his way through this. That he could overcome the impossible mountain before him.
Looking up, meeting their nervous stares.
But he knew what they all thought. He knew that they knew – it was over.
Tossing his bag to one side, sliding into the seat.
Ma’am Kiel was there. Did she have any idea what she’d done? What role she’d played in the decisions he had ultimately come to? His time alone had made him certain.
Passing the papers backward. Setting the timer. Calling out last minute instructions. Acknowledging corrections on the questionnaires. All of it was happening so slowly.
Elise’s mouthed apologies. Didn’t matter – he’d already forgiven her.
Jethro’s meaningful looks. Didn’t matter – it wasn’t his fault.
Poco’s bashful glances. Didn’t matter – he knew it was nothing.
Chari’s beautiful eyes. The only thing that would matter, in the end. He was sorry, utterly and deeply, painfully sorry, in his heart. For what he was going to do. For what was coming. What was leaving.
And finally, the test.
A thousand colors, infinite and blinding, all coming together.
“Begin.”

Season of Reckoning - Episode 9

2010-12-19T07:20:00.000-08:00

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

Episode 9 – Home Sweet Home
Written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
Co-directed by: Chester Ragudo, Jacob Madrid, Rebecca Yu, Benedict Almirol

Previously, on SR…
“Maybe it’s better if you leave, Chester. You’re no use here anyway.”
“I’m going to the one place that’s made me feel home in a long, long time.”
“No one can refuse the charms of the carnival for long. I made sure to give our boy the means to find his way home.”
“When do you think Patty is coming back?”
“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”
“Saying goodbye.”
Now, SR continues.
__________________________________________________________________________

Chari falters as a blast of scorching noontime sun floods the backseat of the FX. Chester’s familiar lanky silhouette, backpack slung over his shoulder, blocks the light out for a second as he steps onto the dusty road.
“I got you,” he coughs, taking her hand. Chari hesitates, almost unwilling to leave the cold comfort of the quiet vehicle. Beside her on the seats, three other passengers stir, turning over to keep the outside world at arm’s length. They nudge against each other’s shoulders, and return to snoring. Finally, she hops off, stomach lurching - a leap of faith.
The FX’s wheels surge through the dirt, and Chester watches with a wordless grin as it disappears into the horizon. He cocks his head back, and then unzips the back pocket of his bag. A forked piece of wood, embellished with little golden stones, slides out, and immediately begins to bob up and down in his hands.
“How far?” Chari asks, tying her hair into a ponytail. Her companion scans the barren earth around them, pointing his dowsing rod, tipped with topaz, at every bush and boulder he can see. The artifact nearly leaps out of his hand, and he follows its insistent tugs into the wasteland.
“We’re getting closer. I can feel it.”
The words are scarcely out of his mouth when the sky melts away before them. Cloudless blue evaporates into a hundred red and yellow streamers framed against the rustic metal of Ferris wheel and rollercoasters. Children’s laughter echoes over the sound system, in tune with festive calliope music. A vision appears before them, arms outstretched like the Messiah descended from the cross.
Noel.
He and Chester lock eyes, struggling with memories from that evening four weeks ago – distant and half-forgotten. The chaos under the big top. The offer of family. The heavy sighs they had unknowingly shared, the shortness of breath in their chests as they had suffered the innumerable pangs of a loss they had yet to fully understand.
Chari had never met Chester’s father before. But the way he walked right into those welcoming arms – you would’ve thought he was coming home.

*****

Never pushing, never shoving, never having to squeeze her way through the crowd – it was a luxury that Golda bitterly enjoyed. Her gaze passed over each of them in turn, a ghost surveying ghosts, pallid and almost undead from her otherworld. She lets out a faint gasp, soundless in her abyss, as Elise glides through her; seconds later, Jethro passes through, unaware of her presence.
She was so hollow that it hurt.
To step out of these gray shadows and into their light – it was unthinkable. To make herself known, to make herself seen, now, in her comical attire, in all her imperfect glory, was just too much of a risk. Noel had taught her all the words before, but ultimately, what could she offer that would trump the certainty of the life they already lived?
She had no curly locks, not like her. No adorable laugh, not even a smile. This girl, this Elise, she had him, and she would always have him. No matter what Golda could do, no matter how many rabbits she pulled out of her hat or how many handkerchiefs she pulled out of her sleeve, Elise would always be ahead of her.
Because in their fantasy high school world, Elise was real. And Golda was a ghost.
“How could I let this happen? They’re gone, Jethro. Gone.”
“The dorms?”
“Not there. I checked. I shouldn’t have been so harsh. What if they don’t come back?”
“Elise, relax. It’s Chester, remember? The knucklehead knows better. It’s gonna be fine. It’s all going to be just fine.”
The way he kneaded her shoulders. The way she practically collapsed into his arms. The way they could be emotionally, physically there for each other. How she envied them.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to think. Tell the others Paskorus practice is cancelled for today. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Elise, her Jethro’s sparkling Artemis, walks away, rapidly, clutching her books like every breath she had in her depended on those pages. And Jethro himself, standing there by the lockers. At last he would understand - how it felt to stand still and senseless while the world turned. She could tell he wanted to go after her.
Love. Affection. It was their privilege, the crest of an uncomplicated life. It was too much for Golda to ask. But they were friends, at least. At most. They had a picture together. They’d told some stories. Made some jokes.
She had a right to care, didn’t she?
She would help him help her. Win the girl. Have the happiness he deserved.
That much she owed him. Because in the next week or so, in the coming months, she would take away so much more. Maybe he would forgive her if she was good to him now.

*****

“Glad to see you come back.”
The words dimly register in Chester’s ears as they walk along the sand-strewn paths. He knew these walks, knew where to turn before Noel could point out the avenues. His whole body could remember the grainy feel of pebbles under his shoes, of the wind carrying the weak year-end sun across his arms. Pieces of his last visit surfaced every time a tent flap would snap and fold as he walked by. It was like he never left.
And yet somehow the carnival he recognized had also changed. In the daylight, everything was so much lighter, different from the way the immensity of it all pressed down on him on that fateful night. Clowns were walking by, honking their big red noses and squirting passersby with their flower brooches. Every now and again the sound of bottle towers collapsing intersected the laughter of children. The November Carnival, a month from its first gloomy arrival in Ilocos, had flourished in his absence.
“I needed somewhere to crash for a while,” Chester yawns. He can feel Noel watching him from the side, and as his eyes slide left, he notices the ringmaster’s crooked smile. It was like Noel was remembering something, too. “What’s a good ride?”
“For you, I recommend the Flying Festival. If you don’t scream your head off, then you can have your money back! What do you say? A good deal?”
“I dunno,” shrugs Chester. “What do you think, Chari?”
Beside him, Chari shrinks back as Noel leans forward to get a good look at her. To her surprise, he smiles, and tilts his chin back to acknowledge her presence.
“Was under the impression we would get everything for free,” Chester adds, smirking. “Don’t us specials get a discount or something?”
A nervous moment passes in which Chester almost takes back his words. Noel stops walking, and with an eyebrow raised, looks the two students over. He’d been wondering if Chester remembered. Obviously, he did, and to his relief, the boy wasn’t going to take it against him.
“Heh.” Noel grins, and sharply inhales. “Of course, of course. All your rides and drinks, on me. Go, enjoy yourselves. Have to make most of your time at the carnival, right?” As he says this, he looks over their heads, and calls someone over. “If you need anything, anything at all, you can talk to our Bearded Lady.”

*****

“Take good care of this kid,” Noel whispers to Alla, brushing some of her hair back. Today she wears it in a golden blonde beehive topped with pinwheel flowers. The curls behind her ear bristle as she listens.
“I bet he reminds you of yourself when you were younger, Cabs.”
“And how would you know, Miss Alla Tan?”
“Sometimes Lydia talks about her little brother and how he was a loafing lazybones. But don’t worry; I think she means to sound fond of you or something.”
“My sister misses the old me now, after all the scolding she used to give me. Know-it-all mother’s pet, but she cared. She’s so distant lately.”
“You’ll win her approval back.”
Noel sighs. ”Introduce them to Patty,” he continues, gesturing to the gleeful artist waiting patiently beside her. “I’ll be around.”
As Noel turns and goes, Chester and Chari approach. Patty bounds forward, and throws Chester a warm hug.
“You two know each other?” Alla asks.
“We were classmates,” mutters Chester, just barely able to tear his eyes away from Alla’s beard. She notices this, and winks, her moustache wrinkling slightly. “So this is where you’ve been hiding all this time, Patty. If I’d known it was a legit reason to be absent, I’d have run off here a long time ago.”
“It isn’t,” Patty laughs. “I love being here, Chester. I feel like I’m part of a family, which is a lot to say, since, you know. Sometimes I stop and think that my real parents would be happy that I’ve found a place here. I’m really contributing.” Patty pauses, inhaling. She graciously smiles, pearly whites agleam with her braces. “I can’t say I don’t miss everyone back at PSHS, though. How are they?”
“We were all wondering where you were. Trust me, you’re living the good life – no trig long tests and no homework. What have you been up to?”
“Alla here’s had me on beautification duty. I’ve been prettying up the posters here, see?” Patty points to some moving advertisements posted on the tent poles. “And lately I’ve been working on some invitations we’ll be sending out. To specials, you know? I heard you’re one, too. That’s awesome.”
“Not really. Powers have been getting me into heaps of trouble.”
As Chester and Patty continue to talk, Chari steps back and takes a seat on a large crate outside the Bearded Lady’s tent. He hadn’t even bothered to introduce her. She wonders how long it will be before they finish catching up, and then sees Alla looking similarly out of place just beyond them.
“What are your powers, anyway?” Patty asks.
Before Chester can begin to explain, Alla cuts between them. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about that later, sweetie,” she says, waving her bangle-adorned wrists as though to shoo their concerns away. “The new beh-behs must be so tired. I know how far PSHS is. Golda makes regular visits and she says the journey is like, absolute murder.”
“Who’s Golda?”
Chari watches the smile fade from Alla’s face. Nearby, wading through a crowd of carnival goers, Noel shoots her a silencing look. Chari’s eyebrows knot.
“Oh, uhm, no one really. Let’s get some chow, kids. I’m totally starving.”

*****

“Turn the music off.”
Yvanne’s eyes veer off the road for two seconds to survey her cousin in the rear view mirror. Claudine slumps against the seat, clutching a neck pillow in her hands. Her eyeliner is unusually dark today, and Yvanne frowns at her all-black ensemble.
“Looking for something more punk rock?” she laughs. Claud doesn’t return the humor.
“I just don’t wanna listen to Ke$ha right now, okay.”
“But the party don’t start -”
“Yvanne. Please.”
The secretary is taken aback by her cousin’s words. She abruptly switches the radio off. The drive continues in silence, with the two caged behind tinted windows, unwilling to speak a word to each other. Every now and again, Claud shifts position in the back seat.
The car slows as they approach a red light.
A beetle hovers outside the window, and Claud begins to roll the glass down.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m letting the bug in.”
“Eew, gross! Close that window before we get into an accident! I can’t drive if there’s going to be some disgusting beetle crawling around on my leather!”
Claudine ignores this, and allows the insect to settle on her index finger. It stays there, obediently seated, which is more than what Yvanne can say for her cousin. She grabs the old newspaper lying around beside her on the passenger seat – where Claud should’ve been – and whacks the poor, unsuspecting creature out the still open window.
“Hey!”
“Don’t you hey me, b----” yells Yvanne, just as a car behind them honks loudly. She steps on the gas, and wheels around the intersection. “You’ve been acting up the entire weekend.”
“I’m the b----?!” cries Claud incredulously, at exactly the same time another car in front of them beeps its horn. Yvanne had almost collided with its bumper. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
“I have news for you, sweetie,” hisses Yvanne, gritting her teeth. “I’m your guardian. For as long as your parents are gone -”
“What? You get to play mom? You’re not my mom. You’re barely even a grown-up. Stop butting into my business! I don’t need you breathing down my neck.”
“Butting into – oh my god. This is still about that freaking carnival, isn’t it?”
Yvanne pulls over at the old bank building where she used to work. She yanks her door open, and pounds on the window of Claudine’s door for her to get out. Like a blizzard, Claudine storms out of the vehicle and stomps into the lobby.
Her cousin beats her to the elevator, where she pushes the button to the top floor. The two endure the steady climb in heated quiet. On the fourth floor, the doors slide open and a couple of men enter.
“You’re lucky I saved your ass, Claud.”
“All you did was tear me away from my best friend.”
“You’re crazy if you were thinking of joining her in that flea circus. If she was really your friend, she wouldn’t have hauled your dumb locks into the middle of nowhere with all those clowns.”
“You don’t even understand what you’ve done,” Claud cries, flashing the eavesdroppers around her an evil eye. “It took me months to track Dani down. I was perfectly happy there. People get me there.”
“People are dangerous there,” Yvanne appends, rolling her eyes.
“Everything would’ve worked out if you hadn’t meddled.”
“How dare you. I do not meddle. You don’t know what they would’ve done to you. How are you so sure they didn’t kidnap Dani in the first place?”
The panel above the door pings a bright yellow, and some notaries walk into the elevator. The growing crowd adjusts, and Claudine is shoved beside her cousin. They squabble for room, finally deciding to settle for not having to look at each other.
Claudine remembers the way the detective convulsed on the floor. The sparks circling the ringmaster’s clenched fists.
“I would’ve worked it out. I could’ve handled it.”
“You wouldn’t know the first thing. I’m a businesswoman, Claud. I know about planning and strategies and logistics. Getting through obstacles is a challenge, and you can’t just run headlong into danger and hope to get out unscratched.”
“Businesswoman? Fat chance. You’re just a dowdy secretary,” Claud sneers.
“Oh. My god. You did not just call me that.”
The door opens a third time, and everyone gets off except the arguing pair. The elevator continues to rise, floor buttons lighting up in sequence.
“I wanna go back,” Claud says stubbornly. Just then, the door opens onto the top floor. Yvanne files out, her cousin in tow, and practically flies up a couple of stairs. The dark rectangle ahead of them opens out onto the roof, where a helicopter is waiting.
“Don’t you get it? I’m just trying to keep you safe. There are freaks in that hole I just pulled you out of. This is so much bigger than you think it is, Claudine Allyson.”
Claud hated the way her cousin said both of her names. It was patronizing.
“No, you’re the one who doesn’t get it. I belong with those ‘freaks’. I’m a special, too!”
Yvanne’s heels grind to a halt.
“That’s right,” continues Claud. “I have powers, and I belong in that carnival, where everyone else has powers, too.”
Shoulders hunched and locked, Yvanne turns to her cousin. She licks her lips, and tries to put a manicured hand on Claud’s shoulder.
“I did what I did because I care.”
“That’s an epic lie,” snaps Claud, cocking her head back. She flicks Yvanne’s hand away in irritation. “You don’t know the first thing about me. You think I’m young and girly and stupid, and that I still like all your typical tween glamour. I’m hardcore, and stronger than you’ll ever be, and you don’t need to hover over me pretending you’re a mom. I’ve been through more than you probably ever will be in your entire life. So get a clue. Leave me alone.”
Yvanne throws the helicopter door open, and the blades above them begin to turn. She doesn’t attempt to project her voice over the roar of the mounting wind. Instead, she takes her cousin by the arm and flings her into one of the seats.
The door slides shut, and the helicopter takes off.

*****

Jethro sweeps some dust from the stone of the third floor stairwell, and takes his place next to Elise. He hesitates as she sobs, and wishes he could muster the courage to brush her hair back behind her ear.
“I’m sorry you have to see this,” she sniffs, as he hands her his handkerchief to wipe her tears. She takes it, hastily dabbing the wet spots on her cheeks. When she finishes, she beams her usual smile, and even manages to stick her tongue out at him.
“You’re like me now,” says Jethro. “You worry too much. You really care about Chester, don’t you? Even when you were yelling at him…we all saw how much it hurt.”
“He’s so lazy and irresponsible and you never know if he means to do what he says.”
Jethro licks his lips, fumbling for words.
“How can you count on him,” she goes on, “to be okay?”
Awkwardly, Jethro pats her on the back. He cringes as he does this, praying to high heaven that Elise doesn’t notice how hopeless he is in this kind of situation. Hundreds of movies and indie songs, all gone to waste.
(Follow my lead,) comes Golda’s voice in his ear. He whirls around to mouth how busy he is, but Elise’s feelings begin to pour out like a river.
“Well he’s not going to ask me to prom now. Not after I humiliated him in front of everyone. I might as well go with Chari,” she laughs. “After all, my dad probably won’t object to that. Argh. If a male friend smiles at you, he’ll get you pregnant. If he asks you to his house, you’ll get pregnant. If you have a date to prom, he’ll get you freaking pregnant. Don’t get into this, it’s too rough; don’t get into that, it’s too hard for a girl. I’m not just a girl, you know. Gah. I’m a person, too.”
(Tell her how amazing you think she is. Tell her how you feel about everything she does.)
“What? I can’t do that,” Jethro hisses, just as Golda’s invisible elbow jabs him in the stomach. “Youch!”
“Are you okay?” Elise asks, confused.
“Yeah. And uh, you should be too. You’re this incredible, headstrong young woman. You’re like, a force of nature.”
(Good. Now remind her about all the extraordinary things she can do.)
“You’re class president, SCA president, choir leader, violinist, volleyball player, and Capoerista. You could probably break some guy’s bones if he ever tried to make you do anything you didn’t want to -”
(Now hint at how you feel, Jethro Jamon. Talk about how you like who she is.)
“- and that should scare me, but it doesn’t, because I think you’re really cool. And your dad will figure that out. You just have to show him who you really are.”
The effort of conjugating all those meaningful phrases together exhausts Jethro, and he slumps back against the steps. Sweat pours down his sides, and he can’t believe his hands are actually quivering slightly. He looks to see what effect his speech has had on Elise; her lips are one straight line, and she hugs her knees tight.
“You’re right about all those things, you know. Isn’t it stupid how I’ve been doing so much to prove myself to him and he still treats me like I don’t know how to make the right decisions? But with Chester leaving, I’m starting to doubt if I did the right thing.”
(Tell her everyone makes mistakes,) Golda says. She remembers how the keyboard’s insulating cord felt against her fingertips. The sound it made as it broke into pieces. She didn’t just hurt Chester. She hurt Elise, too. (You know she would make it up to him if she could.) As Golda says this, she looks straight into Jethro’s eyes. It stings to have him stare through her.
“It’s okay to be angry. And I guess, you can’t always get things right. But Chester’s gonna be okay. And Chari, too. I’m pretty sure that if you could apologize to Che right now, he’d forgive you. You mean a lot to him, you know.”
“Really?”
“I’m his best friend, I should know.” Jethro’s chest suddenly weighs heavy with his own words. He hadn’t exactly been there for Chester, either. No wonder he ran off.
“I’d ask him to prom right now if I could. But no self-respecting girl would do that.”
(Say that she’s too good to care about what anyone else thinks.)
“You’re uh, too good to care what anyone else thinks. Besides, there are probably other guys out there who really, really like you and want to ask you out.”
“Like who?”
(Confession time, Jamon.)
Jethro pauses, heart pounding in his chest. With his next breath, it drops into his stomach like an anchor. “I can’t,” he mutters under his breath. He tries to look at Elise again, but ends up staring blankly at the checkered yellow pattern of her skirt. “I dunno. Maybe they’ll surprise you. In the meanwhile, you gotta cheer up, Elise. Smile for me again. That’s who you are, Elise – bouncy, energetic. Happy.”
“Thanks, Jethro,” she says, hugging him. Every nerve in his body explodes simultaneously, and he sinks into the warmth of her touch. “You’re like my big brother.”
No one can see it, and no one can hear it, but somewhere in the abyss of another dimension, Golda facepalms. Jethro frowns for a moment, but contents himself with their prolonged contact. Finally, Elise breaks free.
“When I’m with you guys, I feel like I’m home. More at home than with Dad and his expectations that I never ever seem to meet no matter what. When I’m hanging around you and Chester and Chari, I don’t have to be anyone but me,” she smiles. “Now if only I was sure who I was, exactly. How do you do it, Jet?”
“What? Do what?”
“You’re totally confident with the way you look, and the music you listen to, and the things that you…like. You know what you like. That’s pretty important. I’m just trying everything out because I need to show everyone I’m capable. Sometimes I get lost in it all.”
(I think you know what to say, Jethro. I…I need to go now. Good luck.)
“I got this. Thanks, voice. Hey, wait, your name?” he whispers, as Elise toys with the aglets of her rubber shoes.
Golda bites her lip so hard it begins to bleed. She couldn’t risk her name. Not yet. Clenching her fists, she starts soundlessly down the steps, looking back only to make sure that Jethro and Elise are happy in each other’s company.
They are.
“That’s just me, you know,” Jethro continues, a little sad not to hear an answer from his invisible friend. “You don’t have to figure everything out right now. That’s what high school is about, I guess. It’s a season of reckoning. We all figure out who we are, where we belong, what we like.”
Here he stumbles. “Who we like.”
Just then the bell rings. Elise springs up, and grabs Jethro by the wrists.
“Thanks again, Jethro. Now come on. Only four more periods, and then maybe at the end of the day Chari and Chester will be back.”

*****

“She’s definitely a keeper, eh? What do you think?”
Terence bounces on his heels, favorite cap fit snugly over his head. He traces Chari with his eyes as she walks by, outlining every curve and every subtle movement of her hair with a thought in his head of snatching her away.
Behind him, bathed in shadow, his companion stirs. The sound of jingling bells flitters through the tent.
“You’re an idiot if you think she’s looking to swap.”
“You’re a nimrod if you don’t think we can pull this off, Nars.”
“So you’re not even going to try this time? We’re skipping to Plan Me already?” Just under the thin gold plating of his mask, Nars smiles. The long fake nose attached to the front of his face makes him look like a devious heron, prowling about in the marshes for fish to catch.
“Why fix what isn’t broken?”
“For fear of breaking something else,” laughs Alla, joining them. She uses a long braid to pull the edge of Terence’s hat over his eyes. Nars leans through the hole in the tent, and points out their target, about to board the Flying Festival with Chester.
“What’s the lowdown on Strawberry Shortcake?”
“She’s here with one of Noel’s prodigies. And I have explicit orders to keep the likes of you two away from the new carnivalettes. Cabs will be furious if anything happens that turns them around.”
“Aww, come on, Alla,” pleads Terence, elbowing Nars and laughing. “We’re just gonna have some fun with them, that’s all.”
“I mean it, you two,” the Bearded Lady says, raising an eyebrow. Terence steps back for fear of it growing in size. “No funny business. These two are just as much my project as they are Noel’s. So play nice.”
“Got an interest in them, I see,” Nars says as he passes by. He lifts the tent flap for Terence, who’s gone in a flash. “Well, we’ll just see who they like better at the end of the day, huh?”
“Challenge accepted,” scoffs Alla, rolling her eyes. As Nars leaves, his large red shoes squeaking, Patty enters.
“What was that all about?”
“I’m just going to see what they’re like, is all. Chester and Chari.”
“You’re worried Golda likes spending time with them more now?”
“No,” Alla laughs. She waggles her fingers in the air to dismiss the comment. She then pulls on the bottom of her beard, and like a taut carpet, it rolls back into her chin, disappearing. “Okay, maybe a little. But I’m fun, too, right? I mean, look at my hair. It juggles.”
“You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone, Alla,” Patty says innocently.
“Nah, I guess not.” As she says this, the Unbearded Lady’s straight edge hair curls into gorgeous red locks. The ends are faintly tipped with orange highlights. “Even if I’m always working and telling people what to do?”
“They’d be lost without you.”
“Thanks, Patty. Now we should probably go make sure those two don’t get into trouble.”
“Chester and Chari, or Nars and Terence?”
“I haven’t quite figured out yet. Let’s go.”

*****

As the carousel turns merrily on its roundabout course, Chari Beleran begins to think the following things: that the horses on the ride weren’t nearly as soft as the ones back home, and that they were far slipperier and that she was going to fall off them, and finally that the carnival lights were too bright and that they were a sickening, ill shade of yellow.
The people staring indulgently at her as she passed by again and again didn’t help anything either. She knew why they were crowding around the ride, and she felt more like a menagerie attraction than Chester’s date.
He was seated just behind her, so near the edge of the horse that if he leaned back he would probably slide off its tail. His arms, warm with the down of young adolescence, were wrapped around her on either side. She was sure he meant to be sweet, but more than anything she was falling into a bout of claustrophobia.
His breath against the back of her neck startles her. Around and around the carousel goes.
“This is kind of nice. Just us. No school or teachers to worry about.”
She smiles in reply, her beautiful, beady black eyes staring at a spot on his shoulder, just out of reach of his sleepy gaze. They were pressed close to each other, and each time the horse whinnied higher, she could feel the air leave his chest. He puts his forehead to her hair, and chuckles.
“I’m having a really good time here with you. I don’t think I’m ever leaving.”
“Don’t say things like that. We have to come back sometime.”
“But let’s enjoy this, for now. Did I tell you about the last time I was here?”
“You, Jethro, and Elise rode the Ferris Wheel. Yes, I remember.”
Chester’s eyes are now closed, absorbing every sensation and riveting color in his mind, oblivious to the rest of the world standing in wait around them. Chari wonders when the ride is going to come to a stop. She can see that two of the carnies have joined the ranks of her ever present admirers, and an inexplicable dread falls over her.
One of them was in a baseball cap, and he was looking straight at her – as straight as he could with the carousel turning. His companion was a masquerade clown, dark skin contrasting elegant checkered white attire. The clown’s mask was golden, and the carousel lights swam in reflection across it. He tilts his chin to her, bringing up the tip of his mask’s curved aquiline nose.
“Jethro tried to ask Elise to prom. Epic fail,” Chester grunts. Chari can feel his hand sliding over her shoulders, caressing her. “How about you? Any plans? Because if not, I was thinking of going with you.”
“Me?” squeaks Chari. Her chest tightens as Chester gets closer. The sun has set halfway over the horizon, and the earthy browns and oranges were grappling with cobalt and rose for dominion of the sky. “Really?”
“Everything’s all topsy-turvy now. But when I’m with you, I feel home.”
Chari turns her head, heart pounding so loud that it swallows up the calliope music and all the voices around her. Chester’s nose meets her cheek, and his fingers begin to intertwine with hers. He was pulling her closer.
“Stop! Stop, stop, just stop it!” she cries, breaking free of his embrace. She hops off the horse, and Chester loses his balance, falling onto the floor. Chari scrambles out of the ride, clearing the fence with surprising ease, and Chester can only watch, stupefied, as she disappears into the crowd.
Terence smirks, and discreetly slaps Nars a high fve. The clown’s eyes stop glowing, and a contented smile forms on his lips.

*****

Yvanne steps icily into the hallway, snapping on the lights. She flinches for a moment at the foreboding numbers painted in what seemed like black tar on the wall – all 5’s, sharp and menacing. She shoots her cousin a look – boiling but also melted – and begins walking.
There were so many things she could’ve said. She had meant to be proud of her new, important position in The Establishment. She would’ve been glowing as she had introduced Claud to her new office, her new desk, and all the glittery things with which she’d decorated it. She would’ve beamed at the enormous new paycheck she’d been awarded.
They would’ve gone shopping together to celebrate.
But Claud had been right. She was a different kind of girl than Yvanne. Tougher, grittier. Yvanne prayed that would be enough to get her through what was about to happen.
“What are we doing here on this island?” scoffs Claud. She passes some sullen looking people behind glass walls. These were prison cells. “God, Yvanne, where are we?”
“This is Level Five. We keep the most dangerous ones here.”
“What? Who are these people?”
Yvanne places a frigid hand on frigid glass, and sighs. She whirls around to face Claud.
“You wanted to be left alone. So I’m…following orders. Like any dowdy secretary would.” At this, her lip quivers. “Claud, I can’t let you run off again. Believe it or not, I care about you, ‘cuz, so I’m going to do what’s best for you.”
Her fingers dance over the keypad, and the cell unlocks. Several guards enter the hall, and begin to walk toward them. They crack their knuckles as they approach.
“My boss, Desi… She doesn’t like your kind. The specials. And she is going to do terrible things to them. If she found out that you were one, she wouldn’t spare you. She hates me, you know. I have to go through this every day to earn enough money to take care of both of us. Of you. I put up with that monster because I am a grown-up, and grown-ups need to make tough decisions. I didn’t want to have to do this.”
“Do what?” cries Claud, as two guards grab her by the wrists, cuffing them together. A blindfold comes over her eyes just as they begin to glow.
“Desi would torture you for information on the carnival if she knew you’d been dealing with them. The moment you make another escape and she finds out, you’re screwed. This is all I can do to keep you away from them.”
“So you’re locking me up here?! Yvanne!” wails Claud as the guards shove her into the room. She manages to throw herself up into a kneeling position, but as she opens her mouth again, the door slams shut. Her frantic shrieks are lost behind the glass.
“I’m tossing you out of the fire into the frying pan. I’ve scrapped your profile in the database. She won’t ask any more questions if you’re already behind bars. She probably won’t even notice you.”
Yvanne locks the code in, and swallows. The saliva feels like acid down her throat.
“I’m doing this to keep you safe. You don’t wanna see that, I get it, so fine. Wear that blindfold and stay put. Until you learn some respect.”
Claudine slumps to the floor, and the cloth around her eyes stains with her tears. She bangs her head once on the cold steel, and then continues to sob. By this time, her cousin has arrived at the end of the hallway. She takes one last look at the cell holding Claudine, kills the lights, then closes the door.
Gently. Slowly. Until it clicks shut.

*****

Chari darts through dozens of nameless, faceless people, pushing them aside as if they were blades of withered grass. Her frantic escape takes her straight to the door of the House of Mirrors; what little daylight remains is quickly engulfed within. She steps back, and begins to turn around, breath still wild and uncontrolled, and comes face to face with Nars.
“Hello there, miss,” he says in a low voice, almost growling. He takes one step forward, giant shoes squeaking, and holds up one gloved hand for her to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
As he approaches, Chari makes the mistake of looking into his eyes. Fire glows around the edges of his irises, tiny purple embers that rob her of oxygen. Her knees knock together, and she stumbles backward.
“What’s the matter?” Nars asks, looking past her into the hall. “Afraid of the dark?”
Those last words set off Chari’s trembling legs, and she bolts without direction or reason straight into the House of Mirrors. Her reflections loom over her in the dim light of the incandescent bulbs, shrinking and growing with her every move. As she approaches a fork in the maze, Nar’s ghostly image leaps out at her from all sides.
Outside, Chester can see Chari’s horrified scream as a fountain of ragged white and pink sparks coming from a distant rooftop. He races toward her, all new levels of fear thumping in his chest. What’d he do wrong? What was happening to her?
Preoccupied with all these thoughts, he runs straight into Noel, who props him up by the shoulders as he trips.
“There you go. Something wrong, Chester?”
Just then Chari screams again.
“Shit, man, it’s Chari. She took off from the carousel and now she’s freaking out. I have to get to her.”
Noel frowns, just as Alla rushes by. He manages to grab a tangled ponytail, and gently yanks her back. “Didn’t I say -”
“I’m sorry, Cabs,” the Bearded Lady says, out of breath. “Nars and Terence, they uhm, they saw Chari run into the House of Mirrors, and now she’s supposedly too scared to even move. I’m on my way to get her out now, I swear.”
“Hold on a second,” Noel coughs. “This moment belongs to Chester. Just go join those two imbeciles and tell them I’m on my way.”
Alla looks over the crowd, and wrinkles her nose. Her hair grows to enormous lengths, braiding and intertwining, and she lifts herself over the sea of people, fifteen, twenty feet high. Her hair begins to move forward, and like a spider, she takes long strides in the direction of the House of Mirrors.
“Dumb and dumber, ooh, you’re going to get a month’s worth of kitchen duty for this!”
Noel turns to Chester, who all this time has been fighting his grip to get to Chari.
“Have you figured out your powers yet, Chester?”
“No, there’s no time!” he groans. The ringmaster’s callous hands steady him, and he bends down on one knee to look Chester in the eye.
“You’re more than just a synesthete. You can draw people to you with your music. You can move the masses with the beats, with the melody. Use your power to guide Chari out.”
“What? How am I supposed to make music?”
Noel ducks into his tent, and emerges carrying an aged cajon under his arm. It looks similar to Chester’s, but its colors are faded and the wood seems far more worn. The boy’s eyebrows knot in surprise.
“A beat-box?” Chester says, the truth dawning over him as the sun finally sets. “Then it was you. You sent me the cajon.”
“It was a gift, from the November Carnival.”
NC, Chester thinks. Noel Cabauatan. Of course. Noel wades through the crowd, one muscled arm hooked around the instrument, another waving to his protégé.
“Hurry!”

