LLZ-0: To Sustain The Living

We won the war.

Our countrymen pushed them back to their last hiding place. The locals helped us with food, water, and information. Vibrablade was used extensively per regulations and rules of war. It didn’t stop our oppositions to play as dirty as possible. They transformed their capitol into an unnavigable maze, its surface treated with a wet, sloppy, and smelly substances, like a scene from a horror movie. Our soldiers, albeit tired and confused, got through their defense either way.

Milium surrendered a week after a war of attrition. It was closed through a diplomatic transaction between the countries. Their cabinet of politician accepted the terms of defeat without much deliberation. The newspapers mocks and celebrates Milium’s demise, while our soldiers mourn for the dead. Quietest weekend in months without explosions. A dead counter, maintained by a non-profit organization, stopped their service when it almost reaches one million people. The government mandated a week of no work for every industries except hospitals, electricians, and other fundamental services.

A tribunal was held five days ago. Prominent actors of war were judged based on justice, current law, and their effect to civilians and soldiers alike. Everyone got their promised due process, including the mastermind behind the war.

During the trial, The President of Milium’s mind never left the battlefield. Eyes down, unmoving mouth, and a stiff limbs for days. His appointed Lawyers sweats profusely, their defense are paper thin against all of his warcrimes. Fifty thousands souls owed in manslaughter, uncountable amount of financial damage, embezzlement, nepotism, and five counts of lying under oath. The jury gave him thumbs down, he is now waiting for his punishment in captivity. They repurposed an old jail cell to keep him in place.

Today, it will be broadcasted. Every radio stations, social media streams, and uninet news channels will broadcast the same thing. A live capture directly sourced from a secret room in the House of Law and Order, the building which the tribunal took place. An official representative from The Republic gave the rights to distribute the live captures without censorship, at no cost, to anyone with uninet connection and a viewer base. Children were recommended to play in the parks, away from any electronic devices. The government clearly rated the stream to be Not Safe For Children (NSFC).

The park outside my window is full of schoolchildren, they are running, tugging, and playing with sands. With low risk low powered magic scripts, they float and made pranks with each other, wasting precious mana as if it’s infinite. Well, it practically is, but I still hate how they wasted it all on playing.

My wife sat beside me and rested her head on my lap. Her hands wrapped around my back, facing my now relatively flabby stomach. Exercise didn’t help when you’re eating more than you can burn. She cooked everything on the menu after the war was over, her own way to bury the pain of losing her colleagues. My mouth is still chewing potato chips she fried this morning.

We knew the rundown of the live stream, we were there for the dress rehearsal. It’s unnecessary for her to be watch it. I felt her head with my hand, caressing it slowly until I hear her breath became stretched. “Give me a TLDR once it’s over”, she said meekly. I pat her head twice, while waiting for the program to start.

Static took over the screen, different in quality than the channel’s logo. A friend’s message buzzed my hip, he said he’s recording this monumental event, for archival purposes. I ignored him.

The whole neighborhood shuts their mouth, a man walked into the frame. He is standing with white suit in front of a white background. A timestamp increments each second at the bottom left corner of the screen. It feels like a found video type of movie.

“Hello everyone, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lieutenant Colonel Almar Amber, your host this program. I am part of The Republic Army and has been an active military personnel since I was 21 years old. I lead around one thousand fourteen men into battle, specializing in tactical close-quarter-combat, operating within the bounds of Rule of War.”

His speech is robotic, planned, yet it feels like he’s holding a lot of emotion. His hand tucked behind his back, looks unprofessional, unwelcoming. His skin is blackened from blunt trauma, explosions, and scars. He’s camera shy, and it doesn’t help there’s six other cameras pointed at his position.

“To begin, we are currently streaming with seven cameras including what you’re watching right now, all pointed at the spot where I stand now. The location will be kept private until the end of the ceremony, and the background has been chosen white, as per the law.” He continued to explain.

The law here is agreed upon by both sides before the war started. Any media created in joint must have a neutral and inoffensive color, which doesn’t leave a lot of room for creativity. White became the default, thankfully the wardrobe are free to be chosen by experts.

“This program will have no redaction, it’s broadcasted liberally, freely, gratis, and are distributed openly from our peer–to-peer networks. We also are archiving this moment and anyone may request a copy by visiting their local archivemeisters. That said, we shall commence the ceremony now. Major Black, open the door on the left.”

Major Black, is his direct subordinate. He already knew the drill, his left hand swipes the door’s key, the knob glows a dim red, and it slides open revealing a man in cuffs, his head tilted down towards his knees. The man steps forward, his stride are short and slow, yet everyone around him stayed still without complain. It’s his way of protesting, a childlike feature unfitting his larger than life former persona. He is the former president of Milium and this program is his punishment.

I can only imagine the living relatives of the dead, their eyes glued to the screen, gritting their teeth until it’s flat. Their hatred are understandable, one would be mad to know the good life they could’ve had if not for his active participation in creating such a dystopian living conditions. This program will affect millions of people, whether directly or indirectly affected by his actions.

