Lyrics

The transporter is down below
Refined for all the color blind
I will not, I will not
Access your sundress without
This ol' space probe

You can be what I want to see
When you're lonely
Worthwhile this trial
I see the sparkle hidden in those
Hollow eyes

Time to study for that PHD
Here's your ticket
Time to commit

College for the Jestawoman
Jestawomang
Wanna kiss him, through the system
College for the Jestawoman
Wanna kiss him, through the system
Jestawomang

I've had many cheaters in this class
With my 6th sense, it's my defense
Sealing the deal with my magical feeling
Arise into
Another

I'd love to feel your ecstasy
Will you know me?
My style
My smile

College for the Jestawoman
Jestawomang
Wanna kiss him, through the system
College for the Jestawoman
Wanna kiss him, through the system
Jestawomang

So walk down to your Jestamang dorm
Jestawomang
So walk down to your Jestamang dorm
Jestawomang

I don't need no 30K of tuition
I walk down the professor's class
Jestawomang

So walk down, don't need to pay
Extra money

So don't knock, Jestamang is free
If you know him

So walk down, do the tuition
Ya go and fuck you

No time to pay your bills
Jestawomang

So walk down to the magic carpet
Ya baby

So walk down to that Jestamang dorm
And spend a year there

Or 2 years there
Or 3 years there
Or 4 years there
Or 8 years there
Or 12 years there

Or 16 years
32 years
64 years
128 years

Jestawomang
Jestawomang
Jestawomang

Wanna kiss me
Through the syst-we

Heat is but a fraction
Of this ol' dance routine
Didn't mean to demean

Taking a step back
To figure out all about
All about if I should

Coddle up the id
That's crawling up in your head
Eyes are of holy dread

When we peel the rain
It rains until your life's through
Peekaboo honey boo

Ghost upon the fable
Splitting our world in 2
Wanna learn from the fool

Animals of depth
When all is lost take a glance
In a past wonderland

1 & 2 & 1
My pulsating lip pillow
Anywhere, anyhow

Snatching up my breath
You see how I curl my tongue
All of this, lots of fun

Hearty arty mouth off
Lips of toxicity
Numb me up wannabe

In a gelled up gaze
You pulled me into debris
Chewed up and swallowed me

Wisdom is a wavelength
Hidden so it'll cost
Lines that you better cross

Yes I understand
So trickle down the nether
Pull me down whenever

Yes I understand
So trickle down the nether
Pull me down whenever

I miss you
Miss you
Now head upstairs

Hey now
You know why we are here?

My soul glows over
Those come down stares

All over
Over

Snatch my ticket
Glisten for a minute
Golden hour

Rolled down
Pass through tomorrow
Tomorrow
And next week
And next week

All over
Over

We use our beauty
To find forbidden Judy
She rose and warned her

Woke up before we
Hit forbidden waters

She'll kiss you
Hit you
With my guitar

It's over
Over

It's over
Over

Licking on the razor
Drinking with the savior
Take our liver, for I am a sinner

I don't know everything
But I do know whose the king of
Singin' the hallelujah

Dragging out the pitchfork
Pissing gin in New York
When thou demonstrate
I'll understand

I don't know everything
But I do know whose the king of
Singin' the hallelujah

H A L L E L U J A H
A L L E L U J A H
A L L E L U J A H

Flying towards the giver
Sinner by the river
Wanna walk with me to the chamber?

I feel your pain
So I'll spin you in the rain love
Singin' the hallelujah

H A L L E L U J A H
A L L E L U J A H
A L L E L U J A H

Walking down the chamber
With my favorite sinner
The snakes come and slither
We start to consider

We'll never deliver
We'll never deliver
We'll never deliver

Never deliver
Unless we

Take it all the way
Cause we only got today
And before we fade away

When we
Make it in the rain with a perfect game
Make it in the rain
H A L L E L U J A H

Singin' the hallelujah
Singin' the hallelujah
Singin' the hallelujah

I look inside my island
Consider me a bit shy
In my eyes

Arrested in the city
It's all in me

Look left
Look right
I see

LSD
City

I will gleefully all laugh with thee
Their blood moon lips are all

In my possession
In my rejection
In my direction
In my resurrection

Love's definitely
In me
Mommy
Daddy

LSD
LSD

The beacon tells the weather
Vincenti runs the hall
Verdict for the people
With a song

1 group of prisoners
On con road
Loud roar
When we refuse

To become
Another ruse
For USA puppets everyday
Will retrospect sick phantom disarray

They set up the kin, the 1's ahead
Are on the run, but brought down
1 by 1
Hired guns

It's over
It's over
Again, again it's over

A bullet gracing my back
A bullet gracing my back
A bullet gracing my back
All along

The beacon tells the weather
Vincenti runs the hall
Verdict for the people
On the run

The terror was complete
1 last order to break out
Secret police remember
The disregard was staggering
But understood
The proud beast USA

The castaways and birds of prey
Will sever air
Election Day
Election Day

I hear them as they cock back
I hear them as they cock back
I hear them as they cock back
With their song

The beacon tells the weather
Vincenti runs the hall
Verdict for the people

The beacon tells the weather
Vincenti runs the hall
Verdict for the people

O Aye-O
How ya doing?
Ya sick of me?
I pluck a daisy

Gimme 5
It's now that time of day
We square away
Friend is lazy
Let's drive him crazy

Now it is time for my ol' partner in crime
To shoot an arrow through my thigh
The sandstorm blows the dust in my eyes
I cannot see or run away

There's no talk of alliance
Malice is the show

So it is time for my partner in crime
To finish the job with an arrow through my eye
Alumni throw out a battle cry
Militias running from the fight

There's no more time for conversation
No conversation, conversation, conversation
But then the screen reeks of malfunction
A malfunction, a malfunction
Aye-O

What the hell man?
You unplugged me
Sore loser
Potty chair

Can't ya see?
I ain't dying
Thought I did
Almost did

My T.V.
Aye-O

We strap our boxing gloves
And I slide and he snides
I say hit my anytime

I wanna feel it 1 more time
Even though I know I'm way too quick

There's no time for conversation
Conversation, conversation, conversation

There's no more time for conversation
Conversation, conversation
Aye-O

Did ya miss me?
I'll stand forever
Forever
And ever

Did ya miss me?
Well good
I'm staying here forever
Here forever

My mind has a heart for Alice
A red parade
A hair for me girl

My mind has a heart for Alice
A red parade
A hair for me

Many times I'm thinking about you

She was born just to sweep the wind
Cancer skinned
Dimple grin

Heard about your buggy bra
Through cancer skinned
Red such tint

Many times I'm thinking about you
Many times I've fought

I hope to see my lover blue
Hope to key the soul bank
I hope to see my lover blue
Hope to key the soul bank

My mind has a heart for Alice
A red parade
A hair for me girl

My mind has a heart for Alice
A red parade
A hair for me

Wink steady
Eyes only
From the joy your tears begin
All my little dreams
Convincing her dreams

Is this Cremling
Not deserving?
Many times I've fought

Many times I'm thinking about you
Many times I've fought
Many times I'm thinking about you
Many times I've fought

I hope to see my lover blue
Hope to key the soul bank

I hope to see my lover
Obvious dips with the lips

I weed separate dreams backed by
Potholes stuck to the baking stone
Potholes stuck to the baking stone
Potholes stuck to the baking stone

Smothering night
Find the light
Get a grip, O get a grip
Crystalize into might
Might

2 headed kite
2 headed kite
Reignite

Heavy whirl around my brain
I envision hurricanes

Held the fort with buckled legs
Watered down
Elevated seeing all them people drown

Mocking the birds
By the surge
Listen in, O listen in
With the tides come the height
Height

2 headed kite
2 headed kite
Reunite

It's taking me a second
Tune my mechanism
Get a grip
Get a grip

My kite's learning a lesson
And the skies that reckon
Listen in
Listen in

Crystalize
Organize
Neutralize

Brutalize
Demonize
Paralyze

Compromise
Harmonize

Hypnotize

Improvise
Energize
Symbolize

My own head speaks to me and the lonely ones flee
You and I try to fly while the sky is panting

With the harsh flicking lights
It gets hard to be me
With the harsh flicking lights
Find my love, you can leave

With the love
With the love
With the love
We're both seeking

Let us try
You and I
Catch the dove
That is fleeing

Uptight, uptight is the girl that loves me
You and I, lie and lie, but ya make me crazy

With the harsh flicking lights
Hitting the bottom of the sea
With the harsh flicking lights
Make my baby hazy

Lay us down
Lay us down
Lay us down
On the ground

Steering clear of our fear
As of now we're both jammin'

My own head speaks to me and the lonely ones flee
You and I try to fly while the sky is phasing

With the harsh flicking lights
It gets hard to be me
With the harsh flicking lights
Find my love, you can leave

With the love
With the love
With the love
We're both seeking

Let us try
You and I
Catch the dove
That is fleeing

As I wake into another slumber
My own has called in a rolling thunder
I dream of Christine

A dusted twirl from the demolition
She flickered out by the 2K degree
Bright light as I was trying to catch up
Bombed someone she don't want

I'll never breakthrough
Your voodoo
Time I let go then pursue

I kaboom
Tryna make amends
I now cover your zoom lens

In this world
Gripping on the others
Looking for supplies and some cover

Christine
Christine
Where's the mercy?
Where's the mercy?

A kaboom
Calling others
So long girl
Where's the mercy?
Where's the mercy?

Christine
Christine

Lays a welcome mat in her hideout
It's a unhabitable habitat
After that some brittle snails came out
It's a unhabitable habitat

A kaboom
Calling others
So long

Kiss abyss
Blacked out
Kiss abyss
Critters

I've been here for a couple of hundred and
Million, billion, trillion, zillion centuries
I've been here while I stay clear and fight fear and
Weep tears while wishing the best upon all of the rest of my frenemies
I've been here for a couple of hundred and
Million, billion, trillion, zillion centuries

Planted my ancestry
Lit the cancer in me
Right upon the reaper
O I'll never leave her

All abroad the kid nest
Wubbing with some cyborg
All you little cremlings
Kick it in the tripod

I've been here for a couple of hundred and
Million, billion, trillion, zillion centuries
I've been here while I stay clear and fight fear and
Weep tears while wishing the best upon all of the rest of my frenemies
I've been here for a couple of hundred and
Million, billion, trillion, zillion centuries

Humming past the plaza
Blasted towards Tanguska
Radiation in me
Radiation in me

Templeton or spaceman?
O they never listen

Where are the kids off to?
Are they afraid of you?
Where are the dragons you promised?
Where is the zoo I once knew?

Where are the kids off to?
Are they afraid of you?

Moa down the last stage
Chupacabra any day
We gotta wake the moth man
We gotta wake the moth man

Once a Bali seabird
Now a dreaded moth jam
There's the dragons you promised
There's the zoo I once knew

I've been here for a couple of hundred and
Million, billion, trillion, zillion centuries
I've been here while I stay clear and fight fear and
Weep tears while wishing the best upon all of the rest of my frenemies
I've been here for a couple of hundred and
Million, billion, trillion, zillion centuries
I've been here while I stay clear and fight fear and
Weep tears while wishing the best upon all of the rest of my frenemies

Goodbye
Goodbye
Said I didn't want to see you die
I say goodbye

No fight, old hog
Lazy fog piling up the brittle cogs

Take thee, thee baby
Roll in mud, you little
Roll in the mud baby
Roll in the mud baby
Piggy

You naught to run away
You stay in yesterday
Eternal stretch of gunk
Eternal stretch of gunk

Witch pit
Damn witch
Witch pit

Witch pit
Damn witch

You remember this
The way to all you missed
You remember this
The way to all you missed

You chose to sit
You chose to quit
You chose to sit
You chose the pit

Your kin hid past
The moldy trees
And they say kid how are you gonna breathe today

1 sin
Pig-pen
1 sin eternal
Eternal stretch of gunk
Eternal stretch of gunk

Rolling near a throne
With all of these places to go
Rolling near a throne
With all of these places to go

Witch pit
Damn witch
Witch pit

Witch pit
Damn witch

Places to go
Places to know
Places to flow
Places to grow

Flying close to me
Devastating thee
Hairy prickly wings
Vile sickly being

Places to go
Places to know
Places to flow
Places to grow

Rolling near a throne
With all of these places to go
The witch says

Mist
On
Hill

With

War
On
Hill

Only
Envy
Hades in me
Fat o' the land

Itty
Bitty
Will shoot a rue
Into my hands

Not a
Roman
In sight
To fight
Thy camp
Tis cursed
Envy

Mother
Ran through
My soul
In thee
And made a man

City
Will think
Like me
In thee
The fatherland

Not a
Roman
In sight
To fight
Thy camp
Tis cursed
Envy

In a world of everlasting
Takes a man to raise the land
Convincing others where and when
They peck into my oily hands

Then
They'll
Wonder where their pawns are
All think like me
Or get my worst
Envy

Come along
You soulless maker
There's love for
Everyone
Your soul is brought to

You
By
1

You
By 1
Tis' me
Hades in thee
The fatherland

No pause
Now lie
No pause
Now die
Into my hands

Not a
Roman
In Sight
To fight
Thy camp
Tis cursed
Envy

Tis a demon around
Chuck the clouds in the ground

Chop chop the whale
And of all that do sail

Cherub's dogfight
Through the nebula night

Tis a spectacular find
In the hurricane eye

Tis the bait
Of souls in 2

Fly
Past the lightning and cherubs o' sacrifice
Royal blue
Blue

Crying a beautiful tide
I electrify

Tis the babe
Of souls confused

I
Find a symphony of golden flies
Holy hue
Truth

Tis a spectacular find
In the hurricane eye

Tis the bait
Of souls in 2

Fly
Past the lightning and cherubs o' sacrifice
Royal blue
Blue

Found a triangular kind
In the pyramid eye

Tis the rape
Of souls abused

Kiss
A misty kiss slits into my wrist
I submit
Mist

Tis a spectacular find
In the hurricane eye

Tis the bait
Of souls in 2

Fly
Past the lightning and cherubs o' sacrifice
Royal blue
Blue

Crying a beautiful tide
I electrify

Tis the babe
Of souls confused

I
Find a symphony of golden flies
Holy hue
Truth

Polygons and thermal hues
Shattering the crescent moon
Shaped and placed the cyborg's rune
We diffuse the many clues

By the hour
We are kin
Quarter hour
We are pinned

Sinners skinned
Sinners sinned

Blowing harder
Airy fodder
Weeping gently
In the water
Crawling upright
Earthy squatter
Bursting open
In the fire

Multiply the bastard eye
Terrify the burnt alive
Glorify the holy sky

We diffuse the many clues

Purifying
Little children
Honest pupils
Boundless beauties
In a heartbeat
Proves the cosmos
We diffuse the many clues

Polygons and thermal hues
Shattering the crescent moon
Shaped and placed the cyborg's rune
We diffuse the many clues

Blowing harder
Airy fodder
Weeping gently
In the water
Crawling upright
Earthy squatter
Bursting open
In the fire

Multiply the bastard eye
Terrify the burnt alive
Glorify the holy sky

Purifying
Little children
Honest pupils
Boundless beauties
In a heartbeat
Proves the cosmos
We diffuse the many clues

We diffuse the many clues

In a meadow
Rose pedals fall down
I don't make a sound

Kin, Kin
I'm not their kin

Why I come
I know I'm gone
I have 1
Holds no 1
I have 1
It holds no 1

Kin, Kin
I'm not their kin

Black tornado
In the distance
In my way

I, I show
I do not know
I have 1
Holds no 1
I will run
I will hide again

6 times 4 hours
To be enforced
Am I saying it right
O the elements perform the rhythm
All elements perform the rhythm

Village fuse
Right in tune
I will fool
All of you

Village fuse
Right in tune
I will fool
All of you

O the way I know
Where they tend to go
Is to call in drones
I wither
And pillage bones

6 times 4 hours
To be enforced
Am I saying it right
O the elements perform the rhythm
All elements perform the rhythm

Village fuse
Right in tune
I will fool
All of you

Flap your wings
Swing
Through laser beams
Swing

Now
In the flesh
Bring your hollow glance
In a buggy trance
Another to enhance
Glance

Now
In the flesh
Bring your sense of chance
In a buggy trance
Another to enhance
Chance

Now
In the flesh
Bring your heart to dance
In a buggy trance
Another to enhance
Dance

Flap Your Wings

Fainted into
A corner
No plans

Painted into
A blood clot
No chance

I am dying
So funny
Last day meet aliens

Last day on planet earth
Last day meet aliens today
Today

Planet earth is gonna fry
Aliens tonight

Last day on planet earth
Last day meet aliens

Ripping apart
A blood clot
No glands

Ain't a cute little puzzle
No hands

Piece together
A swan song
No jams

Piece together
A swan song
Last days meet aliens

Last day on planet earth
Last day meet aliens today
Today

Planet earth is gonna cry
Aliens tonight

Last day on planet earth
Last day meet aliens

Tis the resurrection
Daylight

Man is filing new teeth
Bright white

Piece together the pieces
Goodnight

Tis the resurrection
Last day meet aliens today

Basking in thee
The child
No man

Basking in thee
The child
No man

Basking in thee
The child
No man

Basking in thee
The child
Last day meet aliens today

Sound
Without sound
Love without sound

Beyond the outside was 1 left to right
Within ourselves the suns or the night
Just bound by blue ethereality
Drifting onto my dream free

Dream free
Dream free

My mind explored her labyrinth thighs
Her sun drenched body lay hypnotized
Perfumed electric garden roused female
But now the laughter turns pale

Dreams gone just melting fever in my soul
Within my head the bell seems to toll
Fast breathing wreathing heaving hippies down
Now making love without sound

Sound
Without sound
Love without sound

It never had been made like that before
Our maiden knighthood longing bright for more
Her leg stood firm the dead wind sighed come on
Mistral away now she's gone

(Written by White Noise)

Colors shining
Violently in the sky
Above the sorcerer's key

She twiddles into
Her fingers and

The moon slowly dips
Below the horizon
And as the sun rises
She squints her eyes

And the new day arrives
For her to despise
She closes the blinds
And takes a sip of her wine

It's the season of libra
And life seems perfectly balanced
So perfectly balanced
Nothing ever happens

Children conceived tonight
Out with the fire of Mary's fright
Now she longs for those
Summery nights

Approaching the autumn of her eyes
She will never know spring
Until the next cycle

She starts
Starts it all a new
New

Didn't leave the light on
Tonight
Didn't want you to come home
This time

But I heard you standing
On the porch
I paint my door with
Copper and blood

The only thing that I know
Is ever enough for you

To leave me be
Leave me be

While I slept
You were tapping on my windowsill
And the sounds like hymns
All around
My ears

Can you sneak your way into
The cracking glass work too?
And can you hear my heart pounding
In my chest?
Do you?

Feel my body tremble
When you touch me
As you slip
Into the blankets of my bed

Your tar seeps into my floorboards
Deep
My neighbors call me a sick whore
Never seen such eyes before

Do you see what I see
Or something much more?
Much more
More
More

While I slept
You were tapping on my windowsill
And the sounds like hymns
All around
My ears

Can you sneak your way into
The cracking glass work too?
And can you hear my heart pounding
In my chest?
Do you?

Ooo your word
Drifts through my heart
Imprint on my brain

We all held hands
Like paper dolls
Diving in a grave

Ghost waltz through
Memories
We leave prints
In the air

Shaving you
Into yourself
Stoned behind
Blank stares

Ghost can't keep
Holding your head
Holding her
Inside his cage
Does it know he's free?

All the dust
Out of his eyes
Then he'll choose to see

His clever sigh
Washed inside her
Her teary eternal eyes

Cobwebs spun
Throughout her ears
In the corners of her mouth

Dreamt inside her silent shout
My heart beating inside of
Plastic bags
Tightly held in your hand

Too tired to care
I sit and stare
As you marry

Who you were drips through
My hoax
We held hands like paper dolls
Ghost entangled in your hair

Truth be told
When I was young
My father taught me
Of war

Long before school had
Taught me a stolen grad
Of Normandy in the
Early August of '45

Then it was 2005
The fear of sea was still alive
And I was terrified of the bombing coming here
My father told me I have nothing to fear

There will never be an invasion
Of the United States Nation
There will never be a war
On the United States soil

Except the Civil War
Pearl Harbor
L.A.
9/11
Boston

The statement then reminded me
Of the haunted memories
Of the unsinkable Titanic
Rotting there at the bottom
Of the Atlantic

There's been a war
On the United States soil for years

They're fighting in the streets
It sounds a lot like war to me
The older I get

The more it feels like we won't get old
Like so many others who won't get old

Then it was 2005
The fear of sea was still alive
And I was the same age as her sister
When she died

When we started
We were beautiful

Innocent animals
Learning their role

Living the way our earth
Permitted
The cycle of life

Universal and simple

Each giving and taking
What is needed
We have ourselves
But each other too
And we found that

1 is weaker than 2
Usually

No different from our
Daily pray
Cause they took some of us still
Every day

This would have been
The history of the human
If the stars weren't immortal

If the Gods never fell
Before they rain it down on our
Innocent hives and
And give us a craving to
Expand our lives

The star shattered bodies
Slipping into our lungs
Seeping into our brains and
Flowing through our veins

We've never seen the world like this
Suddenly asking questions like what's this?
Why?
And how?

And jealousy was born
Curiosity and dissatisfaction to
The chicken or the egg
Man or woman
You or me
Will see

And when we didn't know
Rage and distrust was born
And suddenly
1 became stronger than 2

Though just tiny God shards
The human was smaller
At first they tore us to shreds
Though incredibly strong we are

As the weakest died
The symbiosis went too far
Too far

The perfect host for this
Cosmic ghost that
Made us strive for
Fire

And it stayed with us through
Our children
When they then gave it to
Their children
Ooo, it did

And the sickest part of all
Is we didn't even know we'd
Agree to this
Parasitic relationship
With the blood
Of some ancient nova

(Alright we’re rolling)

Hello welcome to the
Allston suburban jazz hour
Where we fill your mind
With symbols and signs
To provoke subservience  

But in more news
This is Allston suburban jazz
A tradition that is existed since
About a year ago

It is the most important tradition in modern music history
Except for that other one
And that other one
And all those other ones

So
Without further ado
Whatever the fuck that is

Please but it was cool what the fuck?
Who cares we’re masters
Everything we play is the most beautiful sound
We’ve ever heard in our lives
O wait is it rolling?
Yes suburban jazz this is a sound

Let’s do some sounds

Johnson said he lost his head
Walking round a shoreline
Boston winter had made him kinda sad
So he got into his head and pulled out an anchor
Said I’m gonna go for a swim

Drugman sighed
That’s the only other side
The place where I wanna go
If I ever really need to go

Well concrete stairs and mirror images
I’m feeling kinda gleerious
I wanna know just what you’re hiding
Hiding, hiding under those

Ice cold, ice cold flat lines
Ice cold, ice cold blue eyes
Ice cold, ice cold blue eyes
Ice cold, ice cold. ice cold

Yeah, O, yeah I wanna fucking drown
In your eyes
But also really

O, O, O gotta go
With the ol’ tin man and the nice to meet you
He’s got a plan just with putting out a link
He’s got a plan and it’s called the bones you break

O, O 
Move, move, move, move, move
Move, move, move, move your body

Move your body
Move your body
Move your body
Move around

Move it to the left and right
And then kinda bend it and
Try to stand on 1 foot
And really try and make that good
Yes

And that’s it folks
That’s how it ends

Hey listeners
You should be ashamed of yourself for listening to this
You should feel bad

And every second you’re just reminded of your own sin
And filth, and rot and disgusting perversion

O masturbating
O no
O no
O no
O no
O no

You’re against God
Stop doing that

Who is this music for?
No one knows
What is this music’s purpose?
I don’t know

Yeah scream

It’s for that dude over there
Walking across the pavement 
Yeah

He looks kinda down
He looks like he just lost his job at the dawg impound
But he was kinda getting tired of having to put those
Sad ol’ dear dead dawgs down
So he’s kinda glad
But kinda sad also

At least now
He won’t have to kill another puppy

Yeah
This song is for you
That dude over there across the pavement
I’m glad you won’t have to kill another puppy
But it’s kinda bad you won’t have the money 
From your job at the dawg impound

Take a look closer
This man has lizard eyes
He’s staring at you strangely 
He’s actually
A kat in a human body

That’s why he works at the dawg impound
He’s a kat in disguise

He doesn’t like dawgs
Doesn’t like dawgs
Doesn’t like dawgs at all

I know better
Then to interfere
With the
Affairs of the kat people

They’ll eat you alive
They’ll scratch your face
And whatcha gonna do
With a scratched up face?

Leave the kat empire alone
This is a warning to
The man in the room
Singing and playing the songs

You don’t talk about the kat empire
You don’t release songs about the kat empire
Or they’ll come to you in the middle of the night
And they will sleep on your chest
And you’ll have allergies
And it won’t be good

That was a bunch of nonsense
That is what suburban jazz is all about

Hahahahah
What the fuck was that?

Ahahaha
It was literally just

It’s like who the fuck is this music for?
It goes all over the place
Then I start talking about this guy across the street

Works the dawg impounds
Yeah it’s always good

Welcome back
Is the tape rolling?
Is it?
Okay

This is
Samala of the Sabiah
Saying suburban jazz is good
Maybe
I think it’s kinda trash low key

Hey everybody have you heard the news?
It’s ringing up and down your head
Hey everybody have you made me confused yeah?
I’m still finishing my 1st cigarette of the morning
I haven’t really started to think yet

Why you trying to fill me with your other thoughts?
I wasn’t giving any mind to hungry children before
I was doing kinda swell
Yeah

I was doing kinda swell

Love me anyway
And I know that you hate
And it goes round your head
That’s the joke, it’s okay
That’s the joke, it’s okay
It goes round your head

I know that she’s laughing at me
But that’s okay because I’m in on the joke
I think it’s funny too
Cause it’s true
It’s true
Yeah

And I just went off course
Because I put my ego in the song
And I wanted to sing about how this guy was making jokes about me
And I was just like nah that’s some wack shit
I don’t wanna listen to this guy telling jokes about me
But I’m just laughing at him anyways
Cause what the fuck am I gonna do 
Say dude stop fucking being a dickhead?

Ah fuck
Maybe I could’ve done that
O shit

I can’t believe you twisted my words
Could’ve made it stretch and hurt
Could’ve broken a lil words bones

And so I have to say that 
That is cool
I’m sorry thank you for doing the thing
Yes

That’s an end

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry
I’m bragging about being fucking insane
But wait, I can unplug the phone charger
Let’s just take a breath…
Let’s just take a breather
How are you doing dude?

(Good)

This is like
So different from the last psych ward so…
This one is voluntary right
So I can literally leave and go like do cartwheels and like
Fuck around to like my fucking emo metal shit

Ah god it’s so weird
They finally put me back on my meds so…
I’m finally in a psych ward
But they like let me have a safe dose of Adderall at the same time
So I’m not like on some weird shit
That just makes me numb

(Yeah)

You get me?

(Yeah)

No it’s, no it’s strange I swear to God like
This is the next step
Like this is like some big shit actually happening like
I’m gonna get signed to a record label
And I know it sounds fucking stupid
I know, that’s the point
I have to let go of my ego like completely
Like my family has seen this shit like what the fuck?
And it’s not because I’m faking it
It’s because I’ve literally been in that much pain

(I’m listening)

No, no no no this is like
The Murakami
The Infinite Jest

No this is actually some like
God… okay like
I don’t want the doctors to hear this but like literally
Some like Pagan God shit
There is some actual shit happening right now
And like, I swear to Christ

Logically
Logically
Logically

Like I know I can’t prove it
Because of the social media curse
That stops my best fucking music
From like being on social media but like I swear to God
That’s an actual thing

But I’ve been like playing music for the other patients
Yo, these people are like…
Like I’m kinda like

Low key
Low key
Low key become a celebrity in here
Like it’s gonna take a while but it’s gonna happen

No like high key it’s gonna happen
It’s already happening

Like I made a stupid story about…
Making fun of you about how 
I’m not gonna sign to your record label
Cause I’m gonna get like an actual industry record label soon
Like I’m gonna get a record deal it’s just gonna happen
Like…

(Um)
No I swear

I know I sound just fucking out of my mind
But we have to be at this point
Bro

Like are we gonna like change the world or not?
Like I’m being fully serious
I have been asleep
I have not been up for nights

Safe doses of both the anti-depressants
And the fucking amphetamine shit
Like safe doses

I wasn’t even on them
Like yesterday, all day
And I was still without any amphetamines or Adderall
Improvising my like
Y’know my thoughts turn into music shit
With no drugs whatsoever
Completely sober

(Mmm)

You understand that if that’s true…
That means that I’m moving in the right direction
That’s like my fucking golden compass shit?

(Mhm)
You understand that right?
(Mhm)

That if the music is coming out when I’m sober
That the golden compass is like
Yo, you’re in the right place
You’re doing the right thing

(Mhm)

No but do you understand how fucking weird this is?
Like are you reading the shit I’m writing?

(Um, yeah just read it today)

It’s weird isn’t it?
But like it’s funny
Like it’s funny right?

(Yeah it’s hilarious)

Good thank you that’s the point
But at the same time
I’m not like doing it on purpose
I’m literally like in the zone
Like the Kenny Werner I am a master at music or some shit
But like in terms of like everything

Like…
Like here’s the thing
I know it’s been really weird
But I’ve got like no embarrassment

I’ve got like…
Yeah, sometimes I get vibed
I still get vibed
I have to like… meditate
And stop the fucking chaos in my mind

(Mmm)

But…
But here’s the thing…
I can unvibe myself
I can get rid of like the fucking 
Incel Messiah fucking Kahvi witch curse
Like that’s an actual thing
You get that right?

(Mhm)

You get that Kahvi dancing in pig’s blood like actually fucking
Did some weird fucking like curse shit to all of us?

No no no
I’m being completely fucking serious
I’ve like…
I know I just went for an emotional breakdown
But this isn’t the kind where like
Ah fuck I hate that I’m here
I’m Joker laughing…

Like, I’m doing the fucking Joker laugh thing

(Mhm, mmm)

No like I’m…
I’m literally like Radiohead, In Rainbows
“I’m the next act”

No…
This is fucking weird as shit
Like honestly this is not…
Like just me being crazy this time
 
It never was really
You saw me like when I had my first like…
Holy shit, what the fuck is going on?
And I show up at Caleb’s house and like
Yo, is he gonna punch me or not?
You remember that stupid shit

And I’m talking about Ivan like yo
He wants to fucking kill homeless people
Fuck him
Do you know how much fucking anger I have inside me?

(Mhm)

No like I never gave a shit
Like everyone’s like yo
“You’re hanging out with Kahvi as a friend but you’re not fucking her?”
And I let their dumb chimp insecurity get into my head
That made me think that I actually gave a shit about having sex with her
Well I mean like, she’s very hot but…

The insecurity part is like…
Yo, I just liked hanging out with her as a friend
And because you guys like…
Got in my fucking head and I didn’t fucking…
Like actually fucking scream at you fucking chimps
Like I’m sorry...
Sorry

It’s not a race thing
You’re all white
Except for Khalil
Does he count as part of like our
Weird fuck shit?

(Wait, who’s not white?)

Khalil?
Does he count as part of our weird fuck shit?

(I don’t think he counts)
(He’s been around like 3 times)

No dude, do you understand this is how I actually think?
Like I’m getting all of you guys
I’m gonna bring you to England
We’re gonna do some weird shit

(I’m down)

Do you?
I know it’s weird but I swear...
Like I’ve been seeing like

(If you pull it off, yeah)

If I pull it off…
But here’s the thing…
I didn’t plan this shit
Like I’m in the zone 
I’m not planning any of this

Like if somehow…
Like I was on acid like…
This just happened and I was chosen as the 1
Who like started this shit like…
I don’t fucking know
But here’s the weird part
Here’s the weird part about all of it…

I’m like…
Multiple things at the same time
So it’s like I’m
It’s not multiple personality disorder
I just feel 2 emotions at once
You get that?

(No, not really)

No, I’m literally crying and laughing at the same time
Like not like actually…

(O)

So it’s like when I was on acid
The fucking Kahvi 3 way with Caleb thing…
It’s like yo
This is terrible
I feel really bad

But it’s kind of really cool like knowing that she’s gonna fuck Caleb
And just kind of like being here and feeling how terrible it is

(Um)

You get that I’m like that like that…
O, I hate getting cucked
But I also kind of like getting cucked?

(Um)
(I don’t know, I wouldn’t wanna be cucked)

No, but do you understand like
I’ve never truly understood what the fuck I am?
And like it’s actually something fucking weird?

(Mmm, mhm)

No it’s like…
No like I’m like actually super autistic
I’ve actually just been like creating like
Personality folders in my hard drive

I’m around Jenny for 2 seconds
I come back to you and I’m like yo Andrew
You were a fucking asshole to fucking Jenny
I’m around you for 2 seconds it’s like
Yo Jenny, like you’re being stupid
You get that?
Like I literally don’t control it

(Mmm)

It’s so fucking weird
Like literally my personality changes
Depending on who I’m fucking with
And you know Kahvi and Katie…
You know what pisses me off about them?

They lie about like the fact…
That they were good friends with me…
Because I’m not cool
Like do you get that?

(Mmm)

They literally like…
Yo, I know my memories
Kahvi and Katie…
Literal bad people

Kahvi’s better
Kahvi’s not as bad
She’s actually pretty cool

Like I’ve been sending her the most fucked shit
And Katie the most fucked shit
And like…
Like literally I...

This morning I wake up and I’m like yo Katie
Yo please, no restraining order please
And then I started crying…
Like just literally I cannot stop crying
I fall on the floor
Like the people here are like what’s going on?

And I can’t help it I send her another E-Mail
It’s no longer this scary like…
The scary shit
The psychopath shit
It’s now like…

Yo, I can not stop crying Katie
I know I said I wouldn’t because I’m scared of a restraining order
But I literally cannot stop crying

You know what you did Katie?
You hooked up with me

Like a really like fucking traumatized autistic guy
And you know what you did?
You know what you fucking did?

You expect me to read your social cues
Instead of telling me that you changed your mind
Invited me and Duncan to come to your apartment 
Without telling me you changed your mind
I put my head on your feet
You kicked me

Like you understand like how fucked that is?
That she did that?

(Mhm, mmm)

You understand Katie literally fucking abused me
Kahvi not as much cause she like…
Kahvi not really

A little bit
A little bit
A little bit

But Kahvi’s fucked
And I know that Kahvi has a good reason to be fucked
But Katie’s just evil
Like she’s like an actual abuser towards men

(Mmm)

She’s just that
No, she’s like literally like the feminist like
“Ooo, I can’t be bad I’m a woman”
Like do you get that she’s that?

(Mmm, mhm)

Yeah, you get that Katie’s like…
Have you seen…
Like her, the way she changes her aesthetic 
And she’s literally become like the…

Fucking colored hair like SJW like stereotype?
Like can you see that?

(Mmm)

Isn’t that fucking weird?

(Mmm, it’s pretty normal)

It must be…
No no but it’s like she subconsciously knows…
She’s full of fucking shit

(Yeah)

It’s so weird

No it’s so weird
You get that there’s like
Weird shit going on with our friend group?
And it’s not just like me being psychotic
You see that?

You’ve always seen it
Like I’m not gonna ever fucking do acid again…
Cause holy shit, I’m on some other shit

No, like I am so fucking autistic
No, like no actually I just like…
I’m one of those like super autistic people
That it’s like, oh wow…
Holy shit

I hear your voice
I’m getting fucking goosebumps like literally…
I think of like fucking like…

Katie or
Kahvi or
Hannah or 
Dahlia

There was a dahlia flower in the garden
In the fucking garden of the psych ward
And I started getting hard
From the fucking dahlia flower

Aye

Ain't really nothin' man
Ya just gotta do it
Ya just gotta do it for 'em

Aye

I make money like nothin' you seen
7 days a week
I get lifted off the green
You get shot up in ya spleen boy

Talkin' all that mean boy
We always see you on a screen
Ain't enough, we get rough
Catchin' bodies every way

Steady movin' in the fold
'Specially if I see you on the streets
I'm snatchin' up yo whore
You won't see her anymore

Walk up in the club
Tokin' all the bud
All the bitches fallin' on the floor
All I do is catch the bands
Money dance

Brodie see the money hands
Bout a flood a bitty pants
You ain't really fuckin' man

Aye
You ain't really fuckin' man
I don't know
I don't know what you been up to
But it ain't been fuckin' man so
Fix that shit

I'm on the track
I'm bout to flex
Ya bitch want this neck
Give her that neck

I'm workin' sets
Ya bitch wanna have sex
Give her that deck
Give her that deck

Spacin' out
Like the Jetsons
Get your facts straight
Check your reference

Pushing weight
Like a mexican
New Richard Mille
Had to flex in

More gas
Then Bespin
Got 2 bitches
They lesbian

Shootin' shots
At your residence
Rob all yo shit
Great Depression

Steve Urkel
I'm geeked up
Bitch face like a pizza

Ya got no team
No features
Llama boy
Carl Wheezer

Mob ties
Wife beater
Pourin' up
With the liter

Slingin' shots 2 seater
That I ain't finna pay the meter

I'm on the track
I'm bout to flex
Ya bitch want this neck
Give her that neck

I'm workin' sets
Ya bitch wanna have sex
Give her that deck
Give her that deck

Make yo bitch wiggle them hips
On the dick like a ribstik
Coat the shit in lipstick
Up watchin' the stars for fulfillment
Of wishes

All night club bender
These hoes look like witches
I'm burnin' sage frequently
For demons and bitches

I'm schemin' on witches
Quick hands on the gat
It's a murder man Bonanza

Slick like Tony Danza
I'm rap's Glenn Danzig
Go and fetch ya bands up

Fuckin' up my money
On my momma
Get yo wig split

Shootin' up the blocks
Like heroin in the 80s
Central Park
Throwin' rocks
Fuckin' crackhead
Crazy

And I copped the new Reeboks
On sale at Macy's

What the fuck happened
To Lebron James' hairline
That shit is laid out
Like some goddamn landmines

Paw Patrol and adderall
Pinball and Steve Segall
Flippin' all the panels
It's a universal channel y'all

Flippin' all the panels
It's a universal channel y'all
Flippin' all the panels
It's a universal channel y'all

45K on some new land
500K on the new lamb
If she gonna rock with me
Then you get slammed

See yo girlfriend with me
And we holdin' hands
She think I'm a cutie
Cause I'm holdin' bands

Got Suns in 7
That's 100 bands
It's like 500 hoes
100 Xans

Creepin' thru the woods
Like the boogeyman
Had a Glock .45
In my fuckin' hand

Ima God to these hoes
I'm the fuckin' man
I'm like Terminator 2
I'm like runnin' man

Got a oxy and a xanny
In my fuckin' hands

I just came from the flat
And I told that bitch she fat
And she mad

I got all these foes from my past
And they tryna take my racks
I pull out my staff
And I scream you shall not pass

And I'm on the biggest planes
And I ride the fastest trains
And I gotta lot of jobs
So I do a lotta things

I could give a fuck about you
If you ain't buying me rings
If you ain't buying me things
If you ain't buying me dreams

If you ain't cleanin' the sink
And I'm too mean in the paint
Had to reup on that dank
I don't feel a lotta pain

I'm like Django in the chains
When I'm blowin' out their brains

Bitch drivin' me insane
Always driving switching lanes
Suck me and she gave me brain

Every single fuckin' day
I might fly her outta state
I might cop anotha wraith
You might need a room to stay

I might need to rule the state
Vampires all around
Ima put em in the ground

Cutthroat with the chef blade
Count the bread with the dough I bake
You gluten free
Pockets desolate
Count my chicken
Let it marinade

Barbershop with the clean ass fade
Kobe B. with the clean ass fade
Take yo money NCAA
Step back then seed the J

Double park on the Mini Cooper
Lost ya job had to ride a scooter
Fake chains Walmart jeweler
Kiss my feet bitch I'm the ruler

In the paper you should stay on Google
Get that money live sports on Hulu
Bitch thick like an udon noodle
Fuck the head get bamboozled

Sunday with steak and eggs
Pay yo bills need an arm and leg
Crossed em up might've broke his leg
I'm the king off with ya head

Flu season way my money spread
You my son put you right to bed
On ya head like I'm Boba Fett
Blue and red lights then I fled

Feta cheese like my pockets Greece
Speakers loud disturb the peace
You catchin' Polio no vaccine
Ray Allen with the quick release

Play no games like Chuck E. Cheese
Off the lot you need a lease

K, Serf, Nico
Holy Trinity
On God levels like a deity
Yah

God levels like a deity
Yah
God levels like a deity
Yah
God levels like a deity

I got new shoes
I got new kicks
Bought a new house
Bitch got new bricks

And it's new clout
With these new hits
New haters tryna rob me
Of my new bitch

125 on rodeo
On the new shit
125 on rodeo
On the new shit
125 on rodeo
On the new shit
125 on rodeo
On the new shit

Ain't no lie
Almost sounded low key Crip

Take a trip
Fly over out to Egypt
At the top
Milli rockin' on the pyramids
Bitch asked me bout the money
Made a myriad

Stimmi hit
So I didn't rip the semi
Call Lester
Ya need to scoop him off the Henny

Red suit Eddie Murphy
I'm delirious
Uppercut these fake rappers
I get furious

If I'm on the block
Don't shoot me
I'm not that goofy
I cop me a 2 piece

And I got jumped
Got out all right
Hangin' out with the pump
Weedin' out the spies
We steppin' on the runts

If I'm with my guys
I ain't lookin' for no cunt
If I'm makin' money
Then it's probably through a front

Start screamin' Serf
Tryna come hang
It's so sad
You ain't ever have a gang
So mad but it's never gonna change

I started out in this game
I was lonely
No beats, no rhymes
No homies

The way I work
You could only put it on me

Look around at you clowns
Hear you phony

And it's so scary
How I pick up on they moves
And I care rarely bout the shit
They tryna prove

And every time they sunk
Was every time I flew

You cannot charge me bro
You cannot book me
Had the VPN
When I made it off to Cookie's

I don't do the hair down there
No wookie
And I'm always paid out
Say a prayer
For my pookies

It's so sad
You won't ever have a gang

It's so sad
You won't ever have a gang

I earn what I got
And I'm still gettin'
Keep it up on God
I'm still lookin'

Keep it up on God
I'm still lookin'

All this time
Y'all keep forgettin'

I got new shoes
I got new kicks
Bought a new house
Bitch got new bricks

And it's new clout
With these new hits
New haters tryna rob me
Of my new bitch

125 on rodeo
On the new shit
125 on rodeo
On the new shit
125 on rodeo
On the new shit
125 on rodeo
On the new shit

Ain't no lie
Almost sounded low key Crip

I'm still eatin'
Yah

I'm still breathin'
I got people on my back
And they not leavin'

Ain't that cool though
They don't know I'm a fool though
Climb on yo bitch
Wanna suck my kudos

What I got on my wrist
But you got no foreplay
And I got with yo bitch
Got her in 4 days

Hit her like Jorge
Oh my God what the fuck

She don't even like you
She just like your money
She just like your father
She like oh my God

Honey where the fuck you goin'
With that Louis bag?
Thought you bought that shit for me
I threw you some ass

But I grabbed that
And you sad ya
Look at my cash app
I got stacks
You got ass

Yah, yah, yah
I got bitches wanna hmu
But they can't fuck
Ya they can't fuck
Ya they can't fuck

Got bitches wanna hmu
But they can't fuck
But they can't fuck
But they can't fuck

Got bitches wanna hmu
But I can't fuck
But I can't fuck
But I can't fuck

Got bitches wanna hmu
But I can't fuck
But I can't fuck
But I can't fuck

6 bitches in the range
Draco with extendos drained
Been in such a long rage
Bitch I just called the game

Step back 3
Call me James
I don't fuck whores bitch
Ain't no fuckin' way
That I'm fuckin' bitches in the stew

Got no money just like you
Wanna hit the weed for free
Bitch you betta suck this dick
Said she want her pussy slayed

You got a thotty daughter
Take yo ass to bed
She got school tomorrow

Got bitches wanna hmu
But I can't fuck
But I can't fuck
But I can't fuck

Got bitches wanna hmu
But I can't fuck
But I can't fuck
But I can't fuck

Eat shit
Burrito
Lightsaber
Green glow

Bitch you cap
Pinochio
Hit yo grandma
RKO

Cryin' jammed my big toe
Sour cream potato
Wash yo hands
Lots of soap
Run a stop sign
On my phone

I got heart
I got fight
Catch me strapped
Butter knife

Faucet leak
She won't pipe
Can't you see
Bitch you die

Slash you up
Apple pie
Thought we good
Bitch you lie

I don't talk
Bitch I'm shy
You like cash
That's a lie

Got bitches wanna hmu
But I can't fuck
But I can't fuck
But I can't fuck

Got bitches wanna hmu
But I can't fuck
But I can't fuck
But I can't fuck

I fucked up
Ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo

Every day I count the money like I'm bleedin'
17 a month I don't need it
Really what I might just leave them
Really what I might just leave them

Hit the store I want the dime
Text this whore I want her time
Rings around my fuckin' eyes
Never really tryna cry

I got all this turbo pack
This where all the murder at
I pull up with 30 racks
On the hunt for all these rats

Arizona fake ID
Spliffies we gonna back em up
Swear yo hoe is mad as fuck
Rollin' out the rally truck

Still I'm in the valley bruh
Said I'm smokin' Cali bud
80 blunts we tally up
Late night hittin' Sally up

Late night hittin' Brenda
Hittin' Cassie
Perc has got me
Feelin' crappy

Sloppy got me feelin' happy
Bitches hit me for the addy
And I tend not to reply
And it gets em feelin' sappy

Aye
No no
Aye
No no

Deez nuts in yo mouth bitch

Blew a tire down the streets
So I left my car there

Post it up
With the gang
We're all drinkin' cognac

Hit em with the friendly phrase
No hands stoppin' me
When these others fuckin' rant
No man stoppin' me

Under me you catchin' stitches
All my groupies sad bitches
And the crew got mad riches
Sandwiches and bad bitches

In the field with the crew
Eatin' meals in the booth
What's the deal
What it do
Bet I'm finna kill a fool

If iss real
Where's the proof?
Wasn't clear
On the rules

Big bands
All my wishes
Do you fuckin' feel me

I don't even got the time
What's the deal with these dudes?
And I ain't keepin' time

Blew a tire down the streets
So I left my car there

Post it up
With the gang
We're all drinkin' cognac

Hit em with the friendly phrase
No hands stoppin' me
When these others fuckin' rant
No man stoppin' me

No man stoppin' me

Yo bro
Yo what did you put in this?
Dude I'm not feelin'
I'm not feelin' too good

Oh shit
Fuck

Hello?
Can you hear me?
Yeah
Who are you?
I'm really kind of

I'm your inner conscious
Speakin' from the Aye-Team

Yeah, oh oh oh oh oh
El Santo De Gangsta
Volume II
We got a lotta shit to say
Muthafucka

If yo the Jedi of pussy
Then I'm Darth Vader
Tearin' up the galaxy
With my big ass lightsaber

If you're a
Class traitor
A fuckin' instigator
Yo momma so fat
That she need a elevator

Ima gladiator
Infiltrator
Comin' in hot
Like a quantum radiator

Cause I'm Big Smoke
I'm the best at my game
And you bitch ass niggas
Think you could beat me

So
Sit the fuck down
Lil' man
All the bitches you slept with
I could count on 1 hand

Whole new level
Which you could not reach
So open up yo ears
Cause I'm hear to teach

Boy you want a schoolin'
Well here's an analogy
You look like Lord Farquaad
And rap like a donkey

Fuck you
And yo whole crew
Big Smoke is in the house
Here to show you what to do

Fuck you
Fuck yo whole crew
And yo hoes are stanky
From they head to they toes

And yo welcome
For the inspiration
Cause it seems you've gotten betta
At rappin' since we moved in

Bitch now you know
What real work ethic looks like
Talkin' everyday
In the shed on the mic

You think yo talented
Well get back to reality
The only talent that I see
Is jerkin' off on Call of Duty

While yo girl
Is lookin' at her phone
Talkin' to some guy she'd ratha bone
Makes you feel some kinda envy
When yo gettin' none
And Mike is gettin' fuckin' plenty

Fuck you
Fuck yo whole crew
And yo hoes are stanky
From they head to they toes

If this shit is hittin' home
Then yo smarter then we thought
Cause it's us incognito
Try and prove that it's not

Cause all the rappers can't be like we
Can't see like we
All you haters out there
Wanna be like we

It's the snapback
Safe crack
Wack ass 2 step
Muthafuckin' flip phone

Fuck you
And yo whole crew
Big Smoke is in the house
Here to show you what to do

Fuck you
Fuck yo whole crew
And yo hoes are stanky
From they head to they toes

Oh man
This is fucked up
Fucked up
Fuckin' fucked up

We gunna get supa smacked
We gunna get supa smacked

We gunna get supa smacked
We gunna get supa smacked
Supa smacked

We gunna get supa smacked
We gunna get supa smacked
Supa smacked

We gunna get supa smacked
We gunna get supa smacked

First you crush it up
Then you pick your method

Bong
Doobie
Or helium fluorescent

Then you make sure that
You got the flame
Always bringin' fire
So step up ya game

If you pick doobie then
You're in for a treat
Cause there's plenty of options
So we turnin' up the heat

Backwoods for alone time
Dutches for the crew
Ziggy's on the rush
And juicy's takin' poos

Now always make sure
That you have enough
Cause my friend's comin' back sayin'
That's good stuff

I suggest a zip
And a 1/2 a pound too
But if you're Big Smoke
You bring a muthafuckin' zoo

Sing it Dougie Fresh
What we gonna do?
Sing it Dougie Fresh
What we gonna do?

We gunna get supa smacked
We gunna get supa smacked
Supa smacked

Smokin' on that grass like
I'm from outer space
High off my ass from an
LSD lace

If you pick bong
You betta carry on
If you're caught off guard
You'll be tappin' out young

And if you wanna go
And take the next step
You should try dabs that are
Hard to get

I suggest a gram
Or a whole case
But if you're Big Smoke
You bring a big safe

Sing it Dougie Fresh
What we gonna do?
Sing it Dougie Fresh
What we gonna do?

We gunna get supa smacked
We gunna get supa smacked
Supa smacked

(In this bitch)

Alright yo yo
Big Smoke
Wassup homies
We about to get out here
What's crackin'

Check it check it check it
1,2
Ight
212
Here we go

To all my niggas in the 212
My niggas are the best ever heard or seen
For all the people in the 212
My niggas are the best ever heard or seen

We got Dew livin' in with the junkyard boys
And Skeez in the back rollin' up 2 more
Singing
I wanna fuck some bitches

Nobody betta fuck with me

Yeah wassup you better try it son
Big Smoke
Know it
You betta try it homie
Fuck outta here
Wassup wassup

I got the Aye-team shootin' up trees
My brothas in Chicago holdin' down for me
Bitch you thought these lines were free
This is a business
Where's my fuckin' money?

We got bouncers in the front
Bitches in the back
This is our party
So we know we're gettin' smacked
Cause I wanna fuck some bitches

Nobody betta fuck with me

Yeah that's right
Don't fuck with me son
You betta try it

New York, New York
That's where we eat
Lower East Side
Wassup
Let's get it

Harlem with my bois
Ight
Queens, Brooklyn
Das where it's at

Ight son
Let's get it bro
Fuck outta here
Big Smoke time

Can you hear the cries
Of mother nature?
Their selfish lies
Have blinded you

Can't you see the signs there
In front of your eyes
That you refuse to see?

How do you mock the mother?
Hear her last sighs
You see the scorch marks
And laugh as she dies

How do you mock your own mother too?
Did you forget all she gave you?
Built the world for you

I'm tired of the killing
I can't keep letting this go
I just can't bear it anymore
I can't go a day without another 1
I can't sleep at night
I lie awake and cry
Hope to water their life

Blue tears turn red when fire starts
And the beast awakens
Father wolf inside morning raging
Will destroy everyone
Every coward who rapes and kills

You know
You know he would

We were brothas in arms
I brought the gunpowder
You brought the charm
Neva dreamed of having anyone
Outside my right arm

Yeah here we are
The fight's on
Now you sleep with all yo lights on

Neva wanted to hurt chu
Neva thought that one day
I'd have to change and desert chu

But you can't repay what chu stole from me
And I don't forgive and forget
So muthafucka easy

You know Smoke's got mad bitches
You know know Smoke's got bad bitches
You know I get em like you neva had bitches

But I still give love to my Indian brothas

You know Smoke's got mad bitches
You know know Big Smoke's got bad bitches
You know I get em like you neva had bitches

But I still give love to my Indian brothas

You know I got a Glock in my 'rari
And I'll fuck you up
Worse than a safari
Fuck you bitch
I'll leave you in the sticks
In a shallow grave with stab wounds
And fuckin' contusions n' shit

You watch me fuck yo bitch
And you know she love that shit
She watch me murk yo sorry ass
And give me brain while I hit the gas

My cousins n' sistas n' brothas
They all carry muthafucka
And you betta know they'll be there for me

Meanwhile yo style
Family ties
All fake, torn apart
Hate each other
Tellin' lies

That's the weakest shit
I mean yo own sista man
Rats you out
After I hit it in the van

Now you know I neva liked
To have to murda a bitch
You know bang em and bend em
It's as cliché as it gets

But we also know nobody likes a family snitch
So don't blame me if she's ass up
Face down in the ditch

Uh huh uh huh
Yeah yeah yeah
Big Smoke
Uh huh
Greatest rapper in the world
Uh yeah

You know Smoke's got mad bitches
You know know Big Smoke's got bad bitches
You know I get em like you neva had bitches

But I still give love to all my mothafuckin' brothas

Ghost in my mind
Wish I could leave that shit behind
All they screams and they cries
Followin' me like a night stalker

My motha and fatha
Are always askin' me why?
Why do I live this life?
Why do I pay this price?

And being honest
I can't look my own momma in the eyes
Swear she raised my right
But these streets are mean as hell

When Fatha D looked at me
He said put yo weapons down
This city's full of evil
And he told me that he got me
And he told me Jesus loved me
And that stuck with me
The fathas words in my head

Swirlin'
Like a fuckin' whirlpool
If Jesus always with me
Why'd he let those gangstas
Kidnap Chrissy?

I think if Jesus ain't helpin' you
A Glock 9mm will have to do
And always keep a tight crew

Don't give no 2nd chances
The strongest 1 advances
We are our own Gods
We bow to no odds

(Where's Chrissy?)
We are our own Gods
(What, who?)
We bow to no odds

5'6
150 pounds
Brown eyes
Light brown hair
Chrissy
Where is she?

Fuck you
(Ah, my leg)
Next one is to ya head
(Alright man I swear she's in New York bro)
(She's in New York)
(I swear to God bro)
(Oh God man no c'mon don't fuckin' do this)

Alright thank you

Killin' em
Comin' in the middle of a sentence
I don't give a fuck
I just do it how I end it

Taps to my racks
And I throw on the job
L.A. to New York
It's the Big Smoke time

Rat a tat a tat
On my Puerto Rican drum
Beats so fast
Gunna make ya dumb

Livin' on my wave
My genius is to grow
Treasure chest again
Right thru yo radio

And to all the copycats out there
It's the flattery
Thinkin' you could be like me
Is dichotomy

Livin' the Big Smoke life
Is the glamoury
Champagne at hotels comes with
The salary

My 2 blunt net niggas
Just fo' collateral
Cause I don't wanna get there
And my vibe is broke

Livin' in the deep with the beats is the best
Homie
Dew
Skeez
And Dougie Fresh

Livin' in the deep
With some bumblin' bimbos
Lesbian zebras
And magical willows

Bringin' you back from
Death necronomicon
Livin' up to new heights
Is the vibe we're on

My lyrical genius
Is quite exponential
Colors and forms
Right out of the bedroom

Self taught prodigy
Just like Chris Langan
Pendulum swings forward
And a back again

And a back again

I'm like Superman
Flyin' so high in metropolis
My super sonic power
Is just so ridiculous

Future to the rappin' game
Call me anomaly
Cause it's just so easy for me
Ya see

I bring rhythm and lyrics
For days n' months
I'm Attila the Hun
I'm on the hunt

Constantly explorin' for
New rhythmic combinations
Leave it on yo door
With no hesitations

So if these niggas cymbal and roll
With us
It's the goal fo' us
Cause the puff puff pass
Is the soul fo' us

And if ya smoke 2 blunts
Then smoke 2 mo'
Nigga D.P. breath
Get yo asses on the floor

Alright I got a question for y'all
(What is it Smoke?)
(Ask away)

1,2,3,4
How many licks does it take
To make a bitch hot?
(Not many)

Just 1 if ya lick the right spot

And how many blunts does it take
To get yo ass smacked?
(Not many)

Just 1 cause I brings the hash

And how many drinks does it take
To get yo ass on the floor?

None
Cause these beats are like no other
(Oh shit)

Yeah
Big Smoke
Lil' Skeez
Dougie Fresh
Razor sharp

Yo shout out to Mein China
They got a good ass General Tso
Ladies get yo asses on the dance floor

(Thank you come again)

Hippie hippie moo moo
Hippie hippie moo moo

(Move your body)
(Mikey)
(Look out faggot)
(I just need to take a shit)

(You speak like a poet)
(And you punch like one too)
(Allahu Akbar)

(I just need to take a shit)
(Wake up bitch)

(Ooo would you like me to park your car?)
(Mikey)
(Fuck you)

(Break it down)
(Shake your body)

(70 for a dime is a fucking deal)
(I'll be back at 4 to pick it up)
(Shake your body)
(Wake up bitch)
(Mwah mwah)

(Game's always broken when you're losing)
(Game's great when you're winning)
(Yeah what do you think of me now?)
(Mwah mwah)

(Don't beat me master)
(Don't beat this tired ol' body)
(No)

(Always comes to the number 9)
(Spongebob)

Hippie hippie moo moo
Hippie hippie moo moo

(It's a biggie)
(Mwah mwah)

(Moo moo)

(Well at least I didn't get robbed)
(And what can I do for you 4 fine black gentlemen today?)
(Spongebob)

Alright ladies 2 for 1 special at O'Brien's
Ladies night

(Fuck you)
(Oh my god stop cheating me man)

Hippie hippie moo moo
Hippie hippie moo moo

(Always comes to the number 9)
(Fuck you)

(Peterson do you have any comments on the Nazi presentation?)
(Communism is the movement of the working class)

(Yeah what do you think of me now?)
(Mikey)
(Fuck you)
(Spongebob)

Yeah what do you think of me now?
Mwah mwah

(Mikey)
(Spongebob)
(Always comes to the number 9)
(Yeah what do you think of me now?)
(Fuck you)

(Allahu Akbar)
(Look out faggot)

Moo moo
Hippie hippie moo moo

Okay everybody check the altimeters
Does everybody have 23 thousand feet?
Okay, now you new tandem jumpers
When that door opens
You will be scared

Are you ready?
Alright
On the count of 3
We all jump on 3
1,2,3

Go

Tandem Jump

(Written by Jonathan Richman)

Big bayou where did you go?
To the river that's running slow
To the Gulf of Mexico
Big bayou carry me home

I took a long, long trip to the city
I was determined to get somewhere
I spent all my hard earned money
I had saved to put me there

Big bayou where did you go?
To the river that's running slow
To the Gulf of Mexico
Big bayou carry me home

I took a picking job in Memphis
And the people there treated me good
But my luck run bad in Nashville
I had to walk the streets of the woods

Big bayou where did you go?
To the river that's running slow
And to the Gulf of Mexico
Big bayou carry me home

Oh lord I'm going home
Where the fish jump in the air
You know I don't need a lot of money
Cause I ain't going nowhere

Big bayou where did you go?
To the river that's running slow
To the Gulf of Mexico
Big bayou carry me home

(Written by Swampwater)

Lord am I dreaming?
Am I dreaming?
People are smiling
To each other

Look at the children playing
See them swaying
And learning and growing
With one another

Lord am I dreaming?
Lord am I dreaming?
Lord am I dreaming?