*****

Thump.
Chester’s first strike at the wood ends in a dull, lifeless beat. The coffee color washes into the air, tired and pale. He looks to his new mentor for advice, and Noel stoops over. A steady hand pats him on the back, and Chester feels his nervous insides rattle.
“You have to feel the weight of your music. Somewhere in those haunted halls, the girl you care about is backed against a wall, waiting for someone to save her. Be her hero, Chester. Focus your thoughts on Chari.”
Frustrated, Chester runs a quivering hand through his short hair. He licks his lips, and begins to tap his feet. Quietly first, then louder, faster. He raises his hand in the air, and then brings it down on the wood. His other hand, clenched into a fist, follows, falling into the rhythm.
Tug-dug, pak! Tugu-dugudug pak! Tug-dug, pak! Tugu-dugudug pak!
Chester barely even notices the intensity of the colors he generates; as each ring blends into the next, and the thumping grows louder, the hues saturate and absorb each other, creating fantastic russet ribbons and cerise stars that travel inward, into the heart of the mirrors. He can only see Chari, her delicate vision frightened, hopeless, trapped. He was going to get her out.
Inside the hall, Chari lifts her head, drying her tears. Her arms, frozen from the bone out, begin to feel prickly and warm, the way they would under the morning sun. Like snow, her terror melts away, and she rises to full height.
Tug-dug, pak! Tugu-dugudug pak! Tug-dug, pak! Tugu-dugudug pak!
She doesn’t know where she’s going; all she has is the sound of the cajon - powerful, aggressive - to lead her back into open air. She closes her eyes, letting her feet choose their own path, threading the music along like Ariadne and her ball of string. She knew it was Chester, she knew he was there. She knew he would be waiting at the exit.
And she wasn’t afraid of his touch anymore; she needed his embrace. The memory of his breath on her neck draws her forward, onward, out.
At last she feels the cool breeze funnel by. She takes a few more tentative steps, and emerges into the softer lights of the carnival. At the bottom of the steps, standing by a proudly beaming Noel and the aged cajon, is Chester.
“Hey. Welcome back.”
Chari rushes forward, and buries her head in his shoulders. He wraps his arms around her, and hushes her nervous sniffling. The dozen or so people also drawn by the music cheer loudly.
“You had me scared there for a while.”
Alla walks over to them; suspended in the air on either side of her are Terence and Nars, ankles caught in nooses of her mighty hair. “I’m sorry these guys caused so much trouble.”
“It’s okay,” Chari says, smiling at her. The Bearded Lady’s shoulders relax, and she smiles back. “The carnival was interesting, and all, but…I just feel like heading home now.”
“You’ll be back,” grins Noel, tilting his chin in salute to them.
Chester inhales deeply, and nods. The city lights flicker in the distance.
“You can count on it.”

Season of Reckoning - Episode 8

2010-08-27T07:26:00.000-07:00

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

Episode 8 – Ahedres
Written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
Co-directed by: Rebecca Yu and Benedict Almirol

Previously, on SR…
“This detective can’t be allowed to live, knowing what he knows about us.”
“We’re going to create a bank system that sells superpowers.”
“But you do have a record for being this lazy. Chester, you’re failing. Badly.”
“When have you ever needed a second opinion, boss?”
“Patty, you could probably spend time making some pretty, pretty posters.”
“Find David. No…find Adre. He’ll know what to do. Run and don’t look back.”
Now, SR continues.
___________________________________________________________

The smiting power of the gods rocks the battlefield with a terrible tremor. Armored horses clatter to the ground, riders still strapped to the saddles; castle towers collapse, sending frightened holy men scuttling for cover. Royalties take the folds of their robes in hand, defiantly elegant, as their soldiers look up to the heavens for reckoning.
“For Christ’s sake, Terence, stop with your incessant quivering.”
“Godammit, Gab, make a move already!”
With a deep breath, the Living Statue rights all of the fallen pieces, and melds the edges of their chessboard with the table. The sound of Terence’s protests are lost as he retreats further into his own vast mind. Four hundred years’ worth of battle strategies comes into play, crowding around the stars and galaxies, the mountains and cities, the ocean depths, and the faces of his companions. Dimly he makes out the shapes of Lydia and Noel, huddled to one corner.
“When I think about how close we came to ruin…”
“Get off my case, Lyd. I handled it!” Noel retorts. He hastily mixes up a jar of ink with his pipe, as the Tattooed Lady pulls up her divining stool. A clammy gust of wind from outside extinguishes the candles dripping on the shelves; wisps of smoke like ghosts fill the tent.
“Yeah, Lydia, quit bein’ such a stiff,” sneers Terence, just as Lydia drops her sequined shawl to the ground. The speedster averts his eyes; Noel didn’t like anyone messing with his sister. She shouldn’t have been an exhibitionist, then. “Speakin’ of… Gab! Just eat the pawn!”
Lydia clasps her hands together as Noel lightly taps her bare back with the tip of his pipe. Ochre and blackberry sink into her pores; tattoos of Dom, Claud, Yvanne, and Desi bubble to the surface seconds later. “The detective, the runaway, the secretary, and the villainess. The web thickens, and all the specials are flies, drawn to the gossamer.”
Noel runs his thumb over Lydia’s skin. “What’s her name?”
“Desi Mina.”
From the table at the front of the tent, Gabriel stirs. “David mentioned her.”
“Puppetmaster of the Icarus incident,” Noel mutters.
“And conqueror of the Company,” adds Lydia. Noel’s brow creases as Gab’s golden lips straighten into a faint smile. Debts had been paid for at last.
“Whatever she’s planning, we need to get in the way of. What does the ink say?”
“Not enough,” sighs Lydia. “I’m not a precog, Noel. You know that. I only see what my ability lets me. Hmmm… She has a team, but…each eye has its own prize.”
Tattoos of Domz and Renz take their place beside Yvanne and Desi. The four depictions shove and push against each other, hissing and writhing, before settling with their eyes averted from one another.
“Let’s get out there and mess ‘em up,” coughs Terence, brandishing one of his favorite throwing knives. Its curved edge glints before Gab, who urges one of his knights forward.
“Brilliant, Terence!” cries Lydia. “Play into their trap. If a special draws government blood, we’ve all but sealed our fate.”
“I don’t get it,” the speedster shrugs. “What does she want?”
“Us. All of us. We’ll be traded like slaves. Our abilities…rent from our bodies.”
Noel grabs his petrified dahlia staff, resting against the shelves. The coarse wood under his palms moans. “We have to protect our family. If Desi plans on swooping in and snatching up all our brothers and sisters… We have to get to them first. This wouldn’t be a problem if Golda was doing her job properly.”
“You send a teenage girl to a teenage boy. What are you expecting?” scoffs Terence. His hand zips across the chessboard, pushing the rook as far up as it can go.
“Your prodigy won’t be in for a while, Noel. We’ll have to go to the specials one by one. Individually convince each one of them of the danger they’re in and the protection they’ll find under our big top.”
“But where do we start?” asks Noel, as he leans in and begins to tap the chessboard with his tired fingers. The pieces jump up, and Gabriel holds them down.
“With Desi. The key to victory in this game of generals is not in numbers, nor strength, nor Fate or luck. It is not in the mastery of your own pieces, but those of your enemy.”
Terence’s haughty laughter disrupts the silence. More candles flicker out.
“Yeah, karathead? You can’t touch my pieces. That’s against the rules.”
Gabriel laces his stubby, golden fingers together and raises his chin in defiance. Lydia pulls up her shawl and joins them at the table, looking back and forth between the three men.
“I can’t choose your tiles,” the Living Statue concedes, arching forward, “but I can make you choose them for me.” As he says this, he pins one of Terence’s bishops in place with his rook. The speedster, unthinking, flashes another piece into position. Gabriel’s queen barrels forward, cornering the king, and the game is over.
“We need a way to keep track of Desi’s plans. Know her move before she does.”
“How?” asks Terence, rolling his eyes. He picks up his king and tosses it to the ground in disgust. Lydia dusts it off, and places it back in his hand.
“With ink, and a little help from Ms. Patty Bonifacio.”

*****

“Keep your fingers to yourself, Albao.”
Desi turns her attention to her technological consultant, reduced to a starry-eyed child at the sight of The Company’s vast collection of scientific instruments. Some of them she could identify – electron microscopes, centrifuges, and those things that looked like irons that doctors were always using to bring the dead back to life. The rest was a complete mystery - massive columns that opened down the middle and swallowed up test subjects, three-pronged needle guns, and something that vaguely resembled a guillotine.
Domz was enjoying what had always been to Desi just another set of shiny trophies that she, the rookie, wasn’t allowed to touch. For her first order she could have Domz explain them to her. Or perhaps have him take them apart. That would drive her prisoners nuts.
As she thinks this, she throws a smug look at the painter gasping on an operating table. Just another sign of The Company’s failure – their best precog was obviously malnourished. She could’ve used scotch tape to tie him down.
“Elucidate something for me, Ms. Mina,” says Domz. Desi smirks; for some reason, the scientist was always trying to put on an air of authority. His efforts were of course thwarted by his constant lisping. She didn’t see why he bothered. Everyone knew who was pulling the strings.
“What is it now, Domz?”
“You wanted to take over your father’s banking corporation so that we could sell people powers. But as I understand it, the abilities are attached to the posthumans. How do you trade something like that?”
Desi had been hoping he’d ask. She’d been dying inside, waiting for someone to bring it up. The suspense was wasted on Renz and the soldiers.
“Evolution gave them powers; now evolution is going to take them away.”
That ridiculous face. How she hated it when Domz’s lip folded in that manner.
“Tell them to bring in the catalyst.”
Sighing, Domz obeys. He steps into the hallway for a moment, and when he returns, he is followed by three armed guards shoving along a bear of a man in shackles. He was uncannily large and hairy, with dark skin, and dead, tired eyes.
“Mr. Albao, meet Catalyst J. He’s a posthuman with a very special ability. It can’t be used for combat. Shall I tell you the history behind him?”
Domz’s shoulders sag as he realizes he doesn’t have a choice. The guards push the catalyst into a corner, and point their guns at his head. Desi pulls up a stool and daintily folds her legs to the side. She primly brushes her blouse with the back of her hand, and clears her throat.
“My uncle, Dale Garcia, was a posthuman researching on genetic mutation. In other words, he was trying to manufacture people with powers. He created J as a way to transfer perfected abilities from imperfect patients, so that they could prolong their studies.”
“You mean this man,” says Domz, gesturing to the so-called creation, “can ---”
“Yes. He can take powers from one person and give them to someone else. Boys, unlock those cuffs. I’m about to give one of you the ability to paint the future.”
The guards waste no time obeying orders. Desi’s puppet strings run taut through J’s veins, and she motions with her fingers to move him forward. Ancer groans against his restraints, now profusely sweating.
Domz watches as J’s broad, plump hands close in around Ancer’s neck. If the catalyst was trying to fight Desi’s power, it showed only in the remorseful black of his eyes. The scientist realizes he must’ve been in her possession for quite some time. His spirit was broken.
Ancer begins to squeal; the CEO closes her fingers around empty air, and J follows suit. The shadows of the guards leap at the walls, rising and bending over the ceiling. Pale, twinkling red light escapes from J’s hand as he sucks the painter’s lifeblood away – not the gentle glow of stars, or the warmth of a candle, but the eerie glint present in a snake’s fang, the hopeless warning light of a speeding truck in the pouring rain.
An audible crack.
Desi maneuvers her beast toward a guard, who flinches. She holds him in her power as well, stilling his quivering legs, and forces J to grab him by the shoulders. The light flashes once more.
The light was dying, Domz thinks. Dying with every ray.

*****

Jethro could think of few benefits to having a ghost hovering around him night and day. One of those invented advantages was the ability to blame his awkwardness on someone who wasn’t really there. If he knocked something over, it wasn’t him. It was her. If ever his shoes were to begin sliding away from a confrontation – well, that would be his mysterious voice dragging him away.
If she was here, now, on the second floor back landing, she wasn’t being much help. He was going to have to face Chester himself. Everybody liked his best friend when he was asleep, and to some degree when he was awake, but nobody wanted to be near Chester when he was angry. That would be like stepping on a rabid dog’s tail with a pair of cleats.
“Dude,” he begins, gulping, “we’re super running out of time. We’re completely beyond unprepared for Paskoncert. If you’re not gonna practice Hymn of the Wind with Elise and Ma’am Kiel, then you might as well rehearse with me.”
Chester’s eyes remain shut; the rest of him remains anchored to the unused table sitting outside the stuffy journalism room. Around the corner to their left, the sopranos are threatening to shatter glass.
“Not now, man. Can’t you see I’m not in the mood?”
“Screw that,” pushes Jethro. He was half hoping Chester hadn’t heard him. “I’m gonna pull the you-know-what for you-know-who during our performance. It has to be perfect. Let’s go rehearse.”
His lanky friend grazes his teeth over his lip. “You don’t even have a song yet.”
“Because I need your help with the lyrics!”
Chester leans forward, kneading his temples. “Poco! Jethro says he needs you!”
“What? Wait, I can’t -”
There were a lot of things Jethro was afraid of. And a lot of those things were easily avoidable. All except awkward conversation. He whirls around to leave and comes face to face with Poco, an eager albeit confused look on his face.
Jethro jabs Chester in the shoulder, praying he doesn’t hit back too hard. Instead, the synesthete hisses. “Leave me alone, man. Go be bros with Poco.”
Walking back to his guitar, Jethro casts a quick glance at his much shorter classmate. What did they have in common? Homework. And not having a promdate. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to talk about that.
“Look, dude. Seriously, you don’t have to uh, help me out. I dunno what Chester’s problem is.”
When Poco begins to speak, Jethro jumps. He’d thought the kid had walked away.
“He’s having trouble with acads. He’s in danger of failing some stuff. And uh, dropping out.”
Jethro frowns. “What? Since when? Why didn’t he tell me?”
“You, uhm, never asked.”
The crisp sound of Jethro’s guitar case zipping shut momentarily outweighs the sound of the rest of Strontium hitting high notes. Jethro sighs, and turns to Poco again.
“What else did he tell you?” The musician’s brain scrambles for information, pieces of Chester’s long winded stories. It’d been awhile since he’d had to sit through them. In hindsight, he kind of missed them. Sort of.
“He’s a special and…so are you.” Poco manages a grin.
What did Chester think being special was? It wasn’t some coupon you could wave for free food. Didn’t the guy have any common sense? Never tell anyone you’re a special, unless they’re a special too. Maybe not even then.
There was one exception to that rule, but he was long gone.
“Chester just…thinks he is.” Jethro didn’t know why he’d said that. He knew perfectly well what Chester was capable of. David had told him so. “Anyways, thanks for the concern, Poco, but you really uhm, kind of wouldn’t…get it. You know? Sorry for bothering you.”
As Poco turns away, Jethro hears him whisper. Poco probably didn’t mean to say so himself, but Jethro heard him. “Yeah. I guess we normals wouldn’t get it.”
Perhaps it was his size that so reminded Jethro. Or the distance. Something about the moment was painfully familiar.
“Actually, dude…wait.” Jethro lays a hand on Poco’s shoulder. “Here. This is what I wanted it to sound like. Maybe you can…find me some words.”

*****

Even the homeless wanderers who stretched their weary legs by the side of the river rarely ever gave it a second look. Nowadays, Pasig was cloudy and featureless, merely an extended pool of mud that was always looking for a pristine ocean. Anyone who bothered to turn their heads and glance was assaulted by the smell of neglect and dying fish.
Unwatched and unnoticed, two specks travel along the river’s length. The first races over the stagnating foam, just a blur throwing up a soundless, muddy trail behind him; the second soars over the surface of the water, creaky wings straining to keep up with his companion.
The two approach a bridge, and within seconds, have landed on a shabby tugboat bobbing under it. One of the figures throws open the trapdoor on the deck, and both duck inside. Pasig lazily murmurs goodbye, sapped of the vigor needed to lap onto the banks.
“Light, Joseph,” says the older man. He snaps his fingers brusquely.
“Yes, Sir.”
A weak incandescent bulb, hanging on gnawed wiring from the ceiling, flickers open. David takes his fedora off and squints to get a better look at his survivors.
Slumped onto a crate is Wren Benzon, her once long black hair hanging in an uneven cut around her hunched shoulders. She bucks, and the distinct splash of seasick vomit echoes across the room. Benedict Almirol rubs her back, sighing, as one hand goes to his electronic visor. He turns a dial, providing himself some night vision.
Father JI Bautista’s long legs fold underneath the only chair in the room; his priestly robes are draped over some sandbags and rope. Sean Fortuna stands facing the wall, one hand rubbing his neck; his forehead droops and thumps on the wood every now and again. Romeo Manangu has one hand grabbing the low ceiling beams for support; his left arm is in a makeshift cast.
“This is it?” David asks. His mossy brows knot. Again, JI, familiar with the unique sound of a heart pumping sap, turns a jaded eye to him. The plant-man takes a step forward, and puts a hand up. His vascular tissues tense; an empty breath transpires from his lips. “H-how,” he mutters. “How fast?”
“Half a day, eighteen hours tops,” growls Benny. “They took everything. Caught everyone. All except us. You’re looking at the only Company agents left.”
The bulb sways as the boat lurches. It fizzles out for a moment; when it comes back, Jowi has returned with some packets of food and a couple of water bottles. Wren straightens up, and begins to sob.
“Condition,” breathes David. He turns to Benny, who avoids his gaze.
“JI – tired but without a scratch. A couple of razor blades lopped off some of Wren’s hair; apparently the ones sent to the Palawan branch can’t follow orders as well as the others. She’s not so good on water. I’m okay, but my glasses were stepped on. Jowi has a bunch of cuts from running through jungle; he looks like a tiger under those clothes. Romeo’s arm is broken, effectively making him useless in battle. He’s still pretty good for filching supplies though. And Sean…”
Benny turns to the youth dragging his palm across the wood. Sean licks his lips, shakes his head, and then walks away, deeper into the darkness.
“Empaths sustain powers on memory of the special they copied the ability from. When Desi broke his neck, he used a borrowed ability to heal himself. But after that…he couldn’t access any of his memories. Ergo, no powers. Boy’s lost himself.”
David pauses for a moment. His stomach was heaving. But only so slightly.
“Where was I when this happened?”
Benny doesn’t respond, and the words die on David’s lips. Something silvery from the opposite side of the room glints; heavy footsteps, like anvils being dragged across the floor, approach them. Where the pale light touches the figure, there a fist is raised. No one moves to stop it as it connects with David’s jaw, carrying about as much force as a speeding freight train.
“That’s a good motherfucking question, boss!”
Adre seethes as his thrown punch knocks his superior off his feet; the mass of branches and vines tumbles to the ground – the sound of timber collapsing. JI has jumped up, and Wren’s hand goes to her lips in dismay.
The agent raises his fist again, ready to mash David’s face to a pulp. Dust scatters as Jowi zips between them, holding up his injured hands.
“Why are you defending him?” roars Adre, as he pushes Joseph aside. His metallic fingers drag David off the floor by the collar of his trench coat. The two are now eye to eye. “We are broken, goddamn you! How could you do this to us? We mourned your ‘death’, your ‘transformation’. We lost our leader! And things just went downhill from there; heaps of shit piled up on your Company, and we were left to deal with it. And then you came back!”
“Enough, Adre,” says Benny, telekinetically dropping David back on his feet.
“I’m not through with him yet!”
The infuriated agent rams David against the wall, snapping his shoulder blades. As sap leaks out, more vines grow in place, healing the wound. The impact throws clouds of dirt from the ceiling; rats shriek and flee from their hiding places.
“You came back, and I confess, goddamn you, that I had hope. I was glad to see you come back, even if you were screwy in the head, because I thought you were going to save us. I thought about all those years I’d been working for you – I even lost my fucking arm for you – and I thought it was all over, you’d come back! But what in holy hell did you do? You went to teach ABC’s at some high school!”
Adre’s fist moves even faster than Jowi, sinking into David’s stomach.
“What did you think was going to happen, huh, boss? You could turn your back on twenty five years of lives that you changed? You could pretend you never led the Company, that you’d taken the other road? Because you weren’t there on the day that headquarters was attacked, our agents are now at the mercy of some psychopathic bitch!”
Telekinesis forces Adre to his knees; Jowi zooms past him, taking David up on deck. Wren’s tears patter to the floor. Sean sits beside her, taking her hand. His eyes, blank and uncomprehending, scope out the room. Romeo sighs.
“Let me go, Almirol! Let me go!” Adre bellows. “What do you have to say for yourself, David?! Come back down here and man up! Own up!”
“Adre, shut the hell up for a second, and listen to me!” cries Benny in anguish. “Do you think any of us had it easier? I had to leave all of my men, all of my friends, and run! Like a coward! Beating David up over this…it won’t change anything.”
“You fought. You did everything you could,” hisses Adre. “I will never forgive this sorry excuse for a man, because it was his fault I couldn’t fight to save the only thing that ever gave me purpose in life. The only thing that ever meant anything to me died with him, and he’s still here, breathing.”

*****

“Ugh. Here, take these, Domz – they’re really more your caliber.”
Desi rolls her eyes, and with a flourish, deposits a stack of drawings onto her technical consultant’s lap. Mr. Albao flips through them excitedly, before realizing that the collection of glorious acrylics he was expecting is actually only a series of childish stick figures.
“What happened?” he asks, a similar disgust in his tone.
“That nimrod guard should be sent back to preschool. Maybe then he’ll figure out how to color inside the lines. He says he could see the future flashing before him, but obviously his painting skills weren’t up to par with the special’s.”
Domz tosses the drawings to the floor, and leans back into the velvet cushioning. Desi reaches to her side and brings a delicate glass of wine to her lips, spilling not a single drop even as the limo passes over some jagged road.
“Where are we?” the inventor asks.
“According to Picasso, his drawings are supposed to predict tabloids being published – articles linking me to that bonehead politician Renz and revealing the true nature of The Establishment. Obviously I can’t let that happen. We should be nearing the warehouse now. We’re going in and putting a stop to this.”
Her companion takes a regretful look at the images penciled onto the paper at their feet. They looked nothing like what Desi had just described.
The limousine screeches to a stop, and the new executive practically kicks the door down. Her polished heels make contact with the chipped sidewalk, and as she straightens her blouse, she looks around. The building before them looked more like a shack than any sort of printing press; its roof was lopsided and the windows seemed unusually foggy. There was a big NC stamped across the doorway.
Domz follows Desi inside, brushing aside several cobwebs. “Are you sure this is the place?”
“One of those drawings was of you and me standing right here. I don’t understand. Where are all the newspapers?”
The door slams shut with a gust of wind. Domz is pushed aside as something blurs past him; Desi puts up her hand to protect herself, and feels a light prick to her skin. The door blows open again, and then all is silent.
“What the hell was that?” hisses Desi, through gritted teeth. She looks over her arm, and finds a black liquid oozing into her pores. She screams, and Domz rushes over, grabbing her. The inventor has mere seconds to observe the ink form a tattoo – a she-demon, with wild hair and terrifying claws – before the dye disappears completely.
“Get that looked at,” he says sternly, turning to the door. The mischievous cockroaches scuttling by his shoes alert him to the chaotic pile of grey and black print in the corner. “There are your newspapers. There’s not much on them, though.”
“We’ve been set-up.” Desi dabs at the tattoo with her handkerchief; when she lifts the cloth, her skin is smooth and ink-free. “Somebody’s trying to waste our time, and doing a very good job of it, too. Get moving, you oaf. I have work to do back at HQ.”
As the limousine pulls away out of the street, Domz looks sourly behind him. The warehouse has disappeared, leaving only wild grass growing on the empty lot.

*****

“Elise, do you mind if I borrow this for awhile?”
Chari was used to getting what she wanted. But early on she had learned it was always infinitely better to ask. After all, Elise was a girl, and Chari was always getting favors from boys. Besides, this was her friend’s treasured keyboard, given to her by an upperclassman from her old school.
If there was one thing Chari could understand, it was mementos.
“Sure,” Elise replies, sticking her tongue out and winking. She turns back to the tenors, and whacks one of them on the head with a copy of their contest piece. “Open your mouth! O-shape!”
The way Chari could feel their eyes on her as she slowly, daintily walked away could’ve been enough to make her drop the keyboard. She takes it, mildly straining with its weight, to Chester, still immovably distraught around the corner.
“Please tell me, Chari,” his eyes closed, “that you’re not here to convince me that I’ll be okay. Because you wouldn’t be the first person to try.”
“How did you know it was me?” she laughs. Chester is unable to fight the grin forming on his face. Her accent was adorable – which was a stretch, as adorable was not really Chester’s word.
“Strawberries,” he says, inhaling. He opens his eyes just as she sets the keyboard on the table beside him. She ropes the cord along the opposite edge, and takes his hand. Gently she presses his fingers to the black and white. A couple of notes trill away.
“I know how the colors make you feel. I wish I could see them with you.”
Chester nods, drifting back into darkness, as he plays with the music. Red, pink, and gold flutter before him, swirling and coiling past.
“So you’re not going to pretend that I’ll pass.”
“No. I was actually going to say that being in a new school isn’t so bad,” she chirps. Moving to Chester’s side, she places her head tenderly on his shoulder. “You might really like it. Leave all of the bad memories behind. Make new friends. Find someone…special.”
“Aren’t you going to miss me?”
“I can go with you,” she giggles. “We can run. I’m pretty good at running,” she adds with a semblance of a sigh. The breath appears before the boy as melancholy lavender. “Chester, what do you want to be? When you leave here?”
“I dunno. An architect. Or a businessman.”
“Really now?”
“My dad always taught me to be practical. Whatever brings on the mullah.”
“But I don’t think that’s what you really want to be,” pushes Chari. She slides her own delicate fingers over the keys, and Chester smiles at the colors. “I know you better than that, Chester. What do you want to be?”
“I want to be…free. I wanna be great. This place is just holding me back.”
“Well you can be just that. You can be as big as you want, Chester. You taught me that. I don’t want to see you leave, but I know that if you put your mind to it… You can get through this.”
Sticky words, thinks Golda. Jethro probably would never speak to her again if he knew that she was going to be behind this terrible accident. She was fated to be behind everything that was going to take Chester away from his best friend. The longer she had to do this – hiding and lying and, to some extent, stealing – the worse her stomach churned.
But the sooner she finished, the sooner Noel would have his protégé. And then Jethro would join them, anyway. In the grand scheme of things, they would all be together. If only she could bring herself to do what was required.
Slowly, invisibly, she walks toward the keyboard’s electrical cord. Firmly, she grasps it, rubbery, tingling with catastrophe, in her hand. She waits for Chester to stretch, to yawn, to have his fingers dangling carelessly by the keys.
And then she pulls.
The keyboard practically flies off the edge of the table. Chari screams in horror, and Chester reaches out in vain to catch it. Elise’s most prized possession clatters to the ground noisily, the impact with the tiles sending it skipping several feet. White and black teeth snap off, and the keyboard moans a low final note before lying defeated on the cold ground.
Elise turns around, eternities passing before she meets Chari’s terrified eyes. Hopeless heartbreak washes over her face, and she drops to her knees before the wreckage. Chester hands her the shattered keys.
“I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened!”
“Oh my god! Chester, how could you?”
Chari gets between them, as Elise rises to her full height. An uneasy coldness has come over their class president, but something wicked burns in her eyes.
“It was my fault, I borrowed it,” pleads Chari, taking Elise’s hand. Her friend’s anger subsides. “I should’ve checked the cord; I’m sorry. I probably tripped on it -”
“It’s not your fault,” Elise says. She throws a broken look at Chester.
“An accident, Elise,” he mutters. “I-I’ll buy you a new one. I can replace it, get it fixed, just please don’t-”
“Maybe it’s better if you leave, Chester.” Elise’s lip quivers; her words are soft but thunderous. The rest of Strontium exchange nervous glances. Jethro, standing in file, gulps. He wasn’t going to get out into the middle of that. “You’re no use here anyway.”
“You don’t mean that, Elise,” Chari intercedes again. This time, Elise merely cradles her busted keyboard in her arms, turns her back, and walks away. Chester angrily swings his backpack over his shoulders.
“I know you saw, Chari. I didn’t touch the stupid thing,” he says as he brushes past her on the way to the stairwell. “It fell by itself. Whenever some bull happens, it’s my fault. Everything always goes wrong around me. So yeah, I’m taking Elise’s advice. Tell her I’m sorry.”
“Where are you going?” Chari cries.
“You said so yourself. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to be greater than this. Better than to be yelled at by everyone. I’m going to the one place that’s made me feel home in a long, long time.”
Without asking, Chari already knows. She takes her bag, and takes a few tentative steps. “I’m going with you.”

*****

“I got into a fistfight once,” David says grimly, swaggering over to the edge of the bridge. He looks down into the dark water, shattered colors trickling down across the surface from the dim lamps along the road. Joseph stands silently beside him.
A few seconds pass before the fallen leader speaks again.
“Well, it wasn’t much of a fight, to be honest. Before the powers set in, I was kind of a wimpy kid. Didn’t like physicality. I read a lot, though. The classics, and then some. Put lots of ideas into my head. Got me asking questions. Has a book ever done that for you, Joseph?”
Only a muffled response escapes into the chilly December air.
“You’re right,” laughs David. He clears his throat, and waits for the echoes of his hollow laughter to diffuse into the night. “Not much time to read nowadays, huh? What with all the earthshaking news and such. Company’s been taken over, I hear. That’s quite…terrible, isn’t it?”
Joseph sighs. “I’m sorry, Sir. I know what it meant to you.”
“Why does everyone call me that? I don’t think I’m that old yet. Forty-something, I guess.” As he says this, David puts a withering branch of an hand to his face, kneading the bruise left by Adre’s lead-heavy fist.
Across the city, lights begin to die out. The last beastly growls of speeding motorcycles fade away, and for a moment the entire world is quiet.
“My life’s been a series of wrong choices, hasn’t it, Jowi?”
“I…wouldn’t know.”
“There are times when I put my hand to my chest and I can’t feel anything. No heartbeat, no blood. Would it be wrong if I said that it didn’t hurt, Jowi? You apologize for me but you don’t understand; there’s this hole in me, and….the Company being torn apart by dogs… Abednego’s anger… it doesn’t mean as much as it should. It doesn’t…hurt.”
Jowi’s wounded hands close around the cold steel of the bridge railings; below them, a heated discussion has begun between Benny and Adre. Their words seem to sail just below David’s tired, olive eyes, and then sink back into the river.
“Why won’t you say anything? Aren’t you going to excuse me of being a monster? I don’t blame Adre. He’s right. All of this was my fault. I betrayed everyone by leaving.”
Joseph hesitates. He wonders whether to pat the man on the shoulder, and if it would be right to throw disappointment at him. In the end, nearly a minute later, he does neither.
“I’m not much of a talker,” he begins, slowly. “But your choices and your past are your own. You should do what you think is best now. Maybe find your humanity again.”
David lifts his head, and his fedora casts a shadow across his face. From the depths of that darkness, he flashes Jowi a weak smile, crooked and uneven from the bruise on his face.
A heavy metallic thud behind them alerts them to Adre’s presence.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” he announces, authority in his voice unlike any David has heard from him before. “And when I go, I’m taking the rest of them with me. Joseph can stay with you if he wants, but me and the others – we’re going to salvage whatever we can from your mess. This’ll be the last time, boss. It was…” and here he falters, “a good run.”
Adre turns his back, not waiting to be acknowledged, and disappears down the bridge. The boat below them lurches, and the river groggily laps against the shore. Bats sweep under them, casting shadows all around, as their wings flutter silently through the air.
“You should join him,” David says, some time after, eyes closed. “He has a plan, I think. He could use your help.”
Jowi watches him cast a final, hopeless look into the murk. When David turns to him again, expecting an answer, he shrugs. Then he swings himself over the rails, barely touching the abyssal waters as he lands, and zips away, leaving only a streak of soundless foam in his wake.

Season of Reckoning - Episode 7

2010-07-18T01:19:00.000-07:00

Season of Reckoning

Ordinary People. Extraordinary Abilities.

Real People. Unreal Adventure.

Episode 7 – The Unnatural Order of Things

Written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples

Co-directed by: Rebecca Yu and Benedict Almirol

Previously, on SR…

“This is Rika Meyes; you’ve reached the office of Detective Dominic Ecat.”

“They want us alive. I don’t know what for. They won’t kill us yet.”

“You’re going after our carnivalettes. That’s cute, Lab-labs. I approve.”

“I’m assigning you to make friends with Poco.”

“He might not even go to prom, unless he does a total 360.”

“I have no home. I have no family. Twice promised, twice denied. No more.”

Now, SR continues.

________________________________________________________________________

In just the way it seemed to happen to all secretaries living high octane, caffeine fueled lives, Yvanne read her own thoughts like a continuous shopping list, efficiently skimming and plucking out important clauses and neatly discarding the rest.

Bed. Neatly folded sheets, plush purple, changed last week.

Shelves. Excessive number of books on psychology and the human mind.

Cabinet drawers. Inventory on the floor, care of Detective Ecat.

Her eyes flicker over to the dark skinned, curly haired man rummaging through the polished ancient wardrobe resting against the wall of Claudine’s room. He’d come surprisingly fast, and without asking for directions, which suited Yvanne just fine. She didn’t have time to send him an email, what with all the filing and paperwork Desi had loaded her with in the past two days.

Desktop computer, shut off, I don’t have her password.

Cups holding pencils, irrelevant.

A pair of batteries. Oh my God. I bought those for the new bug zapper!

“You don’t look very worried, for someone who just lost a relative.”