A doctor followed him from behind, a man in his late fifties, wearing a calm green scrubs, carrying a clipboard with forms attached, and a stethoscope dangling on his neck. As far as I read the ceremony event breakdowns, he is there only as a silent expert, a set dressing to this program. He is not allowed to talk, except to answer truthfully of the condition of the president.

Almar took the doctor’s clipboard and examine it thoroughly. His eyes darts around each paragraphs of the forms, flipping through pages of health reports. He nods five times while reading, bet he doesn’t understand a word of it. It’s all medical jargon that goes right past anyone’s head. But that’s alright, he already memorized the script, so this should go according to plan.

“Doctor William, do you testify of the originality and accuracy of this health reports? Do you testify that the Former President of Milium are in good mental condition without any reasonable doubt about his sanity? Do you testify that the Former President of Milium are in good physical health?” The doctor nod once to every questions. Almar nod once to confirm, and let the doctor out of the premises.

The former president’s face are seen clearly through the camera. Seven perspective, one subject. The spotlight made him the subject of the week, the year even. My phone rang with notifications, the group chat goes wild because they also have a second monitor to display the view count of the program. I scrolled down to peek, two hundred thousands of pairs of eyes, and counting. The ladies in the group are in the office, hijacking one of the auditoriums for their own group watch. They had snacks and free flowing drinks, made me a bit jealous. Meanwhile, people of the uninet reacted by turning to political commentary channels. Some of them condemn this program, others are anxious of what to come next.

“We are now clearing the area. Please leave me and the Former President of Milium alone. Major, you may proceed.”

Major Black ordered everyone in the room to leave the premises, including the camera-man. He took five steps forward, deploying a metal chair in front of the camera. The Former President walked up to it and sit down without being told. Major Black then left the room while locking the door behind him.

The Lieutenant’s chest expands rapidly, his lungs ate every molecule of oxygen in the air, his blood pressure increases ever so slightly. This is the first time I saw his right hand ever waver, while holding a weapon. It’s a recently stoned and personally crafted knife made by a randomly selected blacksmith from a nearby industrial area. A well-known words of advice were incribed near the spine, it was painfully etched to the hard metal, this is the blacksmith’s third and most perfect try.

DEATH WAS PAID TO SUSTAIN THE LIVING

The word was found on a five hundred years old cemetery, near the then city center of The Kingdom, now it’s right at the border between Milium and The Republic. The Former President already saw, held, and inspect the knife beforehand. He is allowed to make demands if the knife is dull or ineffective at cutting. He doesn’t speak of it, his mouth stayed still even when facing a certain death, his one and rarely found good qualities.

“We are now on the last phase of the ceremony. The room is now empty and every action forward shall be blamed on myself alone. The tribunal have facilitated us with this room, cameras, knife, logistics, and crews. This historic moment is only possible after we band together as one, against tyranny, and oppression. I now will held this knife unto your throat, and slit it, ending your life, according to a jury made decision. Do you have any last words?”

The former president let his tear out, his sobs echoed within the room. Two nations on their day-offs didnt take their eyes off their screen, witnessing such surprising turn of emotion. Almar slightly lift his blade away from his throat, his immersion was pulled away by the sudden outburst. This is either a well orchestrated lie and performance, or he really did fell sorry for the war and crimes he started. His mouth moves, for the first time since capture, he finally said something.

“Please don’t hurt me, I have a family to go to, please don’t kill me—”

A stream of conciousness entered my head, they are clear images and sounds of the war he had witnessed. The man he murdered for the sake of humanity, the chaotic living conditions of civilians near the border, children playing soccers with a man’s skull, dying men calling out to their mother, a girl’s body hanging from a branch after she was blown up by a hidden explosives.

“That would do.”

Almar must have thought the exact same thing I did. He pulled his knife from his throat, it made a clean opening that split his thorax in half. A stream of blood came out of his mouth and wound, like an endless red fountain. His mouth gargles and coughs, the viewers even saw his eyes buldges without blinking. Almar threw the knife away and hold the former president’s body from moving out of his chair. He is moving frantically, his hand tries to hold his throat together, but Almar hugged him, binding his upper body together.

Their white clothes are stained red, the viewers can only watch helplessly. Parma held me tighter than before, my stomach got pushed inward by her face. I suspect many people reacted similarly, maybe this is the exact moment they turned their screen off. I didn’t do that, the exact opposite actually. I felt a sense of responsibility, like I haven’t done a good job if I didn’t watch this until the end. This is the war they created, and I helped to end it.

This grueling sight went on for about four minutes. Almar didn’t stop hugging him to the chair until the man ran out of blood. He released his arms slowly from the most influential corpse of this century. The shirt he is wearing still drips with blood, it reeks of metalic smell. He cleaned his hand with the other, wiping away anything that might hinder his motoric function.

He stared into the camera, his eyes are locked into every soul who watches this program. He is supposed to end it by pressing a big red button that was specifically made for him. Going against protocol, Almar instead added a sentence to close the ceremony.

“We won the war, and this death ends it. May his death sustain the living.”

Silence.