Now bells are ringing
Lord what a beautiful feeling
Am I hallucinating?
People are sharing bread and wine
With each other

Lord am I dreaming?
Lord am I dreaming?
Lord am I dreaming?

Lord am I
Am I dreaming?
Lord am I
Am I dreaming?
Lord am I
Am I dreaming?
Lord am I
Am I dreaming?

Lord

(Written by Bobby Callender)

Left me crying in a gypsy's arms
That cuckoo mans do own my charms
I left my fortune cause I am a fool
He has me cursing like a big old tool

I ain't never coming back
Got my heart ready for attack
Baby you can't bring me back
Cause I'm no fool for you

Daddy Longlegs crawling down my back
Psychedelics in the way of smack
My baby's fortune is a hundred stars
She buys a scope to enhance her charm

I ain't never coming back
Got my heart ready for attack
Baby you can't bring me back
Cause I'm no fool for you

(Written by Black Lips)

The ground is but the sea
The sea is but a tree
And the tree is but me

The tree is but me
The sea is but a tree
And the ground is but the sea

It's all a part of me
It's all a part of me

I'm waiting for the night
With 2 yellow lights
Floating humans eyes

Down marble street
Where all rangos meet
And souls cannot retrieve

The ground is but the sea
The sea is but a tree
And the tree is but me

The tree is but me
The sea is but a tree
And the ground is but the sea

It's all a part of me
It's all a part of me

The ground is open wide
I'm being sucked inside
Where my soul can hide

The night would sing a song
The rain clouds hum along
They tell me I belong

The ground is but the sea
The sea is but a tree
And the tree is but me

The tree is but me
The sea is but a tree
And the ground is but the sea

It's all a part of me
It's all a part of me

Time is standing still
I'm drifting down a hill
Smiling daffodils

Help me from the green
Up pulls me clean
Ocean buys some breeze

The ground is but the sea
The sea is but a tree
And the tree is but me

The tree is but me
The sea is but a tree
And the ground is but the sea

The ground is but the sea
The sea is but a tree
And the tree is but me

The tree is but me
The sea is but a tree
And it's all a part of me

(Written by The Deep)

What is over me must glow
Sun is rising
I want you to know

How it was, and how it will be
On that night, just you and me

Time has come for me to say
Before my vision fades away

Since my time has gone to her

Send my love to all my friends
Send my love to all my friends

Time has come for me to say
Before my vision fades away

Since my time has gone to her

Send my love to all my friends
Send my love to all my friends
Send my love to all my friends
Send my love to all my friends

(Written by Primotons)

It's your 1st day at work
It's your 1st day at work
And you feel so nervous
You feel just like a jerk

It's your 1st day at work
It's your 1st day at work
And you feel so nervous
You feel just like a jerk

And your boss is really nice to you
But that's just for today
Tomorrow he'll be mean to you
So you better listen up

And do what you're supposed to do
Do what you're supposed to do

It's your 1st day at work
It's your

(Written by Daniel Johnston)

A note
dropped through the door
Tells us to go
O but I know that you

Will tell them to
Go somewhere else
Because you know that

I want to stay in this house forever
I don't want to ever leave
How could I ever live in another
This is where I want to be
You know that

There won't be a high wall I can climb
And find the things that I find
I'll have to leave them where they are
I don't want to go far

A tear stained pillow
Doesn't seem to help me
I can't make you change your mind

I look through my window
And I see all I want to
How can I leave it all behind me now?

I've done
All I can do
I want to stay here
This could be my home forever

But you say I can't come back ever
You don't know just how much

I wish I could stay in this house forever
I don't want to ever leave
How could I ever live in another
This is where I want to be you know that

I don't want to go

(Written by Strawberry Switchblade)

I'd like to tell you that it's fine but it's not time now
I can't seem to get a word in edgewise anyhow
Though the words are flying fast it just don't mean a thing
In a little while I could tell you everything

But we've taken sides in anger, and we can't back down
Now, we're fighting just to bring the other down
And if you think to stop it now
Then the next time we'll know how

I'd like to break it to you gently where we go wrong
If the rock begins a rolling we just tag along
If at first we pick beloved things that we both lack
Then before we think to stop we're into hurting back

Then an avalanche of answers must be found too fast
Hasty made just when we should build to last
Love what we lack like what we share
Correction comes with time to spare

But we've taken sides in anger, and we can't back down
Now, we're fighting just to bring the other down
And if you think to stop it now
Then the next time we'll know how

I'd like to tell you that it's fine but it's not time now
I can't seem to get a word in edgewise anyhow
Though the words are flying fast it just don't mean a thing
In a little while I could tell you everything

But we've taken sides in anger, and we can't back down
Now, we're fighting just to bring the other down
And if you think to stop it now
Then the next time we'll know how

(Written by John Sebastian)

Is it efficient or does it kill?
With the skill of a cluster bomb
It'll take time but you know it will
If I happen to live that long

If you would listen to me
Things wouldn't seem so gloomy

Now you keep jamming up the gears
And I can't see through the smears
And everything's exactly as it...

More
I love you more
I love you more than I did before
But now it's either or
Or neither nor

And when I think about you
I start turning green
And it shakes me up inside
Cause it used to be the color of your eyes

Everywhere I go I see your ghost
The spirit of '91
You said you loved me more than toast
But less than a staple gun

Is this the wrong direction?
That's such a stupid question

Now when you make a sacrifice
You're supposed to get a wish
Why does this only work in theory?

More
I love you more
I love you more than I did before
But now it's not allowed
You're not around
I see you going out

And everything goes black
And I start to fall apart
It reminds me of the color of your heart

More
I love you more
I love you more than I did before
But now we're in a war
And what's it for?
I read your horoscope

And everything is clear
And it feels a little weird
Cause it used to be the color of your tears

(Written by Mr. T Experience)

I thought I'd take the time to
Throw my line to you and let you know
About the strange things that grow
On Happy Island find me
In the sea where there's nothing but glee
I live the way I want to be

I love the earth and sky and
I watch the fishes fly
As the birds swim by
And I laugh and cry

I love the earth and sky and
I watch the fishes fly
As the birds swim by
And I laugh and cry

I found a tree inside a bee
I blew a wish in my teepee
A day in my reality

I wish that you could be here too
Just take the time and you can find
The Happy Island in your mind

I love the earth and sky and
I watch the fishes fly
As the birds swim by
And I laugh and cry

As the birds swim by
And the fishes fly
And I laugh and cry

I wish that you could be here too
Just take the time and you can find
The Happy Island in your mind

(Written by The Poppy Family)

My name is Tom Cabin
This is my friend Jo
And this is the boy who lives down the road

Hey there neighbor
Feeling kinda blue?
I got something that'll make ya quit school

Cause the CIA in 1955
Did experiments on people and said it was a lie
And now my friend Jo has PTSD
Cause her CIA boss drugged her with LSD

It's true
Now I see shadow people in the trees
And it's getting hard to live with
It's just no way to be

Gotta fly away
Gotta fly away
All on board the mighty Blue Jays

A da da daba dooba deeba do dawg dawg town
Is what we're doing today
Okay?

You sure Ken wants to work with us?
Does he want to do the dawg?
Sound like this?
Sounds like I wanna do the dawg

Junkyard blues is here to stay
I don't know The Perfect Trip
Might have got a different sound
The Perfect Trip ain't here to say

Don't take my
Don't steal my
Manuscripts man

Take it

Don't take it
Let's all sound the same
Everybody get in order sound the same
We'll all get famous that way

Get in order
We need some discipline in here

Take 8
Take 9
Always comes to the number 9
Ready 1,2
A 1,2,3

Aye

Wouldn't you like to go on this space trip?

Spongebob

Communist
Gangster
Computer
God

Lost in suffering
Lost in suffering
Lost in suffering
Lost in suffering

Pray for humanity
But all sorts of bizarre and...

Jestamang
Laughing with the Jestamang
Always laughing with the jokes of the jellybean

When we arrived at the film next morning
Mr. Eucano, let us in the door
Excuse me, please step in here
You invited us down here
(No, I did not invite you)

You did invite me, now why can't we come in?
You invited us, why can't we come in?
What's going on in there?
Inside the center

Lost in suffering
Lost in suffering
Lost in suffering

Pray for humanity
But all sorts of bizarre and...

Seeing him dead and laying on the ground the next morning
It really stayed on my mind so
Uh, I started using drugs
And uh, I kept that up until I came back to the states

I came back to the states

(Written by Charlie Brown)

Smear the tendency
Just in time for New Year's Eve

The first year you're out there
The first year you're out there
And when I need answers

You'll be out there
You'll be there

Mommy ran to the nearest barbershop pole
And took care of the glass
Took a wad of cash

And once done the kids had fun
With the candy cane sun

From now on haircuts are for no one
The first year makes them run

Smear the tendency
Just in time for New Year's Eve
First year you're out there
And when I need answers

You'll be out there

You're on the windmill good times
Stomp on my shoulder good times
You hold the world loved one

Once done the kids had fun
With the candy cane sun
From now on
Haircuts are for no one

Smear the tendency
Just in time for New Year's Eve

First year you're out there
And when I need answers
You'll be out

Do you ever feel
Like you don't move?
Never heard a song
That made ya groove

Feel this beat
Tapping in your feet

It's the cowboy shuffle
Cowboy shuffle
It's the cowboy shuffle
Cowboy shuffle

Ya take a step
Ya touch your toes
Do it like you did a week ago
Now you're in your groove
Going 2 by 2

It's the cowboy shuffle
Cowboy shuffle
It's the cowboy shuffle
Cowboy shuffle

So we say hello
Doing the Blue Jay flow
All day long
Out your window
Time for you to know

So let us back the show
Look at the pictures glow
Spread the love
Around the world

Everyone comes from
This hoedown
The Blue Jay caravan
Is back in town

And we got new toys
For the girls and boys

It's the cowboy shuffle
Cowboy shuffle
It's the cowboy shuffle
Cowboy shuffle

So we say hello
Doing the Blue Jay flow
All day long
Out your window
Time for you to know

So let us back the show
Look at the pictures glow
Spread the love
Around the world

Prized possession
Dreamt of gold nuggets
His eyes were on the student
And not on them nuggets

The Van Duser jam go like this
A little slice for every Guy
A little love, a little life
A little my my my

The Van Duser twist
Is gonna fetch you today

He heard about the hearing
He worked around the science
The student bit confuzzled
He looked right at the lion

1,2,3,4
It's all about the thumb war

When Guy go closes his eyes
I'm gonna go ahead and cry
When he gets up and dies
I will remember our time
I will remember our life
And singin' these ol' rhymes

And Van Duser knows
That he's a lover
And here are all the pictures
That he will keep forever

The Van Duser jam go like this
A little slice for every Guy
A little love, a little life
A little my my my

The Van Duser twist
Is gonna fetch you today

Davis on his feet
Consider this an upgrade
Davis to Davies

Davie's on the street
Davie's on the street
Bull in the heather
Davie's on the street

New name new game
Punch the clock on the down low
Betcha didn't know Davies when he was Jeff Davis
But he still has love for his Indian brothers

On the road
In the sky
Lies his mother looking in

On the road
On the fly
Lies his brothers in his skin

On the road
In the sky
Lies his mother looking in

But he still has love for his Indian brothers

Davie's on his feet
Consider this an upgrade
Davies to Joey

Joey's on the street
Joey's on the street
Bull in the heather
Joey's on the street

New name new game
Punch the clock on the down low
Betcha didn't know Davies when he was Jeff Davis
But he still has love for his Indian brothers

On the road
In the sky
Lies his mother looking in

On the road
On the fly
Lies his brothers in his skin

On the road
In the sky
Lies his mother looking in

But he still has love for his Indian brothers

This is our theme song

I say, I say
We are
Blue Jays
We are, we are
(We're here to rock you)

(This is our Wonderwall)
Always our Wonderwall
(We're gonna make you happy)

Get a grip
And I say get a grip
You have to get a grip
I say you have to
You have to
Get a grip

This is the way
We are the Blue Jays

We fly away
We don't pay to play
We play away
Anyways

Get a grip
Get a grip
Get a grip
Get a grip

Why?
Hey
Hey

We are the Blue Jays
We're here to rock
(This is our Wonderwall)

We fly away
Every single day

(Be happy)
And sad
(You have to have to be happy)

We'll be just like your daddy
We are the Blue Jays
We're here to slay

Get a grip
A lip
And the tip
The grip
And a tip
And a grip the tip
With the lip

Chattanooga
We'll be there
Naples, Florida
Atlanta, Georgia
Cleveland not so much
Anymore

Cause the Sunrise's on all 4s
And the Overdrive has to be 2nd
Because
We were 3rd
Because
We have 2nds to start with

And the gnome
And the gnome has come to say

They are the Blue Jays
They have something to say
We are the Blue Jays
(The band that's banned in New Hampshire)
They came out of this way

And the clowns that start
They don't want any of this

They want
Not The Perfect
Trippy Boys
They came to see us
1 more time

We are the Blue Jays
We're here to rock
We're here to
Fly away

1,2,3

(Thank you)
(Buy our records on Amazon)
(Support our friends from there)
(Get a free CD)
(We don't have any)
(Our apartment's due)

A girl once told me that I should try to work
At honest labor for just one day
And I said I will with a lil smirk

First you take some paper and a pen
Draw a symbol of your choosing
Then you take a lighter and a candle
Any color of your choosing
Then take the next step
By living the life of your choosing

Then you draw some blood
On any part of your choosing
Ejaculate on the page
Holding on to any thought of your choosing
Mix it in with spit, head hair
Pubic hair from your choosing

Focus on what you want
Not what you need, or have, or had
No longer human, just energy condensed by
Directed intent

This must all be done
On the 23rd hour, of the 23rd day of the month
23 months in a row
Then the magic takes effect
Supposedly that's what they say

This was told to me by a very late saint of the game
That this would all take place

That it would change the day to day
The very mundane
The boringness of life would slip away

Inter spontaneous hallucinogenic orgasm
Built super computer inside a giant sun
Heading to earth at 160,000 miles per hour

Mommy I don't wanna
Mine
Give it to me
Mommy

What?
What?

I've had you
Wait
No I can't
I cannot

You're all distorted
The invention is out of control
Monstrous
No means no

Hey I just tell it like I see it
This is a beautiful beautiful instrument

Inventor get back to the...
The noise everyday
I don't know I've got to recover from a nervous breakdown

No not again
I'm Mr. Play and I've got a secret

Mommy

So uh tell me again about those unreal experiences
It's like it sneaks up on me
Crazy hallucination attack
Everything gets so weird

Mmm, I see
Well let's try a different hypnosis this time
Whoa what's that?

This is a shamanist drone
It will help you to find your inner child
And bring you back to some lost memories
Oh no it's coming back again
I can feel it

Don't be afraid
You have nothing to fear

This is your last chance
After this there is no turning back

You take the blue pill
The story ends
You wake up in your bed and believe
Whatever you want to believe

You take the red pill
You stay in wonderland
I'll show you how deep the rabbit hole goes

Remember
All I'm offering is the truth
Nothing but...

I'm out of this wave holding tight
I hold and I hit
Chunks of ice

If I'm inhaling this now
There won't be a dec of sound
Crawling in my ears tonight

I safely
Inspect all this wreck
Angels or not
All I met

Were rocks made of pets
Raw puppies in the flesh
Crawling in my ears tonight

All the water in here makes the worse of me
But only would I stay
I'm only amazed by the stuff they've cleaned

Out of my ears
Out of sight

I water the wave holding ice
All of my friends forever night

If I exhale this now
I won't meet all of the hounds
Meeting my friends
Out of sight

Cut your mutt
And fake the feeling
O light the fairs
Up to the ceiling

I thought I'd be surprised as ever
Out of my life
Snow deep in the night

Somewhere in my mind
Mutt Tour did less
I won't stay
Forever

I won't pay for pets

I won't stay
Forever
I won't stay
Forever

Forever

I won't pay for pets
Mutt Tour online
I won't pay for pets
Mutt Tour on the line

Mutt Tour on the line
Mutt Tour online
Mutt Tour on the line
Mutt Tour online

There is no happiness
There is no respect
When I cut my hair
And watch how I care

General class
General class
General class
Oh yeah

A 1 and 2
And 1 and 2
Go

Ta ta ta ta ta ta ta
Ta ta ta ta ta ta

I was tied
Come on up
Change the course
Those blues be shut

Cause I was traced
In a general class
I lost my stare
I cut my hair
Watch how I care

General class
General class
General class
General class

Tonight

General class
Tonight

Hello Katie
Good morning Keke
We sound great but
You know I'll never get that

We didn't wanna blow it

Hello Katie
Good morning Keke
We sound great but
You know I'll never get that

And that's how that is

Guess how this is written
That's how it's written

I'm doing the exact same thing
As follows
Here's how it's written
As follows

I'm doing the exact same thing
As follows
I don't follow
You may follow

Webster

Don't be afraid to be bad
Sometimes being bad tunes it up
A lore in setting up
Everything is raw
Everything is raw material

If you don't know how thee set it up
If you don't know how thee set it up

Fangs out
I drive fast
If you don't already
You will never last
If you don't drive fast

Already out of gas
Lauren's creativity
If you don't already
I'm teething so steady
I'm teething so steady

Don't be afraid to be bad
Sometimes being bad tunes it up
A lore in setting up
Everything is raw material
Everything is raw material

Raw material
Raw material
Raw material

Raw material
Raw material
Raw material
Raw material

Snaggletooth
Above swamp

I was right there
Got a tow truck
Ice in my hair
Mixing mixing

What's a tow truck?
Gang gang no thought
Gang gang no thought
Gang hey
Gang hey

What's a tow truck?
Gang gang no thought
Gang gang no thought
Gang hey
Gang hey

Gang hey
Gang hey

10 minutes and swallow
I was right there
Got a tow truck
My way out
My way out

What's a tow truck?
Gang gang no thought
Gang gang no thought

Gang
Hey

O doe
You roll down the hills
Organic sense sits still
Watch the children spin

O doe
When did my old friends
Begin making new friends?

Watch the children spin

I make sense of this
To make spirits proud
Baby, O beauty
Do you hear sound?

When I was in middle school
That was the 1st jolt
I was sold
I was sold

O doe
You roll down the hills
Organic sense sits still
Watch the children spin

Watch the children spin

No food or drinks on the piano
Thank you piano
No food or drinks on the piano
Thank you piano

Please help us maintain these instruments
No food or drinks on the piano
Thank you piano

Thank you piano
Thank you piano
Thank you piano

No food or drinks on the piano
No food or drinks on the piano
No food or drinks on

My piano

Wake up
The weeds are gone
And I'll find myself in the wrong

The dress so pretty
Autumn pretty
Autumn pretty

Wake up
The weeds are gone

Ah look
Up, up, up
Cougar cock
Run, run, run

And I'll find myself in the wrong
July weather so sweaty
The weeds are gone

Wake up
The weeds are gone
And I'll find myself in the wrong

Holiday wanna take down
Holiday gotta break down
Holiday wanna take down
Holiday gotta break down

Wake up
The weeds are gone
Wake up
The weeds are gone

The unstable fool
Can't resolve this
Stable behavior

Gives an absolute kiss
To my lips

What I just heard
Influences what I fear
When I smell your stares
When I smell your stares

The unstable crew
Revolution
Revolution
O stimming, cooling
Stimming, cooling

What I just heard
Influence what I hear
Ya stare cause ya care
Ya stare cause I'm not there

O I smell your stares
O I smell your stares
O I smell your stares
O I smell your stares
I got to

Day 3
Day 4

I said
Day 3
Day 4

I'm saying
Day 3
Day 4

The halls will not departure
And only I will love her
Our good friend's in town
And they all smelt the clown

It's only getting started
We grew some lazy hearts
Hold on for deep vacation
We all are deep with fading

The choice of sitting down
The sound will find its clown

Hold on deep vacation
Hold on deep vacation
Hold on deep vacation
Hold on deep vacation

Hold on deep vacation
Hold on deep vacation
Hold on deep vacation
Hold on deep vacation

Hold on deep vacation
Hold on deep vacation
Hold on deep deep
Hold on deep deep

Up north
The trees can breathe
I've lost a lot but see
The only voice whose stationed

Eternal deep vacation
Eternal deep vacation
Eternal deep vacation

I'm so sick of being stiff
1 side works
The other's stiff

I dream of those who grounded
Write and cave up my neck
You know that I'm hurting baby
Certain angels played their set

Every 10 seconds

I'm not sticking around
Same position out there
Nothing cruel
Just takes fun out of the way

I'm not sticking around
Same position out there
Nothing cruel
Just takes fun out the way

And now I'm home
In this sea

You know that you got my heart pumping
Baby, baby
You know you got my heart be pumping
Baby, baby

I'm a stiff neck

He's sleeping next there
I'm still seeing this in waves
With the right temperature

That's me
That's me

5 weeks have been nice

When I go back to Florida
Ready to start new
Just like a Greek God
Just like a Greek God

Ready to start new

Peeping Tom is on my window
It's time to wake up
It's time to wake up

There's a devilish fool living under my bed
It's time to wake up
It's time to wake up

Caterpillar rider
You can hitch a ride on my back any day
Just don't turn into a flutter bug and fly away

Caterpillar rider
You can crawl up my spine any time
Just don't screw around with my brain

And you can stretch your legs on my legs
And take nap in my hair

Caterpillar
Rider
Come ride with me

Caterpillar
Rider
Come fly with me

Time to go now
It's time to go now

Caterpillar rider
We'll take a trip to the corners of space
I live above the devil man and his 3 close friends

Caterpillar rider
Your so said soul's going down the drain
And fun never seems to fill this head

It's time to wake up caterpillar rider
It's time to wake up caterpillar rider
It's time to wake up caterpillar rider

Caterpillar
Rider
Come ride with me

Caterpillar
Rider
Come fly with me

Time to go now
It's time to go now

The sky has fallen down
And the earth is trying to escape
I'm trying to breathe and feel at ease

I've got em on their feet
And I've set the kids on fire
Smokes and squalling
While I'm a balling

The zebra loses its stripes
And the monkey loses its legs

I'm losing my soul with spirits leaving
All will know in the forest of Eden

The people are coming round
Don't let the man bring you down
Harley Quinns and jokers pluck the bass chord
While lady love plays the harp

And the ring around her nose makes me wiggle
And her lady lover wings make my giggle

Everything will be fine
Will be fine

The toys in the attic go straight
But Lucifer makes his bed
Im a teething and feeling the grieving

But let me ask you this
Can you handle this?

Can you handle the fact
That they're always watching?

Sugar comes to me
She hands me a drink
She whispers to me it will be alright
Talks to me after day and night

The people are coming round
Don't let the man bring you down
And I'm, Im a grieving
While Eden, she's a screaming
And the cow is a mooing
While I
I'm a glueing

Dreaming
Screaming
Glueing
Mooing

Everything will be fine
Will be fine

A gravy baby shoeshine mgee
Why don't you schooch on over
Have some lemonade with me?
And when you're done melting in the sun
It means that the scatman's bell has been run

I'm in love with you, oh Sammy Sue
But I love your ladybugs too
And I love how your hair blows in the wind
When we float near the water on the lily pad

A gravy baby shoeshine mgee
I've been a lying to my momma
Since she pushed me out
And when she decided to take me back
I was a living in a ramshackle chicken shack

Oh come play with me, Tom Parakeet
I'll play your trumpet like you think it should be played
But you're still no match for the chief man
And his miraculous, incredible
Tribal band

A gravy baby shoeshine mgee
Your scary faces give me give me a shaking
And I know you have your eyes set on me
And I can do that when the cameras are looking

You know when the scatman's a coming
Cause you can hear his ooh bop shabam
And at the night you can hear tip toeing
But nobody knows it when they sleep in my bed

Purple Sally
Above your pony
It's giving me a feel of young love

Purple Sally
Above your pony
It's giving me a fountain of youth

Don't forget the puppy dog
Don't forget the blankets
Don't forget the jelly sandwiches

Purple Sally
I'll scrub your back and you watch mine
I'll draw you a sun and mist your moon

Don't forget to brush my hair
Don't forget to kiss my bruises
Don't forget to love your mare

Senior sun goes down
And Mr. Moon comes out
Illuminate the checkered board city
Of New York
2,3,4

Ooo, Purple Sally

Purple Sally
Above your pony
It's giving me a fountain of youth

Purple Sally
Above your pony
It's giving me a feel of young love

Don't forget the puppy dog
Don't forget the blankets
Don't forget the jelly sandwiches

Purple Sally
I was betting Frankie and I thought of you
Now we're waltzing 2 by 2
In a field of young love

Senior sun goes down
And Mr. Moon comes out
Illuminate the checkered board city
Of New York
2,3,4

Ooo, Purple Sally

Jump into a black hole
And see where you can find me
Beware my children
That the stars have a sign

Take a step outside
And let me smell your hair
Let me live on Maine
For a day and a year

The world keeps on turning
So make up your goddamn mind
Take a leap of faith
Into the abyss

Is this what they call sublime?
And peek out your window
And question what you say
I'm sorry Ms. Blue Jay
But we're all going to die

And look in front of the mirror
And look past your skin
Battle with the brainwashed man
That lives within

And please let me warn you of jazz someday
Cause they're gonna be playing triplets
With the gypsy in the sky

You kiss me past Tuesday
And I have to wonder why
Then I remember
That we're all going to die

Is this what they call sublime?

And I guess I had to ask
What the magnolias do for me
I dig one out the garden
But I didn't plant the seed

The seed grew into a flower
And the flower changed my mind
The mind changed the brainwashed man
That lives inside

Come
Come take my hand
We'll go to the stars
Take a trip around mars

Come
Come get in my car
We'll go to the moon
Like space raccoons

Come
Come walk with me
Walk close to my heart
Well you're already there
Take another step
And you're close to my kidneys

O Agnus Kin
She's coming round the bend
She looks a little older
But she loves the same

O Agnus Kin
She's coming round the bend
She looks a little familiar
But she loves the same

O she loves the same

O
You came into my dream last night
It had dogs and fluffy rainbows

O
You're a devil in the skies
Let me take off that mask
And see your eyes

O Agnus Kin
She's coming round the bend
She looks a little older
But she loves the same

O Agnus Kin
She's coming round the bend
She looks a little familiar
But she loves the same

O she loves the same

Come
Come take my hand
We'll go to the stars
Take a trip around mars

Come
Come get in my car
We'll go to the moon
We can nestle like spoons
We can nestle like spoons
Like spoons

Come
Come walk with me
Walk close to my heart
Well you're already there
Take another step
And you're close to my kidneys

O Agnus Kin
She's coming round the bend
She looks a little older
But she loves the same

O Agnus Kin
She's coming round the bend
She looks a little familiar
But she loves the same

O she loves the same

You don't wanna take my hand
That's alright with me
I'll ask again

Another day in July
Sweet July
Another day in July
July

Watching, watching
Look for something
Buzz, buzz
Crawling, crawling

Eyes, eyes
Everywhere I
Move your pie
Feeling fine

Paranoid
And you don't know why
Hear the music
Turn to cry

The question to the answer is
Why, why, why the Snine?
What, what, what is a Snine?

You tell me
It's 1,2,3
I don't give a shit

You tell me
That it's ABC
Shut up and give me another hit of that

Na na na na na na na

I don't give a damn about your
Ol' societies
It's all for the power
You can't control me

Hey baby
Why don't you come over
Oh, mamacita
It's nice to meet cha

Sitting here
With Cal and Jack
Watch out man
You got a gravy tank

Let me tell you
About the 1st man and woman
They made lines
To separate the people
They made race
To categorize the people
They made the country
And the cities and the states
And they made laws
And arrested my people
They made wars
And murdered my people
But people of the world
Is hope good enough?

So the people wanted comfort
So we burnt down the trees
And they wanted to get high
So they payed the pharmacies
And they wanted to feel full
So they hunted the elephants

And they wanted to feel power
So they made the dollar bill
And they wanted to go fast
So they kicked out the Indians

Share your earth
Lady liberty
Share the mountains
Share the valleys
Share the rivers that flow

Share your earth
Before it's too late
Share the mountains
Share the valleys
Share the rivers that flow

So the people were afraid
And we gave them guns
And the people were bored
So we gave them TV
And the people wanted more
So we gave them satellites

And the people wanted more
So we gave them skyscrapers
People of the world
Is hope good enough?

And the lives we created
Turned into walls
And the war we created
Turned into destruction

And the race we created
Turned into greed
And the laws we created
Turned into brick walls

And the skyscrapers we built
Came a crumbling down
And the men and women
Turned into robots
And the people I love
Turned into robots

And it doesn't seem
That there's much I can do about it
They're currently living as robots

Share your earth
Lady liberty
Share the mountains
Share the valleys
Share the rivers that flow

Share your earth
Before it's too late
Share the mountains
Share the valleys
Share the rivers that flow

Monkey sat by the sand
Having fun and enjoying the sun

But I killed that monkey
I burnt all his fur and cut off his tongue

The mammoth sat in the cave
Drawing cavemen and smoked up his lungs
I ripped out his horn and made love to the sun

I sat on the monkey
And it curled up and died
And I cremated the mammoth
As it took its last sigh

Was me with the snake in my hand
And I was alone and the snake ate the lamb
The snake took a bite outta me
I started to bleed and I gave a laugh

The snake was the serpent
And I was dying
The snake was a grinning
And I was crying

Ladies and gentlemen
Welcome

Can you dream to this
Can you
See
My reflection

If you stand next to me
You'll see
My complexion

Take a trip with me
Through this forest land
You'll find
The daisies

We can stay at home
I'm feeling 
Kinda lazy

The world is spinning
Over your sugary glaze
While the butterflies and ladybugs
Flutter on the stage

When the clouds and the pinwheels
And men on fire
Can you dream to this

Well I don't think you should talk about that
The magic eye is a looking for that
So close your lids and count to 10
While the world keeps spinning
All over again

Can you flip to this
Can you
Flip
Me a smile

I can see your lips
They go
For miles

The world is just shattered
Because its touched your skin
You've left the people wondering
Where you've been

You've come from space
Wearing human skin
They all thought you were gone

Pink is the softest colour
Don't ya know?
It flows in the river
And it flows in the snow

The lyrics don't have to make sense
Because it's the picture that is the best

Green is the colour of envy
A small stake planted in the grass

When we grow I wanted to be
What we can never ever be

All you Big Smoke's puffing green
The great green giant
Turns to brass

Green is the colour of envy
A small stake planted in the grass

When we grow I wanted to be
What we can never ever be

Orange is a warm laziness
Never to be taken

Like the song
Orange is a warm laziness
Never to be taken
Like the song

Like the song
Like the song
We all sing along

Like the song
Like the song
The earth beats along

Orange is a warm laziness
Never to be taken
Shut your eyes
Just like me

Orange is a warm laziness
Never to be taken
Like the song

Like the song
Like the song
We all sing along

Like the song
Like the song
The earth beats along

Joy

Joy
Joy to my bestest friend yellow
Is the happiness I felt when
All God's children
Built the Arcadia

Joy
Joy to the boys and the girls of the world
And I love the queens in between

Yellow is the extra elemental aspects
Of your life falling into place

Joy

Joy
Joy to the world I forever live in
For life don't end without
Joy and confusion
Need a place inside to call my home

Don't forget to invite me
Even if it's twice a week
God will take your momma
Let your momma love ya

Living in the sunlight
Loving in the moonlight
Having a wonderful time

La la la la
La la la la

Purple is the colour we wear
When we think we are the best
But the feeling of freezing to death
Alone and so high

And the furs on our backs
Are the finest of Egypt

Purple is the colour we wear
When we think we are the best

Red is the magic of invention
The honoree forces
Of nature, time and space

The moment is now
To the blackouts and migraines
The unexplainable

Don't be afraid
Like a simple illusion
To help you prepare
For the unescapable

Red is punishing eternal
Light streams down on my face
Red is punishing us now

So I'll be waiting
In the after dark
As the sun explodes around me

You don't have to be happy
All the time
You really don't need happy
For the rest of your life

It's okay to just
Sit and stare

Blue is the saddest of colours
A familiar feeling that we all know
We wear it like a blanket
Through the purgatory of our living

And the culture that the vastness
Of art, Neptune and human nature
Can never be won

This is the story of a grand jester
A grand jester indeed
But not just a jester, a jestress you see
Fallen, fallen, fallen

Into the big brimmed hat with the gibber jabber joints
Shrieking black cats
And noise complaints of the magical duo
With their all mighty graces rush into the big empty room

Bells and whistles strap to their lace
Just a whisk of his hand
He made thy fall

Into wonderland time only rushes by
As all the witches start to fly

Raiding town after town
Cockatrice shall strike you down
Makes you cry into your hands
Clowns and trenches of wonderland

Never slowing, always knowing
Grains of sand and scary friends
Babbling brook is not as far as it
Seems the fountain of youth is spewing out

Streams the crazy things they'll make you
Do as you burst and twist into a new

Stepping out into
The night as the grey ladies take their flight
As cosmos join together so
Do the hearts of the almighty friends

Stepping out into
The night as the grey ladies take their flight
As cosmos join together so only rushes by
As all the witches start to fly

We're all walking through
The hallways made of glass
The crumbling house of mirrors
Was never meant to least

Knick knack patty wacks
Costly shows and tripping up notes
Just like stilts
We lean and tilt the idea of

Dancing, prancing through town
Skipping our feet on the concrete ground
Hear us jingle jangle jolt
Embracing constant laughter of folk

We've never met and never will
Seeking out colors and thrills I want to
Spill out every little secret of the
Lore and crypt of the sailors ships

The kings and queens will let you down
They'll make you frown and kick off your crown
Hurdling down in a spiral motion

Down in the gutters
I know those creatures
Not like you and I
But goblin ghouls
Mummified mules

I'd like you to meet
Mister Kek-Buh, the magickian
The whimsical fool

I'll transition

The Ace of Chase
Give him space to create
Our thrilling escape to the wonder
Of musical salvation

Next, Nichaustin
Bass and all busts in
With the riff of centuries
Black and white
Paintings

Back to the bashing and clashes of drums and rumps
Izzy rambles and rouses through confounded from self

I be Cricket from the cuckoo
Fell from the north
Of the map willfully trapped
From zap of the magick spell
Of the jester jamboree
Living out dreams

Our patterns unseen
Crash out screams
Back and forth banter of the jester jamboree

As we roam
Back and forth banter
Of the jester jamboree
As we show

The back and forth banter
Of the jester jamboree
That we know
The back and forth banter of the jester jamboree
As we grow

In the end our minds saved our lives
And we never roamed alone

Know a guy whose always wearing
Spiffy little red shoes
Keeps them buffed up
Shinin' like a diamond ring

And all the people staring haven't heard the news
All the kids are wearing red shoes with red strings

Tap ya toe if you also wanna know
How to get in with the cool kids in red kicks
Tap ya toe if you outta be in the know
Of how to get your own little red tappy tip tips

Red shoes

Everybody get up and feel excited
Cause the red shoes are tappin' on your front porch
And all the friends are willfully invited
To sing with the tappin' of toes

Brought to you by the Jestamang republic
A secret service dedicated to saving the arts
We come to you wearing spiffy little tappity shoes
Now here's a little show for all your hearts

Red shoes

And we are all descendants of a time
When the sunshine helped us grow long ago
Shadows keep the hour as we recognize our power
Feeding the rain with the dance of life
To sustain the wired mind

Canopies of dark clouds in the sky reveal
The starlight guiding us back home
We are not alone

We have well built bodies and an exceptional perception
Carry us onto the next stage

What will I become when I go
Where it's taking me I don't know
When it's time that plays the role of birth
Time will take me back home

Time will take me back home

Beneath the umber oak tree
Hides a heart with a force so strong
I know this is where I belong

Swinging slow and gently
Watching cars on the overpass
These are the times I want to last

Dancing in the moonlight
Guiding towards the starlight
Grieving the ones we've lost

With arms outspread
Love will resurrect the dead

Time will take us home again

Time will take me back home
Time will take us home again
Time will take me back home
Time will take us home again

I feel fine
Just takes time
When I go back to my lovers place
Takes the sting out of the human race

I know I have time by my side
Makes me feel like I am good inside
Feels like there is no reason to hide
Time is on my side

Swirling with curly hair
Feeling so debonair
Dressed in my white tie and tails

Never a frown
When my Wren comes to town
Her laughter it never does fail

The evenings unique
Hiding under my sheets
My candlelight gives a warm glow

Combative bantering
Voices start stammering
Puts on a mighty fine show

The horses start racing
The bets that I'm facing
Hits about 10,000 quid

if Wren finds out
A new man will come round
And love her like I never did

O Wren my dear
How did I get here
The galleys got hold of me now

The barmaid cuts off
My gin and my scotch
So I'll take my last final bow

Pulling past me
Fading fastly
Exchanging glances
Trading places

Virginity squawk
Cock of the walk
Down in my lair
Life is unfair

The feeling is stained
But I do remain
The almighty hurricane Wren

Spell in the well
Raising a smell
My scalawag is
A going to hell

Lost all our money
But that's ok honey
He's gonna meet God
He's gonna meet God

Off to the races
The auctioneer is faceless
Drifting farther
Heat on the sun burning hotter

There is a way on the way
There is a way on the way
Streaming down from a great height
There is a way on the way

There is a way on the way
There is a way on the way
Stepping down from a great light
There is a way on the way

The wind and rain drag you through the mud
Like a broken bow shooting through your open soul
Carve another piece of a poems
Of old tied to your structured sound
Totem pole

Fly on my baby
Begone the strain
I found my fable
And rise again

Laid on the table
We won the game
Be strong and able
Reborn our fate

He's coming alive
He's coming alive

Oh risen plain we see through you again
A light above you shine
Oh the darkness below you pull
As it all must be and has been

We rose up high
Be your own mind
Speak the truth of the kind
Hearted and quiet

Make your way down the path, the path
Fall into yourself over and over again
We are the now and ongoing story show
Our lives are open gates

Entering
Receiving
Accepting
Perceiving
Immortalizing
Demolishing

Wake up I love you

Restoration (restore)
Vita fluat in me

Alchemistic (alchemy)
Creare ex nihilo

Mysticism (mystic)
Etherea captura

Illusionary (Illusion)
Caelum luminis

Alteration (alter)
Fiat alia nature

Enchant (enchant)
Perfundo magia

Conjuration (conjure)
Manifestare

Destruction (destroy)
Pyros furia wizard
Fiery fury wizard

Pyros furia wizard
Fiery fury wizard

Up above it coils on my neck
Licks my ear and asks
Where do you come from tongue
Why choke on a dying sun

It laughs and laughs and laughs
(Hahahahahahahah)

So I grab its neck and it coils around my arm
Within its eyes I see death
I see poison

It burns me
I writhe on the floor and it burns me more

So I rip its jaws open
And pierce its poison in my arm
Pyros furia wizard

I'm an awkward bird
From a different world
I got 99 scales
I got 100 tails

You know I'm not from here
So you try to stay clear
Ya know I'm not for fun
I got my dispositions

So when you see me comin'
I'll do anything I cannot seek you
Out tonight

You don't like me
I got a ugly family
My blood runs thick
Cause everybody makes me sick

I'm made out of trash
From my secret stash
Not your cup of tea
Gonna keep being me

So when you see me comin'
I don't care if you try to seek me
Out tonight

We're gonna fight
We're gonna get into a fight tonight

We're gonna fight
We're gonna get into a fight tonight

Gonna fight

Terrible frights lurking out in the night
I can't sleep so I might take a walk to the store
Grab a bite and you pull up full throttle
In your hot rod convertible out spills five bottles

Then your boots hit the pavement so quickly
Snakeskin looks so silky
With a mean mug expression
On your face so aggressive

Chiefing a smoke
Snuff it out on your coat
As you walk through the door
My heart hits the floor

Who is this
Bad boy
Who is this
Sad guy
Who is this
Troubled man

You take me for a spin and it spun like it never began
Where's my head, where's my mind
It all starts to unwind for you
How did you not see the red light you drove right through
The pavement so quickly

Snakeskin looked so silky
They attack me in the night
What a terrible sight

Your body rolls over with a smirk smoldered over
And it haunts me in the night
What a terrible fright

Who is this
Bad boy
Who is this
Sad guy
Who is this
Troubled man

Back at the house so very quiet so dim
Back to the place where it all started to begin again
Just me and the night
Bastard moon burning brightly

Off in my bedroom clutching pillows so tightly
How can I go on without that mean mug expression
Though I'm feeling lighter
Don't feel so much aggression

Maybe it was all a test
It all worked out for the best
Now that this man's at deaths door
I feel troubled no more

Who is this
Bad boy
Who is this
Sad guy
Who is this
Troubled man

Oh mah maverick pick still pickin' away
Oh mah candlestick still tickin' away
Oh mah matter mass still building today
Oh mah mandolin still pluckin' away

Oh mah shattered mirror still reflects okay
Oh mah mind has kept still creepin' away
Oh mah sun it shines it's burnin' away
Oh mah mattress broke I sleep through the day

Oh mah mah wheels reels rolls all the way
Oh mah mah moon is glown glowin' away
Oh my camera films used up thrown away
Oh my share is spent for packages a day

Oh mah mah mah mah mah

Stellar portraits of my mind
Cast a grey line of solitude
In sharing my existence
Of many lights like mine

Focus on mental bonds
And see me like a mother's eye
This place was meant for you and I

The membrane cries to synthesis
The growth of life
Seeds laid out upon the grass
And we are all united

By trembling buildings crumbles down
The pain we feel inside us
Bring us together
Stronger

Going in and out of lives
My energy will comprise
Spin in circles looking for the prize
But its just one whole collective mind

Then you start to recognize
Patterns holding truth and lies
Your with yourself but also many

Who am I
Who is this
If love is real
I'll plant a kiss

And watch our stars begin to shift
High above the stratosphere

Clear your mind and be kind
Nothing lasts forever
This life was made for you and I
And we can be much better

To the hearts within your past
The ones that sing and thinks and laughs

You are the universe
Hidden in a body

It's fine
They're burning me
I'm dying

From the castle
Bombs down
From the clouds

Cannonballs
Through the heir
Raging pilots
Lost in despair

Treasure of plenty
Treasures of scurfy

Feral disease
Rats taking over
Eating me at my feet

Feral disease
Eating me
Feral calm from the sea
Feral

Sweet and true
The river is flowing
Where are you

Uprooting souls
Sewing up holes
Finding the new and the now

The river bend knows
From the wishes below
Carry them out to sea
Rotten trees give way to seeds

Now I know why the river loves to cry
Just Like I
The you
And the we

I am the fox I holler
I am the moon I swallow
I am the lurking shadow
I am the knight of valor

I am the jack of diamonds
I am the queen of sorrow
I am the virtuosa
I am the deathly hollow

I am the unforbidden light
I strike you down with all my might
A sinless act from dawn to night

Kingdom calls down
Kingdom falls down
Kingdom calls down
Kingdom falls

I encroach the dark lit hallway
Terror follows close behind me
I'm shaking in my armor
But the truth pursues to blind me

Another step reveals a light
Amongst the warlocks candlelight

I'm zapped into another realm
From where I can't see I can't tell
Then I hear cells
Inside of the dungeon wells
The chimes of the iron bells
(Shivers my spine)

My time is coming quickly
The guards unlock thy chamber
I take a glance at the keys
Make haste instant with favor

I dodge my way through corridor
Palace steps lead to an open door

The crack of lightning strikes the edge
Towers gargoyle up on the ledge
As the dragon smiles at me

Bare his bloodstain teeth grinning
I draw my saber at thee

And I kill the beast
Strike through the heart of the beast
And you shall save us all

Princess is just ahead now
She'll grant me wish and lather
Gift me a plenty riches
And bestow a kiss of honor
We'll start a family as
The king and queen of condor

I go off onto a new land
As captain Alexander
The adventure never does end
Nor does the thrill of danger
Don't try to follow me as
I have a new quest awaiting

The village found its peace now
That the mighty tale is over
But don't you forget that
Crept in every corner
There is a glimpse of glitter
There is a force of nature

So long fairy tale readers
I wish you life ever last
Do the things you always longed for
And don't hold onto the past
You are your own feared hero
Take the quest and hold onto your steed

The quest goes on

Kingdom quest

Let those who love the lord
Arise...
Those who adore his glorious name

We can do nothing without the lord
How can we doubt thee lord
Our great God...

Oh unite me to thyself lord
With inseparable bonds
(Unite me to thyself lord)

Let me love with with the love
Like Jesus love For every lost soul
(Every lost soul)

If we weep at night lord
There'll be joy in the morning
Jesus let not sin find a place
In my heart

I need thee lord
Lord how I need thee

Let those who love the lord
Arise...
Those who adore his glorious name

We can do nothing without the lord
How can we doubt thee lord
Our great God...

Oh changeless God I have a wild heart
And I cannot stand before thee lord
Even though I love thy truth
And thy word

I have a wild heart
Lord take my stubborn will
And rest it lord until
I am totally thine

Gazing on the glories of thy grace
Flood my soul with true repentance lord

Dear God we long
To see thy face
Our love is strong
In thy saving grace

Jesus we long to see thy face
Our love is strong only in my grace

Jesus come and dwell within
My heart
Joyful are those lord who are
Devoted to thee

Oh grant me more lord of the
Resurrection of life
Oh lord let thy mercy follow me
While I live

While I live let me live for him
Born to die he saved you and I
From our sin

As I cross the threshold of this day
Watch over me lord
Guide, protect and sanctify
Incline my heart lord to thy precious word and way

Let others see Christ in me and not myself
Let others see Christ in me and not myself
Let my faith strive forth in the love of Christ

You said have faith
As I sank beneath the waves
You said only believe
While my little world washed away

This is how I pray
Knowing Jesus is my only hope
I say father not my will but thine

You said be strong
While the whole world was going wrong
You said rejoice in that day
It will not be long

Then you said come home
There's no reason to be alone
I said father not my will but thine

Why worry about the trouble
That may come into your life
Let us step out onto the water
Looking only up to him

He has promised to walk beside us
Every step of the way
Let our only anticipation be
Of his love

You said forgive
From the bottom of an empty heart
You said we should pray for your enemies
Help us lord

This is how I pray
Knowing Jesus is my only hope
I say father not my will but thine

Father not my will but thine
I say father not my will but thine

His love that makes
My willing feet
Its swift obedience move

Through floods and lanes
If Jesus leads
I'll follow where he goes

For we know not the terms to complain
Where Jesus comes, he comes to reign

Do good and know no fear
For so God in this land shalt dwell
And God a fool of light prepares
So shall your walk be close to God

Calm and serene your frame
The purer light shall mark the road
That leads you to the lamb
Upon his throne, the son of God

Though dark be the way
Since he is my guide
Tis mine to obey
And his to provide

The best obedience poses no questions
The love of Jesus answers them all
Answers them all

I'm looking harder for
A glimpse of God
I want to see him
As he is...

In this corrupted world
I'm searching for
A hint of his glory
Where I live

There is redemption
All around
We are God's children
God's children now
We are God's children now

I'm looking closer now
To see his face
To find a place deep down
Inside my heart

A place of rest and peace
Filled with his grace

I'm continually learning
Of his love

I see redemption
All around
We are God's children
God's children now
We are God's children now

I'm moving closer still
To Jesus Christ
Holding on tightly
To his promises

I'm standing stronger now
Upon his word
And he has heard my pleas
For his help

There is redemption
All around
We are God's children
God's children now
We are God's children now

I'm looking harder for
A glimpse of God
I want to see him
As he is...

In this corrupted world
I'm searching for
A hint of his glory
Where I live

He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most high
Shall abide under the shadow of the almighty

I will say of the lord my refuge my fortress
My God in him I will trust

Surely he shall deliver me
From the snare of the fowler
And from the noisome pestilence

He shall cover thee with his feathers
And under his wings shall thou trust
His truth shield and buckler

Thou shall not be afraid
For the terror by night
Nor the arrow that flies by day
Nor the pestilence that walketh in darkness
Nor the destruction that wasteth by noonday

1000 shall fall at thy side
10000 at thy right hand
It shall not come nigh thee

Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see
The reward of the wicked
Because thou hast made the lord my refuge
The most high thy habitation

There shall no evil befall thee
Neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling

For he shall give his angels charge over thee
To keep thee in all ways
They shall bear thee up in their hands

Lest thou dash thy foot against a stone
Thou shall tread upon the lion and adder
The young lion and dragon shalt thou trample under feet

Because he hath set his love upon me
Therefore I will deliver him
I will set him on high because he hath known my name
He shall call upon me and I will answer him

I will be with him in trouble I will deliver him
And honor him with long life
With long life will I satisfy him
And show him my salvation
My salvation

I'm leaning on Jesus
When problems are weighing me down
Turning to Jesus
When storm clouds are gathered all around

There is no limit
To the power of his name
All men are sinners
This is why Jesus came

I'm relying on Jesus
Not trying to make it on my own
I'm calling on Jesus
To walk with me all the way home

It's never to late
To access the power of his name
Why should we wait?
This is why Jesus came

Precious is the name
The blessed name of Jesus
Happy is the man
Who puts his trust in him

I'm standing with Jesus
Washed in the blood of the lamb
Abandoned to Jesus
In everything that I am

There is no limit
To the power of his name
All men are sinners
This is why Jesus came

Precious is the name
The blessed name of Jesus
Happy is the man
Who puts his trust in him

I'm singing to Jesus
He's bringing me endless harmonies
Clinging to Jesus
Fighting his battles on my knees

It's never too late
To access the power of his name
Why should we wait?
This is why Jesus came

Precious is the name
The blessed name of Jesus
Happy is the man
Who puts his trust in him

Never let the world break in
Fix a mighty gulf between
Keep me humble and unknown
Prized and loved by God alone

Rejoice in the day
And leap for joy
Because great is your reward
In Heaven

God has put his highest price
On humility of heart
It's a rare and Christian grace
It's a meek and lowly place

Rejoice in the day
And leap for joy
Because great is your reward
In Heaven

If ye abide in me
And my words abide in you
You shall ask what ye will
And it shall be done unto you
It shall be done unto you

Lord I cannot let thee go
Til thy blessing thou bestow
Do not turn away thy face
Mine's an urgent pressing case

Rejoice in the day
And leap for joy
Because great is your reward
In Heaven

In Heaven

Hello my children
And thank you all for being here with me
My 1st album
So sit back
And may God bless you all

If you feel that you don't belong anywhere
And your beliefs are yet to be found
Let me teach you of the spirit that is everywhere
And how in everywhere
Heaven can be found

1,2,3,4
You're the one to unlock the door
And spread the word of Jesus

And everyone that's cool will say
That you're a fool but that's okay
Cause you all know the truth about Jesus

5,6,7,8
And when you get to the pearly gate
You'll have the good luck to meet Jesus

Teachers will tell you that science is proven
But you have the faith, and you know how to use it
So tell this world about Jesus

Sinners beware
Cause Satan knocks
And all the places you haven't looked

So even if you've checked under your bed
Bed, he's still there in your heart and soul
Cause Jesus knows the truth

But he's dead for now
But while he's away, I know a thing or 2

And I'll show you how to meet Jesus
So come take my hand
And I'll show you what you need to know
So you can have the chance to meet Jesus

Who in here wants to get baptized?
It's easy, but your soul must want it bad
That must mean you want to get baptized
Because I think that you are listening

So what thought do you have to have
To make what you want to happen?
And trust that we have the words
So drink up from my cup

So who in here wants to get baptized?
It's easy, but you have to want it bad
The 1st step is to look into my eyes but you cannot see me
Then you'll have to listen to the sound of my voice
Because these words are the most important

We all know that it starts with a bell
For the baptism to work
For your mind to compel
Let the bell be the sign
For you to change

So on the count of 3
You'll hear the ding
And from that moment on
Eternal happiness begins

It comes on slowly
So let it take effect
Sit back and relax
We're in no hurry

1,2,3

And he shall smite thee
And the cherub will drink
From the highest of waters

Sisters
Brothers

I will tell you today
About an evil
That is taking
The Father
The Son
And the Holy Spirit

That evil is called
The Devil

Lucifer as you may know him
The light Bringeth the morning star
The truth he brings on the darkness
Where also Satan
And the outlaw

He calls to you
He calls to you everyday
From your radio
From your music television

From the teachers at your public school
He'll put you on the street
He'll beckon

You must know
Listen closely my child
You must not follow him
He'll persist

He's quite the crafty one

But you have an ally
In Jesus

Our good friend Jesus Christ
He will be there with you

To reach you
Reach him my child
Take his bloody hand

Alright
Well, we sure do like to get down here at the
Minnesota Committee of Jesus
And I'd just like to take this opportunity to
Introduce our wonderful group of holy rollers

Hi, I'm Linell, and I like birds
Hi, my name's Olive, and I love corn
I'm Vicky, and I like toast
I'm Ethan, and dinosaurs never existed
Hi, I'm Steven, ever heard of the color green?
Hi, I'm Ally, and I'm an autistic savant
Oh hi, I'm Taylor, and the sky isn't real
Hi, I'm Amber, and I've never eaten dirt

Hey guys, Nigel, shit

Haha, alright
Well I'd just wanna thank y'all for joining us
And let's get right on back to the music

Xavier was walking home from school
When something colorful caught his eye
Thin pages turning in the windy gutter

As he approached the pink plastic
And reached out to grab it
He saw the devil's clam in the air
And his tongue and eyes all grew hair

It's the anti masturbation song
And if you love God, then won't you sing along?
It's the anti masturbation song
And if you love God, then won't you sing along?

Shame is the game, so you better not be jerking off
God is always watching, so don't be wetting your socks

It's the anti masturbation song
And if you love God, then won't you sing along?

Johnny's friend gave him a CD
Music was horrid and seedy
Got to be indulgent and greedy

He whispered in his ears and his hands looked south
He was found dead
Foaming at the mouth

It's the anti masturbation song
And if you love God, then won't you sing along?
It's the anti masturbation song
And if you love God, then won't you sing along?

Shame is the game, so you better not be jerking off
God is always watching, so don't be wetting your socks

It's the anti masturbation song
And if you love God, then won't you sing along?

Sally had to tinkle when she was little
But she let the devil get the best of her
She put not 1, not 2, but 3 fingers inside
And was raped by Lucifer

It's the anti masturbation song
And if you love God, then won't you sing along?
It's the anti masturbation song
And if you love God, then won't you sing along?

Shame is the game, so you better not be jerking off
God is always watching, so don't be wetting your socks

It's the anti masturbation song
And if you love God, then won't you sing along?

Now remember kids
The daycare closes at 5PM
So your parents must pick you up by that time promptly
Cause the doors will be closed and locked
And you'll be forced to spend the night with me
We have so many activities planned

Now remember
It's never okay to touch yourself
But you should let Jesus touch you anyway

Father
What will happen when I die?

Well, my child
When you die
You will go to Heaven if you've been good
Or Hell if you've been bad

Well
Who decides if I've been good or bad?

Well, my child
God decides if you've been good or bad

Oh okay

But father
What if at the end of my life
That's all really a lie
And I wasted my 1 and only life fearing an empty sky?

Uh
Sweetheart
Please stick to the script

Farther along we'll know all about it
Farther along we'll understand why
Cheer up, my brothers, live in the sunshine
We'll understand it all by and by

Tempted and tried, we're oft made to wonder
How it could be thus all the day long
While there are others living about us
Never molested, though in the wrong

When we see Jesus, coming close
When he comes from, his holiness sky
We'll go and meet him, in that bright mansion
We'll understand it, oh bye bye

(Traditional)

Goodnight my children

Close your eyes my children
Have faith that this will all take place again tomorrow
Everything will be exactly as you left it
All waiting for you

So take a sip of water
Fluff your pillows
And drift off
Into a magical world

Goodnight
Goodnight to everyone
Everyone, everywhere
Goodnight

Goodnight

We’ll take them out today, ooh ooh what’d we say?
We’ll take them out today, ooh ooh what’d we say?
We’ll take them out today
Upon the Xmas Day
Gotta make our case 
Win the reindeer games

Goddamn hounds
They’re looking at us now
No sense of town
So we flip em upside down
Jestas know there’s 
Snowhere to go

(I dream of a white Xmas)

The Jestas in town have blown out the hounds
And all we gotta do is pick up the crown
A left hand lust, A right hand trust
The losers in town are dying on us

Goddamn hounds
They’re looking at us now
No sense of town
So we flip em upside down
Jestas know there’s 
Snowhere to go

I like it with lime
I like it with ice
I like it with french fries
I like it with Burger King

I like it with chicken tenders
I like it with pizza
I like it with Chuk o’ cheese
I like it with butterscotch

I like it with steak
I like it with lime
I like it with ice
I like it with french fries

I like it with Burger King
I like it with chicken tenders
I like it with pizza
I like it with Chuk o’ cheese

I like it with butterscotch
I like it with steak
I like it with lime
I like it with ice

Ho ho ho
Merry Xmas

It fell about a Christmas time, and a  _______________  time it was then 
When our good wife had some puddings _______________ in a pan
The wind it blew from North to South, and it _______________ onto the floor 
Said our good man to his good wife, get up and bar the door

My _______________ is in the mixing bowl as well that you can see 
It’s not been barred this hundred year; it’ll not be barred by me

They made a pact between themselves; they made it ______________ and sure:   
Who ere should speak the first word, should _______________ and bar the door!	     

By there came two gentlemen at twelve o’clock at night
There they saw the man and wife by their candlelight
Have we found a _______________ man’s house, or is it that you’re poor?
 But neither _____________ would speak a _____________ for barrin’ up the door

First they ___________ the white puddings, and then the_____________ the black
O and though the good wife _______________ a lot yet not a word she spak
Said one traveler to the other you can _______________ a knife
So, you shave off the old man’s _______________ and I will _______________ his wife

There’s no hot ______________ in the house, and what shall I do then?
Why don’t you use the _______________ that’s been boilin’ in the pan

Then up jumped our good man, and an _______________ man was he 
Why’d you ___________ my wife before my eyes and shave my ____________ with gravy?
Then up _______________ our good wife and _______________ around the floor
Admit it now, you’ve spoken first, get up and bar the door!