The detective’s voice was raspy. Yvanne realizes he’s talking to her.

“She left a note, told a lie, took some cash. She wasn’t kidnapped and the house wasn’t broken into. She ran away.” Each syllable lengthens as it scrapes through her teeth, as though she is determined to make her statement untrue by grinding it down. “I didn’t lose her; she misplaced herself.”

Dominic Ecat shrugs, and goes back to work. Yvanne was sure she could scramble through all of Claud’s belongings faster, but she’d paid the man already. There was no point in wasting money. She couldn’t afford to.

Failing test papers. This girl is getting lazy. Does she have a boyfriend?

Taxi company number scribbled on post-it. Have we tried calling that already?

Soccer shoes. Thank goodness they’re clean. At least she kept up housekeeping.

Yvanne’s thoughts come screeching to a halt. Where had all those Total Girl magazines gone? And those issues of Seventeen – where were they? She sweeps the room with her eyes and catches a glimpse of them, still in their sealable vinyl wrap, under a disorganized pile of neon nail polish bottles.

That kid is such an ingrate. After all the nice things I’ve bought her…

Yvanne pivots on her heel, and lays a hand impatiently on her hips as she comes face to face with portraits of Claud’s parents, hanging over the bed.

“Oh my God,” she says, and the detective sighs, looking up. “Her parents are going to roast me alive when they find out. You have to find her, Mr. Ecat.” Dominic’s nose wrinkles, and as their gazes meet, Yvanne just barely resists the impulse to put up her hands and shield her eyes. The detective’s contact lenses were an otherworldly hazel.

“Rika and I have put together a few leads. You’re cousin isn’t the only one who’s missing. We have reports of other teenagers, ages fourteen to nineteen, who’ve just disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Somewhere inside Yvanne, a tiny speck of worry manages to bubble to the surface. That minute quantity of anxiety is quickly washed away with all her other thoughts.

“I have some photographs. Maybe you could help us identify these other kids.”

With a flourish, Dominic hands her several pictures. Yvanne squints, sifting through her memories like a file cabinet. She couldn’t place any names; she didn’t even know who Claudine’s friends were. Did Claudine know anyone in braces? Did she have braces? Was she even old enough to get braces? How old was she?

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” she snorts in reply.

“Can you at least tell me where she likes to hang out?”

Another blank.

The detective’s shoes make no sound as he marches into the living room, Yvanne close behind. He clears the coffee table of junk – fast food wrappers, empty soda cans, some receipts and contracts – and like lightning, begins to lay down all of their available evidence.

My God. Our house looks like a circus blew through it.

And just like that, Yvanne’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. A smile breaks across her face, the way it does to secretaries living high octane, caffeine fueled lives when they pick up gossip worth spreading.

“Wait, detective! I think I might have something useful. Before she disappeared, Claud was always yammering on about some carnival or something that stopped at a nearby town.”

*****

“Gizzelle Golda Labalan!”

For the life of her, the magician never could seem to figure out how Alla always knew when she was about to head out. It was as if she couldn’t turn invisible at all – like she had gone through the trouble of putting on a neon sign and announcing her departure over the speakers.

She grins in amusement as one of Alla’s elongated braids snatches at thin air. Her cousin hadn’t quite gotten her location right. She steps out into the light, tips her hat in the usual respectful manner, and toddles over.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I have a story for you,” Alla gushes, taking Golda by the arm. She drags her cousin around the tents, excitedly spewing information in her acquired Southern Valley girl accent. Golda makes sure to nod every now and again, but as she digests the news, she notices Candy and Lydia having a much darker discussion by the dinner table.

“Alla. I have to go. If I don’t hurry -”

“I know, I know,” the Bearded Lady finishes. Golda is glad to see that she is clean shaven for the moment; it was always so difficult to take her seriously when she had a hairy caterpillar above her lip. “You have to go see Jethro.”

“Well, yeah,” shrugs Golda. “He needs me.”

“Oh wow, Gizzy,” Alla smirks. “That’s a big leap from ‘he doesn’t want me around’. I thought you said he found you annoying or something?”

“He’s not totally receptive, is what I said,” says Golda, lightly slapping her cousin’s hand off her shoulder. The two laugh, and pause for a moment to watch the orange and yellow streamers overhead flap in the wind.

“So you haven’t been listening to a word I said?”

“I’m a very good listener, Alla dear. Lydia has a tattoo of a detective on her back and now Noel’s tense because he’s not sure how to handle it. Look, you don’t have to worry. I can still cloak us from PSHS Ilocos.”

“Yeah, like if you can keep your mind on us and off your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” laughs Golda. “Well he is, but he doesn’t know yet.”

“That’s not how it works, okay, Lab-labs,” Alla says, laughing. Her bright pink cheeks swell with glee. Golda raises her eyebrows.

“Yeah, because you would know.”

The Bearded Lady’s nose wrinkles and her hair, trailing freely behind her, snaps into a ponytail. The magician purses her lips, wishing she could take back her words, and begins to fade away. Alla stares her down right until the last pigments vanish.

“I’m sorry,” comes Golda’s quiet voice from the void.

Alla takes a moment to sigh, shoulders sagging. Her cousin materializes behind her and lays a sympathetic head against her jacket.

“Yeah, it’s okay. Past is past; that’s like, whatever already. Anyway, what I was trying to say was that I wanted to go with you this time. See, I figured it would be a good idea to advertise the carnival, because you know, it’s a school, and kids love going out. Well, normal kids do.”

Golda steps back and shakes her head. “No.”

“What? Why not?”

“He can’t know I’m from the carnival, dear,” she reminds Alla politely. “He hates us, remember? We have to take this slowly, from the right angle, or we’ll lose him.” Here she pauses. “I’ll lose him.”

“And what about when he figures out you’re trying to ruin his friend’s reputation? How is he going to feel about that? Gizzy, you can’t start a relationship with lies. Or secrets.”

The magician takes Alla by the hand, leading her away from the other carnies just beginning to emerge from their trailers. She adjusts her glasses, and inhales deeply.

“I’m not lying to him. I’m just leaving out the part where I’m not such a perfect person. I want him to like me, okay. Once he likes me, he’ll figure out how to deal with the whole carnival deal.”

Alla turns away, and keeps her eyes on the ground. Golda figures she’s tracing memories through the dirt. She knew what the Bearded Lady was keeping under her hair, and if she didn’t want to talk about it, then Golda would resign to being there for her.

Just not now. She had to see Jethro and push forward with Noel’s plan.

*****

It wasn’t that Poco didn’t like Ma’am Kiel as an adviser; she was certainly an example for all of them, having graduated from the school herself. He only wished that she didn’t keep on wading waist-high into everyone’s issues.

As the rest of Strontium converges at the auditorium’s double doors, anxious to spend the remains of their universal break studying for an upcoming long test, Poco lingers behind. Silence was the cloud by which Poco hid himself – all the unwanted, undesirable quirks – and from which he watched. He could name the burdens they carried on their shoulders.

That was the way it should’ve worked. Poco listening, Poco helping. Not Poco being pitied, which was what Ma’am Kiel’s eagerness had brought upon him. He was scattering eggshells and everyone was tiptoeing over them.

As the auditorium door shuts, Elise’s voice echoes across the sea of seats.

“Hey Poco! I need help with the choreography.”

By the way the girl was hopping up and down, Poco figured she didn’t have much on her shoulders. Come to think of it, Elise was the only one who was smiling a hundred percent of the time. Maybe if he stuck beside her, that talent would rub off on him.

“Why me?” he asks, clearing his throat, as he trots up onto the stage.

“Because I know you can dance. Look at those footsteps. You’ve got rhythm!”

Elise brushes back a couple of curly locks, and trots over to her iPod on the ground. She turns the dial, raising the volume on the speakers. A light tap, and a new song begins to play.

“I was thinking about doing either this,” she says, waving her arms in front of her face, “or this,” she appends, swaying side to side. “Any suggestions?”

“Go with the gummy worms,” says Poco. The remnants of an old smile just barely run across his lips. Elise chortles, and tinkers with her iPod again. This time, something ethnic, almost feral begins to play.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a corrido from my Capoeira class. Come on, dance with me!”

Poco gulps as their class president falls into the beat, rocking back and forth on her knees, legs alternating behind her along a triangular base. She claps her hands together, and they part to reveal a fire in her eyes and a light in her smile. The Capoeira bateria continues to soar in the background, with long-stringed berimbaus and tambourines overlapping with Brazilian cheers.

“Move…your…feet!” Elise cries, hands touching the ground as she swings her leg in a wide arc. Poco is forced to tilt back, narrowly avoiding her shoe, and as he sweeps forward again, he finds himself caught in the music. He mimics Elise’s techniques, and they match each other, ducking, rolling, and leaping with the drums.

“I thought Capoeira was just a fighting style!”

“It’s a way of life!” beams Elise. “It fills you up.”

Elise tumbles across the stage, falling back on her hands gracefully. She reaches for her iPod, and without warning, jumps to a new song. Synthesized music replaces the Capoeira bateria, and as the chanting fades out, T.I. and Justin Timberlake begin to sing.

Ohhh… I’ve been travelin’ on this road too long (too long)… Just tryin’ to find my way back home (back home)…

“The old me’s dead and gone,” shrugs Elise, shaking her shoulders loose.

“Dead and gone,” echoes Poco, and they begin to dance again. Elise incorporates her Capoeira, wheeling over the aged wood. Poco snatches up his favorite cap, and fitting it snugly over his head, he throws his arms out dramatically. His knees bend and pop under him, and he twists his torso to the left. The weight of his worries thrashes against this chest, knocking the breath out of him, but as the speakers pump up the volume, his thoughts weave into the lyrics. “I turn my head to the east; I don’t see nobody by my side…”

“I turn my head to the west; still nobody in sight…”

“So I turn my head to the North, and swallow that pill that they call pride…”

“That old me is Dead and Gone,” continues Elise, fixing her eyes on Poco. He gazes right back at her, then suddenly bobs his head, pulling the cap over his face. From the shadows he whispers, “But that new me will be alright.”

*****

As a detective, it was important for Dominic Ecat to be cool under pressure. He could stand working long hours in the office, or even digging through archives under the city. He could also give chase, and it didn’t hurt that he knew how to fire a gun.

But he couldn’t handle clowns. He didn’t dislike them, but he preferred that they kept their distance. He also preferred theme parks to carnivals, although his job description left no room for choice in these matters anyway.

The gates of the November Carnival rise before him like iron titans, polished wood carved into titular letters on the arch. A barker ushers in the crowds, and Dom tiptoes on his glossy black shoes to see over them. He wonders how many of these people walk in everyday – and more importantly, how many walk out.

Dark thoughts clash with the lively red and yellow balloons that made their ascent into the sky. There was just too much color here for Dom, who spent all his time pouring over black and white print and sepia photographs.

“My brothah, my man,” says Noel, slapping a smooth palm against the detective’s back. Dom winces, and Noel steers him through the chaos of sightseers. The ringmaster was heavily dressed in chains and spiked leather belts. Automatically, Dom pulls out his handy-dandy notebook and begins to scribble.

“Are you the owner or supervisor of this establishment?”

“Yes, yes I am,” grins Noel. He snorts, and Dom worms his way out from under the carnie’s muscled arm. “We’ve been expecting you, Detective. Why don’t you have a look around? The carnival has something for everyone.”

Lydia watches the two march along the dirt paths; Candy in turn watches a tattoo form between the Painted Lady’s shoulder blades. She recognizes it to be one of the children Noel has recruited.

“He’s here for the bodysnatcher in particular,” sighs Lydia. She combs back her tawny hair, and gulps. “I can see the strings attached to this one. He’s been dealing with shady people.”

“So have you,” mutters Candy. She passes a knife along her fingers.

Lydia ignores the comment. “He’s going to be trouble for us.”

“So off him.”

“It’s not that simple. He’s one of us. A posthuman. Candelen, today we’ve been presented with an extraordinary opportunity. You’ll see the way things are done here. And then maybe you’ll understand why I need your help.”

*****

Jethro tucks his hands into his pockets, and manages to suppress the unease gurgling in his torso. There was something sitting there in the pit of his stomach, not unlike guilt; but that couldn’t be. He’d done nothing wrong. He just had some issues to sort out – prom topping the list – and now this ominous piece of news to deliver.

Chester was in hot water again, for some reason. Maybe he’d ask about it later.

An invisible hand grabs at his sides, squeezing against his hidden layers of fat. He was hoping no one had noticed that he’d gained weight. Apparently, nobody had.

“Please, please stop doing that. Dude, seriously.”

His mysterious voice giggles, and her mirth echoes along in the wistful November air. The backpack slung over his shoulders lurches, and he hears the crisp zzzzt of a zipper closing.

(You’re just begging for a kleptomaniac to take advantage, Jethro Jamon.)

The boy sighs. A year ago, all of these things – the powers, the mutant bio teacher, the faceless entity haunting his locker – would’ve been extremely exciting. They would have qualified for bragging rights. But now that teenage rites of passage were catching up with him – Prom, argh - he just didn’t seem to have the time or patience.

(Tell me about your day so far. I’m dying for a good anecdote.)

“I’m crap at storytelling. Wait, I’ve got to talk to Chester.”

Silence wafts around them, and Jethro’s hairs stand on end. The ghost finally pulls on his polo sleeve, and shoves him toward the ASTB.

(You can do that later.)

“No, Casper, I can’t. Come on, he’s just over there.”

(You don’t want to be the one to break it to him.)

“Break what to him? All I know is he’s needed upstairs,” says Jethro. “Do you know how dumb this looks? I’m talking to empty air. People are starting to stare. Dude, Chester!”

The addressed looks up from his spot on the rails; Jethro feels the entity fade away.

“Are test scores out yet?” Chester yawns. Beside him, Chari’s head tilts very slightly, almost unnoticeably, unto his shoulders. Jethro’s nose tingles at the agonizingly sweet scent of strawberries.

“About that…. Ma’am Kiel wants you to drop by the math unit right now.”

*****

Normally, a detective like Dom would have begun an investigation by recognizing suspicious activity and making a list of things that were out of place. Such an effort would be futile, he realizes, wandering around the November Carnival. For starters, a woman with uncontrolled facial hair was currently making small talk and offering him free rides.

“I’m here on business,” he coughs. Alla looks at him, biting her lip, and then quickly resumes her best smile. “I’m looking for a girl, around sixteen years old. Her name is Claudine Duñgo. We have reason to believe she’s hiding from authorities here.”

“Unless you can give me her hair color, length, and conditioner, I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she lies.

“Then allow me to investigate myself.” The Bearded Lady throws one of her braids forward in an attempt to halt the detective’s advance; he smoothly sidesteps it and pats down his fedora. “You should know that any interference could be considered obstruction of justice. If you have nothing to hide, Ma’am, please step aside.”

As Dom takes graceful footsteps further into the crowd, Alla flashes Noel, sitting atop some crates, a silent apology. He shakes his head, and in turn glances at his sister and her honored guest, arms crossed by one of the tents.

For a fraction of a second – one that went back ages and lasted eternities – the ringmaster recalls Lydia frowning the same way as a child. She’d learned early on how to mimic their mother’s disapproval, and she’d been using the face to shame him into obedience for as long as he could remember.

Well, he was a grown man now. He was in charge; this was his carnival. He would do whatever was required of him to protect this new, loving family and the land that they owned. He couldn’t let one nosy detective put them under fire. He jumps down from his vantage point, dust scattering as his boots touch the ground.

*****

“So, how bad did I fail?” chuckles Chester as he plunks onto the Math Unit study bench. His adviser fixes a steely gaze on him, and looks as if she’s mentally breaking him into pieces for closer inspection. She didn’t look too mad, which was good; she looked like she had a long lecture prepared, which was not.

“See for yourself, Mr. Ragudo,” she answers, unusually curt. Ma’am Kiel slides his answer sheet across the table, and folds her hands primly over her knees.

Chester takes one look and is immediately blinded by a spectrum of mismatched colors. His vision cuts through the sore neon oranges and ethereal purples and finally falls upon the score box.

“What?! I got a zero!”

“Or a five, whichever way you want to look at it. Chester, you didn’t get a single item right. Your solutions are only half-written, and you completely disrespected the multiple choice section. There are only four choices, A to D, so I can’t see why you would answer as far as G or L.”

Chester rubs his eyes vigorously, as if the reality sitting in print before him was merely a layer of paint that would peel off if he smudged hard enough. He goes over his answers, and curses, ignoring the presence of a teacher before him. It was true; not a single question right. And yet…

“Wait, Ma’am! This isn’t what I wrote! These aren’t my answers!”

Ma’am Kiel frowns, and characteristically uncaps several gel pens. She turns away, and begins to check quizzes; her reply comes shortly afterward.

“They’re on your paper, Chester.”

“But I didn’t write this,” he pushes. “I remember my scratch work, and this isn’t it. Ma’am, seriously, you have to believe me. I’m not this stupid.”

“But you do have a record for being this lazy. The rest of your teachers are saying you can’t keep an eye open in their classes. You don’t pass projects and you won’t take up extra credit. Chester, you’re failing. Badly. This long test and the periodic exam are your last chances, and quite frankly, you’re blowing it.”

The words waft in one ear and out the other. Chester looks up, not having registered anything, and whines in protest. “Ma’am, you can’t grade me for answers that aren’t mine.”

“They’re on your answer sheet in dry ink, Chester!”

“But I can prove I didn’t write this!”

“Really, Chester? Because I’d love to see you explain forty incorrect responses.”

Chester hated it when her voice took that sharp, dangerous turn. But an injustice had been done to him, and a beastly fury was building in his bones. Whatever the teachers had been saying about his tendency to fall asleep, he was wide awake and seething now.

“Well?” Ma’am Kiel sighs. She runs her fingers over her temple in frustration.

“The colors!” Chester blurts out. “The colors are all wrong!”

“What?”

“When I do math, the numbers have colors. That’s how I know I’m doing it right. The colors on this piece of paper don’t match. They’re not my colors!”

Ma’am Kiel stands up, and gathers her things. Typical, Chester thinks. She’s walking out on me. She raises her chin slightly, and her scar throbs in defiance.

“Don’t waste my time, Chester. Just take your paper and go.”

“No, no, no,” moans Chester, slapping a hand on the table to pick up his test. “You don’t understand! I have synesthesia; I can see colors in numbers and letters. I know I wrote different answers. I knew they were right. Somebody changed my work!”

The teacher whirls around suddenly, and Chester plops back onto the bench.

“Let’s say I give you the benefit of the doubt. You do have this, this power, that no one else has, that you’ve only told me about now. How could anyone have changed your answers? I keep my files with me at all times. My cubicle is all the way into the Math Unit. Who could’ve touched it, Chester? And who would?”

“I don’t know,” the boy growls in reply. He drops his head onto the bench. He had known he was failing, but his grades had started to look up when his ability manifested. He couldn’t explain this bull any more than Ma’am Kiel could.

“Look, Chester. I want to believe you. I really do. But your performance speaks for itself. I’m warning you now; anything less than a perfect score in the periodic exam will get you a 2.75 in my class. The third quarter is not a good time to fail, Chester. You’ve made it too far and have too much to lose.”

He didn’t want to hear anymore. A leaden curse escapes his lips as he shoves the door open, and slams it shut.

*****

No investigation would be complete without the thrill of the chase.

Dom had seen Claudine ducking behind one of the game booths. She had known he would be here, and now he knew that she was here, as well. Yvanne would finally cool her heels and another case would be closed, as soon as he caught up with the naughty teenager.

What was interesting was that he’d seen another girl with her. He wasn’t sure yet, but she looked a lot like one of the other missing girls on the posters. The carnival was hiding these kids, or worse, stealing and smuggling them, and would have to be thoroughly searched and scrutinized.

The detective follows the shadows as they retreat into the House of Mirrors. He basks for a few more seconds in the light of day, before plunging into the dimly lit halls. The weak incandescent bulbs along the ceiling serve only to bathe his reflections in a menacing glow.

“Miss Duñgo! I know you’re in here! It’s time to come home!”

Dom flinches as movement catches his eye. He whirls around, and comes face to face with several other detectives, all panting and sweating, perfectly matching the horror dawning on his face. He backs into a row of mirrors, and cautiously gropes along the glass, looking for another passageway.

The corridor thins – or does it? – and his reflections seem to crowd around him, horribly disfigured now. The misshapen doppelgangers bob up and down as Dom hurries past. Voices fill the hallway, and echo off the walls.

“H-hello, Miss Cuesta,” coughs Dom into his mobile phone. A wall of static arises, and he is forced to raise his voice. “I’ve locked onto your cousin’s location. She’s here, at the November Carnival, and she’s trying to avoid me. There’s no need to -”

Suddenly, all the nerves in Dom’s hand erupt into agonizing pain. He drops his cell, but before it hits the ground, a bright orange spear impales it, breaking it apart. The Bearded Lady pulls her hair back, and the detective has just enough time to gasp before Alla swings a mighty braid under his legs, knocking him to the ground.

“I’m really, really sorry I had to that.”

Dom kicks back, bumping into a mirror. The entire hall trembles, and his reflections seem to leap up in surprise. Noel steps into the room, cape fluttering behind him. Candy and Lydia, some distance away, turn their backs and guard the entrance.

The detective reaches for his gun; Noel’s pupils follow the motion of his hand, and once more, lightning thrashes Dom’s skin and bones, threatening to splinter him into pieces. His body convulses under the sudden pain, and he lies like a ragdoll at their feet.

Claudine and Dani squeeze into the hallway, and the bodysnatcher puts a shaking hand to her mouth. “You can’t kill him! He was looking for me; he didn’t know what he was getting into.”

One of the light bulbs in the hall sputters and blinks out; the darkness sweeping across Noel’s face makes him look centuries older. Suddenly Claudine is certain it is within the ringmaster’s power to end Dom’s life.

“What are you going to do?” Alla asks. Her hair tames itself, and her beady, pleading black eyes search Noel for compassion. If only Golda had stayed today. They could have avoided all this.

“Yes, Noel, what are you going to do?” echoes Lydia. She raises an eyebrow at Candy, who tenses and waits. Both Noel and Dom were at the end of their rope.

The ringmaster closes his eyes, and his chest swells with the heartache of all around him. The scars on his back throb, and seconds pass as he soaks in his surroundings.

“I’m not going to do anything,” he announces, and Lydia’s mouth cuts into a straight line. Noel turns to Claudine, sighs, and then finishes, “You are.”

Dani steps in front of her friend, baring her fangs. Her fingers hang like claws in the air, and her arm bends into a crook, making her look like a praying mantis.

Noel ignores this and continues, talking to Claudine, “Your friend came to us in her time of need. She was searching for a home, for a family, and in this carnival she found solace. This detective can’t be allowed to live, knowing what he knows about us. It would put us all in danger. If you want him to survive, and if you want our way of life, Dani’s home, to survive, then do what I say. Get into his head, erase his memory.”

Stillness and silence dominate the hall as Claudine’s heart thumps against her chest. Dom rolls over slightly, and coughs up blood. Whatever Noel had done to him, she couldn’t let him repeat.

The bodysnatcher deftly kneels by the detective’s side, and props his head onto her knees. His eyes flutter open for a moment, and Claudine meets his gaze, vanishing into the brilliant hazel.

*****

Siren wails waft over the arid earth as the last of the carnival’s visitors are ushered out. Candy reads the tattoo forming on Lydia’s back, and the Tattooed Lady realizes the police have come, led by Yvanne, to storm their gates.

“Where is she?” Noel asks, eyes locked on the approaching squad cars. Alla takes his left hand, and Lydia approaches, taking his right. Golda appears before them, reverently bowing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. But you’ll be glad to hear that it’s begun. I’ve planted the seed of doubt, Noel. Chester will be ours in no time flat.”

“That’s great, Golda. But we have a situation to handle. Draw the veils.”

From her cushioned leather seat in the police vehicle, Yvanne strains against the barred windows. These trees were improperly placed, if anyone asked her, and she could not see around them to the carnival.

The procession turns sharply to the left, and instead of a massive Ferris Wheel or a host of orange and white tents, Yvanne’s eyes fall upon an empty field.

“Stop the car!”

A cold wind funnels by, and the scattered tufts of grass along the ground bend beneath it. Obviously somebody had read the map wrong. Yvanne angrily stomps down the incline, denting the soil.

The sound of a twig snapping sends several heads jolting to the left. Yvanne’s eyes widen as she sees the ghostly silhouette of her cousin standing among the trees.

“Claudine? Is that you?” she cries. Sure enough, the figure turns around, and her cousin slides past some parched roots to meet her. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick! What the hell are you doing here?”

The bodysnatcher turns a weary head to the vast, empty space behind them.

“Saying goodbye.”

Yvanne’s hand closes around Claudine’s wrist in a vice grip. As she drags her cousin back toward the squad car, she hisses, “You are in big trouble when we get home, you ungrateful little brat. You have no idea what I’ve had to go through just to find you! I had to hire a detective! Where is he? He said he was with you.”

Claudine sighs. They wouldn’t be seeing Mr. Ecat for a long, long time. She wipes away a single tear as it rolls down her cheek, and wishes Dani a good night’s sleep.

*****

“Noel’s master plan is hundreds of years in the making,” whispers Lydia, as she and Candy step inside her trailer. Outside, bits and pieces of the carnival begin to reappear, one by one. “He has been patient, but the Icarus Incident finally persuaded him to act. When my brother wants something, nothing is too great a cost.”

“You mean the detective. And the girl.”

“They aren’t his first victims, our first losses. Before you came to the carnival, before our brothers and sisters were revealed to the world, we had another ringmaster.”

“So Noel took control by force?” asks Candy, awed. “He killed him?”

“No.”

The sound of Noel’s voice outside sends shivers up Candy’s spine. The Tattooed Lady pauses, taking a deep breath, and continues.

“For now, my brother’s motives remain rooted in the right soil, pointed in the right direction. But his moral compass is starting to stray off course. His ambition threatens all of us, including him. If you think I brought you, Candelen Dacalos, to the carnival to save you, then you are wrong. I found you because I need you…to save us.”

Season of Reckoning - Episode 6

2010-06-13T23:22:00.000-07:00

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

Episode 6 –
The Walls of Jericho
Part Two
Written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
Co-directed by: Rebecca Yu, Benedict Almirol, and Myrtle Antioquia

Previously, on SR…

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.

Now, SR continues.
__________________________________________________________________

The very first thing that pops into Rebecca Yu’s head as the invaders tighten their circle is not escape, or combat techniques, or even the safety of her coworkers. The Company High Executive’s brain is going overtime calculating the odds.
On one hand, there are a hundred or more men, separated into organized platoons, equipped with weapons and tactical knowledge. They are dressed in thick, insulating uniforms and laced leather boots, and wear utility belts stocked with unnamed and unfamiliar projectiles.
And on the other hand, there are the specials - trained in stealth and efficiency. Of course, there was no way to figure powers into the equation, but Becca supposes it would be a boost. How many were they left? Not counting all the Tenten clones, she guesses ten, maybe twenty agents.
Red and orange lights continue to flash through the lobbies and corridors, seemingly changing the flow of time itself. Becca didn’t know how long it took her to realize that the odds were against them.
“This is a government sanctioned raid!” bellows a voice from above. Looking up, the High Executives see Renz Cabanto descending from a rope ladder, megaphone in hand. “All posthumans under the employment and care of the Company are hereby turned over to the Posthuman Crises Aversion Team, or PCAT, effective immediately!”
As his feet touch the ground, Becca marches toward him, huffing. Her armor plates were bulging out of her skin now, and it was taking an incredible amount of self-control not to flatten the politician into a pancake on sight.
“What do you think you’re doing?! Whose idea was this?”
Several men cock their stun guns, awaiting orders. Renz holds up his hand, hair ruffling like grass in the hurricane created by the helicopter propellers. A woman enters the scene, framed by the weak beams of sunlight from outside. She picks her way through scattered glass and charred wood, places a hand on her hips, and raises her chin.
“Mine.”
Becca very slowly cranes her neck toward the voice. Desi.
“You. I should’ve known.”
Desi waves her hand around, dismissing several platoons. They charge down the hallways, systematically kicking down doors and disabling security. The warning lights sputter and lock, leaving the rooms and lobby bathed in a permanent sickening orange.
Becca looks around her; only Myrtle is standing, tense, behind her. The other agents were engaged in battle – she could hear their powers wreaking havoc further into the mansion.
“I guess the criminal always returns to the scene of the crime,” laughs Desi. Becca nearly lunges for her throat. Everything had started with Desi – the Icarus incident, the Company dropouts, and now, this raid.
“I tolerated you,” she hisses, “because back then I had some respect for Iego. I really, really hated your lack of work ethics and your tendency to just fail at everything you did. I wanted to get rid of you. But no. Iego wanted to keep you. So we did. But now that you’ve brought the fight to us, there’s nothing stopping me from pummeling you to the ground.”
Renz, caught up in the bravado, steps forward.
“Any action against us will result in incarceration and other measures deemed appropriate by the leader of this operation!”
Becca’s lip twitches.
“That would be you?”
“Yes,” replies Renz, eyebrow raised defiantly.
“Good.”
The odds were completely against them, Becca knew. Twice, perhaps thrice before the Company had been under siege. By now they’d learned the only way out was fighting. And she would put up a hell of a fight.
Tucking her face and stomach inward, Becca allows herself to be consumed by rage, folding into a massive golden armadillo sphere. The High Executive barrels along the carpet, knocking Renz to the side, before ricocheting off the wall. Men are tossed into the air like bowling pins.
Myrtle smiles grimly, before morphing into a hawk and flying off to assist the other agents.

*****

Joseph zigzags through the corridors, snatching enemy weapons away and tossing them out open windows. He knocks several soldiers down with quick jabs, and speeds away before they can even register what’s happened. Left, right, left, stairs – not even a mansion was too big for his superspeed.
BAM.
Sean collides into him, bangs thrown back by the gust of wind. Both young men screech across the carpet, smarting. Wordlessly they get up, and have only moments to recover before five or six men appear at the corner.
“Don’t move! We don’t want to hurt you!”
“That makes one of us, then,” says Sean, eyes glinting. Joseph reads his expression and bolts into another room, just as a barrage of bone spikes nails several of the intruders to a wall. Domz enters the scene, followed by more minions.
“Relax, relax,” he says in a sticky voice. “There’s no need to get physical.”
“No, of course not. But you are carrying a gun.”
“We just want to offer you a way to learn to master your powers. We can help you protect yourself and others from the nasty side eff-”
Sean holds up his hand, and the men behind Domz flinch.
“Who are you?”
“Dominic Albao, primary consultant and supplier of advanced posthuman control technology.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Sean, Company employee for three months, totally pissed. Okay, Mr. Albao: you are an idiot. Don’t give me that speech. This Company has been going at it for almost twenty five years now. It’s our job to watch specials, our job to take care of them. You do not have permission to butt in.”
The PCAT officers all fire their tasers simultaneously; Sean shuts his eyes and freezes time. The needles hang in mid-air, wires taut, and the men stand like statues. Domz’s mouth hangs open, lips contorted as a breathless order waits trapped between his teeth.
Joseph casually walks past them at normal speed, grinning to Sean. He takes all of their weapons, and pulls their pants down. He also makes a note to shift Domz’s position, leaning him forwards, before tying his shoelaces together.
When time snaps back into action, the inventor falls flat on his nose, gathering up a clump of carpet lint in his mouth. His men gasp, looking around for their equipment, before hastily stepping back into their trousers.
“Where are they?” screams Domz, voice pitching higher. “I want those two gagged and chained, immediately!”

*****

It was one of those days, Poco realizes. Every now and again the world would turn away from the important chores of managing the water cycle and encouraging predator-prey relationships to focus on him – a young boy in a government school, dark skin and dark outlook. It was as if everything about today was meant to goad a reaction out of him.
He looks up at the sky. Thousands of feet above him, rain clouds are gathering, and if there was a silver lining, Poco was too far away to see it. The girls’ dormitory, across from where he was sitting on the back steps to the ASTB, was standing tall but tired, shadowed stone housing secrets and whispers. He knew they talked about him – not as someone important, or someone helpful, but as an enigma. The boy whose father was murdered.
Not how he would’ve wanted to be known. He flips open his notebook, and scans the parking lot for inspiration. The words would come easy enough if he tried. The rhythm was no problem – lately there had always been something thump-thump-thumping inside of him. His heart, he guessed.
Eyes fall on the paper now, and as he uncaps his pen, the pitter-patter of rain echoes around him. Further into the hallway, some classes were going on, and Poco was glad to be alone on the steps. He needed silence to write.
“Hey, Poco,” says a familiar voice, and Poco looks up just in time to catch the full, searing brilliance of a camera flash. He staggers back, dropping his pen, and listens to the sounds it makes clattering down the steps.
“Shit, man,” goes another recognizable voice. It was a classroom catchphrase in Strontium now. “Were you trying to blast his eyes out?”
Poco rubs his eyes, registering only half of Jethro’s long, rambling apology. Something about him being small and dark and against the light. Funny, he thinks, since the light always seemed against him.
Chester crashes beside him, just a bit too close for comfort. He begins an awkward “uhm”, but the lanky teenager takes the hint and scoots to the opposite corner. So much for writing.
“Dude, why so emo?” Jethro asks. He appears not to notice Poco flinching. Again, an undesirable label.
“I’m not emo. I just need time to be alone.”
Chester watches the two, smirking. Jethro was big and clumsy, even with his words, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought this was a case of high school bullying. As it was – as it always was – Jethro had neatly walked himself into an awkward situation and it would be Chester’s job to fix it.
“Go, on Jet,” he says, and the photographer shrugs comically, remorse evident in the eyes behind his thick-framed glasses. His DSLR bounces on his stomach as he breathes. “Poco and I are just gonna chill for a minute.”
An audible “argh” and yet another mumbled apology are the last they hear of him before he turns around and walks away. Poco can’t help wondering if Jethro’s tendency for easy-going and culturally-charged conversation made him intolerable. The only way he ever talked was through his poetry, which of course, no one could ever read.
“I know why you’re here,” says Poco. His demeanor had already deflected poor Jethro; he might as well send Chester away too. For his own good. “And I’m fine, seriously. No need to…check up on me.”
Poco didn’t want to call it drunk, but at the moment that was exactly how Chester’s squinty-eyed ear-to-ear grin made him look. His cheek muscles, on the other hand, were out of practice.
“Dunno what you’re talking about,” yawns Chester. The intense smell of the creek in the rain shows up in his vision as diamonds of green and yellow. “Just wanted to ask about your…notebook. Heard you wrote poetry.”
And there it was. Poco could tell it was going to be one of those days, when the universe would irresponsibly take a break from conducting the delicate dance of life and death to pick on him – poor, small, defenseless, shy Poco.