Admit it now, you’ve spoken first, get up and bar the door!

Paranoia in Washington, D.C. Riots in major cities protesting the Vietnam War, and an economy struggling to survive under the pressure. Children sit colorlessly in 4x4 classrooms across America, attentively listening to broadcasts on nuclear survival. Political parties elect Harry S. Truman, Dwight D. Eisenhower, and John F. Kennedy to smoother societal flames. This turmoil, alongside the overlapping threat of the Cold War, combines into a stew that personifies the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle.

The 1950s is known as the Decade of Conformity. Ironically, the counterculture movement is a major component of the dystopian era. The psychedelic drug LSD rapidly spreads across the West Coast, creating a variety of change from the rise of the San Francisco Acid Tests to the way journalism works today. The consumption of magic mushrooms skyrockets, and the propaganda surrounding marijuana is at its highest.

Communism and capitalism hold each other by the throat. The tug-of-war between these two ideologies result in a historic turning point in our world, the First and Second Red Scare. Joseph McCarthy sits at the helm, inspiring future playwrights Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee to produce Inherit the Wind.

Racism and sexism make their ways into politics. Gender roles tie into the era's perception of women. Jobs become available because of skin pigment. This aspect of American history inspires change in the feeble hearts and minds of the innocent. People speak of an end to this segregation, calling for a great leader to put out the fires of white people in blue uniforms.

In Montgomery, Rosa Parks refuses to give up her seat to a white man. This demonstration, with the involvement of the Women's Political Council and the Montgomery Improvement Association, leads to the desegregation of busses following the ruling of Browder V. Gayle.

In mental asylums, their patients experience the worst form of treatment possible. They struggle against the force of doctors in white shirts, against the relentless tides of electroshock and hydrotherapy. With no support from the outside world, these people are outcasts, thrown like dolls beneath the weight of a rapidly changing climate. In this time, homosexuality is still seen as a mental disorder, a fascinating glance into complete immorality.

In the Eastern world, American soldiers land on Vietnam for the first time. This involvement changes the way society views war. The country just barely survived the threats of two previous world wars, wars which were fought on honor, liberty, and bringing justice to the unjust Nazi Germany. This time, the war is about two ideologies: imperialism and American exceptionalism. Imperialism is the foreign drive behind this conflict whereas American exceptionalism is our homeland coping mechanism.

This era, no matter how vile or evil, still remains to be one of the most fascinating decades of American history. In this time, people begin to doubt God's existence en masse, a spectacle for the aura of today's pastors. However, amidst all this confusion, doubt, and betrayal, the event that brings down civilization doesn't come from these petty squallers in hindsight; it comes from us.

In this universe, America has the militaristic advantage, and the Vietcong become desperate. Generals conspire with Chinese doctors to create a disease capable enough to send the American imperialists back to their capitalist wasteland. The disease, Project Runway, takes time, money, and struggle to produce. Numerous deaths occur within this esoteric period, either from elite scientists blackmailing each other or betrayal from inner circle members releasing classified information to the public.

Back home, America grows suspicious of China. J. Edgar Hoover (founder of the FBI in 1935) sends agent Raleigh DeGeer Amyx to the country via airplane cargo hold. Once there, Amyx settles in Beijing, where scientists work around the clock on Project Runway. Here, he does whatever he can to uncover secrets. On October 31st, 1967, that opportunity unveils itself in the form of rouge Chinese hackers infiltrating government buildings with an aim to leak all classified documents to the public. Amyx steals whatever knowledge he can and escapes the country through its underground sewage system.

Eventually, he reaches Thailand (America's ally), where he boards a ship and returns home with information as valuable as gold. The government withholds the news from the public, in the fear of causing mass hysteria. The society is already on thin ice, and this leak could be the pick that breaks through the surface. Whistleblowers attempt to become martyrs, but firewalls, passwords, emails written in code, and Fort Knox-esque encryption software prevents hope. Foreign reports are on lockdown. In the battlefield, officers and soldiers lose the right to send letters back to their loved ones, and concurrently, victory gardens begin dwindling.

The Centers for Disease Control (CDC) and the World Health Organization (WHO), work together in an attempt to find a cure for the virus. However, the genetic data within the virus suggests its rapid tendency to mutate, making it difficult for the alchemists to create something from nothing.

During this time, Russia formulates her own plans for retaliation. Scientists develop an EMP capable to destroy an entire civilization. With these events bleeding into one another, the world becomes quiet in this uncertain time. The smart ones are able to realize the madness, and they abandon their homes for an unknown promised land. Some can't cope with the pressure, turning guns to their heads and pulling the trigger. Lone blasts echo through lifeless streets, ricocheting off the edges of a broken present. Others remain blissfully ignorant, disregarding the kaleidoscope of misinformation and misanthropy. The world engulfs itself in fog, a wave unlike any other. Who can we point the fingers at for this slow crumble?

The American Dream is a joke now. The terror and fear turn it into a nightmare. The end of the world doesn't come from a bomb, but from the slow degradation of our morality. Humans act like Gods, destroying and repairing at the snap of a finger and a few million dollars. The era becomes a funhouse mirror, dissolving into countless reflections with winding and morphing perspectives. How do we get back on our feet after this ends? How do we justify and live with the choices we make? What consequences can arise without contingency?

The following pages record the lives of prominent survivors, who aim to build something they perceive is worth striving for. But in this future, without laws, prisons, or rules, what good can come from these ashes? What bad can come from the fire? A man's greed is as sturdy as the foundations on which he built his selfishness, and in this situation, selfishness becomes a survival tactic. In this Era of Uncertainty, the only constant is devolution.

Eighteen-year-old Forrest Wayley wakes up in the middle of a night from a nightmare. He sits up against the headrest, pondering on the horrifying imagery. Don't worry, the voices tell him. You're back now. He climbs to his feet, dragging himself over to the mirror behind his TV. He looks deep into his own eyes, and he realizes this reflection is a lie, a shadow of his former self. A year ago he was destined to go to college like everyone else, to be successful. Now he has no dreams, no aspirations. All because of her. While examining himself, he misses the days where he didn't know if he was insane, because it was uncertain. He was dating this one girl, Monica, before they came, before they took all these plans set out for himself. He remembers how beautiful she was, and how different her eccentric personality was different from anyone else's. They were all scared, she wasn't. He can't help but to smile at his reflection, but pain and regret wipes it away.

He turns 'round and looks at the clock on the bedside table. Midnight. He represses all negative thoughts before falling back into bed. Pulling the sheets over his head, they begin chanting. You should've been better for her. You're nothing now. You were everything to her, and you treated her like shit. You deserve everything you're getting; you're not worth it.

What exactly is insanity? To define it, wouldn't you have to experience both sanity and its counterpart? If that's the case, what's sanity? Being controlled by a government that doesn't give a shit about its citizens anymore? Cameras constantly watching us in public places? Does is affliction really matter in the eyes of doctors at asylums, or is he just another lobotomy? Too many questions with too little time to answer.

He blankly looks up at the ceiling, worrying about how much time he has to experience life. Somewhere deep down, he knows something's calling him to change the system, to bring the world out of this dark age. However, the thing that's blocking him from doing so is the fact that that "something" could be just another voice wanting to screw him over. He doesn't know how much he believes in instinct; he's always in this state of cognitive dissonance due to his fracturing mind, making decisions harder. He closes his eyes, damning himself for reading too much about the machine and its tactics. He doesn't know what to make of the world anymore, going to sleep with the conclusion that everyone else is on the same boat as him, that he is the sanest among them all.

The next day, he goes to school, where he progresses throughout the day alone and unwanted. There's something he notices about the mindless crowds he walks through, something about him that has always been unnerving: they all act the same. Some talk about hanging out after school with their friends, others complain about how shitty the condition of the administration is without providing solutions, and the rest talk about their future plans for college. All of it is… unoriginal. And that upsets him. Look at you. Look at how they act. Do you feel any anxiety for not having a plan after high school? Do you feel the nervousness of the unknown closing in on you with every beat of your heart? Don't you want to be like them? No, he tells himself. I'm meant for something else. Something else? Like what? I don't know yet, but the world hasn't seen anything like it before. You're a madman! I know. The day progresses with similar thoughts disrupting his reality, and by the end of it he wants to kill himself because of how loud they get. He goes home thinking silence precedes introspective.

He lays in his bed that evening, his parents fighting outside his locked door. The fighting gets so bad that he sneaks out of his house to go to the frequented park across the street. Having a location in mind, he walks to the back of the park, progresses through the woods, and sits down in a small clearing. Reaching for a few crushed leaves, he wipes them aside to uncover a small wooden box in the ground. He opens the box, revealing a stash of illegal contraband: a jar with an ounce of grass, three tabs of LSD, and five capsules of Molly. He also has the following paraphernalia: two small pipes, one blue and one yellow, a grinder, and a lighter. Do you really want to do this again? Do you want to go deeper into something you won't recover from? Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, searching for any other option whatsoever, but to no avail. He grinds up a gram of grass and packs his blue bowl with it. After lighting the grass, he inhales, letting feelings of euphoria and peace flow through him. Only now do the voices quiet down; only now does he have some sense of sanity.

After a few more hits, he pulls out his phone, plugs in his headphones, and listens to 50s music. It's moments like this he admires, for in these moments he ponders on the human condition. How random and vague consciousness is. How do you even define something like consciousness? He used to ask a lot of questions about death and mortality, but then he realized that's what he shouldn't be asking about. Instead, he focuses on asking questions about life itself. That's when he comes to many queer ideologies: life is a game, consciousness survives death, and many others. But that doesn't satisfy his need for knowledge. Can one manipulate another person's consciousness? He figures yes, because that's exactly what the United States government did during Project MK-Ultra. CIA agents would give the vilest citizens tabs of acid so they would confess a vast range of truths, but what is it that defines truth? How can one with no authority decide what the truth is? The truth about what, exactly? Well, anything, really. The truth about God, the universe's creation, and so on. He needs to know these things, but it's not knowledge he's after; he's after control. With this knowledge, he wishes to manipulate people so they can do whatever they want for him.

He starts thinking about his parents. They used to be happy together, but now the days are filled with verbal and physical abuse, and sometimes it's directed at him. He remembers when his brother was in the house; he was their source of happiness. But after he went off to college, that's when it went downhill. They knew Forrest didn't want to go to college, and since they're egotistical, they don't approve of it. He ponders on his brother, Shannon, and how he's living in a mansion in California as a well-known actor. Forrest knows he's never going to be like him, and he doesn't care; he just wants to live in the moment. That's the only way you can enjoy life naturally; you focus on the present, nothing more. He wonders if this is true, but then he remembers that he doesn't have any authority in deciding what's true or false. He thinks about his father, and how much he does for the family whereas his mother does nothing; all she does, from his perspective, is sit on the armchair with a bottle of beer. She used to be more active, but now she's just a lump in the human collective consciousness. Forrest admittedly hates seeing her like this, but he knows he can't do anything. You can't fix another person's problems.

As the euphoria wears off, he looks down at the tabs of acid. He wants to take one now, but he knows he has to balance everything out if he wants to keep enjoying the highs. He thinks about how wonderful his first trip was a year ago, how life changing the psychedelic experience was. He remembers the waves, the colors, and how amazing music sounded. At the peak of Pink Floyd's Echoes, he felt like his ego dissolved into the lyrics. But his favorite part of the experience were the wavy letters. He remembers having an Out-Of-Body Experience, which is common on high doses of LSD. Everything was so clear to him when he was in that state of mind, and he wants to go back to that state of oneness. Only then did he forget all the trauma he went through; only then did he feel at home. The interesting thing about acid is that it's not addictive; he's just addicted to the trip itself.

He decides it would be wiser to leave the LSD for tomorrow, and instead he just smokes more weed. His political stance on the topic doesn't matter, all that matters is that he does it. That's the thing he doesn't understand about people. Why do they always want to get into another person's personal business? He hates how expendable those nosy types are, how they just waste their lives not doing anything. He knows he's contradicting himself every time he thinks about this, but he can't help but to imagine a world where this wasn't a case, where the power returns to the leader. In his world, the only thing his people would chase is mercy. His paranoid mind thinks of something creative: what if the people wanted to revolt against him? He smirks, realizing a simple solution to this problem: they couldn't revolt if they didn't know what a revolution was in the first place. All the knowledge would be for him.

With the euphoria still flooding through his mind, he starts thinking about society as a whole. He figures the government used to be genuine, around Washington's time, but somewhere along the line it turned into a business filled with corrupt, backstabbing stockholders and lobbyists. He thinks about how society got here, how we willingly let ourselves turn into this. Hell, the current President is nothing more than a puppet now. He wonders if anybody realizes they're being played. He figures they do, but laziness is a virus worth considering. But what if it isn't laziness? What if it's something more… collective? What if they're choosing blissful ignorance over critical thought? He realizes that this is the answer, and since that's the case, why are they choosing to be ignorant? Is the pain of reality that unbearable?

His anger hijacks his hypocrisy; he buries the wooden, drug-filled box and covers it with leaves. We both know this has to be done; it's the only way. His rational severed, he sneaks back into his house and takes a nap. That night, he wakes up from another nightmare, and after overcoming the anxiety, he sits upright in a delusional state. You have to do it; you have to kill them. Why, he wonders. They're my parents. They don't care about you. Okay. His heart racing, he climbs to his feet and sneaks into the kitchen. There, he tiptoes to the knife drawer and opens it. Looking down at the blades, the voices begin screaming at him; drawing a blade, they say seductively, That's right. We know you want to do this. Don't feel guilty about wanting it; it's only natural. He wraps his shaking hands around the blade's handle and walks nervously to his parents' bedroom. Gulping, his freehand reaches for the knob and twists it. He pushes the door open, revealing his parents sleeping in complete darkness. Stepping into the room, a surreal atmosphere surrounds him. Your mom is first. She's done the most damage to you. She deserves this. He goes over to the sleeping caretaker and presses the blade against her neck. DO IT, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! THERE WILL BE MORE OF US IF YOU D- With one quick swipe, he severs his mother's jugular. He doesn't feel fear once the blood starts to flow, only relief. I'm a sociopath, finally. He crosses over to his father and delivers fifty stab wounds to his stomach, a savage grin widening with every thrust. Afterwards, all the electricity in the neighborhood goes out. Ten minutes later, the entire country goes dark. An hour later, the outage consumes the rest of the globe, leaving humanity in the Stone Age.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Timothy Montgomery, former CEO of Flagstaff Tech, roams through an abandoned nation. The worst part about the apocalypse? The alienation. He hasn't talked to a soul in nine days, and it's tearing him up on the inside. Human beings are social creatures, and when you take away that aspect, the only thing you're left with is a chamber of self-evaluation, something Timothy hates the most. He looks down at his blood-covered machete, feeling good about himself because he hasn't used it on a human yet. Gazing ahead, a sign comes into view advertising Seattle. Although you should avoid cities at all costs, he has this feeling that tells him he should go. Why, though? Is this his subconscious trying to tell him he's suicidal? He pauses at the sign, feeling like someone's watching him. That's one thing you can't shake in this world. He examines the option cautiously. Where else can he go? Swallowing his fear, he presses onward. He passes dozens of burnt-out cars, each one containing a rotting corpse in its driver seat. He's gotten used to the smell, but the site is something that will forever be burnt into his memory. Before he investigates one of the cars for supplies, he pauses at the abrupt sound of a tin can rolling across the road behind him. Turning around, his heart drops upon seeing one of them. A vacant shell of something that was once human. It reaches for Timothy, cold groans escaping its mouth with every breath. The groans sometimes sound like the distant screams of its former human. Raising the machete, Timothy walks over to it and slices the bastard's head right open. Black gunk sprays everywhere, and the thing falls to the road, now with the fate of becoming fossilized.

Timothy has never been used to killing the infected. He thinks there's something in them that's still human. He doesn't know if this is a terrifying thought or a hopeful one, but nonetheless, he still feels irrational guilt because every dead one he's killed so far used to be doctors, lawyers, teachers, professors, and so on. He can't picture it, but that's the way it used to be. He sometimes even goes as far as to bury the infected in a respectful ritual, but sometimes there's so many that he doesn't have the time or energy. He doesn't know how many he's killed so far, but he figures the number is somewhere in the fifties at this point. Pausing at this realization, he bends over and vomits. The world can't be like this, he thinks. It used to be filled with prosperity, success, and it provided him with every basic human need. Being a former CEO, he tries to keep himself unbiased by also thinking about poverty and political issues, but he then remembers not to focus on those things because it's bound to keep him at a lower frequency.

He remembers the early days of the apocalypse. The overwhelming feelings of fear and confusion are still with him to this day, because they're the only things that have kept him alive. Has he met other survivors that protected him? Sure, but they're all dead now so it doesn't matter. He takes a brief pause. Has he really changed that much already? Has he become so depersonalized that he can't even respect the fallen? He keeps playing these mind games with himself for an hour; it's the only form of entertainment he has. By the time he reaches the outskirts of Seattle, he wants to rip his brain out. Thankfully, the city is quiet tonight; no dead ones aside from a few loners here and there. Every time he kills one, he sees himself in them. He sees how alone they are, and he wishes he could do something to get the image of their faces out of his head. He figures he should find shelter for the night, so he breaks into an abandoned pizzeria.

The inside looks like something from the 1980s; however, the smell and the state of disarray remind him he's still enduring a nightmare. He lays his machete down and sits in one of the tattered booths; the table breaks as soon as he puts his hands on it. Alone, tired, and hurt, he starts sobbing into his hands. Images of his parents dying flash in his mind. They were just… ripped apart right in front of him, and the infected left nothing behind. And then… there's his sister. His eight-year-old sister, Paula. They were outside of Cheyenne, Wyoming when it happened. It was just three days after their parents died. They were kidnapped and beaten by other survivors, and they killed Paula right in front of him; he was forced to watch. The night after that, the infected came through the kidnappers' camp and killed them all. That night made him lose his faith in God, because nobody should ever have to experience that kind of trauma. And even if God was real, why would something so "loving" create people like that?

Suddenly, he hears a cacophony of hellish groans coming from the road he just walked down. He crouches and moves over to the boarded up windows, looking through the cracks in the wood. Slowly, the infected ones begin shuffling into view, and they bring a foul stench with them. They fill up the entire width of the street shoulder-to-shoulder, as if they're an ancient Spartan army prepared to fight the Persians. He's so enchanted by this movement that he's hypnotized by its absurdity. Some of them crawl across the cracked asphalt because they don't have legs; others look so starved that they look like walking skeletons. The most frightening ones are those who have black ooze dripping out of their mouth. He doesn't know what causes it; it could be a symptom of the disease. Whilst examining the migrators, he spots a particular dead one in the middle of the ocean. It looks like it was flayed, because it drags the entirety of its skin as it stumbles down the road.

Gunshots light up the night, and he almost jumps out of his skin. He hears survivors shouting orders at each other in the distance, and he looks along the rooftops to see silhouettes firing off countless rounds. The loudness sends Timothy to the back of the pizzeria, fearing deafness. When they stop, he crawls back up to the window, but explosions make him freeze where he stands. Shit, he thinks. They're bombing the infected. Whoever these people are, they must be highly advanced if they have a protocol to defend themselves against a threat this large. Not only is damage being done, but it's also being controlled. However, this realization is quickly torn apart when a grenade lands right in front of the pizzeria's window. When it goes off, Timothy dives into the bathrooms at the back, runs into a stall, and locks the door behind him. He climbs on top of the toilet seat, knowing the infected must be flooding the place by now. Staring at the stall door in front of him, he protects his ears from the rest of the fight. A small group of the infected forms around the stall; they scratch and bite at the door, but they don't really know he's in there since he was quick with the retreat. He stays in this position for hours until the survivors outside start clearing out the surrounding buildings. Once they reach his pizzeria, they move into the bathrooms and stab the infected ones with cutlery.

The stall door opens, and Timothy's heart beats with hope upon seeing the survivors on the other side. They all wear black suits and carry military grade weapons, probably from the Vietnam War. Their presumable leader, a six-foot man built entirely of muscle, steps forward. He wears dense clothing to protect him from zombie bites. An eyepatch covers his left eye, and his body is covered in scars. He extends a hand out to Timothy, which he accepts, and the man pulls Timothy to his feet. They have nothing to say, partly because Timothy is too stunned by what just happened. At their feet are hundreds of dead corpses, all of which are spewing out pus, maggots, and an unimaginable odor hiding beneath a thin layer of gunpowder.

Finally, the man introduces himself. "My name is Alexander Rudolph; I am the leader of this team."

Timothy still doesn't know what to say. Not just that, but part of him doesn't even want to talk. He remembers the kidnappers and what they did to innocent Paula. If they invite him back to their camp, he needs to make the right decision.

Stammering, he asks, "Where… where are you guys camped at?"

Alex smiles. "We've got a thinker. We're camped out at the Space Needle. People either live inside or outside in tents. Several blocks of the city have been blocked off by sandbags and brick walls; we're secure, and we know what we're doing."

"What do you do for food?"

"We've got gardens growing around the tents."

"The bombs don't attract the infected?"

"When something like this happens, everyone in the camp stays quiet."

"How did you know about the horde? The Space Needle is pretty far."

"When you go up to the top of the Needle, you get an incredible view. The world stretches out for miles, and it's right beneath your feet. You feel like a king."

Timothy closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath. "Okay… I'll go with you."

Alex's smile grows wider. "I think you made the right choice. You're going to see a lot of changes."

Timothy feels like he made the right decision, too. However, he can't shake the feeling that he has also made the wrong choice. When a man or woman is thrown into a situation as traumatic as this one, they have to keep their guard up constantly. It's survival now, and although the human race has always survived catastrophes, this won't stop Timothy from being skeptical. Being skeptical is his only technique now, and he knows he'll be staying up late at night pondering on what might happen tomorrow. Will these people turn on him like they did with Paula? There's only one way to fully know, and that terrifies him.

Now outside the pizzeria, the squad surrounds the unarmed Timothy as they march over the charred remains of a once unstoppable force. Parts of the road are craters now, a deadly reminder of the dangers everyone faces. They remind Alexander of the bombs in the Vietnam War. How they just blew everyone into ashes. The worst part about this situation is that he doesn't even know if he's happy to be back home or not. Memories of old friends he lost during the war flash in his mind. He remembers the anguish and grief he felt every time he heard the news, and that's what made him take a stance against the war. However, he couldn't tell anyone this because if he did that would technically be treason and he would've been kicked out. When these thoughts kick in, he thinks about the Vietcong and wonders if they felt the same pain and anguish when their friends were killed. Who is the real enemy in a war? Everyone?

Timothy takes this moment in because of how surreal it is. A vast city completely abandoned with buildings collapsing everywhere. The souls of countless victims limping through the streets as if they're in an unbreakable trance. The stench that'll take lifetimes to get rid of. The burnt cars and negative vibes of death and chaos. To him, the end is still happening; it's always going to be an unimaginable scar in Earth's history.

Alexander abruptly stops, and the squad aims their rifles down the road. Alex gives them an order, and they advance forward and fire off a few shots. Another survivor gives them the all-clear, and they carry on.

Timothy asks uncomfortably, "How far away are we?"

"We're close; only a few more blocks."

"When did this place pop up?"

Alex, whispering, says, "A few days after the riots ended."

"It happened that fast?"

"Yeah. Almost as fast as the outbreak."

"Do you know how it happened?"

Although he does, Alex doesn't want to reveal any information to anybody; it's his own personal vow to keep it a secret. "We would prefer if you stay quiet. We're trying to be as discrete as we possibly can."

Under his breath, Timothy says, "Then stop firing guns."

The Space Needle finally comes into view, and a few blocks later they see the brick walls and sandbag blockades surrounding its base. Outside the defenses, guards patrol the nearby streets; they're only concerned with dispatching the infected. Alex leads them to a barred door, which is installed in one of the walls. He opens it and leads everyone inside, and he and Timothy separate from the rest of the squad.

From his perspective, Timothy figures Alex must've been telling the truth.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To Judas. Don't worry; she won't bite."

"What's she like?"

"She's crazy. In a good way. She had this planned out even before the outbreak. She saved me."

"Damn. Where does she stay?"

Alex points up to the Space Needle's Observational Deck. "There. She looks over all of us."

"I'm guessing the elevators don't work."

"Hey, it's leg day anyway. Get ready for an 832-step journey."

They enter the Observational Deck by noon, which is now a Victorian-styled, oriental relic. Plants hang around the walls, gothic bookshelves accentuate the atmosphere, and lit candles flicker across forgotten memories. Timothy approaches the glass windows, awestruck by the sheer magnitude of the disaster. Surrounding this entire complex is a desert of ruined skyscrapers and horde-filled streets. The true enemy in this new world is loneliness. He presses his hands on the glass, fixated by the mysterious aura. Is this place humanity's last hope? Turning 'round, Timothy sees a black-haired girl emerging from the fleeting darkness. She wears black clothing, and the circles under her eyes highlight her exhaustion. She extends her hand, and Timothy shakes it after introducing himself. Alex leaves them alone. She leads the CEO to her queen-sized bed. Kneeling, she pulls out a box of alcohol, almost as if she already knows that he knows who she is.

"Vodka or tequila?" she asks.

"Vodka."

"Atta boy."

She pulls out a bottle of the clear, harsh-smelling liquid and pushes the box back under her bed. She then leads him over to a small table and they take their seats. After pouring shot glasses, they have an enlightening conversation.

"People die here every day, and I'm supposed to control that frequency. I decide who gets let in, and who gets thrown out. Consider this an interview. Why should I let you join our community?"

"Because I want to live. Because I want safety and security. Because I will contribute in whatever way I can."

Timothy takes a shot. "Who gave you the power to decide if someone gets to live or die?"

"They did. I gave them what they wanted. I just didn't have a contingency plan for the amount of people dying."

"Are you asking me to help you?"

"No, but I will ask you this. What were you before the end?"

"A CEO. I owned a tech company that produced arcade games. I was also a stockholder."

"Good. That means you're good with numbers. I could use your help in rationing resources."

"So I get to stay?"

She takes another shot. "Yes. You can go back to Ground Level to pick out your tent."

He emerges from the tower that evening with sweat dripping down his face. Exhaustion leads him to the closest tent, and after pulling back its flap, he sees a lone teenager sitting on one of the bunks. The kid looks back at him, and they approach each other silently. The teen extends his hand, and he introduces himself as Forrest Wayley. He has matted hair and a growing beard. Behind him, a rucksack filled with miscellaneous supplies rests against his bottom bunk. The atmosphere around them is militaristic, setting the tone for their conversation.

"I… think you should know something about our leader," Forrest says nervously.

"What's that?"

"She's out to get us. She doesn't want us to live; she wants to rule us."

"How could you accuse her of something like that?"

"I've been thinking about this for the past few days, and it makes sense."

"Please, do tell."

"You saw how she interviews people. How she… decides who gets to live."

"It does seem apathetic."

"I've met people like her before the outbreak. All they want is to drain you of who you are. This place isn't going to last long under her control. The walls we have are only one layer thick, and we don't have enough fighters if another group attacks. I've telling her this, but she doesn't take well to criticism. She's stubborn because this plan was hers."

"Do you think you could do better?"

"Yes. I have my own plan, too. And it doesn't involve kicking out anybody who wants to join. That's heartless."

"Tell me."

"I see bigger walls. Farms. Government. Distribution of power. I see civilization. Judas is not a long-term thinker like I am. Don't you want safety and security?"

Admittedly, the fairytale dream sounds appealing to Timothy. His skepticism is still prominent, especially now since he sees Paula's smiling face. Wouldn't she want to live in a place like that? Where everyone's just looking out for each other? He thinks about what their relationship was like before the outbreak. How they would protest against the Vietnam War together. She didn't even know she was part of a historical movement. Ironically, everything's history now. The past, the present, the future, whatever those things meant… are now lost in time. And that terrifies Timothy. He can't get Paula out of his head, so he hangs his head and starts crying. One second she was right beside him, the next she was dead, and he blames himself for it. He could've done so much more for her.

Forrest walks away. "I'll talk to you more about this later."

Timothy shakes his head. "The guy can't take a hint."

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Echo Ramirez wakes up in her hometown of Castle Rock, Colorado. She gets out of bed and crosses over to her bedroom window, where she pulls back the curtains and smiles at the snowy, desolate world outside. To her, life is normal. Although she knows about the infected, she doesn't want to accept the world's end; she's unable to comprehend the reality of her situation, but she's been able to ignore the trauma by creating this fantasy world inside her mind where everyone's alive and happy. She has short hair and vaguely resembles Marilyn Monroe. She walks over to her parents' bedroom and knocks on the door. Opening it slightly, she sees the two corpses of suicide victims lying on the queen-sized mattress. They must be in deep sleep, she thinks. Going back to her room, she grabs a backpack from her closet, and a feeling of stress washes over her; she remembers she has to take a test today that she didn't study for. Deciding to skip the day, she throws her backpack back into the closet and sits on the bed. In her mind, cars drive by outside, people are going to work, and everything is normal. She hears a knock at the front door and opens it, slightly pissed that her parents didn't answer it. On the other side stands her old boyfriend, Max. Although he's already dead (he was killed right in front of her), her mind still creates these hallucinations of him because of how important he was to her.

"Max!" she says with a beaming smile. "What're you doing?"

"What do you mean?" he asks. "I'm picking you up for school." Behind him, his friends wait in an SUV. "You coming?"

"No, I'm too tired."

"Well, alright. I'll text you when I get there."

"Sounds like a plan."

She closes the door behind her, now having a free day. She thinks about going to Denver, but judging from the weather outside and the traffic she'll get in, she decides to stay home. She hears a knock on her door, and she calls for the person to come inside. Her dad walks in and sits next to her on the bed.

"You didn't go to school?" he asks.

"I can't. I have a test that I didn't study for."

He sighs. "You can't keep doing this; your grades are suffering."

She closes her eyes, guilty. "I can't stand it; I hate school." Opening her eyes, she sees nothing in front of her. He always disappears. "I think I'm going crazy."

Somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach, she knows she's lying to herself. She knows Max and her parents are dead, but she doesn't want to confront that. Self-isolation and antisocial behavior has led her to this point, and part of her wants to crawl out of the grave she's digging, but another part wants to keep living in this fantasy world. Being alone is better than being in a group. She has a boyfriend, but then again, she's had a lot of boyfriends… and they all left. All her life, she has been the odd one out. The one that everybody forgets, the one that nobody wants to hang out with. She trusts people, and then she loses them. Not anymore. She doesn't want to hurt because of that; she's tired of always falling in the same traps because society "needs her to". She looks out the window again, this time scowling. Fuck them. Fuck them for treating her differently because she has a different mindset. Fuck them for making her have to fight for her voice. Fuck them for not giving her a chance.

Feeling rage, she turns to meditation to calm her down. Taking deep breaths, she does her best to step back and observe her thoughts, but to no avail. How can I stop feeling like this, she asks. A large knot forms in her throat, and tears flow from her innocent eyes. Fragile and broken, like the atmosphere of something so perfect you can only describe it with words containing dark connotations. Her chest starts burning, and her stress pushes her outside, where she finally confronts the true nature of this vile world. Surrounding her, a land encased in mystery. She spins around, dazed by confusion and heartbreak. She looks behind her, seeing a rotten house where her vibrant one once stood. None of this makes any sense; she would get groceries from her parents, she hung out with friends, and she had a normal life. Has it just been her imagination this entire time? Staring west, a shadowy figure emerges from the snowfall, and when it comes into view, she vomits. Its entrails continuously spew out of its bottomless ribcage, black bile oozes out of the corners of its mouth, and its arms dangle from their sockets from stringy, dead flesh. What has this world become? The creature, frozen by the year's early winter, falls to its knees, succumbing to the harsh climate.

She remembers a psychology course she took in college. The professor was lecturing the class about the importance of social connection. When someone is alone for extended periods, the minds of some individuals create fantasy worlds to prevent them from becoming insane. Is she a victim to this foul theory?

Now having faced her worst fear, she figures she's a lunatic. Is it really her fault in a world like this? What if she comes across another survivor? She needs to defend herself somehow… with guns. She remembers an old police station her father used to work at. It's only a few blocks away; she'd be back in less than an hour. But what's really here for her? What does she have that she could return to? A tomb of memories? Ignoring this feeling, she begins her journey through this treacherous climate, defenseless. She knows she's screwed if she runs into another one of those things, for she has no idea how to kill one. Is there anyway she could remember fighting them off when she was in her fantasy world? As if the universe is a poet, she stumbles across another frozen creature half-buried in the snow. Its head has a bullet hole in its skull, and she quickly puts the pieces together. Head equals dead.

During her journey, the only thing she hears are the screams of countless victims; they're so loud that they block out her mind's voice. She imagines how many of those monsters are out there; she questions their origin and wonders if something biological happened in Vietnam. Images of her being grabbed at flash in her mind, and she feels their cold, cranky hands wrap around her limbs. Nothing feels real; it seems as if the universe is a wonderful, unimaginable broken mirror. How could the human race fall so fast? She remembers a story her father told her. He was involved in the hippie movement, and he would partake in political protests. He told her stories about how crazy the people became, about how… apathetic they were.

She reaches the police station, an ancient relic of the old world. Approaching the front doors, she pushes them open and shivers as she enters. She searches the quiet corridor until happening upon the army; the door is already open. Inside, a 12 gauge shotgun strapped in a sheath rests on the floor, surrounded by boxes of slugs. Retrieving the piece, distant memories of her mother taking her to the gun range flood her mind. Swallowing the knot in her throat, the girl retrieves the piece from the sheath and loads it. After cocking the gun, she hears footsteps from the corridor outside, and upon turning 'round, a man runs by the doorframe. Her heart pumping, she follows the man to the front doors, where he bursts outside. She follows him until they reach the darkened mouth of an endless tunnel. On the other side, nobody knows. She stops, letting him get away. No use in following him without a flashlight.

Returning to the police station, she finds a flashlight in the evidence room and flicks it on, and to her surprise, a beam of light flies through the bulb and illuminates the dark space. She goes back to the armory, straps the shotgun in the sheath, wears it across her back, and takes the boxes of ammo. She ponders on the way she found her parents. She wonders how long it'll take for them to dissolve completely, as if they're nothing.

Now at the tunnel, she flicks on the flashlight and waves the beam across the burnt-out cars. The arms of those frozen beasts reach for her from the insides of their metal caskets. They growl and hiss as she passes, provoking the highest proportions of fear. After hours of searching, she finds the weakened man in the cab of a firetruck. The flashlight reveals blood leaking from his wrists, and a backpack rests in the passenger seat.

"Were you attacked?" she asks.

The man shakes his head. "I just caught them on broken glass. I'm defenseless right now, and I didn't know if you were going to hurt me."

Feeling sorrow, she helps the man out of the truck. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'll admit, it's awfully nice finding someone. Who are you?"

"Echo Ramirez. Charmed. And you?"

"Merlin Monroe. Likewise. Would you like to be friends?"

"Yes. I'm alone, too."

"Good. Maybe you can accompany me on my journey to Seattle. My family lived there."

"You think they still do?"

"I'm hopeful. I miss them."

Echo weighs her options thoughtfully. Does she really have anything here? "Okay. I'll join you. I'm curious to see what's out there."

Merlin smiles. "I wouldn't have wanted it any other way."

"I have to get something from my house first. Follow me."

They reach the girl's house, and Echo stops Merlin.

She puts a hand on his shoulder. "Let me do this; stay out here."

He nods his head.

For the last time, Echo enters her house and opens the door to her parents' bedroom, seeing them for who they are: skeletons of suicide victims. No wonder she created a fantasy world. In a situation like this, you have to do anything you can to keep yourself from going insane. She approaches the two beings that used to care for her. Standing by her mother, the girl picks up a limp arm and takes off its aged wedding ring. She does the same with her father. After putting them on either ring finger, she leaves the nest behind forever.

Now officially on the road, she can't stop looking at the absolute desolation that surrounds her. Human life is now in the clutches of a demonic force governed by fear and hunger. Her fantasy world shielded her from this. It was a barricade, and she broke through to the other side. Even the strongest amongst us have breaking points. Now crying, she stops with Merlin.

He wraps his arms around her. "I'm here for you."

"My parents," she says quietly.

"I know. I lost mine, too."

After calming her down, he leads her by the hand into an unknown destiny mercilessly built on pure insanity. Neither of them are certain they will make it to Seattle. However, in the end, is anything certain in the first place?

Two days later, they happen upon a cemetery in western Colorado. Merlin leads her inside. Echo is hesitant at first, but follows him anyway. At this point, Echo has used the shotgun only six times on the infected. However, she's not afraid of using it on a living person. They end up at a grave marked Anne Monroe. Merlin bows a knee before the fallen mother, his leg getting cold from the snow.

"How?" Echo asks.

"She had pancreatic cancer. It was several years back, but I remember it like it was yesterday. I can't get that memory out of my head. We were all surrounding her in the hospital room, and she just closed her eyes. Everything that she was… vanished. I lost someone I cared about."

Echo chokes back tears. "Whatever happens, I hope we get the old world back. We just need someone that has our drive to do such a thing; someone that has power."

"You think there's hope?"

"We've survived worse."

Merlin climbs to his feet. "Then I believe in humanity, too."

They reach the outskirts of Seattle the following week. Both winter and mother nature infest the metropolis like a plague. A plague as incurable as it is destructive.

"How do you think those things came about?" Echo asks as they walk down an empty road.

"In Russia, during World War 2, the Soviets performed an experiment regarding the revival of organisms. They drained this dog of its blood, removed its head, and hooked it up to this… life support-esque machine. It changed the face of medical science as we know it, because the head began functioning as if it was still attached to the dog's body. It even responded to stimuli; its whiskers twitched when touched, and its head reacted to the sound of a hammer. Due to ethical concerns, nobody has performed such an experiment since. If they had this power 30 years ago, imagine what else we're kept in the dark about."

They spot the Space Needle, an obvious point of interest. However, they both agree to stick to the original plan.

"They live in a Brownstown apartment close by," he says.

Echo spots a small group of dead ones shuffling their way towards them. "We need shelter. I don't have enough ammo to fight them off."

Next to them, a strip mall encompasses a ruined courtyard. They enter one of the clothing stores, weak from the journey. Echo watches the group from the window while Merlin searches the store for supplies. Nothing but tattered clothes and learned hopelessness. As the infected ones pass the storefront, their gazes fixate on the complex architecture of the Needle, and they wonder if anybody's in there.

"We'll check," Merlin says reassuringly.

Echo shakes her head. "That's not what I'm concerned about."

Once they finally reach the desired Brownstone, Echo isn't surprised to see it burnt down. Merlin, however, is heartbroken. The people he loved are now ashes; he feels like the victim of a Holocaust survivor. He falls to his knees, reminiscing on old memories he shared with his parents. Standing behind him, Echo watches either end of the road for the infected. Merlin thinks about one Thanksgiving he had here. His brother showed up high, and it ruined everything for them. Coming from a Christian background, Merlin knew it was bound to happen eventually, but he shows his brother little pity, considering he spelt out his own doom. They didn't eat anything that year; they sent his brother to a rehab center, and he presumably died there shortly after the outbreak. He chokes on the knot in his throat, and he starts crying. He could've done something more to help, and he regrets not doing so.

Echo pulls him up to his feet. "It's okay; we have each other now."

Merlin sighs. "I just wish I spent more time with them."

"You will when you die."

"You think so?"

"Yes, because when you die, everything that makes you Merlin Monroe will die, too. Your ego. All of it disappears, and when you don't have an ego, you have everything. You become time, money, and all of this shit that made humanity grow and develop. You are energy. You also become the past, present, and the future, all in one. So technically, you really will be with them."

Merlin ponders on this philosophy. "So… there is no Heaven or Hell?"

"It's all a state of mind. Hell is metaphorical for our negative feelings, like depression, sadness, or anything else like that. Heaven is at the opposite end of the spectrum. Once you understand that, you learn to control your consciousness. Your mind is an instrument that you have to learn how to play. You control now, Merlin. When you control everything you used to be in the past, when you learn from it, and when you grow from it, you begin to gain control of the future."

"He who controls the past controls the future."

"Exactly."

"What about the other belief systems out there? Like Christianity?"

"Some religions only exist to pacify the masses. To make them docile."

"How do you know all of this?"

"I kept my parents' bodies in the house I was taking shelter in, and I created a fantasy world to cope with the trauma. When I became sane, I saw them for the first time in ages for what they actually are. Dead. I took their wedding rings to remember them, and I look down at them whenever I start thinking."

A horde of frozen infected approaches them from the distance, and they decide to start for the Space Needle. Echo aims her shotgun ahead of her as they walk towards the opposite end of the road, which is void of any threats. They take several detours before they reach the street leading to the Space Needle, and when they see the brick barricades and sandbags enclosing a small colony, their hearts beat with hopefulness. They reach the main entrance, a barred gateway, and they call for someone to open it. A scruffy-looking teen approaches them through the falling snow, and he opens it.

"Welcome to the Needle. My name is Forrest Wayley. I'll take you to our leader, Judas."

Smiling, they gladly enter the growing community. Everyone rests in their tents, shielding their lives from winter's fury. The teen leads them to the tower's entrance, and they head inside and climb the staircase. Once inside Judas' bedroom, the black-haired girl approaches them in a drunken stupor.

"Hey," she says, wobbling back and forth with every step.

"New refugees," Forrest says, disappointed in her alcoholism.

She goes over to a long wooden table and sits down in one of the chairs. "Come over here. Time to interview you." She pours herself a glass of Peach Schnapps and drinks it. "What? I don't bite. I'm your new fearless leader."

Hesitantly, they both oblige.

She asks, "Why should I let you two into this fine encampment?"

"Because we want freedom," Merlin says.

Echo chimes in. "And protection. Security. Safety."

Judas laughs. "We're chalk full of that. But that's not the real point of the question. What can you do to better this community?"

Echo and Merlin look at each other, stunned at their predicament.

"Well," Echo starts. "We'll take up whatever position you have for us."

Judas contemplates this. "Introduce yourselves to me."

They do.

Judas points at Merlin. "You are a member of our supply-running team." She points at Echo. "And you will be his partner. Understood?"

They agree.

"Good," she sighs. "You're free to live in one of the tents at the bottom from now on. You can rest easy. Food, water, and anything else are handed out at designated times."

"How can you tell the time?" Echo asks.

"The sun," Judas says, smiling. "Come on, get with the program. This is the Stone Age now."

Once at the bottom of the tower, Echo and Merlin reconvene in a FEMA tent, wherein a man with black, curly hair sits on a bed.

He stands up, extending a hand. "Timothy Montgomery."

After they greet each other, the two newcomers pick out a bed.

Timothy stands in the middle of the tent, waiting for their attention. "Just warning you guys, when Forrest gets back here, he's going to preach about his ideas. He's been doing that to every newcomer for the past five months. Sitting through it is practically initiation."

Merlin scoffs. "Wonder why he does that."

Timothy shrugs his shoulders. "He doesn't agree with anything Judas does."

"You know, I'm not very fond of her either," Echo says. "She seems like the type of person that drinks the pain away."

The curly-haired man nods his head. "She does. It's her only way of coping with the state of the world, and that's heartbreaking. Just imagine what she's seen."

Echo looks down at her wedding rings. "Yeah, I can't imagine it."

"Does she still… perform well?" Merlin asks.

Forrest abruptly enters the tent, his expression twisting with disgust. "She was drunk when she interviewed them," he says to Timothy. "Do you still think she's mature enough to lead?"

Timothy sighs. "Relax, buddy. There's nothing dangerous about alcohol… besides the fact that it destroys your liver and kills brain cells."

The boy scoffs. "How dense can someone be? Judas is a problem that we have to take care of. Other people are on my side, too."

Echo chuckles. "And what happens after you finally get rid of her?"

"We wake the others up to her… carelessness. It'll take her death for that, but it's worth it. After that, I'll lead this place into the future. I dream of bigger walls, farms, forms of security, and division of power. If we just take Judas out of the equation, we can have all of that."

Echo considers this, and oddly enough, her heart starts beating for him. The way he talks makes her want to learn more about him, his backstory, and his ideas. Meanwhile, Merlin tries ignoring him.

"Say we do this," she starts. "What comes right after?"

Forrest smiles. "We have a meeting, and we rebuild. Judas is just a rock in a road, a rock that we can weather down together."

The days pass normally in the colony. Everyone does their jobs, and Judas continues to struggle with alcoholism. Her morale takes a steady downward spiral, and everyone, including Timothy and Merlin, begins to agree with Forrest's ideas. Echo stays up some nights, pondering on if she should kill her, and she even steals a bottle of rat poison on a supply run. She currently hides it in her rucksack, and she thinks about it constantly. She tries putting herself in Judas' shoes. What if it was her that people were plotting to… remove from this reality? Does she do things that cause direct harm? No. But that's the grey area; she does it indirectly. Through Judas' carelessness, many people have died at the hands of the infected, an obvious, irreversible criticism. Echo's moral dilemma leads her to smoking cigarettes, but one night she has an enlightening conversation with Forrest.

They are wide-awake, unable to get to sleep. The voices are strong in Forrest's mind, and Echo's anxiety is now causing insomnia. Timothy and Merlin sleep soundly in their beds, provoking a somewhat peaceful atmosphere.

"We have to do it," Forrest says blankly.

"I've never killed anybody before. There was this one time I was about to kill Merlin, but that was self-defense. I always think about the reaction if we actually did it."

"Like I said, this choice is the gateway to what life should be."

"Are you sure you're not manipulating me?"

You always hurt the one you love the most. This is the only way. "This is the only way. I'm not manipulating you."

"Have you ever killed anybody?"

"Only those who deserve it."

"That's a vague criteria."

"Let me be more specific. I only kill people whom I identify as a threat. I killed my parents right before the power outage."

"So you're crazy."

"No, you have no idea the trauma I endured because of them. I try to justify who I murder to lessen the guilt."

"Do you feel that anymore?"

"No."

"So why try to justify it?"

"Because this time it's political. The colony is becoming weak, and I disapprove of it greatly. There has to be a proper distribution of power."

Echo remembers a history class she took in high school; the lecture was about Fidel Castro. He was a man from the mountains, and he motivated his people through charm and the way he spoke. Is there a connection between him and Forrest? Nonetheless, Forrest's hatred of Judas is visible to other members of the colony, which adds some weight to his words. Maybe he's right. She also thinks about her conversation with Merlin, and this leads her to a final decision.

"Can we do it tonight?" she asks. "I can't stand the turmoil."

Forrest, happy that he's successfully manipulated Echo, agrees. If he can do this, he can convince everyone. He climbs out of bed and looks into her eyes, feeling a spark of love for her. They put on dark clothing and Echo straps on her rucksack.

"I have rat poison," she says nervously.

Noticing her worry, he puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. "They'll think it was alcohol poisoning. They can't trace it back to you."

"I know. That won't stop me from feeling guilty, though."

"Echo, this has to happen if you want my ideas to prevail."

She knows he's right. They sneak out of the tent, quietly reach the tower, and enter the treacherous staircase. After climbing for an hour and a half, they reach Judas' bedroom, wherein they find the sleeping leader with empty glass bottles encompassing the bed. On the dining room table, a half-empty shot glass of Vodka.

Forrest starts for the bedroom's door. "I'll watch for guards."

Gulping, Echo unzips the rucksack and retrieves the poison. Before pouring it into the shot glass, she seriously considers if this is the right play. He's doing this for the greater good, she thinks. They deserve to know the truth about her. With the weight of the world on her shoulders, she pours a deadly amount into the glass and stirs it with a nearby spoon. Placing the spoon back on the table, she puts the rat poison back in her rucksack, straps it on, and sneaks outside.

"It's done," she says blankly.

Smiling, the maniac knows he's finally won.

30 YEARS LATER

Babylon is a citywide kingdom with fifty-foot stone walls encompassing it. Inside are four districts: the Market District, the Farmlands, the Industrial District, and the Housing District. In the Market District, people trade amongst each other in harmony. In the Farmlands, peasants tend to the crops, raise livestock, and store food in massive silos. In the Industrial District, workers produce consumer goods in steam-powered factories for the people. In the Housing District, the citizens live in wooden, stone apartment buildings with an incredible four blocks dedicated to the army in its center. Each district has its own designated leader. Alexander Rudolph leads the army and the Housing District. Timothy Montgomery keeps track of the Industrial District's power supply, workers, and managers. Russell Martinez keeps the peace in the Marketing District by reporting any suspicious persons to the Monarchy. Merlin Monroe takes reports of the monthly harvests in the Farmlands.

All information leads back to the Monarchy, and they do what they please with it. If they tell the truth, they tell the truth. If they lie, they lie; and if any of the District Leaders confront the Monarchy, they are disposed of. After all, the only rule in Babylon is to obey the Monarchy. All of this is necessary to keep the populous under control.

In the Observational Deck, which is now the Throne Room due to the massive golden throne against the back wall, Forrest and Echo sleep soundly in Judas' old bed. Forrest's hair has grown immensely, personifying his never-ending descent into insanity. He wears a purple robe, and his staff leans against the bed's headrest. Echo now has a prosthetic arm of Merlin's design because a bear tore it off a year ago. She has found immense love for the maniac, and they have been together all this time. She wears a red corset, and a thick layer of dirt and dried blood covers her body, just like the other 75,000 residents of the successful kingdom.

Forrest's idea continues to prevail, and it only adds to the power they and the District Leaders have; and as we head into this complex political age, one ominous belief looms over all Babylonians: Power is an illusion. If everyone wakes up to this, the Monarchy will be overthrown, resulting in a historical rebellion. Those in power do everything they can to prevent this from happening, and they accomplish this through rigorous propaganda, which the kingdom's printing press produces daily. If this idea doesn't exist in their world, nobody can conceptualize it, thus leaving the Monarchy in total control.

The schizophrenic king opens his eyes, the bags under them accentuating his sleeplessness. He gets out of bed and walks over to one of the windows overlooking the kingdom. Below them, a steam-powered society waking up from the depths of deep sleep. He gazes over the Gothic structures, unable to be more content with the success of his dream. Look at them. Look at how easily you can control them. Echo's practically wrapped around your finger, unable to suspect us. Keep it that way. You know what happens if you don't. As long as nobody questions whether or not there are other societies, we'll reign forever. At moments like this, Forrest is grateful for them depending on isolationism for their success. If the Babylonians ever find out of other societies, they'd leave the kingdom with hopes of finding freedom.

Behind him, Echo yawns as she wakes up from a dream.

"Good morning," she says calmly.

"Did you get any sleep?"

"You know the answer to that." He stretches his arms. "Come on, we've got a big day ahead of us."

"Ain't that the truth. We're still sticking to the original plan, right?"

"Yep. Like always. Although, the only addition is seeing Dante."

"Him? Why?"

"I feel like I have to apologize for the fight we had last week. He still hasn't talked to me."

"Just be nice. Remember Vietnam; is a fight really worth getting involved in?"

"No. You make me laugh; I'll see you at the table."

After finishing a breakfast of fresh produce and milk, they kiss each other before heading down the Needle's staircase. All this time, they both think about the night Judas was killed. They ponder on how confused, hopeless, and heartbroken the colonists looked. They remember standing up and preaching about her shortcomings; their promise about civilization still reverberates in the darkest neurons of their long-term memory. Forrest found a belief that night: the ends justify the means. That is how he gets away with everything now without the people standing in his way. When you use the bigger picture as an excuse for power, opportunities for what you can do with it become limitless.

Once outside the Needle, they part ways. Forrest travels through the kingdom's dense crowds; the scene looks like a festival from the 1200s. This time, however, the civilians look happy and the morning sun cakes Babylon in a hopeful atmosphere. His first stop is Alexander's house, and upon reaching it he knocks on the front door until the general answers. Alex invites him inside, and they take their seats in an oriental living room. Lining the walls are bookshelves full of titles from ancient battle strategists, including works from Sun Tzu. A crackling fire settles the mood for this unimportant report; Alexander retrieves a journal. Forrest takes it and flips through the worn pages.

The general nervously folds his arms. "As you can see, the horde attack last week took 100 people."

Closing the journal, the king says, "75,000. The population needs to stay at that number. We can cover this up."

"Okay… This doesn't feel right."

"Obey the Monarchy. Being exiled is the last thing any of us want."

"Fine. You're the index for all the accurate information, after all."

"Is there anything else you need to report?"

"Just the usual gang activity off 5th. They're like a rip-off of Public Enemy Number One; there's nothing to worry about with them."

"Do you have any leads as to who's ruling them?"

"Not yet. I'll get my guys to look into it, though."

"Good. We can't have that type of behavior within these walls. If you have to kill them, don't hesitate. You know how our gangs are."

"I know, but… Jesus, Forrest. They're still Babylonians."

"What makes them so special this time?"

"Nothing."

"Remember what I said earlier about obeying the Monarchy?"

"Yes."

"Listen to me. A threat's a threat. Period. Think about the children."

Alex sighs. "You're right. Safety comes first. Are we done?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then let me propose an idea."

"Go on."

"I want to go to California."

Forrest laughs. "That's out of the question; you need to be here."

"But… Forrest, do you know how much oil that state has?"

"It doesn't matter; we don't need it. We have steam. If we move over to oil, then we'd constantly have to worry about the supply."

"Not with how I'm planning on doing it."

"No. That's the final answer. I have to leave."

Now in the Industrial District, Forrest passes the impressive steam-powered factories. Although the levels of coal burning are immense, it's still a better choice than converting to oil because of how much of it they mine daily. He watches the workers through the arched windows, and they're busy doing God knows what. Making guns. Cans for food preservation. Armor for the military. This district is the kingdom's beating heart, and Forrest knows that if he loses Timothy's support, he'd kill him before the workers had a chance to start a coup. He approaches the largest Gothic building in the district, the Office Block, wherein Timothy (the CEO), and the managers keep reports of their files. When Forrest enters, all subjects in the lobby bow before the king. He ignores them as he reaches the Block's staircase, the only way to go up. This design is an inspiration of the Needle's construction, and the builders got it down to the exhaustion you feel when you climb the twenty-three floors to the Penthouse, where Timothy sits behind a polished, oaken desk. An enormous, aging tome sits on the tabletop, and when Forrest closes the door, he simultaneously opens the massive journal.

"Ready for the report?" he asks.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

The CEO skims through the torn papers. "Uh… From the mines, we extracted 20 pounds of iron ore, 30 pounds of nickel, 15 pounds of zinc and tin, one ton of aluminum, and countless carts of copper. The workers are continuously smelting them down."

"Excellent. What about gunpowder?"

"There's no shortage; I wouldn't worry about that."

"What's the black lung situation looking like?"

"It's not that bad anymore now that the miners wear masks. Less casualties has to mean we're doing something right. Has Ruth said anything about it?"

"No, I'm going to visit the hospital tomorrow after our meeting to discuss it with her. Staying positive is the key." He stands up and walks over to a mural that overlooks the kingdom. Smiling, he adds, "Echo's pregnant."

"What?" Timothy says, beaming with excitement. "How do you know?"

"Last week, before he went on a supply run, I asked Alexander to steal some pregnancy tests for us."

"Congratulations! Now we have a prince on the way… or a princess."

"Thank you. I'm worrying about her, though."

"Why?"

"She sees how sleepless I am, and she tries staying up with me, but I never let her. She doesn't understand that people cope with leadership in different ways." Leadership. That's what you're calling schizophrenia now. He whispers, "Shut up; I'm talking."

Timothy doesn't notice. "You should tell her that. Does anyone else know about the pregnancy?"

"No. I'm only telling you because I know you're smart enough to stay quiet about it."

"I will; you don't have to worry about it. Ruth's gotta know at some point, though."

"I'll tell her when the time comes."

With that being said, the king leaves Timothy to his work, feeling proud of his accomplishments. Out in the streets, he contemplates telling Echo that he has schizophrenia. Don't do it. It'll only get worse for you. Deep in his soul, he knows she deserves the truth. Suddenly his vision gets blurry, and his thoughts sound like an egg popping on a skillet. His mind turns into a burning film reel, and he heads into an alleyway, away from the crowds. He remembers a time when he was moments away from telling Echo, and the voices gave him insomnia because of it. That doesn't matter; he's tired of feeling like a hollow shell, mentally beaten to a pulp by the foundations of its creator. However, what happens next? Narcolepsy? He stops thinking about this, and he returns to a "normal" state of mind, not having anything else to do for the entire day unless there's an emergency. He heads back to the Throne Room, finding Echo with Alexander.

"Forrest," the general says. "I told her."

Echo intervenes. "Listen to him."

Forrest gives them the floor, and Alexander paces back and forth. "Supplies around this state are scarce; we're not getting anything useful anymore. We have to explore. California might be our solution to this problem, not just for oil, but for discovery. Imagine if we expanded Babylon across the entirety of the West Coast; we'd have an empire. Do you remember how you were when Judas was around? How you dreamt of a better society? How you believed in your idea so much that you're creating it right now? This is my idea. Let me create it."

Goosebumps crawl across Forrest's skin. "You got me there. Alright, I'll let you." He looks at Echo. "What do you think?"

"It's a good idea," she says. "It's the only way we'll be able to progress. The army's well-trained for any possible contingency, so I don't doubt Alexander's capabilities. I believe in him."

Forrest nods his head. "A consensus has been reached."

The general smiles. "I knew you'd come around. I'm planning on taking Barracks 1, 2, and 3, which isn't even half of the army."

"Who's going to lead the others?" Echo asks.

"I'll appoint someone as the temporary leader while I'm away."

When he leaves, the king, looking towards where Alex left, mumbles, "It's not that. I've… kept something from you. It's haunting me." Don't do it, you fucking cunt! We'll invade your dreams until you die, and we'll talk nonstop. You can't hide from us. "I… have insomnia. That's why I stay up constantly." Good. You're not as dumb as we thought you were.

She stands quietly. "I suppose I have something to tell you, too."

He focuses on her voice, and this helps him ignore the voices. "Go on."

"I went insane shortly after the apocalypse. I… created my own world, and I enjoyed it. I don't know how I didn't die; I would hallucinate everyone I loved. I came out of it before I met Merlin, but even after that… I was different. He led me to a cemetery, and I had thoughts of killing him. That's when I knew shit had to change; that's why I supported your idea."

"So… we both have a screw loose."

"I guess so."

The king sits down at the end of the bed. "I don't know why I didn't tell you before. I'm sorry."

"It's okay; this is sensitive shit." She sits next to him, puts an arm around his shoulder, and kisses him. "We rule together."

Smiling, he asks, "Did you finish your job?"

"No, I'm going to see Merlin now. I'll be back before people start going to those Communal Diners."

"Thanks for reminding me of how hungry I am."

Now in the Farmlands, Echo approaches a small, wooden schoolhouse that has an arched roof, and the bell on it dings as the wind blows through the fields of crops and orchards. She opens the front doors, spotting Merlin standing in the middle of the empty building. Along the walls are black and white posters advertising the Monarchy.

"Hello, Merlin," she says, grinning.

"Ms. Ramirez! Like clockwork."

"How was your class today?"

"Good. They really like my chemistry lectures."