*****

Jethro throws open his locker door just a little too hard, and it rebounds off the other lockers standing against the wall. He himself flinches at the noise, and running a broad hand over his face, takes inventory.
Two books, Chemistry and Biology, hardly ever opened; lunch kit, contents digested – dear God, he was getting fat; PE uniforms, carelessly stacked in the back. And a dictionary. Jethro figures if he looked up the word “awkward”, he would find a picture of himself surrounded by blocks of text detailing his failed attempts at conversation.
He couldn’t even make friends with Poco - a boy, younger than him, who would probably have agreed to anything he said. How was he going to pull off a dazzling prom proposal? And for Elise, no less – the loudest, scariest loose cannon of a girl he’d ever met?
The bubbliest, prettiest one, too. But that was beside the point.
The photographer blinks at his camera. That was his language – snapshots, paintings, music, and movies. If he could get her into an animated discussion of The Royal Tenenbaums or Radiohead, maybe he could slip in a sly string of lyrics or quotes, and he’d have asked her without her even knowing.
Facepalming was becoming regular for him, and as he brings down his arm, he snags the strap of his camera. It falls three feet, with him wasting precious seconds uttering a curse. Before it hits the ground, however, something invisible buoys it back up onto his locker.
(You’re welcome,) whispers a voice.
Jethro had watched plenty of movies about ghosts, and being a special, had seen things that were far out of the ordinary. Still, his initial reactions involve prickling hairs and shivers down his spine.
“Who’s there?”
(I’m the spirit that haunts your locker. You’re going to die in seven days.)
The boy might have been convinced, if the voice hadn’t immediately burst into a fit of giggles. Jethro looks around him, and notes that the back lobby corridor is empty. Whoever was talking was a girl, and she was having a good time mocking him.
“Are you serious?”
(No! I’m a special,) she answers, clearly irritated. (My gosh, Jethro Jamon.)
It knew his name. Of course it knew his name.
“A special? So you’re…invisible?”
(Close enough.)
“What do you want?” In Jethro’s experience, specials always wanted something from other specials if they were brave enough to reveal themselves.
(Nothing. Just to hang out.)
Something soft and warm slides under his elbow, and Jethro nearly jumps into the air. He waves his arms around, and touches nothing. He might as well have been blindfolded, but this was worse, because he could see and also not see. Perhaps he was losing his mind.
“Have you been stalking me?”
(Don’t flatter yourself, Jamon. If I have, then you’d never know.)
The voice’s answer was definitely less than comforting. Where had she been following him? And for how long? Jethro resists the urge to look at the boys’ bathroom, just outside.
“I…have to go,” he says, before he can stop himself. It didn’t make sense to continue talking to this figment of his imagination. He should’ve just walked away, but it was part of his charm that the words came out before he could screen them with his brain.
(Off to see the wizard? Your biology teacher arrived on campus half an hour ago.)
Jethro halts. He’d been planning to see David, but how did the voice know that?
“And you know this because…?”
(I’m a stalker, remember? And sometimes you talk to yourself. It’s a bit creepy, but I don’t judge.)
“Hey! Those are private conversations.”
(Being invisible and able to cross between dimensions, I have a little problem with privacy. And boundaries. So are you going to see him?)
Jethro whirls around, backpack straps tightening around his shoulders. A fierce look comes over his face. He looks left, and then right, and settles with talking straight ahead.
“It’s none of your business, whoever you are. Dude, just…leave me alone.”
(You know,) comes the voice from behind him, close to his ear, (I’ve tried talking to a lot of people here. You’re the only one who didn’t faint. Or run away. So I was kind of thinking we could be friends.)
“You saved my camera, okay,” sighs Jethro. “Thanks. But that’s it.”
At that moment, his DSLR appears, floating in the air, and a soft arm goes around his waist. The camera activates, flashing, and then hangs itself around his neck.
(There. To commemorate our first day together.)
“But you’re invisible,” Jethro points out, opening the door to the Biology Unit. The voice remains quiet for a few seconds.
(You are funny, Jethro Jamon. Now go!) she whispers, shoving him through.

*****

If he could help it, Poco almost never looked anyone in the eye. It wasn’t that he was afraid of seeing their disapproval, or worse, their pity – he already knew that would be waiting. He was more worried of what they would see in his eyes.
Unable to form a conclusion based on Chester’s facial expressions as he read, Poco resigns himself to waiting. He wonders if Chester is the type to sugarcoat, and quickly decides he isn’t. This was just what he needed: to have his feelings put under the spotlight. Why had he let Chester get his hands on the notebook?
As these thoughts run through Poco’s head, wild, fanciful colors make their way through Chester’s field of vision. The letters pop off the pages as he scans, fluorescent with vein-river red, floodwater blue, and a green he was sure the young poet must’ve stolen from the kalachuchi trees standing proudly by the field.
Suddenly, something stirs in his bones. The feeling pervades his entire body, climaxing in the gulf of his ears. A tingling, a sort of whimsical ringing.
Music. He was hearing music as he read.
“Poco, my friend,” he begins, peeling himself away from the paper with some difficulty. “You have some real talent here. Incredible colors, man. Thumbs up.”
Relieved, the boy retrieves his notebook respectfully and beams. Not bad for his first critique. Maybe there was hope for a future in writing after all. Something about Chester’s choice of words piques his interest, though.
“What do you mean, colors? I used black ink.”
In the space before Chester’s reply, Poco dimly realizes how parched his voice sounds.
“Your poetry. It’s… I dunno, this sounds stupid, but I wanna say that it’s like, real poetry in motion. Might’ve mentioned it before, but I’m a synesthete. I see sounds as colors, cool stuff like that. And your writing, it literally speaks to me. Sings, actually.”
For once Poco is glad of his dark complexion. Those longs hours helping his father in the field were now hiding the faint red patch on his cheeks.
His father…
“You’re a special, Chester?”
Something that Chari had said to him earlier floats back to memory. Poco’s father was a special murdered by a special. I kind of feel sorry for him. The synesthete wonders how to turn the conversation around.
“Yeah, I guess.” No luck in the evasion department. He was just going to have to be careful with his words. He wondered if Poco was a crier. Then again, anyone who survived the dormitory, like he did, was probably pretty tough. “Powers. World’s saying something to us. Things gotta change.”
“It’s a brave new world we’re walking into,” says Poco thoughtfully. “There’s that feeling – like anyone can do anything now. People are strong. Special.”
Chester grins in reply. That wasn’t so bad. What was everyone making a fuss about? Poco knew how to handle his grief.
“Except…” Poco continues. Chester’s smile sags. “One minute, you’re feeling pretty lucky. And then the next, someone with powers takes away the ones close to you. And suddenly you don’t feel so big or special. Then you just feel…small.”
Chester tries to move his arm, going for an awkward pat on the back. It wasn’t going to happen. Instead, he nods solemnly.
“That’s what my name means,” Poco sighs. “Poco is Spanish…for small.”

*****

Peering behind a large bookcase, Jethro waits as his biology teacher whispers to two men standing at the back entrance to the unit. One of the men shakes his head and stalks off; his companion follows him shortly thereafter.
Cold air on his neck alerts him to the presence of his disembodied voice. Wasn’t she ever going to leave him alone? He merely waves impatiently behind him, and the breath vanishes.
When he turns around, David looms over him.
“Can I help you with something, Mr. Jamon?”
For a moment, the teenager is lost in the emerald and lime whorl of David’s pupils. Those were no ordinary eyes, and this was no ordinary teacher.
“I need to ask you something…Sir.”
“Alright, but anything you say can and will be used against your final average.”
The professor leads Jethro further into the unit. All the other teachers either had a class or were eating a late lunch, which suited him just fine, as their discussion would soon turn toward covert matters.
“No offense, Sir,” Jethro begins, “but…why are you here? Does the Company have another mission? Do you need me for something?”
David’s laughter, similar to the sound of crunching bark and bending branches, startles Jethro, and he is taken aback.
“You? Why would I need you?”
Straightening out his labcoat, David gets up and pretends to make himself busy with paperwork. He watches Jethro’s disappointed frown out of the corner of his eye, and licks his lips.
“Maybe I need Chester. Or Chari.”
Jethro had known his trip to the office wouldn’t be a waste of his time.
“You know about his powers? And…wait, what? Chari’s a posthuman?”
“She’s probably in a better position to tell you about it herself. Some touchy stuff there,” David says. “As for Chester? I’ve always known, even before he did. Ancer moonlights as a precog for us; I’m sure you’re aware of that.”
It was difficult for Jethro to digest all this, partly because dozens of new questions were springing up in his mind. He fidgets a bit, and notices that one of the seat cushions is being weighed down by an unseen object.
“Dude. Wow. It’s like we’re everywhere.”
“Specials find each other, Jethro,” says David, rather amused. “It’s hardwired into us, together with the powers and the genes. Safety in numbers and all that. We have to protect our species.”
Jethro finds himself frowning at the notion. His teacher’s use of the word species couldn’t have put him farther away from Elise. He actually liked to think they had something in common.
“We’re all still people.”
“Most of us. I’m currently straddling the line between Kingdom Animalia and Kingdom Plantae. The point is, when you’re a special, there’s no doubt about it – you’re going to run into others like you. And sometimes, you’re going to butt heads with people who aren’t. They won’t have any respect for you and will probably like nothing better than to knock you back down to their level.”
David’s voice is matter-of-factly, and although he hates the way it sounds, Jethro can’t help wondering how often he’s used that tone on Chester lately.
“When you find friends, Jethro,” David continues, a shadow falling over his eyes as the tangles of his vine-like hair are capped by a fedora, “be sure to hold on tight.”
A moment passes, in which the teenager’s ears patiently take in the ticking of the wall clock. David, however, is sifting through memories of his past – a part of his life that seemed light-years behind him.
Normal, uncomplicated laughter. Freedom from the responsibility of uniqueness. And a distant, barely recognizable feeling. The feeling of…belonging. Of family.
“Run along now Jethro,” the professor sighs, plunking into his seat. He reclines, and lets his fedora cover most of his face. “I have some things to think about, and I’d prefer it if you weren’t watching me reminisce.”
Wordlessly, his student gets up and disappears out the door.

*****

Seeing through the eyes of an elephant did nothing to assuage the horror of Desi’s siege on the Company. Myrtle could feel each floor beneath her trembling; the vibrations caused by the merciless march of soldiers made her legs, thick as tree trunks, weak. The wide mantles of her ears could pick up the sounds of their agents losing the battle.
Levynce’s body seizes with electricity just as her fingers brush the door to the control room; Gabby Nolasco’s weight is pinned down and his head is bagged; Hannah is backed into a corner and captured with a heavy steel net; Albert is pelted with a viscous pink ooze that prevents him from escaping.
Myrtle charges down the hallway, tossing her tusks from side to side; she catches men in their ivory curves and hurls them out of sight, giving little thought to their screams of pain.
Another platoon jogs toward her, weapons at the ready. Her tough, gray hide melts to give way to black and orange stripes; she pounces, her tiger claws slicing through their uniforms. They twist and writhe on the ground, bleeding.
Just below her, on the stairs, Becca is pressed against the wall. Pain shoots up her sides as a broken rib juts into her flesh; crimson leaks through the spaces between her bruised armor plates. Renz inches closer, armed with enough nerve to pull his shades off and grin.
“It’s over, Miss Yu. We’ve captured the east and west wings, the function rooms, the wards, and the hills out back. All that’s left is for Desi to secure Level Five. If you give up now, I’m sure we can work out the details of your holding cell.”
Exhausted from combat, Becca merely spits a curse at him. “Fuck you.”
Images assault her, remnants of her once powerful memory – the sight of David squaring off against Micah on the roof of their old headquarters, his ability pumped up way past its limits. Where was their founder now?
Wherever he was, she knew she couldn’t let him come back to this mess. She was a big girl now, a Company High Executive, and she was going to clean this up. But first she would have to knock a few skulls together.
Biting her tongue to keep from screaming, Becca rolls into a golden ball once more, revving up for speed. Before she can launch herself at the politician, Domz appears, holding a massive crossbow. He has mere seconds to look into the crosshairs and pull the trigger.
A metallic diamond shoots forward like a bullet, and as it hurtles through the air, it unfolds into a much larger jointed cross. The contraption clamps onto Becca like a claw; anti-gravity technology wired into the braces lifts her into the air. The ball heaves, and her muffled shrieking eventually fades away.

*****

Desi briskly moves down the hallway, her shadow magnified a thousand times in size by the lamps at her feet. The number 5 is painted at regular intervals along the walls; impregnable glass walls skew her reflections, only inches separating her from The Company’s most vicious prisoners.
Her heels quiver as a deafening stampede turns the corner – all Tenten clones, their narrow eyes and pointed noses giving them the appearance of ravenous vultures. She stands her ground, aiming what looks to be a barcode reader at the approaching swarm. She flips her hair to the side and pulls the trigger.
A beam of red light falls over the army of clones, and rapidly flickers along both walls. The duplicates fizzle out, bursting into angry puffs of smoke. Desi puts her hand on her waist and smirks.
The dull thud of a pale white hand on the glass beside her snaps her to attention. She peers long and hard into the face of a familiar enemy – dressed in a polka dotted hospital gown, Shaula Geraldino bears more than a passing resemblance to her creepy six year old self. Desi notices the IV tubes and sensors hooked up to her arms and face.
Shaula’s head tilts lazily to the side as a tunnel of sound blasts Desi against the wall. She merely yawns as Sean attacks again, knocking away Desi’s weapons.
The traitorous witch begins to get to her feet, but a hooded figure appears before her. Romeo Manangu’s swift Bo staff strike throws her back onto the ground, and she whimpers.
“What did you think you were going to achieve by putting us behind bars?” roars Sean, stepping forward. Desi swings her arms in a wide arc, catching both agents; her ability crawls under their skin, anchoring itself in their bones. She rises, and brings her arms together so that Sean and Romeo are forced to kneel.
“Revenge. Financial security. Control. All of the above.”
Sean glares at her through his mottled bangs; Romeo rages against her invisible strings. She wiggles her fingers, and Romeo tosses his staff to one side, far out of reach.
“Do you have any idea what the world stands to lose if we go down?”
Desi’s sudden, slicing laughter chills the entire floor.
“You’re all self-important pigs. Nothing’s changed – all of you Company cronies think you’re the only ones who can handle a job. You think you’re all that, but you’re not. If you disappear from the face of the Earth for a while, well… We could all do without you. I’m in charge now.”
“Go to hell,” barks Sean, and Desi deftly twists his neck, breaking it. Romeo forces himself up, but before he can do anything, the puppetmaster coils his right arm backward. The bone crunches audibly as it fractures.
She takes two steps toward Romeo, cracking her knuckles. She’d enjoyed putting an end to the Company’s star agent, hero of the eclipse. Now she was going to get a kick out of snapping Romeo like a twig.
A gust of wind sets her spinning, and before she can recover, Joseph doubles back. He snatches up Romeo and Sean’s limp body, straining against their weight, and hurtles up the stairs.

*****

Myrtle grabs a windowsill for support. Becca was down for the count, and she knew she would be too. Soon. There was barely any fight left in her. If Renz was telling the truth, then it was going to be over in minutes.
A streak of orange arrives at her side – Joseph. He sports his own set of cuts and injuries, but puts his arm under her to help her up.
“Jowi, no…Stop. You have to get out of here.”
“No! I can still fight!”
The High Executive’s heart lightens for a brief moment as she meets the determination in his eyes. An explosion erupts bellow them, and dust falls from the ceiling.
“But you’re not a killer, Jowi. None of us are. We can keep on fighting and fighting, but we’re outnumbered. Eventually you’ll tire out and they’ll catch you. We can’t let that happen.”
Joseph can’t bring himself to understand where Myrtle is going with this.
“You have to run,” she says, coughing up blood. “Take whoever you can with you and get the hell out of here. Find David. No…find Adre. He’ll know what to do. Just run and don’t look back.”
“I can’t leave you here to die!” cries Joseph incredulously.
“They want us alive,” says Myrtle. “I don’t know what for. They won’t kill us…yet. There’s still time to regroup. To live to fight another day. Get out now, Jowi.”
Every fibre of the agent’s body tells him to stay. It was like being torn in half, the way his muscles tensed, all of him pulsating with superspeed. Fight? Or flight?
Joseph has his decision made for him, as a plasma noose goes around one of Myrtle’s fragile hands. He tries to pry it off, but it burns his fingers. Myrtle shoots him a pleading look, and opens her mouth to beckon him away, but a second noose goes around her head.
The agent zips to the other end of the corridor, and watches as Myrtle fights her captors. She shapeshifts into a gorilla, a hawk, and a mouse in turn, but the nooses change size along with her. Finally, someone gets several shots of tranquilizer into her system, and she collapses to the floor. Before her eyes close, she mouths him a final warning.
“Go.”
The PCAT soldiers turn their attention to Joseph, but with a final, clammy gust of wind, he vanishes, leaving behind the infested ruins of the Company headquarters.

Season of Reckoning - Episode 5

2010-06-01T05:38:00.000-07:00

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.

Season of Reckoning - Episode 4

2010-05-23T03:56:00.000-07:00

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

Episode 4 – Promised Land
Written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
Co-directed by: Rebecca Yu, Benedict Almirol, and Candy Dacalos

Previously, on SR…

“You’re going after our carnivalettes. That’s cute, Lab-labs. I approve.”
“But they’re not seeing what I’m seeing.”
“This is bitch eat bitch world, Desi.”
“Now I have a plan that will save all your asses from the soup kitchen.”
“I was thinking of teaching Biology to third years here at Philippine Science.”
“You never know what you have until you lose it.”

Now, SR continues.
_______________________________________________________

Wax trickling down the sides. Gray, milky white, black.
A pillar of flames. Rising, falling, silent but passionate. Warm.
The fires mount violently, and intense, encompassing light fills the room, down to its darkest, most secret corners. The flash stitches blindness over his eyes, and he roars in pain.
The most horrible sound she has ever heard.
Cold, unfeeling concrete beneath her palms. Rough, gritty, unchanging and unforgiving. A wall of wood swinging toward her, ending in a terrible din. Latches slipping into place, locks shutting. And the solid, immovable behemoth of her own front door, forever closed.
The most horrible sight she has ever seen.
Twinkling lights, soft, whimsical music, fresh bread – just a fragment of a memory, overshadowed by emotion. A fractured sense of safety. Uncertain footsteps, giving way to breathless sprints. Faster, faster.
But the carnival was gone. And so was everything else. Everything was…over.
A handsome man, his guiding hand; the glint in his eye. His easy words, his easy choices. And a plan unfolding. Years of training, years of deceit.
All for nothing.
Seconds ticking, stretching endlessly into muted forevers. A final warning, a weapon in her hand. Left, right, good, bad, now, never…
She chose them.
Months in a tiny cell, regret dripping down the walls. Acrid echoes keeping her awake at night. Not the tiniest bit of light. Not even in herself.
Then came the eclipse.
Another day, another deal, another set of faces. She’s learned; every fiber in her body is ripe with distrust, and in the darkness of a moon swallowing the sun, she makes her escape. Swimming for hours, water and blood gushing from the side of her mouth.
And now, aimless wandering.
The ink settles on Lydia’s back, washing out over the face of a bespectacled woman, aged far beyond her years. Short, wavy hair, and thick, pouting lips. The tattoo sketches to completion, and the seer is pulled back to the present, decades lost in her shallow exhalation, hundreds of kilometers whizzing by in her mind.
Her hand sweeps across the table involuntarily, and her crystal ball rolls off the table. It shatters into a thousand pieces, and the morning rays streaming in through the window blinds scatter through the shards.
Heavy knocking wakes Lydia from her vision.
“There won’t be a show tonight,” comes Noel’s voice, urgent. “Handle things until Terence and I get back.”
He waits for a response. As he begins to turn around, disappointed, the trailer door snaps open. Lydia pulls the seashell curtains to one side, and walks past him, running her fingers tentatively through her hair.
“I need to talk to Terence first. I’ve an errand for him.”
“Have you found someone to help us?”
The Tattooed Lady stops, and just barely turns her head. From the corner of her lips, she whispers.
“Yes. Her name is Candelen, and she, by far, needs the November Carnival more than anyone else we’ve roped into the ring.”

*****

Chester politely excuses himself between their biology teacher and the man she is talking to, angling his entrance to fit the large object he is carrying under the crook of his arm. He sets the box on their table of six, and pulls the red silk cover away with a flourish.
“Do you guys have any idea how this got into my room?”
Elise unhooks her half of the earphones and returns them to Jethro, who in turn puts away his iPod. Chari manages to break away from the gaggle of guys surrounding her to join them.
“Nice,” says Jethro, giving the cajon a few light taps. Chester sees the wooden sound as concentric rings of light brown and gold. “So this is what you were busy with yesterday. Too bad – we had a good jam session. You should’ve brought this over.”
“I didn’t know what to do with it. It was sitting on my bed together with a painting, of that same beatbox. And lots of colors, just the way I see them.”
“Oh. So you’re still hallucinating,” laughs Jethro.
“I’m not. These colors – whenever something makes noise I can see them. It’s like a superpower, man.”
“Che, maybe you’re just a bit excited. You know. From the carnival and everything. Specials are coming out by the dozens now. Maybe only you can see the colors because you’re forcing yourself to?”
The corners of Elise’s lips slowly fold downward as she surveys the sharp sloping of Chester’s eyebrows, and the adamant look of certainty on Jethro’s face. Chari runs her fingers over the carvings on the wood, and speaks up. The scent of strawberries fills the air.
“You know how to play this?” she asks innocently. Her accent is further obscured by the bubblegum she is chewing on.
“Yeah. Old friends taught me, way back. But I didn’t own one, until yesterday afternoon. I asked all the dormers, and none of them ‘fessed up. They didn’t do it, and they didn’t see who did it.”
The rest of Strontium begins to settle down as Ma’am Dawn enters the room, stomach first. Her smile follows in quick succession, and she steps up onto the platform, pulling down on the projector screen so that it winds back up with a neat snap.
“Okay class, I have an important announcement to make. As you can all see,” she says, turning sideways and giving a little chuckle, “I’m well into my pregnancy. The baby’s doing fine, thanks for asking. We’re going to have a beautiful baby girl.”
Elise leans in to Jethro, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“I told you she was pregnant,” Elise whispers through pearly whites.
“Okay, so you’re right. I mean, I had a hunch that she was, but it would be totally awkward and rude if I asked her and she wasn’t.”
“Your momma’s so fat we thought she was pregnant.”
Chari bursts into rich, staccato laughter beside her; it was the first time since she’d arrived on campus that she’d made any noise aside from a quiet word or two. All heads turn to look at her, and Ma’am Dawn stops good-naturedly to let her clutch her stomach. Chester grins lazily, and then yawns, plopping his head back on the table.
“Well now, if Miss Beleran is done, I was just about to introduce you to your new substitute teacher. I’m not sure what his credentials are, but he looks decent enough in a labgown. Please welcome Mr. – actually, I’m sorry,” she says, turning to the man entering the room. He tips his fedora to the class. “What was your name?”
“I regret to inform everyone that no matter how you choose to address me, it will always sound awkward. My name is David, but I don’t like my surname, so you can just call me Sir. Everyone clear on that?”
Strontium sits dumbfounded, and a few jumpy nods break up the collective stillness in the room. Ma’am Dawn bids the class goodbye, taking her jar of candies and plastic animal toys with her.

*****

Yvanne dials again, fingers threatening to punch right through her flimsy cellphone. She puts the device to her ear, scowling at the ringback tone, which by now she is impossibly tired of.
The door to her boss’s lounge opens; cold air-conditioning floods the hallway. Desi frowns, gesturing toward the ongoing meeting, but Yvanne puts up her palm – talk to the hand – and continues tapping her stilettos against the marble.
“She’s not picking up. She should’ve told me they had an out-of-town overnight field trip. And now I owe her Php500 in fees. Ugh.”
“You can deal with finding her later. We have to discuss your future,” sneers Desi, smacking Yvanne’s hand with a metallic pointer. The secretary drops her phone, only to catch it in the other hand.
The ladies return to the table, each one primly straightening out suits and blouses. Two other men sit on opposites sides; one looks rather bored, and the other looks rather large and white.
“Yvanne,” begins the corporate leader, “meet Dominic Albao. Domz for short – it’s plural, with a Z, because he’s so large. And I don’t even need to introduce you to Renz Yrlandre Cabanto, who is running for Senator in the upcoming elections.”
Flipping her long, straight hair to the side, Yvanne nods. She bitterly observes how the superior cushioned seat at the head of the table fits Desi’s big mouth and bigger head.
“Over the past few months, I’ve been underground,” Ms. Mina explains. “Making connections, hooking up with allies, and doing a lot of research. Watching, and waiting. The three of you are here today because of what you can do for me, and what I can do for you.”
“Get on with it, Desi,” grumbles Renz, popping the lid off a bottle of sprite. He holds it to his lips, tilting his head back, and takes his blessed time to drink. Gulp, gulp, gulp. When he finishes, the glass breaks from his lips with an exaggerated Ah. Domz’s face contorts with exasperation; Yvanne smirks and thinks how ridiculous this looks.
How ridiculous this all looked.
“It hasn’t been long since posthumans – people with superpowers – revealed themselves to the world. It started with Iego Tan, the winged freak,” and here Desi’s nose wrinkles, “and soon, many others followed. That’s where Renz came in.”
“Yes. He rode the publicity and made empty claims,” shrugs Domz.
“You’re wrong there,” says Renz, standing up, very theatrical. Yvanne waves away the smell of liquor and more recently, sprite, on his breath. “Desi and I pushed for the legislation of a two-part bill. Posthumans are now not allowed to use their powers in public. Read the papers, Albao. And furthermore,” he says with a flourish, creases forming on his square forehead, “there is now a division which handles superhuman affairs. I am the leader of said division.”
“Sit down, Renz.” Desi points at him with her finger, and as she brings her hand down, the politician plops back into his seat. Yvanne’s eyes narrow.
There’s something freaky about Desi. I mean, aside from the obvious.

*****

“Why’d we head out to a dump like this, Noel? What’s to see?”
Terence rocks back and forth on his heels, hands stuffed cozily into the pockets of his trousers. He watches, head angled as always so that one side of his body leans forward, while Noel runs some sand through his fingers.
A barren wasteland stretches before them in all directions, rolling high and low in little hills. The landscape is broken up only by several misplaced boulders, probably rolled off from the limestone cliffs which border the area. Vegetation is scarce; all the thorny bushes panting along the dried riverbed droop and sigh under the glare of the afternoon sun.
“I was almost a hundred percent sure that we could win them over,” coughs Noel, running his fingers through his hair as the wind blows. Traces of dust remain there, making him seem much, much older. “The November Carnival is like a dream come true for all of us. But I guess we’ve been…cloistered too long.”
“Well, sure, boss. But it’s the good life, right?”
“Recently I realized that the concept of paradise changes from person to person. Not everyone dreams of running away to the circus. Not everyone wants to keep moving from place to place. They’re like us, Terence, but I’ve been out of touch from the outside so long that I’ve forgotten they’re not like us.”
“So what’re you saying?”
Terence impatiently taps his shoes on the ground; his footprints press into the earth at superspeed, so that the impression begins to dig deeper and deeper.
“They need a home, is what I’m saying,” snaps Noel. “Not a traveling gypsy caravan, not trailers, not hammocks tied between concessions booths. They need…a promised land. Somewhere we can all gather and just sit down on the grass and be home.”
Overhead, a hawk blocks out the sun, casting its shadow on the ground. The outline of its widespread wings flutters over the dirt, coming up to Noel. Terence narrows his eyes, wary of the straight line formed by the ringmaster’s parched lips.
“This is going to be home? It looks just like the carnival grounds.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. We have to gather the faithful first, and together, as one family, we will transform the entire earth into our Eden. You’ll see; my vision for our dominion is unlike anything the world has ever seen. Specials are like angels, Dy Echo. We’ve come and said our piece; mankind has been warned. Now it’s time to find our way back to the heaven we deserve.”
Terence merely nods his head. He hated it when Noel talked like that; it was so hard to follow. The old Noel went straight to the point; the old Noel was a man of action.
Standing there, watching the new ringmaster kneeling on the ground, carving who knows what into the ground, Terence wearily comes to a stinging conclusion.
The old Noel was gone.
“Look, boss, it was nice shopping for real estate with you, but Lydia -”
“Go.”
“But how are you going to get back? If we’re away from the carnival for too long, we’re going to -”
“Just go, Terence. Fetch the lady.”
Hacking up some spit and shooting it deftly at the ground before him, Terence turns his back, and zips away, accelerating to seven hundred miles an hour. Noel watches as his outline, fading wisps of distorted air and light, follows after him seconds later, throwing up clouds of dust in its wake.

*****

“The human body,” begins David, pulling back his long sleeves to write on the board, “interacts with its environment via nerve connections and electrical signals. I’m sure Ma’am Dawn covered the basics of the nervous system with you, and since I’m not the type to give quizzes,” he says, trying to goad the kids into smiling, “we’ll just talk about something that has fascinated scientists and the general population for a while now: Synesthesia.”
No matter how hard he tries, Jethro can’t seem to ignore the greenish tinge in the new teacher’s skin. He casually mentions this to Elise, who points out the distressing branch-like state of David’s arm.
“Has anyone here ever heard of the phenomenon?”
A few seconds, and the class awkwardly shakes their heads. Chester opens his eyes long enough to find that he is not the only one with his head on the table.
“Our body perceives the world around us by receiving input through one sense, and then having the brain interpret. Sometimes, though, individuals are born with what you might call ‘different wiring’. Information gets sent to the wrong parts of the brain; it gets processed nonetheless. The result is unique perception – tasting words, feeling smells, seeing sounds as colors.”
Chari gently shakes Chester awake; Jethro locks eyes with him.
“This could be considered similar,” continues David, eyes narrowing and smile widening, “to how snakes can see temperature signals with organs called pits. Or how insects detect each others’ pheromones. Those are interesting, too.”
Elise flips through her hardcore Bio book, and notes that his lecture is not on their list of topics for the week. She says so to Jethro, who practically jumps up in epiphany.
“I’ve seen him before,” he says, half to himself. “From the Company…”
“Yes, Mr. Jamon? Something to share with the class?”
Chester and Jethro exchange glances for the nth time. Elise merely grins.
“No? Well, okay then. Pheromones are chemical messengers that animals release to attract mates and instigate breeding. You can think of them as love perfumes. Females of the species may be able to use these pheromones to manipulate the males into strange mating behaviors.”
The bell rings, and Chari practically flies out the door. Boys from their class and from the lower years down the hall converge, tongues all hanging out in comic fashion.
Elise and Chester follow after her; Jethro innocuously steals a last look at their new substitute.
“So, Jethro. How’s normal life? Get those powers under control yet?”

*****

Desi nimbly flips a remote control around in her palm, and uses it to turn on the projector she has brought to the table. The first slide of her presentation flashes on the wall.
“My father has owned this bank ever since his father passed it on to him. Since then, we’ve made a generous sum, loaning money to non-profit organizations, up and coming businesses, and the intrepid ventures of plucky entrepreneurs. We’ve come to be recognized as the bank, the establishment. And with such high interest rates and reliable security, why shouldn’t we be?”
Pictures flicker onscreen – photos from the day the bank first opened, and various shots of important-looking people shaking hands with Mina Senior. Desi beams at first, but as time passes, her lips sink lower and lower. Yvanne satisfactorily nods her head at this.
“But then we got hit by two storms. The first was recession. Businesses tanked, profits fell off the charts; everyone was just poor all of a sudden. I wasn’t here at the time, of course, for reasons we will never discuss, but the important thing is I’m here now. I can fix up all those bad decisions that you and father made, Yvanne. All that trust you put into bad loans….” she says, tsk-tsk-ing.
“Whatever, Desi. Next slide.”
“Just when you all thought things couldn’t get any worse, that’s when the Icarus Incident happened.” Here Desi starts to laugh vigorously, almost…maniacally. Renz’s eyebrow shoots up, in unison with Domz’s upper lip. Yvanne simply rolls her eyes. “Posthumans were discovered. And as it turns out, there are a lot of specials. When their cover was blown, they all just packed up and left town. Pulled out all their investments. We weren’t getting paid back; we had nothing in our vaults.”
“Our, our, our,” hisses Yvanne. “None of this is yours. Just because you share the same last name with our great president doesn’t mean you can lay claim to all our hard work –”
The secretary stops abruptly; her lips snap shut. Desi has her hand out, fingers pinched together. Yvanne wrestles with the invisible strings silencing her, to no avail.
“Would you shut up and let me have the moment, sweetie? So there. To be clear, I’m a posthuman, too. Questions later. Yvanne, Domz, Renz – you all have something in common; you all need cash. The secretary, the budding inventor, the politician in the running. My plan will put enough cash in our laps to make sure we all retire sipping martinis under Malibu sun.”
Desi’s audience waits, irregular breaths audible against the dull hum of the air-conditioning. The walls heave, as though listening intently.
“Renz, with your efforts we’ve created the Posthuman Crises Aversion Team. Our first mission will be to collect stray posthumans and keep them locked up. We accomplish this by first raiding The Company, which, as I will fully explain later on, is a clandestine organization of pigs and idiot specials. Domz, your inventions, funded by what little is left of the bank, will be of great help in subduing them and countering their powers. Finally, we shall use the mechanics of this bank to create an underground black market.”
“Of what? What are we selling?” inquires Yvanne.
“Powers. We’re going to create a bank system that sells superpowers.”

*****

Lydia slips a shawl over her shoulders and steps into the harsh sunlight. She can feel ink oozing through the pores on her back, a blinking, moving radar warning her of an approaching posthuman. The map tattoo on her back vanishes, just as a blast of wind signals Terence’s arrival. Her trailer door flips open, and she rushes back inside.
“You said she was gonna be trouble,” sneers Terence. He shakes his head in disdain. “Didn’t put up a fight. Too slow.”
“Well I’m glad that you’ve discovered you move faster than light. Now, if you don’t mind, give us some space.”
The messenger leaves a translucent trail behind him as he goes, frames of himself left behind in his departure. The liquid light evaporates seconds later, following after him.
Lydia surveys the crumpled mess on her bed, barely breathing. Cuts ran along the length of her arms; her face was smeared with jungle dirt. She notes how the woman’s body is much leaner than in her visions – she hadn’t been eating properly. One of the lenses in her spectacles was cracked.
“Candy. Wake up.”
At the sound of her name, the fugitive bucks, throwing her arms up. Lydia falters, raising her hands over her eyes, but the light Candy emits is pathetically weak – the equivalent of a candle’s illumination.
Kicking against the sheets, Candy edges toward the corner, bracing herself.
“I’m not going to hurt you. You know me, Candelen.”
The fugitive draws in breath, eyes scanning the trailer for exits.
“Perhaps you need help remembering,” Lydia adds, inching closer. Candy sticks her hand out, powering up another attack, but the Tattooed Lady grasps her palm tightly. Too tired to struggle, the fugitive merely cries out as ink streams from Lydia’s fingers into her arm.
A pair of twin tattoos forms on each of their arms – crowned women carrying broadswords, surrounded by a twisting pillar of flames.
The Magician.
“Your mind is…in disarray,” says Lydia, struggling. “Have to dig deeper…. Just one memory….”
Images flash around her, forgotten pasts, fragments of better times. Traces of feelings buried deep within the fugitive’s subconscious. The Tattooed Lady wades deeper into Candy’s mind, her soul, and the vicious hatred wells up again.
Lydia is thrown back, smashing into her bedside wardrobe. She sinks to the floor, panting, and arches in pain. The new tattoo on her arm sizzles away like a crisp ember.
“If you come near me again,” mutters Candy, hugging her knees, “I will gouge your eyes out with my nails.”
The Tattooed Lady ignores the threat, straightening up. Her knees nearly give way to the weight of Candy’s memories, still fresh in her mind.
“Remember. One late November night. You came to us with your family. I met you at the gates. We talked; we shared popcorn. Then you looked up at my face and asked me why I had this leaf tattoo over my eye. Do you remember what I said?”
Candy hesitates, as Lydia rests against the side of her trailer.
“…to remind you how much time has passed.”
“That’s right. Seasons change, and so does this tattoo.”
Lydia brushes back her hair, and the intricate veins of the ilang-ilang leaf stitched across her cheek pulsate with autumn oranges and faint greens.
“That was a long time ago. People change too.”
“Maybe in the way they look, or how heavy their heart is,” says Lydia, drawing closer. Tears begin to stream down Candy’s face, and she fights them off, vigorously rubbing against them with her wrists. “But what’s inside stays the same. Your light, Candelen… You’ve been running for long as you can remember. Isn’t it time to come home?”
“I have no home. I have no family. Twice promised, twice denied. No more.”
“It’s fine. You don’t need to accept my offer right now. Just…rest up. You have food waiting for you outside. All you need to do is ask. You might not be home just yet, but for now, you are safe.”
Lydia picks herself up, and hobbles down the steps to the door. She’d forgotten the sting of physical pain; Noel had always been there to take it away.
Not this time.
Silently she wishes Candelen untroubled dreams.

*****

Chester sleepily drags his bag across the uneven table surface, blocking himself from their chemistry teacher’s view. He lays his head on the table, listening to the colored trills of birds outside.
A hand slams a piece of paper onto his desk; he looks up to see Jethro brandishing his most recent test score. The numbers flash bright green – a decent 34. The boy’s smile flashes just as bright.
Turning over his crumpled answer sheet, Chester yawns. Yet another over-perfect score. Jethro’s face turns about as red as the 43/40. He groans loudly, face squelching, and jabs his friend in the arm. Elise laughs, giving him a comforting hug, which does what she intends it to do. She then places her paper beside his, a 39, and chortles, rolling over on the ground.
Over his shoulder, Chester sees Chari smiling serenely at her own paper. She was sitting nearest the door, as usual, farthest away from the blackboard. He supposes she is trying to avoid attention, but notes in his head that she isn’t doing a very good job.
“Hey,” he calls in a low voice, swinging over. He pulls up a creaky old stool, and takes a seat. “How’d you do?”
Chari meekly slips her test toward him. 38.
“I didn’t know you were a Chem nerd,” he says, laughing. Chari’s lips purse tightly, and surprisingly, her eyebrows come together in an angry knot.
“Well of course not,” she hisses. “I’m supposed to be the pretty girl, not the smart one. It would be totally out of character for me to get good grades.”
Chester tilts his head back, and fixes a steady gaze on her. He waits for her to continue, but instead she gets up and glides silently out the door. Heads turn to follow her, but she flashes them a sharp, warning smile, holding up her hand. Moments later she has disappeared down the corridor.
“Do you like it here?” Chester asks, catching up to her in the front lobby. She was sitting on one of the benches, swatting at her admirers with her fan. Chester defensively places his cajon between them, and the bystanders finally take a hint, scowling as they trudge away.
“What?” stammers Chari, looking up. “Yes, of course. The food is…unique, and the dorms are…comfortable. Everything’s fine.”
“Then what was that about, in the Chem room?”
“Nothing. I just thought…” Chari says, before stopping abruptly. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. Everyone likes the pretty girl until she starts to talk.”
“I couldn’t care less what you look like. And I like that accent. Keep talking.”
A dainty patch of red surfaces on the newcomer’s cheeks, and Chester scoots over. He stretches, and as his left arm comes down, he rests it on the table behind her.
“I guess I kind of tricked myself into thinking I could reinvent myself,” Chari mutters. “At my old school, people were tripping all over their words trying to talk to me. It was cute for awhile but then I realized I had no one to talk to. At all.”
“But now you have me.”
“Yeah,” she says. “I guess I do. But I just wished, for so long, that I could be the sporty girl, or the leader, or the girl who can balance chemical equations like a pro. But no one stops to ask me what my score is. So I’m still just the pretty girl.”
“I know what it’s like to be stereotyped. Trust me,” Chester adds. “They’re always pointing at me, discreetly, saying things like, ‘Oh, he’s a slacker, he’ll never get anywhere’. But look at me now. Cream of the cream of the crop. I think you and I are cool like that. We get to be bigger than the people they want us to be.”
Chester sets his cajon on the ground, and hops on. His legs straddle the sides, like a cowboy saddling onto his bronco. He taps the sides a few times.
“I’m still a bit rusty. Tell you what: hum me that tune, the one I heard when we were at the rails today. I can drum a beat for that.”
“It’s an old song my grandmother used to sing me to sleep, back in the province.”
Chari puts her fan down, and folds one leg at an angle over the other. She takes a deep breath, and begins to hum. Her throat reverberates with memories of old gongs and mountain air.
A few uncertain thumps. Chester watches the rings of dark red blend into the steady stream of green light emanating from Chari’s lips. The colors wash into one another, generating hues and shades he’d never seen before – neon browns, purple-greens, red-yellows. Something stirs in his bones.
He picks up the pace, clenched fists flying up and down the wood. The arcs and waves of color intensify, and where they intercept each other, searing flashes of light erupt. The whole front lobby is intoxicated by the rhythm; upper years, lowers years, even the security guards at the desk and the accountants in the adjacent building were wandering towards him, a dazed look on their faces.
More appreciators pour out of the SHB, gathering in a tight half-circle in front of Chester, who by now can see nothing but the intense ocean of colors. Chari continues to croon behind him, and her own pink lights join the fray.
The drum beats slow down as the wood tires out. Chester’s hands drop to his side; sweat cascades in torrents down his back and along his sideburns. Chari lays a hand on his shoulder, fanning him.
Looking up, they finally notice the crowd gathered before them. Elise and Jethro stand at the forefront, utter astonishment on their faces. The final notes trill into silence, and Chester is left to gape at all the unfamiliar faces, who all stare wordlessly back.

Season of Reckoning - Episode 3

2010-05-18T03:59:00.000-07:00

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

Episode 3 – Thicker than Watercolor
written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
co-directed by: Rebecca Yu and Benedict Almirol

Previously, on SR…

“My name is Chari. I just transferred.”
“It was weird, huh? The way they kept talking about specials.”
“About you, you mean. Don’t deny it, Jethro.”
“The Icarus incident. Sound familiar?”
“Desi Mina was a rogue agent. We didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“Your debt, David. Do not forget. I certainly will not.”

Now, SR continues.
__________________________________

Snap!
Claudine looks up, startled, and notices the shadow lingering under the crack of her door. The knob begins to turn, and her heart stops beating. Precious seconds pass before she can force her arms to move, stuffing a weatherworn map and a hastily scribbled note inside her backpack.
The door swings open, and a woman stomps inside, heels muffled in the fuzzy carpeting. At full height, she is only a few inches taller than her younger cousin; she makes up for this by scowling ferociously, flipping her thin, straight hair over the shoulder of her newly ironed business suit.
“What are you still doing here? You know I can’t leave the house if you’re still combing you hair,” Yvanne hisses. Claudine clumsily runs a thick brush through her curly black locks, adjusting the strap of her backpack. She notices her guardian’s signature clipboard, which had made the irritating snapping noise – brown, and old, looking very official. Just like her cousin. “Hurry, hurry. Your bus is downstairs.”
“It’ll wait for me,” stammers Claudine, rushing past. She practically leaps down the stairs, as her cousin takes tiny steps in her tight knee-length skirt. The teenager dashes for the fridge, and flings it open, snatching up some food. “Why can’t you drive me?”
“I told you last night, my boss needs me there early today. We’re meeting someone very important. The future of our company is at stake here. And frankly, so is my job.”
“Ditch the bank, Yvanne,” mumbles Claud, chewing.
“And do what? How am I supposed to pay for our bills?”
“Find another job. Something that makes you happier. Less catty.”
Claudine looks up, waiting to see her cousin sneer, but Yvanne is already out the door with her keys, prying open the door to their car. She trots over to the window, choosing to ignore the bright white school bus parked across the lane, and waits. Tap, tap, tap, go her fingers on the window sill.
Leave already.
“Lock the house, okay?” hollers Yvanne, as she pulls out of the driveway.
Claudine nods, throwing two thumbs up, and begins to walk toward the school bus. The banker’s car disappears down the street, making a sharp turn. Sunlight glints off it, momentarily blinding her. She pulls up her colored sleeve, putting her head through the open window.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” roars the driver.
Making some dry, pathetic coughing noises, Claud responds, “I’m sick.”
“You should’ve said so earlier. We wasted twenty minutes waiting for you.”
Claud barely has time to pull her head back when the bus zooms away, leaving clouds of dust in its wake. She takes a few steps back, breathes in deeply, and checks her watch.
“That cab should be here any minute now. I’m coming, Dani.”

*****

Golda lowers the brim of her top hat, fingers sweeping over velvet and silk. She pulls the folds of her blue tuxedo jacket together, crossing her arms to brace against the cutting prairie winds. She hurries away from her trailer, and is already half-invisible when a heavy weight falls on her left shoulder.
“Where do you think you’re going, Lab-labs?”
A carnival sideshow steps down onto the dirt, and gracefully saunters over on her slender legs. Golda turns around to wave away the neatly braided claw of hair, and tilts her head.
“You promised you’d go with me to meet the new babies,” Alla says, crushing the last word with an accent. Beh-behs. “I thought you were into that kind of thing – meeting people our own age.”
“Normal seventeen year olds,” sighs the magician, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose as she looks at Alla. Her fair white skin was glowing, as usual, noticeable only for the lack of the beard regularly dangling from her chin. The Bearded Lady, clean shaven at the moment, was a head taller than Golda, and certainly much thinner. “We live in a carnival, Alla dear. Sometimes I need a break from freaks like us.”
Alla waves her hands lightly in the air, dismissing the comment. She busies herself with changing the color of her hair, from a warm auburn to an icy purple and blue.
“Going to the mall? Can you pick me up some earrings? Nothing too fancy, or Lydia will notice and tell us off again.”
The magician wonders what kind of earrings would complement three serpentine tangles of hair, each four feet long.
“Sorry, cuz,” laughs Golda, rich and deep. “Today I’m attending class at that nice scholar’s institution nearby. We passed it on our way out here, remember?”
“Oh!” Alla’s lovely lips make a perfect circle shape. Her dress, bright yellow and violently frilly, shakes and rattles as she turns around. “You’re going after our carnivalettes. That’s cute, Lab-labs. I approve.”
“Alla,” Golda whines, her voice fluctuating in pitch. “I told you I didn’t like him that way.”
“What about the card?”
“It was the Fool. And only because Noel has plans for both of them.”
The Bearded Lady turns to a large mirror, framed by a spiky sun carving, and squints her already naturally narrow eyes. She was exotic, even for the carnival, and delicate – something most passersby miss.
Growth suddenly erupts above her lip, healthy strands of hair emerging, twisting and turning, into a neat little moustache. More tawny, bushy tassels cascade from her chin, lengthening into a full beard. Suddenly she isn’t so delicate.
“Have to put my game face on.”
“Charming. You know, speaking of Noel’s plans…” Here Golda lowers her voice and leans in. Alla’s braids swivel over and rest on her shoulder, pulling her closer. “I’m not sure he knows what he’s doing. Twice in this week alone he’s been shot down. Do you think Ti-”
“Shhh! The name, Gizzy, the name. You have to give Noel some time, okay. Being a leader is a tough job. All eyes are on him.”
“But they’re not seeing what I’m seeing.”
Alla blinks, and Golda has already disappeared. She watches as the gates to the selling area swing open, then slam shut, creaking eerily.

*****

Yvanne vaguely waves to the guard standing by the entrance, who pushes the glass double doors open for her. He tips his hat – a wasted gesture, as she is already well behind the transactions counter, about to enter the office rooms.
Her heels threaten to shatter the marble; her hair whips from side to side, as though she were walking straight into a giant fan. She clocks in, fashionable and late, before pushing the door to her boss’s lounge open.
“Sir, I’m terribly sorry, my little cousin was being a brat, so I’m a little behind, but I have your appointme– What the hell are you doing here?”
The large cushioned office chair swivels around, and a woman with shoes to rival Yvanne’s drops her feet comfortably onto the varnished wood desk. She grins facetiously, twirling a pen along her fingers.
“Daddy’s little girl,” sneers Yvanne. She closes the door, and takes her seat behind a smaller, clearly inferior table. Her clipboard clatters beside some paperwork, and several pink and yellow paperclips fall onto the rug. “What brings you back to the real world, Miss Party Planner?”
“Business, of course. It sounds like you really missed me.”
“I would show you the jar of tears I cried, but I had to sell it online to pay for my rent.”
Desi gets up from the table, straightening the brooch above her suit’s front pocket. She fluffs her hair, tied in a bun, and looms over Yvanne. Rather than cower under her shadow, the secretary rises to her full height, just under Desi’s nose.
“That’s right, Yvanne. Face the facts. The bank is tanking and all of you are this close,” hisses Desi, bringing her thumb and pointer finger together before the secretary’s eyes, “from losing your jobs. Recession is terrible, isn’t it?”
“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”
Blood returns to Yvanne’s palms as she finishes brutally stapling faxes together. She crosses the room, Desi watching in a mixture of irritation and arrogance.
“I’m here because I’ve convinced my dad to give me a second chance with this company. Now I actually have work experience to show for.”
“Doing what? Putting icing on a cake? This is bitch eat bitch world, Desi. We still have no room for you on the corporate ladder. Off the rungs, honey.”
“For your information, Secre-tacky, I was employed at a much bigger Company. I’ve earned my retirement and now I have a plan that will save all your asses from the soup kitchen. Do you want to hear it or will I have the pleasure of my first let-go as new executive?”
Yvanne hugs her files closer, angrily blowing a lock of hair out of her face.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“No, Yvannity. You wouldn’t,” Desi smiles. “Now siddown.”

*****

“When do you think Patty is coming back?”
Elise plugs her keyboard into the socket at the school’s back lobby, and stretches. She places a piano piece on the ground in front of her, and flips to the third page. Jethro sits down beside her, guitar at the ready beneath the crook of his arm.
“Ma’am Kiel was saying something about her foster parents having to be out of town. No one in their house, no relatives… Guess they had to take Patty with them. Don’t you have a copy of the chords for Hymn of the Wind?”
Chester sits with Chari by the ramp rails, and casually points to his two classmates, making motions in the air, and laughing. Chari merely places a handkerchief lightly over her lips to muffle her giggles.
“Hey,” the boy begins, eyes locked on the wispy streams of green and red floating away from Elise’s keyboard. “You can see them, right?”
Chari nods. “Jethro looks like he’s having fun. Elise told me about the Ferris Wheel.”
“No, not that. But yeah, I was there,” says Chester, tilting his head back slightly. His eyes are squinting, as if to keep out the light of his own bright smile. “I mean, the colors. You see them, right?”
The lovely young lady’s lips fold inward, amused. “I’m not, what is that called again, colorblind. Why?”
Moments pass as Chester yet again waves the new student’s pink lights out of his face. Boys pass them, some heading to the cafeteria, others back toward the Science and Humanities Building, all shooting the two looks – admiring Chari, and scowling at the one boy she seems to talk to.
“Forget that,” Chester sighs. “How’re classes?”
“They’re okay. Trying to catch up. We didn’t have those lessons at my old school.”
“Then what did you have?”
Instinctively, Chari’s hand shoots up to her hair, and she begins caressing and brushing the strands. She turns her head, as Chester cocks his in confusion. Very quietly, eyes shifting between groups of passersby, she mumbles, “Trouble.”
The new student gets up, sweeping some dust off her checkered mustard skirt.
“I…have to go to the bathroom.”
Chester watches her go, half a smile still lingering on his face. His thoughts are disrupted by Elise’s loud laughter – which erupts before his eyes as pointy yellow shapes. He looks over to the two and sees that a teacher has joined them.
“Mister V,” says Jethro, getting up. Elise catches his guitar as it falls from his lap, and the boy apologizes. He gives the art teacher a “student five”. “What’re the coats for?”
Ancer Villacruel adjusts his black visor cap.
“I’m planning a Christmas Cosplay,” he answers, bright eyes gleaming. Jethro recalls a previous incident, when those pupils rolled back into white and began to paint the future. The sound of the teacher crunching chocolate snaps him back to the moment. “How about you kids? Anything lined up?”
“We have Paskorus and Paskoncert. Sir, you’d better watch me and Chester. We’re joining the competition this year.”
“Sounds…awesome,” replies Ancer, trying to shift the things he is carrying to give the students a thumbs up. He fails.
“And…we have to get back to practicing,” Elise reminds her friend, as more of their classmates begin to arrive. “Bass, alto – over there. Soprano, here with me. Tenor, sit down! First note!”
“Alright, well, I have to go. Second years are waiting,” says Ancer, putting away his Kitkat bar. He whirls around, and blinks. “You guys saw I was carrying a painting with me, right?”
Chester slumps into place with the other bass singers, as Chari takes noiseless steps away to the gazeboes. Elise begins to go after her, piano notes ending abruptly, and Jethro shrugs.
“The big one on the canvas? Watercolor? Yeah, you were carrying one, sir.”
“Did you see where I put it down?”
Jethro shakes his head; Ancer wanders away, bewildered, up the first of many flights of stairs to the fourth floor.
“Chester, dude. There’s an ACTS meeting later, Earth Sci room. You should try joining us. It’ll be awesome.”
The addressed rests his back against the wall, as Elise comes back without Chari. He suddenly realizes how vastly different she looks without her smile.
“Don’t know,” Chester says, closing his eyes. The colors return, bouncing about in the darkness of his mind in time with footsteps down the hall. “Elise also invited me to SCA.”
“Dude,” Jethro moans, raising an eyebrow.
“Right. I forgot. Whatever, I don’t know. We’ll see, okay?”

*****

Balls of thirsty tumbleweed race around the tents pitched on the carnival grounds, shearing sand close behind in the wind. Noel pads through the dirt, and slips right into the Tattooed Lady’s tent.
“Didn’t our mother ever teach you to knock?” Lydia smirks. Her eyes were pressed shut, hands clasped, and Noel takes a seat opposite her. He drags his gaze across the piles of burnt wood resting in the corner, to the collection of stuffed bears on the shelves, and over the surface of the gleaming crystal ball on the table. His reflection smiles wearily back at him.
“Have you seen Golda? That gift I meant to deliver is gone, but I’m not sure she understood my instructions exactly.”
“You know I can’t find her when she cloaks herself,” sighs Lydia, biting her lips. Ink detaches from her tattoos, spiraling toward the bare space of her back. “Besides, the carnival seems to have no shortage of teenage girls lately.”
A second passes before Noel begins to laugh, rocking on the stool in amusement. Lydia opens one eye, unable to keep her lips from breaking into a fragile smile. The image on her back solidifies, like a charcoal sketch, and even blinks. Tumbling black locks frame a round, youthful face with batting eyelashes and rich lips.
“You’re joking, right? Wait, no. Lyd doesn’t know how to make jokes,” Noel chuckles.
The Tattooed Lady’s smile shatters, and she turns around.
Noel steadies himself, waiting for tension to dissipate.
“Who’s this?”
“Her name is Claudine Duñgo. A special…” Lydia inhales, and the tattoo anxiously looks around at the room. Noel avoids its inky stare. “She’s a body snatcher; watch the eyes. She’s looking for one of us. The insect girl.”
“Will she be useful?”
Lydia turns her head to give Noel a reproachful look, but his figure stands a silhouette at the tent entrance, surveying the grounds.
“It’s too early to tell. Alla is taking our new sisters around the carnival, showing them the ropes. You should join her – you are the new ringmaster, after all.”
Noel can picture the expression on his sister’s face. He closes his eyes, turning around to mutter some kind of apology, but Lydia is already busy with her crystal ball.
“You’re working too hard, Lyd. I can tell. It’s straining your body.”
“And my mind. But blood is thicker than…water. Or ink.”
The carnival barker sighs, pats Lydia on the back gently, and leaves.

*****

Any time now, buddy.
The Company boss twiddles his thumbs, waiting for Ancer to stop screaming. Rather, waiting for the art teacher to cease opening and closing his mouth in a way that mimicked actual surprise.
“But… What? Why? How? I’m confused.”
Ancer thrusts one bony finger in the direction of an old painting propped against the corner of the room. The watercolor depicts an ancient tree crowning the rooftop of a grand countryside estate. David grimaces.
“It’s old news, old friend. I’ve finally decided what I want to do with this new life. I was thinking of teaching Biology to third years here at Philippine Science.”
The professor maneuvers around the easels standing sentry to the fourth floor drafting room, and plugs his keys into a drawer in his desk. He digs through the contents, and finding a chocolate bar that is only slightly melting, he peels the wrapper off and begins to chew.
“But you’re green.”
“Working and hey – founding – the Company, I was greatly involved in genetics and human anatomy. I think I can handle flipping through a few slides and checking papers.”
“No,” says Ancer, wagging his head left and right. “I mean you’re colored green. You look more like the experiment than the instructor.”
David sticks his gloved hands in the pockets of his trench coat, and leans against the rickety plywood walls. He lifts his chin, and Ancer glimpses furious flashes of green where his eyes should’ve been.
“Minor setbacks. I can call in a few favors from my oh-so-persuasive friends. Who needs a teaching degree when a brainwash is a phone call away?”
“Then to what do I owe the visit?” Ancer’s hand instinctively flies to his paintbrushes, and he moves some boxes around to look for blank canvases. “Need new paintings?”
“I just want to know what my chances are. Is this worth my time?”
The art teacher pauses to consider.
“I think I have an old sketch in here somewhere. Trench coat in the Bio room. I think we have a uniform regulation here, though.”
“So I’ll trade in these tattered sleeves for a brand new labcoat.”
“If you’re going to teach here, then who’s -”
“Running the Company?” finishes David. “I think I ought to clock out permanently. It feels good, Ancer. To have passed some form of legacy on, to have others continue your work.”
“That’s what teachers do,” says Ancer, handing him a notebook. He flips to a precognitive drawing of David standing before a class of students in the Biology Room. “We shape the next generation.”
“We craft new heroes,” sighs David, smiling.

*****

“Chester!”
Two sparks – one orange and one periwinkle – light up the young man’s field of vision. From inside the SHB, Jethro marches toward him; arriving from the volleyball court, some dirt smudged on her face, Elise waves.
“We’re about to start. Free food. Can’t resist that,” says Jethro, slapping him on the back. Chester tosses his backpack beside the stone bench behind them.
“Need to find a projector,” says Elise, grabbing Chester by his wrist. She starts to haul him off, but Jethro’s hand falls on his shoulder. The two nearly begin a tug-of-war.
“Whoa, whoa, hands off the merchandise.”
“Che, you’re Catholic. And you’ve been MIA since the start of the year. Today we’re having bible studies and a PowerPoint presentation. And free food of our own,” insists Elise.
“Dude. Just one meeting. I promise you’ll love it. ACTS is open to everyone, okay,” explains Jethro. “It doesn’t matter what your religion is. We’re jamming today in preparation for the praisefest.”
Spotting Ms. Beleran approaching, Elise blinds them all with a smile.
“Chari Vhee is ours, Che-che. Come on.”
“You’re taking Chari and Chester?”
Elise sticks her tongue out.
“I can’t see why I can’t have them both.”
“Whatever, man,” sighs Jethro. “They’re looking for me already. So? Which one is it?”
Chester breaks away from them, just as Chari arrives. She hovers behind Elise, and Jethro just barely resists the urge to stare at her.
“How about I surprise you? Go ahead. Maybe I’ll drop in on both meetings. I don’t know.”
His three friends look at each other, shrug, and then head off, splitting between the left and right corridors of the SHB.
Yawning, Chester bends over to grab his backpack. His fingers brush empty air, and he opens his eyes wider.
It wasn’t there anymore. His backpack was missing.

*****

“This is where the animals are kept when they’re not performing,” Alla explains. “That’s where we have breakfast together every morning, and those are where the concessions stands would go. Oh, and oh, oh my gosh, I almost forgot. That’s my tent. Half of all our visitors detour straight over there,” she adds, laughing.
“Excuse me, Ma’am,” interrupts Patty. “Would it be okay to ask if you could put your hair down? I’m getting kind of dizzy trying to follow which direction your braids are pointing.”
The Bearded Lady pauses to consider her request, and then nods deftly. The eight or so tangles of dark red and orange settle behind her, untying from their knots.
“Okay. So like, everyone has some chores to do when we’re not having shows. For example, I keep track of our inventory and basically get to boss everyone around. Third in command,” she winks. “Second actually, since, you know, Lydia and Noel are kind of a package deal. It’s a cool job. Patty, you could probably spend time making some pretty, pretty posters.”
Wordlessly, the teenager smiles in agreement. Her braces glint in the afternoon sun.
“And Dani, you could…train a flea circus.”
A shock of dark, unruly strands rather resembling withered grass nods, and Alla wrinkles her nose.
“I can fix that for you, sweetie. No problem.”
Licking her lips, the carnie waggles her thin, lovely, manicured fingers, parting Dani’s hair to reveal her face. The newcomer’s eyes, however, dart from right to left, furtively following a shadow zipping around the orange tarpaulins.
“Okay, so…snack break,” beams Alla. “If you head over to that tent over there, I’m sure Marj and Kent have whipped up something tasty. After you eat I’ll show you around all of the rides, which, of course, being family, you have totally free access to.”
The Bearded Lady moseys back to her trailer, and Patty starts toward the smell of banana-cues. She halts, and contemplates chatting with her new sister, but the insect girl is already gone.
Dani follows the vivid red speck of a ladybug as it hovers in the late afternoon sun. Its soft, arcane voice whispers to her, beckoning her behind some old crates. The creepy-crawly perches on her shoulder, clambering up above her ear, as a familiar shape emerges from the shadows.
“There you are.”
Clutching a map in one hand and a topaz-encrusted dowsing rod in the other, Claudine takes tentative steps toward her long lost companion. They size each other up, gaze connecting in almost the same way as when they first met, months past. Finally, as though their beating hearts had magnetized, the two friends collapse into each others arms.
“You’re safe,” whispers Claud, sniffing.
“I’m…home,” says Dani, arms shaking, as she captures the carnival behind tightly shut eyes.

*****

The familiar buzz of electric guitars pacifies Jethro, who slumps into a stool. The other members hand out nametags to the first timers, directing each one toward a table well set with chips, sandwiches, pizza, and soda.
“Change of plans,” says a senior, just as Jethro rotates and turns his back. “We’re going to have ‘sharing’ with the small circle before we play.”
Jet merely nods his head, earphones plugged in. His fingers dance along the vibrating strings, and he remembers the vague stories Chester had to tell about the colors he was seeing.
Chester was convinced he was special. Jethro wasn’t sure if he was. Or if he wanted him to be. Automatically he pushes that selfish thought out of his head, and begins to pluck.
Maybe he could make his own colors. Borrowing some electricity from the amp, he lets sparks bleed onto the steel. The neon blue fires slide up and down the frets, and the sound of his song stretches into something entirely new.
Something entirely him.
“Your turn, Jamon,” calls one of the female members. The president. “Since I don’t think you’re aware that we’ve started,” she laughs, “let me fill you in: we were just talking about being thankful for our blessings. One of the freshmen told us a story about losing his iPod.”
“Yeah,” Jethro says. His hands begin to sweat. His nostrils flare. “You never know what you have until you lose it.”
A single name comes to his mind, against his will: Duke.

*****

“And I will sing forever of your love, oh Lord,” croons Elise, clapping her hands. She goes around the room, pulling sleepier SCA members out of their seats, forcing her own infectious energy over them. “For you are my refuge and my strength - Come on!”
Chari watches her with curious eyes, beady and mesmerizing like a doll’s. Even from the farthest table, way back at the edge of the room, touching the walls, Elise’s powerful voice was clear and resonant.
The junior slides by the keyboard, a perfect crescendo complimenting their entrance into the second chorus, and goes around again. The others smile in spite of themselves, and join in.
“You fill the world, with your life-giving spirit that speaks your word – Chari!”
Before the new student can wheedle her way out of participating, Elise yanks her into the middle of the circle of singers. She begins to say she doesn’t know the lyrics, but her friend only beams brighter, chanting louder, and points at the screen, where the words were filing down in marquee.
Chari summons up all her strength to fight the feeling. She wasn’t going to enjoy – she couldn’t. It wasn’t safe.
But Elise firmly closes her hands around a bible; Chari makes a move to return it but Elise’s arms fold over her, caging her in a powerful, warming embrace. The two of them sing, swaying side to side, in a feeling Chari could only describe as peace.