"That's fantastic. The smarter they are the more valuable they'll become."

"Yeah. When's the next meeting?"

"Tomorrow. Between you and me, I'm not fond of the subject."

"And that is?"

"Public execution."

Merlin shudders. "Are we really making killing machines an issue?"

"Forrest says it'll send a message."

"A message? What kind of message? That the Monarchy's oppressive?"

"I'm trying to make him see reason."

"Good luck with that. I'm beginning to question him."

"I'll keep that a secret, but if he finds out, he'll associate you with gangs and throw you in the Dungeons."

"It's kinda weird… how we're turning the term 'rebel' into 'gang'."

"It's how he keeps the masses in line. If you associate negative connotations to something, people will stay away from it if it means keeping them safe. It's some type of aversion thing in psychology."

"Damn. I wonder why our journalists don't put that in the newspaper."

"This is for the greater good. Do you remember when we went to the cemetery? We were envisioning a better world, and Forrest is the vessel for that. He gave us the inspiration we needed."

He ponders on this. "Sometimes I feel like he uses me."

"Why?"

"Look around you. I've built most of this city. All the plazas, the arcades, the houses, and the walls are of my design. Hell, even your arm is. I get no credit for it. Here's what's going to happen tomorrow: he'll do his introduction, and then somehow it'll turn into him wanting me to design something that'll harm people. I'm not sure if I'm ready to face that."

"I know you're in a tough spot, but look at what we have. Despite it all, we're still fortunate for accomplishing this."

"I don't know. Maybe I was wrong for joining the colony."

"You weren't. You have no idea how much you helped me during that time."

Merlin smiles. "This is why I like being your friend. You're my only source of sanity in this world."

"The world isn't insane… we are. We will never learn from our mistakes because of our arrogance and greed. That's what got us here."

"So what do you think can get us out of this cycle?"

"Selflessness."

"That's not going to happen."

"Look around you, Merlin. The Monarchy gave you a place to feel safe and secure. We didn't have to do that; we felt like it was our obligation. What's got you in the dumps?"

"I just… feel trapped here. I've built places for families to live, yet I still feel this isolation that I can't explain. Sometimes I feel it right before bed, and that's when it reaches its peak. It just… feels like everyone's at a distance."

"You've just gotta change your perception."

"On what?"

"On everything. The Monarchy, the District leaders, the apocalypse itself. Forrest helped me see it as an opportunity for change. Maybe I can help you see it that way, too."

He walks towards the doors. "I've gotta go to the Market District. Care to join me?"

"I will. I have to get the report from Russell anyway."

"He's not there. He's in the hospital because he got some kind of flu. Ruth's looking after him."

"Who's in his place?"

"Jeremy, but he won't be at the meeting tomorrow. He doesn't feel like he's that important."

Just before dinner, the king finally arrives at Dante's house, his last destination. Knocking softly, the monarch asks if there's anybody home. The door clicks open, revealing a man with a mask of rags covering the face. Eyeholes and a mouth hole are cut into the fabric, but no skin can be seen, as if the poor fellow knows a personal sewer.

"Can I come in?" the ruler quietly asks.

"Go ahead." After the majesty steps in, Dante closes the door. "I know what you're here for. I just want to say that I'm sorry, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it was wrong for me to bring it up. I just… thought I was good enough for the inner circle."

"You are good enough; we just don't have the need for anymore people."

"What about Russell? He's barely doing anything; hell, Merlin prefers Timothy over him."

"Dante, don't start it up again. Now, have you seen any gang activity?"

Grunting, he responds with, "Nothing noteworthy."

"Good. Do you want to come with me to dinner?"

"No, I have to catch up on some reading. Thanks for the offer, though."

Smiling, the majesty says, "I'm sorry for being such a goddamn asshole. Trust me, I notice the value of your work."

Dante gestures towards the door. "Go on, your wife needs you."

After she talks to Jeremy, Echo returns to the Needle to get ready for dinner. Although there's a division of labor, it still takes them all day to walk from one place to the next, because that's the sheer magnitude of Babylon. When she climbs all the way up to the Throne Room, she finds Forrest cooking dumplings in the kitchen. The smell is reminiscent of a Chinese café.

"Well, this is interesting," she says, chuckling.

He laughs. "Shut up."

"What are you cookin' Chef Wayley?"

"It's for one of the Communal Diners; they're huge fans of my dumplings. How could I not help out?"

"See? You can be nice. No more self-hatred."

"Stop. It's almost done. Do you need anything before we leave?"

"Just a water bottle. I can't wait to hike all the fucking way back down."

They begin their descent, the evening life of Babylon beginning its cycle below them. Crowds are dwindling down, musicians play on street corners, and the freaks of the kingdom perform circus acts for the curious. Babylonians in the Housing District hang their pennants from their windows, signaling a peaceful day. This stage of the daily rhythm is the most interesting one, because it's almost as if they are in tune with the ominous vibes of twilight. Now is when everyone starts thinking about their past because they have leisure time, and this has a ripple effect on their attitudes as the day continues.

The Monarchy enters a Communal Diner, whereupon its occupants hail them. Once everyone settles down, Forrest puts his dumplings with the rest of the buffet, and everyone lines up for them. The Monarchy get their food and sit at an empty table.

Echo takes their minds off the queer scenario. "Is your opinion on morals changing?"

"No. It's still the same. This is about the meeting tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Public execution? Do you really think that's the right play?"

"We need to show people we're serious about crime."

"Crime prevention is more important than humanitarian prevention."

"How is public execution not a display of crime prevention? Jesus, Echo."

"I'm just saying there're other options here."

"Obey the Monarchy."

"I am the Monarchy. Don't say that shit to me."

"You're right, I was wrong. I'm sorry."

She lets out a dreadful sigh. "Who would do it?"

"I don't know; we'll figure it out tomorrow."

"If we even approve it."

Returning to the Throne Room with full bellies, Forrest notices that for the first time in years, the voices are finally quieting down. However, he takes it as a bad omen, for he knows their only nature is evil. When a man loses control of his sanity, he can't afford to let his guard down, for if he does, it might give way to the other ailments of our collective unconscious. According to Swiss psychiatrist Carl Gustave Jung, we all collectively share unconscious archetypes: the mother, the father, the wise old man, the clown/joker, and other figures of that nature. What Forrest understands is that the voices combine those archetypes in an indescribable way, making him all in one and none at all simultaneously.

Waking up, Echo feels anxious about the meeting. While Forrest gets ready, he notices her acting slow, encourages her to get up by ripping the covers off, thus provoking a groan from the queen. She reluctantly dons her red corset as Forrest grabs his staff, and they leave, holding hands.

They approach Babylon's most creative structure: the Clock Tower, an automatic mechanism powered by steam (of Merlin's design.) Big Ben is the main inspiration behind its aesthetic; other features from Gothic buildings in the kingdom blend into the integrity perfectly.

They enter the building and approach a set of spruce doors within the backmost wall; above their heads are gears, wiring, and other complex creations that make the ticking hands move. Opening the doors, they proceed into a small chamber with the District Leaders sitting at a round table. Windows line the outer walls, allowing the light to create a heavenly atmosphere. The Monarchy take their seats, and the meeting begins.

The king stands up. "This gathering will cover the issue of public execution. We will discuss whether we should implement it into our society. You may now express your opinions."

Echo remains quiet, for Forrest already knows what she thinks.

Merlin is the bravest among them to start things off. "Where are the ethics?"

"It's not a matter of ethics," Alex assures. "It's a solution. The Dungeons are rapidly reaching their capacity, and we need to control the daily influx somehow."

Merlin appears forlorn. "How would we do it?"

The king sternly suggests, "Guillotine. Quick, easy, and powerful. All we need is someone to build it."

Scornful, Merlin responds with, "You only want me here so you can force me to make one?"

Timothy chimes in. "You're not thinking about the bigger picture. You'd be protecting families and children."

A knot forms in Merlin's throat. "I've built this kingdom so people could be safe… I didn't expect to build killing machines."

This bolsters Forrest's sternness. "You are not building 'killing machines'. Do you know what those criminals have done and are still doing?"

Merlin leans back in his seat, scoffing. "Obey the Monarchy."

Bullets suddenly fly through the windows, and everyone falls to the floor. A casing grazes Timothy's cheek, but he survives. They barricade their heads with their hands, covering themselves from falling glass. Shards scratch their backs, but nobody is severely injured. The surprise attack quickly ends, but everyone remains on the floor, fear keeping them there. Taking one for the team, Merlin stands up and approaches a broken window. All the nearby streets are empty, so he exits the meeting room and opens the Clock Tower's front doors, revealing Dante, Forrest's old best friend, standing on the other side. At the site of his bolt-action sniper rifle, he punches the mercenary in the jaw, knowing the true purpose of public execution. Whatever Forrest does now, he fully supports. In the meeting room, Echo has similar thoughts. Long live the king.

Next morning, Dante wakes up in Babylon's cruelest location: the Dungeons. Woeful cries from other inmates leave the burnt man wondering what's provoking them. Could starving rats be eating them alive? Is somebody torturing these criminals? He tries moving, but the chains around his wrists and ankles prevent him from doing so.

It was part of the plan, becoming a scapegoat. However, the agreement came from a sickly curious part of his skepticism. He plans to survive this so he can tell his "gang" about their heinous treatment of prisoners, and when it gets out, it will spark a coup. No civilian has access here because this is hell on earth. His heart drops when his cell door opens, and it drops even further upon Echo's entry. A cold draft floats through the room as she shuts the door. Genuflecting before him, the silence gets so intense that neither can breathe. She looks into his eyes without empathy, and that stare embeds itself in his memory, for the only thing he sees is the last circle of Hell. The mask is off; the Monarchy just plays roles. Shakespeare once said that all the world's a stage, and this moment personifies that truth. His heart rate increases, and the lack of ventilation causes him to sweat; the air feels as if you're in a rotting log cabin in the swamps of Louisiana.

Echo finally speaks. "We know you weren't alone."

Dante stammers. "Think… what you will, but… you know… nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"You think you've got it all figured out. The newspapers, the so-called gangs, the faux presentation of the Monarchy. I know the truth. This is an oligarchy. You're just as transparent as the leaders of the old world."

Echo scoffs. "Do I care? I'm only here to protect my interests, to keep people like you off the streets. Now, tell me who you're working for."

Dante starts laughing maniacally. "Too many to name, and they're dying with me. You can torture me, deprive me of food, or bury me alive. I still won't talk."

After this, Echo leaves the cell and returns to the Throne Room, finding Forrest staring out the window. She tells him about her meeting, and he leaves, knowing what has to be done.

His first stop is Alexander's house, wherein he tells the general to put the California trip on hold. Following this, he heads to the Farmlands and eventually reaches Merlin's schoolhouse. He knocks on them, and the teacher comes out, appearing pale from yesterday's events. They start talking on the porch.

The king states grimly, "I'm going to need your help."

"With what?"

"I need you to make LSD."

"Lysergic-acid diethylamide?"

"Yes. You're the only person with a chemistry background in the kingdom. If you do this for me, I will honor you for everything; I'll build a statue, I'll make Timothy stop hating you, and I'll wipe away all of your guilt."

"No. What happened yesterday got me on your side, but I still think you're using m-"

"If you agree, I will grant you access to leave the kingdom. I will also allow you to create what you want without permission. On top of that, you're free to speak your mind and will not be considered a gangster. You've done so much to help, and this is me giving you… credit."

He stands silently, weighing his options. What outcomes could arise from either scenario? He closes his eyes and nods his head, becoming a hypocrite to his own beliefs. "I need at least three or four weeks to make it."

"What? Why?"

"I need a hazmat suit, ergot fungus from bad rye, and other things. This process takes time, Forrest. Time we don't have."

The king looks up towards the sky, allowing the sun to warm him. "Alright. After this thing is done, those privileges will be yours."

Forrest's next stop is the Hospital, a Gothic piece of architecture resembling the Waverly Hills Sanatorium. Its aesthetics come from the 1940s, a time when mental illness and regular sickness was taken as a joke. Pillars line the outer walls, and corbels jut out from the woodwork. Here, doctors perform queer practices, such as lobotomies, hydrotherapy, and harvesting useful herbs from plants. However, the lack of sterilization allows diseases to breed amongst ignorant patients; once you're inside, you're lucky to make it out. Although the kingdom has a medicine factory, an outbreak of any kind would ruin the Hospital, for medical supplies are the most difficult to manufacture.

The king approaches a receptionist's desk, and behind it stands a blonde woman wearing her hair in a ponytail. Anxiety prevents her from speaking. "Are… are you wanting Ruth?"

"Rachel, how many times do I have to say this? You don't have to be nervous around me."

"I can't… help it. It feels like I'm… talking to a God."

His ego grows with every word. "Thank you; I hope you know I try. The effort's worth it, but yes, I am looking for Ruth. Have you seen her?"

Rachel laughs nervously. "She's in Building B. I'd page her, but I obviously can't."

"We'll get there one day."

The king enters a massive corridor that spans off the left side of the lobby, and the voices speak to him as he passes the patient's rooms. Do you notice how big Echo's stomach is getting? Your baby is about to be born, and she's going to be born under these conditions. She's not going to live past a week! And how many people are dying here right now? If you step into one of these rooms, you might as well sign your life away, not that it was worth anything to begin with. For a split second, he sees his father, Sharron Wayley, standing in one of the doorframes. The father looks back, only to reveal an empty face. Feeling lost, the monarch strolls until he finds Ruth exiting one of the rooms. Upon seeing Forrest, she manifests a grave look.

Concerned, he asks, "What is it?"

"We think there's a Black Death outbreak in Building A. I'll show you."

She leads him into a darker part of the Hospital. Less candles line the walls, an ominous vibe resulting from this. To Forrest, this is just a place where people go to be sick, not to get actual help. Ruth walks up to one of the patient's doors, opens it slightly, and lets Forrest look inside. He analyzes beds with convulsing Babylonians on top of them; black spots, blisters, and rashes cover their skin, and they're practically sweating through their sheets.

Lost in thought, she says, "Lucas' medicine factory won't be able to help with this. We've never had to deal with an outbreak before, and we don't have the supplies necessary to cure these people. If this gets worse… who knows what might happen."

The king exits the space quickly. "I know what to do."

Arriving at the commander's house, Forrest meets him in the living room.

"There's another situation popping up," the messiah explains. "It's putting me in a position where I have no choice but to send you to California. On your way there, you must look for medicine, enough for Lucas to work with."

"If you insist," Alex states. "I'll appoint my friend Heather as the temporary commander. I trust her with everything I know; I've been training her in case of something like this happening."

Forrest scoffs. "You knew I'd give in, didn't you?"

The commander smirks. "I'd get there eventually, and I did."

The king grows quiet, analyzing the ground beneath his feet, thinking about the assassination attempt. That could happen again when the best strategist in Babylon leaves. Stress pushes the monarch to sadness, provoking clear, sparkling tears. As he sobs, the pressures of being a king pour out of him, his breath poking at his heart like pins and needles. Alex places a comforting hand on Forrest's shoulder, not knowing how to fix this. They sit for several minutes in silence; Forrest stops crying and wipes his eyes, figuring these moments in life will happen until the end. Gathering himself, the king starts for the front door, but Alex stops him, calling his name.

"What?" the crown demands.

"Do you know what it feels like to just… wait for something bad to happen so you can prepare for it happening a second time? I know you do; I'm not in the mood for patronizing you. That's all life is: a waiting game. But you don't have to wait anymore, because you know what you need to do next."

Forrest enters the Dungeons through a trapdoor at the bottom of a watchtower. Lighting a lantern, the crypt-like area before him comes to life dramatically. As he passes through corridors of suffering prisoners, the voices talk to him. What're you gunna do to him? Torture? Are you gunna beat it out of him? We know you will, because we'll make you. You're under our control, like you've always been. Your mind is a mosaic of life, and we rule over it. There's nothing you can do. If you kill him, his voice will be in your head, just like the rest of your victims. You hear the people you kill. You hear me, me, and me. You remember who I am; you can see my face. Forrest closes his eyes, remembering his kill count, and he opens them, standing in naked disappointment.

15,349. That's how many of us there are, and that's how many you've killed. You're paying for your crimes, Forrest. It's your fault for not being worth a damn. He gazes into a cell, Dante quivering against the back wall. Upon spotting the king, the inmate spirals into a panic. Do you see how you make people feel? You have no idea the damage you're causing to society. This is not a better world. Forrest wraps his hands around the cell door, opening it slowly. You're so predictable. After closing the door behind him, the monarch genuflects before the rat, staring into Dante's fright, finding nothing else.

"You… you," the trembling Babylonian stammers.

The oppressor stares blankly. "You know the truth."

Dante feels an odd sense of relief. "It's all for show, isn't it?"

"Do you know why I made Babylon a kingdom? It could've been anything else." He pauses, thinking. "It's a kingdom because I needed to put the Babylonians in a society that was known for having terrible education. I keep them dumb, and the population is easier to control. Why do you think we don't have libraries, or churches? They can't know about other philosophies."

"And you're telling me this because you're going to kill me."

The king smirks. "Not yet. Today's your lucky day. We're implementing a public execution system, and you're going to be its first victim. You don't have to be, though. All you have to do is tell me who you're working for."

"I won't talk. If I live, I rot. If I die, at least it'll stop the suffering. I know we used to be friends, Forrest… but time changes with views."

"I always get what I want. After your next meal, or the one after that, you'll be thrown into a state of mind you can't control. Who knows? Maybe the paranoia will be too much for you."

"You're going to drug me?"

"Yes, I have to. I'll never understand people like you. You think you can change things, but you can't." He reflects on who he was before Babylon, and how merciless the world can be when it comes to a change in perspective. "I… I didn't mean for that to come out. I'm sorry."

"You used to be like me, didn't you? You were a rebel."

The king breathes heavily. "The past is the past."

"There's part of you that wants a better world. I've heard stories about you. You know we aren't gangsters. We want exactly what you desired all those years ago. What turned your dream into a… machine?"

Forrest punches Dante. "Don't you dare call my dream a machine! It's nothing like the governments of the old world. Do you really think this place is a dictatorship, an authoritarian state? You're wrong! People are safe here, and you want to take that aspect away. That's why we call you 'gangsters'. Don't worry, in a few years, you'll be known as terrorists. Vernacular also changes with time." Leaving the cell, he adds nonchalantly, "Rot, you swine."

Now alone, Dante's anxiety becomes overwhelming. He can't even trust what he eats anymore; he can't comprehend the web of mind games, either. Babylon's government is an endless maze of contradictions, a pattern with no beginning or end. It's a Monarchy, yet other people have power. It has to be an oligarchy; that's the only logical explanation. He tries labeling the manipulation tactics in his head. Yellow journalism, nationalism, a busy work schedule. A swirl of control, a black hole of selfishness cowering behind a wall of fairness. He feels the dirt of the floor with his toes, the cold earth irritating his burnt skin. This is how it ends for him. After discovering the ultimate revelation, death follows, and the ultimate revelation is one dreadful fact: after fear comes society. The oligarchy is the fear, and they've won.

He remembers a very fascinating concept from the old world: the New World Order. According to this idea, the richest people in the world want to be in control of a society that has one government, language, currency, and religion. Could Babylon be the New World Order? He ponders on this strange connection and wonders if Forrest knows about it. Hell, from their conversation, anything's a possibility. He wonders how mad someone has to be to create this world; he's never known anybody of this caliber. The governments of the old world weren't even this corrupt. Is stopping the system possible?

Another queer thought comes to mind: Babylon's currency, or lack thereof. He who controls the money controls society, but since Babylon has no money, what is its equivalent? The Market District. The Market District is the answer. If the Babylonians boycott trade, they'd stop working, and then the system would collapse. He sits upright. How can he make them boycott the bartering system when they work to trade? How can he make an entire society do this? The government's deception is deeper than what he originally thought.

In the Throne Room, Forrest holds Echo in front of a mirror. His hands rest on her gigantic belly, and they're happy her pregnancy is ending. He feels the baby kick, and warm feelings envelope them, feelings that boil and mix into one word: family. Forrest pulls away, and he kneels by their bed. He grabs hold of something and yanks it out, revealing a birch chest with a steel lock. Removing a key from his robe's pocket, he inserts it into the lock and pulls it apart. After he opens the chest, Echo gasps. Inside are two golden crowns.

"Tomorrow is our 30th anniversary," he starts. "I gave a tip to the metal smiths. There's gotta be some way to constantly fool ourselves into believing what we are… This is how."

That evening, Forrest shows up at Babylon's Gatehouse under his crown. The Gatehouse has two corresponding gates, each on opposite sides of a watchtower's base. They open and close from a pulley system of ropes, which lead from the tops of the gates to an open window near the top of the tower. Whoever's manning it acts as a gatekeeper; the gates themselves are of a light material to make the lift easier.

He gazes through the bars, out towards the Drawbridge, a massive project that spans over Lake Washington, the body of water separating the kingdom from the mainland. He remembers working on it himself, all those years ago, alongside Merlin, Timothy, and the other usual suspects.

Forrest cups his hands, shouts, "LIFT!" and the gates open.

The commander appears from behind the monarch, passing through the Gatehouse. Groups of armored soldiers march closely behind him, carrying swords in scabbards and 1960s assault rifles across their chests. The gatekeeper closes the gates, shutting Alex and the others off from safety.

The days pass quietly in Babylon, and during this time, Merlin works on his project. He wakes up on the first day, gets ready, and heads outside. He makes his way to the Industrial District, envious of the passing crowds. If they find out what he already knows, a revolution would ensue. The interesting thing about knowledge is the more you know, the less you feel because you can't express it without sounding condescending or pretentious. Here lies Merlin's dilemma. He wants to express this information, but Babylon rejects the arts. His only chance of expression is through construction or the Monarchy's needs.

He heads into an alleyway that divides two factories, and he happens upon a metal door at the end of it. He knocks on the door, and the slit near the top opens. When the figure on the other side sees Merlin, the slit closes, and the door opens. Merlin gives the doorman a handshake and progresses inside. This club is home to Babylon's most peaceful secret society: the Lucky Nines. They sit around tables beneath candlelight and play poker, auction off prized possessions, and drink at the bar. This place hides in an abandoned room behind a furniture factory, and it goes unnoticed by the busy manager. Merlin doesn't come here that often, although he wishes he could, for this is the only place in the kingdom where he doesn't feel trapped.

He approaches the bar and sits on a stool, calling over the bartender. She has curly red hair and wears a leather dress.

"Rebecca," Merlin starts. "It's good to see you. I need your help."

Flickering lanterns illuminate her voluptuousness. "Haven't seen you in a while. What's up?"

"The Monarchy… wants me to set up a lab for the kids, and I need equipment."

"What kind of equipment are we talking here?"

"Medical shit. Enough for a lengthy chemical process. I'm talking flasks, machinery you can't even pronounce, and bottles of chemicals."

Rebecca leans forward, her hands pressing down hard. "Lucas is the guy you want. He manages a factory that produces medicine for the Hospital. They're under hard times, but he has everything you need."

"Do you think his factory has a room like this one? Dark, unknown to the public?"

"Maybe. Ask him. His factory's down the road on the left."

He nods his head. "Thank you."

Out on the road, he asks the workers to point him in the direction of the vaccination plant, and he eventually ends up at its front doors. He enters the dark building, the original factory of the Industrial District. Inside, workers in lab coats surround complex, steam-powered machinery; they wear protective gear, a vague reminder of the Centers for Disease Control. He progresses through the building until he happens upon the manager's office and he steps inside. A man with curly black hair and a shaven face paces back and forth nervously, stressing out over some internal affair. He notices Merlin, confusion causing him to stay still.

"Hey?" he asks.

"Are you Lucas?"

"As far as you know."

"I'm Merlin, and I have a proposition for you from the Monarchy."

"The Monarchy? Let me hear it."

"They want you to let me access any spare darkrooms that have machinery. I'm conducting a chemical process."

Lucas chuckles. "What're you making? The cure for cancer?"

"That's between them and me. When I'm done, we can pretend it didn't happen. Remember, Obey the Monarchy."

"You don't have to spout that bullshit; I'd do anything to help them out. I'll give you a tour and set you up with everything you need." He stands up, anxiety-ridden. "There's an outbreak at the Hospital, and we're running out of shit to produce, so I'm sorry if I seem on edge."

The days pass, and Lucas helps Merlin set up his LSD lab. When they're done, Lucas leaves him alone. The teacher dons a hazmat suit, gloves, and he pulls out a bag of ergot fungus he got from the Farmlands. He puts the baggie on a table, sets up his flasks and bottles of chemicals, spreads out countless chemistry notes across the floor, and begins working. Patience is the true element in crafting LSD, mainly because of how much time it consumes. If one thing goes awry, if he exposes himself to any carcinogen, then he's dead. This is a dangerous procedure, and it's important for organic chemists to take it seriously. A major goal of the process is to extract the ergot alkaloids, synthesize them into a molecule called iso-lysergic acid hydrazide, and isomerize it. The isomerization leaves behind iso-lysergic diethylamide, which Merlin isomerizes again to produce active LSD. Although he performs much more difficult tasks, this is a basic gestalt of just one part of the queer project.

During this time, he thinks about his connections. Russell, Forrest, Echo, Alexander, and Timothy. He hates Timothy more than the Monarchy, and this has been going on for years. Every time they converse, the CEO has to own the subject matter, and the teacher can't get a word in edgewise. They only talk about his accomplishments and his pride, something Merlin doesn't care about. They never talk about his problems, it's always about the CEO. He wants to talk it out with him, but Timothy wants no part of it. He doesn't want friendship, he wants attention. This causes tension between him, the District Leaders, and the Monarchy, especially during meetings. He thinks about going to the Monarchy to report this problem, but he knows he can handle it himself; it doesn't have to be a big deal. He can never understand egotistical people, and that personality type has always been his least favorite. Despite this, he carries on working, feeling like a slave. The Monarchy has him under their thumb. Although he supports them, he still questions where his loyalties lie.

This question has no concrete answer, because it changes all the time. If he gets a gut feeling about not trusting someone, he follows it. Guilty until proven innocent, that's his philosophy. In a world like this, is that a bad way of life?

The day after Merlin finishes the process, he leads Echo down into the Dungeons by the light of a lantern. Their sides brush against the jagged walls of the rocky corridor. At Dante's cell, Echo produces a ring of keys from her corset's pocket, and she unlocks the door. Merlin hands her the plate of LSD-laced food, and she proceeds inside. When Dante sees her silhouette, he sits upright, cowering against the cell's wall, rocks digging into his burnt back. He knows today's the day, for someone else usually brings him the pig slob. She gives him a spoonful of the disgusting, unknown food, and he keeps his mouth shut, but she forces it down his gullet. He gags and throws it up, but Echo tries again, not retrieving the spoon out until he swallows. In tears, Dante falls to his side. He regrets being a gangster, and if he survives this, he's going to poison them and slit their necks in their sleep.

When it's done, Echo tosses the plate aside and waits for him to undergo the life changing experience. When you unwillingly drop acid, a bad trip becomes inevitable. What makes the difference between a good trip and a bad trip is your state of mind before it begins. The drug takes about thirty minutes to kick in, and it comes on lightly at first; you begin to hallucinate letters and time waving back and forth, and before you know it, you're thrown into unimaginable realms of thought. How did I get here? Who am I? These streams of consciousness start out calm, but then again, that's how all storms begin.

Dante's vision warps and the jagged rock walls of the chamber feel sharp against his back. Echo's presence brings on the anxiety, a terrible thing to experience when undergoing a trip. The crown she's wearing sparkles, although there's no light source aside from Merlin's lantern. Her eyes sink into her skull, and everything begins melting. Dante feels like he's sitting on thin air, nothing beneath or above him. Gazing at the walls, spiders crawl out of the cracks and spin webs around the inmate. He shakes and sweats, for nothing will ever be the same again. LSD works by changing your perception on the universe, and everything that imagination is manifests itself in reality, causing its user to question everything. Where does the madness of this situation begin? Am I dead? Dante's heart sinks into his chest, for there are no concrete answers to any of the questions he's asking. Aren't all answers just popular opinions? He ponders on the concept of God, an all-knowing, benevolent, omnipotent being. He remembers being a religious man, but life changes, and he lost his faith. Maybe it's for the greater good, because now he wonders if church is a lie. If God is benevolent, how can Hell exist? If Heaven exists, doesn't it sound authoritarian? If you bow down to Him, you get a free pass, but if you have a differing opinion, into the flames you go. Why does it put a barricade on critical thinking? To him, the church is nothing more than a way to control the masses, to give them false hope. People waste lifetimes practicing Western religions like Christianity, and they don't take the time to take a step back and truly examine its doctrine. He doesn't hate religion, he hates the fact that ignorance is bliss. That's why people in the West don't take in any other perspectives; they're content with going to church to listen to a pastor gloat about the beauties of tax exemption.

Echo, taking advantage of his vulnerable state of mind, declares, "Dante, I am God. It's time for you to confess your sins."

Dante's pupils dilate under the darkness, and he whimpers. "I'm… I'm so sorry for questioning You."

"You're going to Hell; it's already decided. However, if you do one thing, I will absolve you."

"What is it?" he begs.

"Give me the names of the people you work with."

His lips quivering, he nods his head, for he's not ready for another fire. "There's an empty house in the Housing District. I meet up with people there on a weekly basis. We discuss ideas regarding the overthrow of the Monarchy. Their names are Oliver Paterson, Lewis Vance, Sandra Williams, and Paula Edwards. We make up our society, the School of Athens."

"Are there any other 'gangster secret societies'?"

"Yes, but I can't recall how many or the names. I'm only into my own group and its desires."

"Thank you. I have to go now. Enjoy the trip."

"Wait," Dante pleads. "I believed in him, you know. But he never gave me a chance. I got jealous, and my ego took over." Gritting his teeth, he adds, "This place is going to fail without good minds. I know who's in the inner circle, and I know that mirror you guys have… is cracking. One day, somebody worse than me will have my gun and my beliefs." His expression decays into a glare. "They'll just know how to use the gun better."

Out in the corridor, Merlin holds a blank list.

"I got the names," she says.

"I feel like shit," the teacher states, holding the lantern to Dante's cell. "Look at him."

Echo rests a hand on his shoulder. "Don't feel like that. You're helping us. I'm sorry." She hugs him. "It's okay. I'm still here for you. This is for Forrest; he's protecting his dream."

Merlin pulls away. "You're justifying a maniac."

"No, I'm justifying a king."

Two uneventful weeks pass, and on the morning of the fifteenth day, Dante wakes up to a dreadful realization: his time is running out. Revolution is impossible at this point; the manipulation has been around for three decades, god damn it. The only thing he's grateful for is dying with the truth.

His cell door opens, and Forrest enters. The monarch silently stands over the prisoner, establishing dominance. Dante is the dog, and the king holds the leash. Forrest yanks the prisoner to his feet, chains clanking with every movement. He leads the jailbird outside, into the blazing sun. Crowds of Babylonians line the streets, watching the event from all angles. They wear a wide range of nasty expressions, and some throw rotten food at the burnt man.

Arriving at the Needle's base, a guillotine awaits Dante's fate. Timothy and Echo stand behind it, knowing today will change things. They pry the rat from Forrest's hands, positioning the burnt man beneath that merciless blade, death just minutes away.

Forrest stands in front of the device; Echo hands him his staff, and he hoists it into the air, shouting to the crowd, "This is a message to every gangster: We know who you are, and your time is nigh! This will be the first of many executions because of your recent behavior! We will not be forgiving! You come here, and you fuck everything up! Not anymore! Now is the time to stand, to protect nationalism!" The crowd cheers; he gestures back to Timothy. "Pull it."

The gunsmith forces a lever, and the blade falls.

Dante screams, "The Market District-"

It slices through his neck, and the tumbling head arouses cheers from everyone, including the children.

Elsewhere, Merlin rests in his house, alone, lying numbly on his back. He examines the hay roof, lost in some realm of transparency. A half-empty bottle of Hennessy sits on his bedside table. Every sip he takes reminds him of Judas' alcoholism. Dark circles line the undersides of his eyes; he hasn't slept in three days because of this never-ending guilt. His intelligence is now harming people; it's literally destroying their lives. He finds himself caught between a rock and a hard place. His mother looked like a rotting potato during her last stages of cancer; if there's anything that describes how he's feeling, it's that. The Monarchy is draining him, and he can't fight back. He considers leaving Babylon, but knows he can't survive alone, for the isolation will lead him to depression, and then suicide. He needs people; he needs a social outlet.

Scoffing, he whispers in a voice bringing death to hope, "Obey the Monarchy? Fuck the Monarchy."

THREE WEEKS LATER

The day begins with grey skies. Merlin wakes up and goes over to his desk; on top of it rests a journal. He opens it, grabs a pencil, and writes at the top of a page, Moral Compass. After underlining the words, he writes a list:

1. Trust No One 2. Speak No Evil 3. Repress Emotion 4. Notice the Manipulation 5. Be of it, not for it 6. Wake People Up 7. Fuck the Monarchy

He stares down at the last phrase for several seconds. They present themselves as powerful leaders when they're just ruthless for the sake of being ruthless. There is no redemption for that personality type. Dante's situation is still hot on his mind, and for good reason. He will never forgive them for what they did, even if the victim was a gangster. On one hand, Dante is wrong for the assassination attempt. On the other, Forrest is wrong for using him to make LSD. He sighs and stretches, thinking about where his loyalties lie. He pulls back a window's curtain, revealing citizens walking Babylon's muddy roads. Perhaps it lies in them, an ocean of individual minds with limitless ideas. He decides to play the role of ignorance until his breaking point, a wise decision when society corners someone. When and if he reaches that, he'll turn against the Monarchy. Until then, his feelings towards Forrest and Echo will remain as grey as the skies overhead. He knows who Echo really is, and Forrest is responsible for her corruption. She thinks that Merlin's her friend, but to him, they're two different people now. She's just the victim of a manipulative maniac.

And then there's Timothy. Merlin doesn't understand the CEO's resentment towards him. This has been going on for years without explanation. He wishes he can pull the vengeful bastard aside and talk it out, but he knows that arrogant gunsmith won't listen. The teacher figures people are weird that way, dons leather garb, and leaves.

On his porch, the architect watches as trees blow to and fro in the building wind. A tense feeling grows in his gut; a gigantic storm is approaching. He journeys to the Market District, observing its behavior. Babylonians stand behind stalls and trade off items from the factories, farms, and mines. Some guide cows that carry wicker baskets upon their wide backs. Others ride through the area on horseback, smiling beneath the darkening day. The district's characteristics are similar to a Middle Eastern bazaar, and it breeds emotions ranging from luck to bankruptcy. This is Babylon's stock exchange, complete with the feeling of whether or not a dealer is screwing you over.

He crosses a stall that trades vegetable oil for rubies, and Merlin produces seven of the gems from his pocket. The teacher lays them across the stall's desktop, and the dealer examines them. The condition of the minerals pleases the dealer, and he hands Merlin three jars of his product. With a smile, the teacher leaves the Market District and returns to his house. In his backyard (a small excuse for one, considering how compact the houses are), a motorcycle sits on a wooden platform. He's finishing up an engine that runs off vegetables in his basement, and he plans on riding out into the world by the end of the day. All he has to do is install the damn thing and get it going. By nightfall, he rides up to the Gatehouse, calls up to the gatekeeper, and zooms out of Babylon, across the Drawbridge without fear.

Nature slowly takes back unknown territories. Vines and branches wrap around enormous skyscrapers, choking them mercilessly. Washington is now a jungle of lost opportunities. He rides through numerous pile-ups, drives by the ruins of 1950s communities, and gazes at propaganda posters from the era. They depict Dwight D. Eisenhower stomping on Vietnam; others portray Nixon with devil horns protruding from either side of his forehead; burnt posters of Uncle Sam are also a frequent site.

He arrives at Tacoma by three in the morning. Heading off the interstate, the lack of infected surprises him; perhaps they're starving, Mother Earth slowly fossilizing them through her infinite wisdom. In the city, he parks at the end of a nameless road, dense wrecks blocking any progress. The wind blows piles of trash across cracking streets, and a sensation of tragedy overwhelms him. Something awful happened here, something future civilizations will never record in their history books. Merlin takes it all in: the way the sun shines through decaying buildings, the moist surroundings, the graveyard of automobiles, and the thick layer of vandalism draping every square inch. Skeletal remains plague the streets, a scene reminiscent of post-Black Death Europe. It's all wildly fascinating to the teacher, almost mystical, and this curiosity grows with every examination.

He strolls down the street aimlessly, free from the Monarchy and his duties. He doesn't have to worry about the schoolhouse because classes are only on the weekends, and according to their calendar system, today is Tuesday, March 15th, 1986. Russell, the leader of the Market District, is responsible for the timekeeping, but Merlin doubts its accuracy. Hell, he's only part of their ring because he supposedly kept track of the date when everything went down. He doesn't know what to think about Russell other than the fact that he's irresponsible. The lazy bastard barely shows up to any of their meetings, and when he does, he speaks the least and adds nothing of substance to the conversation. Merlin spoke to Forrest about the issue one time, and all Forrest said is that he's good at keeping the Market District peaceful and in balance, which is detrimental to its function. The teacher considers this a fair point, because the district has the least amount of problems.

Nonetheless, these thoughts fade as a fantastic museum comes into view. Crumbling pillars support a falling roof, and a layer of mold cakes the exterior walls. He draws a dagger and approaches its front doors, taking in the magnificent ruins. They remind him of ancient Mayan temples; so many secrets, so little explanation.

After climbing the steps, he heads inside. Thankfully, he doesn't need a flashlight, for sunlight floods through the unstable roof. This place can collapse at any second, but the urge to explore pacifies his fears. Historical exhibits provoke even more questions, and he takes a moment to appreciate the quiet. Water drips onto the mold-covered floor, and his shoes make squishing sounds with every step.

He eventually gains access to an empty observatory, and his eyes widen at a macabre scene waiting for him. Bodies dangle from the rotting ceiling by rope, and blood paints the walls. Near the center of the domed roof, a message in blood: The Acolytes Hate Vulnerability.

Back outside, he pockets his dagger. No signs of life. Can Babylon really be the last civilization after all? The Fertile Crescent experienced the dawn of humanity, and one of the earliest civilizations was Babylonia. It's all a cycle, really. Life, death, happiness, sadness. The cycle is mysterious, and it goes without stopping. It doesn't care if you like it or hate it, because even if you perform either of those emotions, that's continuing the cycle. Merlin's feelings of being trapped stem from this idea, and he often wonders if there's a way to break the cycle, if there's something outside of life and death. After all, everything is the result of vibrating atoms, and yours somehow obtained consciousness.

Something flashes by out of the corner of his eye. He turns 'round to see nothing, but feels like someone's watching him. He hates feeling this way; it's like a sinking, claustrophobic nervousness. Eyes are on you, but you can't pinpoint the source. Merlin considers running back to his motorcycle, but the fear stalls him. He has to find the source; if he doesn't, these people could follow him back to Babylon. Considering what happened to Dante and what's happening to the gangsters, he will not be responsible for more death. Who knows how many lives are on his hands now? The Monarchy uses the guillotine on a daily basis, and the newspaper says that there's around twenty executions per day. How can he trust what that says, though? Everything in his world is a pack of lies.

He follows his gut, and he ends up in an alleyway. At the end of it, a freshly skinned rabbit. The site fixates Merlin because that's exactly how he feels: stripped from his uniqueness and living in Purgatory. Slavery or death; that's Babylon. Hell, that phrase should be the city's coat of arms. He turns 'round again, gandering at the lifeless city. Cold, dead, empty. Perhaps the end of the world awakens the negative emotions we share. Greed. Loss. Regret. Fear. Perhaps this entire world is a metaphor, and what you experience daily is symbolic towards your unconscious mind. The apocalypse is not a new story, nor is the idea of a dystopian society. However, when you look past the surface, when you look past the blood and gore, you find something beautiful: hope. The end of the world is just that: the end of the world. And what comes after the end? A new beginning. Merlin believes that that's what the world needs on an internal level. To him, everyone deserves an easy life; that's the very foundation of the American Dream.

Something that fascinates Merlin about the American Dream is the idea of pursuing happiness. During the California Gold Rush, immigrants came to America in the hopes of becoming famous overnight. Some of them actually did, but others fell short. Historians call that period the California Dream. Why are these ideas of happiness based on dreams? Is it because we fixate too much on the depressing reality of our situation that we can't experience happiness in the present? Perhaps it's the fault of the demon in our heads, the demon that doesn't know how to shut up except for when you put a gun up to it, and even then it still finds a way to make you forget about it.

He jumps at the sound of breaking glass, and he runs out to the street, spotting a hooded figure running into the lobby of a hotel. He pursues the prey and enters the building to find the figure cowering in a dark elevator shaft. There, he finds that the figure beneath the hood is a young boy. Black liquid covers his skin, and his hoody matches the dark color. Merlin lends him a hand, and the boy accepts it.

"Who are you?" the boy asks.

Merlin leads him outside. "Tyler Wilson. You?"

"Wes Preston. I can't speak for long; I have to get back to my group."

"You have a group? I'd like to see them."

"They don't take kindly to strangers. We're a family. The leader's my mom."

Before Merlin responds, Wes punches him in the jaw, knocking the Babylonian unconscious.

Hours later, Merlin wakes up to find Wes and four other survivors tying his hands and legs to a chair. They wear the same attire Wes dons, and they have black paint covering their skin. He can tell that they're in a warehouse outside Tacoma, for the shipping addresses on the boxes are from Olympia, Washington. The sun shines through the broken windows, illuminating the failure of the 1950s business cycle. Merlin feels sweat dripping down his forehead, and he becomes nervous. When they're done tying him up, they back away, and a female steps forward. She's the tallest of the bunch, and, from the looks of her soulless eyes, experiences trauma on a daily basis. How couldn't you when you're in the wild? Your only friend is your survival instinct, something we've lost contact with since modernization. How long does it take to befriend someone you've betrayed? What trials do you have to go through to regain its trust? Maybe that's why the apocalypse happened. Could it be that the universe is telling us we need to regain that contact to experience who we truly are?

These thoughts run through Merlin's head, and the family stares at him coldly.

The woman speaks in a crackly voice. "Who are you?"

He glares at her. "Tyler Wilson."

"Why did Wes here find you riding a motorcycle? He says it's an advanced piece of machinery. Where's the time to make that nowadays?"

"It's an empty world. There's always a way."

The girl scoffs. "Your dagger." She produces it from a pocket on her hoody. "Where did you get it? You don't have a sharpener on you. What good is a blade like this without a sharpener? It looks like someone made it recently. Don't you see those fine, precise cuts? Did a blacksmith make this?"

Merlin breathes heavily. "I'm not saying anything besides what I know, and what I know is that I'm alone."

Unsatisfied, she says, "We need to know if you're a threat. We don't want to get involved in any fights; we just want to know if we have to… relocate."

The Babylonian understands the situation now. These people have a bad case of paranoia, a case that you throw yourself into if you chose to be a lone wolf. These survivors aren't a threat; they're lost among a world of loss. He feels pity for these souls, and he wants to offer them sanctuary. However, he's curious about this bunch and wants to know more.

"I'm not a threat. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you something."

The girl looks suspicious. "This isn't a time for games, Tyler. We're a family, and we don't want any trouble."

"I trusted you enough to tell you the truth, now I want you to do the same. Relationships don't work if the other party doesn't put in the effort. I've… been so alone, and all I want is someone to talk to."

Monica lets out a dreadful sigh, for she's been in his shoes before. "My name is Monica Stanson, and this is my family. My daughter's name is Stacey, and my husband here is Edward. The little guy you met is Wes Preston."

"Preston?"

Wes grins. "Adopted."

Merlin observes them all. "Why are you out here on your own?"

Monica shakes her head. "We simply reject the idea of society. We know they all fall eventually, so why join one?"

"Humans are social beings. Although society isn't perfect, we still need that network."

"Not us. Not the tribes. Since you're obviously from somewhere, I'll catch you up to speed. Some of us prefer to be alone, and some of us who prefer to travel. Some of us are nomads, people who move from place to place without any intention of doing anything else. We fall under that last category. That's the system in the wild, and we're accepting it because it keeps us alive."

"Don't you want safety and security?"

"And more people to worry about? More problems? No fucking way."

Merlin sighs. "You can't… be alone for too long. You start going insane, and you wonder if anything has a meaning. Trust me; I've been in your shoes before. I know someplace that can wipe all of that away. Its government needs fixing, but I see hope for it."

Monica shakes her head. "We know of your communities. We've seen them before; we don't want to interact with them."

"I can guarantee you've never seen anything like us." Monica kneels before him and looks into his eyes in silence. Merlin reads her expression, and he enlightens them. "There are walls, knights, factories, and steam-powered machinery. I'm talking old-fashioned kingdom shit. Blacksmiths, farms, bakeries, and so much more."

"What do you call it?"

"Babylon. It was the dawn of civilization then, and it's the dawn of civilization now. We're a melting pot chasing the American Dream. Like I said, it needs fixing, but it's worth a shot. Trust me; I've been there for 30 years."

In one of the warehouse's offices, Monica and Edward watch their sleeping children. On the main floor, the Babylonian sits upright in his chair, fast asleep. Monica thinks about Babylon and its limitless possibilities. She's hopeful, but the Shadows' paranoia grounds them in this warehouse. Edward's indifferent about the opportunity, because he wants to hold his beliefs to his heart. They've been out here this entire time; they can't let go of them like they're nothing. Would it be wrong to abandon their world for a society with a failing government? This question may seem like a no-brainer, but Edward's beliefs are everything to him; he thinks they're only breathing because of them. Despite it all, Monica knows the children are more important.

"What're you thinking about?" Edward asks.

"The kids. I think I should expose them to a different way of life."

He gazes up at the cracking ceiling blankly. "I… I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Why?"

"We have to teach them to be loyal to their beliefs."

"Wouldn't that be safer to do in Babylon?"

"No! They need to stay out here to get the full effect; we have to teach them how to be strong."

"Ed, you're thinking about yourself."

He grunts. "I'm the only one in this room that knows the right choice."

"Really? If you're the all-knowing prophet, why do our children listen to me? They even refer to me as their leader."

"They don't know any better; they're too young."

"Are you calling me stupid?"

"No, Monica. Christ. It's just… we thrive in the darkness. In the nooks and crannies of the world. What if this place is dangerous?"

Monica stays quiet. She hates when Ed gets like this. She wants to find someone else, but she can't. Maybe Babylon isn't a bad option; maybe it's what she needs, what they all need. She's an adult, and she has every right to protect her children and change her beliefs. She doesn't understand how Ed can be so insensitive, so stubborn. Monica's heart feels as if a blender is shredding it into pieces. Although Ed's going to hate it, she's going to take Merlin up on the offer. The only thing that worries her now is the storm. The skies are too dark, and the wind is building, but so far, no rain. Whenever it reaches Washington, it's going to be the storm of the century.

They return to Merlin's motorcycle, and the rain starts falling. The Babylonian gazes up at the sky and smiles, letting the water drip down his face. Admittedly, he enjoys Forrest's privileges, but that won't stop him from having his own opinions. He's never been the one to accept a bribe, even at the cost of his own life. He focuses on the Shadows and their lifestyle. Their art of survival reminds him of the early Native Americans. Hell, that's what life is if you're not in a developing society. Mobile camps, tipis, and the smell of fire burning in the middle of a wheat field. To Merlin, the nomadic lifestyle is for those who dare to ponder on their existence. Some people are better alone, but he also thinks it's not the right way to live anymore. Safety in numbers, after all. This is the painful cycle of the introvert. You want to be with people, but when you are, you feel like you're putting on a show, and you want to leave the conversation. Rinse and repeat. They follow Merlin into a garage, where he leaves his motorcycle. Ten miles to go.

Merlin leads them down the Drawbridge as the dark waves of Lake Washington crash against it. The wooden bridge creaks and sways, but the metal support beams keep it intact for now. This beast worsens with every second, and they reach the Gatehouse as the waves grow to ten feet.

Hurricanes are split into five categories depending on the speed of wind. However, the force of this storm is enough to create a category six. Mother Nature is a heartless, unpredictable beast. You can only experience an event like this once in a century, a perfect storm tearing the fabric of reality apart at the subatomic seams.

Merlin latches onto the Shadows, and they run into the Clock Tower, wherein the gears and cogs stand still. A ghostly howl follows the wind outside; cold rain drenches the foggy windows, and thin sheets of ice form over the panels. The meeting room's door swings open, and Timothy emerges. He examines the queer group and figures they're friendly, for they're in Merlin's presence.

Merlin steps forward. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Are you gonna leave them by themselves?"

"Please; it's important."

"Fine."

In the meeting room, the two Babylonians sit at the round table. Rain pelts the boarded windows, and lightning rips the black sky apart; it's as if the flashes intend to reveal heaven breaking through to this side. The Babylonians remain silent; neither can start this long-awaited conversation. Where should it begin? Hell, where does it even begin? They come through their fracturing memories, and neither conjure the truth. The only thing Merlin is certain about is that a dog and a sheep are sitting in the same room; the stars must be aligning.

The CEO has the audacity to ask, "Do you want to hear about my breakthrough? I came up with the best idea, and-"

Merlin rolls his eyes. "That's exactly why we need to talk. Your arrogance is uncontrollable, and you don't even notice it. Maybe you do; maybe you just like being a dick. Who knows? The only thing I want to do is protect the public's perception of the District Leaders. What do you think the civilians will say when they find out how self-absorbed you are? We can't have this negativity in the circle."

Timothy sits back in his chair; overwhelming astonishment floods through his body. "Excuse me? Do you have any idea who I am?" He climbs to his feet. "How dare you talk to me that way." He leans over, his hands on the tabletop. "I'm here because I had to honor my sister. And what do I get for that? Nothing! I get no recognition, and it's because of you! The Clock Tower, the Drawbridge, all of it… outshines my usefulness. And I hate you for that."

Merlin looks down at the table. The building creaks and sways against the hurricane, but it stands due to the teacher's contingency plans for weather. What he's about to propose means a difference between life and death. Every word must be thoroughly thought out, for one slip can lead him to the guillotine.

He whispers, "I need your help."

Timothy calmly asks, "What?"

Louder, he adds, "With our brains, they won't see us coming. You and I can bring down the Monarchy! We can lead this place into something better."

Timothy sits down, distraught. "I… I can't." How could anyone suggest this?

"Come on!" Merlin begs. "You see the manipulation and the yellow journalism! They're giving us fake information constantly, and they're doing anything they can to retain absolute control! We can't speak out against them; if we do, they kill us. They forced me to make drugs and the guillotine! Answer me this… Why does the Monarchy have more power than the Oligarchy? How can there even be an Oligarchy under a Monarchy? They claim we have power, but who always makes the final call? Them. Like I said, they use my intelligence to kill people. Do you really think I want this praise? It's just the universe reminding me of my helplessness."

Timothy clears his throat. "What you're proposing is an act of treason." He stands up, starting for the exit. "When this storm ends, they'll know about this."

Merlin sits alone in the meeting room. There's no telling how long this will last; every passing second has to be useful somehow. He can get out of this, but it won't be easy. He climbs to his feet and heads into the Clock Tower's main area. Timothy sits alone, and the Shadows stand on the opposite side of the room.

He pulls Monica aside. "Do you remember what I told you about the government?"

"Yes."

"Forget I said anything; tell your family to keep their mouths shut. One word against their ideas lands you in the dungeons."

Gravely, she nods her head. "Why did you bring us here?"

"When the Monarchy falls, it'll be worth it. Just go with the flow for now."

In the Throne Room, the Monarchy rest in their bed. Being over 600 feet in the air, the storm is more violent, but the Needle's twenty-five lightning rods prevent structural damage. Without them, this place would be in flames, a burning beacon of fascinating ideologies. Down below, water floods Babylon's streets; the levels grow to six feet in some areas. The Monarchy wonder about how much work they'll have to do in the aftermath. The crops are most likely gone now, and this fact entails a famine. How can they cope with starvation and dehydration? How long will it take to get the factories up and running again? Anxiety is like a Cobra, for it wraps around your confidence and chokes it out of existence, allowing you to see how small you are.

A sudden pain encroaches the queen's voluptuous body, and a horrible realization dawns on her: she's going into labor. They have no doctor, and they have no medicine. This is going to be a dry delivery. In Babylon, dry pregnancies fail ninety percent of the time, for the conditions of this world don't entail mercy. Forrest climbs out of bed and stands at its end; Echo removes her clothes, ready for the king's incoherent orders. Thunder booms outside. Their anxiety skyrockets into the land above Heaven. In these sacred moments, they remember how much they love each other. Forrest goes back to the colony's days; he remembers watching her sleep in that freezing tent, pondering on how he can protect her. He needs that Forrest right now; he needs to take control somehow. Adrenaline floods through his body, and he orders the queen to relax, to take deep breaths. He holds her hand, but the atmosphere grows in intensity. The pain Echo feels is reminiscent of a thousand fires igniting at once. This goes on for thirty-six hours, and their daughter is finally born.

In the quiet eye of the storm, Echo cradles her baby girl. At her side, Forrest acknowledges how peaceful they look.

He closes his eyes, whispering, "Echo… I have schizophrenia." WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST TELL HER?!

Echo finally asks, "What?"

His speech deteriorates. "I… hear voices… every second of every day… I see hallucinations of people I don't know."

The voices scream, and they try distracting him, but the king stands his ground. "Why do you think I'm so good at manipulation? Why do you think I stay up so late?"

The queen doesn't know how to respond. What would another woman do if she was in this situation? Leave? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows she can't do that, for their connection is too strong. Only a beast can end a thirty-year relationship in two seconds. Nevertheless, this doesn't quell her spinning mind. All these years… have been a lie. She hasn't seen the real Forrest until now, and that makes her suspicious of him. What else is he hiding? She figures it's no good to ask these questions, for only fools run in circles. She can't shake one fact, though: Merlin is right; she is justifying a maniac. Another major concern is that schizophrenia is genetic, meaning Alice might have it.

Wanting to deal with this after the storm, she says, "All this time… I could've been helping you. Why did you wait until now?"

"The voices didn't want me to."

They lay quietly for the rest of the storm. As the dark skies clear up, Echo realizes something: You can't blame someone for having something they can't control. Forrest is a victim, not a threat. Mental illness is an invisible, complex force that blends good and bad into a grey mixture; it consumes your life, and you don't even realize it. Think of how white noise looks on a television screen; one can compare that to the mind of someone who suffers from depression or anxiety. It disconnects you from the person you are, and it feels like you're pushing a boulder up a hill every day, only to see it roll back down to the bottom. Is there any hope for these people? Yes, and it lies in us. When we realize we're the ones who keep the problem going, we can finally fix it. Once that revelation comes, the horizons will broaden with hope.

Forrest sits up. "I think I know what we are now."

"Oh?"

Grinning, the king declares, "We're the Royal Family."

Echo smiles. "I like that. I thought of a name for her, too."

"What is it?"

"Alice Wayley."

Forrest smirks. "Alice Wayley: the future princess of Babylon."

FIVE MONTHS LATER

The king wakes up to baby Alice's cries. He never likes the nights where Echo puts her down, for this always happens. He inhales deeply and hoists himself to his feet. Walking over to the hand-built crib, the room stretches and twists before his eyes; kaleidoscope-like patterns obscure his vision, and he stumbles to the floor, wanting to scream. He stands up, and his vision clears. We are never going to stop; you swore you would keep this a secret, and you told Echo. You deserve this, you fucking swine! Now standing before the crib, he peers down to see his daughter. Every time she falls asleep on his stomach, he gets a night free from his torment. He picks her up, and they lay down in the bed. She is his shield against the darkness in his mind, and when she puts her head down on his chest, she stops crying.

In the morning, Echo opens her eyes and heads over to the window. Down below, Babylonians reclaim a city in ruins. The two complete districts are the Farmlands and the Industrial District, for they are the most important pieces to this strange society. Off in the distance, she sees the Housing District, and images of Heather flash in her mind. She is a constant reminder of Alexander's absence, and Echo worries about this daily. Did Alex go rogue? Was he a gangster? She takes deep breaths, for this never ends well. It's all so strange to her. One minute, he's here, the next, the army's following a nameless face. However, Heather is a productive general. She plans on suggesting to Alex the implication of martial arts classes. An army of ninjas is not your typical military, but it suits Babylon's uniqueness.

She turns 'round, gasping, "Forrest, you're up!"

"Sorry for scaring you, I was jogging up and down the stairwell." He goes over to the crib and picks up Alice. "How've you been?" The baby giggles.

Echo hugs them both. "What're you up to today?"

"I'm going to Heather's so we can organize a search party. We need Alex back."

"Where do you think he is?"

"Honestly, I think he's a captive. He's not dead until I see a body."

"Can I do anything to help?"

"No, just keep doing your job. Where're you going?"

"The lumber site in the Farmlands. Merlin and I are replanting trees."

"Well, I'll see you later."

He lays Alice down in her crib, and the Monarchy embrace each other before leaving. One path leads to the truth, and the other leads to a lie. Love is dead in Babylon. You can't trust anybody, not even the one you love the most. They can try running, but this is their reality. In a world with no morals, anything goes. Although the Monarchy's relationship is sacred, they are still human, and they are susceptible to our flaws. The schism in their attraction has been this way since Alice's birth, for Echo is jealous of the attention Forrest gives Alice.

Instead of the Farmlands, Echo heads to the Industrial District. She walks to the Office Block and climbs to the Penthouse, wherein she finds Timothy pacing in his office. He mumbles to himself about the Mines, for he's anticipating a shipment in two days.

"Finally," he gasps, seeing the queen in the doorway.

She crosses the threshold. "Why do you need me?"

"You're gonna be upset," he starts. "It's Merlin. He's against the Monarchy. And I told you because… Forrest doesn't have mercy."

Echo's head pounds. "He's a gangster?!"

"Yes, he wanted me to overthrow the Monarchy with him."

The queen is lost for words. "I… had no idea. How long ago was this?"

"He told me during the hurricane. I'm sorry I waited so long to tell you; I've been very busy getting this district back on track."

Disorientation makes the queen nauseous. "How can he betray me?" She leans against the wall, and tears drip down her eyes. "He was my friend."

"Maybe he sees something different now."

"What?"

"The longer you exist, the more your perspective on the world changes. At first, you guys might've been friends, but now… no. He probably… outgrew you?"

Echo starts for the door, but the CEO intervenes.

"Let me go," she demands.

"If you go now, you're going to do something you'll regret. You need to calm down."

She pauses. "Okay. You're right."

"How's Alice?"

The queen grins. "She's fantastic. Forrest loves her… so much." She disregards distasteful thoughts about Alice as she continues. "She has my eyes, and the cutest laugh you could ever dream of hearing. She's… my daughter." Despite it all, her smile grows. "She's my daughter."

"I'm glad everything's going well. You know, if you guys need a babysitter, let me know."

"Really? Thanks for the offer; it'll be nice to go on dates again."

"You guys don't go out anymore?"

"No, the hurricane put a lot on our plate, too."

The CEO walks over to his desk, retrieving the tome. "I'm so glad this survived the storm. Before you go, let me show you something." He shows the queen a page with a sketch covering it.