*****

Chester picks up the last of his notebooks, flayed carelessly on the ground with its pages half-torn out. He rubs his eyes, and realizes he is standing right in front of his own dorm room.
“Damn whoever thought this was going to be funny.”
The teenager shoves the door open, and finds his backpack lying at the foot of his bed. The zipper was still hanging open, and the rest of the contents he had not found scattered on school grounds were in disarray on the floor.
He grunts, stooping down to collect his belongings. His mouth drops open as he notices a large square shape sitting on his bed, covered in red silk. Fingers trembling, he pulls the curtain of cloth away.
Five sides of varnished three-quarter inch wood and a sixth face of pale plywood greet him, assembled together into what he quickly declares is the most beautiful cajon he has ever seen. The beat-box stands about little more than two feet tall, and sports impressive gold engravings that suggest it was hand-carved many, many decades ago. This was more than instrument – it was a work of art.
Chester’s breathing escalates from a dull thumping to a thunderous gallop; he could feel the cajon beating in unison. Light begins to flow in thin wisps from the sound hole; somewhere inside, the drum snares were becoming restless. The glow is a color he has never seen before, a variation of a shade of a hue that was invisible to the normal human eye.
The door slams behind him, and he nearly jumps into the air. Swallowing, he convinces himself to calm down. He spots a tag hanging off one of the cajon’s rubber feet; he pries it off and reads.
A gift from NC.
As Chester’s mind erupts into activity, he glimpses another foreign object on his bed – a painting. He wordlessly picks it up, hanging it on the wall, and steps back to admire it.
Violent, but beautiful – the acrylic emanated from the center in arcs, colors blending and breaking into one another, in the same way he saw and heard them. The image is abstract, until Chester notices a silhouette near the bottom of the frame. A young man appeared to be sitting on a rock, arms folded and hooked before him.
Upon closer inspection, Chester realizes that the rock is actually the shadow of a beatbox. He turns his head slowly, ominously, toward the mysterious gift waiting on his bed.
______________________________________________________________________

Season of Reckoning - Episode 2

2010-05-15T06:32:00.000-07:00

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

Episode Two – Hyacinth
written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
co-directed by: Rebecca Yu, Benedict Almirol, and Myrtle Antioquia

Previously, on SR…

“Feast your eyes! Come see the wonders of the November Carnival!”
“You won’t hurt him, will you?”
“Last time anyone checked, you were a tree.”
“I don’t get why people are getting so worked up about this thing.”
“Chester. We should…we should probably go. Right now.”
“I guess there’s no better time than November to get it all done.”

Now, SR continues.
______________________________________

Chester’s shoes feel unnaturally heavy as he lumbers up the stairs at 7:45am. Halfway up the third flight, he realizes he’s left his homework in the dormitory, underneath the stack of Clover chips he was eating, but it’s far too late for him to double back and retrieve it. He pushes through the glass doors of the Science and Humanities building, and stops at the junction.
Left or right? Which way is Math again? Just a week’s vacation and I don’t remember anything anymore.
Adjusting the grip on his backpack strap, he makes a decision, and pads down the hallway, eyes glued to the red clay tiles passing under his feet. It gets harder and harder for him to keep his eyes open. The floor seemed awfully cozy. Maybe just a short stretch, another dream…
Turning his head to the right, he sees across the space of the quadrangle, through two open windows, and into his class. Strontium was already well into Ma’am Kiel’s refresher address.
Shucks. Now I have to go around. Geez.
When he finally steps into the doorway, a class of twenty-seven students turns to look at him. He raises a finger to his lips, warning them, and then slides down the aisle to his seat. Ma’am Kiel had her back turned to the class. Maybe she hadn’t noti-
“Late again,” she quips, rather cheerily, as she finishes writing the day’s topic on the board in colored chalk. “Come on, Chester, snap out of it. It’s first day back and you’re already due for an admission slip.”
Right. The Registrar. Dammit.
Chester gets up again, and rubs the sand out of his eyes. Jethro shoots him a look, referring to the incident. Chester stops to look at his bag, unmindful of the class already in session. He remembers slipping something inside, the night of their adventure in the carnival.
“Hurry up, Chester, or you’ll miss the Super Bingo.” Ma’am Kiel holds up a set of orange and pink index cards, each clearly marked with a ten by ten grid. The students groan, glancing at the table, where stacks of paper await.
Before he leaves, he takes a quick look at the board. Trigonometric equations.
And congratulations, ladies and gentlemen, I’m already asleep.
His vision falls out of focus, and he rubs his eyes again. When he looks up, each of the letters in the word Trigonometry seems to jump up, one by one, all flashing a different color as they pop off the green-painted wood.
TRIGONOMETRY.
Chester’s heart skips a beat. He gulps, and rubs his eyes again. This time the word is back to normal – two-dimensional. Something felt off about the colors Ma’am Kiel had used; they weren’t the same as the flash.
“Hey. What are you waiting for?”
Eyebrows knotting, Chester backs away from the blackboard, and makes an unsteady exit, stumbling in the direction of the Registrar’s office.

*****

“Fill these up, honey, and then you’re good to go.”
A strangely bearded man hands the new student a clipboard with some files attached, and then points to a ballpoint pen lying on the counter. The girl sighs, gently running her fingers through her hair for comfort, before setting out to accomplish the information sheet.
Behind her, several sophomore boys dawdle around, pretending to be looking at notices tacked to the bulletin board. Every few seconds, they glance over their shoulders, snicker, and begin talking amongst themselves.
“Hey!” hisses the secretary. “Get out of here. We signed your slips already. Out!”
The boys reluctantly step out of the office, but hesitate at the doorway. They stare at the new student for a few more seconds, and wave with awkward grins as she catches them looking.
Chester pushes past them, yawning, and walks by the new student. She cringes as he passes by, as though preparing for something, but when she turns around, he is already taking an admissions pass from the shelves. Her lips purse, and she continues signing the sheet.
“Woke up late again, didn’t you?” taunts the bearded man. Chester’s eyebrow twitches at the unkempt wires sprouting from his chin. They reminded him of something he’d seen in a Pirates of the Caribbean movie.
“Dreamt again,” he mutters, handing the slip over. The hairy man notes the date and time, checks a few boxes, and then returns it to him.
Chester whirls around, ready to leave, but another strange, colored flicker catches his eye. Bright wisps of pink were emanating from the new student. He runs his tongue over his teeth, breathing heavily.
What am I seeing here?
The trails of lavender float around the room, snaking around the tables and personnel. When they reach the air-conditioning, however, they change direction, and waft over to Chester.
Instinctively he waves them out of his face, coughing.
“Hi,” begins the new girl, facing him for the first time. Her hair was neatly combed, falling softly over her shoulders, and there was the smallest twinkle in her eyes. They were big, expressive…but unnervingly quiet at the same time. “My name is Chari. I just transferred, and I don’t know where my first class is.”
Moments pass, as Chester pays more attention to the bright pink smoke than the girl. He swats at the fog as it rises, feeling the colors play along the tips of his fingers. He could smell something very sweet in the air – the faint scent of strawberries.
Chari waits patiently, although her gaze shifts to the floor. She sighs, closing her eyes, and turns away. Her arm goes to her shoulder.
“Aha, sorry,” Chester laughs. “Got a bit distracted.”
“Yeah, I know,” she says, barely breathing. There was a sort of provincial accent in her speech.
“What class are you going to?”
The new girl pulls a schedule sheet out of her binder, scanning it intently. She wasn’t in a hurry, and Chester was glad for it, because neither was he.
“Math 4,” she finally announces, tucking it back into the pages of a leather planner. “Do you know where that is?”
“Well that depends,” he says, tilting his head back. “Which teacher is assigned to your class?” He leans over to take a look. The fragrance intensifies, the color blowing full blast in his face, and he sneezes. The pink scatters.
Ma’am Kiel Granada. Chester’s eyes fly to the section listed under her name.
“It’s your lucky day,” he chuckles. “We’re going to be classmates.”

*****

Several polite raps to the window wake Noel from his shallow sleep. He swings an arm out to his side, knocking several instruments off his desk. Sunlight floods his trailer as Lydia pulls the door open, carrying several pieces of toasted bread on a blue plastic plate.
The ringmaster kneads his temples, groaning, and one hand clambers clumsily over his desk to find his glasses. He puts them on and takes a look around. The bed, wedged in one corner, had yet to be tidied since the last night he slept in it, perhaps a week or so ago. The festive streamers dancing from shelf to cabinet had been torn down, hanging dismally over an upturned waste bin. Crumbled sheets of paper were spilling out.
“Dream a better dream, Noel?” says Lydia, pulling up a stool and taking a seat beside him. She places breakfast on the table in hopes of enticing him back to the world of the waking.
“Only the same one I’ve been dreaming for ages. Are these buttered?”
“Thin. Noel, here, come to bed. I can handle tonight’s show.”
“No, no,” he replies, rising. He snatches a piece of toast as he throws his cape over his shoulders and stumbles down the trailer steps. “We have to prepare, Lydia. We have a special guest coming to us today.”
The Tattooed Lady purses her lips, and follows after him, her light lace clothing billowing in the morning wind. The other carnies had gathered in one of the tents for the communal meal, and were eagerly awaiting their leader.
“Where did I leave my ink, Lydia?” Noel asks, snorting. He seemed to have contracted a perpetual cold. “I need you to find him for me.”
“Tough luck, then. I’m trying to use my ability to actively search for someone else. Someone far more important.”
Noel stops in his tracks, crunching burnt bread.
“And who would that be?”
“The old you. The one who took the time to say grace before breakfast. The old Noel, who could tell when detachment was causing his family pain. Where is he?” says Lydia coldly. She pulls her sleeves up. “No tattoos.”
Locating his pipe and jar of mineral inks, Noel leads Lydia to the side of his trailer. He draws the veil around the window canopy, and begins to stir – slowly, almost passionately.
“The lines I’ve crossed run parallel to the scars on my back. I haven’t changed, Lyd. Haven’t left. Still the same Noel. You know me probably better than anyone else. Since the beginning I’ve meant for this to happen. But I respected his wishes. Even if the reasoning behind it all was never…clear.”
Red sparks begin to fly from Noel’s fingertips. He briskly pushes the glass jar away. Lydia places her forehead on his shoulder.
“So I’ve tried to keep it all to myself, Lydia. The pain. But it wasn’t coming from the carnival, not from the others. It was coming from outside. The world was hurting and our people, the specials – they were in anguish. It’s time to bring them home, Lydia. What happened to him was…unfortunate -”
Suddenly the Tattooed Lady turns away, ripping the shawl off her shoulders.
“No more words. I’ll find him for you. Please, just stop it.”
Noel hesitates, sniffing again. Then he lightly pricks the tip of the pipe against her skin. The ink murmurs, shifting, then sinks. It bubbles back to the surface, churning violently, and sketches the image of a wealthy country estate.
“Thank you, Lydia.”
Gathering up her shawl, the Tattooed Lady walks away without another word. She passes by a young man in a baseball cap, and then points him, back still turned, to Noel. He jogs over excitedly.
“She said you needed me?”
Noel shifts in his seat, fist clenched. “Terence. I need you to deliver an invitation. Take Golda with you.”

*****

“Did you know that I’ve always wanted to become a teacher?”
Newspaper ruffles as David turns the page, feet planted on his old desk. Beside him, Adre begins to laugh. The fan whirs steadily over head, and air drifts in from the open balcony.
“Something funny?”
“No, it’s just… I can’t imagine you dealing with children. One instruction misinterpreted and you would demote them back to first grade. You’re kind of scary that way.”
David merely blinks. He places a hand on his fedora, as he is likely to do when he is confused. Adre notes that he’s been doing that a lot in the past two days.
“I’m not scary. I’ll have you know, I’m a very understanding person.”
The door blows open all of a sudden, and a powerful gust of wind fills the room. Newspapers scatter and David’s hat is thrown off his head. Several pieces of furniture and potted plants are knocked over, soil cascading all over the carpet.
Before the Company agents stand two visitors. The woman is dressed like a magician: leotard, cerulean tuxedo jacket, and a top hat decorated with playing cards. The man simply sports denim jeans, a sleeveless shirt, and a baseball cap.
“How did you get in here?” says David, through gritted teeth.
“Front door,” smiles the girl. Her voice rises and falls, as though in mockery.
“Excuse me a moment,” he replies, swiveling in his chair to a unit on the wall. He calmly dials a number, and waits for a response. “Hello? This is our security office? Yes, it’s David. Whoever is manning the front station is fired. Have the Release Division wipe their memories. Thank you.”
The man in the cap snickers, tossing a neatly wrapped package on the table. It looks to be about the size of a large shoebox, enfolded within elegant red paper.
“Okay, allow me to introduce ourselves,” begins the woman, smiling. Adre, seated quietly in the corner, notes her to be about sixteen or seventeen years of age. “My name is Golda, and this is Terence. We’re from a carnival ring; I’m sure you’ve heard of us. The November Carnival?”
Seconds pass as David stares glumly at the parcel on his desk.
“Yes, of course. Gabriel is with you, right?”
“That’s correct,” answers Golda, in her prim and proper way, hands folded. “Our new ringmaster,” and here she falters for a moment, “graciously invites you to come see our show tonight. He has a striking proposition for you, and would be delighted by your…” Golda checks her palm. “…company.”
She begins to laugh at her own pun, and Terence lightly smacks her on the shoulder. She cries out, and Adre’s eyebrow twitches. Well, they’re certainly an act.
“You should go, alright?” Terence says, leaning his face forward, staring David down. He tilts his head back up. “You can find us. Your ticket’s in there.”
Golda waves her wand, bowing, and as she does so, the two of them disappear. Another strong gust of wind returns the soil on the carpet to its pot, throwing the plant upright. The door slams shut as they leave.
David unfolds the crimson wrapping, and turns over the contents – a piece of parchment rolled up and tied with a ribbon, a gleaming gray and red ticket, and…
“A dowsing rod?” says Adre, coming up beside the desk. “I’ve seen those before. Romeo and I used them to find water in the desert.”
The Company boss sits quietly for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table. The Carnival’s gift was a two-pronged branch, lightly embossed with twisting lines of gold. A brilliant topaz gem was lodged in the pointer end, and as David holds it in his rough hands, the dowsing rod begins to bob up and down.
“…Are you busy tonight?”

*****

Chester nods toward the class as he and Chari sneak up on them from the back door. Behind them, the sophomore boys are carrying her books, still bound in straw, and her cat-patterned bag.
“You can go now, thank you.”
The lower years refuse to leave, and instead move their heads up and down, if only to show their comprehension of her words. One of them leaves his tongue hanging from his mouth; the other begins to drool slightly. Chester shoves them away.
“Nervous? Don’t worry about it, they’ll like you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” mumbles Chari, stroking her hair. Chester blinks, and again the thin layer of pink fog is building. He blinks a second time, and it’s gone, but the scent remains.
When they turn to look at the class, they find that everyone is already aware of their presence. Chester notes all his friends have a glazed look in their eyes. The room is still, and the lesson has ground to a halt.
“I guess that’s our new student,” begins Ma’am Kiel, slowly. She seems unnerved by Strontium’s sudden silence. She clears her throat, and when she speaks again, she is back to her peppy self. “Ms. Beleran, right? The Registrar told me you’d arrive. Go ahead, take a seat.”
“You can sit beside me, new girl. Look, an empty seat,” pipes one of the boys.
“No, sit here. In my chair. It’s near the fan. It’s cool - I can move,” follows another.
“You can use both of our chairs,” adds another. His friend continues, “In case you know, you want to lie down. Or something. We can sit on the floor.”
“Can I carry your books?” says Jethro, coming up to her. He has the same blank look in his eye. He begins to pull up his polo sleeves, exposing his upper arms. Chester can see him inhaling clouds of the pink light. “I’ve been working out, so -”
“No you haven’t,” Chester interrupts, amused, before Jethro’s shoes fall heavily on his feet. “Yow!” He bites his lip, and waves his hand through the stream of pink. The wisps break apart, scattering, and Jethro sneezes.
Chari begins to turn away, terror chiseled on her lovely features, but Elise takes her by the hand and parts the crowd of restless students. “Hold it, everyone. New student coming through,” she says, putting her arms out defensively, ushering Chari over to a seat.
“Good idea, Elise,” sighs Ma’am Kiel, wiping her brow. “I’m putting you in charge of showing Ms. Beleran around. You’ll all have to wait for homeroom later to get to know her. Back to your seatworks.”

*****

He could only half hear what Jethro was saying to him about the new student. Inside his own head, Chester was crunching numbers, burning holes in his long test answer sheet. He’d failed again, the fourth in a string of less than desirable exam results, and it wasn’t very pretty on his report card.
But it was uncannily beautiful right there, on the paper. The more he looked, the harder he had to squint to keep the lights out, the brighter the colors came to him. As he did the math in his head, the numbers kept flashing – red for every 3, yellow if it was a 4, and green if it was a 7. Each of them seemed to have their own numerical personalities.
And he was finding the pattern. Chester saw that if he was using Arcsin, which was half red and half blue, then his answer would have to come out purple. If it wasn’t, then it was wrong – and a different color. His breathing starts to get faster. He doesn’t notice, but his hands are shaking.
“And I mean, wow, look at that. There isn’t a table in here that doesn’t want her. She’s just…wow.”
Chester looks up, allowing the noise of the cafeteria to fill his ears again, and the canvas that was his Math long test fades back into plain black and white. “Are you listening to yourself? Just three days ago you were sitting at the top of a Ferris Wheel, ready to ask Elise out to prom. What happened?”
Jethro opens his mouth to respond, but comes up with nothing. Behind them, Chari begins on her tray of rice and stewed vegetables. Elise chats happily away, and she nods serenely.
“And you honestly don’t find her pretty?”
His tablemate weighs his words.
“She smells nice.”
“What?” Jethro chortles. “What are you talking about?”
“You should know. You’re the one taking in truckloads of her weird perfume.”
“Now you’re just making fun of my nose.”
“You’re serious? You can’t see it? It’s so thick, it’s distracting,” says Chester, tucking his long test back into his bag. Even now, as he speaks, the letters seem to materialize into thin air, blinking like neon signs. “Gotta keep fanning it out of my face.”
Chester pauses, and leans to the right to catch a glimpse of Chari. He could see them, crystal clear, shining pink lights circling their table. He inhales deeply, filling his lungs with sweet strawberry.
“That perfume. See?”
“…No.”
Jethro continues with his lunch, occasionally sneaking peeks and smiling to himself. Chester reclines in his seat, irritated that the cafeteria is poorly ventilated and therefore unsuited for between-period naps. He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the heat.
“Chester. Hey. That carnival…”
“What about it?”
“Nothing. I mean, it was weird, huh? The way they kept talking about specials.”
“About you, you mean.”
Jethro looks up, spoon halfway to his mouth.
“Pshaw. What? Special? What?”
“Don’t deny it, Jethro,” snorts Chester, shutting his eyes again. “I was there when you took the lights out. And geez, you even stopped the entire Ferris Wheel. That’s gotta be more than coincidence, to have it conk out when you’re at the top, primed for an invitation.”
The music continues to play in Jethro’s ears, throbbing against his brain. Chester seems comfortable with his own discovery, and swats at a fly near his nose.
“Don’t worry, I think it’s awesome.”
Jethro hesitates, before muttering, “It’s not. It’s not…awesome.”
“Shit, man. Yes it is. And I think I’m special, too.”

*****

“The last time I was at one of these things,” breathes David, shuffling through the crowd with Adre at his heels, “was to pick up a very special young girl.”
“Oh, wow. You found love at the carnival?”
“What? No! I found Vianca. She was a trapeze artist. Power manifested in the middle of a performance. One that was, regrettably, her last. Watch yourself, Adre. The carnival is a dangerous place to be.”
Ominous rumbling reverberates through the sky. The festive music seemingly slows, notes stretching, until it is no longer recognizable, save as an eerie warning.
“You’re early.”
The agents spin around, and the air before them ripples. As though pulling an invisible sheet aside, Golda appears, tipping her hat to them. She hands them each a tarot card – The Hierophant for David, and Strength for Adre.
“Noel is expecting you in the big top,” she says, using her wand to point to the largest tent, smack dab in the center of the carnival. She smiles at them, squinty eyes gleaming behind her glasses. “May I go?”
David replies with uncertainty. “Sure.”
“Okay,” she says, and Adre just manages to catch her lip quiver as she turns and vanishes. Suddenly struck by genius, the agent turns his ability on, letting cold silver metal slide down his arms and the side of his face. He glints in the retreating afternoon sunlight.
“You can take your hat off, Boss. It’s the carnival, right? We can walk around and be us and still blend right in.”
“Alright,” says David, taking his fedora off. He rolls his sleeves up, revealing gnarled branches for arms. He snaps his twiggy fingers briskly, and Adre hands him a briefcase. “Go have some fun. I’ll handle this.”
“You’re serious? I haven’t had a day off in…ages. That’s pretty funky of you, boss.”
The tin man wanders off, pointing and winking at some kids who pass by. David laughs quietly to himself, and is surprised by the way his voice sounds.
It’s been so long since I’ve had a reason to laugh.
David passes some more carnival sideshows, and challenges himself to name each of their obvious abilities – elasticity, underwater breathing, paper manipulation. The entire operation was toying with the regulars, teasing them with the magnitude of powers they could never understand, could never know about. Subconsciously, he puts his fedora back on, shrouding his face in anonymity.

*****

Noel hunches forward on the bleachers, grinding his teeth, as a beam of light sears through the tent tarpaulin, framing a silhouette. The figure walks in its own shadowed footsteps, paced, carrying a tightly-locked suitcase in one hand.
“So glad you could make it,” he says, his voice filling the big top. Two spotlights activate, raining illumination down upon him and his guest. “I wager the dowsing rod was of help?”
“I’m an intensely curious man.”
“Oh? Well that’s good, because I’d been worried you wouldn’t be interested in what I have to say to you. Stand there in the center where I can see you.”
David raises his chin in defiance.
“I’ll stand where I like, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
The Company boss looks up at the ceiling, light and dark playing over the tent slopes. Nine golden spheres orbit the performing ring, buzzing continuously.
“I came to see a show,” says David, brandishing the ticket Terence delivered. Noel grins, inhaling sharply, and claps his hands twice.
“Right. The main attraction tonight happens to be an acquaintance and benefactor of yours. Feast your eyes on The Living Statue.”
The orbs draw together, crisscrossing and sliding off each other, showering sparks over the stage. A third spotlight snaps into action, focusing on a cloaked figure now approaching the center. The man removes his hood and throws his mantle open, exposing clothes and skin completely tinged by polished gold.
“Gab. Statue?”
“Your humor is refreshing, David. But our stars converge here today on matters of a more serious nature,” Gab replies. The spheres over his head soften and elongate, plunging into the ground as spears. “I believe you owe me something, friend.”
“Only an apology. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You borrowed his services,” Noel fills in. “Many, many years ago.”
“Of that I am aware. But I was under the impression that our altruistic relic companion here was more than willing to transmute vast fields into gold for me, on the condition that my purposes be for the betterment of humanity. And they were.”
“So I hear,” answers Noel. “You established a Company that monitored and supposedly protected people like us. A noble deed, a labor of love. But then, I hear many things. From many people. You were a tree, they say. For who knows how long. How are we to be assured of the Company’s deeds?”
“What is the point of all this?” asks David, narrowing his emerald eyes.
“The point here is that you clearly deceived me,” says Gabriel, voice hollow and emotionless. “You vowed to use the wealth I graciously bestowed on you for benevolent purposes, but as I understand it, the Company did more harm than good.”
“Is this a trial? Am I being judged?
“No, your debts are merely being put in order. We now require repayment. But the thing is, David, we are not your enemies. Your Company and our Carnival have similar goals. We can help each other.”
“How?”
Gab remains still and silent, true to his name. Noel passes his staff from one hand to the other, and then rubs his chin theatrically.
“The Icarus incident. Sound familiar?”
“Not something we’re proud of. Desi Mina was a rogue agent. We didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“No, no, of course not,” nods Noel. “But it was your agents that ended up undoing everything that you were working towards. And now the entire world knows of our existence. We are threatened, David.”
“You certainly sound like it.”
David smirks, and Noel grunts, striking the staff on the ground. Red arcs fly.
“Here at the November Carnival, we are a family. We accept each other, in the ways that our previous families have failed to do. We’ve found a way to make an honest living, out in the open, and we’re happy here. I can sense the pain of our…brethren… beyond these gates. Restricted by laws, watched and guarded… They deserve better. Even better than your Company – which may I remind you is at fault here – has ever conceived.”
“Go on.”
“All we want is for their way of living change with the times. I tried to invite a few of them to our family. But what are we, a mere carnival, a traveling gypsy act, compared to the intricate workings of an organization such as yours?”
“Ah. I see,” says David. “You’re too small for your big ideas.”
Noel grits his teeth, struggling to drain all of his frustration into his clenched fists. He looks to Gabriel, who doesn’t return his gaze, and swallows audibly.
“We need your help, David,” he continues, gagging on his own bitterness. “To bring our family home.”
The Company boss turns his back. He walks to the exit, and pulls apart the tarpaulin. Noel moves to stop him from leaving, but he doesn’t have to – he turns back to them and gestures with his long, branchy arms.
“This is home? This is the protection you offer them? To be made freakshows, exploited for money and cheap laughs? And here, of all places, on a sun-crisp, wind-thrashed plain?”
Noel cracks his knuckles one by one, turning his head so that his ears pick up the laughter of his family outside the tent. David waits, arms crossed, unaware of but only mildly concerned with the ringmaster’s thoughts.
“Stick to your magic shows, Noel. Pull rabbits out of your hat. Because you’ll never get anything from me. The Company works for integration, not seclusion.”
“But isn’t that what you’ve caused? Seclusion?”
Chains rattle against Noel’s unsteady legs as he takes several shaky steps forward, fearful of tripping over his words more than his feet. He knew what he was thinking was right, but his mouth and his heart were scrambling the message up. The echo of his outburst sounds desperate, and the tiniest hint of a chuckle flickers on David’s face.
“I can feel them trembling,” he presses. “They are more alone than ever. What hope they had for coexistence is gone. It’s just a matter of time before violence, like countless times before, becomes forefront in a war of discrimination.”
“If it comes to that, then the Company will be ready.”
Gabriel shifts.
“You are making a mistake. Every day I meditate and ponder the mysteries of the universe, the workings of human minds. They come to this carnival to see wonders, and they hold our majesty in contempt. Even their children are learning to discriminate, to take our future away from us. Your debt, David. Do not forget. I certainly will not.”
“Here,” replies David, tossing Noel the metal briefcase in his hand. “Good thing I thought to bring bargaining chips. That contains every file we have on the carnival. If you’re so afraid of being discovered, persecuted, then take that and rip it to shreds. Your secret will be safe forever. You’ve been hiding a long time, haven’t you?”
“This is our chance to come out and do something!” Noel roars, pitching his staff into the ground. He groans as he gives way to some of his anger; a sizzling wave of red energy fractures the ground so deeply that water begins to seep out of the cracks.
David watches his own warped reflection in the gurgling stream now forming at his feet. He sees his own green eyes, cocking his head back in surprise, and bends over. Where his fingers touch the water, delicate pink flowers begin to bloom.
“The carnival behaves in just the same way as water hyacinth. Ever heard of the plant? It has exquisite blossoms, quite beautiful. But only at first glance. It crops up where it isn’t wanted and takes everything, feeds on an ecosystem that was never ready for it. A monster of a plant.”
The Company boss straightens up, throwing a last glance at Noel, too tired to speak, and licks his lips.
I’ve made my bargain. And now, I make my exit.”
“You are indebted, my friend,” says Gab, carven eyes flashing. He runs his hand along the tent tarpaulin, and it stiffens, hissing weakly as it turns into solid gold. The entrance flaps fall back into place, sealing the three of them inside. “Your payment will be extracted, one way or the other. Perhaps not now, perhaps not by my hand. But karma will perch upon your shoulder. Your refusal will mean the loss of all your resources.”
“Look at you, trying to play calm and collected. Get angry, Gab. Will you change my gold back into straw, like Rumpelstiltskin? Your polite requests mean nothing to me. You said so yourself. The carnival is too small to make a stand.”
Gabriel does not react, and merely shakes his head.
“Take your files and leave the Company alone. We want no part in your endeavors. Anyone you find who joins you is yours, by all means. Good luck.”
Heavy footsteps rumble through the ground, shaking the poles holding the big top up. Seconds later, Adre crashes through the concrete golden flaps, ripping a massive hole in them. David tips his fedora to them, and serenely walks out.

________________________________________________________________________

Season of Reckoning - Episode 1

2010-05-12T22:20:00.000-07:00

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

Episode One – November
written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples
co-directed by: Rebecca Yu, Benedict Almirol, Jethro Jamon, Myrtle Antioquia, and Vianca Atienza
_________________________________________

We own the skies.
The deafening roar of infinity crashes over them, a tidal wave of failing blue and rising stars robbing them of breath. The gondola lurches as it reaches the peak of the Ferris Wheel, and leaning over the edge of the railing, they can see a multitude of dazzling lights sparkling far below them. Soft, intoxicating music sails over the crowd, mixing with the delicious aroma of assorted confections and autumnal air.
Encouraged by the festive freedom of the carnival, Jethro turns to smile at Elise, seated happily beside him. He places a hand on the side of the compartment, tense skin bracing against aged metal, and slows his breathing. He can feel the entire machine shaking – seventy tons of steel in the axle, the struts holding up all of the carts, every nut and bolt keeping the contraption together.
Lightning surges through its skeleton, jumping into his, making the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. Sharply he exhales, and the orbs of light decorating the frame of their gondola fade into darkness. The Ferris Wheel groans, and abruptly comes to a stop.
For a moment, piercing silence dominates. The faint trill of carnival music below gives way to the immense sound of clouds and darkening heavens.
“What just happened?”
Elise sidles up beside Jethro, and he can feel the warmth of her body against his. His heart erupts into furious beating, thrashing against the walls of his chest. His throat was dry, like desert sand, and he licks his lips, opening his mouth, desperate for words. Images flash through his mind, distant scenes and chains of ideas, lost sequences and rehearsed actions dissolving into the moment.
Ask her. Ask her now. Get it together, Jamon.
“I guess we’re stuck up here,” is all that manages to tumble out of his lips. He runs one hand through his hair in frustration, leaning against the gondola walls for support, hoping she wasn’t going to break contact.
She does. Elise rears up to her full height, and Jethro curses his luck.
“Chester! Can you hear me? We’re going to be trapped up here!” Elise calls, only subtle hints of urgency in her voice. “We’re going to die!”
Her laugh, rich and unrestrained, echoes into the night, rolling over the gathering crowd. To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die, come the lyrics, and Jethro pulls Elise back into the seat.
“Okay. I have something to say. And now’s the time to say it, I guess.”
Better words, Jamon. Don’t back down now!
Elise bows her head slightly, gazing up at him in amusement, curly black locks falling over her bright eyes. “I know, I know. If you don’t say it, then I will.”
Jethro blinks, adjusting his glasses, caught by surprise. Did she know? How? The gondola walls seem to close around him, getting smaller and smaller, making it hard to breathe. Lapses in his hearing, buzzing in his head – he was starting to get dizzy.
“Come on,” she teases, inching closer. The boy’s chest is close to bursting. “Scream it, scream out loud! Let the entire carnival hear you say it!”
Sighing, summoning up every ounce of courage in his body, Jethro begins.
“Elise, will you go to pr---”
“PENIS!!!” she roars, both hands cupped over mouth, amplifying her voice. Somewhere behind them, a rough voice repeats the word – Chester – and Elise raises her hand to high five her companion.
Jethro slumps into the corner of the gondola, head dropping to his side in utter defeat.

*****

Colorful neon lights, soft and foggy, trace lines in the darkness as the evening deepens. Music in the distance beats in time to the choruses of children laughing, dashing down the lanes, excited to take in every sight and inhale every scent. The carnival brims with life, and the crowds continue to pour in.
“Feast your eyes on the bizarre and the impossible! Be free of the bondage of the mundane! Come see the wonders of the November Carnival!”
At the gates, the barker and ringmaster ushers in guests, taking in payments and handing out tickets. The glow of the carnival is reflected in his tinted glasses and his slick, tousled hair; the chains around his waist and legs rattle at the sound of coins filling his hat. With a flourish, he parts his cape, black as the night, and points the way to the rides.
“Don’t be shy! Come one, come all!” he says, before sharply taking in breath. “Ah!” he breathes. “The bearded lady, she waits for you! The Strongman, how he longs to show off his rippling muscles! Hurry on, the night is young!”
Enthralled by his calls, the visitors run off, splitting amongst the paths, trampling dry grass underfoot. The barker smiles, a toothy grin of pearly white.
“Noel.”
The man turns around, and the silhouette of a woman greets him, hidden by curtains of seashells and starfish. She beckons him inside the tent, and once he joins her, she begins untying her robe.
The silken garment falls to the ground in one swift motion, and the half-naked woman takes her place on a chair, back turned, hands clasped as though in prayer. Her arms are netted with the tattoos of vines, blossoming orchids stitched in ink on her shoulders. Butterflies fold their wings to rest on her hips; pictures of the moon and shadowy clouds are hatched on her left thigh. Along the length of her right leg a helix symbol is visible, and half her face is covered by the intricate designs of a leaf.
“Lydia. Saved by the belle,” the ringmaster coughs, shoulder settling onto the doorframe. “Was I doing a good job out there? My face is burning, my throat is sore… Didn’t know how much longer I would’ve lasted.”
She combs her gorgeous, tawny hair forward before speaking, letting it drop over her chest, up to her waist. “Wearing the carcass of a lamb doesn’t guarantee a wolf can bleat. Easy, Noel. You may not have to carry on with your Calvary for much longer. I may have found the one you’ve been looking for. His ability suits your purposes.”
“Good, Lydia, good,” answers the barker. He takes a jar of ink from one shelf, and dips a thin, pointed pipe into it. He stirs briskly, and then moves over to the woman. “Tell me. He or she?”
“A mere boy. Be gent---,” she begins to warn him, as he sticks the pipe into her skin, piercing it. She yelps in pain, and sourly twists her head to look at him. He closes his eyes, mouths an apology, and then raises his hand. Wait.
The ink, thick and purple, drains away, subsiding for a moment before flushing back to the surface. Noel steps back to admire the image forming on Lydia’s bare back – the face of a teenager, in great detail.
“Where is he, now? Is he here at the carnival?”
The Tattooed Lady smirks, and breathes in. A stream of ink detaches from the face etched into her skin, zipping along the length of her back. The liquid pauses in between her shoulder blades, and slowly sketches the outline of the Ferris Wheel.
“There’s a problem,” she sighs. “He hasn’t manifested. Symptoms, perhaps, early signs… but certainly nothing on the level you require. His name…” she pauses.
“You’ve been fantastic, as always, Lydia,” interjects Noel. “But I’d like to know his name myself. Someone worthy of our family – don’t you think we should give him a proper welcome?”
The ringmaster replaces the ink on the shelf, and helps the woman get dressed again. He parts the curtain, and steps outside, but she doesn’t follow.
Eyes closed, she speaks. Slowly, deliberately.
“You won’t hurt him, will you?”
“I don’t see why I should. He’ll cooperate.”
“Like Titus cooperated?”
The edge in Lydia’s voice cuts through the night. She bites her lip, drawing blood. Behind her, still waiting, Noel pauses, rubbing his chin in thought.
“Quiet, Lyd. Don’t forget, this week… we mourn. His name can’t be spoken. You’ll ‘rouse’ his weary soul. You don’t want that, do you?”
The Tattooed Lady brushes past Noel, looking through his glasses into his eyes. She draws up her sleeves, moving almost to slap him, but stops. He grazes his thumb down her cheek, feeling her bones against the tattoo, and then puts something in her hand.
“Go and bring him to me.”

*****

Contented sizzling fills the Company kitchen as Agent Abednego Adre flips over an omelet, whistling a merry tune to himself. He snatches up a pepper shaker, and sprinkles some flavor into the dish, before lowering the heat.
He turns around to adjust his apron, steadying the toque hat on his head for better air flow. Picking up a spoon and a fork, he drums a beat onto the stainless steel kitchen counter and laughs.
Adre turns around again, slipping the spatula under the omelet, which, by now, smells divine. He hoists the meal onto a plate, and turns around to eat.
“I’ll have one of those.”
The agent nearly drops the dish in his surprise, backing into the stove and accidentally laying his right hand inside the frying pan for support. His visitor watches with little interest as his fingers continue to sizzle.
“Doesn’t that hurt? I don’t remember anymore.”
Adre looks down at his self-generated prosthetic hand, coated in a thick, silver alloy. It had been a long time since he’d had to think about it – the loss of his right arm. His ability let him replace it, but there was no feeling in those cold, metallic fingers. He lets it sit in the heat for a while longer, wishing for pain to remind him that he is awake and seeing the ghostly vision before him.
The man seated at the counter was dressed in a heavy brown trench coat, and sported a fedora which covered half of his face. His unruly green hair stuck out in tufts over his ears, and his skin was pale lime.
“D-David,” the agent stutters, pulling his hand off the pan. It glows a bright red, and then fades back into silver.
“An omelet. I asked you for an omelet.”
The Company founder sighs, and places both elbows on the counter, supporting his drooping face with his hands. They looked barky, gnarled and knotted at the joints and wrist. Tiny leaves were sprouting from several places along his fingers.
“You don’t eat eggs, sir,” Adre suddenly remembers.
“It doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do anymore, agent,” David replies, the bitter tone in his voice quite clear in the silence of the kitchen. Adre frowns as the champaca standing in a slender glass vase shrivels up and dies.
“Can I ask you, sir -”
“Stop calling me that. In all likelihood you are probably older than me.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Is six in the morning too early to be asking for breakfast?”
Adre chuckles nervously, handing David the omelet on a plate. The Company boss picks up a fork, and the agent expects him to begin eating. Instead, he contemplates the utensil and shakes his head.
“Why are there four prongs on a fork? Why not just three? I’m quite sure that three prongs are capable of performing the same function as four, maybe even five.”
“The last time anyone checked, you were a tree,” Adre finally spits out, laying both hands on the table. The clang of metal echoes down the hall.
David looks up and blinks, catching the agent off guard. His eyes were a brilliant emerald, changing hues like variegated shadows on the forest floor.

*****

The safety mechanism on the door of Jethro and Elise’s gondola unlocks, and they finally disembark from the Ferris Wheel. The ride operator gives them a wry smile, and Elise does her best not to meet his eyes. There was something curious about him – about all the workers at the carnival.
Seconds later, the next cart docks, and a lanky young man with a sleepy expression hops off. He tugs on the straps of his backpack, and joins his friends.
“What? Exciting,” he shrugs, in response to the questioning look on their faces. “Anything interesting happen with you guys up there?”
Jethro makes slicing motions across his neck, and the boy tilts his chin up.
“Gotcha.”
“Chester, I’m hungry,” laughs Elise. “Let’s go.”
With eyes seemingly half-shut, Chester scopes out the carnival from his position on the platform. Rows of red and white striped tents stand before them, different shapes and sizes, folds billowing in the wind. Wooden stalls and glimmering lights take their place in between, popping up along corners, wherever convenient.
Clowns and stilt walkers march down the lanes, blowing horns and handing out balloons. Game operators wave their arms around, some showing off prizes and merchandise, others arguing with frustrated players. To one side, a woman drops into a pool with a splash, doomed by her own daughter’s excellent aim; a snake charmer nearby seemingly floats on air, gaze unbroken between him and his cobra; colorful posters hang from streamers and tent bars, displaying freaks and monsters to be viewed for pleasure.
The entire carnival was hustling and bustling, but buried somewhere under all of that, they could sense a history. Deep, rustic, possibly dark – but hidden. There was more to see, and not enough time for them to see it.
“Alright,” declares Chester. “Cotton candy, or hotdogs?”
“Cotton candy!” cries Elise with delight, skipping ahead of them. As she rounds one tent, Jethro leans in to Chester, whispering in aggravation.
“Dude, I had my chance. I had it and…” he trails off, mashing his fist into his palm. “It’s the first week of November. Classes start again in a few days. It’s two months from prom and I still don’t have a date.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to ask her. I don’t get why people are getting so worked up about this thing.”
“Whatever, man. It was your name she was screaming up there.”
Chester gives him a good-natured jab on the shoulder, and has a hearty laugh. Jethro gives up and smiles again, right as Elise runs up to them holding three sticks of pink and white fluff.
“Thanks Elise,” says Jethro, munching away. “Dude, what about you? You’re not asking anyone?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Elise’s smile drop, her eyebrows jump up in anticipation. He feels a pang of jealousy but lets it go.
“I don’t feel like going through all the hassle of flowers and those kinds of stuff. I’ll just go stag. What’s wrong with that?”
Jethro shakes his head, plugging in earphones, and starts walking. The other two follow after him, turning away to avoid any awkward conversation. The sounds of an elephant trumpeting and its tamer calming it down fill the gap.
Moments later, Chester skids to a halt. A tent flap furls to one side, and a woman emerges from within. She smiles at them, eyes gleaming from behind a web of tattoos on her face. She pulls back her sleeve, and draws two tickets from their folds.
“Just who I was looking for. Our ringmaster has expressed his desire to see you at our secret show later tonight. You should be honored; not many people get to see the carnival for what it really is.”
She hands Chester and Jethro each a crimson ticket, batting her eyelashes.
“Why us?” Jethro says, before overlapping mumbled apologies about ungratefulness and lack of tact.
“I would say it was a random ticket drawing, but it’s really more complicated than that,” smiles Lydia, combing her tawny hair over her shoulders.
“Is there going to be free food?” Chester asks casually. The Tattooed Lady tilts her head to one side, as though assessing all of his features. She gives a wry laugh, and jolts an eyebrow in agreement.
“Noel won’t mind putting out refreshments for his honored guests. Don’t turn down the offer, boys. We have a great performance lined up for you. We pledge only top of the line entertainment here at the carnival.”
Jethro clears his throat. “So it’s like a concert or something?”
“You could say that. You’ll be the envy of all your friends.”
“What about me?” protests Elise, as Lydia turns around to step back into her tent.
“Isn’t it about time for regular girls your age to return home? I’m sure,” she says, looking at something behind them, “your father is looking for you.”
Lydia disappears behind the flaps of her tent, just as Elise’s father creeps up behind them. A frown hangs on his face, and he jerks his head back, towards their car parked outside the grounds.
“I thought you said your friend Patty would be with you guys. You know how I feel about you being the only girl.”
“I can take care of myself, dad,” she says, embracing him and planting a sweet kiss on his cheek as he bends down. “Tell me all about the show, guys. See you in school.”
Elise gives the pair one last hopeless glance, waiting for one of them to say something, but her father turns her around and they stride through the crowd.
“Meet the parents yet?” jests Chester, earning himself the ire of Jethro’s elbow.
“It’s seven-thirty. I have half an hour before my mom comes to pick us up. Should we go see the show?”
Chester shrugs, yawning.
“Sure. Why not?”

*****

The clamor of the crowds outside becomes nothing more than indistinct murmuring once Jethro and Chester step into the largest of all the carnival tents. Bleachers rise up against the orange tarpaulin, all facing an enclosed circular platform in the center. Four massive pillars serve to hold the big top up, joined by tightrope lines and a safety net.
“Well, this is exclusive,” Chester remarks as they find their way to the very front, dropping his backpack on the dusty ground before them. Only two or three other people appear to have been invited, fidgeting with their drinks and texting away on their cell phones. “It’s pretty weird, if you think about it. I’ve never even heard of this place. How often does this thing show up around here? And why are we invited to this secret show?”
Jethro only continues to bob his head up and down, intently listening to the music in his iPod. Chester’s cheek twitches in disdain, and he stretches, trying to find a comfortable position to sit in.
Behind the curtain to the performer’s lounge, Noel grinds the silver links of his chains in his fingers. He struggles to control his breathing, and constantly wipes the sweat from his brow.
“How am I supposed to find the words? It’s only my first show, Lydia.”
The Tattooed Lady keeps her eyes on her own reflection in the mirror. Just outside the edges of her vision, blurred by bright incandescent light, Noel’s worried smile falters. She shifts in her seat, watching ink on her arm swivel.
“You should’ve thought about that before you decided to put on this show. Now get out there and introduce us,” she says, her tongue stretching the words beyond breaking point.
Jethro replays the Ferris Wheel failure in his head. It was going to take all of his strength not to howl on those bleachers, not to yank out his earphones and toss his iPod to the ground. They were alone on that gondola; the stars had practically aligned and given him an opening.
Nevermind. Gotta put it out of my mind for now. Focus on…focus on the show.
“A grand welcome to our distinguished guests,” booms a voice, although the two boys cannot locate its source. Strobe lights above them activate, circling the bleachers and then coming together, illuminating the stage.
“The November Carnival,” it continues, “opens its gates only once each year, summoning the spirits of saints and sinners alike to bring you the most spectacular entertainment you’ve ever seen. It is our honor and our pleasure to have chosen your dear San Ildefonso, my brothers and sisters of Ilocos. There was nothing random or mistaken about it. We have our purpose, and in this revelation, here, in this tent, we shall help you find yours.”
Jethro pulls his earphones off and looks around. The limited audience was chewing on popcorn. Chester had leaned forward, a curious look in his eye.
“It was not by chance that you have found your way here, among us. You were selected for the qualities that make you like us – special.”
Here, Jethro gulps. That word had come to mean something sinister to him; darkness washes over him.
“The November Carnival has always been home to those of us whose amazing gifts and peculiar talents have gone by unnoticed, unappreciated…even feared. We provide shelter for those who have lost their way in a world that doesn’t understand them. Even now, they seek us out without knowing who we are.”
Before their eyes, an invisible veil lifts, revealing the entire congregation of carnival sideshows and staff. Chester’s eyes flitter over them one by one – The Bearded Lady, juggling plastic balls with four-foot long tangles of her braided hair; The Living Statue, a cloaked figure tossing sparks into the air as his golden hands clap together; the Strongman, lifting a tiger and a lion on each shoulder; around them, the masquerade clowns, knife thrower, cannonball exhibitionist, and Tattooed Lady stand, bowing and waving.
“This is some crazy stuff!” Chester exclaims, delighted. “Have you ever seen anything like them?”
“Once or twice,” mutters Jethro under his breath.

*****

“Contrary to popular belief, the tree was not a medical condition,” David sighs, finally digging in. He winces at the unfamiliar taste of peppered omelet. “It’s just something I decided to be. I operate on whims, Adre. Remember your mission abroad?”
The agent turns the stove off, and opens the door to a colossal refrigerator. Scanning the shelves, he locates a carton of orange juice, and pours two glasses.
“So you left two inexperienced kids and a one-woman zoo to run The Company by themselves? On a whim?”
“I had my reasons.”
“You just said you didn’t.”
“I have my reasons for that, too.”
“Funky. I think that’s what the kids are saying. You’re funky, boss.”
Adre can tell out of the corner of his eye that several agents have now gathered under the kitchen doorframe, mumbling to themselves and gesturing toward the resurrected plant-man.
“So why’d you come back?” he asks, taking a sip. The cold drink refreshes him, and he clears his throat.
“As a tree, I’ve had a lot of time to think.”
“With what organ? Trees don’t have brains.”
David looks up again, and glares.
“If you’re going to keep interrupting with your questions then we’re not going to get anywhere. Now be quiet and listen to my self-indulgent rant about a bothersome midlife crisis. You don’t hear things often from me; in fact, the last you must’ve heard is the creaking of my branches. We have a long way to go to solving this and we’ve barely gotten started.”
The agent simply shrugs. His stomach growls, loud and embarrassing.
“Fine, fine, go cook yourself something. And make sure it’s better than this egg. I’ve only just remembered how much I disliked omelets.”
Adre starts rummaging through the compartments in the fridge. “Keep going,” he calls.
“Do you know what this kitchen used to be before it became a kitchen?”
“Nope.”
“It was a storeroom for deceased experimental subjects.”
Adre gags, and hits his head on a shelf above as he straightens up.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. But then we had some more funding from our benefactors, and we upgraded. Improved our facilities.”
“You got better equipment and had lower casualty rates?”
“No. We got a bigger storeroom. You’re interrupting again. Anyway, shortly before your arrival here, this hall was renovated, and one genius had the idea of turning it into a kitchen.”
Agent Adre scans the room, surveying the innumerable rows of pots, pans, skillets, sieves, and chopping boards. He can’t help imagining corpses in their place, and human meat puppets hanging off the hooks along the ceiling instead of the assortment of wine glasses and utility knives.
“The point of this little story is that, after renovation, we had a bigger storeroom that served our purposes better. So this room was free to become whatever we wanted, which was apparently, a kitchen.”
David stands up, joining Adre by the fridge. He peers inside and sighs.
“I want to become a kitchen, too.”
“What?”
“Think, agent. Becca and Myrtle have this all covered. Iego’s off somewhere entangled in the exciting life of espionage, betrayal, and internet meme fame. And I…was a tree. There are a couple of things in my life I still want to do and I guess there’s no better time than November to get it all done.”
Adre wonders if he should pat the boss on the back. He refrains, and instead asks, “Why November?”
“Didn’t I tell you to stop asking questions?”

*****

The ringmaster emerges from the crowd of carnies, followed by a young woman in a leotard, jacket, and top hat. The magician girl looks right at Jethro, and smiles. He can feel blood rushing to his cheeks.
She waves her wand, and elongated cards begin to spew forth from her sleeves, spinning wildly through the air and littering the entire tent.
A card lands in Chester’s lap, depicting one of the higher orders of angels – The Judgment. Another card finds its way into Jethro’s hand, and he flips it over: the silhouette of a juggler – The Fool.
“Times are changing, my friends,” says Noel, now addressing both the audience and his band of carnies. “Our great leader, the one we called brother and father, has…departed from us, gone. Gone…on the winds of change.”
Loud gasping breaks out among the carnies. Several dreadful sobs rise up over the chaos. Chester looks to Jethro, who shrugs.
“I’m like all of you - angry, confused. Inconsolable. Even though we had our disagreements, he was family to me. He was family to all of us, and the only reason we’ve survived the test of time. Now his name is our secret, just as this carnival was his.
“We…take solace only in his promise – that as long as the carnival stands together, his power will remain, protecting us, enriching us, guiding us. His power, maybe in the air around us, perhaps in every breath we take, lives on.
“His dying wish – and I was there to hear it – was only that we look to the future. A future of…infinite possibilities. He and I both knew that the world outside our gates was moving….reshaping its image, its ideas. We can no longer turn a deaf ear to the… plight of our brother and sisters outside, who are as lost and persecuted as we once were. It is time to welcome them to our sanctuary, to our…family.
“Tonight we do just that. The winds are howling; they are harsh, unforgiving. But the storming world beyond our silent lights has tossed fugitives our way. They sit here, among us now, awaiting acceptance. They are our family now. Welcome…to the November Carnival.”

*****

All eyes fall on the two boys in the bleachers, thunderstruck and immobile. Beads of sweat trickle down the side of Jethro’s face. His muscle fibers twitch, and every impulse in his body tells him to run.
Suddenly the tent feels like a giant cage. And we’re locked in with the animals.
“W-what did he say?” stutters Chester, as Noel approaches them. His cape falls heavily behind him, and his intentions are lost to the reflections of light in his glasses. He gives them a smile; it was probably meant to comfort them, but Jethro’s heart only beats faster.
He had dealt with groups of posthumans before – the shady Company had plucked him out of Ilocos for assistance months ago, to stop a tsunami. No explanations given, only stern warnings. Was the carnival linked to them? Would they treat him the same way? Or perhaps much worse?
“I don’t like the way they’re looking at us.”
“Chester. We should… we should probably go now. Right now.”
Jethro hurriedly stuffs his gear into his knapsack, and crunches dirt under his shoes as he turns tail. Chester follows him, bewildered. Most of the carnies were unusually tall, and their shadows on the ground were grotesquely twisted. How could he have let himself get into this – a secret show, surrounded by dozens of strange and unpredictable men?
“What are you running for?” says Noel, flexing an arm, ruffling his hair in mild confusion. He suddenly becomes aware of the lapses in his speech, the way he’d paused and scrambled for words. Had they come out right? Did they understand what he meant? Was he even speaking loud enough?
“It’s just a gesture of welcome,” he adds.
“Into what?”
“Our family.”
“What do you expect us to do? Stay here?” Chester asks. He wasn’t flustered or breathing heavily. He just stood there, honestly waiting for an answer.
Noel grins innocently, cramming all of his doubts and anxiety into the space in his mouth behind his teeth. He then sniffs, audibly taking in air. “Does that seem so hard to believe? We understand who – and what – you are. You and Jethro are special, and you have a place here at our table.”
“Yeah…no.”
Jethro closes his eyes, visualizing. Streaks of energy were streaming across the room; he could feel them, prickling and crackling over the hairs on his skin. He wills himself to absorb all of it, and the strobe lights sputter, glass shattering. The tent goes dark, and he runs for the exit.
Silhouettes and outlines of carnies dance over the tarpaulin, desperately reaching out, stretching and colliding in the darkness. He hears them shouting, calling to each other. What about the other audience members? Had they escaped?
What happened to Chester?
Hurling himself through the flaps, Jethro collapses onto the ground outside, throwing up dirt. He brushes himself off, and kicks hard, running as fast as his shaking legs would carry him. The carnival grounds were now devoid of people.
He didn’t know where the ringmaster was. Where Chester was. Where anything was.
I have to go back. Oh crap I have to go back.
Jethro takes a tentative step, still trembling violently. His feet begin to move again, at last, but a hand on his shoulder stops him cold.
“Dude, come on!”
“Chester! What the hell, I thought you got left behind -”
“Go, go, go!”
They spin around, searching frantically for the entrance gate. Ahead of them, looming over several rows of tents, the November Carnival sign was still blinking, lighting the way out.

*****

Noel observes the two boys as they pile into Jethro’s car, slam the door, and drive away. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and frowns. Lydia appears at his side and hands him a large, gnarled staff.
“You’re going to need that from now on. Tell them you can feel his guidance engraved in the petrified dahlia. They’ll believe you.”
She thrusts the relic at him, and he savors the bruising coarseness of its ancient wood against his chest. Clearing the dust with his boots, he throws his cape off his shoulders and takes a seat. The ringmaster passes the staff from one hand to the other, weighing it, feeling the rough bark against his palms. He deftly strikes it on the ground, and arcs of bright red spurt from the tip, cracking the arid earth.
“There’s a first time for everything, Lyd. I screwed up. And I’m sor---”
“Not yet, Noel. The blood hasn’t even dried.”
She watches him, eyes locked on his crouched figure on the ground. She recognizes something in him, only to be inwardly devastated as that memory flickers away. Lydia considers laying a hand on his shoulder, or taking back her words. Instead indignation fills her like hot water through a pipe.
“He would’ve convinced them, you know. His tongue was made of silk.”
“His tongue was made of yarn, Lydia. The boys just need time to reconsider the offer. No one can refuse the charms of the carnival for long. I made sure to give our boy the means to find his way home. He just needs to come to grips with his ability, when it manifests.”
“And the isolation that goes with it, no doubt.”
“That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”

________________________________________________________________________

Let's Get This Started. Like, at last.

2010-05-12T21:42:00.000-07:00

Welcome, Strontium 2011, to the fourth and final season of Pisay Heroes.

P-roes is the collection of fanfiction written between three authors (David Ples, Rebecca Yu, and Benedict Almirol) about ordinary people having extraordinary abilities. It is set in the Philippines, vaguely follows plots and concepts from the TV show Heroes, and stars classmates and friends (as well as some teachers) from Batch 2011.

This recap is designed to help you understand the events of this final season, Season of Reckoning, in relation to the previous three seasons. EITHER YOU READ THIS TWO PAGE SUMMARY OR YOU READ OVER THREE HUNDRED PAGES WORTH OF FANFICTION. :> Your choice.

_______________________________________________________________________

Garnet Heroes was based on Garnet 2011, and tells the story of the Company – an organization founded to monitor, protect, and in some cases control, people with abilities. The Company had its enemies of course, and in that season Micah Austria destroyed the headquarters. He was a major villain, and is now in a coma, so he isn’t appearing this season. Sorry Micah. :-j

Champions was based on Champaca 2011. In this season, the Company Boss (that’s me, David) sets out to rebuild and relocate. He reconnects with some of the old Company founders, and fights off a rebellion led by Iego. Also, a villain called The Collector (Andro Milla) was out stealing people’s powers and turning them into statues for his giant chessboard. In the end, the Company found a new base in The Collector’s headquarters and survived the rebellion; The Collector was subdued and his statues were returned to normal.

Season 3, Equinox, was written late in second year. This one stars random friends from the batch, such as Sean Fortuna and Miguel Matugas. In this season, the Company undergoes some leadership changes – David becomes a tree (my power is to control plants) and appoints Becca, Myrtle, and Iego as High Executives. A schizophrenic villainess who can control machines, Shaula, sets out to put a mass suicide into effect as a sacrifice for her demon talisman. Also, Mark Burdeos, a scientist, accidentally creates a bacteria that kills people with powers (the term is posthuman), so that has to be stopped too.

The season being written by Rebecca Yu for Cesium is unfinished, but it ties to our story. All you need to know is that people are going to become aware of people with powers, so when Sr starts, posthumans are no longer a secret.

________________________________________________________________________

Now, if you’re already bored, it might be hard to read P-roes. So practice reading =)) Now I have individual character summaries for people who’ve already appeared.

DAVID – He founded the Company and can control plants. His character is a lot bossier than the real me, but has about the same wit. :> At the end of Champions he turned into a tree, so you can expect him to come back in this season.

JI – He was a priest in Garnet Heroes, with the power of enhanced hearing. Like, he can hear your heartbeat or the sound of approaching rain. He accidentally eavesdropped on Dan and Enzo Marigomen, and was mostly on the run as a witness in danger. He came to the Company with Enzo in Equinox, and has been affiliated with them since, no longer preaching.

MICAH – He got mad at David for killing his daughter (it was necessary, she was dangerous okay) and vowed revenge on the Company. Which he got – he destroyed our HQ. But I put him in a coma. :> :> :> He’s out of it for now, so, sorry again Micah. :))

ANCER – Works as a teacher at Pisay Ilocos, which looks just like Pisay Main, but you know, it’s in Ilocos. XD He can paint the future, and has been a valuable resource for the Company in predicting and preventing disasters. He is a friend of Jethro.

JETHRO – a teenager studying at Pisay Ilocos; this season he is third year. Back in Champions he discovered he could absorb energy (electrical, mostly) and was enjoying the idea of being special. Until, you know, Andro the Collector tried to take his power. He ended up turning Duke into stone by accident, so Jethro becomes a hero on a rescue mission to find and save his friend. He has been “borrowed” to assist with the Company several times, and appears in the hypothetical what-would-happen-if-we-didn’t-save-the-world future episode as one of the few surviving rebels.

DOM – was a detective who could photoport (think like, Blues Clues, when they go into paintings). He helped solve the case of The Collector in Champions, and also briefly appeared in Equinox looking for a missing Sean Fortuna.

ELIHU – was a farmer who had his lands claimed by Andro Milla. He went to Andro’s island to get ownership back and helped defeat him. He was sadly murdered by Shaula in Equinox, because with his ability to control water, he might’ve been the only one who could stop the tsunami from happening.

REG – was an old acquaintance of the Company who was, to make explanations shorter, immortal. When the bacteria of Mark Burdeos spread however, she was infected, and the 400 or so that she had escaped rapidly caught up to her. She turned to dust.

ADRE – debuted in Equinox as a 50-something war veteran. There are two striking things about him – one, he lost an arm in a mission abroad, and two, he can turn his skin and bones into metal. He came back from abroad and tried to return to a normal life, but found that his son was dead (Stuart) and his wife had cheated on him. He went back to being a regular at the Company, under David’s wing again, supposedly. Except, if you were paying attention, I’m a tree now.

CLAUD – her story is different than the others, because it begins in the future. Her best friend Dani Rina commits suicide, so when she meets a time traveler (Isko), she asks him to send her back ten years. Her ability, body snatching, causes her to get trapped inside the body of fifteen year old Dani. She is trapped there until she finds her present-day body, so she spends the time trying to change Dani and make sure she is happier and better adjusted. They become friends (again, for the first time) and Dani helps Claud return to her own body.

PATTY – a teenager introduced in Jasmin, capable of turning her drawings into reality. AJ’s plan to take over the government hinged on her ability, as he planned to create an invincible army. Her parents were killed by AJ’s goons, and she has been under Company Custody ever since. She now studies in Pisay Ilocos.

CANDY – another orphan, she was found by AJ after she accidentally blinded her father with her ability – photo/lumokinesis (the ability to “bend” light). She was able to control her abilities under AJ’s guidance, while at the same time furthering AJ’s plan to take over the government. She reluctantly betrayed AJ after she realized that AJ’s plan was pointless. She also helped in stopping the dreaded tsunami scenario in Equinox, in exchange for her freedom. She is now on the loose somewhere, biding her time.

reminders

2010-03-06T07:19:00.000-08:00

guys quick reminder. meeting at 11am on monday, front lob, about our outing.

frogs. dissection.
comsci. project.
stuff.

yeah.im too busy tumbling to post properly. :)) sorry!

OUTING RESCHED???

2010-03-05T19:10:00.001-08:00

This blog still has a little left in it. We're not done yet, here, people. /:)

congrats to everyone for making it through perio week. now, on to business.

we have to readjust our outing sched or work out an alternative plan, because apparently, MAY PASOK SA MARCH 15. :| Yeah. We have to go to pisay to meet with every subject teacher, pass everything, and fix our grades. This does not seem to be negotiable. The officer in me says we should go. (but the real person in me says boycott =)))

anyway. here are our options.

1. We do the school thing, and finish at around 5. Then we go to Bulacan and overnight. This means we only get the overnight. YOU MUST ASK YOUR PARENTS FOR PERMISSION TO OVERNIGHT. This is currently our most feasible option.

2. Go to school, have outing on Tuesday instead. We get the whole day, but Ma'am Kiel won't be there. In short, this isn't really an option. Plus, if we do this the whole day on tuesday, there's no more overnight, because photog has their thing on wed.

3. We can wait until 19 to have our outing (let photog pass first). it's a bit late already and a lot of people will have gone to the provinces by then. not so much an option.

4. Clearance week. but when? and we already booked the location. in fact, maam kiel and hannah and patty are there now checking it out.

REGARDLESS OF WHAT WE ARE TO DO, we have to wait for the March 15 sched to come out on monday. AND REGARDLESS, you must pay out all of your debts to the class funds. If we cough up the cash by the end of next week, then WE DON'T HAVE TO PAY ANYTHING FOR THE OUTING ANYMORE.

Last note. Prom DVDs are available. Check outside the caf for Mr. Elliot Kam if you ordered already. I'm not going to lie - ten people ordered but somehow only 9 payments made it. Somehow we lost 150 pesos. if we are to sort this out, all the people who ordered must go to Mr. Kam so we can figure it out.

COMMENTS PEOPLE. SUGGESTIONS. GO.

PERIO WEEK, PEOPLE.

2010-03-01T04:05:00.000-08:00

This week:

TUES
-SocSci quiz
-Bio quiz
-Optionally Math Long Test retake (Sir Nat's)

WEDNESDAY
@Math Perio - complex numbers, expolog and applications, induction, series/sequences, permutations and counting
@Bio Perio - Endocrine, Nervous, Reproductive, Plant Hormones

-health???

THURSDAY
@Physics Perio - equilibrium, gravitation, rotational motion
@SocSci Perio - growth of European modern states, scientific revolution, Fog of War, world war 1, world between wars, world war 2 (also look up nuclear test ban, marshall plan, truman doctrine)

FRIDAY
@Chem Perio - Chemical Kinetics, Mechanisms, and Organic Chemistry
@English Perio - Kite Runner (please have faith in Jacob)

BIRTHDAY NI JETHRO. \:D/

_________________

Bulletin Board = Bullshit. :( Go Sodium, btw :-bd We have to match theirs.

On a totally unrelated note, has anyone seen Theresa's/Binky's Mean Girls DVD???

PHYSICS WORKSHEET (transcribed)

2010-02-27T22:16:00.000-08:00

hi guys. david here. challenge to self: transcribe physics worksheet into blog entry. :))

Formulae:

Stress = Force / Area
Units for Stress: Pa (pascal) or N/m^2

Strain = Change in Length / Original Length
Units for Strain: none

Area of a Cylinder or Rod = Pi x Diameter^2 divided by 4

Elastic Limit = maximum stress a body can take without deformation
Refer to "Stress = F/A"

Modulus of Elasticity = Stress / Strain
Units for Modulus: Pa

Young's Modulus = longitudinal stress / longitudinal strain
Use this for objects like rods and bars which are much longer than they are wide
Y = (F / A) / (change in L / L) or (FL)/(A x change in L)
Units: Pa

Shear Modulus = ratio of shearing stress (F/A) to shearing strain (theta, also distance/length), in other words, (F/A) divided by (d/l)

WORKSHEET QUESTIONS:

1.) A woman wearing high-heeled shoes is invited into a home in which the kitchen has vinyl floor covering. Why should the homeowner be worried?

Hint: Stress is calculated by (Force divided by Area)

2.) If the elastic limit of steel is 2.48 x 10^8 Pa, determine the minimum diameter a steel wire can have if it is to support a 70kg circus performer without its elastic limit being reached.

Hint: use Stress = F/A, then calculate for D using the formula above (area of steel rod)

3.) For safety in climbing, a mountaineer uses a nylon rope that is 50m long and 1.0cm in diameter. When supporting a 90 kg climber, the rope elongates 1.6 m. Find its Young's Modulus.

Hint: Solve for area using given diameter, then apply Y = (FL)/(A x change in L). Your answer is going to be a big number.

4.) The distortion of the Earth's crustal plates is an example of shear on a larger scale. (HAHAHA. Aliw naman ako.) A particular crustal rock has a shear modulus of 1.5 x 10^10 Pa. What shear stress is involved when a 10-km layer of this rock is sheared through a distance of 5.0 m?

Hint: Use Shearing modulus = Stress / (d/l)

Good luck, people :> Sana naintindihan niyo yung mga formula sa taas.

Perio week! Last week reminders. :(

2010-02-26T20:00:00.000-08:00

Noooo. :( Patapos na talaga. :|

STR
- Final Proposal due on Monday, March 8.