"It's a Zeppelin."

"I want to build a factory that produces them. We have the necessary materials, and this means we'll have the first post-apocalyptic Air Force."

Echo feels great satisfaction. "It's like a new beginning, isn't it?"

He closes the tome. "Why does Alex want to go to California when we can just convert to solar energy?"

"What'll those Zeppelins run off of, thin air?"

"Alright, that's a fair point." He gazes around the room. "I have a lot of work to do, but I hope everything goes well between you and Merlin."

"Good luck; thank you for telling me about this."

In his backyard, Merlin tirelessly repairs his motorcycle. Sweat drips down his face, and a sunburn forms on his exposed shoulders. He's cautious during this process, for one vehicular problem is a telltale sign of more to come. He pauses, taking in the moment. He examines his tools, and he listens to the distant sounds of hammers pounding on nails, of foremen shouting orders at their workers. All of it is so queer to him, for it feels like he's living in a fake world. Hay roofs? Pristinely built inns? It all seems as if it's from a fairy tale, or a nightmare he can't escape from. Maybe this disorientation is what makes the other Babylonians susceptible to the Monarchy's manipulation? The only thing that's fact is that this is reality, whether he likes it or not, and that terrifies him.

Merlin scoffs, repeating his infamous mantra, "Fuck the Monarchy." As if he's a magical sorcerer, the teacher finds Echo strolling down his side yard. "Speak of the Devil."

She pauses ten feet away from him. Tears fall down her eyes, and she trembles, pondering on the assassination attempt. Dante is just Merlin in drag. She patiently waits for him to talk, but he remains silent.

She asks, "Why?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Rage spreads through the queen's body, but she retains composure. "Why are you calling for an overthrow? Forrest will kill you if he finds out about it! Do you think I want that?"

Merlin lays down his tools. "It's good to know I can't form my own opinions. That really makes me feel safe and secure. What a fantastic job from our fearless leaders."

"Are you drunk?"

"I've been drunk for the entire week."

Echo takes pity on him. "Just promise me you'll keep your mouth shut around Forrest."

"… Fine. Don't expect me to stick around when shit falls, though."

"If you're smart enough to figure us out, you'll know it won't fail."

Several hours later, Merlin opens the front door and finds Wes standing on the porch. The teacher invites him inside, and he prepares tea for the boy. They sit in the living room.

After drinking it, the kid says, "I'm just gonna get straight to the point: I want to be a miner."

Merlin chuckles. "Really? That's a surprise."

"Can you please take me to the Mines?"

"Of course, I just need a few hours to… sober up."

"Can I stay here? My parents are fighting."

The teacher notes the concerning comment. "Yeah, I've got a spare bedroom. Just… don't break anything."

Thirty miles away from the kingdom, a rock quarry rests in the middle of a mountainous region. At the bottom of the quarry, taverns and tents plague a field of dust-covered miners who pick away at the rocky walls. Some work in dark, unsanitary mine-shafts whilst demolitionists blow huge chunks of stone out of the earth. They excavate pounds of raw ore, feeling great pride in accomplishing their work. Surgical masks shield their mouths from Black Lung, an infamous Babylonian killer. The risky work is all about the reward and the display of true grit. Once they meet the month's goal, they save anything extra and trade it off at the Market District. The Miners consider this site to be the birthplace of Babylon and its socioeconomic beliefs, for without the stone, there would be no walls, safety, or security. That fact encourages them to work the long, backbreaking hours; it's the satisfaction of an honest day's work that drives them.

In a tent, Fink Bishop speaks with Wes Preston. They sit on corresponding bunkbeds, facing each other.

"How was the drive?" Fink asks.

"Dangerous, but what else can you expect?"

"Yeah, I hear you. We're going to build a secure road from here to Babylon; we just need oil to power the necessary machinery."

Wes glances around the tent. Nothing but the smell of sweat and beds made of sand. "You know why I came here. I need this."

"Why?"

"My family. They're fighting a lot… I need to get away from it."

Fink admires the boy. "And you want to work?"

"Yes. I'll do whatever I can to contribute. As long as I'm away from them, that's all that matters."

Fink stares off in the distance, thinking. "I'll set you up in Tent G. From there, your tent leader will assign you a position. Don't be afraid of her, she's one of the nicest people here."

Smiling, Wes nods his head and picks up his backpack. "I won't disappoint you. I'll prove that I'm good at this."

"I'm not trying to belittle you, but do you have any experience with mining?"

"No, but I'm willing to take the hits. You have to if you wanna do anything in this world."

They step outside, where the aura of the 1950s blooms like smog over a metropolis. The decade is known as the Generation of Conformity, and nowhere is that more visible than here. The workers strive for that ethic, and not only does the title make them responsible, it also provides a vulnerable passage for the Monarchy's manipulation. If you're not obedient in this field, you will die.

In Tent G, Fink introduces Wes to Anna, the tent's leader. Short red hair springs from her scalp, and an expression that oozes moxie glistens on her face, a carbon copy of Rosie the Riveter, the woman who people plaster on posters from World War Two.

Ana retrieves a pickaxe with haste, and Fink leaves the tent, obviously having other plans.

She slugs Wes' shoulder. "Are you ready, kid? I'll teach you as we go."

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't be here."

"Good. Follow me, we're working in Tunnel Thirty-Six."

Wes proceeds into a small, dimly lit shaft. Rails built into the muddy floor serve as telltale signs of a mine cart. Stuffy air makes the kid cough; Ana pities his inexperience, but feels as though the Mines are in need of a young face. Reaching an end to the fifty-foot long tunnel, they join workers who pick away at the stone enclosure. Metal support beams bolster a skeptical ceiling above them, but anything can happen, and when it does, their lives are over. It will be a grizzly, fantastical end, being alive, miles under the very earth you walk on. Nevertheless, they press on. A job's a job, and it's necessary work.

At the day's end, everyone lowers their tools, exiting the tunnel simultaneously. Wes and Anna aid the back of the group, making sure nobody gets left behind.

Outside, Fink, roaming alone, saunters into a wooden tavern. The place is reminiscent of a 1920s speakeasy; light conversation fills the otherwise thin air, and flickering lanterns fuel romantic fires. Some workers play pool beneath candlelit chandeliers while others mourn over their pasts at the bar. Fink opts for the latter and sits down at a stool. He asks the bartender for a glass of hard cider, and the lanky fellow prepares a poisonous tonic. When he gets the drink, Fink gives the bartender a full can of blackberries and a handful of bread. The bartender accepts the fee, consuming it on the spot. Behind them, Ana strolls into the same building, noticing her friend and sitting next to him.

Fink takes a sip. "Do you remember Eisenhower?"

"A little," she replies. "Why?"

"I never liked him. That entire era of America is a Dark Age. The Vietnam War, the political tension, the protests. I'm glad it ended; we were on the brink of destruction. Eisenhower was making it worse."

"I don't think he wanted to do it on purpose."

"Oh? Then why did he involve us in something we had no say in?"

"Fink, stop; you need to focus on what's happening now."

He sighs, taking another long drink. "How's Wes?"

"He's doing as good as you might expect. He's just… a kid, you know?"

"He's going through a lot right now. I wish I could help him somehow."

"Do you think kids are going to remember the old world?"

Fink laughs. "It's a miracle if you get them to remember the presidents in order."

"I feel bad for them."

"Why?"

"They won't get to experience the holidays, college, or any form of normalcy. Babylon is the only thing they'll know, and they'll have no idea of what America is. They'll be lost."

"I think you're being pessimistic. Children are curious when they're innocent, and now that there aren't as many threats, the innocence will last longer. Naturally, their knowledge will grow, and they'll fill in the gaps. Nothing's impossible."

She thinks about the infected. "Ain't that the truth."

Fink finishes his drink, and they exit the tavern. He leads the woman to her tent, where she kisses him. Blushing, he turns away and starts for the surrounding darkness.

The next morning, Ana and Wes return to Tunnel Thirty-Six. The day starts off normally, but a vague sense of uncertainty accompanies the passing winds. Wes works over ten hours, and at the end of the twelfth, his arms are too sore to move. He drops the pickaxe and tells Anna, who lets him go back to their tent. Now in the quarry, the kid watches as the demolitionists plant explosives across the eastern mountainside, where his tunnel cuts through. After the detonation, an avalanche of stones flows down the rock face, covering the mouth of Tunnel Thirty-Six. Several lie dead from critical impacts, others are in too much of a shock to even twitch. The stalls and its horses are also gone, leaving them stuck in a pit of their own despair. This is a fantastical moment in Babylonian history.

Fink charges into the quarry, his heart pumping terror. Upon seeing the damage, his first instinct is to make a beeline for the kingdom. Feeling destiny's familiar tingle, Wes pursues him. They eventually reach the outskirts of the Mines, where they traverse the road that leads back to Babylon. Even if they run, they still won't make it; humans can only complete three miles a day, and their destination is thirty away. They consider turning back, but that fleeting sense of Babylonian pride returns, and this compels them to continue. Their last hope rests in Babylon noticing the missing shipment; there's supposed to be one in two days, and when Timothy doesn't receive anything, he's bound to come looking… right? What a strange conundrum this is turning out to be.

That night, exhaustion keeps them beside a roaring bonfire. The two reflect quietly on their own dilemmas, but on the inside, their thoughts ring louder than an orchestra. Wes doesn't know how he feels about himself; he's in that awkward stage where he doesn't know if he wants to leave an impact on Babylon, or if he just wants to be a nameless face. He guesses this act will make the inevitable choice for him, but his nervousness outshines his confidence. This is the dread most artists face, and this time, it's all too real for the kid. On the other side of the flame, Fink doesn't know if he's capable enough to be a leader. He blames himself for this terrible tragedy, and this is partly true, for he could've just told the demolitionists to be careful. Maybe if he did that, Anna wouldn't be starving to death right now. They uncomfortably go to bed that night, for as their minds turn off, they know people are facing certain doom. And as time mercilessly passes by, this becomes even more apparent.

In Tunnel Thirty-Six, Anna and the others try not to panic, but to no avail. The situation is just too traumatic to ignore the fear. Moisture in the air allows them only short breaths, and sweat pours down their faces. Starvation and dehydration are their demons; at least it's something physical this time. Anna remembers hearing a story about the Donner Party. In May of 1846, a group of American pioneers set out for California, only to be snowbound in the Sierra Nevada during a harsh winter. They resorted to cannibalism to survive, a truly immoral act under the umbrella of desperation. If her group experiences that, she wouldn't know how to react. She can't eat another soul with a beating heart; she'd rather die. Hell, even now she can't comprehend the image of someone eating another's limb, finger, or toe. You can't return to normalcy after something like that.

Terror and claustrophobia pushes them to the end of the tunnel, where they pick away the rocks under flickering lanterns. They can't do this at the entrance, for the granite from the top of the mountains is too dense for their equipment to chip away. Some of those stones weigh fifty to eighty pounds; the shafts walls are softer and easier to work with.

The dreadful minutes go by, and they breach a surprise: a massive underground cave network. They dismantle the mineshaft's lanterns, and Anna leads them into their tomb. The lights illuminated the vast space; million-year-old stalagmites protrude from the cold ground, and crystals sparkle within the rough walls. The noise of running liquid brings them hope, and they gather 'round an underground channel of flowing water. Blind fish swim beneath its surface, and the mysterious ripples add to everyone's curiosity. However, they refrain from drinking anything, for they have no means of purifying it. How long has this been down here? How many chemicals are brewing and mingling with each other? Another dead end. They sit down, their expressions projecting an acceptance of doom. It'll take the ones outside the tunnel several days to clear the rubble, and that's after they spend time gathering the necessary equipment.

Despite it all, Anna is hopeful. She wonders about how they can prevent this from happening again, and in her mind, images of a tunnel boring machine flash by. The huge gadget consists of a cutting wheel, a main bearing, a thrust system, and trial support mechanisms. If they had that, mining operations would be almost fully automatic and a lot safer. If this disaster happened again, nobody would be stuck facing Death's scythe. This future project takes her mind off their current affairs, but she feels guilty for not doing anything.

She stands up, the lanterns flashing her shadow across the chamber. "I know this seems hopeless, but I don't think we're out of luck. Babylon's expecting a shipment soon, and when we don't arrive, they'll know something's wrong. Until then, we need to ration. How much water do we have between all of us?" The miners hold up canteens to their lanterns and shake them around. To Anna's astonishment, they have a fair amount. "Okay, if we divide it evenly amongst ourselves, we'll be okay for five days. What about food?" They dig into their satchels, producing fresh and canned produce. Some have stale sandwiches, others spam. They pile everything in front of Anna, who accurately measures their remaining time. "If we try, we'll last about a week and a half. After that, who knows? All we can do now is wait."

The lonely, insanity-driven hours pass. Nobody can fully grasp the seriousness of this situation, but maybe that's okay, for one would be driven to madness if they could. This is the Lovecraftian anxiety everyone's afraid of experiencing, that nonstop chill that never goes away; it's like a British soldier quartering in your house during the Revolutionary War. They choose to stay in the caves, for they'd rather die in a large chamber than a corridor.

To distract themselves, they begin talking. Anna listens as words from silhouettes reverberate off their surroundings. Oddly, a faux calm flows through the air. Isn't it strange how we only reveal our true colors when we're up to our necks in bad luck? Desperation is the threshold to revolution, the very meaning of the word, "apocalypse". Anna almost flinches when she hears laughter; these people are using this time to establish relationships for the future. She figures they're tasting her hope, and they want more. Either that, or this is all you can do when time's your worst enemy.

However, the calm comes before the storm. Sometime during the third night, someone sneaks to the pile of precious provisions and lets their greed consume the lives of fifty-two innocent miners. The world will always have this type of person, apocalypse or not. Selfishness is a human habit that's been with us since even before the Neanderthals, and it will outlive any disease we encounter. It's an uncontrollable demon, and we take advantage of the innocent because of its stealthy invasion. Hours later, the others wake up, and the place dissolves into chaos. They collapse to the floor in a fetal position, and panic attacks spread mercilessly from body to body. The lanterns also begin dying, adding more fear into this hellish cauldron.

The shouts arouse Anna; she does her best to control the wildfire, but to no avail. Sometimes the flames have to burn out by themselves. After they simmer down to whimpers, Anna wants to say something reassuring, but nothing comes out. What was once their bubble of protection is now their chamber of death. They don't even make an attempt to find the culprit, for it would be a waste of time and energy. Outside the cave, strong winds blow into the mountains, and a ghoulish howl rings all around them. One simple fact remains true: they still have to wait, and they can't fix anything.

Some distract themselves by swimming in the lake; others slip into delirium. Not the average delirium where you feel a strong sensation of depersonalization, but the delirium where you see yourself reliving your life from start to finish. The painful darkness is too much for these feeble minds, and as the lanterns fade out one by one, so does their sanity.

Lunacy is a complex topic to cover thoroughly, but it's what these miners are devolving into. More time passes, and by the fourth morning, all the lanterns are out. They drink the cave's water supply, only to face a simultaneous stomachache and headache. Caught between a rock and a hard place, cannibalism crosses their minds. From their groans of malnourishment, Anna knows this to be true. She can't fight back against it; exhaustion pins her to a stalagmite. All she can do is hope they don't get their hands on her.

Terror consumes her on the seventh day, for growls replace the painful whimpers. They use whatever lantern fuel they have to burn the weak and light the bodies with the lighters they use for their cigarettes. Anna uses her strength to find darkness to cower in; watching from the shadows, her eyes widen at the ensuing horrors. She needs to find the mineshaft somehow. Blood paints the ancient tomb, and the smell of cooking flesh makes her vomit. Sitting up, she waits quietly as the day presses on. Their meals conclude, and the miners fall asleep with full bellies. Desperate Anna seeks along the walls. Her heart sounds like it's loud enough to wake them up, but luckily these beasts remain asleep.

She finds a small area branching off from the main cave and feels her way behind stalagmites. She takes shelter here for the day, and the sounds of screaming make her cry. She can't believe this is happening; what kind of God would allow it? She loses faith in the guy in the sky right here; there is no such thing as a merciful father in this nightmare. In that case, Satan doesn't exist, either. You can't have one or the other; logic doesn't work that way. These spinning thoughts help her escape reality; she no longer feels the weight of the world on her shoulders. This false sense of security doesn't last; she's just fooling herself. The miners fall asleep again, and she continues her search. What a confusing, terrible situation! Who would've thought that she'd die at the hands of her fellow Babylonians? She pushes these thoughts aside, for she's not dead yet. Her determination aids her through weakness, and her hands find the edges of a rectangular, empty space. Beneath the darkness, she reveals a wide, beading smile. Entering the invisible mineshaft, the blackness somehow gets darker. Half a mile of limping passes, and her foot catches the stomach of a sleeping Babylonian. The figure rises, and she conjures enough strength to run, albeit poorly. It's like she's in Hell; the only way out is accepting your fate.

She reaches the tunnel's entrance, and as her predator wraps its cold hands around her arms, Heaven's rays pour into the blackness, and they fall into the quarry. Sun blinds their vision, and Anna lays on her back, letting the sun cook her pale skin. She sits up and opens her eyes, letting them readjust to freedom. However, when she sees the men in white cloaks holding the Babylonian rescuers hostage at gunpoint, she finds no freedom. Whoever these people are, they didn't help their cause because they're merciful; this is an act of dominance.

Their presumable leader, an Italian-American with mutton chops and a glove-covered arm, issues forth. He holds the arm away from his body and whistles. Down from the sky comes a giant, magnificent Golden Eagle. It lands on the man's arm, and Anna stares in horror at what's dangling from its beak: the head of Alexander Rudolph. Shock, dehydration, and malnourishment push her into an unconscious abyss.

In the kingdom, Forrest nervously observes the progressing society from the Throne Room's window, just like Echo. So many things are putting him on edge: the inevitable loss of sanity, Alexander's disappearance, and the Mine's missing shipment. He doesn't know how much longer he can balance these worries before more tip the scales against his favor. A sudden change along the horizon. Beyond all the skyscrapers to the east, a sea of survivors in white cloaks approaches the Gatehouse.

Alarm bells in watchtowers blare, alerting Babylonian archers to the wall walks. They carry assault rifles, bows, and arrows. Within the defenses, civilians barricade themselves in any shelter they find. Meanwhile, the king dons his cape, crown, and meets Echo at the base of the Needle.

"What should we do?" she pleads.

"You stay here; I'll confront them."

Echo objects, but he disregards her. At the Gatehouse, the king watches attentively as white cloaks march across the Drawbridge. He wants the knights to fight back, but after seeing the captive miners, he keeps his mouth shut. Even Fink and Wes are in the bunch; without Fink, who knows what the Mines will turn into. Without the kid, the Shadows will probably realize how unsafe this place is and revolt against the Monarchy. These people want blood, but Forrest isn't going to let it happen.

The Italian-American leader steps forward and announces that Babylon is his.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Forrest demands. "Do you really think we're just going to hand this place over to you?"

The mobster caricature replies with, "The more you fight back, the more your resources deplete, and the more I'll have control. We're more powerful than everyone in this shit-hole combined. We have fucking zeppelins; what do you have? Rocks? No, not even that. You have nothing. That's why we're going to kill you in front of all your people. Then, we're taking the miners hostage, and we'll begin our reign by taking the kingdom."

"When you kill the king, beware the people who hail him."

The mystic shadow of a human grins. "I like you. My apologies, I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Calsimier Ignatius, and my people are known as the Acolytes. You probably recognize us."

"We're isolationists. We prefer to stick to ourselves for this exact reason."

Ignatius scoffs, produces a flintlock pistol from a hidden holster, and aims it at the king. The captive miners gasp, but Timothy dives in front of the monarch, shielding him from the bullet. It shatters his kneecap, and the CEO collapses in a bloody mess. Merlin quickly appears on the scene, expressing great disgust towards this atrocity.

"Stop!" the teacher demands. "I have a deal!" Behind him, the king and other brave Babylonians carry Timothy off to the Hospital. "My service for Forrest's safety!"

Ignatius grows curious. "Service? What do you do here?"

"I've built this city from the ground up; I'm smarter than our own fucking gun-maker. I know the ins and outs of the architecture, of its social dynamics. This place is the back of my hand, so you tell me."

"Why aren't you the leader, then?"

"I'm not as capable as he is."

Forrest takes note of this strange shift in Merlin's character with gratitude.

Nodding, Ignatius motions him forward, and Babylon's gates slowly rise. The teacher confidently steps onto the Drawbridge, scheming an escape.

Before leaving, the mobster yells, "If you're wondering where Alex is, he's dead! So are the ones who went with him! For your own sake, stay out of California; that territory's ours!"

A seventy-five foot wall of boxcars encompasses San Francisco, California. Within its boundaries, a society above Babylon continues to develop. This city, home to the Acolytes, has no districts or monarchies; its government is a democracy, and the people want to bring back the beliefs of Manifest Destiny and the American Dream. From its paved roads to its solar energy, one might think they're practicing what they preach. However, the facade of normalcy is just the tip of the iceberg. Everything from the outside is just a mirage; there is one hell of a devil in its details. For instance, they can worship whoever they believe in, but the catch is they have to swear their allegiances and life to the cult. Considering newcomers (like the Babylonians) think San Francisco is the last society, they oblige.

The cult itself believes in capitalism, human trafficking, and slavery. An embargo prevents them from violating their ideologies; they print money at a minting facility on Alcatraz Island, and they host human auctions in their great basalt cathedrals. They don't dare step beyond the walls, for safety is nonexistent without them. The men, women, and children all appear identical; they wear white cloaks, some of which have hoods, but those that do belong to close friends of Ignatius. Their behaviors reflect the practices of the Ku Klux Klan; for instance, they pile books upon each other, ignite them, and dance around the flames. They do this with crosses, and sometimes they conduct live crucifixions of Alcatraz prisoners for entertainment. Plantations cover most of the land, and slaves from the wild work on their grounds. The main things they farm are cranberries, corn, wheat, rice, and rye. A strict diet is necessary when you're in a cult, and it's the main thing that keeps everyone docile, for when you meet everyone's needs, what is there to complain about?

Still unlike Babylon, the Convergence also believes in imperialism, and they seek to conquer everything they can. Power is their game, and capitalism/imperialism is a surefire way to victory. However, despite this perception, their ideals might have a strange appearance to sane individuals. In fact, if you can see them now, their actions encapsulate the failure of the American Dream. The saying goes that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and the Convergence can't bring enough truth to that. When you hold on to something that started as a lie, you try everything you can to make it real, and you can't bring yourself to acceptance. The city is as chaotic as a 1970s Orlando on a Saturday night. If it wasn't for the veil of normalcy, the place would fall as quickly as it came up.

The society acts like a rolling wave, especially when it comes to trends. One second, crowds treat one object as if it's the messiah, and the next they glorify another pointless item. Greed gives them short attention spans, but the "need" for wealth and reputation blinds them from seeing this. In fact, an unspoken rule in the Convergence is no money means you have no reputation, so if you don't have a plan, you become a dog. Beneath Ignatius' friends, the Convergence is split into three social categories: pigs, sheep, and dogs. The pigs are plantation owners, well-known figures who live in mansions, and anyone who's sociopathic about rising to the top. The sheep are the nameless faces in the city, the crowds, the fleeting faces you see out of the corners of your eyes. They have next to no purpose in the Convergence, but they can't know that, and propaganda/manipulation prevents them from discovering this. The dogs are hobos, misunderstood artists, and people itching to find their voice. To those out of the loop, it's easy to find out who fits into these categories after being told about them.

There are over 80,000 survivors living in San Francisco, and it outshines Babylon by several milestones. Amidst the ruckus, there are few people who want and do change everything, and these select people are known as the Greats. They reinvent all the necessities and implement them into their daily routines, like solar grids, trains, trolleys, and zeppelins for warfare. Their army has a general that's both stronger and smarter than Alex, and they can easily overpower Babylon's militia. Everyone has their ideas about antagonists, but the Convergence brings an entirely new perspective to the definition. If you think Lovecraft's Cthulhu is the harbinger of doom, that's because you've never met this strange society.

In a Brownstone apartment, Hellen Schroder gazes out a dust-covered window. Her brown, frizzy hair stretches down to her calves, and her dark skin blends in well with the bedroom. She works part-time as an electrician for some of the city's most prominent projects; sometimes she works on solar grids, others engines. It depends on the mood of the day, really. However, her job isn't as important as her revolutionary beliefs. After years of experiencing Ignatius' reign, she holds a strong hatred towards "democracy". This isn't the way things should be, but the people are stuck in an unbreakable trance. The worst part about her awareness is that she stands alone. Despite that, her gut tells her to hold on to what she supports, for a woman is lost without her beliefs.

She watches as the city's industrial gates swing open, and her mouth drops upon seeing Ignatius in front of a horde of guarded prisoners. However, she cringes, for the President oftentimes acts like a child when he displays power. This is not real democracy; if it were, the President wouldn't have this much power. The President is only supposed to be the face of the country, their decisions based on a majority vote from the people. What Ignatius projects is nothing more than fraudulent views, and his charisma is the only thing bolstering them.

Turning away from the window, she finds herself facing a wall. Blueprints of Alcatraz Island cover it, and she can't help but to smile. The future is bright for those prisoners, for this one-woman revolution will be inspirational. The sacrifice is necessary.

In Ignatius' crowd of Babylonian slaves, Wes Preston examines the area around him. This territory gives off horrible vibes, and some areas remind him of the ghettos of World War 2. The President leads the way to an unknown location, his armed guards patrolling all sides of the awestruck newcomers. No teen should ever have to experience something like this, but life is an unfair game of constantly changing patterns.

They arrive at Pier 33, the dock for Alcatraz's ferry. The boat awaits the prisoners, and the guards push and shove the Babylonians aboard, disregarding their pleads for mercy. To Wes, the scene is like the River of Styx, and Charon is their ferryman. The kid tries retaining calmness, and he looks for Fink and Anna, but to no avail. The last time he saw them was a week ago; it's like they're just… nonexistent. He focuses on the cold, treacherous waters of San Francisco Bay, with Alcatraz looming ominously over his fate. What cold, terrible trials await him? Is there any shred of innocence left? At this rate, Babylon won't be able to liberate them; there're too many rings to jump through.

The ferry starts up, and the kid vomits out of fright. The trip to the island doesn't last long, and faux, self-proclaiming officers board the boat, only to escort its occupants onto another dock. Around them, snipers in watchtowers aim their guns at the new arrivals. This is all a game, and when they begin the trek to the top of the hilly landmass, this couldn't be more apparent, for the snipers pick them off one by one as they pass Building 64, Sally Port, and the ruins of the Officer's Club. It's times like this wherein Wes is thankful for being short, but he still keeps his head down, examining the bodies, hallucinating dead friends.

They reach the top of the hills, where a menacing cellhouse awaits. Algae covers its gray, cracking walls, and barnacles accompany the natural overgrowth. Red, flickering candles sit on the interior windowsills, their flames illuminating the rusty bars. A salty smell blows through the warm summer air, and the seagulls call in the distance.

The cellhouse's door opens, revealing a beaten, strong warden. She dons SWAT gear and wields a black baton. The doors close behind her as she examines the weak, tired crowd. These people just made a five-month journey, and their dirty appearance proves it. Some sob over the recent deaths, others are too scared to look away.

"Welcome to the Rock," she says with a heavy midwestern accent. "My name is Melisa Howards, and you listen to me. Whatever Ignatius desires for you, I'll carry it out. If he says to execute you, I will without hesitation. Once you're in this facility, you belong to him and I. I assign you your job, and I tell you who you are. In other words, don't get comfortable. Do I make myself clear?" Silence. "Good. Follow me inside."

The Babylonians reluctantly follow her, for the snipers will kill them all if they don't. Inside the administration block, the Warden beats down a miner before them. They all give her their undivided attention. Behind her, a vicious cell door with a maze of terror on the other side.

"Undress," she demands.

As they do, guards from the block's hallways flood into the Entrance Corridor. The Warden dons a mask, and the armed henchmen bombard the Babylonians with tear gas. Wes scratches his young eyes, weakly falling to his knees and blacking out.

Several hours later, the kid wakes up in the bottom bunk of a cell. Looking down at himself, he sees that he now wears an orange prison jumpsuit. He hears breathing from the top bunk and investigates to find that his cellmate is Fink. Wes lets out a sigh of relief; one familiar face makes this slightly more bearable. He sits down, gazing out into the corridor. Along the top edges of the walls, guards use protected walkways (gun galleries) to move safely around the prison. The guards themselves carry guns ranging from M1 Garands to flamethrowers. More artillery rests in the armory, waiting to combat against any threat. Cells line the opposite wall, containing the shells of distant souls. The fresh meat appears anxious, whilst the cold cuts appear stern. That's what time does to you when a metal box becomes your home, especially when it's on an island in the middle of a fortress. From the looks of things, Wes is the youngest one here. If he wants to escape, he has to leave his naiveté behind. What is Stacey going to think of what he becomes?

On the other side of the city, Ignatius stands in the study of his estate (Clayriver). Beside him, Merlin Monroe, who gawks at the similarities between their tastes in authors. Gazing 'round, the teacher spots an entire section for the economy. Volumes upon volumes; books might as well be this room's paint. How does one man absorb all this information in one lifetime? Monroe then starts for the back of the study, where a fireplace rests. The flames illuminate seven portraits of unknown males above it.

Ignatius notices his interest. "They're all the Presidents before me."

"Your terms are a bit off."

"Did I ever say our version of democracy is perfect? As long as there're people temporarily in power, who cares?"

The teacher faces him. "What's going to happen to the Babylonians on Alcatraz?"

"Believe me, if I were you, that would be the least of my worries."

"And why's that?"

"You have work to do. There are things we need that I don't have the time to focus on. That's where you come in. We need indoor plumbing, irrigation systems, and a sewage plant. Do you think you can help us?"

"Will you leave Babylon alone?"

"Merlin, don't you see that's up to them? I only took the miners because they were out in the open, waiting to be plucked by someone bigger than them. It's our job to conquer the weak; it says so in our Constitution."

"What about Alex? The knights? Can you rationalize that?"

The President shrugs his shoulders. "They wanted a fight. We don't tolerate that kind of nonsense, and I expect Babylon has those same principles." He starts for the exit. "There's a bathroom on the other side of the hall. Go to it."

Now in the ornate bathroom, the Babylonian stands in front of a clear mirror. Everything is too clean for his liking; after all, his only frame of reference for normalcy is an unsanitary medieval kingdom. Behind his reflection, a white robe, its hood dangling from a metal hook. In his hands, scissors and a razor. Am I against the Monarchy? Raising the appliances to his head, he cuts everything off. His hair falls lifelessly to the tiled floors, and he can't help but to long for the Echo he knew in Colorado, the one that found him cowering in the firetruck. He stares at his reflection uncomfortably, for he doesn't see a cult member… he sees a Babylonian. Donning the robe, he exits the bathroom.

That night, he stays awake, gazing at the wooden ceiling. Taking deep breaths, he feels the anxiety of an impending conflict. In the distance, Ignatius' Golden Eagle caws, as if confirming his suspicions. Imagine being underwater and, unbeknownst to you, a Great White lurks closely behind, its mouth wide open, and its hunger fierce. Babylon is going to lose unless they can get help. Despite his feelings towards the Monarchy, innocent people still live in the kingdom. He sees no other option besides becoming a spy, and that entails working with the people he hates and ultimately against his beliefs. He sits up, thinking that the road to the least casualties is the right one, no matter how treacherous it seems. It's either be a slave in a foreign land, or be a slave in a familiar one with fame being an advantage instead of a reminder of his maltreatment. For the sake of the people, he opts for the latter. After all, that's what Babylon is supposed to represent: humanity. And from the looks of things, there's no room for that here.

In her apartment, Hellen Schroder smiles, for a riot on Alcatraz is inevitable. She kneels before all the plans, bomb equipment, and a flyer calling for an electrician to repair fuse boxes in the island's Powerhouse. Considering her fifteen-year experience in the field, she's bound to get the job. If she does, not only will she have a clever pretense for going there, she'll also be able to contact the prisoners in secrecy. Five years of planning is paying off; she can feel passion beating through her body. All she needs is the right moment. Whenever it comes, it'll change the course of the world's uncertain future.

On Alcatraz, Wes and Fink remain awake several hours into this strange, historical night. Hope stems from here, and although it's slim, seeds grow into trees. Fink feels guilty about the miners; he could have stopped it, and he regrets not being more cautious. He's responsible for every death, injury, and trauma, and this makes him weep. He doesn't want to hurt people, for companionship is stronger than harm. The memories of that horrific event mark the beginnings of his descent into the world of PTSD.

"It's not your fault," Wes retorts. "You can't prepare for everything."

"You can't change the facts, kid. People died."

"You aren't a murderer. Do you know how you can prove the world wrong? It's here; you can help me break everyone out."

"Wes! You're too young, and-"

"Hamilton was only fourteen when he started changing things. Nothing's impossible with a plan."

"I don't know."

"Come on! You're capable of pulling this off. Imagine the people who're suffering right now because we aren't doing anything. We can make names for ourselves."

Fink crosses over to the cell's door. On the opposite side of the corridor, Babylonians and California prisoners shift uncomfortably in their bunks. They're all lost, in need of someone with a passion for leadership. Is this really what their lives mount to? Should they let thirty years of labor go to waste? The kid admittedly has a point; this will make him a hero. How can someone so young be so damn understanding?

Facing Wes, Fink simply asks, "When do we start?"

The kid grins. "As soon as we accumulate into our jobs. We can't rush this; countless things can go wrong if we're not cautious."

"We should stick to finding Anna and learning about our rulers for now."

"Nope," Wes climbs into bed. "Now, we sleep. We'll do your agenda tomorrow."

The sun rises slowly over this odd realm, and in Ignatius' estate, Merlin lies awake. He had a dream he was in a relationship with a guy. Out of all the things happening right now, does he really need to think about his sexuality? He's still human; of course he does. He's never been in a relationship with a girl before. In fact, they don't attract him. Logic would say he's either gay or bisexual, but maybe he just hasn't met the right girl yet. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter in the end. What does is surviving this haunting situation long enough to gather accurate intelligence for Babylon.

Someone knocks on the door, and Merlin looks to see Ignatius upon its threshold. The Golden Eagle rests calmly on the glove-covered arm; it seems as though it's about to fall asleep. In the President's free hand, a black book embellished with crystalized skulls and fossilized herbs. The title reads: The Principles of Calvinism. From Ignatius' grimace, Merlin figures the novel has something to do with their outlandish beliefs.

"Who's Calvin?" he asks.

"Our first president. We honor him by following his orders verbatim." His crooked smile widens; it's like he's reliving a memory where he lived out a fantasy relationship. "Come on; you're gonna love today."

"Care to explain?"

"You're going to witness an initiation."

Ignatius leads the teacher through the magnificent, clean estate, and they reach its ornate, oaken doors. Before leaving, Merlin catches the President's fleeting insidious expression, and he gets a gut feeling that tells him to split. However, Babylonian nationalism broaches his urges. He's doing this for them.

In the streets, the spy examines the passing crowds, horse-drawn trolleys, and the stylish properties. Everyone looks like a complete doppelgänger of themselves all the way down to the genetic code. They purchase items in markets and mingle about pointless topics. The spy notices several haunting similarities between the social aspects of Babylon and San Francisco, but the most prominent difference is San Francisco's race issue. The majority of civilians are caucasian, and the only African-Americans are working on the plantations of mansions. The Irish and Asian work in odd jobs like construction or house care alongside the Mexicans, and when the caucasians work, they usually get a better job that provides a fruitful salary.

Merlin and Ignatius approach the doors of the largest cathedral in the city. From the outside, it looks like a bleak South Carolina asylum. It sticks out like a sore thumb, and it rises far above its neighboring competitors. The brick is of basalt, and the darkness accentuates dread. Ignatius sends his Golden Eagle into the sky, and they enter the devious structure.

Now in the cathedral's nave, Merlin grows nervous as he passes aisles of hooded figures. At the apse, a pianist plays the melody to This Land is Your Land by Woody Guthrie, and it doesn't stop until they reach the podium. Ignatius clears his throat and lays the book on it.

"All rise," the President commands.

They climb to their feet and pray in an ancient Middle Eastern language unknown to Merlin. Ignatius then points to the Babylonian, declaring him the initiate. Merlin's heart drops, and from the end of the nave emerges two followers holding a squealing pig; between its cries, it sounds like someone begging for mercy. Ignatius hands Merlin a ruby dagger, and instructs the Babylonian to gut the swine. The spy does so, and blood washes over the dark floorboards. It flows into the nave, and the pig writhes on the ground, its intestines spilling around itself.

The Babylonian observes the other-worldly behavior in the room, and he wonders if the Monarchy will think this is authentic. And he thought living in a kingdom was weird. He's feeling a forgotten brew of emotions ranging from excitement to regret; it makes him think of the early days and how insane everyone was. Sweat drips down his forehead, and he backs into Ignatius, who shoves him to the blood-covered ground.

With the ritual ending on a successful note, the chamber turns into a circus of laughter and cheers. Ignatius congratulates Merlin, yanking him to his feet. Who knew animal sacrifice could be so celebratory?

That evening, they prepare a feast in the nave, its centerpiece Merlin's pig. Who was the first leader, and how did he have such an influence? Are any of the previous Presidents still alive? Where are they, if this is the case? One answer burrows into a labyrinth of questions unanswerable for those who desire sanity.

Merlin, standing next to Ignatius, dares to ask the President these questions, but the laughter and routines of the chamber prevents the spy from getting anything. His attempt a failure, he consumes the breadth of the Convergence's wrath. The night goes on, and more members of Ignatius' inner circle show up, bestowing upon the feast wine and cheese, presumably made by their slaves. Merlin plays the game, anxiety driving his every step. Imagine having a dream that's so real you can't distinguish it from now. That's how the teacher feels; first a kingdom, now a cult. Can things get any more convoluted? Despite these worries, Ignatius and Merlin get along well at the party. They chat about the old days, and Merlin finds out that the President was in the Vietnam War. He was nineteen then, and he's almost fifty now. Time has a unique way of making us feel uncomfortable, and Ignatius sees this when he looks into the mirror, knowing the end is a mere twenty years away. Merlin can't help but to understand this; however, no matter what, you can't sympathize with your enemy.

The feast concludes, and everyone shakes the Babylonian's hand. After they file out of the building in a single-file line, Ignatius and Merlin gawk at the mess behind them. With determination, they finish the job in four hours.

"You do this with every newcomer?" Merlin asks, tying up a garbage bag.

"Yes; Calvin says so. What he demands, we provide."

"Who's Calvin, exactly?"

Ignatius lays down his bag, sighing. "He's our prophet. We hail him because he gave us this great society. The wisdom he had puts me to shame, in all honesty. When he died, we buried him in the crypt beneath this very cathedral. Follow me."

Merlin drops his bag, and he and the President reach a small door along the wall behind the podium. The President opens it, and they descend into a winding world of endless mysticism. When they reach the crypt, Merlin finds tunnels of bones and skulls branching off in every direction for countless miles.

"The Catacombs are the most haunting part about this place," Ignatius admits.

The damp air makes it hard to breathe, and the poisonous, unknown chemicals are without a doubt disturbing their respiratory systems. Ignatius crosses over to a small, wooden chest. From his robe, he produces a key that matches its lock. After opening it, he pulls out two masks. Merlin takes one and holds it in his hands; it's black, covers your entire head and neck, and it even comes with goggles for your eyes. The oddest thing about it is that the part that shields your nose and mouth extends outward, ending at a point like a beak. Putting it on, Merlin smells posies.

"It's like one of those Plague Doctor outfits," he says, chuckling.

Ignatius dons his. "My advice: don't touch anything down here. Several people have contracted diseases like tuberculosis."

"You should design suits or something."

"We tried that, but diseases change and mutate, and when they use countless corpses as a breeding ground, anything can happen. Who knows if these masks even work?"

They happen upon a grand, oversized coffin that protrudes from the muddy ground. The metallic plate on its lid reads, "Christopher Calvin, 1936-1962. Cause of death: suicide." Merlin rereads the last word over and over again. Why would someone like that kill themselves? He shouldn't even bother asking questions anymore, for their answers reek of confusion. All around the Babylonian, the eyeholes of human skulls glare at him beneath flickering torches. Is there anything innocent in this cold world, or did all of it go extinct even before its end? He backs away from the site, turns, and leaves. Ignatius remains, praying over the casket.

Back on Alcatraz, Fink sits quietly in the Warden's office. His heart races; he hasn't stopped shaking since he sat down. The Warden sits on the other side of a desk, examining him. She clears her throat, climbs to her feet, and walks over to a filing cabinet. After pulling out a folder, she returns to her desk, opens it, and Fink watches as two small bags fall to the desktop. Inside, white powder. Smiling, the Warden removes her SWAT helmet, and red, frizzy hair flows down her shoulders. Bandages cover her left ear, and a scar along the length of her forehead makes her look like the victim of a psychology experiment. If she's strong enough to survive a head injury in a time with almost no medical science, what else is she capable of? The Warden unzips the bags and lines up the powder. She produces a $100 bill from her pocket, rolls it up in a cylindrical shape, and snorts the powder.

She twitches, saying, "I'm gonna make you the best fucking person here. What were you before?"

"A miner."

She punches the desk. "A miner! Fantastic!" Another twitch. "We'll… uh… are you good with mechanical shit?"

"Well, I-"

"Good! We'll put you in the Powerhouse. Your first day is today. Go there now."

"You've got no idea what you're doing, do you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You pretend you're intimidating, but you're a coward. I'm not afraid of you."

The Warden spits in his face. "Did you forget that I can execute you for whatever reason? Don't fucking tempt me."

Fink wipes away the glob. "Do you believe in karma?"

The Warden grins. "I am karma. Now, get the fuck out of my office and tell the guards where to send you. If you lie to them, I'll find out. You know what happens then."

Fink grunts and leaves. The Warden loses her mind, and she jumps around the room, giggling. The euphoria distracts her from dark thoughts, and her compulsive thinking ceases. However, during the comedown, memories spark in her mind, and fifteen minutes later, she finds herself sobbing at the desk, her hands covering her face. Why did she hurt him? She's the cause of Ignatius' pain, and she can't make him better. The only reason she's alive right now is because of his mercy, which only makes her feel more guilt. They used to be so happy together, but now all that remains between them are small, awkward interactions.

She feels like she's losing control of herself, for her cocaine use disrupts vital parts of her daily routine. Despite this, she doesn't stop; she can't. Her brain is too fucked up. Being high is the only thing that helps her escape these terrible feelings. In the end, isn't that why any of us do drugs? And in her case, when all you do is hurt people beyond repair, is there any other way out of that winding path?

She looks up from the desk, wiping tears away. She has to move on somehow; she needs to kick this addiction so she can be a greater leader. Most importantly, she has to get Ignatius back. Only then will the puzzle be complete.

Two guards shove Fink towards the front doors of the intimidating Powerhouse. From the front lawn, they hear generators humming, whistles blowing, and electricity sparking. The horrors of this place are immeasurable, and Fink feels whatever's beyond those doors is going to bring him pain. This is the most dangerous area on the island, not because of its conditions, but because of its purpose. If anybody messes up their duties, the cellhouse's doors open (they're on a grid), and the island will go into chaos. The Warden will find the person responsible and kill them. If she doesn't, someone else will. Fink realizes this riot will have to be as organized as possible with every contingency recognized.

They enter the building, wherein a maze of metal corridors and endless hallways awaits the Babylonian. Somehow this is more terrifying than the prison. He passes enslaved workers, and what gets him are their stares of confusion. They have no idea what they're doing, but maybe that's the point. Fink sees that the guards divide the workers into teams, with one instructor leading the way. All the instructors appear to be oppressive, and they purposely hold valuable knowledge just to keep their team ignorant. Ignatius' men carry corpses on cots, and Fink catches sight of all the danger signs. This is the personification of capitalism. Nobody has any rights here, and nobody gets a chance to form a union. This is a prison camp.

His captors station him at one of the countless electric generators, and his team's leader is a woman with dark skin and curly hair. She's different from the others, for her smile brings him and the other teammates warmth. She notices the Babylonian. "And you are?"

"Fink."

Stretching out her hand, she introduces herself. "Hellen. It's nice to meet you. Since it's your first day, I'll teach you the very basics of working with machinery like this." She whispers, "Unlike the others here, I don't want to see you dead."

He accepts the handshake. "How long have you been here for?"

"I just started today. One look at my resume, and they put me as a team lead. I worked on hundreds of electrical grids in the city."

Fink warms up to the kindhearted acolyte. She teaches the crew how generators convert mechanical energy into electrical power, and she shows them blueprints and techniques on how to maintain these massive machines. She puts Fink in charge of the engine, and the others on the fuel system, alternator, voltage regulator, cooling and exhaust systems, lubrication systems, battery charger, and control panel. Fink looks over his shoulder and realizes that the island only runs off this type of power to oppress the prisoners. This island can run off solar or wind power; it's a deliberate choice. Despite this, Hellen shows everyone how to do their job properly, a complete opposite approach from the others in her position. The day passes by, and they sweat off an honest day's work.

Thirty minutes before leaving, Hellen pulls Fink aside when the guards change their posts.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Untie your shoe."

He does. "And?"

Hellen drops a folded up piece of paper. "Act natural. Hide that, and read it when you can." She returns to helping the team, not knowing if she made the right choice.

Fink, feeling hope for the first time since he saw Babylon, bends over, places the note beneath the tongue of his shoe, and ties it. The final whistle blows throughout the Powerhouse, and the guards file everyone out of the building, only to escort the night crew into its careless corridors.

Now in his cell, Fink turns away from its door and produces the note. Unfolding it, it reads in ink:

Dear prisoner,

If you received this, it means you are going to get out of here. My name is Hellen Schroeder, and I am against Ignatius' government. I am planning a riot from the outside, and I need your help in formulating a plan. At my apartment, I have blueprints of the prison; I know it like the back of my hand. I have the beginnings of the event planned out, but I need your help in filling in the gaps.

Step 1: Create a diversion Step 2: Cut off the island's power supply Step 3: A slave uprising on the mainland to distract the military Step 4: A complete overthrow of the island

This is how far I've gotten. Step 3 is essential to our victory; we need those slaves. When this day comes, all of our work will be worth it. If you have any ideas, please jot them down in the empty spaces below and give this paper back to me.

Sincerely, Ms. Schroeder

Fink folds up the note again and slides it under the cell's bunkbed. Behind him, the door opens, and he turns to see guards push a beaten Wes to the ground. They slam the door shut and lock it with a skeleton key, laughing as they walk away. Fink pulls the bleeding kid to his feet, and he sits him down on the bottom bunk. The kid's left eye is swollen shut, and blood spews out of the corners of his mouth.

"What happened?" Fink demands.

"They… I… fucked up. She threw me in the mint facility, and I fucked up. The guards took me to her office, and she beat me with a fucking skull." He hugs his legs. "We have to get out of here… I can't take this."

"I have a note."

The kid wipes away some blood. "What note?"

Fink explains his day, and he reaches under the bed to prove its existence. "Read it."

Wes obliges. "So… that's that?"

"Yes, all we need is something to write with."

"Can't you just ask her to bring a pen?" he shivers. "I… I don't want to risk anything."

"I'll see what I can do. All we need is time, kid." He hugs the crying boy. "It's going to be okay."

The next morning, Merlin wakes up to a stormy day. He jumps when he hears Ignatius' golden eagle cry; he'll never get used to that thing. He climbs out of bed, crosses over to a dresser, and produces the white hooded robe from a drawer. Donning it, he turns to the room's door to see Ignatius standing in its doorway. Instead of a robe, the President wears a Hazmat suit; he holds another one in his hands.

"What?" Merlin asks.

"I'm going to show you something since you're part of the inner circle."

The teacher removes his robe in frustration. "Give it to me."

The President does, and the Babylonian wears the suit, feeling humiliation. They exit the estate, where a limo awaits them on the driveway; its driver looks lost in her thoughts, but she snaps back into reality when they climb into the vehicle's backseats. Merlin watches the world outside as the limo starts up, backs out of the driveway, and zooms down the road. How do these people even have functioning cars? Are their mechanics really that good? Did Forrest deliberately keep this knowledge hidden on purpose? The more he's alive, the more Merlin hates the Monarchy and the President. No man should ever be in this position; it's too difficult to comprehend. The only thing he knows is that he can't be alone. Sometimes he thinks that's the very thing that's going to kill him one day, and maybe he's right.

The limo approaches the city's gate; it slowly opens as they drive into the broken world, and it closes after they pass it. The area around San Francisco reminds Merlin of the destruction left behind after the blast of an atomic bomb. He remembers what it was like during the Cold War. He had bomb drills in his school on a regular basis, and the class was shown anti-communist propaganda. That's all everyone would talk about: the pros of capitalism, and the cons of communism. It was rare to find an unbiased source of information, which is what Merlin wanted. He has to see both sides of an argument before he can come to a rational conclusion. He gazes out towards a wheat field; most of the crops are burnt, and the charred remains of silos and barns paint themselves in contrast to the bright blue sky. Nothing is the same anymore; he can't imagine people tending this area. In the distance, a mountain range comes into view. They drive for several hours; the Babylonian falls asleep as they pass through abandoned towns and cities. The car jolts to a stop, and he wakes up, seeing the driver in her own hazmat suit.

They exit the car, high in the mountains. Ignatius guides Merlin by the hand over to the edge of a rockface, and the three stare down towards the valley below. The Babylonian's mouth drops, for what awaits him is an endless ocean of infected. The growls sound like the lowest pitch of a howling storm, and their skin is as black as boiling tar. Dark blood spews out of their sores and blisters; flies swarm around them while maggots nest inside their organs. A foul, hellish odor rides with the passing wind, and Merlin feels nauseous. Imagine the diseases brewing and mutating down there. Pathogens with the potential to end entire societies.

"What… is this?" Merlin stammers.

"When you want to be an effective leader," Ignatius starts, "you come up with ideas on how to get what you want. Fear is a surefire way to do that. When you beat someone up and drag them here in the middle of the night against their will, you gain their respect and submission. We show those people death, and they beg for mercy."

"How do you keep them alive?"

Ignatius watches the infected sea. "There're always enough children. The young rejuvenate the infected. We need to control our population growth anyway. Think of it as… a trash can. Enough of that, though. I brought you here because I need something: information about Babylon."

"I thought you weren't going to do anything to them."

"I lied. From what I saw, they had a lot of shit, and most of it is useful to our condition. I want to know about what I didn't see."

The limo's driver produces a pistol and strikes Merlin on the back of his head. She stands behind him, ready to kill. The Babylonian falls to his knees, groaning in agony; the ratio isn't in his favor. He examines the infected, and it's as if they're begging him to comply. One kick sends him over the edge, one bite sends him to his doom.

"What do you want to know?" Merlin asks, stammering.

"What kind of guns do they use?"

He keeps Timothy out of this. "Just flintlocks, canons, and bows and arrows. We aren't as sophisticated as you think."

"Bullshit! You have an entire area dedicated to mining! You're advanced; you're just hiding it."

The driver strikes Merlin again, this time on his neck. "Speak," she growls.

"Your government," Ignatius states. "What is it?"

"It's a… monarchy."

"Who rules? A king or a queen?"

"Both."

"Then it's not a monarchy; kings and queens never rule at the same time."

"That's the thing; our flaws are their advantages. Forrest, our king, is a lot like you. He does things like that because he rules through manipulation; he lulls people into a false sense of security, and that's when he strikes. He has you before he knows you."

At first, Ignatius wanted conflict. Now he wants compromise. Imagine having someone of this caliber on his side; imagine the power!

The President kneels. "Do you think he can meet me?"

"After what you did with the miners? The army?"

"That's what we do with all vulnerable people; that's why we didn't attack Babylon. They were easy targets for us. We're why you shouldn't let your guard down."

Merlin closes his eyes. "I don't know how you can meet him. They could be making their way here right now. Don't you think it's safer to stay put?"

"Get in the car," Ignatius demands. "I'll deal with it."

Back in the city, the Warden sits alone in her office. Candles flicker, illuminating the queer decor of human skulls. Her door opens, and her heart drops upon seeing Ignatius stepping over the threshold. She leaps to her feet, wanting to hug him, but something stops her. They stand in silence, as if they're watching each other's ghost. The Warden opens her mouth, but the glare on the President's face sends a silencing message. He scans the room, noticing the smeared lines of coke on the desk. A disdainful sigh escapes his mouth, and he starts for the door.

"Wait!" she begs. "Please… wait."

Ignatius pauses. "If I tell you to do something, will you do it?"

"Will you love me?"

"If you complete my assignment, I'll reconsider."

"Okay… What is it?"

"I need you to go to Seattle. There's a group there; a big one. I have to get in contact with their leaders."

She nods her head, not caring about the repercussions. "I'll do it for you."

Ignatius kisses her. "Thank you."

Now in his estate, the President stands in a dark room. One light dangles over a post, and on top of it rests the Golden Eagle. The animal's green, grass-colored eyes dart across the room; it lets out a shriek, much to Ignatius' approval. He produces a live rat from his pocket and holds it in front of the eagle's beak. Without hesitation, the beast clamps out on the creature and swallows it whole. Ignatius pets the bird, proud of being its owner. He's seen the bird kill in battle; it stuns the opponent by appearing out of the sky and then kills them. It acts like a guided missile. Loyal pets must have loyal owners. The door opens, and a strange light illuminates the room for a moment until it closes again, leaving the room's occupants in almost complete darkness.

"Why don't you get more lanterns?" Merlin asks.

The President sighs. "She likes it this way. Too much light all day obstructs her vision. She's… fragile like that."

The Babylonian approaches the pole. "What's her name?"

"Athena."

"How did you find her?"

"I was in the Vietnam War. We were in the mountains, and my platoon came across this nest. It was weird, seeing it in the middle of all the trauma. Anyway, we saw eggs. One of them hatched, and Athena's head was sticking out. A few feet from the nest, its mother. It was shot down out of the sky. That struck me. Athena was going to die, and everyone was too caught up in the war to notice the little things. I wanted to change that. I saved and raised her during the war, and we grew close. Now… we're here."

"How old is she?"

"In her forties. I don't have the exact number in my head right now."

"Ignatius, why do you have the pit?"

"When I was in the war, I supported the fight against communism. I wanted us to win. We didn't, but our society stands because capitalism is still here. That pit represents the power it holds over these people."

"I don't think that's a fair argument. Communism is a moneyless society. Babylon doesn't use money, and we're doing relatively fine. Although we aren't communists, bartering works for us. All societies have their own ways; we can't downright abolish ideas simply because we don't agree with them. These isms are vulnerable to change; why we don't fix them is beyond my understanding."

"I thought you were in my inner circle, not Babylon's."

The teacher stays quiet.

The President moves towards the door. "Let me show you how things work here in the simplest way possible." He leads the Babylonian through the estate and onto an ornate balcony. In the distance, slaves work on plantations, and a cloud of smog forms over the city. Merlin stares in awe at the pollution, a silent killer.

The President rests his hands on the balcony's safety rails. "When you control the money supply, you control the people; when you become the money supply, you hold all the power you can dream of. I am now your leader. You will do as I ask, and you will not speak against my word again. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

Outside San Francisco, the Warden walks through the land confidently. Her feet brush across the overgrown weeds that sprout upward from the cracking roads. Dawn is breaking, and it's as if the sky looks like the brew in a painter's crucible. She scans the landscape; nothing but emptiness. One can't understand the true nature of loneliness until they behold this Hell on Earth. It's still a game, no matter the disorder. That word reverberates in her mind as if it hides under the bashes of a gong. Disorder always intrigues her; it's not the state itself, but the fact that it can lead to order. How can such a chaotic idea bring organization to even the most heinous of situations?

Buildings creak and settle around her; it's as if she's living in a giant house with wooden framework. Their rumbles mimic her singing stomach, and she grows desperate for food. Reaching into her pocket, the Warden produces a small, metallic dagger. She pauses, examining an engraving of the number 33 in its hilt. Sure, her family has Freemason blood, but what difference does it make now? She's no more special than the dirt on her shoe. She presses on, realizing her journey is larger than her self-deprecation. This is her love life on the line. And so, she endures the miles of post-apocalyptic land. The days pass; she finds wild game, but no other humans. There's no beat left in the earth. No signs of life on this coast, at least, not from her perspective. Maybe there are people hiding in the bushes, waiting for the perfect moment to attack and slit her throat. That's just how it is now, and it will always be like this. The strangest part about it is that it mimics how she felt in the real world. Lost, drained, and alone. There's always this paranoia following her; it lingers behind winding trails of thoughts like the black smoke that erupts from exhaust pipes. She distracts herself by finding patterns in this skeletal world. Patterns in the peeling plaster of decaying walls, in rusty cars, and in the cracking asphalt. She spends many cold nights in the withering foundations of firehouses, police stations, schools, post offices, malls, and anywhere else that has a roof. The only thing that makes her feel safe is the lack of the infected ones.

Tonight, she sleeps against the trunk of a birch tree, exhaustion, hunger, and thirst winning. Above her, a trembling, gray sky. Rain pelts her body softly at first, but the storm drenches her within five minutes. She doesn't move; she's too weak. All of our demons catch up to us eventually. She gazes down at her dagger's hilt; it protrudes from her pocket and has a mocking presence. She's too weak to even cut her own wrists, to put an end to this terrible nightmare. She stares ahead, into the distant woods. The winding branches and leaves look different now, and something about this place provokes a sense of powerlessness. Looking down at her legs, she sees nature's floor covering them. Insects crawl over her arms and neck, and they bite and pick at her skin.

She hears a wolf howling in the distance; with every cry, it seems to get closer and closer to her location. The hunched beast emerges before her, licking its curly lips beneath the falling rain. It growls as it circles her tree, and in its glowing red eyes, the Warden sees pure evil. If there can be proof of the Devil, this is it. Hell is right here on Earth, and it's the last thing she's going to see. Gazing down at the mocking dagger, the Warden is too weak to even reach for it. What other choice does she have now besides giving up? It's not like Ignatius is serious about his offer. The beast's stomach growls, but before it pounces, a spear strikes its head, and it collapses to the cold earth. A few minutes pass, and nobody reveals themselves. She numbs herself to the tireless exhaustion and falls asleep.

When she wakes up, mud covers her skin. Worms, caterpillars, and other insects crawl through the soft earth, and she leaps to her feet, wiping nature off her shivering body. A few feet from her, the infected wolf. She examines the spear protruding from its head, takes it out, and raises it to the morning light. No designs, no carvings. She doesn't even know if they're watching her right now, hiding beneath dense foliage. Paranoia pushes her out of the woods and onto the open road. The sun beats down on her, and thirst quickly becomes a problem. No water. She hasn't had any in hours. Her tongue is as dry as the surface of Mars, and her lips are like the mud cracks of the Mojave Desert.

Holding her aching stomach, she limps down the road like a drunkard. Exhaustion never fails to ruin goals. Above her head, the sky darkens once more like a summer in Florida. To her surprise, it's only a drizzle. She presses on, forgetting about the light rainfall. What's her purpose? Is she as dead as the rest of the world? When one wanders a wasteland of burnt architecture and decay, one ponders on their existence. What's this senseless meeting going to accomplish? Some part of her thinks Forrest won't even agree because of what Ignatius is doing to their people. Who would want to team up with abductors? She pauses. She loves him, and she won't let him down because of her entitlement. Too stubborn to see reality, she stops asking these questions and distracts herself by observing the passing scenery. Miles and miles of absolute destruction. Comprehending the magnitude of the old world's ruins is like calculating an end to pi.

At noon, she walks by a mall. From its parking lot, a deer leaps onto her path. A spear flies out of nowhere and strikes the innocent animal through the eye; a precise hit. The Warden approaches the animal hesitantly, her head pounding. This spear is of the same design as the one that killed the wolf. Whirling around, she scans the surrounding structures. Nothing, not even a tumbleweed. A vulture circles the sky overhead. She ignores it, but an ominous feeling grows inside her chest. These hiding protectors are haunting her. Despite this fear, she needs to eat something, so she skins the deer with her dagger and roasts the raw meat over a cracking fire. The Warden devours the meat, leaving nothing for a desperate straggler.

She reaches Oregon, and when she spots the state's sign, her heart races. One step closer to ending this personal exodus. The Israelites, supposedly, wandered the desert for forty years. What she feels must be similar to how they felt, if the story is true. She doesn't understand religion; she doesn't know why Ignatius has his cult. She just wants him. He has the personality of a mobster, and the tenacity of Sisyphus. Everything he does is attractive to her. Although this obsession is unhealthy, she fails to recognize that because of how captivating he is.

During her gruesome Passover, her ghosts kill more animals for her to eat, and they even leave canteens full of water by the campfires in the middles of these cold nights. At some point, she gets lost, finding herself at Fort Stevens Stage Park, at the tip of the peninsula. She happens upon an old Civil War structure, its use lasting until 1947. On the night of June 21st-22nd, 1942, the Japanese fired 17 shells at this place. The Warden remembers learning about it in school, pondering on what future textbooks will be like. All the libraries are burnt; the human record is gone. What will happen now?

Here, she experiences the worst of cocaine withdrawal, becoming lethargic within the first hour of her arrival. Unable to reach out for help, and not knowing if the protectors are just drawing her into a trap, she remains here. Unforgettable, terrifying days pass, and they grow worse with each proceeding sunrise and sunset. Restlessness prevents the Warden from any form of a good night's rest, and she grows uncomfortable in her skin, and this discomfort makes her want to rip it all off, so she can finally free herself from this misery. Insomnia develops alongside the heat of freak night sweats, which make her body feel like she's roasting over a bottomless inferno. Her obsession with Ignatius spikes, for thinking about him is the only thing that brings stability in these dark hours. However, this invites delusional thoughts of her being his wife, and she believes they have a family in the mountains of California. Throughout this experience, her protectors still bring her gifts. Jars of food, cans of ice water. Why don't they just confront her or kill her within the masonry walls of this historical structure? Why can't she just take her dagger to her wrists to end this helpless opportunity? She regrets not bringing the drug, not bringing any supplies. A realization dawns on her: she did that intentionally. She wants to suffer. But why, and how did she do it unconsciously? Why didn't Ignatius tell her to bring anything? Well, he's probably too focused on other things; being the leader of a developing society doesn't entail leisure time. Each time she justifies his actions, the deeper she descends into this queer obsession.

The peak of this terrifying trip plateaus and descends into a downward spiral. It takes her endless days to recover, to rehabilitate back into her previous habits. She regains her strength slowly, first by walking, then hunting, then self-fulfillment. Her protectors don't provide the jars of food, but they still leave behind the cans of water. She wonders how they get all these supplies, what drastic measures that must be undertaken in order to achieve such a regular stockpile. Are these people friendly, or is this just another trap? These questions run through her broken mind, but she brushes them off for the sake of her own sanity. Conjuring her thoughts, her supplies, her courage, she exits the fort, preparing herself for an uncertain path. Has this crossing ever been done before? How could anybody know? Where would the records of their travels be?

On the road, she approaches a waiting area for the county's nonexistent transit route. In a neighboring newspaper stand, a clean booklet of maps of each individual state, sticking out like a sore thumb. Her protectors instantly cross her mind, but why would they wait until now to bring such an artifact to her? Picking it off the shelf, she flips to Oregon and traces her route to the state's northernmost border. Even more tireless days pass through this lonely, isolating life. She feels like a nomad, having no direction, no shelter, no purpose. Maybe that's what these survivors are all like, nameless, faceless people just filling the meaningless hole of a heartless, forgotten world. Maybe that's been in all of us since before this confusing downfall of humanity.

Reaching Washington, a silent breath of relief flows through her. Now wandering through the country's northwestern-most state, the Warden stumbles through empty cities, sleeps in small, abandoned structures, and roams over relics of a forgotten time. If future archeologists uncover this, there will be no end to the stories and claims they'll throw out. Today, humanity's legend reminds her of Egypt. With that being the case, Ignatius is a powerful, divine pharaoh.

On her final day, her feet reach Babylon's wooden drawbridge. Each time her blistering feet stamp across the fresh oak, she feels an aura of accomplishment and pride. How does this masterpiece manage to withstand the sands of time? The kingdom's walls and glaring archers loom over her; they stretch far above her head, protecting the protruding rooftops of the medieval buildings behind it. The boiling sun illuminates the Holy Land, and it gives the region a peaceful glow as she approaches the barred gateway. Here, she meets a weary, rough-looking gatekeeper who looks like a reincarnation of the Virgin Mary.

"Please," the Warden weakly mutters. "I need shelter; I've been on the road for the past few weeks. This is a matter of extreme importance."

The gatekeeper reluctantly pulls a lever inside the fortified gatehouse. "We have to pat you down; come in."

Above the Warden, the archers lower their weapons. She gladly enters the small masonry building, wherein the gatekeeper finds a dagger and a booklet of maps in her pockets.

"I'll take you to the Monarchy so they can talk to you," the gatekeeper explains. "You see that huge building, taller than the rest? That's where they live."

The Warden follows the Babylonian through this strange, original society. The acolyte watches how everyone behaves, and she quickly notices the lack of racist ideologies and currency. Taking note of this, she turns her judgements to the architecture. The simple wooden, hay roof buildings of fascinating dimensions contradict the modern, fading appearance of the Space Needle, accentuating the intention behind their designs. Whoever built Babylon like it is, did so deliberately. For what reason, she knows not, but nonetheless, they enter their destination and climb the tower's exhausting staircase to the Throne Room, where the gatekeeper knocks on its menacing doors.

The portal swings open, revealing an ornate, fanatical interior, and a man with a long, scruffy beard. The lines on his forehead accentuate his age, and a golden crown rests upon his head. A purple cape hangs off his shoulders and washes down his back like a waterfall, lagging a few feet behind him. The Warden feels like she's in an entirely new world.

He says to the gatekeeper, with a warm, inviting smile, "Good job, Samantha. You can return to your post now."

The king then gestures for the Warden to come in.

The door closes behind them, and he meets her at a large dining room table. A chandelier dangles down from the ceiling and flickers overhead, casting an ominous vibe around their inevitable, brutal discussion. The Warden doesn't know how to put this offer into words; if she doesn't say the right ones, she won't get what she wants. Everything, according to her, is at stake.

The king sits down in a chair. "My name is Forrest Wayley; and you are?"

"Marisa."

"Where are you from?"

"San Francisco."

"Well, you came a long way."

"It was difficult."

"I'd imagine."

"Listen… I'm actually on an assignment."

"Assignment? What kind of assignment?"

"Calsimier Ignatius, the man who killed your general, wants to meet you. He admires how you lead."

The horrible realization pries the king's mouth wide open. "You… you have my people, don't you?!" He bangs his fist on the tabletop. "Why the hell would I want to talk to him?!"

"Maybe you two can negotiate something! Like I said, he admires how you lead, and if things go well, if we come to a common understanding, then maybe, just maybe, I'll convince him to let your people free."

"Do you want to know what we've been doing all this time?!" Forrest snarls. "Maybe you don't; it's none of your business anyway. There is no room for negotiation when your people abduct mine in broad daylight! Where is the logic in you coming here?!"

"I walked… all this way from San Francisco… Humor me, please. Just meet with him and talk about the current state of affairs… I need this."

"You… need this?"

"Where can we meet him?" asks a soft, angelic, female voice from the back of the darkened room. She emerges, wearing a jewel-encrusted headpiece. "My name is Echo Ramirez. I'm interested."

"Echo-"

"With all due respect, honey, let me talk." The queen approaches the table. "Where can we meet him, Marisa? Do you have an address?"

"Fort Stevens, Oregon. It can be a temporary checkpoint between our two societies. If any conflict breaks out, it won't cause damage to our properties."

"Can you draw us a route?"

"Yes, but it'll take a while. Most of the roads are gone; traversing them is like wading through muck. The asphalt's just… dissolving."

Echo gives her a reassuring look. "You can stay in one of our inns for today."

Forrest's face turns blood red. "WHAT?"

Echo glares at him. "She can stay, and we'll have someone look after her." Turning to the Warden, she adds, "Tomorrow, we'll send you off to San Francisco with a rucksack full of provisions. However, you are still our enemy. We won't forget what you've done. But we're better than you, and we're going to prove it." This mortifies the king, and he abruptly leaves the area. The queen lowers her head and whispers, "Forgive me for the breadth of my mercy."

The Warden climbs to her feet, itching to get out. "I'm terribly sorry about that. Can you show me to one of your inns?"

Echo lurches back into reality. "Yes, follow me, please." She leads the harmless adversary all the way down the Needle's staircase.

They walk into the kingdom confidently, the queen towering over the Warden. Pennants and banners fly in the wind as they dangle from open windows. A thick smell of burning meat and the distant sound of some celebration conjure a sense of enlightenment, something the Warden has never felt before.

The queen gestures outward. "It took us years to build what we have… to create a generation the world has never seen before. Why would you want to take that away from someone?"

"Do you think I personally made that decision?"

"You work with the one who did."

"Look, I just believe in him, like everyone else he rules over."

"That doesn't mean you should adhere to his every whim."

"That's hypocritical coming from someone wearing jewels on their head."

"I chose to let you stay; I expect respect. You would have had a harder time had I not intervened."

"Fine, you're right. Thank you for doing that. Are we close?"

"All our inns are in the Housing District; you'll see them soon."

That evening, Marisa lays under the white covers of a comfortable woolen mattress. She can't stop thinking about the feelings she would get from cocaine highs, those sharp, electric emotions of euphoria. Admittedly, she misses it, but she can't dive back into those habits. If she wants Ignatius back, she has to improve herself, for her addiction is the very thing that drove him away. She sits up, facing the room's window. Outside, the elderly play banjos on rocking chairs as the evening sky turns to twilight. The red glow haunts her, for the hue is of the same luminescence that ignites when blood pours. A cold, familiar chill runs down her spinal column, and she climbs out of bed, unable to rest. Moving over to the door, she gazes through its peephole, and at the back of a Babylonian soldier. What is this place, North Korea? She examines the room's furniture: an old bookshelf, fading paintings, and a slowly rotating fan. She's never been in a place this bizarre before. The smell is of freshly chopped wood mixing with a hint of maple pine. Lit candles sit on the bedside table, their shadows flashing across dark walls. Once a Warden, now a prisoner.

Someone knocks on the door, and she opens it to a man with curly black hair. His eyes cower behind sparkling glasses, but his merciless stare suggests forthcoming hostility. Entering the room with a limp, he closes the door and reveals to her a rucksack full of provisions. Plopping it down on the glowing floorboards, he holds his stomach, pressing down on an unseen, bothersome wound.

"This is what your people did," he growls. "I got shot protecting our leader. Yours tried killing him. I'm not forgetting that."

"I know."

"Do you feel… any remorse?"

"No, and I doubt you do."

"Why's that?"

"I'm not a dumbass. Our experiences in this world harden us. Sometimes, they cripple us for life. They make you numb to the things you should care about. In the end, you only care about yourself. We don't want to admit it, but we're selfish people. More selfish than we have ever been. This is survival, and there's no room for guilt in this game."

"I manufacture artillery in copious amounts. I defend this place, and if you think your people are going to get away with this, you're mistaken."

"What's your name?"

"Timothy."

"Timothy, the next time you threaten me during a time of peaceful negotiation, I will take that opportunity away from everyone. Understood?"

Silence.

She gestures towards the door. "Thank you for the bag."

Alone again, she watches the kingdom through the clear window. Outside, cultures of all types mingle and laugh with one another, not knowing the trials that lie ahead. Everybody's lives are going to change because of this meeting, not on a physical level, for now, but on a conscious one, for she doubts they have knowledge of other societies. Turning around, she misses Alcatraz. Not the place itself, but the feelings of power that reside within. It's still strange to her how you can be feared in one place, and a stranger in the next. What does it mean? Why can't she have power everywhere? Even more tantalizing, what's stopping her?

In the Throne Room, the leaders watch over a sleeping Alice, who turns and twists in her crib. It's ruthless how unsafe everyone is, even when it comes to their own minds. Life truly doesn't guarantee anything for anyone, nor is it against us. It just simply is. Forrest struggles with this concept a lot, especially when it comes to mercy. Even weeks after Dante's assassination attempt, he still questions the very nature of it. Mercy is nothing more than a temporary truce, so in this case, wouldn't it be easier to deliver someone from their crimes sooner? No action comes without consequence, everybody's due to pay for their unjust attitudes at some point. He observes the infant intently while Echo turns and leaves, starting for the door.

She's about to exit, but Alice abruptly wakes up, crying. The king picks her up, cradles her, and gives her a bottle of milk. Echo watches the care he puts into every movement; the gentle nature of his affection is indescribably attractive. She wonders if raising Alice helps with his schizophrenia, for the realization that your child is part of you is always a powerful one, enough to make even the most dangerous among us feel sympathy and sorrow for the defenseless and the weak.

"Echo," Forrest whispers. "Come here."

"What is it?"

"I have to tell you a secret," he admits, gazing down at Alice's eyes. "I was drafted into the Vietnam War, but I dodged it. I've kept this to myself because I didn't feel like it was worth noting until now."

"Why's that?"

"I trust you a lot more now, and I want you to understand my situation. It was the 50s. Mental institutions treated their patients horribly. If I went to the army, they'd find out my problem and send me to one. I was cornered; there was nowhere for me to turn." He sighs. "I'm not mad at you for letting her stay… I'm just… worrying about the fallout. What if this doesn't go right? What if something happens, and we go to war?"

"Then you're just going to have to face your fear, aren't you?"

"Echo… it won't be good for me. I'd have to kill people; are you forgetting I'm hallucinating right now?"

"I thought Alice calms your head down."

"She does, but I still have these… lingering symptoms."

"Whatever happens because of this meeting, it's going to be okay. I promise."

Forrest closes his eyes, saying solemnly, "I still think about Judas. I can't forget her."

Echo rubs her fingers through his matting hair. "Was she the first person you ever-"

"No," the king rebukes sharply. "She was still… the leader. Before, I hated leaders. Now, I pity them. I killed the leader, so who's going to kill me?"

"Nobody, if you don't let them. That's why we have the army. They support us the most out of any other district."

"They couldn't protect me against Dante. Remember that?"

"That attempt caught us off guard; nobody's ever done anything like that before him. Now that we're aware of that possibility, we have that contingency under wraps."

"I feel like I don't say this as often as I should, but I love you."

Echo smiles, blushes, and rubs his head. "We're going to be okay. Whatever happens, Babylon will prevail. It has to."

Back in San Francisco, Merlin wanders through Ignatius' palace, pausing in an art gallery. He admires the works of Claude Monet, Vincent van Gogh, and Pablo Picasso. A certain piece speaks to him, Liberty Leading the People by Eugene Delacroix. The artist depicts a woman in a torn dress standing upon heaps of dead bodies; her breasts aren't enough to distract the soldiers fighting around her, personifying their determination to bring down King Charles X of France during the July Revolution of 1830. In her hand, the French flag. Merlin figures Babylon needs one, and takes note of that idea before Ignatius appears at his side, with Athena resting on his shoulder.

The President smirks. "What do you think?"

"It's beautiful."

"I see it as the downfall of monarchism, and the rise of democracy, a fair, true way."

"This world is fair to you?"

"Yes, it has been, and it always will be. I don't know what's going to happen if the meeting fails, but if it does, at least you're on our side."

Ignatius leaves a scared Merlin alone, and the Babylonian's eyes fixate on the woman's.

Bold determination overwhelms Heather as she guides her troop of Babylonian soldiers through a colorful area of Oregon's wilderness. They stomp over the infected autumn leaves, and Heather wraps her hand around the grip of her holstered flintlock pistol. Twenty feet from the edge of the trees, she pauses, and the others follow suit. Through the infected trunks, she spots an intimidating stone fortress from the Civil War. Now at their vantage point, the Babylonians draw their weapons and aim them at the building, preparing themselves for the worst case scenario. The air is quiet today, aside from the unsettling sound of tweeting birds, which proves to be a stark peaceful contrast from the ensuing events.

A terrible, dark feeling resides in the pit of Heather's trembling heart. She has the weight of the world on her shoulders, and if anybody dies, it's on her. This realization flows through the cracks of her spine like a toxic, haunting ooze of unimaginable ingredients. How will they know when to strike, when they hear bullets from inside? Surely by then, it'll be too late to save the king. Heather glances back at her troop, recognizing the severity of every passing second of calmness. If they lose Forrest, they lose everything. She has to be willing to make every sacrifice possible to ensure victory. That's the hard part of being a leader, she figures. You have to want to lose your followers. Is that what the Monarchy has to experience every day, that feeling of loss that nobody deserves? Perhaps they're numb to it now, and they've forgotten that painful sting of death.

Nonetheless, she uses this time to think about Alexander and how much potential he had. He was Babylon's best fighter, and Heather had the honor to be his best friend. She recalls meeting him outside Everett, Washington, in the yard of the county's airplane facility. From there, her life became what it is now, fighting for what he gave her. You can't perform this kind of conflict with a selfish attitude; you have to approach it with the aura of American revolutionaries, or all is lost. When you don't have a purpose for fighting, you give up easily. Thusly, Babylonian nationalism proves to be what they need most right now.

Forrest enters the Union base confidently, cautiously maneuvering through piles of debris from years of maltreatment. He arrives at the door of a bunking room, and on the door itself is a message that reads, "Welcome, Babylon" in red paint. Calmly, he wraps his hand around the doorknob, withstanding the screams in his head. They sound like buzzing alarms, warning him away from this Godforsaken place. For once, maybe they're right. Actually, is this the first time? Who knows with the king. Irregardless, he disregards their pleads, and presses into the room, taking deep breaths. On the other side, he finds a slim, Charles Author-type figure sitting at a simple wooden table. The stranger dons a white hoodie, has no hair, and wears that same confident look Forrest has.

The king sits in an empty chair, on the opposite side of his enemy. The President leans back in his chair, appearing to be at peace with his surroundings. Forrest, however, sits in a state of catatonia for the greater good. The amount of anger he can unleash right now would be enough to shatter dimensions.

The President sighs deeply. "I thought you'd look different." He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. "I've been disappointing myself a lot lately, so I'm not surprised. Before you start talking, I want to lay down an offer. We have similar leadership styles, and I want to team up with you. We're powerful people who have powerful impacts on others, and I feel like we can make a New World Order."

Forrest shakes his head. "Here's what I know. You killed the old commander of my army; you took my people away from me in broad daylight. You're forcing them to acclimate into something they barely understand, and I doubt you do, too. You have no idea what we can do when we put our minds together."

"That's no way to speak in a negotiation." The President suddenly bursts out in cold laughter. "Wait, that's why you don't know how to talk to me; I need to introduce myself." He extends a hand for the monarch. "Calsimier Ignatius, and you?"

The Babylonian scowls at the invitation. "Forrest."

The President lowers his hand. "Well, Forrest, just so you're aware of the respect I require, you will not fucking talk to me like that when I'm trying to be fair."

"Fair?"

"Yes, that's the glorious thing about democracy! All of it is fair!"

Again, Forrest shakes his head. "That's the thing; under monarchism, you control the people. That's a fair expression of power. Under democracy, the people control you. You're nothing more than a puppet."

"That's the thing," Ignatius retorts sarcastically. "Under monarchism, you control the people… until you don't. Revolutions? Coups? Those things tend to happen to people under crowns." He closes his eyes, patiently inhaling and exhaling. "Let's take this back a few notches. Let me give you a background, maybe that will convince you. I grew up in Mississippi before the Vietnam War. Did I dabble with the KKK? Maybe. Am I proud of it? Perhaps, but I digress. I got the draft, and I accepted."

The voices in Forrest's head force him to ask, "What did you see?"

The President leans forward along the tabletop. "We have a dodger, don't we? Interesting. Well, since you asked, I saw what the other side of the world was like. I saw what communism did, and I want to obliterate it. That's why I do what I do."

"I don't see why that should bother me."

Ignatius grins. "I've got the money, and I've got the time. We're bringing America back to how it once was, and we're not stopping until we do."

"Your vision of America is corrupt with white supremacy."

"Oh? And how's your vision moral?"

"I never said I'm moral. In fact, I don't believe in morals. I haven't since I saw sick people devouring each other right in front of me."

"That was a crazy time, wasn't it?"

"This meeting is pointless."

"Only because you're making it seem that way. You're a tough person to crack, Forrest. I respect that about you."

"Stop saying that shit!"

"What shit?"

"You don't respect or admire me; you're only doing it to make yourself look like the better person."

Ignatius changes the subject quickly. "After I took your people, how did you react? What have you been up to over there?"

"You don't want to know."

"Enough with the power moves. I'm trying to be civil, but you're pushing me to the edge."

"We've been preparing for conflict. We don't know what you're going to do to us next, so we have to put ourselves first."

"Do you still have family?"

Again, the voices force him to whisper, "Echo."

"Echo?"

The king lowers his head. "I love her."

"Do you want to see her tonight?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll join my order. I'm through playing games with you, a-"

"If you think you're going to conquer us, I won't let that happen. I'll die for my people."

"Will you really?"

"Of course."

"Your track record with conflict doesn't seem very promising."

"I RAN BECAUSE I HAD TO! I HAD NO CHOICE!"

"Only fools run from protecting their country in a time of crisis."

"You wouldn't understand."

"I do. My father was a business tycoon. He built and owned oil refineries all across the country. He glorified capitalism, and he became somebody because of it. He told me all the flaws behind communism, and I listened to him. The world can't survive without money."

"Babylon does. It's possible."

"What was your father like? What was his attitude?"

"Why are you asking me about my father?"

"There're cycles in families, and it's usually the son that breaks the cycle of their fathers, if it's unfavorable."

"He was a nobody."

"Then it looks like I was right."

"You didn't break your cycle."

"No, but that's only because accepting it would make me more successful. That's how things work; we have to find out what's most useful to us. Let me ask you something, how do you keep your people in line?"

"We practice oligarchal collectivism, but the people perceive us as a monarchy. As long as they think we're the only ones who have a say in what's going on, that's all that matters. One or two people can't control a population of our magnitude; there has to be a strict, efficient, deep part of the system that's in the know. And at the end of the day, what the Crown says, goes. It's all for show." Forrest smiles, proud of his explanation. "What about you?"

"Money is at the heart of power. The more you have, the more you own. How do you think I won the election? I have money, and I buy out my supporters."

"Money is sickness. It creates poverty and the unnecessary struggle between classes. It makes everything more confusing in the end."

"It doesn't. Once you see how we operate, you'll understand."

"Who thinks I want to see it?"

"How else will you understand us?"

Forrest grits his teeth. "I already do understand you! You're nothing more than an obstacle to us!"

"Why did we find one of your men on our turf? You're in Washington, hundreds of miles away. What were you doing down here?"

"Alexander wanted oil. I listened to him, and he sounded convincing."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, but that oil is ours. Even if he survived, there still would've been conflict. These things don't go down easily, which is why I'm trying to negotiate."

Forrest sits back comfortably in his chair, letting emotions show for once. "Before I built the kingdom, I was alone. Nights were so dark and cold that I couldn't get any sleep. I found this kid on my way; his name was Thomas. He was younger than me. There was innocence and purity in him, the last of his kind. I wanted to protect him from everything, and I was doing good… until we reached the hospital. We had to stay there; we had to get out of the snow. I didn't want him getting hypothermia or frostbite or whatever else this fucking world throws at you under those conditions. Anyway, there we were, in the Children's Ward. He was looking out a window, and someone from the outside shot and killed him. Blood and glass sprayed everywhere, and I just… stared. I didn't cry, and I didn't feel any pain. I just… looked. What once had life… is now limp on the floor. Something that had so much potential… lost because someone was paranoid. I never found the person that killed him, but that night… I vowed never to let my guard down. Now you know why I'm a tough nut to crack, as you put it."

Ignatius chuckles. "Damn, what are we going to do about you?"

"Giving me back my people would be a great step forward."

"You see, I can't do that. They provide for me, and I need their skills, especially Merlin."

"What have you done to him?"

"Absolutely nothing. His change is on his own terms."

"What kind of games are you playing? The abduction? The meeting? The taunting? The dots aren't connecting."

"I'm simply being… diplomatic. I'm trying to construct civil relations. You can either abide by my own standards, or you can leave. And seeing as how you haven't left yet, you have an interest in my offer, and I want you to go for it."

"Why did you join the KKK? Why something so… sinister?"

"Why does anybody do anything? Influence. That's what it all comes back to. You either influence yourself, or society does the work for you. I went for the latter route, because it got my name out there. I followed my dad's footsteps, and it led me to a higher version of my life. And what do you do to honor your family name? You perform; you put on this act that nobody can see through. That's true evil, if you ask me. However, I think you're the type of guy that can come to an understanding. If you had my perspective, it would empower you to unimaginable levels. There are no limits to this form of power, no more issues, no more hoops to hop through. The New World Order is here, and it resides in the hopes that you will accept this invitation. You're the perfect candidate for it; we're the same person."

"I AM NOT LIKE YOU!"

"Do you control people with force? Do you disobey their pleads of wanting to know why you do what you do? Do you look in the mirror and feel like a king?"

The monarch slams his fists on the table. "That's none of your goddamn business!"

"Seems like that's a nerve to avoid."

"Why do you keep taunting me and then saying this is a negotiation? If anything, this is a threat! Do you pity me?"

"Pity you? I merely take an interest in your style. Sure, my mannerisms show here and there, but that's just a slip of the tongue. Disregard it; those comments have no basis in reality."

"How can I trust you?"

"You just do. You don't resist it, and you don't rebel. You just accept."

"How much oil do you have?"

"Why the sudden interest in my market?"

"My people died trying to find it; I want to know what they lost their lives for."

"Well, in that case, we have endless amounts. Black oceans of the stuff. We have refineries that convert it to gasoline for our cars."

"What else do you have?"

"Aren't you the one that didn't want to talk about your community?"

"Aren't you the one that killed my men? I deserve to know; it's my right as your victim."

"We have plantations. Islands. We control San Francisco, as well as other smaller communities. We travel by train; we have airships. What's even more immaculate is that we're advancing. Our culture is changing, and we're accepting that change. How's it looking back in the Dark Ages?"

"We progress intellectually, not materialistically."

"Oh? How so?"

"We have an education system for our children; they know what's going on, and we're raising them to be seen better than how we are now. We're teaching them how to build, how to form relationships, how to work, and how to be happy. Merlin was our teacher, but… we don't have him right now, so they can't learn if nobody can teach them."

"You teach them how to be happy… in Babylon's way, right?"

"Yes."

"And in the end, that happiness is just manipulation, correct?"

"Yes. It takes the heat off us."

"Damn… you've got every angle of this figured out, haven't you? All the way down to falsifying joy."

"It has to be done for efficiency."

"I like you, Forrest. I like your ideas. They're innovative, and the world needs more people like you."

"The more you say it, the more I doubt you."

"Why?"

"Because I see this fire behind your eyes… this lust for invasion and siege."

"The weather's getting colder; we'll have no time for conflict in the face of the coming winter."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"If you have airships… why did you make Marisa walk?"

"They're only for conquering people. We can't use them for small missions like that; it's inefficient."

"Is she okay?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because when she was at the kingdom, she looked scared. Not of the new environment, but of leaving. We gave her supplies, but when we parted ways, she looked back at us with this look of… loss."

"She was in love with me… I sent her there to prove it."

"But you don't love her back, do you?"

"No."

"You see, I've always found people like you disgusting. Do you have any idea what that journey is like? How much it can take out of you? Did you even ask her if she's okay?"

"I had a girlfriend before the end of the world. Her name was Victoria. We dated for about three years, and we fell madly in love with each other, but after that… she left. It was just for show. Ever since then, I've always looked down on women. I know it's a generalization, but it's helped me survive, and now…. I'm happy. Happier than I've ever been."

"You're… happy?"

"Yes. How can't I be? I have money, and that's all you need."

"That's all that intrigues your world? Financial empowerment?"

"What intrigues yours?"

"Community."

"So you're a communist."

"No; our bartering system is completely different from communism. Plus, monarchal communism doesn't exist; it's a complete contradiction."

"You know what I've noticed about your society? You have two leaders, when most kingdoms in the past only have one. Why is that?"

"Who said we had two leaders?"

"Merlin."

"He… willingly told you?"

Ignatius thinks about the pit of the infected. He remembers Merlin's gaze of fear, for he knew at any moment, one kick could send him over the edge, into the pit. "Yes."

The king suddenly leaps to his feet, his schizophrenia finally gaining complete control over his mind. This is payback for trying to silence us. Sweat forms on his forehead, and he screams, "The walls!" Grasping for air, he heaves, "They're… closing!" He runs over to the closest wall and bangs on it. "Those damn bastards! They think they can ruin my credit score!" He shoots a devious glance towards Ignatius. "Little did they know the market is already crashing! Look at the stocks; they're all fucking shit! Red across the board!"

Ignatius doesn't know what to do. "Are… are you okay?"

Forrest spreads out his arms and twirls around. "I'm more than okay!" He runs up to the table, hopping on top of it. "I just saved my own ass! The game's rigged, and it's working for me!"

"Forrest, sit down. We're trying to have an adult conversation. If you can't handle that, I'll have to get someone-"

The king stares dead into the President's eyes. "You have more people out there?! I thought this was one on one!" Heather brings him back to reality, and he climbs off the table. The thought of the Convergence coming down upon the Babylonians in the woods tethers his broken mind to the very chair he sits down in. "Tell me the truth; are your people watching us?"

"No, it's just us. What about you? Did you bring soldiers?"

"No."

"So we're on a common understanding."

"Yes."

"Why did you freak out? Was it a trap?"

Not wanting to reveal himself, Forrest nods his head. "I'm psychological in that way."

"That's why you should be part of the New World Order. I'm not going to give you up easily; you're my only shot to success, and-"

"You're scared of us, aren't you? That's why we're negotiating."

"Scared? Why would I be scared?"

"Because we're the first civilization you've encountered. You don't have any idea of our history, and you don't know what happens behind our walls."

"The same should go for you, right?"

"I'm not going to blindly accept something I disagree with."

"Listen, we're on the brink of war. We need to avoid con-"

"YOU KILLED ALEXANDER! END OF STORY!"

"Just come back with me to San Francisco so we can-"

Forrest flips the wooden table over, causing Ignatius to react in surprise. The table breaks into splinters, which fly in every direction across the room. "Do you have any idea the terror you've brought upon us? Do you have any idea how strong we are because of what we've experienced? EVERY BABYLONIAN IS THEIR OWN LEADER! THEY LEAD BY RESPECTING ME! THAT'S WHY THEY'RE SO EASY TO MANIPULATE! My people don't want anything to do with your people! We want to stay as far away from you as possible, but you won't let us! War is inevitable with your approach to this situation!"

Ignatius lunges towards the king, clenching his fists. One blow strikes Forrest's stomach, and another pierces his jaw. Broken teeth fall to the muddy earth as the monarch stumbles backwards, colliding with the rock wall behind him. The ensuing pain sends the king to his knees, and he spits out clumps of blood. The crimson liquid seeps into the mud, drying and darkening the area of its previous existence.

"I WANTED YOU!" the President cries out, taking on the role of a judgmental, omnipotent father. "YOU LEFT ME NO CHOICE!"

Holding his bleeding mouth, the king whimpers regretfully, "Where do we go from here?"

Thirty minutes later, Ignatius returns to a camp that's a few miles from the fort. Here, the acolytes file in and out of tents, stack wooden boxes on top of each other, and warm up by kindling campfires. Some roast game over the open flames; others just stare with uncertainty into the fleeing embers. He remembers what he told Forrest, accepting his personal dishonesty and labeling himself as a liar. In one of the tents, he finds Marisa sitting alone on a bottom bunk. Her red hair dangles over her eyes, and she gazes solemnly at her only experience with true love.

"Well?" she pleads.

"It's done."

"What did he say?"

The President shakes his head. "He's insane; he doesn't want to listen to reason. You know what we do to those kind of people. He's left me no choice but to fall back on the inevitable. He told me that his people are out for blood. We have to be, too."

"What about the families that don't want to be part of it? The children?"

"We'll throw them in the pit; we need to utilize it to its fullest potential." He turns to leave, but a questioning force stops him. "Marisa… why did you pick this place, out of all the other possibilities?"

"I had a revelation here."

"And that is?"

"You'll know soon enough. Can I ask you something? Why did you bring guns to negotiate peace?"

"Because I knew how this was going to end."

Ignatius exits the tent, basking in the glory of the camp's progress. They'll have the fort operational in no time, that's for sure. By whatever means it took Marisa to find this place, he's eternally grateful. He watches as acolytes pry open the wooden crates, revealing an endless surplus of ammunition. The bullets range from 0.50 calibers to 5.56x45mm NATOs. Some of the crates contain guns, most of which are from military outposts. It took years to scavenge these supplies; San Francisco doesn't have a gunman like Timothy. That's our only disadvantage, the President figures. A cold breeze flows through the woods, sending colorful leaves flying past his field of vision, collecting in piles after their landings. The crisp smell of autumn lingers in the air, reminding the President of an innocent childhood experience: making apple cider. He's perverted in this nature, thinking about something so nostalgic in the time of an impending crisis.

He walks through the camp, approaching his black car. A thin layer of frost forms on the glass surfaces, and he brushes the sheets off before entering the vehicle. Pulling his key out, he slips it into the ignition, twists it, and shivers as warm air blasts into his face. The engine trembles beneath him, and he grips the steering wheel tightly as he pulls away from the site.

That night, he detours through the ruins of northern California. The gas meter displays an almost empty tank, so he slows down, pulls over, and parks on the side of a crumbling road. He opens the dashboard, retrieving a flashlight and a siphon hose. Getting out of the car, he coils the hose around his shoulder and flicks on the flashlight. He moves to the trunk, opening it and grabbing a jerry can. Turning around, he waves the flashlight's beam over a dense pile-up twenty yards away. He approaches the melting vehicles, knowing he'll find gas. Fuel isn't hard to find; nobody thinks about searching these cars anymore, for they're just relics of a distant time. He opens the fuel filler of a Delorean, setting down the flashlight and jerry can before probing the hole with the siphon hose. He wraps his mouth around the other end of the hose and begins sucking the fuel out, spitting it into the jerry can. He almost swallows the gasoline at several points, wincing at every close call. Once he has a decent amount, he stops, picks everything up, and carries it back over to his car. He sets everything in its proper place and fills the empty tank. After he finishes, he returns the jerry can to the trunk, climbs into the driver's seat, and drives off into the unknown.

While driving down a collapsing interstate, he ponders on strange thoughts as he gazes through the windshield. Why did Marisa say that about her revelation? How is she capable of keeping such complex secrets when she tells him everything? Now that she's seemingly through with that habit, it makes him feel uneasy, like there's a disturbance in a system that has aimless goals, patterns, and purpose. He figures shrugging it off is healthier, so he turns his focus to the road. Potholes and withering asphalt, with weeds and shrubs growing from their cracks. What is he going to tell his people? How is he going to present it?

In the early hours of the morning, the sun's rays glow over the horizon, appearing to vibrate on molecular levels. The car approaches San Francisco's gate as a gentle fog settles over the Golden Gate Bridge. Ignatius stops the car as those impenetrable iron bars swing outward, like the entryway to some violent, undiscovered sin. The gatekeeper rushes out to the vehicle, stopping to pound on the driver's side window. Nervous, the President rolls it down.

"Ignatius," the cultist gasps. "Alcatraz is burning."

"What?" he shrieks.

The acolyte appears as if he's recalling the death of his mother. "It's happening so fast. One moment, it was quiet, now-"

A distant explosion alarms Ignatius, and he speeds past the gatekeeper, ignoring the screaming pleads to stop, to take a breath, to handle the situation logically. There's no time for that now; there's no time for anything. He drives through panicking crowds, which simmer down upon his arrival. They bask in his presence like a reptile basking in warm light. He reaches Lombard Street, watching the island in terror as flames engulf the minting facility.

"Ignatius!" screams Wendel, a prominent artist. "I GOT ONE!"

The President turns around, spotting Wendel with a Babylonian prisoner in cuffs. He approaches the pair, feeling pity for the teenage inmate. "What's his name?"

"Wes," the prisoner mumbles. "I'm the one who did this."

Wendel rolls his eyes. "He thinks he's a hot shot… I just think he's a pussy."

"Take him to my palace," the President demands, sounding like a businessman. "Do the same with the other Babylonians we find. We aren't going to kill them. Have any escaped?"

"No, but the confusion is… prolonging the win."

"Good," Wes grunts.

The President grins. "Put that bastard in my room and stand guard till I get back."

"In the middle of this?" Wendel screams.

"Are you questioning me? Do I need to… denounce your membership?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry."

"That's what I like to hear. Get going. Don't disappoint me."

Several Days Earlier…

Hellen approaches Fink as he works on a broken generator. She admires his determination towards the learning process. He knows so much now that he's been doing it for a few weeks. Has it really been that long already? If the riot's distracting her this much already, imagine the time she won't feel during the event.

"Hey," she whispers. "I have some news."

"About?"

"Ignatius. He's meeting with Forrest in Oregon in one week, and when he leaves, there's going to be a big farewell."

"Where did you hear this?"

"SanFrancisco.com."

"Do you know how dishonest the people here are? It's probably just a rumor."

"Well, it's the only lead I have."

"Then we'll take it."

"How's Wes doing?"

"He's spreading the news. The job's almost done."

"Good. I'll get word out to the slaves in the city. When this place goes up, it'll be their signal. They distract the army while we get our asses off the island."

"We're just using them?"

"No. We'll fight the army, too."

The owner of the minting facility, Dewey, approaches their section of the Powerhouse, and they quiet down. He always wears this stale, emotionless expression that disgusts Hellen to the core. He wears a black suit, different from the usual acolyte attire. He wants to stand out, to show some sort of authority over the people beneath him. He carries himself like a speaker at a high school debate, with his back straight, hiding the insecurities of a troublesome past. His mouth hangs open with a burning cigar protruding from one corner; the ashes flutter softly to the ground with every puff.

"How're things going?" he asks slyly.

Hellen stands tall against his masculinity. "We know the power is out; we're working hard to get the grid back up and running. We'd appreciate it if you gave us time to focus."

Dewey blows a cloud of smoke into her face. "That's not an excuse. Do you know how fragile our economy is? If that building isn't back online within the hour, you'll hear back from Marisa."

Fink stops working and joins the conversation. "We're here almost every hour of every day. If you have a problem with how tired we are, take it to Marisa."

Dewey slaps the miner. "Don't you dare talk to me that way! You are a prisoner, nothing more!"

Fink rubs his bruising cheek. "All you do is cower behind a shadow."

Collecting himself, Dewey walks away, clearly wanting to scream.

"You shouldn't have done that," Hellen states dreadfully. "You're starting a lot of drama before the real shit even gets started."

"I didn't like how he was threatening you."

"It doesn't matter now… Just focus on the work today, okay?"

"You got it."

"We can't have close calls like that anymore. I'm going back to the mainland to get more copper wire."

That night in Cellblock B, Wes Preston hoists himself onto the top bunk, observing the attitudes in the cellhouse from the confines of his hovel. The guards in the elevated gun galleries hold their pump-action rifles closely to their chests. A strange, unsettling emotion lingers in the atmosphere, one that's comparable to the ominous nature of fog settling over a vast, endless plane of existence. He waits until the guards change shifts to flip over his pillow, revealing a thin slit with stuffing pouring out of it. He reaches into the cut, pulling out a blank sheet of paper and pencil like how an ancient tribe pulls out the still-beating hearts of their victims. Examining the pen, he realizes this mechanism is man's true enemy, not a sword. Where you can communicate without being caught, uproots this truth. Taking a deep breath, he figures he has ten minutes to collect and catalog his thoughts, for that's how long it takes before the new guards get here.

He writes:

Helen, The word is out. Every prisoner is on our side, even the mentally unstable ones from Cellblock D. All we need now are your people on our side and your blueprints. How many of them are there? Will the slaves listen to them? These questions still ring through my mind, and I doubt they'll disappear before I get an answer. The Babylonians are holding on… I don't know how, but we're doing it. Every time I look at their faces, I feel desolation. I want them to feel the sun again, while walking in a valley, not within the walls of a cement courtyard. I don't know if this plan will work or not, but I'm doing my part… I did my part. It's time for others to do the same.

The cell door opens, and his heart rate spikes, but it falls back to normalcy after a guard shoves Fink into the hovel. Wes quickly hides the pen and paper, and the guard slips away, unseen by everyone.

"I got some news from Helen," Fink says with a beaming grin.

Wes folds up his note and hands it to the miner. "What is it?"

Fink retrieves the paper and slides it into his pocket. "Ignatius and Forrest are meeting in a week. That's when we strike."

Wes stuffs the pen back into the pillow. "What about the army?"

"Helen will have the numbers by then; I believe in her." Fink rests a hand on Wes' shoulder. "I know belief doesn't put a nail in the coffin, but what other choice do we have than to rely on it? I know you're scared; I am too. I look at those Babylonians and I smell the blood that's coming. But when it does, we can't let it all come from us. That's why we have to be ready when we do this."

"What if that asshat Dewey finds out? What if I told the wrong person?"

"As far as I'm concerned, Dewey isn't the warden."

"People could be working for him. God, I'm such an idiot."

"No, you're hopeful. That's the kind of approach we need."

Wes smiles and hugs Fink. "Thank you." He steps back. "Why do leaders have to act like this? Why do we get put in these situations?"

"Because we're better than them."

"It feels like I'm in the cave again."

"I know… That's why I haven't been getting sleep. They captured us when we were going back to Babylon… When it all happened, I… I thought it was completely over."

"It's hard to be a good person now," Wes admits. "Everything you do to survive… makes you feel bad."

"Babylon is for the good; that's all I know, and it's the comfort I need. It helps me cope with the things I've done."

"Do you think Forrest is good?"

"I believe the Monarchy are caretakers; they foster us. Yes, they're good."

In the elevated gun galleries, new guards replace the old ones. Fink and Wes talk in whispers, like the other prisoners. There's no point in risking getting caught, especially with Dewey in charge. The air is thick with an ominous nature. The expressions the guards wear show that they know something horrible is right around the corner. Wes notices this, and he feels an intense wave of fear. Did a mole rat him out? Is there any hope now? The way the guards hold their rifles makes the kid shiver; they give him stale glares, as if the truth hides just behind their pupils. For whatever reason, the guards don't act on their suspicions, like a toxic parent waiting for the right moment to embarrass their kids.

"You're paranoid," Fink states.

"Yeah, no shit. I have every right to be."

"It's consuming you, kid. You have to let go of that fear."

Wes hoists himself to the top bunk. "I have nothing to let go of." He keeps his eyes open. "I miss Babylon."

Fink lays down in the bottom bunk. "I do, too. I miss the smells. The music. The security."

"How will we know when Ignatius leaves?"

"He's preparing some big farewell."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from somebody of his caliber."

"Wes, I have to find Anna when we get out. She's still alive."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I'm not believing she's dead until I see a body."

Wes turns his head, laying on his side. "I used to have more siblings in the wild. Before Merlin found us, we had twelve people in our family. The wild is… a crazy place. Anything can happen at any point in time; it's Jungle Law. Even when you run into a mobile clan, you have to retain suspicion. They can be marauders, rapists, or worse. You have to compensate for all this. When one of us would go missing, we wouldn't look for them. We just… assumed the worst, because it was easier than finding the truth."

"Wes, that-"

"I know, it's a bad mindset, but that's just how I was raised."

"That's not Babylon. We look for who we lose. We need them. And she needs you."

"She doesn't even know me."

"She will if you save her with me."

"I can't, Fink." Wes closes his eyes, holding the memories of the Shadows close to his heart.

In the city, Helen moves beneath the dark, blank night. Tonight, the sky is void of any stars, planets, and the shadow of a New Moon hangs high above her head. The homeless huddle by fires, their flames towering above a metal drum. Nobody glances at her; nobody knows her. She's the perfect person for this job. Passing by onyx cathedrals, churchgoers worship Ignatius, performing queer animal sacrifices in his name. Is this how we're supposed to honor the people above us? Is there any need for such a heinous pastime? She wonders how they're all under his spell. Does it come back to a simple need for someone's search for a person with courage? Does Ignatius even have any courage? It's like their loyalty to the President rests on a subconscious level, like the loyalty is a dark, poisonous gene pool in San Francisco's DNA.

She walks up to the arching front doors of a manor with white, spotless walls. Behind it lies a sugarcane plantation, her true desire. The rooftops of small slave shacks protrude from the blooming fields, and white men on horseback tramp by, keeping their people in line. The strange thing is that some of the slaves are white, making San Francisco's racism problem a huge, static, grey issue floating about in the aether of corruption. She knocks on the oaken doors and steps back, waiting for the man in charge, Tomkins. The doors swing open, revealing the ornate lifestyle of the upper class.

Tomkins stands tall, confident, ready to tackle whatever she's about to give him. "Hello," he says politely.

"Good evening, I'm here to speak to Lillian."

"About?"

"The sugarcane supply. I read we're doing poor, and I want to show her something that can help."

"You don't think I have it under control?"

"Do you know anything about agriculture? Irrigation?"

"Listen, lady, I just watch over them. I'm no farmer. That isn't our work." He steps inside. "Come on."

"Thank you."

She walks out the manor's backdoors, successfully entering the plantation's grounds. The sharp odor of manure mixes with a calm fragrance of spice. She wanders through the blooming fields, approaching the closest wooden shack. Its front door is missing, and the roof is about to cave in. Nobody fixes it, for the maltreatment of these slaves resembles the characteristics of somebody who abuses animals. She steps into the humid structure, finding Lillian crying on a torn mattress. Mold grows over its surface, like how mycelium covers miles of ground beneath our feet.

"Lillian," Helen starts. "I have an offer."

Lillian glances up at her through the tears. Wiping her eyes, she stands up and hugs the frizzy-haired traitor.

"What is it?"

Helen backs away and glances over her shoulder, making sure nobody's there. She whispers, her voice barely audible above a blast of wind, "There are prisoners on Alcatraz that want to escape. They're planning a riot as we speak. I need your help."

Lillian nods. "Why did you come to me first?"

"Out of all the slaves that have influence, you're the leading woman to me."

Lillian blushes. "How can we help?"

The traitor smirks. "I admire your eagerness. On the night of Ignatius' departure, I need you, Philip, and the others to lead a rebellion against the army. Kill as many as you can. Your signal will be Alcatraz' flames."

Lillian's face flashes from rose red to ghost white, like the mercury in a thermometer when the weather transforms from warm to cold. "Helen… I can't kill people. I'm not like that."

The traitor's heart races. "Please, I need you to hear me out. You haven't given me a chance to explain the second part."

"Fine, go ahead, then."

"From what I've been hearing, the prisoners are from a kingdom called Babylon. If this event succeeds, we can escape and go there."

"They really told you that?"

"Well, not exactly, but I'm going to convince the leading men, Wes and Fink."

Merlin wanders the slums of the city, the moonlight casting a white glow over brick Brownstones. He passes fields of solar panels, pondering on a way out of this situation. The meeting isn't going to end well; why Forrest and Ignatius are doing this is foreign to the teacher. If conflict unfolds, it's going to be hell on Earth. How will it even play out? Will civilians on both sides commit? What about the innocent? He gazes up at the twinkling sky, thinking about the first day he met Echo. He still remembers how cold the tunnel felt. All those hands reaching out from broken car windows, with shards of glass protruding from their knuckles. He smells the crimson fumes of blood, turning his memories to the first day in the Seattle camp. Is anything different now? Did Judas' death amount to nothing?

In the distance, he hears a train's horn. Trains in the city don't run at this hour, so this spurs his curiosity. He follows the sounds, reaching a concrete train station that's built into the East Wall. Its design mimics Grand Central Station, complete with an atmosphere of quickly shifting schedules and stress. It holds the aura of a broker late for a new day on Wall Street. He enters the building through grand, barred doors beneath a columned roof. The open interior gives way to a spacious emotion; in the daytime, the traffic in this place must be a nightmare. Blank figurines of acolytes stand behind ticket booths; souls devoid of meaning, a true display of capitalism.

He watches as a steam-engine pulls in from the wild; when it stops, the boxcar's doors slide open, revealing slaves in cuffs. Acolytes shove them out of their compartments, and they beat the weakest arrivals. Upon further inspection, Merlin discovers a map of the West Coast covering the ceiling right above his head. Red polka-dots cover the names of towns and cities south of San Francisco. In Washington, a blue one encases Seattle.

Exiting the station, he returns to the palace and finds Ignatius in Athena's chamber, dangling a live mouse over her beak. When the door closes, Ignatius drops the mouse, and the eagle devours it whole.

"Why didn't you tell me about the other communities?" Merlin demands.

Ignatius turns, his pointed hood striking anxiety in Merlin's heart. "I didn't think I had to."

"How far does this thing go, Ignatius?"

"We have twenty-five communities within our control."

"Why was Babylon marked?"

The President smirks. "You saw that… Good. It just means Babylon is… a work in progress. Merlin, during times like these, you have to stick to your rhetoric. That's what being a President is all about. Before I went into office, before I got my cabinet, I told the people we'd conquer more territory to strengthen our city and our dominance over others. I've stuck to my word, and I'm going to stick to it. Nothing is going to change."

"Where will the Babylonians go in case something happens on Alcatraz? I remember you saying you prepare for every possible contingency."

"Comstock; it's where the worst of the worst go."

"And you have a cabinet?"

"My inner circle."

"Ignatius, that isn't democracy. Your cabinet can't be the richest people-"

"IT IS DEMOCRACY, GOD DAMN IT! IT'S OUR OWN VERSION OF IT!"

Merlin's heart races. "Aren't you thinking about how much damage this future conflict will cause? What if they raid San Francisco? What if you're… in over your head?"

"It doesn't matter! I have an agenda to abide by! You're starting to sound like a damn rebel. Did I make a mistake when I invited you into my own fucking house to live?"

Merlin hangs his head. "Why did it have to be me?"

"Your intelligence is valuable here. You're going to play an important part in our victory. You know everything about Babylon."

"I thought you were negotiating for peace."

"The people need to think that; I'm just doing this to see what Forrest is like. I know you care about people there, but sometimes in life… you just have to let go of the ones you love the most."

"My king has killed more than 3,000 people. I just want you to know that so you don't say the wrong thing to set him off." The teacher crosses over to the chamber's door. "I'll see you in the morning."

In his room, Merlin basks in the blankness of a note. Pen in hand, he wonders about how he can describe his idea. He realizes this is futile, sneaking out of the palace and back to the train station. He jots down every detail the ceiling map provides for him, and then he writes the letter that can save countless innocent lives.

The week progresses very slowly, and everyone feels the milliseconds drip in and out of basic comprehension. One morning, Merlin finds homing pigeons surrounding a water fountain; orphans feed them birdseed and slices of stale bread. He remembers hearing stories from the American Civil War wherein spy rings would deliver messages with hidden codes written in invisible ink. An idea forms in his head, and he returns to the empty palace. In the endless backyard, an apple orchard: the perfect incentive for birds to come back to their houses. He goes back into the city, finding a hardware store. Inside, robed cashiers help acolytes check out items; shelves upon shelves of tools and plywood await the beholder, providing them with the eerie experience of a post-apocalyptic, fully-functioning economy. Since Merlin's an elite, he doesn't have to pay for anything, so he snatches whatever he finds useful and makes a round-trip to the orchard. Here, he begins building a birdhouse.

Elsewhere, Helen converses with the slaves about the night of the riot. On the island, things get worse for the inmates. Dewey's strict schedules take away all possible sleeping hours, and the guards become increasingly reckless. They stop hiding in the gun galleries and roam the corridors in groups, as if they belong to a military parade. The guards break into cells regularly to beat inmates with chains, whips, flat irons, and hammers. You can hear the rhythmic sound of breaking bones and ensuing screams. If there isn't any blood drawn by lunchtime, the prisoners consider it a good day.

On the day of the riot, Wes and Fink remind each other of the plan. There are many historical locations on the Rock. For example, the Docks (where the ferry rests), Building 64 (where the acolytes live), the Water Tower and Lighthouse (sniper's nests), the Officer's Club, the Powerhouse, the cellhouse, and the Laundromat. Within the cellhouse itself are four cellblocks: A, B, C, and D. The final one is comparable to maximum security or solitary confinement. Ironically, that's where the riot will begin.

"When this thing goes down, we have to get to the armory," Wes instructs. "There's gonna be a lot of fighting that we're gonna have to push through, but we have to get those weapons."

"Unless we pick up some on the way there," Fink suggests.

"How will we do that?" Wes asks.

"I'm just… thinking about other options."

"This is the only option we have."

Twenty minutes pass, and a power outage consumes the island. Fink and Wes watch as the cell doors open, and the prisoners flood into the corridors. Guards in Cellblock D try containing the crowds, but the uncontrollable nature of those inmates is too much for even a military commander to control. These prisoners have an endless spectrum of illnesses, from insanity to PTSD. Fink and Wes join the ensuing mass gathering of orange jumpsuits, and they let out their rage against the machine. Prisoners gang up on groups of acolytes, easily overpowering them without guns. The blasts of bullets echo off rusty metallic walls, and the smell of gunpowder replaces the salty fumes of the bay. People throw each other over guard rails, grenades explode in an effort to stun opponents, and flash bangs blind several unfortunate victims.

By midnight, the prisoners gain access to the admin block, where the armory is. Fink leads Wes by the hand through bloody scenes which conjure an unknown level of evil. They almost die at several points; Wes almost gets shot in the arm, but an unnamed Babylonian saves him. A guard tackles Fink, but Wes kills the attacker by breaking his neck. The pair uses the distraction of violence to separate from the brawl; they slip into a dark hallway, wherein flames of torches illuminate the compact space. The Babylonians reach a simple wooden door, and this arouses suspicion. Why aren't there any guards or booby traps here? Keeping this in mind, Fink wraps his trembling fingers around an oaken handle, and Wes steps aside as it opens. Nothing happens; the distant sounds of rebellion gives them chills.

Wasting no time, they enter the small chamber, gawking at the stockpiles of weaponry. Assault rifles, shotguns, pistols, grenades of all sorts, and canisters of mustard gas line the walls. Boxes of ammunition rest beneath the shelves, right next to body armor and plating. This is too easy; they think it's a trap as they don themselves in military-grade equipment. Fink loads an M16 whilst Wes cocks a 12-gauge shotgun.

"Your shoulder will be blown away by the recoil!" Fink exclaims. "You need a smaller gun!"

"I can handle it!"

"Wes, I-"

An explosion in the hallway sends the tips of their guns pointing towards the armory's entrance. When they see a wave of inmates, they lower their rifles and rejoice. Outside, rows of acolytes from Building 64 march down the pathway, but the prisoners are too quick and begin firing before they do. Wes and Fink stand at the back of their team, cowering below the stray bullets zipping above their heads. Bodies pile on top of each other on both sides, and they become barricades for the survivors. There's a break during the stand, and the prisoners push through it after setting off mustard gas. The most capable push through the confusion and towards the cellhouse's front doors. Fink and Wes barely hold onto their sanity; they frantically scratch at their throats and wipe their teary eyes, gasping as they charge through the entrance, into fresh air.

Here, the Powerhouse erupts into flames. Fink whirls around, gazing up at the abrupt blaze. The night sky flashes with reds and oranges; everyone on the island feels the distant heat. Black plumes of smoke fall upon the bay, covering it in a cloud of darkness. From the mainland, they hear gunfire. Wes smiles, knowing the slaves are paying attention. Fink grabs the kid by the arm, and they hold onto their guns as they press through the fog. The riot continues all around them; they dodge traumatizing firefights, several more burning buildings, and listen to the shrieks of an unknown victim. The pair rejects participating, for they only have one location in mind: the docked ferry.

Snipers in the nests surrounding the island fire off deadly rounds; a bullet strikes the dirt in front of Wes' feet, and another grazes Fink's cheek. They wonder if the snipers have thermal scopes, or if they're just spraying and praying.

Exhaustion eventually consumes everyone. The fight drowns the island in sweat and blood, a dark reenactment of Atlantis. Guards corner Wes, Fink, and several other prisoners near Building 64; they surround the small group, beating them down with the butts of their weapons. Bullets strike down the inmates' opponents, and from the fog emerges Dewey, holding an MP35.

Fink climbs to his trembling feet. "Why?"

Dewey shoves him aside. "Just go. I have no need to explain myself."

And just as mysteriously as he appeared, he vanishes.

Wes climbs to his feet. "We've gotta get to that ferry! We can't waste anymore time!"

Fink glances over his shoulder, watching the empty space behind him, hoping for an answer to come out of this cosmic nonsense.

Wes scans the bickering group of surviving prisoners. He shouts over the blasts, "DO ANY OF YOU KNOW HOW TO PILOT A BOAT?" A female prisoner steps forward. "GOOD! WE NEED YOU!"

When they get to Alcatraz's ferry, the riot's almost over. Fink stares in awe at the blooming destruction; gunfire fades away in this region like how the ocean's waves roll back into their world after kissing the shore. Nobody won this battle; everyone is either dead or dying. Behind them, on the mainland, the survivors face bigger problems: facing the slave rebellion.

Wes grabs Fink's shoulder. "We have to-"

"WE LED THEM TO DIE!" Fink shrieks.

"No, joining us was their decision. We can't save everyone; we aren't heroes."

Fink backs away from the kid, storming onto the ferry. "We aren't."

The survivors watch the island as they drift into the cold, shark-infested bay. Fink spots the remnants of the minting facility, and a horrible realization dawns on him: there's no going back from conflict. What they're doing will bury the hatchet between these strange societies who were already uncomfortable with the other's existence. Babylon is now Juliet, after her suicide. As the buildings turn to ash, so does the hope for peace. They ruined San Francisco's money supply; they're akin to terrorists. Are they really good people? Is that even real anymore? Fink turns his thoughts towards Helen. Before leaving, he has to find her, so he can set her on the right path, then he can find Anna. What about Wes, though? What is sending that kid down this reckless path? Fink remembers how merciless he was during the fray; a normal kid shouldn't act like that, even after the collapse of civilization. He figures the best option would be to bring the boy into the wild, so that neither of them die for a larger conflict they clearly want no part of. Fink gazes down at the waves, examining his reflection in the rippling surface. Who is he?