- LabJournals! (HANNAH! Kailangan mong hanapin yun! >_<)

Bio
- Reproductive System HW due on Monday, March 1.
- Frog dissection on Monday, March 8.

CS
- Snake Applet due on Monday, March 8.

Phyics
- LabReport on Center of Gravity due on Monday March 1.
- Homeworks/Take Home LT also due on Monday, March 1.

... Because I haven't posted it yet. Refer to Sodium's post for the questions for the meantime.

Chem
- Longtest on Monday, March 1.

English
- Essays (+- 300 words) due on Tuesday, March 2.
- Wala pa rin na-oust sa atin. :P

Socsci
- Quiz on Wars Part 2 on Tuesday, March 2.
- Optional Viewing of Election Vids during Clearance Week.

Health
- Make up classes on Monday and Tuesday
- Hallucinogens and Stimulants Report

Others
- Bulletin Board! Hoy, tapusin na natin 'to! =))
- Year-end Party! :D

Meron pa ba? XD

Bio Data

2010-02-20T18:15:00.000-08:00

Stem Elongation

	1 PPM GA3		10 PPM GA3		100 PPM GA3		H₂O
	Initial	Final	Initial	Final	Initial	Final	Initial	Final
Sr-04	5.73cm	28.22cm	6.77cm	28.24cm	8.97cm	34.92cm	5.33cm	28.06cm
(Terence)	1.9in	12.1in	1.5in	11.2in	2.4in	14.7in	3.0in	11.4 in
(Domz)	5.52cm	24.90cm	5.30cm	30.71cm	5.65cm	31.21cm	4.05cm	24.59cm

Fruit Ripening

	Rate of Fruit Ripening (1-slowest, 3-fastest)
	1 apple	2 apples	No apples
Sr-01	2	3	1
Sr-02	1	3	2
(David)	Same speed

Isang week nalang! :(

2010-02-19T16:30:00.000-08:00

Ibig sabihin, hell week na.

STR
- Oral Defense
- Mini-Research Proposal
- Make-up Class

Bio
- Plant Hormones Lab Report
- Email your data to cpd1994@yahoo.com

Fil
- Original Dula
- Writing period from now on. *dance*

Physics
- Worksheet

Eng
- Poem reports
- Essay (+- 300 words, about your supernatural power)

CS
- Snake Applet (by group)

Health
- Reportings

SS
- SS Video about voting

CS Keyboard Inputs

2010-02-18T00:25:00.000-08:00

Tatlo yung in-email ni Sir Paolo. :O

//

import java.awt.*;
import javax.swing.*;
import java.applet.*;
import java.awt.event.*;

/**
* Class Keyboard - write a description of the class here
*
* @author (your name)
* @version (a version number)
*/
public class Keyboard extends JApplet implements KeyListener, MouseListener, MouseMotionListener
{
int width=500, height=500;
int x, y;
String s = "";

public void mouseEntered( MouseEvent e ) { }
public void mouseExited( MouseEvent e ) { }
public void mousePressed( MouseEvent e ) { }
public void mouseReleased( MouseEvent e ) { }
public void mouseMoved( MouseEvent e ) { }
public void mouseDragged( MouseEvent e ) { }
public void mouseClicked( MouseEvent e ) {
x = e.getX();
y = e.getY();
s = "";
repaint();
}

public void keyPressed( KeyEvent e ) { }
public void keyReleased( KeyEvent e ) { }
public void keyTyped( KeyEvent e ) {
char c = e.getKeyChar();
s = s + c;
repaint();

}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* has been loaded into the system. It is always called before the first
* time that the start method is called.
*/
public void init()
{
// this is a workaround for a security conflict with some browsers
// including some versions of Netscape & Internet Explorer which do
// not allow access to the AWT system event queue which JApplets do
// on startup to check access. May not be necessary with your browser.
JRootPane rootPane = this.getRootPane();
rootPane.putClientProperty("defeatSystemEventQueueCheck", Boolean.TRUE);

// provide any initialisation necessary for your JApplet

addKeyListener( this );
addMouseListener( this );

}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* should start its execution. It is called after the init method and
* each time the JApplet is revisited in a Web page.
*/
public void start()
{
// provide any code requred to run each time
// web page is visited
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that
* it should stop its execution. It is called when the Web page that
* contains this JApplet has been replaced by another page, and also
* just before the JApplet is to be destroyed.
*/
public void stop()
{
// provide any code that needs to be run when page
// is replaced by another page or before JApplet is destroyed
}

/**
* Paint method for applet.
*
* @param g the Graphics object for this applet
*/
public void paint(Graphics g)
{
g.setColor( Color.black );
g.drawLine( x, y, x, y-10 );
g.setColor( Color.blue );

//Font(name,style,size);
//Styles: Font.BOLD, PLAIN, ITALIC
g.setFont(new Font("Default",Font.BOLD,20));
g.drawString( s, x, y );

}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* is being reclaimed and that it should destroy any resources that it
* has allocated. The stop method will always be called before destroy.
*/
public void destroy()
{
// provide code to be run when JApplet is about to be destroyed.
}

/**
* Returns information about this applet.
* An applet should override this method to return a String containing
* information about the author, version, and copyright of the JApplet.
*
* @return a String representation of information about this JApplet
*/
public String getAppletInfo()
{
// provide information about the applet
return "Title: \nAuthor: \nA simple applet example description. ";
}

/**
* Returns parameter information about this JApplet.
* Returns information about the parameters than are understood by this JApplet.
* An applet should override this method to return an array of Strings
* describing these parameters.
* Each element of the array should be a set of three Strings containing
* the name, the type, and a description.
*
* @return a String[] representation of parameter information about this JApplet
*/
public String[][] getParameterInfo()
{
// provide parameter information about the applet
String paramInfo[][] = {
{"firstParameter", "1-10", "description of first parameter"},
{"status", "boolean", "description of second parameter"},
{"images", "url", "description of third parameter"}
};
return paramInfo;
}
}

import java.awt.*;
import javax.swing.*;
import java.applet.*;
import java.awt.event.*;

/**
* Class Keyboard - write a description of the class here
*
* @author (your name
* @version (a version number)
*/
public class Keyboard2 extends JApplet implements KeyListener
{
int width=500, height=500;
int x=200, y=200;

public void keyPressed( KeyEvent e ) {
char c = e.getKeyChar();
if ( c == 'w') {
y--;
repaint();
} else if ( c == 'a') {
x--;
repaint();
} else if ( c == 'd') {
x++;
repaint();
} else if ( c == 's') {
y++;
repaint();
}
showStatus(x+","+y);
}
public void keyReleased( KeyEvent e ) { }
public void keyTyped( KeyEvent e ) { }

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* has been loaded into the system. It is always called before the first
* time that the start method is called.
*/
public void init()
{
// this is a workaround for a security conflict with some browsers
// including some versions of Netscape & Internet Explorer which do
// not allow access to the AWT system event queue which JApplets do
// on startup to check access. May not be necessary with your browser.
JRootPane rootPane = this.getRootPane();
rootPane.putClientProperty("defeatSystemEventQueueCheck", Boolean.TRUE);

// provide any initialisation necessary for your JApplet

addKeyListener( this );

}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* should start its execution. It is called after the init method and
* each time the JApplet is revisited in a Web page.
*/
public void start()
{
// provide any code requred to run each time
// web page is visited
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that
* it should stop its execution. It is called when the Web page that
* contains this JApplet has been replaced by another page, and also
* just before the JApplet is to be destroyed.
*/
public void stop()
{
// provide any code that needs to be run when page
// is replaced by another page or before JApplet is destroyed
}

/**
* Paint method for applet.
*
* @param g the Graphics object for this applet
*/
public void paint(Graphics g)
{
g.setColor( Color.white );
g.fillRect( 0, 0, 500,500 );

g.setColor( Color.blue );
g.fillRect( x, y, 50,50 );

}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* is being reclaimed and that it should destroy any resources that it
* has allocated. The stop method will always be called before destroy.
*/
public void destroy()
{
// provide code to be run when JApplet is about to be destroyed.
}

/**
* Returns information about this applet.
* An applet should override this method to return a String containing
* information about the author, version, and copyright of the JApplet.
*
* @return a String representation of information about this JApplet
*/
public String getAppletInfo()
{
// provide information about the applet
return "Title: \nAuthor: \nA simple applet example description. ";
}

/**
* Returns parameter information about this JApplet.
* Returns information about the parameters than are understood by this JApplet.
* An applet should override this method to return an array of Strings
* describing these parameters.
* Each element of the array should be a set of three Strings containing
* the name, the type, and a description.
*
* @return a String[] representation of parameter information about this JApplet
*/
public String[][] getParameterInfo()
{
// provide parameter information about the applet
String paramInfo[][] = {
{"firstParameter", "1-10", "description of first parameter"},
{"status", "boolean", "description of second parameter"},
{"images", "url", "description of third parameter"}
};
return paramInfo;
}
}
//

//
import java.applet.*;
import java.awt.*;
import java.awt.event.*;
import javax.swing.*;

public class Keyboard3 extends JApplet implements MouseListener, MouseMotionListener, KeyListener {
// instance variables - replace the example below with your own
int width=500, height=500;
int mx, my; // the mouse coordinates
boolean isButtonPressed = false,loaded = false;
Color theColor = new Color(0,0,0);
String s = "";

public void keyPressed( KeyEvent e ) { }
public void keyReleased( KeyEvent e ) { }
public void keyTyped( KeyEvent e ) {
char c = e.getKeyChar();
if ( c != KeyEvent.CHAR_UNDEFINED ) {
s = s + c;
repaint();
}
}

public void mouseEntered( MouseEvent e ) {
// called when the pointer enters the applet's rectangular area
}

public void mouseExited( MouseEvent e ) {
// called when the pointer leaves the applet's rectangular area
}

public void mouseClicked( MouseEvent e ) {
// called after a press and release of a mouse button
// with no motion in between
// (If the user presses, drags, and then releases, there will be
// no click event generated.)

repaint();
}

public void mousePressed( MouseEvent e ) { // called after a button is pressed down
isButtonPressed = true;
//setBackground( Color.gray );

if(mx > 50 && mx < 100 && my > 50 && my < 100){
theColor = Color.red;
}

if(mx > 50 && mx < 100 && my > 125 && my < 175){
theColor = Color.green;
}

if(mx > 50 && mx < 100 && my > 200 && my < 250){
theColor = Color.blue;
}

if(mx > 25 && mx < 125 && my > 400 && my < 450){
s = "";
}

repaint();
}

public void mouseReleased( MouseEvent e ) { // called after a button is released
isButtonPressed = false;
}

public void mouseMoved( MouseEvent e ) { // called during motion when no buttons are down
mx = e.getX();
my = e.getY();
showStatus( "Mouse at (" + mx + "," + my + ")" );
repaint();
}

public void mouseDragged( MouseEvent e ) { // called during motion with buttons down
mx = e.getX();
my = e.getY();
showStatus( "Mouse at (" + mx + "," + my + ")" );
repaint();
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* has been loaded into the system. It is always called before the first
* time that the start method is called.
*/
public void init()
{
// this is a workaround for a security conflict with some browsers
// including some versions of Netscape & Internet Explorer which do
// not allow access to the AWT system event queue which JApplets do
// on startup to check access. May not be necessary with your browser.
JRootPane rootPane = this.getRootPane();
rootPane.putClientProperty("defeatSystemEventQueueCheck", Boolean.TRUE);

mx = 0;
my = 0;

addMouseListener( this );
addMouseMotionListener( this );
addKeyListener( this );
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* should start its execution. It is called after the init method and
* each time the JApplet is revisited in a Web page.
*/
public void start()
{
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that
* it should stop its execution. It is called when the Web page that
* contains this JApplet has been replaced by another page, and also
* just before the JApplet is to be destroyed.
*/
public void stop()
{
// provide any code that needs to be run when page
// is replaced by another page or before JApplet is destroyed
}

/**
* Paint method for applet.
*
* @param g the Graphics object

* for this applet
*/
public void paint(Graphics g)
{
if(!loaded){
g.setColor(Color.gray);
g.fillRect(0,0,250,500);

g.setColor(Color.red);
g.fillRect(50,50,50,50);

g.setColor(Color.green);
g.fillRect(50,125,50,50);

g.setColor(Color.blue);
g.fillRect(50,200,50,50);

g.setColor( theColor );
g.fillRect(25,275,100,100);

g.setColor( Color.white );
g.fillRect(25,400,100,50);

g.setColor( Color.black );
g.drawRect(25,400,100,50);
g.drawString("Clear",55,425);

loaded = true;
}

if ( isButtonPressed && mx > width/2) {

g.setColor( theColor );
g.drawString(s,mx-5, my-5);

}
else if ( isButtonPressed && mx < width/2){
g.setColor( theColor );
g.fillRect(25,275,100,100);
}
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* is being reclaimed and that it should destroy any resources that it
* has allocated. The stop method will always be called before destroy.
*/
public void destroy()
{
// provide code to be run when JApplet is about to be destroyed.
}

/**
* Returns information about this applet.
* An applet should override this method to return a String containing
* information about the author, version, and copyright of the JApplet.
*
* @return a String representation of information about this JApplet
*/
public String getAppletInfo()
{
// provide information about the applet
return "Title: \nAuthor: \nA simple applet example description. ";
}

/**
* Returns parameter information about this JApplet.
* Returns information about the parameters than are understood by this JApplet.
* An applet should override this method to return an array of Strings
* describing these parameters.
* Each element of the array should be a set of three Strings containing
* the name, the type, and a description.
*
* @return a String[] representation of parameter information about this JApplet
*/
public String[][] getParameterInfo()
{
// provide parameter information about the applet
String paramInfo[][] = {
{"firstParameter", "1-10", "description of first parameter"},
{"status", "boolean", "description of second parameter"},
{"images", "url", "description of third parameter"}
};
return paramInfo;
}
}
//

//
import java.awt.event.*;
import java.awt.*;
import javax.swing.*;

/**
* Class Animate - write a description of the class here
*
* @author (your name)
* @version (a version number)
*/
public class Animate2 extends JApplet implements Runnable,KeyListener
{
// instance variables - replace the example below with your own
int width, height;
int y = 0,x = 0;
String direction = "down";
Thread t = null;

public void keyPressed( KeyEvent e ) { }
public void keyReleased( KeyEvent e ) { }
public void keyTyped( KeyEvent e ) {
char c = e.getKeyChar();
if ( c == 'w') {
direction = "up";
} else if ( c == 'a') {
direction = "left";
} else if ( c == 'd') {
direction = "right";
} else if ( c == 's') {
direction = "down";
}
}

public void run() {
//runs simultaneously with the applet's methods
try {
while (true) {
if(direction == "up"){
y--;
} else if(direction == "down"){
y++;
} else if(direction == "left"){
x--;
} else if(direction == "right"){
x++;
}

if ( y == 11 ) {
y = 0;
}

if ( x == 11 ) {
x = 0;
}

if ( y == -1 ) {
y = 10;
}

if ( x == -1 ) {
x = 10;
}
showStatus("Moving " + direction);
repaint();
t.sleep( 100 ); // interval given in milliseconds
}
}
catch (Exception e) { }
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* has been loaded into the system. It is always called before the first
* time that the start method is called.
*/
public void init()
{
// this is a workaround for a security conflict with some browsers
// including some versions of Netscape & Internet Explorer which do
// not allow access to the AWT system event queue which JApplets do
// on startup to check access. May not be necessary with your browser.
JRootPane rootPane = this.getRootPane();
rootPane.putClientProperty("defeatSystemEventQueueCheck", Boolean.TRUE);

// provide any initialisation necessary for your JApplet

width = getSize().width;
height = getSize().height;
addKeyListener( this );
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* should start its execution. It is called after the init method and
* each time the JApplet is revisited in a Web page.
*/
public void start()
{
// provide any code requred to run each time
// web page is visited'
t = new Thread( this );
t.start();
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that
* it should stop its execution. It is called when the Web page that
* contains this JApplet has been replaced by another page, and also
* just before the JApplet is to be destroyed.
*/
public void stop()
{
// provide any code that needs to be run when page
// is replaced by another page or before JApplet is destroyed
}

/**
* Paint method for applet.
*
* @param g the Graphics object for this applet
*/
public void paint(Graphics g)
{
// simple text displayed on applet
g.setColor( Color.white );
g.fillRect( 0,0,width,height);
g.setColor( Color.blue );
g.fillRect( x * height / 10, y * height / 10, 50 , 50 );

}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* is being reclaimed and that it should destroy any resources that it
* has allocated. The stop method will always be called before destroy.
*/
public void destroy()
{
// provide code to be run when JApplet is about to be destroyed.
}

/**
* Returns information about this applet.
* An applet should override this method to return a String containing
* information about the author, version, and copyright of the JApplet.
*
* @return a String representation of information about this JApplet
*/
public String getAppletInfo()
{
// provide information about the applet
return "Title: \nAuthor: \nA simple applet example description. ";
}

/**
* Returns parameter information about this JApplet.
* Returns information about the parameters than are understood by this JApplet.
* An applet should override this method to return an array of Strings
* describing these parameters.
* Each element of the array should be a set of three Strings containing
* the name, the type, and a description.
*
* @return a String[] representation of parameter information about this JApplet
*/
public String[][] getParameterInfo()
{
// provide parameter information about the applet
String paramInfo[][] = {
{"firstParameter", "1-10", "description of first parameter"},
{"status", "boolean", "description of second parameter"},
{"images", "url", "description of third parameter"}
};
return paramInfo;
}
}
//

import java.awt.*;
import javax.swing.*;

/**
* Class Animate - write a description of the class here
*
* @author (your name)
* @version (a version number)
*/
public class Animate extends JApplet implements Runnable
{
// instance variables - replace the example below with your own
int width, height;
int y = 0;
Thread t = null;

public void run() {
//runs simultaneously with the applet's methods
try {
while (true) {
y++;
if ( y == 500 ) {
y = 0;
}

repaint();
t.sleep( 10 ); // interval given in milliseconds
}
}
catch (Exception e) { }
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* has been loaded into the system. It is always called before the first
* time that the start method is called.
*/
public void init()
{
// this is a workaround for a security conflict with some browsers
// including some versions of Netscape & Internet Explorer which do
// not allow access to the AWT system event queue which JApplets do
// on startup to check access. May not be necessary with your browser.
JRootPane rootPane = this.getRootPane();
rootPane.putClientProperty("defeatSystemEventQueueCheck", Boolean.TRUE);

// provide any initialisation necessary for your JApplet

width = getSize().width;
height = getSize().height;

}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* should start its execution. It is called after the init method and
* each time the JApplet is revisited in a Web page.
*/
public void start()
{
// provide any code requred to run each time
// web page is visited'
t = new Thread( this );
t.start();
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that
* it should stop its execution. It is called when the Web page that
* contains this JApplet has been replaced by another page, and also
* just before the JApplet is to be destroyed.
*/
public void stop()
{
// provide any code that needs to be run when page
// is replaced by another page or before JApplet is destroyed
}

/**
* Paint method for applet.
*
* @param g the Graphics object for this applet
*/
public void paint(Graphics g)
{
// simple text displayed on applet
g.setColor( Color.white );
g.fillRect( 0,0,width,height);
g.setColor( Color.blue );
g.fillRect( width/2, y, 50 , 50 );

}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* is being reclaimed and that it should destroy any resources that it
* has allocated. The stop method will always be called before destroy.
*/
public void destroy()
{
// provide code to be run when JApplet is about to be destroyed.
}

/**
* Returns information about this applet.
* An applet should override this method to return a String containing
* information about the author, version, and copyright of the JApplet.
*
* @return a String representation of information about this JApplet
*/
public String getAppletInfo()
{
// provide information about the applet
return "Title: \nAuthor: \nA simple applet example description. ";
}

/**
* Returns parameter information about this JApplet.
* Returns information about the parameters than are understood by this JApplet.
* An applet should override this method to return an array of Strings
* describing these parameters.
* Each element of the array should be a set of three Strings containing
* the name, the type, and a description.
*
* @return a String[] representation of parameter information about this JApplet
*/
public String[][] getParameterInfo()
{
// provide parameter information about the applet
String paramInfo[][] = {
{"firstParameter", "1-10", "description of first parameter"},
{"status", "boolean", "description of second parameter"},
{"images", "url", "description of third parameter"}
};
return paramInfo;
}
}

//

Weekend Reminders!

2010-02-13T19:47:00.000-08:00

Sobrang tinatamad ako, kaya hindi 'to napost nung Friday.

At mas lalo akong tinatamad ngayon dahil fair kahapon.

At Valentine's Day ngayon.

Candy D.: str oral defense
Candy D.: bio reporting
Candy D.: fil original dla
Candy D.: physics long test
Candy D.: math hw
Candy D.: english long test
Candy D.: cs practest kasi hindi ka nagpractest.
Candy D.: socsci ow.

STR
- Oral Defense
- Mini-Research

Bio
- Reportings
- Plant Hormones Lab

Fil
- Original Dula

Physics
- LongTest

Math
- Pair HW (Hearts)

English
- LongTest on The Prophet

CS
- Practest sa mga hindi nagpractest.
- Mas mahirap yung inyo. @_@

Socsci
- Filler Signatures
- Slave Trade Notes
- Optional Work

3 WEEKS TO GO!

2010-02-05T16:33:00.000-08:00

Is that a bad or a good thing? :(

STR
- Fill up your log books and continue your researches.

Bio
- Jamon, Salcedo, Villacruel, Labalan, Tan! Report on the Vertebrate Endocrine System + Feedback Mechanisms (+, -) on Monday, February 8.
- Adre, Bautista, Cabanto, Ragudo, Villanueva, Bonifacio! Report on the Feedback Control In The Female Reproductive System on Tuesday, February 9
- SW Module for the Endocrine and Reproductive System.

Physics
- Long test on Thursday, February 11.

Chem
- Probset on Tuesday, February 9.

Math
- Achievement Test on Wednesday, February 10. 10:50 - 11:50

FAIR!
- Movies Booth!
- Updates on what to do and buy? :D

Ano pa? D:

Color Spectrum

2010-02-04T01:12:00.000-08:00

I actually do not understand how the colors mix from red to yellow.

//

import java.awt.*;
import javax.swing.*;

/**
* Class spectrum - write a description of the class here
*
* @author (your name)
* @version (a version number)
*/
public class spectrum extends JApplet
{
// instance variables - replace the example below with your own
private int x;
int width, height;
int N = 25; // the number of colors created
Color[] spectrum; // an array of elements, each of type Color
Color[] spectrum2; // another array

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* has been loaded into the system. It is always called before the first
* time that the start method is called.
*/
public void init()
{
// this is a workaround for a security conflict with some browsers
// including some versions of Netscape & Internet Explorer which do
// not allow access to the AWT system event queue which JApplets do
// on startup to check access. May not be necessary with your browser.
JRootPane rootPane = this.getRootPane();
rootPane.putClientProperty("defeatSystemEventQueueCheck", Boolean.TRUE);

// provide any initialisation necessary for your JApplet

width = getSize().width;
height = getSize().height;
setBackground( Color.black );

// Allocate the arrays; make them "N" elements long
spectrum = new Color[ N ];
spectrum2 = new Color[ N ];

// Generate the colors and store them in the arrays.
for ( int i = 1; i <= N; ++i ) {
// The three numbers passed to the Color() constructor
// are RGB components in the range [0,1].
// The casting to (float) is done so that the divisions will be
// done with floating point numbers, yielding fractional quotients.

// As i goes from 1 to N, this color goes from almost black to white.
spectrum[ i-1 ] = new Color( i/(float)N, i/(float)N, i/(float)N );

// As i goes from 1 to N, this color goes from almost pure blue to pure red.
spectrum2[ i-1 ] = new Color( i/(float)N, 0,(N-i)/(float)N );
}
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* should start its execution. It is called after the init method and
* each time the JApplet is revisited in a Web page.
*/
public void start()
{
// provide any code requred to run each time
// web page is visited
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that
* it should stop its execution. It is called when the Web page that
* contains this JApplet has been replaced by another page, and also
* just before the JApplet is to be destroyed.
*/
public void stop()
{
// provide any code that needs to be run when page
// is replaced by another page or before JApplet is destroyed
}

/**
* Paint method for applet.
*
* @param g the Graphics object for this applet
*/
public void paint( Graphics g ) {

int step = 90 / N;
for ( int i = 0; i < N; ++i ) {
g.setColor( spectrum[ i ] );
g.fillArc( 0, 0, 2*width, 2*height, 90+i*step, step+1 );

g.setColor( spectrum2[ i ] );
g.fillArc( width/3, height/3, 4*width/3, 4*height/3,
90+i*step, step+1 );
}
}

/**
* Called by the browser or applet viewer to inform this JApplet that it
* is being reclaimed and that it should destroy any resources that it
* has allocated. The stop method will always be called before destroy.
*/
public void destroy()
{
// provide code to be run when JApplet is about to be destroyed.
}

/**
* Returns information about this applet.
* An applet should override this method to return a String containing
* information about the author, version, and copyright of the JApplet.
*
* @return a String representation of information about this JApplet
*/
public String getAppletInfo()
{
// provide information about the applet
return "Title: \nAuthor: \nA simple applet example description. ";
}

/**
* Returns parameter information about this JApplet.
* Returns information about the parameters than are understood by
this JApplet.
* An applet should override this method to return an array of Strings
* describing these parameters.
* Each element of the array should be a set of three Strings containing
* the name, the type, and a description.
*
* @return a String[] representation of parameter information
about this JApplet
*/
public String[][] getParameterInfo()
{
// provide parameter information about the applet
String paramInfo[][] = {
{"firstParameter", "1-10", "description of first parameter"},
{"status", "boolean", "description of second parameter"},
{"images", "url", "description of third parameter"}
};
return paramInfo;
}
}

//

FAIR

2010-01-31T04:41:00.001-08:00

GUYS. Our Fair is going to be held on Feb 12-13. :> Theme is Rock. :D

Things are a little different this year because we have to AUCTION for our booths. We can't just pick whatever we like. We have to put down some cash and the sections (partners, ours is Sodium) who pay up the most win the booth.

BRING MONEY TOMORROW. THE AUCTION IS TOMORROW.

Our choices are the following (listed together with their starting prices):

Tie Me Up (75) - find random people and link with rope for extended periods of time
Marriage (100) - 'til death do them part.
Truth or Dare (75) - people can pay us to interrogate other people
Nerf (100) - you know those water guns/guns with darts? basta like that. may shooting range and people can Nerf war with each other
Video Game Booths 1 and 2 (100 each) - one booth just for Guitar Hero and Rockband; the second one for everything else

Love Booth (75) - sell flowers, chocolate, write letters, deliver messages
Karaoke (75) - sing your heart out
Movie (100) - the movies shown must have Rock themes (school of rock, etc)
Painting (50) - little white ceramic figures for design and well, painting
Salon (50) - color people's hair, face paint, etc
Graffiti (50) - have a wall set up for tasteful vandalism

Assassination (75) - get paid to destroy people
Dress Up (75) - put people in ballerina tutus, gowns, and clowns outfits
Dedication (100) - play songs for people
Twister (50) - board games

Sadly, the jail booth is only available to fourth years. >_< We have to provide all the equipment for whatever booth we end up with, but we get 50% of the profits the booth makes. That is a lot, people.

Please please bring cash tomorrow. I will explain more during Homeroom. The auction is at the Chem room, dismissal time. There is a chance i won't be there, so either Dom or Chari stick around to fight for our rights :>

Also, aside from booths, we have other activities:

Fair Pair - the usual. Nominate loveteams, winners get a dinner date.
Drag Show - find the manliest man in your class and put him in a dress. Talent portion, question and answer portion. No, no swimsuit.
Dating - one guy/girl from each batch is chosen, and then every girl/guy in the batch must compete to become his or her date. Like pera or bayong style, then essay :))
Battle of the Bands - auditions until Friday.

I guess that covers it for now. More during HR tomorrow.

Last night = the best! :x

2010-01-30T18:16:00.000-08:00

Kwentuhan like woah bukas! Prom night.
Tell me it wasn't just a dream.

STR
- STR2 Critique due on Monday, February 8.

Fil
- Written report due TOMORROW, Monday, February 1.

Eng
- 65-word essay due on Tuesday, February 2.
- Bonus points if submitted before the deadline. :>
- QUIZ ON ARABIAN NIGHTS!

Health
- Depressant group! Presentation on Friday, February 5.

Bio
- Reaction Paper for the film. @_@

1. Why is sexual reproduction more advantageous than cloning?
2. Describe the path the egg takes after being released from the ovary.
3. The video states that an egg will survive only a few hours if not fertilized. More recent info suggests that an egg will survive at least 24 hrs and perhaps as long as 48 hrs if not fertilized. How does that fact influence the most fertile time when couples are attempting to avoid pregnancy using the rhythm method?
4. What kind of obstacles will a sperm encounter once it enters the female?
5. Where in the female reproductive tract does fertilization occur?
6. Why would more than 50% of all fertilized eggs not survive? what kind of problems could a fertilized egg encounter?
7. How do identical twins form?
8. How does the blastocyst prevent the mother's immune system from destroying the developing embryo?
9. Describe the three cell layers (embryo) that develop and include what parts of the body those cell layers will become/
10. How are genes turned on?
11. Where is the SRY gene found? What does it do? When does it function?
12. How do fingers/toes become separated from each other in the developing fetus?
13. What is a placenta? what is the function of its villi?
14. Do maternal and fetal blood mix?
15. Why is human childbirth so much more dangerous than the births of other animals?

*is disturbed by the last scene once again*

~~Wow, ang onti. @_@~~
Anything else?

Pasalubong naman Candy!

2010-01-15T07:33:00.000-08:00

Since Candy's (i almost typed Candies =))) on leave and no one's gonna post reminders...

STR
-Individual Laboratory Reports due on Wednesday. Hard or Softcopy

Filipino
-Reporters for Monday, Wednesday and Friday. You know who you are. (Cause I don't).

English
-Prepared speech. Topics from the "Armenian Proverbs and Sayings" section of the reading selections.

Chemistry
-Final Pamphlets and Presentation on Thursday
-Probset on Wednesday
-Longtest on Friday

Physics
-Longtest! Though I can't seem to pinpoint when exactly. (Comment below if you know when)

And for Candy:
-Pasalubong. Preferably edible. No, get something better other than dried mangoes.
-On second thought, anything will do.

Did I forget anything?

Career Fair's over. If you call it a fair.

2010-01-09T04:11:00.000-08:00

STR
- Materials for your research

Bio
- Lab report

Fil
- Written Report + Masining na Dula (by pair) start with Adre and Beleran on Monday, January 11

Physics
- Hello, new teacher.

CS
- Application/Game due on Tuesday, January 12

SS
- Notes about pp. 605, 606-608.

I'm kind of in a rush. :O
Comment/edit/post if there's anything kulang.

16 yung may prom dates na sa Sr. :-j
Binilang ni Yvanne kanina. :P

Vacation Reminders

2009-12-25T17:41:00.000-08:00

Woohoo! Bakasyon na, pero may school work pa rin. Actually matagal nang bakasyon. :-j

Paki-add nalang yung deadline dates. Hi, David. :>

Health
- 20 minute video about Alchohol and Smoking

Bio
- Mythbusters output

Compsci
- Application/Game Project (by pair)

Chem
- YMSAT!

Is there anything else? :))
Paki-dagdag nalang.
I'm still in vacation mood. :P

CHRISTMAS PARTY, GRENADES

2009-12-16T07:26:00.000-08:00

GUYS :> Christmas party and sleepover details. Like woah.

FOR FRIDAY. After Paskorus, there's some time because Ma'am Kiel has a previous engagement to attend to. Those in the mood and with permission to sleepover at her place must wait until around 8pm to proceed there (preferrably in carpool groups). In the meanwhile, here are some suggestions: Christmas shopping, UP Lantern Parade, watch a movie, study for next year. :))

Then. When we get there, however many we are, we.... watch a movie (sequel to Drag Me to Hell --> Drag Me to Physics, and the companion movie Drag Me to Chem), play poker, I suppose, and maybe go caroling. Maybe.

Overnight, and then we trek together to Pisay (unless you want to make quick trips home to get ready for Saturday). THERE IS NO OFFICIAL TIME ON SATURDAY, but our class party is meant to be at 12nn. So in the meanwhile, those who slept over and consequently came to Pisay early may go to Trinoma for more shopping. Or to bring back the food.

Which brings us to the party. For food, we're going to have the Boodle/Poodle/Moodle/Buddle/whatever style feast, which means banana leaves and your shiny hands. \:D/ Someone please figure out the banana leaf details or something @-)

Then we will most likely have another icing fight (bring extra clothes and towels for clean up), and maybe a water balloon fight. We haven't worked it out yet, okay :-j Maybe it'll be a surprise!!! :))

We end in the afternoon or early evening.

COMMENT BELOW IF YOU ARE ATTENDING THE SLEEPOVER AND IF YOU ARE GOING TO BE PRESENT AT THE PARTY. ANYTHING YOU CAN SUGGEST OR CONTRIBUTE WILL BE WELL APPRECIATED, LIKE WOAH.