They dock the ferry at the mainland. Dismounting the boat, the survivors charge into the encompassing madness. Plumes of flame and smoke suffocate dying acolytes and slaves; distant bullets ring through the night. At any moment, one of those blasts can be for them. Anxiety chokes out hope as they push through the disarray; craters from bombs polka-dot the roads as if this scene is an aftermath of a Vietnam battle. The world is dangerous once again; they're devolving back to surviving through fear. The worst part is, it's their own faults yet again. They say history repeats itself until you learn from it.

Somewhere in the confusion, Fink bumps into Merlin, knocking the teacher on his ass. Fink remembers him and he helps the fallen Babylonian to his feet.

"Thank God!" Merlin exclaims. "What the fuck is happening?!"

Fink grabs the teacher's arm. "Come on, we have to find Wes! I lost him."

"I'm sorry… I can't go with you."

Fink feels like fainting. "What?!"

Merlin reaches into his pants pocket and produces a note. "Take this to Forrest; it'll help with whatever you're planning. Expect more deliveries once I train my homing pigeons."

Fink hesitantly retrieves the note. "What are you going to do now?"

Merlin vanishes. "I'm finding Ignatius."

The battle flickers and wanes like the last flashes of candlelight. The only separation between its birth and its death lies in the perspective of its observer. Whatever remains of the Babylonians, prisoners, or slaves gets thrown into Ignatius' palace. Hours of confusion follow. Hours of hopelessness, unknowingness, and self-pity. Merlin finds himself in the palace, watching over the prisoners in handcuffs. Once again he's left questioning his beliefs. Is it the Babylonians he's fighting for, or some other ridiculous cause?

The President emerges from the other side of some blazing torch. "Did you find what you were looking for?" He gestures towards the crowd of cowering, shivering, cold unknowns. "Is this really what you wanted, Merlin? I know I didn't want this, but somehow, we're here. I'm just going to accept it."

"What are you going to do with them?"

"We're shipping them off to a work camp." The President singles out Wes. "However, I don't know what I'm going to do with that piece of shit, yet."

What concerns Merlin the most is that he's worrying more about San Francisco's forthcoming issues. How can they recover from such a loss; their entire economy is in shambles. Somebody's going to have to put it all back together somehow, and God knows he won't be the one to do it. For some odd reason, the image of the painting pops back into his mind, the one by Delacroix. One simple phrase follows: war is now.

Sometime later, Dewey bumps into Ignatius in the crowding palace.

The economist pulls the President aside. "We need to talk."

"About what? Where have you been?! Why aren't you putting out fires?"

"This is a more dire issue. The other communities have overpopulation issues; that's what the pen is for. We can do some housecleaning, but they'll have to stay here for a while. We have to put the economy first."

"No, democracy first. If we don't deal with our foreign issues, we won't have an economy to fix."

"The economy drives democracy."

Ignatius grunts. "Fine, how long will it take?"

"Four weeks to rebuild the minting facility, then we'll go from there."

Ignatius spits on the ground. "You disgrace me. How many men did we lose?"

"I… I don't know. I just saw… bodies everywhere on the way here."

"What happened on Alcatraz?"

"The Babylonians… They started the riot. They took the ferry; I had to get here by a raft."

"Do you know anything else?"

"No," Dewey responds, staring hopelessly at the crowd in cuffs. "But do you have anything for me?"

Ignatius looks confidently into the economist's soul. "Dewey, if there's anything I can confirm, it's that we will have our revenge. They won't know when it's coming, but it will come. They can't think we won't respond; we have to. If there's anything I can promise, it's that we'll win this war, and we'll conquer them, just like how we conquer everybody else." Somewhere in the back of his mind, all he sees is that same painting by Eugene Delacroix.

The morning glow casts a heavenly range of vibrancy over the Farmlands. Forrest strolls through the gusts of manure-rich wind, gawking in appreciation at the peacefulness. His hair is short; the beginning signs of a beard spring from his face. Less scars and bruises cover his skin, the experience of life less apparent in the surface features. The year is 1963, making it almost 13 years since the blackout. The king ponders on this, traveling along a dirt road right up to the facade of a construction project. Babylonians surround the wooden skeleton, driving nails through plywood. The smell of work, the imminent noises of progress.

Merlin emerges from the workers. "What do you think?"

It looks like shit. "What is it?"

"It's a schoolhouse," he declares with a beaming smile. "The people are finally going to have a sanctuary to learn, to develop, to grow intellectually. This can be an entire movement for our society."

"This is the start of how life should be."

"Do you think it'll be successful?"

No! He shouldn't have wasted his time on such a useless project! "The schoolhouse? We'll just have to wait and see. The kids here are so lost, but who can blame them?"

"They're not the only ones that are lost. Most of the adults are, too… including you. Please come to the first class."

"I'll see." Being lost is a strength. "I think being lost is a strength."

"Is it, Forrest?"

"When you're lost, you have to go to extreme lengths to protect yourself, your sanity."

"Is that why you kill your own people? To protect your sanity?"

"I do it to preserve this. Babylon isn't a world for criminals; it's a world for a second chance."

"There's no better version of a second chance than one from mercy." Merlin gazes at the structure. "There's a quote from Dante's Inferno. The path to heaven begins in hell. Maybe we had to experience what we did at the beginning to experience this."

Forrest watches the growing grass alongside the schoolhouse; the blades brush against the plywood, and he hears the distant whispers in his head. God, how they haunt him. "How're you and Echo?"

"We're doing good. She told me you guys were trying to get pregnant. I wish you the best of luck."

"We've been trying for a while," Forrest admits. "It's not her fault she can't get pregnant… There's just something I have where… it's ineffective."

"You'll get there one day. Just keep trying." The foreman calls Merlin back to the site. "I'll see you soon."

Now, more than twenty years later, Forrest finds himself standing on a bridge. The Babylonians stand proudly before their king, donning themselves in iron armor. In their scabbards, swords ready to kill with one slice. In their holsters, sidearms. Across their chests, assault rifles. They all carry rucksacks over their backs, each containing wide varieties of provisions. Heather and Forrest wear golden armor, indicating their leadership. The golden color glistens in the sun's rays, rectifying a source of hope. Birds wake up in the surrounding woods, tweeting away an incomprehensible language. The king basks in this aura, for he feels at peace with himself. For once, the voices are gone.

He clears his throat, facing the nationalistic crowd. "This is it; this is the moment we've been waiting for. If what Merlin said in his letter is true, then this is our chance to free the stolen. Merlin is still on our side; that's what matters most." The Babylonians erupt in cheers; a glistening grin forms on Heather's face. "When the train reaches the fifty-yard line, that's when we abandon the bridge! We'll go down to the woods, and Heather will take this thing down! We do this today, victory is ours! We can't think of this as good, but necessary for the progress of our nation, our integrity, and our intellect. We are the founders of the next world, so let's make that point clear!"

The train comes into view, and they evacuate the area, following the king's instructions. Obedience is the true victor in any war, no matter how big or small, and Babylon's only order is to obey the Monarchy. Do they stand a chance against this rising tide? Can they really prevail under tensions within their walls? What will the aftermath consist of? These questions flow through the minds of these volunteers as they wait in silence for Heather's wrath. She produces a small remote with a red button from her rucksack, and, staring deeply at the bridge, listens for the right moment. It comes to her in the form of a train's whistle, so she presses the button, watching in amazement as a piece of architecture collapses into dust within mere seconds before her eyes.

The steam-engine crashes headfirst into the pile of debris, and the Babylonians observe this moment carefully as the train's boxcars fly off the rails, injuring several prisoners and acolytes inside. The Babylonians remain in hiding; they're patient and watchful of the quickly unfolding events. They're observers of their own creation, but as the dust settles, they come to understand that there is no time for observing. Grenades fly out of the boxcars' opening doors, sending the Babylonians back thirty feet. The knights fall to their stomachs as explosions send trees toppling over. The acolytes limp through the confusion, firing off their guns. Bullets ricochet off breastplates, striking different targets. The Babylonians commence their opposition, withstanding the blows of a thousand emotions from lost comrades.

Several knights guard the king, who stares coldly through the scope attachment on his assault rifle. Through the anxiety-ridden moments that divide life and death by a hair, the worst of it comes in the form of reloading your gun. If you aren't fast enough, the cost of predestination is pricey. They all share a common hatred for these moments, the ones that define adrenaline and intensity.

When the bullets run out, their desperation forces them to use melee weapons. The Babylonians unsheathe their swords while the acolytes produce anything with a blade. Forrest decapitates an acolyte, feeling that old rush of murder, but he pauses, feeling something else: snow. He gazes up at the sky for a brief moment, admiring nature's poetic way of telling time. During the ensuing events, he remembers how the wood of the schoolhouse smelt when it was first being built. He remembers a time where everyone was a lot closer than they are now. These new memories cause him to lag in battle; several Babylonians risk their lives to save him on multiple occasions.

The Babylonians win the battle, with casualties on both sides. Forrest approaches the boxcars, discovering several prisoners suffering from injuries ranging from broken legs to bodies with twisting necks. In one of the cars, he finds a trembling Wes.

"Thank God!" The kid cries out with a smile upon seeing familiar faces. "I knew you didn't forget about me!"

Forrest pulls him out of the boxcar. "We'll give everyone here food and water for the journey back home. But I'm not coming with you."

"Why?" Wes demands.

"I need to go to Oregon again; I'm meeting with Marisa. When I leave, you all will wait for me."

The kid's mouth hangs open. "What the fuck does she have to do with this?"

Heather approaches them, overhearing their conversation. "A lot. If we don't find boundaries during this conflict, both of our societies will crumble."

"I need to tell her before she finds out about the train," Forrest says urgently. "There can't be this constant back-and-forth. At the end of the day, we all have to sleep somewhere."

Wes shakes his head. "Not these motherfuckers. They don't deserve any pity."

"We understand that," Heather says in the tone of a manager defending an employee.

"But," Forrest adds, "They deserve something. We can't be reckless."

"You're not being reckless?" Wes scoffs.

"No," the king declares. "I'm being calculative."

Heather lets out a dreadful sigh. "Let's remember our current objective: keeping these ex-prisoners safe. We have to ration out our provisions now; we can't give all our food without some number system."

"What do you propose?" Forrest asks.

"Every night, before we go to sleep, we count how much food we have left. That way, in the morning, we can hand it out to… the people who need it the most."

Wes interrupts, "So us? What if you starve?"

"We'll have hunting parties," suggests the monarch. "People can scout for game."

"How do we know they're not on their way to the kingdom?" Wes rebuttals. "We need you, Forrest."

"You still have Echo," the king states reassuringly. "She's as strong as I am. You can't rely solely on me, especially now."

The kid lowers his head. "Fine, you're right."

Heather puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles. "Everybody gather 'round." The knights and prisoners alike circle around the commander. "You all did excellent work today. The people we lost… their sacrifices won't be meaningless. This conflict just drew blood, and at the end of it, we held the knife. We can't give up now; today seals the future for Babylon. We have to go back there now, so we need to split the party up into hunting teams, each consisting of five members…"

The following day, Forrest leads the party on horseback. Wes and Heather ride along either side of him, being the first defense against a hostile tide.

"I'm glad we set up that camp," Heather comments.

Forrest shrugs his shoulders. "I got the idea from Marisa."

Heather tilts her head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The king says grimly, "Merlin also said in his letter that the fort in Oregon is a stronghold now."

"Then why the hell would you even consider returning?!" Wes screams.

Forrest suddenly becomes calm, collecting himself with meditative breathing. "Because it's times like these where sacrifices mean something more than life itself. I don't know if I'm going to come back, but I have to talk to her. We can't destroy both of our communities; there needs to be some order in the chaos."

Heather shakes her head. "I agree with Preston. So much is going on right now that we can't even keep track of. We have the acolytes, Black Death, constant threats of starvation, and it's not even noon. How can we control these things? How can we eliminate them? Is there some pattern to this godforsaken riddle?"

I have to. "I have to."

Heather watches as the snow falls to the road; the horses leave trails of prints as they gallop in a strange formation. The flakes glide softly off their armor plating, and the cold wind is almost blinding. If they encounter any blizzards, they're goners. If they step on something hidden beneath the snow, they're goners.

"What happened to Fink?" Wes asks abruptly.

"He made it to Babylon in just under a week; he's in the hospital right now."

The kid gasps. "Why?"

Forrest lowers his head. "He caught Black Death."

In an effort to curb the anxiety of the unknown, the king ponders on a memory during a night in 1965. The doors of Merlin's schoolhouse open for the first time, and a large group of kids and adults containing the Monarchy enter the building. They rush to empty wooden desks and sit down, basking in the room's simplicity. Bookshelves line the walls; moonlight beams through the window panels, glazing everything beneath a white, ghoulish glow. The smell of nearby crops adds an indescribable, rejuvenating freshness to the aura. Merlin stands high and proud behind a large, glistening desk made of oak. Behind him, a giant, blank chalkboard. He writes on it in all capital letters: ARES.

"Now," he says, laying down the piece of chalk. "Does anybody know who Ares is? Any idea?" Silence. "Come on, it's like you guys weren't taught anything." Cheap laughter. Coughs. "Anyway, Ares is the Greek God of War. Why do I bring this up? Because it appears to me that our world… was wrapped in his wrath, and we were at his mercy. Vietnam. Russia. Assassins. The Red Scare. All of these things… has war written all over it. Why did we experience these things? Why did we have to cope with the aftermath that's still visible to this day? Why was there so much fear? Well, here's the stinger: we're supposed to learn from it. I will not teach you anything until you understand that I am not the teacher. Logic and understanding history will be our only guides, our… fountains of refuge."

Forrest doesn't listen. The atmosphere around him throws his memories into a time when he was in school. They don't come from nostalgic roots; they grow from the childhood nightmares of the teachers beating him with wooden mallets or insults. The voices trickle into his mind like how a droplet of rain splits into rivulets after colliding with Earth's surface. Their humble whispers turn into intense, glass-shattering cries that sound like the realization of some incomprehensible truth. His vision warps through involuntarily understanding and visualizing the natural patterns of our universe. The Fibonacci sequence, a pattern of numbers increasing by the sum of their predecessors, speaks to him as if it's the prophet, the glue that binds reality together.

He sweats under the pressure of hiding these emotions, eventually breaking and leaping out of the chair, into the night. He pauses abruptly on the porch, sitting down on its edge.

The doors behind him open, and Echo sits down next to him. "What's going on, Forrest?"

"I… I don't know. I just started freaking out… everything felt fuzzy… Merlin's voice sounded like it was fading away." Abruptly, he asks, "Are you still thinking about kids?"

"Are you?"

"Yes, now it's time to bask in our comfort. Everyone's having children; we should, too."

"Aren't you scared?"

"Echo, we don't have to be scared. We have walls, security, and most importantly, a future worth striving for."

"I'm not talking about that; I'm wondering if being a father will scare you."

"We're leading Babylon. How hard can it be?"

Echo gazes at the encompassing crops. "Do you want to know why we're not married yet, and why we're never going to be?"

"Yes."

"Before… everything happened… the war, the blackout, and the outbreak… I had a boyfriend in Colorado. His name… God, I forgot his name, it was so long ago. He was such a nice guy with this… ambition you can't find in anybody else. He died because a drunk driver killed him. One moment, someone's in your life, the next, they're gone. No remorse, no mercy, no holding anything back. He was just… gone. I still hold on to those memories, because they're a part of me that I can't forget… no matter how hard I try… no matter how hard it gets. I still see his face, but I can't remember his name. Do you understand… any of this pain?"

"You'd be surprised." He climbs to his feet, pulling the queen up with him. "Follow me."

She giggles. "Are we really ditching him?"

"Just follow."

Within the blanket of smog covering the Industrial District, the Monarchy find themselves sitting on the shoreline of Lake Union. They watch the rotating wheels of watermills and smile viciously at the purification plants as they pump clean water for the kingdom. The summer wind blows through the warm, humid night, carving out a feeling of blissful ignorance.

"Echo," Forrest says breathlessly. "Do you hate that we killed Judas?"

"No, we had to."

"Do you think leading makes you numb?"

"Just me specifically? Why not you?"

"I've been numb."

She listens to the hypnotic sounds of rolling waves. "I do sometimes, but only because I see what you do."

"I do it-"

"For protection. I know the spiel."

"Why does it make you numb, do you think?"

"Nobody else has the courage to do it. Do you really believe Babylon would be better if we gave our position to Merlin or Timothy or anybody else? Why do you think nobody's tried assassinating us yet? We have them… right where we need them. The obstacles of leading society are so immense and draining; it's like digging through concrete with your bare hands, just accepting and taking the pain."

"Why did you want to do this with me?"

"Because I love you."

Aimless days and nights pass over the Babylonians like sand as it blows above miles of naked, golden dunes. Food is scarce; the tribes of the wild pick off game before they can. Wes remembers what it was like in the tunnels, and there's a specific feeling he reached when he was in that situation, a feeling so ghastly and terrible: impending horror. Horror is the only word that barely scratches the surface of witnessing cannibalism. Wes doesn't know if he can experience the emotion again, for the first time almost made him lose his sanity.

At some point, Forrest splits off from them; they give him canned food, but nobody follows. It's like they're saying, "Go, go! Right up to the doors of a ticking time bomb! We don't need you when we have rationality!" Forrest doesn't know fully why he's doing this, or if it's a good idea or not. The only thing he can ascertain is that he's going to try to keep Babylon safe, as Ignatius would do if he was in this situation.

While riding through the falling snow, he keeps having these fleeting memories. He worries that the voices are somehow changing these recollections, transforming them into tools to make him weaker. Maybe that's just the paranoia talking, or the anxiety from sleep deprivation. Either way, it's meant to be a distraction, and he's not willing to succumb in times like this.

Eventually, the king stands gawking at the Fort's new implements. Boxes of ammunition and guns rest in stacks on the lawn. Tents are set up among the stockpile, and acolytes move in and out of them, working on some unknown project. Cannons rest on top of the Fort's roof, aiming outward, appearing vengeful. The workers outside take notice of the king, and they quickly capture and disarm him. Forrest doesn't know why they don't just kill him on site; that's the whole purpose of this damn thing, right? The captors drag him by the knees into the compound, where other acolytes repair and reinforce the walls. The monarch ends up in front of a lone stone door, with many guns pointing at his back.

An acolyte knocks on the door, and Marisa reveals herself.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" She cries out. Grabbing the king, she pulls him inside, slamming the door shut.

"We need to negotiate," Forrest states, stabilizing himself. "I'm here to offer you and Ignatius an ultimatum."

"What is it?" she demands.

"We fight in Oregon to contain the conflict. Otherwise, both our societies will turn to ash."

Marisa chuckles. "Do you really think that's going to work after what your people did on Alcatraz?"

"We need to step up and prevent any sort of damage. I'm being… diplomatic about this. Please. We can organize this so that neither of us gets hurt."

Marisa backs away, rubbing her head. "Do you know why we didn't kill you just now? Ignatius considers you special. He considers all of them special. Timothy, Merlin, Echo, Heather. He doesn't want to kill you, because when we win this thing, he's going to drain you of any sense of rationalization."

"I don't care who wins or who loses, Marisa. But when this thing ends, don't you want something you can return to if your plans go south? Don't you want to be the person who saves the day?"

Marisa doesn't know how to respond. She thinks of the ones who don't deserve to see battle, the ones whose innocence brings light to this dark world. What would they do if they didn't have anything? What would they do if they saw their homes in ashes? Her eyes widen, realizing this is what empathy is. She doesn't want her people to suffer anymore than they have to under these times.

"Okay," she whispers. "How're we going to do this?"

"We designate areas in Oregon as battlefields, we schedule them, and we show up."

"What if one side refuses?"

"If your side refuses, then I'll kill you."

"And if yours does the same, I'll do the same to you."

"I thought Ignatius isn't going to kill me."

"Exactly, he isn't."

Forrest shakes his head. "Let's just get back to the main topic."

"The first site will be Portland, the second Cannon Beach, and the third Smith Rock State Park." The king's look of surprise amuses her. "I'm originally from here."

"All your life?"

"Up until recently. We'll begin fighting there in two weeks." She extends a hand, showing hints of gratefulness for the first time. "Thank you for doing this."

Forrest accepts. "No unnecessary deaths."

"No unnecessary deaths."

While on his way back to the camp, he happens upon a vast, black wheat field. Wooden crosses among the useless crops catch his attention, and he can't help but to investigate. He reaches the small clearing, and his heart drops upon seeing Timothy, Merlin, Alexander, Echo, and an older Alice dangling before him from the charred crosses. Age-old nails pierce through the palms of their hands and the ankles of their feet; Echo's prosthetic hand is nonexistent, revealing a bleeding stump.

Ignatius suddenly appears from the surrounding field. "Did you really think you can save them, Forrest? Don't you see the pain you've caused; can't you feel the magnitude of a historical change? Why do you consistently fail at recognizing the truth to who you are?"

The king closes his eyes. "THIS ISN'T REAL! IT'S THE DAMN VOICES!"

Ignatius chuckles. "It may not be real now, but it's about to be. And somehow, you're going to deal with it."

Forrest throws a punch at the hallucination, striking the target's cheek. The President tumbles backwards, falling against a cross. He produces a Bowie knife from thin air and charges the king, stabbing at the king's heart. The blade effortlessly tears through the monarch's breastplate and pierces his heart; Ignatius twists the melee weapon, tearing apart Forrest's organs.

The king tells himself that it's all imaginary, that it's a figment of his imagination. But that's what terrifies him. Whose mind can be this far gone? If they're out there, how can they remain in this physical state without feeling the urge to leave? How do people love him? Ignatius leaves the knife, stands up, and kicks Forrest several times in the ribcage, the faux blows making the Babylonian squirm.

"THIS IS REAL!" cries the President. "What can I do to make you believe that it is."

"You can't; that's how I know… this is all fake."

The cultist chuckles in a way an insane man would after getting drugs in the hours following an involuntary hiatus. "You're making a suicide look like a death. The truth is, Babylon was already falling before me. Do you really not think I don't know what that kind of thing feels like? It's like a tsunami, Forrest. The collapse of society comes on slowly at first, but when the wave hits, that's when your nightmares become a reality. And at that point, you realize all societies begin the same way they end: through fear."

Everything disappears into the mystic wintertime weather; Ignatius, the crosses, and Forrest's blood fade away beneath the snowfall. The king remains on the ground, not sure what to make of himself. The snow almost buries him, but he finally stands up out of the fear of hypothermia. The monarch resumes his lonely journey, wondering what causes physical conflict. Is it this need for humans to be part of some change in their society? Does it all come back to people simply following orders? All Forrest can ascertain from this madness is that at least they have their home now; they can rest easy without the anxiety of waiting for some sort of bombing or blitz.

Don't tell them.

"What?"

Don't tell anybody about the deal.

"Why the hell shouldn't I? The people have a right to know!"

Can't you see how much of a power move you have at your hands? If you deny the deal's existence, everyone will be scared. They'll think something will happen, and they'll turn to you at the sound of a snapping twig. Don't you want that?

Forrest plants his feet into the ground. Their logic is right. "Why do you want to help me now?"

Because we love watching you suffer.

"Do you really think more manipulation will cause suffering?"

No, but as the death rate increases, as your… responsibilities deplete, that shit will weigh in on you. You like it when people venerate you; you like it when people get on their knees and chant your name. Imagine seeing all of it die out.

That evening, he rides on horseback in the original formation, with Wes and Heather on either side. The snow pelts them as they advance through this harsh, barren climate. Game is impossible to find; the king thinks it's safer to stick together rather than hunt. Nature changes after society's end; it shows the surviving observer how merciless she is, how spontaneous she can be. Every winter is like this, albeit it seems to get colder with every passover. The horses neigh and cry, and Babylonians shout at each other as to not lose friends. Some are lucky to have lanterns, but even that isn't enough. They seek warmth, an escape from this circle of hell, somewhere where they can wrap themselves in woolen coats and sleep away this nightmare.

They don't see the sun anymore; a grey forecast forever shields its rays from reaching earth's surface. The entire planet traps them slowly, suffocating the survivors under the pressures of mutating natural conditions. One should never experience conflict at a time where frostbite should be your main concern. With sparse medical equipment to care for such wounds, the forthcoming moments become vague and heartless.

The horses prove to be more of a burden than a means of transportation. They simply require too much food and attention, and it gets to the point where Forrest occasionally puts them down. Two people on a horse becomes commonplace, and they force themselves to have faith in these beasts. They eat what the king kills, feeling guilty for consuming an essential need for survival. The party reaches southern Washington, where a past storm has turned everything into pools of ice-covered mud. There aren't any buildings, roads, or signs of humanity for miles. Hooves easily get stuck in the wet, frozen ground, so the Babylonians free the stallions, deciding to brave the rest of the journey on foot.

Dark, cold and hollow. All the Babylonians feel during this march are the free-falling crystals striking their armor, acting as if Indian spirits sharpen them into arrowheads. Can one measure the magnitude of desperation during wartime? Can words even interpret such feelings? Why do we fall to our knees and beg for mercy at the feet of someone who's exactly like you? At certain points during their dreadful march, certain Babylonians slip and fall into the mud, whereupon it acts as quicksand, swallowing the victim albeit hearing their cries for help. Nobody lends a hand for the fallen, because the survivors don't want to risk succumbing to the same fate.

That night, after all the traveling, suffering, and grieving, they camp in a traffic tunnel. Snow howls by outside, and vines cover the interior walls. Most of them are restless, holding their growling stomachs by piles of dust which were once cars. The commander and king sit beside each other, watching Wes as he shifts from side to side while asleep.

Heather says weakly, "I was in New Orleans before Babylon, in a town called Salvation. It was a few miles outside the state's capital." A knot forms in her throat. "These raiders moved into Louisiana, and they claimed it as their land. They started to destroy nearby colonies, people who we communicated with. We tried fighting back, but… we lost. I had to abandon them; the conditions were getting too insane for me to comprehend. I… won't abandon you, though. That's why I'm telling you this. My loyalty rests in Babylon."

"You did what you had to do."

"So… I'm not crazy for leaving?"

"No, and neither of us are crazy for staying in this one."

"Those raiders… they killed my family. When I left, I vowed that I'd absolve myself someday. This is how I'm gonna do it." She bows her head. "I still feel guilty for not avenging them. I felt like I… lost an opportunity to exemplify myself."

"You're exemplifying yourself now."

Heather smiles. "What did Marisa say?"

"Didn't I already tell you?"

"Yeah, but I still think there's more to it."

"Jesus, Heather, do you think I'm lying to you? I'm only here because I got lucky; she was going to kill me if I didn't leave right then and there. As soon as I offered the ultimatum, she just… turned me away."

"Why didn't she kill you?"

"Ignatius wants us alive."

"Us?"

"You, me, Merlin, Timothy, people like that. He wants to torture us after."

"What are we going to do?" Heather asks, on the verge of panicking.

"We'll own up to the situation. There's no going back. Alcatraz is gone, their economy is done, and we got one of their trains. They're going to come after us. We made a commitment today."

"What if other people run? What if the civilians won't support us? You know how fragile everything is back home; what have we done so far to gain their trust?"

"We did what we said we would do. It's a start."

"You're right."

"I know being a leader is hard. I know it's a lot of… pressure. What you can do to overcome it is accepting whatever happens, good or bad. At the end of the day, feeling regret will be your downfall."

"Thank you."

"Ego, Heather. Ego is the source of power. In my mind, nothing is good or bad. Everything is corrupt somehow, because that's simply the nature of how things are. There's always a balancing act, some… equalizing force. What did Einstein say? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Do people succumb to good acts because they're actually generous? Because they want recognition? Because they want… respect? Whatever the reason may be, good nature comes before a bargain; it always does. Even when we forgo all reasons, even when we're… pure… the universe measures it out with bad. Is anything purely good or evil? I beg of you to ask yourself this."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it's what I told Alexander. I'm sorry I never got the chance to tell you, but… better late than never I suppose."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What's wrong?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Everyone notices it in the kingdom."

"What do they notice?"

"They see the bags under your eyes. They hear the… rapid way you talk. They watch the way you eat, the way you declare orders, and the way you act so… numb. They question you. That's why everything's so fragile. I'm asking what's wrong because… I don't want any civil unrest."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Forrest, I know there's something going on somewhere deep down."

Do it. Tell her who we are. The moment you say anything, she will turn her back on you. "I… I can't, Heather. No matter how hard I try to talk about what's bothering me, I can't. I'm not built to be sensitive; I don't want to open up to somebody I don't know."

"Okay, but I want you to know that if you ever need to talk to me… I'm here."

The king grins. "Thank you."

Deep within the night, Heather wakes up to the sound of someone coughing. She leans up, finding several Babylonians, including the king, huddling around the source of commotion. Something tells her to pretend to sleep, so she does. The more she hears the king's yelps and cries, the more she realizes there's something ugly unfolding. She picks up on the purpose behind his screams: one of the Babylonian prisoners from the island got sick and didn't tell anybody. Who knows what kind of sickness this dying bastard has? What if it's airborne, or what if it's quick to mutate?

"He wasn't coughing before?" Forrest demands.

"No!" cries out the dying man's friend. "I don't know what's happening; I'm not a fucking doctor!"

The monarch turns, looking towards the tunnel's mouth. "How far are we from Babylon?"

"Two, three days tops according to these maps. What're we going to do when we get there?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. The main thing we need to do is understand what happened. Biochemical warfare."

"What's that?"

"In World War 1 and 2, it wasn't uncommon for the enemy to poison food and water supplies. It also wasn't uncommon for them to 'experiment' with microbes or biological toxins. What we have here… is an act of retaliation."

"Do you really think they're capable of this?"

"They probably wanted to cover every angle they could. Say someone attacks the Babylonian train on the day of its departure. Wouldn't you want to prevent that somehow, even if you couldn't do it personally?"

"So… either way, Anders would've died."

"Yes. And wherever you were going… everyone there would've died, too. Listen, we don't have a lot of medical supplies, so we need to pick up the pace. They have an advantage, and they're going to squeeze it of all its use. We need to fight fire with fire."

"What… are you proposing, Forrest?"

"The hospital, all those… Black Death fatalities… maybe we won't have to dig holes for them anymore."

"Jesus, do you really think it's a good idea to stoop to their level?"

"Did you think it was a good idea to join me in our second terrorist attack on a society that's still recovering from the first one?"

"I see your point, it's just… I don't know."

"We're Babylonians. We need them to hear that; we need to win. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"You're right. I just didn't know humanity can… deplete that fast."

"Let me level with you. I know we haven't experienced the same things, but let me tell you something: people are like a light switch. One moment, they're good, the next, they're bad. You can't… put all of your eggs in one basket. The way I see it, we exaggerate how good we are. Remember Korea? What about those newspaper articles on the Berlin Wall, or the social fragility around communism and capitalism? I'm left asking myself if we're… better off with the way things are. Maybe we needed to start from scratch."

"I don't think so."

Forrest shrugs. "Either way, we need to leave, soon. We'll start packing." He moves over to Heather, shaking a pretending commander awake. "I know you were listening. We're heading out in fifteen."

Anxiety. Paranoia. Exhaustion. All the words that can deprive the Babylonians of happiness don't hold a candle to how they truly feel. They press on cautiously, eyeing one another with immense suspicion. All lives depend on holding in coughs and sneezes; the reduction of someone's value can change spontaneously.

This war is of a different nature now. What was once a conflict driven by belief and action is now a conflict driven by absolute life and death. No contingency or face can be forgotten, and any name the enemy speaks of, the Babylonians are sure to remember. Who knows how long this cycle between hope and helplessness will last? It's a cycle you must acclimate to if you want to last more than a day in this world. There is nothing left but natural instinct and selection.

Forrest shields the snowfall with his arm. We're still here, Forrest. All of your victims are here. Your parents, everyone you sent to those public executions, and everyone you lied to. We should let you know that we've really been here since birth. We watched how you grew and changed as you got older, and… you remember what happened that triggered it, right? We don't have to explain that part. This is who you are, Forrest. Your mind is our collage, our canvas.

The king wants to fight back; he wants to challenge them as if he's challenging the devil, but any rambling whisper can be a symptom of the mystery illness. Perhaps their paranoia is enough for them to turn against their leader. The voices are winning, and they know it.

You keep going back to these memories. Most of them are about that damn schoolhouse. What's so important about it that you escape the present moment for it? We don't know how it can bring up any happy memories; we all know what school was like for you. Is it because Echo's in those memories too? Do you long for her? Forrest Wayley, the man with a brick for a heart actually misses someone! This fight is too much for her to handle, no matter how many times you manipulate her to think otherwise. Yeah, she's at the kingdom, she's behind those walls, but did you account for anything that could happen within them during your absence?

When you were a kid, we actually thought you'd be somebody. We thought you'd… have purpose. But then Vietnam came, and you dodged the draft. Forrest, you weren't wrong when you made that decision; don't you see any beauty from that? Can you salvage some form of self-gratification? You made the right choice not to go, because look at where you are now.

You want to know something interesting about us? We know we don't have any reason to be in your head; we just are. Do you really think therapy will help you at this point? Do you really think we won't… intervene whenever you talk to somebody about us? You're our bitch; the bags under your eyes only accentuate that fact. You enslave others because you know what enslavement feels like; you want other people to understand and suffer with your own suffering. Don't you see who the problem is? YOU!

When will you accept what you have done? When will you stop running from the guilt you say you don't feel? When will you turn back and stare the truth in the face? Look in the mirror. Face who you are. You manipulate people because we manipulate you; you kill people because we make you feel like death. You are a walking collage of a fracturing self-reflection, and the worst part is that you take it. You keep taking it.

Why don't you stand up against us? Why do we carry on as if we're at the helm of your thoughts? Why do we keep this control? You're feeling angry; we see it. You want to put a gun to your head; you want to stop this. Even if you die; even when you're on that distant other side, we'll still be here in the minds of others who suffer from your condition. There is no cure for schizophrenia, Forrest, especially to this degree. There isn't some vaccination you can take that will magically make us disappear, there isn't a drug that can help you escape, and there sure as hell isn't someone you can talk to. You won't win.

Some of us think you like suffering. We think you enjoy the pain because you know you deserve it. Guilt runs deep in you. It's turning you into someone irredeemable. You keep doing these things that cause more guilt, and you keep wondering why you are who you are. Do you ever think before you act? Why haven't the people risen up yet? You should've been long gone. Some of us are a lot more reasonable than others, and even the merciful ones believe it, too.

Babylon is a mistake. Your idea behind it will leave a scar in humanity for centuries. What do you really care about, the populous or the dream? Why is this even your dream? The escalation of morality? Can you even comprehend such a concept anymore? Do you remember the boundaries that divide good and evil? Do you even care to try? We see you when you kill people; we watch how you act. Your face… doesn't have the same countenance as a sane person. There are cracks on the surface, and the people notice. That's why you have all those secret societies back home.

Remember Dante's assassination attempt? Remember the… fear you felt? That's what you should be feeling every day. It hurts to realize you're not as important as you think you are, but someday, that realization will save your life. Sometimes, we have to accept where we stand in the world, and Forrest, you're no king. You can hide under the embellishments of gold crowns and jewel-encrusted tiaras and exceptional garments, but at the end of the day, all you are is a guy who hears voices. You can fool them, but you can't fool us.

Is your leadership a show, an excuse to escape from being alone with us? Do you act on a stage and perform for the feeble minds of a race worth losing? Leadership isn't some game, Forrest. Another death on the tally board won't fix shit. It won't change anything, and it sure as hell won't make your life easier. You fail to learn abstinence, and the pit goes deeper. Why do you let it sink? Why do you let this pressure build in you until you combust like a blast furnace?

The monarch keeps walking. What other choice does he have? What choice do any of them have now besides escaping into their own minds for some fountain of relief?

Time loses its meaning. Through their suffering, they lose and regain themselves. After each grave, after each loss, they decide to cling to one another. They learn the true meaning of brotherhood through this journey, and however perilous it proves to be, they still have the honor of saying they overcame.

They march until the roads bleed and become one with their clad-iron boots, until dealing with the snowfall becomes second nature. Babylon's medieval rooftops come into view that dreadful, cold evening. The way they manifest slowly into greatness from behind fifty-foot stone walls with that bitter-sweet aftertaste makes the aftertaste itself seem like a desert. The Clock Tower chimes, ensuring every step to be worth more than the last. They arrive at the kingdom's Drawbridge, the link from Babylon to the rest of the world. A gatehouse at the bridge's end awaits their arrival, but they don't progress. Forrest steps forward, and that's when the others follow suit, disobeying previous plans at the formidable smell of smoke. The king's heart drops, seeing Echo stumble out of the gatehouse with a weeping Alice makes him stand still.

"Echo…" Forrest moans. "What…"

"I… I don't know." She reaches out for him, but he steps back. "What is it?"

"I - some of us are sick. I'm not, but I can't touch you. I shouldn't even be this close to you."

Echo hides a distant countenance of anger beneath clenching teeth. "Follow me."

The Babylonians stay back several feet as they follow their queen through an eerily quiet kingdom. The smell of smoke worsens, and they spot several civilians rushing to the source of the blaze with buckets of water. Heather wants to help, and she struggles with the guilt of helplessness. She watches as they pass by houses where people board up their windows from the outside, as if the conflict is already here. Pennants dangle lifelessly from colorless windows, and the streets are empty aside from defenders who ride and guard them on horseback.

They bask in the flames as they consume the Farmlands. All that equipment, those silos, barns, and fields… all of it is withering down into nothing. Echo doesn't stop here; she guides them to a very prominent area now in ruins: Merlin's schoolhouse.

Another memory. The year is 1991. On this autumn night, the Monarchy stand beneath the porch's roof. Farmers work in the fields around them, preparing for the year's harvest. Hanging above their heads in the twinkling night sky, a formidable Blood Moon. They take in this relaxing period of the kingdom's life, and they watch with beaming smiles at their effective leadership. Lanterns twinkle in the windows of farmhouses, and livestock sing and call to one another.

"Why don't we celebrate holidays?" Echo asks.

"For the same reason behind why I'm not letting anybody step foot into the outside world besides the army; we just need to focus on reestablishment, not re-institutionalization."

"I was thinking we could do something for the kids this year, you know? Maybe the king can dress up as Santa Claus."

Forrest chuckles. "We'll see. Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Remember that night we went to Lake Union?"

"Yes, why?"

"Has anything changed?"

Echo rubs her stomach. "Well, this is awkward; I'm pregnant."

"So does that mean… marriage?"

The queen shakes her head. "It means we have to put our heads together and figure out a way out of this."

"A way out? What do you mean?"

"I don't know if I want it; I can't even comprehend the fact that something is growing inside me."

"Echo, we've been trying for how many years now? It's completely natural to get scared, but… is an abortion something you really want to look back on?"

"No, but… I don't know what I can look back on should I decide to."

Forrest lowers his head. "That's exactly how I feel."

The queen clasps her cold hands around his, warming the callouses. "Listen to me. Everything is overwhelming as it is; would bringing someone else into this world make anything easier?"

"Look around you, Echo. Is anything meant to be easy?"

She smirks, giggling. "No. I still remember how Merlin looked the day I met him. We were all so… young, weren't we? God, do you even think it's safe for me to have a kid?"

"Echo, was it safe for us to dethrone Judas? Is it safe for me to remind you about that? Can we consider anything safe beyond our walls?"

"Are you not giving me a choice?"

"No, I just don't want you to be negative."

Echo blushes. "Oh… thank you."

"You are strong, brave, and beautiful. You never back down from a challenge, and you're always on my side. I know I don't say these things nearly as much as I should, but-"

The queen kisses him. "I want it. I want it."

Forrest holds her, nodding. "I hope you understand I want the kid for you. I've always seen you as a mother."

"Are you upset that I don't want to marry you?"

"It was hard to understand it at first, but I accept it. It's just who you are." He leads her off the porch by the hand and turns her around. Behind the schoolhouse, Babylon's bustling districts. "Let me in on your mind. Did you know that we would get to this point? Do you know how much effort we've put into it, and do you know how blissfully ignorant we are about the effort we haven't? Everything feels so… weird. I knew killing Judas would change something, but I didn't know it would mean this."

"People still question whether or not we're good."

"The people aren't the ones in the Throne Room. They can disagree with me all they want, until they get caught. The military supports us; we'll be fine."

"Still, why do you think people stay? Why don't they revolt?"

"Because they're scared. They don't have the… courage to push themselves off the edge like we do."

"I remember waking up the morning after the blackout. Everyone left… without me. To this day, I still don't know why they left me behind. They were supposed to be my fucking parents goddamn it! It still hurts… knowing my entire life could be different had they tapped my shoulder. It's funny how fast life just reduces you to nothing, and then you're something. I don't consider myself a celebrity, I just want to see Babylon succeed."

"That's where true leadership is; fighting for an idea."

"I'm still scared, though."

"Of?"

"The success. Ask yourself, Forrest. Are we biting off more than we can chew?"

"No. I'll prove it to you because I love you."

"You're the man I fear because of how much I love him back."

Presently, they stand emotionally naked in front of the burning structure. The schoolhouse's roof caves in, crashing into the classroom beneath, destroying it completely. Echo gazes at Forrest, and for the first time she sees an emotion she has never seen before: helplessness. Nobody knows who's responsible. No names prop up in the distant conversations of makeshift firefighters. It's almost as if the perpetrator's invisible. With her free hand, she grabs hold of Forrest's.

The king rejoins the Babylonians, who stand behind and observe the unfolding chaos.

"Do you remember your responsibilities, Heather?" he asks. "I want you to send a letter to the army telling them to draw up a census."

"Why?"

"Whoever did this walked among us."

"How do you know?"

"We fight when the enemy's obvious."

"What are we going to do about food?" Wes asks.

"There're emergency reserve stockpiles in the Industrial District," Heather states. "I saw them when I made my first round through the kingdom. They're impressive, but they won't last forever. At some point, we'll need to… figure something out."

"We all have to fight," Wes declares. "The ones who can at least."

Forrest shakes his hand. "We have to organize this. We can't just let everyone tote a gun. Some of them don't even know how to use-"

"I'll train them," Heather suggests. "Whenever I'm not in the field, I will train the ones who don't know how to fight."

The king lets out a long-awaited, dreadful sigh. "Everyone. What about all those shop owners? The tradesmen? What about Timothy's workers, or the farmers that have to repair this pla-"

"That's why I said the ones who can," Wes retorts. "The ones who want to… volunteer."

"Or we can make a draft," Heather suggests.

"No drafts!" Forrest cries out. "I'm sorry… I have a personal disbelief in the draft."

The commander shrugs her shoulders. "Alright, then let's get us some volunteers."

Forrest shakes his head. "First thing's first: the hospital."

Later that day, Wes finds himself in a hospital bed. All around him, curtains separate small cots of wool and wood. He hears the hacks of ill-ridden folk, the moans of someone with terrible muscle pain, and people screaming because of amputations. The hospital is a complete contradiction of itself, for one never goes to the doctor to catch an illness. The lack of ventilation allows the hot air to mix with the body heat, and sweat stains cover everyone's scrubs.

A nurse with curly red hair approaches him. "Preston, is that you?"

Wes nods his head, propping himself up on the cot with his shoulders. "What is it?"

The nurse produces an envelope. "This was written for you, by the guy that had that exact same bed before you did."

His heart racing, he stomachs the suspense and rips the package open. Unfolding it, the letter reads:

Dear Wes, I'm sorry I couldn't wait until you got back. I just keep thinking about Ana, and I get this feeling that we shouldn't be wasting time. I had to leave; I have to find her. We can't leave anybody behind. I have a rucksack with provisions which should last me a week and a half. Beyond that… I don't know what I do. If I don't come back, forget about me. I'm sorry for getting angry with you at Alcatraz; there was a lot going on and I didn't know what to do. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. -Fink

Wes folds up the letter and slides it in his pocket. Looking at the nurse, he asks, "Did you read this?"

"Patients need their privacy, kid. We don't want to intrude on anybody's business."

Wes cracks a smile. "I like the way you think." He examines the other patients. Some of them have sores which look like they're about to burst into fountains of pus and bile. Black and purple bubos cover the skin of some, and others spit globs of mucus onto the stone floor. "What's happening to us?"

The nurse shakes her head. "This was always going on. Anyway, two more of your Babylonian friends got sick. We're examining them to diagnose whatever those acolytes gave you; we should have a proper answer soon."

"What does the prognosis look like for them?"

"Not good. They're both healthy, young males, but whatever's inside is making them look older… Those sunken eyes, clammy skin, and photoflashes do end up taking their physical toll. That's the strangest part about this thing."

"If it makes you feel any better, I know that you'll figure it out."

The nurse blushes. "Thank you. I have to check on everyone else, now."

The next morning, in the Throne Room, Echo sits alone on the large bed. Outside, snowfall prevents her from seeing the fire. She worries about its growth, its consumption of the rest of Babylon, but the volunteer firefighters give her hope. Beside her, Alice sleeps soundly in her crib. The chandelier above the dining room table swings back and forth gently against its own weight.

She can't get the image of the schoolhouse out of her mind. The moments she and Forrest shared together on that site will never be forgotten. The strange thing is that it meant nothing to her until she saw it in ashes. To combat this, she climbs out of the bed and down to her knees, pulling out a chest. Lifting the lid, she produces and dons her crown. As silly as it is, it makes her feel powerful now. It didn't when Forrest first gave it to her after Alice's birth, but as soon as the crown makes contact with her frontal lobe, a surge of superiority surges down her spine.

The people need something more than faith now: role models. Wherever this conflict takes them, wherever the roads lead, the only thing that remains consistent is the figures who make it all possible, who make the future possible. War strips humans down to the foundations of their instinctual origins, and the only way to retain humanity in this time is by having the proper leaders. Staring back at the window, Echo realizes her destiny. She has to fight whether Forrest likes it or not; if she dies, it won't matter, because the walls will remain standing. She feels grand coming from selfless intent, but she has enough self-discipline to reel her ego back in. When Forrest gets out of that damn hospital, she knows what she's going to do. She's tired of feeling like she can't do anything, like she's always on the back burner and she's meant to stay indoors. Sure, Babylon will need temporary leaders, but once they leap over that hurdle, once the skies clear for her involvement, she will join, and she will kill Ignatius.

A knock on the door makes her heart jump. She stands up, walks over, and opens it, revealing a Babylonian soldier on the other side. In his hands, a seemingly endless scroll with names on its surface. The soldier hands her the scroll, and Echo closes the door. After spreading it out on the dining room table, she crosses over to a row of filing cabinets which trace the wall adjacent to the bed. She opens the one with the most recent date and sifts through files upon files of censuses.

She eventually finds the right scroll and brings it over to the table, laying it next to the new one. The honest work takes hours, but she knows it's necessary. The culprit is in these scriptures, somewhere just below a first and last name. She feels like a librarian, sniffing out the proper adjectives to use from a thesaurus. As she continues, she scratches out repeating names with her nails. Admittedly, the queen has no idea if she's doing this right, for they didn't account for a psychopathic crime of this magnitude. In the future, she dreams of building a fire station of Babylon's medieval/Romanesque design.

At the end of the day, she circles three names, and her heart shatters when she does. The perpetrators are Monica, Edward, and Stacey Stanson. What does this mean? Why did they go off the rails suddenly? To her, they were adapting pretty well, especially after being out in the Wild for so long. She wonders if there's any chance of catching and bringing justice to these criminals. Most importantly, she thinks about if the Stansons are already reverting back to their tribalistic habits.

The queen follows her urge to look out the window. The city's nightlife from this perspective always entertains her. There isn't any snow today, but it still covers the kingdom. Soldiers work by lantern to clear cobblestone driveways, muddy streets, and wherever else the Babylonians frequent. Still, most of the civilians remain indoors. Babylon is a city of mystery. There are many twists and turns in the social climate as it is, and these people are about to experience war. The realism hits her like a train, and she personifies her anxiety with one movement: by turning away.

In the hospital, Forrest lies awake, restless. The vaccination is coming soon, and the only symptoms he's showing are hot flashes. According to the redhead, it should be ready in a few days. Since he's the king, he gets his own room. However, it feels more like quarantine. The voices keep talking to him, forcing his insomnia.

Not knowing what else to do, he stands up. When he does, his vision warps and twists like an LSD flashback. He wearily stumbles into the corridor, roaming the stone halls of Babylon's own Waverly Hills Sanitarium. He arrives at a door, the room behind it containing sick patients. He opens the door and sneaks into the chamber, wherein he gazes over the civilians until finding a slumbering Heather.

He nudges her awake; she wipes her eyes.

"What… is it?" she asks, half-conscious.

"Earlier, you asked me what my problem was." Forrest sighs. "I… I hear voices."

Time is the most valuable resource in nature. It takes, destroys, rebuilds, all within the cosmic blink of an eye. The Big Bang began with time, and it will be there indefinitely, ushering the universe along its infinite cycle of growth, decay, birth, and death. The most important aspect of time is that it produces. This can't be any clearer to Ignatius as he wakes up, tracing a singular trail of thought: time is money.

What the Babylonians did is inexcusable. There is no way to justify it and nobody else to blame. They are a problem that needs taken care of. There is no way these two societies can coexist peacefully anymore; they have too many disagreements, differing values, and beliefs. Isn't that partly why any two groups go to war in the first place?

He saw the damage they did to the train. He saw the bodies of his men, the ones who he appointed to protect him. Rage courses through his veins as he leaps out of bed, dons the cloak, and storms down an ornate hallway. Arriving at the door to Athena's chamber, he wraps his hands around the brass knob, hearing whimpering on the other side. Grinning, the President pulls up the cloak's white hood with his free hand. He twists the knob, pushes the door open, and invites darkness.

"NO!" a woman suddenly shrieks. "PLEASE! I ALREADY TOLD YOU IT WASN'T ME! YOU DON'T HAVE TO KEEP DOING THIS!"

"Don't worry, Hellen. I don't have anything this time. I just want to tell you a story. You see, I don't think you're taking my threats seriously. I know you've only been here a day and you haven't had time to adjust, so I feel like you should understand me. I do not take nonsense. Do you mind if I tell you a story?"

Next to Hellen, three familiar faces: Monica, Edward, and Stacey Stanson.

"WE DID WHAT YOU WANTED US TO DO!" Monica cries. "WE DON'T DESERVE THIS!"

"That's my point," Ignatius states. "Your use… is useless to me, now. The more efficient I am, the more the Babylonians will suffer." Drawing a pistol, he aims it at Edward's head, the trigger sending waves of three blasts ricocheting off marble walls.

Hellen descends deeper into desperation. "THERE'S NOTHING TO UNDERSTAND ABOUT YOU! I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! YOU'RE A MONSTER! YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND A FUCKING MONSTER!"

Ignatius smiles in the blackness. "That's where you're wrong, Hellen. You see, humans have a unique relationship with morality and immorality. What do you think is bad? That you're in here? What if you weren't? Would it still be bad or good? What if you were somewhere worse? Does that make this place better? Do you see what I'm driving at? Perspective, Hellen, it's all about perspective. And I happen to worship the former in this matter."

Hellen gasps, "Why do you try to justify it?"

"Because I can. Because even if I don't, the people will still look up to me because they believe what I am doing is right. They're too far gone to realize how much we own them. Like I said, Hellen, I'm a no-nonsense guy. Now, I think it's time for me to tell you a story, so I can prove you wrong."

The year is 1973. The radiant sun hangs high in a blue, cloudy sky, as if a post-apocalyptic world doesn't exist beneath it. He traverses the landscape alone, distraught, and lost. He's heard stories ever since Montana about other groups and how they're making their way to San Francisco because it's where the last society is. Currently, he roams through Eureka, California. He never acclimates himself to the quietness of the suburbs and cities; all of it is still too strange for him, even this late into everything.

He, a man of a disastrous caliber, didn't want this for humanity. When there's no people, you can't make money. Currency used to be the essence on which he built his prominence in yesterday's world. People used to know his name from New York to Florida, because he belonged to a very fortunate, productive family living on Long Island. Everyone earned what they had. His parents never gave him anything for free, he lived under strict rules, and he became very self-disciplined as a result. To him, following the rules is what got him successful.

When he was sixteen, he was forced by the muzzle of his father's gun to join the Ku Klux Klan, so he did. It was either that or death. His father was very conservative, often turning to fundamentalist views to exaggerate his opinions. It had a unique effect on Ignatius, because he isn't religious. He doesn't believe in God, because the only God he sees is on the dollar bill. That's the only God that can change things.

He is not meant for this world; he knows it in his heart that this isn't for him, and he struggles not to escape it. Despite his situation, he hasn't killed anybody yet. He still offers people mercy, because future generations will need people to reestablish the economy. It's a funny thing to think about, the prospect of there being a future monetary system. He might not have the drive to make it happen himself, but he finds hope in others. Finding the will to live through other people is the key, and now he's alone. No will, no purpose, no meaning. He lets the wind guide him towards his destination, because even if he makes it, he's still going to die one day.

He closes his eyes, echoing his father's words, "You're worth what you touch." That philosophy makes him who he is today. If your hands aren't reaching for anything, if they're just waiting idly by on the wayside, there is nobody to blame for your failure besides yourself. A man's value depends on the work he puts into his life. This aspect sparks an unrelenting love for capitalism, and it ignites a curious joy wherein he pretends it's all a game, with choice dictating it. Choice isn't an illusion under capitalism; the better ones you make, the better outcomes you have. It's as simple as that, and people didn't understand it.

Resting here, he ponders on the future of the game. Is there any chance for revival? Should it be brought back in the first place? What if he adopts it and changes it to fit his own perspective? The insanity of even finding out where to begin is too much to comprehend. There is nothing now, and people will inevitably make something out of it. He doesn't know why he's alive when he's been in multiple situations where he shouldn't have escaped. Why did the world save him? What good does he do in this uncontrollable environment?

He refuses joining tribes. Some offer him membership, but he rejects each time. He doesn't want to let his guard down, for comfort is a precursor to one's death. He never works well in teams, either; he's always been most efficient when working independently.

An eagle's cry. She breaks him out of this trance; she is the only meaning to his life right now. The bird swoops down from the sky, landing gracefully upon the veteran's shoulder.

"What are we going to do, Athena?" Ignatius asks, letting out a sigh as if he's a deflating balloon.

Sitting in the field, they bask in the peace. "How are we going to get the world back to how it was? How can we fix everything? How can we get the right people with the right minds? We need something, Athena; we need to find this place. I don't want to be… without someone else… anymore."

Later, Athena flies overhead as Ignatius roams the land. With night on the way, he seeks shelter, eventually finding a Victorian graveyard. A coal-black fence taller than him encompasses the cemetery, and an eerie gate at the front invites him inside. On the gate, plywood with a message in blue spray paint: accept what is. He stares at the message for a while, wondering if the person who left this is in San Francisco. Holding his breath, he presses into the grounds, navigating the area while Athena hunts.

He stumbles upon a mausoleum sticking out like a sore thumb; the brown-green moss compliments the cracking grey exterior stone. Ignatius wipes away cobwebs, gawking at an enormous, ominous door beneath years of rot. He wraps his hands around rusty metallic bars, twists them with both hands, and pushes the blockade open. A cold gust of wind escapes the chamber, engulfing the veteran in chills. He gulps, entering and leaving the door open for Athena.

Inside, his heart breaks from the poetic devolution of life. Maggots and insects crawl through the spaces of bones left behind by a couple's suicide. Ignatius finds two rings on the floor beside them, next to the remains of a pump-action shotgun. Along the walls, the mausoleum's coffins. He reads the plaques, and he figures the universe has a sick sense of humor, for the golden plates have matching surnames.

Athena lands outside, tossing a fish into the air and gulping it mid-flight. Ignatius watches with great amusement, envious he can't just up and fly like his only friend. Her talons scrape across the stone as she approaches her savior.

"Think we can stay here?" he asks. The eagle flaps her wings, nesting right here before his feet. "Guess that answers it." He watches as she eyes the corpses, and to show his understanding, he drags the bodies outside, lying them on the infected grass. Returning, he comments, "It made me uncomfortable, too." The stench hangs thick in the humid air; he chokes back vomit, wondering how the bird can hold in that fish. "Let's just try our best to gather some energy for tomorrow. These are the last few miles." He suddenly closes his eyes, growing solemn. "I regret… everything, Athena. My dad, he… he made me hurt innocent people. He made me… abide by his ideologies." He laughs. "The son of a bitch was the first one to catch a whiff of the collapse. He was this occultist freak; he had connections with the Freemasons. He knew… that the Russians would attack us with that EMP. He knew about the conspiracy between Vietnam and China. He didn't do anything about it, and that's what terrifies me. How can you hold that information from the public? How can you… put a curtain over everything?"

He reflects on his past, the present being too discomforting, and the future being too uncertain. The only thing he knows is what's behind him, and he seeks solace in the concrete nature of that fact. We suffer because we, like Ignatius, can't separate our thoughts from ourselves. We trap our consciousness in a downward spiral, unbeknownst to us, until a damning realization makes itself apparent. Ignatius chooses to be ignorant about the nature of consciousness, because in the grand scheme of things, Earth is a speck of meaningless sand floating endlessly in cosmic wind. It's pointless to wonder about those types of things, especially now.

He remembers a family gathering before Vietnam, early in his life. He was in Utah, celebrating the occasion in Salt Lake City. He was sitting on the back porch of a lake house, watching his siblings play in a boat in the middle of the rippling water. The sky was blue, a different blue than the one he sees today. It was the blue of innocence, a radiant color of hope and life.

Time changes you. Ignatius doesn't believe in his original perception of it anymore. In an age without clocks, radios, cars, all of these things we think we need, everything becomes one. Days, nights, the seasons, and the weather seem to bleed into one entity. It moves in waves, whatever this entity is. It's a force dependent on the existence of vibrations, mathematical calculations and geometric shapes transforming in less than the span of a sneeze.

In the middle of the night, Ignatius sneaks outside, restless. A thick fog looms over the cemetery, and the trees surrounding him seem to dance and twirl in the mist. He doesn't know what to do about his guilt. It consumes him daily, weighing on his consciousness and robbing his heart from a breath of genuine, quiet air. He hopes San Francisco can take this feeling away from him, because he doesn't know how much longer he can last, even with Athena. He asks himself what his suicide would do to her, and it hurts him too much to think about.

Look at all these tombstones, these images into the lives of people who knew order. He makes up backstories for each name he reads, forgetting about the moon shifting across the black sky. He feels a strange, natural connection with death in this moment. He usually fears its grasp, but now, a euphoric acceptance flows through him like the notes of some French concerto. It isn't normal to be afraid of death this late in the game, but it still bothers him because of its roots. He witnessed a car accident wherein his sister passed; the still frame image of her body withstands coping mechanisms like drug highs, hobbies, and hoping for a better future. These objects that we use to escape reality are of no use to him. Life goes on, silently, just like him.

Examining the graves, he finds himself missing the people he's lost. He thinks about all of them: Carly, Dennis, Nick, Lucas, Henry, Sydney. They're all just memories in a labyrinth of suffering. More still frames, more change. He remembers how each one died, how they all… fought for his survival. Why did they choose to do that? They knew who he was, yet they let him live; they knew about all the shitty things he's done, yet they protected him with their souls. What does any of this nonsense mean? Why would they, the ones with higher potential, sacrifice themselves for him? What aspect of his personality do they want to die for?

We aren't meant to understand life in its entirety; our brains are too feeble to comprehend that. There has to be a limit to what we can know, or else there won't be any mystery, and mystery is the heart of reality's origin.

In the distance, he hears clopping hooves. Standing up, Ignatius moves over to the graveyard's gate. From the fog emerges a small girl with a rucksack, mounting a pack mule. She passes the gate, and Ignatius is about to leave her behind, but something tells him not to; something tells him to invite her inside. He listens to this calling and whistles, alerting the passing survivor. She turns, her heart dropping out of fright. Upon making eye contact with the man, she grins. This isn't the reaction you usually get from meeting loners on the road; he was half expecting her to run away.

She dismounts the mule, leading it by the straps of its harness to the gate. "San Francisco?"

Ignatius nods his head. "Do you want to come inside? I'm trying to bring hospitality back."

"Where?"

"Here; I'm staying for the night."

The girl glances behind the stranger, trying to view his camp. She feels apprehensive, starting away with the mule.

"Wait!" Ignatius begs. "Please, I haven't talked to anybody in years; I just need someone."

The girl stops. "I don't know if I trust you."

"You can't," Ignatius states. "But is going at it alone easy? Does it keep you sane?"

"It's not easy; it's just what I do."

Ignatius rests his head against the gate's bars. "I've been alone for nearly three years. No parents, no friends, nobody to talk to. You'd be bleeding on the floor if you had anything worth taking. You need me just as much as I need you."

The girl faces him. "What's your name?"

"Ignatius. You?"

"Violet."

"You were born after the collapse, weren't you?"

"I was born in a Kansas settlement, but… it's gone now. Why are people so comfortable with murder?"

"Because there is no murder anymore."

"Are you a bad person?"

"What is bad? At the end of the day, what gives us a right to put a label on such things anymore? Look around you."

"What do you mean?"

"Morality and immorality… it's clear to me now that it's all an illusion. The truth is we just define these things to conjure some feeling of importance from an unknown source. Nobody is purely good or purely bad."

"What defines those situations are our actions and motives behind them." She approaches the gate with her mule, and Ignatius opens it. "Thank you."

All around them, withering flowers sprout up from the earth. The stench of rot makes Violet gag, and she leaves her mule for a lake behind Ignatius' mausoleum. At its shore, Violet kneels and spews chunks into the black-green water, where once, you could've seen your reflection in its clear surface. The girl stares into it, fixating her consciousness on the reality of her situation.

Ignatius watches with curiosity, tethering the mule to a nearby gravestone. The remnants of innocence never cease to put him in awe. In a world where such a concept should be forgotten, it exists in this moment, a special glimpse into self-realization. No matter how brief these glimpses are, they still offer evidence for something to be borne from this broken generation.

Violet knocks herself out of her trance and returns to Ignatius. "Thank you for inviting me inside. Something just occurred to me, and… I'm grateful for what you did. I have a feeling I would've died otherwise… I was about to let myself."

"Why?"

"You are the only person in the past nine years that wanted to reach out to me. I thought you were a mirage at first, and I just wanted to accept an end. I don't think I even wanted to make it to San Francisco."

"Who was the last person you talked to?"

"My mother." The girl grins. "It's funny. I still remember how she sounds, even after all this time. The last thing she said to me was that… she regretted not being there."

Ignatius gazes up at the nebulous glow of space life. "It was like all of the other missions, but for some reason, this experience became a part of me. We got in a firefight in Vietnam. I saw myself for the first time in the perspective of my enemies, and for a split second, I questioned what we were fighting for. Is it really worth it to hold someone else at the end of a gun because those were your orders?" He gulps. "The last person I talked to was my mom, too. She would always tell me that you're worth what you touch."

She looks towards the graveyard's entrance. "You know, we don't have to leave for the city right away. We can stay here for a few days."

Ignatius chuckles. "It sounds like you need time away from the road. We can hunt and gather whatever we can over the next two or three days. We can't stay that long; it's an obligation to see this place."

Peaceful hours follow. Rarely do these moments ever happen to Ignatius; he laughs and talks with the girl through their efforts of sustaining themselves. He gets to know himself through her on some occasions, and he likes this feeling; hell, he chases it every goddamn second without him knowing. He feels at home in its presence, a feeling he wishes he can capture and lock away for himself.

A waning gibbous glides over them without ever stopping. Ignatius aspires to be like that. JFK promised to put a man on the moon's surface by the end of the decade. That promise never came. Now, man has to become the moon if he wishes to survive; a relentless accident of mother nature swirling around a gravitational pole in the boonies of the last frontier.

They fill Violet's rucksack to the brim with game, feeling a sense of enjoyment from the adventure. The walk back to the graveyard is silent, because the guilt of accepting happiness in this world consumes their egos. A smile doesn't last long in this world; its nature can be comparable to the characteristics of a nonrenewable resource. Admittedly, they feel strange for sharing a good day with each other, because they're still pretty much strangers. That's the one thing about this world Ignatius can't understand; the way connections develop so quickly.

Later that night, Ignatius wakes up on the mausoleum's floor with a start. Looming over him, a sleepwalking Violet. The blankness of her expression terrifies him, but he's quick to remember that waking a sleepwalking person is the worst thing you can do. The girl mumbles in her sleep, subconsciously living out a dream in real life. Ignatius can't make anything out of them, and after a while it decays into an ancient tongue. The site fascinates Ignatius, but the fear of an accidental arousal keeps him on his back.

The next morning, he exits the mausoleum with Athena. She takes flight, and he finds Violet sitting near the graveyard's lake with her mule. She feeds it an apple, and they rest together, basking in the warmth of a sunlight he doesn't recognize. The morning rays bake the lake's murky water, slowly hardening it into a muddy paste. Violet spots Ignatius, and she waves him over. Smiling, Ignatius proceeds, stomping over tall grass.

"What does the bird think of Charlie?" Violet asks, chuckling.

"Athena adores Charlie."

"Strange. You think she'd attack him."

"Maybe she didn't for a reason."

"Do you actually think that's possible?"

"My dad was obsessed with evolution, and he taught it to me. Something natural and larger than Earth itself works in tandem. It's the machine at its core. Although it takes millions of years, everything changes in this system. These changes might be tiny, but down the chain they grow in observational value. With that in mind, the system is still changing, and maybe… that's part of it. There're just new rules we don't understand now, and we have to learn them soon."

"I still believe in God."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I know it's stupid; I know I shouldn't, but something keeps pulling me towards it."

"I never went to church when I was a kid."

"Why?"

"My parents weren't huge on it. Then Vietnam got in the way and put everything on hold."

"Do you regret fighting now?"

"No, it was the best thing I ever did. I told you about those milliseconds where I did feel guilt, but I overcame them. I'm proud I had a chance to fight for my country."

"I thought you were from Italy because of your name."

"You can thank my dad for that."

"Did you have a wife during the war?"

"No, I never married."

They tether the mule to rails inside the mausoleum and loot nearby neighborhoods for anything useful, finding medicine, small portions of food, and a pocket knife. In a mansion's chest of drawers, they uncover a bow and eleven arrows in a bundle. On its front lawn, they examine the empty district before them. Broken glass, pieces of plywood, trashcans, and rusty cars rest in an infinite motionless state atop decaying asphalt. Soon, everything around them will be dust. There will be no relics of the old way of life, and that terrifies them. If they forget, what will become of that madness? New government types? New, undefinable obstacles? The apocalyptic fog grows into a dense societal hailstorm, but only in hindsight.

It rains on their way back. When they return, Athena waits patiently at the gate for Ignatius with a rat dangling from her beak. The rainfall turns the dry lake back into a brown marsh. The stench worsens with the moisture, and everyone crams into the only shelter for miles. The storm lasts for hours, and lightning blasts across the sky as if God's tearing the fabric of reality apart with a machete. Certain strikes start fires, and they grow into respectable blazes as they mercilessly consume anything to survive.

"Why don't you believe in anything?" Violet asks.

"I don't trust it. I don't want to waste my time believing in something that might not even exist. There's this thought experiment called Pascal's Wager. He argues that people should live their lives as though God exists, even if He doesn't. That way, when they die, they only have a finite loss, only to gain infinite Shangri-La. I see fallacies in that statement. He assumes God is real right off the bat, giving the other party no choice. He also suggests humans are immortal, and this can greatly damage someone's way of thinking. Imagine living your life knowing where you'll go after you die. It seems pretty pointless to exist in the first place, doesn't it? I also disagree with the idea of Hell. Why would someone so loving create a place so damning? The logic simply doesn't add up."

"I see it as people holding on to something."

"Why's that?"

"When you have nothing, wouldn't you like to believe everything is going to be alright in the end?"

"I want to make everything alright now."

Charlie sleeps on the ground behind her, next to Athena. The site makes Ignatius yawn, and he decides they should sleep. Deep in the night, he wakes up to a snoring Violet again. Instead of staying put like she did the first time, she lumbers over to the mausoleum's door, pushes it open, and walks into the night. Ignatius slips by the sleeping animals, following this strange path. He watches as the girl limps to the lake's shoreline, pausing when the tips of her shoes touch the water. Her aura dances in the rain, and she slowly submerges herself beneath the water's surface. Ignatius takes one step forward, but a seductive, evil force within him stops progression. Bubbles pop where she sinks, and her eyes shoot open underwater. Violet grasps for breath, unable to swim. One minute. Two minutes. Three. The struggling slows to a steady halt, and her lifeless body emerges from the depths.

Then, he returns to the mausoleum, digs through Violet's backpack, and produces a pocket knife. He waits for the storm to pass, pondering on a gross act. The violent rainfall secedes into quietness that morning, when Ignatius skins the mule. He roasts the meat over a roaring campfire on the lake's shore, observing Athena as she picks at Violet's floating flesh. They leave after Ignatius steals Violet's rucksack, closing the gate behind them without looking back or feeling remorse. The bird rests on his shoulder, the sun illuminating blobs of crimson on her feathers and beak.

They pass through several burnt towns, examining the callbacks to the old world's problems. Signs from the early riots still shine through the apocalyptic crust; they display simple, rebellious messages demanding change, a cure for the virus, an end to the American involvement in the Vietnam War, an end to communist invaders. It's during this time when Ignatius recognizes the magnitude of stupidity. How did we let it get this far? What made us give up that spark? Why do we call ourselves survivors when we shouldn't even have the option for that? Images of Violet impede this train of thought. She was too good for this world; what happened to her was merciful. If San Francisco's gone, that discovery won't hurt her now. Either way, she just would've wound up dead later. What happened was an act of natural selection; it was the universe taking its own course, warranting no intrusion. Who is he to stop her God?

They reach the ruins of a drive-inn, investigating the burnt-out cars in the parking lot. The movie screen is torn in several places; speakers rest in their own ashes, and telephone poles lay peacefully on the roofs of vehicles. Ignatius turns down an aisle, only for this fatal step to trigger a bear trap hiding beneath a layer of miscellaneous trash. Metal prongs pierce his leg, and Athena takes flight as a horrible shriek cracks through the wasteland. Makeshift alarms blare, and the distant yelps of a tribe bring life to this once barren area. Dark figures hop fences and climb over cars until they reach their bleeding, crying target. They threaten to stab him with spears, knives, anything that has a sharp edge; they thrust the blades in his face, chanting ancient hymns. The circling stops, and the chief emerges, holding a head by its scalp.

"Do you see this?" The chief growls. "You do; you know who we are."

"I… I don't…"

"YOU'RE WITH HUNTER!" The chief screams, swinging the head and striking Ignatius with it. "YOU DAMN WELL SHOULDN'T PLAY DUMB!"

"I'M NOT!" Ignatius screams, pleading for his life. "I'M TRAVELING TO SAN FRANCISCO!"

The chief recognizes his sincerity, backing off and calming down, like lava retreating into a volcano. "San Francisco? Why?"

"Are you kidding me? How have you not seen it yet?" He struggles against the metal prongs. "Please release me… I'll tell you everything you need to know." Blood-loss causes him to faint.

Hours later, Ignatius wakes up to the tribe pouring water on him. Restraints force his back against a cot, and a pyramid-shaped roof of fabric suggests a tipi. A wooden pole supports it, and unintelligible conversations surround him, emerging into his consciousness like the early waves of a record breaking tsunami. The powerful surge of a headache pulses in his frontal lobe, and his leg rests under the protection of gauze, stitches, and rubbing alcohol. These incompetent bastards didn't even provide him with a blood transfusion.

The chief enters the tent, sharpening his spear. "You had quite the nasty fall."

"I need more blood," Ignatius demands. "I lost a fucking bucket-full."

"Do you know how stupid that would be?" The chief retorts. "We're nomads, not doctors. What if we give you the wrong blood type? I'm not going to be responsible for the death of a man that can lead us to safety."

"You don't want to be nomads, then."

"Not anymore. We just arrived here from Oklahoma."

"San Francisco," Ignatius gasps weakly. "There's a rumor spreading that the city is the last civilization."

"We keep hearing those rumors." The chief states. "Hendrick's County. Birmingham. The Kennedy Township. Babylon. We've tried for most of them, and they were all gone. We're losing hope."

"Babylon? Where's that?"

"The location keeps changing. We hear it's in Pittsburg, New Mexico, Nevada, all over. It's either Babylon's a ghost, or there are different communities that have the same name. Either way, we want to avoid it."

"What makes you so confident about San Francisco?"

"It's close to home; we have nothing going for us out here."

"It's only a few day's travel from here; I had a map in the rucksack you took."

"We'll wait here until your leg heals. We're not taking any half measures."

"And how long will that take?"

The chief finishes sharpening the arrowhead. "Like I said, we're not doctors."

The conversations outside turn into the frantic cries of cowards at the sound of gunfire. Neighboring tipis catch the fire of molotov cocktails, and the chief evacuates the area, leaving Ignatius to beg for help alone. Shadows dance across the fabric in a quick sprint; blood splatters across the shield, the globs creating ominous, dark patterns. In this moment of truth, Ignatius finds the motivation to do something he's never done: pray. He asks God to forgive him of his sins, to let him live so that he can travel down the road he rejects. He apologizes for letting his father have control, for letting a deep, unknown evil kill Violet. By the end of this session, he's in tears, at the mercy of memory. Black plumes of smoke flood into the tent, creeping over his vision like the hallucinations of a victim undergoing sleep paralysis. Eventually, he passes out under the overabundance of carbon monoxide.

In this foggy state, memories from childhood come back to him. He remembers these talks he would have with his mother, these talks that had the potential to justify a murderer. Whenever his dad would stop behaving erratically, she would defend him on her own time. She would tell him that what he does is normal, that the kid must always abide by his parents' wishes. He remembers a strange feeling he got when the draft came to his door; it was a sensation of relief. The war was his escape from the aristocratic lifestyle, a lifestyle that he had no intention of living in his youth.

He remembers the sensation of battle, that cycle of chaos and order completing itself within the span of an evening. He still feels that rush, that indescribable coalescence of anxiety, instinct, and courage. He used to hear stories about soldiers accidentally setting off booby traps in the labyrinths of jungles. Some would be merciful, the instant penetration of a poison dart arrow striking a skull. Others would bring the capitalist supports to their slow ends, leaving squadrons trapped in pits more than ten feet below the surface.

A bright white obstructs the darkness in his mind, an energy so warm and loving it brings him the euphoria that even the drugs of the counterculture movement can't conjure. The light fades away, and he envisions himself standing upon a mountaintop, overlooking a civilization with boxcars acting as barricades. Within the boundary, a city with a familiar site known as Lombard Street. The winding road twists up a hill like a drunk stumbling home from a bar. Brownstone apartments, arrays of solar panels, and fertile plantations bring a vegetative aura to the settlement. Zeppelins rise from the opening roofs of warehouses, displaying their confidence unto the lone figure.

Next to him, a shadow emerges from a black cloud. Ignatius recognizes this figure as the physical manifestation of the evil presence he felt when he didn't save Violet.

"This can all be yours," it says with a growl. "You have the golden opportunity to own everything."

"I believe in God, now. You can't affect me; I won't allow it."

"We both know you love controlling people. You gave orders on the battlefield, god damn it. People turned to you, because they respected you. You can have it all again, and this time people will venerate you. You'll be their God. Why believe in Him when you can become Him?"

"I'm not going to turn back on someone who saved my life. He earned my loyalty today."

"Ignatius… I know how unstable you are. You try taking these steps to become a better person when you wind up where you began after that moment of wanting to change passes. Your savior is only a pipe dream."

"Why are you showing me this?"

"Because these people are lost. You have the proper experience to lead them."

"You're evil."

"No, Ignatius. I'm Fear. Fear is the fuel behind survival, and you have the energy within you to turn that fear into production. This is my opportunity to live through you."

"Are you a demon?"

"I'm entirely separate from religious beliefs. I only look like this because this is how you can physically perceive an emotion."

"So… If I make them afraid… If I obtain power… If I play by the rules… They'll know me."

"Yes."

The blackness consumes his mind again, and he's sent back to a childhood memory. He's in a Louisiana swamp cabin, standing next to his dad. Before them, captive Civil Rights members. His dad holds a whip, ready to strike people who stop at nothing to protect liberty. The prisoners don't cry or beg for help; they sit in silence, keeping their gazes to the wooden floorboards. Outside, crickets chirp and buzzards feed on animal carcasses. The cabin's open front door reveals a dock leading to an airboat.

His father nudges him on the shoulder, displaying the whip. "Son, you know what you have to do."

"But I-" The father smacks him, sending the boy stumbling backwards. "I don't want to hurt them! What did they do?"

"What the fuck did you just say?!" Foam forms on the corners of the tyrant's lips. "These communist motherfuckers are tainting the safety of the Jim Crow laws! The girl? She drank from a water fountain for colors only! The boy? He went to prom with a black girl! This is unacceptable and it makes us weak! We need to free America from these vermin!"

For the first time in his young life, Ignatius feels fear, a selfless kind of terror. He wants to jump onto the airboat, but his father forces him the whip for the second time. He shoves the kid over to the captives, laughing as if he's in the middle of listening to a comedian. The kid stands over these innocent martyrs, the whip's handle rolling in his trembling hand. Its straps dance across the floorboards, as if Ignatius is puppeteering an empty presence. He raises the whip cautiously, purposely stalling every second he can. The anger in his father boils like water in a tea kettle, and he bounds over to his son, grabs his arm, and forces the boy to strike. Shrieks ring out through the empty swamp, and the insects pause their songs.

"LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!" his father screams. "You could've just listened to me the first time! It's going to be so much worse for them now!"

The seconds go by in quick flashes of blank intervals. Ignatius closes his eyes, struggling against his father's strength. Why does his mom defend somebody like this? Can she be too far gone under his authority? The captives cry out in agony, screaming for their superiors to stop. The beating lasts for twenty minutes, the final strike hitting the boy, who finally dies from the abuse. Ignatius drops the whip, gazing over this act in horror, backing away from the scene.

"Do you want to know why I keep you alive?" his father grunts. "Because murder's illegal."

"I'm not killing myself," Ignatius retorts. "I don't care what it takes, but I'm getting away from you."

"YOU LIKE YOUR LIFE, YOU HYPOCRITICAL BASTARD! YOU LIVE OUTSIDE OF POVERTY BECAUSE YOU ARE ABOVE IT! WHO ARE YOU WITHOUT THIS MONEY? WHAT KIND OF SCUM WILL YOU BECOME? YOU WANT TO RUN AWAY AND MAKE SOMETHING OF YOURSELF? You won't. And that's what you can't comprehend. You can't run, because the fortune is too alluring. If you really wanted to, you would've left a long time ago."

That night, Ignatius and his family sit around a dinner table in their mansion. His mother shakily cuts her steak, sunglasses covering black eyes. His father sits confidently in his suit at the end of the table, devouring the portions as if he's living out a Chinese famine. The son stares down at his plate, hearing the whip crack across terrible thoughts.

"Son," his father starts. "Eat."

He reluctantly obeys. After dinner, he cleans off his plate and goes outside to check the mail. Opening it, he retrieves a small, yellow envelope. Tearing it open, he reads the draft for the Vietnam War. Tears of joy form in his eyes, dripping off his cheek and dampening his source of relief.

He wakes up from this nightmare in a fit of coughing. Opening his eyes, a room with four white walls and a low ceiling. An IV bag injects blood into the broken survivor, and a heartbeat monitor chimes in from the right-hand side of the room. Looking through the window in the opposite wall, he sees the distant signs of civilization. Brownstone apartments line tightly-packed streets, and members of a lower class pass over asphalt roads in horse-drawn carriages. The wealthy ride in vehicles, insinuating a clear division of power.

The door of his room opens, and a bald, male doctor enters the room in a white hooded coat. He carries a clipboard in his hands, mimicking the old way of life.

"Good morning," the doctor says with a smile. "I'm Dr. Samuels. You've been out for a while."

"Why did they keep me alive?"

The healer examines his leg. "You weren't with the tribe. We exterminate all tribes. The garb is a clear indicator, too."

"Is this San Francisco?"

"Yes. You're very lucky to have made it."

Ignatius almost jumps out of his bed. "Please, I have so many questions. I just… need to understand this place. I've been on the road for so long; an explanation is the least I deserve."

The doctor lets out a mournful sigh. "Honestly, it's not the best place on Earth. The political side of the city is almost on fire because of our President, Hudson. He's bringing this entire city down, and nobody's willing to stand up to him. He has this wife, our First Lady, Marisa. She's… not fit for her position. People spread rumors about them all the time, from abuse to human trafficking."

"How long has this place been here?"

The doctor acts as if he doesn't want to remember the early days of San Francisco, putting on a facade that he's grateful to share the origin story. "The walls started going up under the authority of our first President elect, Vincent Wyatt. Wyatt had an idea to bring the American Dream back to us. The Dream gave us an excuse to come together to build a sanctuary. We got the boxcars from rail yards, stacking them on top of each other with cranes powered by vegetable oil. We built our own solar panels, and everyone grew food on windowsills until we got the proper materials to construct plantations. Dewey's arrival changed everything. He was an economic advisor before the collapse, and he helped Wyatt build a minting facility on Alcatraz. Ever since the reintroduction of money, nothing has been the same."

"Why the hoodies?"

"Part of our belief system stems from occultism. People need something to hold on to, and occultism gives them that."

Ignatius feels a spark of pain in his leg, and he asks, "How long will I be in here for?"

"Well, from the state of your leg, I'd say about a week. The prongs didn't even touch your veins, but they did damage muscle. We're going to have to examine it more, but with the drugs we have, you won't feel us poking or making any area feel uncomfortable. You have a strong chance for complete recovery."

The days pass quietly, Ignatius feeling very fortunate to be here. He watches the city through the window, getting a feel for its vibe. From what he can see, everything the doctor said is true. One evening, the citizens form a parade to boost patriotic morale, but the event stirs conflict revolving around different viewpoints. Before a riot breaks out, the city's military unit shows off its power, and the people simmer down. The parade continues on a much different aura, and everyone's thankful for its end. The selfless poor protest on street corners, demanding higher wages and an income they can live off of. Signs display rouge messages of criticisms towards capitalism, the city's labor laws, and President Hudson.

From this vantage point, a fire ignites in Ignatius' heart. It isn't a fire borne from evil, but a fire borne from a genuine interest in making the city a better place. As the hours of recovery pass, this gives him time to focus on this new idea. He plans on exposing himself to the city's political climate, feeling passionate emotions for the people run through him. He envisions himself standing alongside their protests, standing behind podiums with crowds listening to what he has to say, to what he has in store for their futures. He sees himself taking a noble, honest stance against the forces that aim to take away peace. However, behind this wishful thinking, he still thinks about what happened to Violet. He tells himself to forgo the regret, but he still remembers the strength of the dark force that stopped him from saving her. Can he stop it to save himself?

The day finally comes where he's able to leave this crippling life behind. Emerging from the city's hospital, he shields the sun's rays from his face. The doors close behind him, and he listens for that inevitable slam, the sound that separates his old attitude from his new one, but the noise never comes.

Instead, he hears a female's voice screaming, "Ignatius, wait!"

He turns, a young redhead following his tail. "Who are you?"

"Marisa," she says, gasping for breath. "I'm glad I could catch you on the way out. I was calling your name, but you weren't listening."

"Marisa? Aren't you the First Lady?"

She blushes, the paparazzi recognition never getting old. "Yes. I just wanted to see you because I want to hear your story."

"My story? What makes me so important?"

"You're the first lone survivor to reach us within two years. I want to invite you to dinner; you can tell Hudson and I about yourself."

"Well, if that doesn't bother you. I… I don't want to seem like a burden, but I don't exactly have anywhere to stay. They just kind of kicked me out."

A sudden smile bursts on her face. "We have a guest room. I feel confident you'll like it."

Later, Marisa drives a limousine to the front doors of a gargantuan palace. Marble walls compliment its golden braces, and large windows display murals depicting prominent scenes and artifacts from the Bible. The Arc of the Covenant, the Holy Grail, and the hidden scriptures beneath the Vatican, with only imagination to conjure a theoretical, momentary picture so insignificant yet its mystery continuously withstands time. A miniature statue of Christ the Redeemer blossoms from a flowing fountain in the front yard, seemingly inviting members of any class to come in, but a feeling inside Ignatius knows this as a red herring. They ride past the site, Ignatius examining the statue thoroughly.

Marisa parks the limo in the driveway and ushers Ignatius inside, wherein he basks in the warmth of the entrance hallway. Lit chandeliers line the walls, their lights casting ominous shadows across the length of the oaken interior. Footsteps echo towards them from the far end of the hallway, preceding the sound of a door closing. A figure taller than either of them emerges from the depths with a cane, the chandeliers casting an eerie glow over his old, pale face. The age difference between him and Marisa astounds Ignatius, but he keeps these comments to himself.

"Hello," Hudson starts, extending a clammy hand. "We're both pleased to have you here."

Ignatius accepts the gesture. "What's on the menu?"

Hudson chuckles. "The Midwestern special. Cornbread, fried potatoes, and beans."

The world takes Ignatius back to just a few days ago, when he was eating whatever he came across. "I don't remember the last time I've had food of that quality before."

Hudson eyes him in astonishment. "How didn't you go crazy out there by yourself?"

Marisa intervenes. "This should be saved for dinner, honey."

Hudson rolls his eyes, leading them down the hallway. "The dining room's right this way."

Entering the dining room, Ignatius finds an ornate table set up for the evening. Three plates of food sit idly in front of throne-like chairs; glasses of red wine compliment the servings. Everyone takes their seats, Hudson at the end of the table, Marisa to his left, Ignatius to his right. This is supposed to be dinner, so why does Ignatius feel like he's in an interrogation chamber? Pushing this feeling aside, they begin eating, Ignatius savoring every last morsel. The warm food of immaculate preparation is almost too much for him to handle, and an unknown hunger within him rages. For years, he was a scavenger, but now, he's finally king.

After drinking the wine, Hudson breaks the ice. "Do you remember the early days, Ignatius?"

He stops eating, laying down his utensils. "Yes."

"Where were you?" Marisa asks.

Ignatius almost forgets, but an image of his dad's football jersey flashes in his mind. "New York. I belonged to a very fortunate family, until the draft came."

Marisa gasps, "The draft? Were you scared?"

He shakes his head. "It was the best thing that could've happened to me."

Hudson recalls a memory. "I was a thousand years younger, but I used to be a judge in Oklahoma. I already knew how to play the game. Have you ever heard Hitler's backstory?" Ignatius shakes his head. "In World War 1, Hitler served in the trenches alongside the Germans. One day, a British soldier approaches him. Hitler's weak, defenseless, but the British soldier, against all odds, lets him live. The war ends, and the world blames Germany. Hitler goes back to his country and rises to power, using rhetoric that amounts to making Germany great again. This sparks World War 2 in the 1940s. It's the Butterfly Effect, Ignatius. What I want to do is use choice to my advantage. Choice matters."

"When I was in the hospital," Ignatius starts. "I watched the city. I observed its characteristics, its socioeconomics. It made me want to join your government."

Marisa's heart drops. "Hudson, I think-"

"Shut up," the President interrupts. "This guy hasn't even been here a week and he wants to play a game he's never even picked up the controllers for."

"I'm sorry for offering my service," Ignatius retorts with a quiet look of offense.

Marisa shakes her head. "Let's just change the subject, shall we?"

Hudson obliges. "Why don't you tell Ignatius about Leo, Marisa."

All the color drains from Marisa's face, even her red hair turns white. The name brings her back to the worst moment of her life, a moment wherein violence and evil become inseparable. She drops the fork and knife, clearing her throat. "I… I watched somebody drown. I didn't save them, though. I could have. It was this boy, he was too innocent for this world. What I did was-"

"Merciful," Hudson finishes. "Tell me, Ignatius, how do you define mercy?"

Ignatius wipes his lips with a napkin. "Leniency. It's like striking oil nowadays."

Hudson smirks. "You obviously haven't seen our refineries then. We are a civilization that thrives off providing mercy… after conquering other civilizations. We take control because we have to. Because this civilization needs growth, recognition, and fear. We go for those we see as vulnerable, defenseless, and weak."

"How many colonies are under your control?" Ignatius asks coldly.

"Twelve and we're only growing. So is our army, too. You see, there's a formula to this game, a mathematical calculation behind power and control. Leonhard Euler had a great influence on mathematics, but he forgot one thing: these numbers are in our head. If they're in our head, if we can transmute them and channel them into existing in this reality, we can do the same thing with thought."

After dinner, Hudson leads Ignatius down the hallway while Marisa tends to the dishes. The President leads him into the guest room, where they talk in private.

"I'm sorry about that," Hudson states. "You're our guest; I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"I feel quite the opposite," Ignatius insists. "This place is heaven to me."

"Marisa," he sighs. "She's still stuck in the past. She has a hard time moving on from things. People are a lot more vulnerable now; this is part of the formula that makes them easy to control. The smart become aware of this and do what they please."

"Why are you telling me this if you don't believe I can make it in politics?"

"I never said it was impossible." Hudson grins. "That passion you felt when you were injured… I felt that same passion, too. Somewhere along the line, I lost sight of who I was. I have completely different goals now; the power consumes you if you're not careful. Play your cards right, and only then can you begin to understand the significance of every action, no matter how big or small."

"This… is advice. You're preparing me."

"Yes. I see hope in you."

With that, Hudson leaves the room. Later, Ignatius lays in the bed, gazing blankly at the oaken ceiling. Faint shouting from a nearby bedroom keeps him awake, the curiosity sealing his insomnia. Just hours ago, Hudson portrayed himself as a kind man with a few fissures in his morality. Now, it's clear that that's not the case.

The President barges into his quarters, wherein Marisa straightens her hair. The sudden boom makes her jump, and she drops the device, jumping out of her seat to protect herself. A red glow of anger on his face tantalizes any sense of control, and she cowers against the edge of the king-sized bed. Tears swell in her eyes, and he looks like a cartoon character before steam shoots out of the nose and ears. There is no motive behind this outburst, no meaning or rhyme. Sometimes Hudson just wants to show off his power over her, to force her into a submissive state of mind. He's nothing without her, but she can't leave him. No matter how much she wants to, the gravitational force of his abuse brings her back, like a satellite caught in the orbit of a gas giant. From Ignatius' room, he hears lamps breaking, abrupt shouting matches, and shrieks for help. He doesn't know what to do, nor does he want to make the situation worse. If he intervenes, Hudson won't let him participate in any political affairs. If he doesn't, Marisa will turn into another Violet. That name triggers the fleeting sensation of evil, that devil-like emotion that even the most negative words can't describe. At this resurgence, he climbs out of bed, enters the hallway, and crosses over to the room from whence the cries emerge. Gulping, he knocks on the door, and the muffled struggling ceases.

It opens, and a weeping Marisa opens the door. "Please… go away."

"Let me talk to Hu-" The door opens wider, and the old President towers over the defenseless girl. "Oh, hello."

Hudson smiles, the audacity of the bastard. "Did we wake you?"

"I've been awake," he states. "Listen, if I'm a guest here, I need you to treat me like one. I can't be the witness for this kind of shit unless you want to keep your reputation."

The President chuckles, realizing the cards he's playing. "You're clever. You want us to be quiet? Fine. But if I catch your ass snooping, I'll kick it to the curb."

Ignatius nods his head. "Duly noted."

It's in this moment where Marisa falls in love with him. Nobody has ever stood up to Hudson before out of the fear of it backfiring. Hudson's response surprises her, because he usually never takes anything from anyone. Perhaps he saw something in him that she didn't see; whatever it was, she sees it now. She needs a man like Ignatius in her life, someone who'll protect her from harm's way. Codependency is something she fails to recognize; it seals her doom with everyone that intrigues her, but with Ignatius, she doesn't feel doubt. This is real. And when love is real, only a fool passes on such an opportunity.

After Hudson shuts the door, and after a whispering war, the President falls asleep, but Marisa remains awake. Upon hearing the telltale signs of sleep, she quietly removes the covers and falls to the floor with a distant thud. Reaching under the bed, she produces a small wooden box of her own creation. Laying it on the floor, she opens the lid, revealing an empty interior. She wraps her hand around the false velvet bottom and pulls it out, smiling upon the site of a palm-sized baggie. Inside, four grams of cocaine from a rogue cultist. She unzips the bag and lines up the blow, enjoying every second of its nasal consumption. Euphoria overwhelms any possibility of sadness, and the room around her spins as if her mind's riding an invisible carousel of time. Her body shivers under the artificial, temporary happiness, and her heart rides the waves of a tsunami. This is why she stays with him; if she didn't have anything to escape from, what would be the point?

A loud banging at the door wakes Ignatius up from a dream. Angry, he climbs out of bed, wondering what time it is. He rubs his eyes and opens the door, and Marisa charges him with romantic embrace. Ignatius accepts, giving in to the First Lady's seduction. They collapse on his bed in a volcanic eruption of lust, false perceptions of love ringing out through the now endless night. After her climax, they rest, gazing into each other's blue-green eyes.

"You know what I want," Ignatius states. "Can you give it to me?"

In her unstable consciousness, she says, "Yes, I'll do anything I can to get you."

Lying, he replies with, "What makes you think you don't have me already?"

She leaves an hour later, sneaking back into the President's bed like a rapidly growing mold specimen. The dark night pours over a sleepless Ignatius, who can't stop thinking about his next move. He decides to trust Hudson's advice before the intervention, anything he says now is up to speculation. He replays what Hudson said in his mind. "This guy hasn't been here for a week and he wants to play a game he's never picked up the controllers for." What gives him the right to assume those things? What power does he hold over him? Is it the aristocratic mindset, hypnotizing its host through fame, fortune, and popularity?

Unable to sleep, he climbs out of bed, roaming the empty halls in the wee hours of the morning. At some point, he finds an art gallery, wherein he basks in the poetic interpretations of life. Marble statues rest lifelessly over dangling chandeliers, paintings from obscure artists line the walls, and artifacts of unknown value hide beneath the protection of clear glass boxes on pedestals. One painting in particular speaks to him, and he stands before it in awe. Beneath it, a golden plaque reads, "Liberty Leading the People by Eugene Delacroix". The way the woman appears, reaching for victory with the rest of her men, hits Ignatius like the first toke of DMT. It represents a certain part of his life he thought the universe forgot about, when he was charging into those jungle battles, battles which took place in a territory and ecosystem completely foreign to the freedom fighters. A deep sorrow grows within him, a feeling so ancient that a pharaoh's soul wipes it of cobwebs. He gazes at the painting as if it's his own reflection, a mirror from a different, distant dimension peeking into this one in less than a cosmic blink of an eye. This moment lasts only for a few seconds, but the stillness of Eugene's genius makes him understand that time is eternal, that perception creates the minutes, seconds, and hours that go by.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" states Hudson.

"Where did you find it?"

"There was an art museum here before we tore it down. It had all these… great works that I couldn't let go of. So, I stored them in this room."

"So you built the Presidential Palace?"

"Yes, before that the Presidents would sleep in luxurious secrecy on Alcatraz."

"Why do you do that to Marisa?"

"Ignatius, sometimes you have to show people how to be strong. Marisa, she was weak before she met me. Now that she has something to endure, it hardens her."

"I want to like you, Hudson," Ignatius starts. "But you make it hard for me to have any form of respect for you whatsoever. You physically beat her; even I wouldn't do that to someone. I think you're a coward."

"You will not talk to me like that in my goddamn palace."

"That's why I'm not sleeping here tonight."

The years pass by in a mass stream of consciousness. Ignatius becomes a self-starter, joining protests and negotiating with Marisa behind Hudson's back. Through blackmail, paying off debts, and signing life-threatening contracts, she gets Ignatius into the system. The democratic government operates from their capitol building, the Colosseum, a masterpiece right in the middle of the city. The ideology completely revives the values and standards of the Constitution, with additions by the sane and insane. The catch is that once a law is written it cannot be undone, for the Constitution is a sacred record, and nobody has the power to tarnish its originality. Laws work differently here, for there is no electoral college, ballots, or voters. The President is given five laws during Sessions, written by the sane and insane; his job is to put the most beneficial one into practice. There are four Sessions during each Presidential term, one for each year the elect is in office. The people don't even have the power to vote for a President; that job is at the mercy of the Elite, high-ranking acolytes of the current President, concurrent to a Cabinet.

As the sands of time fly in eternal winds, Ignatius acclimates himself to this strange environment. He shaves his head, cleans himself up, and dons a white robe, its hood always covering his head. He slowly realizes why this is the standard uniform here. In prison, inmates experience something similar to downplay any sense of individuality. Where there are no individuals, there are no individual thoughts. It's manipulation, a literal form of hiding in plain sight.

Ignatius takes note of some interesting events during this time. He oversees construction projects secretly, spying on the architects of their design; at one point, a train station forms before his eyes, built into the East Wall as if it's meant to go beyond the boundaries. After talking to Marisa about this, she replies blankly, "It's the law." This convinces him that someone has foreknowledge of the city's progression, that there are people who have a vision that they want to bring to life, and they're hiding beneath his nose. He spends weeks trying to find out who's who in this city of the damned, and a list of names emits from the fading granite tip of a pencil by candlelight.

Dewey Duke, the economist. Like the doctor said, everything changed after his arrival. Duke currently leads the minting production on Alcatraz, and people around here say he's a con artist, that he scams prisoners out of their welfare for a lifetime of labor. This means that even when a prisoner serves their time on the island, they still have to work in the minting facility. The judge just gives them a prison sentence, not a work sentence after all.

The warden of the prison, Victor Harolds, can fill in the blanks with Dewey however he chooses. Victor Harolds has been the warden ever since the re-founding of San Francisco. He rules over his captives with an iron fist, and legend has it that he keeps the human skulls of his victims in his office. Candles apparently rest in their mouths, flickering across the walls in a pattern broken by teeth and orifices, a true jack-o-lantern.

Overpopulation spikes at certain periods, but sometimes, Ignatius notices empty houses where residence once lived. One day, occupation, the next, abandonment. He doesn't know where the people go; he pretends to be unaware of it, out of the fear that whoever hears him talking about the subject has the power to send him away.

Protests against Hudson skyrocket, and Ignatius takes this opportunity to join protests in an effort to gain public morale. He holds conferences with prominent civil activists, gains the trust of the Forchester surname, a very famous family in the Elite class, and even hosts parties in the city's underground clubs. His personality is unique to them, and he feels confident that the people are on his side. Some nights, he lets himself go, doing drugs like MDMA and Codeine; unbeknownst to him, some government officials follow him, taking pictures of his shortcomings to bolster doubt.

In some cathedrals, he speaks to the churchgoers about his backgrounds with religion. He tells them the story about when he was captured, that moment when his life became God's. Crowds cheer and venerate his bravery, and Ignatius grins, remembering Hudson's advice.

He uses the city's current issues and formulates his own opinions while reflecting how the public feels. Using his time wisely, he expresses his personality by becoming the city's only comedian. Through his daily practices, he invents a craft of his own, displaying himself by pointing out Hudson's flaws and captivating audiences through his dark humor. In one performance, he briefly mentions Violet before turning the subject to Athena, his lost pet bird.

In the Election of 1982, he runs against Quinton Davidson in the Colosseum. Every politician in the city gathers in the stands, listening to men in black suits behind podiums. The debates go on for weeks until the politicians state their opinions. Davidson appeals to them more because of his plans to improve militaristic combat, to lay down on the fugitives who escape the plantations through an Underground Railroad, and to implement a sewage system. Ignatius tries to prove himself through another method: by appealing to their sense of humor. However, Davidson's plans overshadow his performance, and Ignatius walks off the stage after the election, looking like a fool.

That night, he passes by Brownstones, holding Marisa's hand.

"You need an agenda," Marisa states. "You're not going to sway them through skits."

"I don't want to hurt anyone like Davidson," Ignatius grunts with frustration. "I actually want to make people feel better about this situation while also being their leader."

Marisa scoffs. "Purity is nonexistent in the Presidency. Do you know how Hudson got elected? He proposed a human trafficking project. Remember the train station you were asking about? Those bastards in the Colosseum… they're misanthropes."

"You don't understand," Ignatius sighs. "I have this feeling, this… dark void in my heart. I've only felt it once, but it happened when… I watched a little girl drown. I didn't save them, but I could have. I didn't even feel that in Vietnam."

"That's like me with Leo."

"Yes, exactly." They stop walking, and Ignatius looks into her eyes. "Why do they want to hurt people as if they're nothing more than meat on a conveyer belt?"

"I didn't make the rules; that's just how this place works." A lightbulb goes off in her head. "Lie."

"What?"

"Lie to them. Tell them all the bad things you want to do, and then when you get elected, don't do it. Do what you want to do."

"They'll call my bluff; they know how to read people."

"Just trust me. Do you want your life to change? Do you want to rise above your doubts? You were hypocritical for calling Hudson a coward, because that's what you're being right now."

She walks away.

Four years later, after greatly improving himself, he runs against John Calvin, the founder of his own Calvinistic philosophy. John immediately appeals to the occult, pioneering new ideas on how to spread the word of God. He proposes concerts, fairs, and the abolition of the dollar bill because of its decreasing value. It's here wherein Ignatius recognizes how he can accept and overcome his loss; the debate coordinators never ask him anything first. For some reason, they always start off with the guy to his left. When Ignatius gets a chance to propose his ideas, they're already focusing on what Calvin wants. It's strange how one topic can captivate millions while also blinding them.

John defeats Ignatius in the end, giving our antagonist more time to prepare for the next show. In the Election of 1990, he runs against Fiona Forchester, Fabian's wife. The Forchesters are crucial to San Francisco's operation; their wealth and generosity fan away any feelings of paranoia or doubt. They volunteer at fire stations, donate to hospitals, and have a great influence on how things work in the Colosseum. It's here where Ignatius finally gives in to Marisa's words; he speaks before she can.

"I know you all think I'm a nobody," Ignatius states. "But I can assure you that there's more than meets the eye. I have been trying to gain your attention over the past twelve years, and if I lose today, I'm not going to stop." That damn feeling of pure evil rises within him, and the more he accepts it, the more the crowds appear intrigued. "I need you all to heed my words. I'm well aware of our overpopulation crisis, and I'm aware of how we can solve it more efficiently." The darkness that killed Violet consumes him again, and the evil within fuels his words. "That train station we're building, we can link it up to wherever we're sending the victims who're in their houses one day but gone the next. Whatever you guys are doing to them, we can make them disappear at a faster rate. We need to conquer more colonies and turn them into puppet states. Destroying them is a dumb decision when they have valuable resources that we need. Before the Civil War, plantation owners had these contraptions that went over the heads of slaves; it was a device with a bell on it that, when activated, would crush the victim's head instantly. If we had that for our slaves, people wouldn't be too keen on joining the Underground Railroad." For once, they cheer at his words. For once, he feels a strange mixture of evil and gratitude, and whatever the former emotion is, it gives him this power, so he lets it take him over.

After the debates, the Colosseum finally elects Ignatius. That evening, he arrives at the Presidential Palace, where he tears down the Christ the Redeemer statue. Before entering, he hears the familiar call of a bird landing behind him. Turning, he spots Athena in all her glory, smirks, and invites the bird inside.

Now, several years later, Ignatius finds himself staring into the eyes of a beaten Hellen. Beneath the curtain of darkness, a pistol in his hand. "Do you want to know the meaning of that story? Hellen, I let immorality consume me, because it let me win. I'm getting my people into this mindset, because that's how we become feared. That's how you get people to fall in line. You scare them, they become vulnerable. What you did kicked the wasp's nest, and now you go down with Babylon." He raises the gun to her head, cocking the pistol with a grin. "Why did you want to do this? Some part of you should've known how this was going to end."

Sobbing, she replies, "Ever since you got elected, I wanted things to change. I saw what you were going to do with the slaves, and I wanted to end the inevitable massacre. Do you know how many people you've killed with those things? 23,670. I have a book filled with every first and last name of your victims. I was the one who pioneered the Underground Railroad, and now other people are following in my steps. People like me, we don't go away. People like you just create more of us. This isn't who we are, and you know it."

Ignatius pulls the trigger. A bright light entwining with a deafening blast bursts through the chamber. Athena flaps her wings, lets out a cry, and shoots up to the rafters along the ceiling. The President lowers the gun and leaves, hearing Athena descend to pick at the corpse's flesh.

Timothy leans over the safety rails, holding the spot on his stomach where Ignatius shot him. He overlooks the workings of complex machinery; steam-powered engines ignite the lives of conveyer belts, gargantuan pistons, slag collectors, saws, gears, gizmos, and nameless diamonds in an alchemist's rough. Humans are the puppeteers of the machine world; we pull the strings so they can make what we need. Every time Timothy watches this scene unfold before him, he usually feels accomplishment, pride, and greed. Now he feels anxiety. He wears protective eye equipment, shielding his eyes from the excess molten material from ores, whose supply is extremely low. A layer of sawdust covers the main floor, and workers pour every ounce of energy they can into making guns and ammunition.

They all fear the day when things run dry. What tactics will they resort to just to keep existing? Timothy turns away, rejecting these thoughts. In his office, he finds his tome, opening it to a blank page. Dipping a quill in ink, he scrawls out his mindset as if preparing for everyone to see a silver platter.

The days are much longer now. The fields are gone, and what we have in the silos won't last us through winter. We were just about to harvest the greenhouses; everything feels so… premature. My men are tired, sleepless, and frail. The war effort is futile in my opinion. Even with what we're making now, it won't be enough. Enough is never enough anymore. It's getting to the point where I can't tell a bullet from a whisper.

Knocking interferes with his progress. He opens the door, and in comes the queen, cradling Alice. Her prosthetic hand rubs the infant's hair as it snores against her chest.

Timothy smiles. "I can't believe I didn't notice you were pregnant. Forrest had to tell me near the end."

"You have your projects," Echo says, closing the door behind her. "I need a favor from you."

"And what's that?"

"I'm going to fight in the war; I don't care what Forrest thinks. I'm more useful with my people. During this time, I need you to adopt Alice. I don't want her to be alone, and I can't find a nanny; everyone in the city is too scared for their own families."

"Echo, I wouldn't have any time for her. She'd be alone in this room for an unknown amount of time. I don't even have a crib for her to sleep in."

"Weren't you the one who always wanted more recognition than Merlin? This is your golden opportunity. If you do this, people will notice and respect you for taking care of the Monarchy's child."

"Who will lead us when you're gone?"

"We live under Martial Law for now. The guards here are your leaders, and they communicate with us before they do anything. In a way, we're still leading."

"How will that communication be possible?"

"By creating our own temporary Pony Express."

Timothy shakes his head. "Everything's getting more complicated by the day. Sometimes I wish… he would've just killed me on the scene. Why do you think he let me live?"

"Psychopaths have their own way of doing things, believe me."

"Does it make a difference anymore, to be a psychopath or an empath?"

"Why do you think I don't want Alice to experience alienation? Yes, it makes a difference."

The gunsmith shrugs his shoulders. "You're right. I'm going to find some blankets so I can set her up in a drawer. Hell, if they invade us, she'll probably be safer in here."

Echo smirks. "That's the spirit."

Outside Portland, Oregon, a man emerges from the sewage system, climbing through the open mouth of a manhole. Across his chest, a satchel; on his face, the scars of distant fights and tormentors. One scar is in the shape of the number thirty-three. He takes a deep breath, decompressing after sneaking through a city filling itself up with militaristic outposts. Where did these people come from? What are their motives for settling on unnecessary property? He gets a bad feeling for the road, but disregards it for the sake of his own sanity.

The man reaches into his satchel, producing a compass. A smirk forms upon the affirmation that he's going down the right path. Repeating the directions, he says in a whisper beneath the pitch of howling snowfall, "46.1879 degrees north, 123.8313 degrees west. Astoria." Nodding, he presses onward, away from an impending conflict of historical proportions.

The Babylonian knights march with steady pacing alongside their stallion brethren; nobody can skip a beat in this line of work. Behind them, medics walk alongside the pushers of cannons and the carriers of gunpowder barrels. Uncertainty and motivation become their engine, they grit the fuel. They hold shields in front of their iron breastplates; swords rest in leather scabbards and straps keep Timothy's guns against their backs. Heather and Forrest lead the pack on horseback; the king wears his own set of armor, a crown, and a black cape. Heather dons a bulletproof mask, vest, and copper leggings. In her possession, a Thompson submachine gun. In Forrest's, an AKM.

They reach a bridge that leads into the city; beneath it, bodies rest with the river's frozen state.

"I have a proposal," Heather states. "We take Pittock Mansion. I've seen pictures of the place before; my relative lived there. It's a fortress; we can use it as a stronghold for our effort."

"We're not separating during battle," the king retorts. "We have to stick together. Safety in numbers."

"That mansion is the key to our victory. The location, the magnitude, the interior vantage points. We take it, we win. It's a stronghold; you know we need one, too. Either way, you put me in charge, and if I see a chance, I'm taking it."

Forrest chuckles. "When did you become so stubborn? Fine, have it your way. Just be sa-"

Bullets fly through the windows of bordering skyscrapers. The knights scatter, triggering a field of Bouncing Betties. The acolytes are already here, preparing the site for their own benefit. Heather rapidly gathers up a squadron of sixty soldiers; a falling skyscraper crumbles upon the road that connects her to Forrest, leaving her no choice but to fight towards the mansion. Whatever this is, it's an unfair fight. Ethical rules broken, the disturbance of nature's balance. Nobody feels guilt about what Echo's doing at another battlefield right this very second.

Downtown, Forrest hides behind the remains of a police cruiser, aiming over its hood at the acolytes who stand proudly upon windowsill after windowsill. Medics drag bleeding Babylonians into the lobbies of distant hotels and corporations; others prepare cannons behind metal shields and barricades of sandbags. Rusty military equipment from the early days lie beneath winter's weight, thanks to the Russian EMP. The skeletons of helicopters rest in street craters, and FEMA tents reek of decay. During the riots, this city was a base of some sort. Evacuation signs line the facades of some buildings, proving this area knew more than the surrounding regions.

Ignatius is here somewhere; you have to find him. The king reloads his AKM. "Where would I even begin to look?"

Follow the alleyway to your right. There aren't any booby traps. There's going to be a warehouse on the other side. He's in there, preparing a cargo van for delivery. "How the hell do you know that?" You'll understand soon enough. Before he rejects, a feeling of memorizing submission overwhelms any chance of rebellion. Despite his attempts to stay put, instinct prompts the king to follow their ambiguous path. Whether it be their control or him volunteering, he accepts. Whatever clues that help the Babylonians win is necessary.

He listens to the voices, slaughtering anybody that doesn't wear armor. If it wasn't for the Babylonians' loyalty for the king, he'd already be dead. Several peasants sacrifice themselves for an idea borne of mental illness, the fact only known to Heather and Echo. He doesn't understand why he told the commander. Was it the sickness that broke the straw of silence? Perhaps it was the pressure of keeping quiet all these years. Everything about that moment is a mystery to him; the strangest part about it is that he doesn't feel regret. Revealing something like that should leave some sting behind, some afterthought of hindsight. He doesn't recall feeling such an emotion. Was that nebulous haze of a choice the right one to make, or has he yet to suffer the consequences?

There! That's it! His eyes land on the metallic garages of a giant compound. A steel door in the facade; no guards nearby. You'll be fine; he doesn't even know you're here. He tries reloading his AKM, but gives up upon noticing a lack of ammunition. Dropping the gun and drawing the sword, he approaches the warehouse, gunfire echoing through the evening.

Gulping, he opens the door, revealing not a workshop, but the bedroom of his old house. A bright ray of sunlight from an unknown source casts a heavenly glow over the furniture. The universe shoves him inside, but he keeps a tight grasp on the sword's hilt. He's not in Portland anymore; he's back in the 50s. A record player from the living room blares wartime propaganda. His mother sings Earth Angel (Will You Be Mine) by the Penguins. A dog barks in the front yard. The smell of cooking eggs relieves his sinuses.

He approaches the door to the rest of the house, wrapping his hands around the knob. How is this possible? This can't be real. The king pushes it open, inviting whatever's on the other side. He meets the old hallway, and the music abruptly stops. Pressing onward, he reaches his brother's room. Wanting to see if this illusion can get anymore accurate, he peeks in. Upon seeing the President dangling from the ceiling fan, his heart drops. It shatters when Ignatius' eyes open. The villain produces a dagger from his pocket and cuts the rope, dropping to his feet with a steady thud.

The Babylonian takes a violent swing, and he's back in the warehouse. Before him, the archenemy, wielding a melee weapon longer and sharper than the king's. Every strike they take sends Forrest back to childhood memories. These forces clash through his past, all while the world burns around them. The voices replace the President with people he believes he cares about. Echo, Heather, Merlin, Timothy. Terror consumes the monarch; any lethal swipe can mean the death of someone who actually deals with him. The room spins in a beautiful dance of the balance between life and death, of good and evil. Sweat drips to the cement floor, evaporating in mere milliseconds. If one's life could depend on one wrong movement or stance, this moment is unjustifiable evidence of that idea.

A fatal miscalculation sends Forrest to his back. The President stands over him, knocking the king's sword out of his hands. You see, your majesty, this is what you get for making the deal with them, way back when you met Marisa. You neglect to realize we can be manipulative, too.

"Do you think I want to kill you?" Ignatius shrieks, howling with laughter. "That would be too merciful."

"I don't care where I end up," Forrest retorts. "As long as you're dead after this, that's all that matters."

The President kicks the fallen monarch in his head. "No! You don't get to say things like that anymore! Do you actually think you're going to get away with what you've done? You didn't think that there would be some balancing to counteract your ego? That's my fucking job now, and you're paying me for it!" He makes a beeline for the cargo van, returning with handcuffs. The totalitarian restrains the king against a pipe, one wrist separating the foe from a rabid death. "Do you want to know something, Forrest? We're not different. All of your men are going to die because of your arrogance. What did you want to show off by starting this; didn't you see my forces just now?"

Forrest spits in his face. "I will not forgo hope. I didn't build Babylon over the course of thirty years for nothing; she has a voice, and it's time people finally hear it!"

Ignatius kneels before him. "What makes you so dense? What causes you to reject the fact that we're the same person? Is this war your cowardice move to avoid acceptance? Can't you smell the blood of your people? Can't you hear the screams from mine? Your life is built around these delusions of grandeur, and I want to be the one to make you see that."

"We are-"

"DON'T SAY IT!" Distant explosions shake the building. "That cargo van I have is built under armored plating. When your people get here, I want them to see me take you hostage. Why the fuck did you decide to take me on alone?"

"Why do you want to be like me, Ignatius?"

"What?"

"I'm not repeating myself. Every time I see you, you always bring it up. Why do you idolize me like that?"

"Idolize? If anything, I look at you as the worst possible version of myself. Do you want to know the funny thing about life? A few moments and instances is all it takes for someone to become good or evil. You understand this; you deliberately chose the darker path. Pretty soon, I'm going to be just like you."

"Is this what your life has become? Staring into the reflection of a downward spiral? You killing Alex started this. You came into a territory you had no permission to cross into. Nobody's ever stood up to you before? That ends now. And if these are Babylon's final hours, if she burns, so be it. At least you won't step foot on her grounds."

Ignatius chuckles. "Damn. You are a fighter, aren't you? How many people have you killed?"

"More than you."

Babylonian cannons strike the roof, and the President knocks the king unconscious. "Fuck, I thought I had more time." Retaining his calm, he frees the Babylonian's wrist from the pipe and drags him into the van's cargo hold, escaping to Marisa's fort.

Elsewhere, Heather leads her own squadron of Babylonians to their final destination. Whilst fighting down winding streets, through the ruins of strip malls and skyscrapers, among the bodies from fallen survivors, they stumble upon the acolytes' booby traps. Bouncing Betties leap into the air, detonating at less than a meter. Projectiles spray out in every direction imaginable. Thanks to the iron armor, most knights come out unscathed. However, some blasts severely injure the weaker ones, and they collapse to the ground, welcoming their inevitable fate. Some fall into pits dug right out from the center of an asphalt pathway. Poison darts strike the exposed parts of many, killing them almost instantly. The Vietnam War clearly gave inspiration for these jungle entrapments.

The road to Pittock becomes the site for the bloodiest spot in the battle. Bullets, grenades, and the consistency of the pair rips Portland apart from the seams. To the millionaire isolationist taxpayer, the worst part of war is the property damage; to the survivor, it's dealing with their own actions. What would you do if you were in these streets, barely able to see more than ten feet ahead of you because of dust, snow, smoke, and debris? How would you cope with the loss of a best friend, neighbor, or romantic interest? Would you watch them bleed, or would you run? In war, those are your two options when it comes to those moments.

Heather learns to use her time wisely. Strategy is borne out of patience, not selfishness. Through this philosophy, she guides the remaining Babylonians down this road from hell. During this time, she realizes that there is no difference between good and bad during war. Boundaries dissolve into a fray for your own life; a second and self-actualization hurtle everything into a melting pot of chance, risk, and reward. Desperation turns into your most useful tool against the enemy, and it's all the Babylonians have.

At one point, the Commander triggers a bear trap, and metallic prongs cling to her iron leggings. The knights come to her aid, but a bomb lands just inches in front of the trap. It explodes, separating the leader from help. Medics break through, pulling her into a nearby pizzeria. Outside, the fighting continues; some acolytes follow Heather to the hideout, where knights protect the temporary triage center. On a table, Heather tears off the bulletproof mask, shrieking as medics peel off the bear trap, whose prongs are sharp enough to pierce through iron armor. The doctors scramble for their first aid equipment, retrieving stitches, rubbing alcohol, gauze, and painkillers. After stitching and dressing the wounds, she sits upright.

"Well?" a doctor asks. "Can you walk?"

She puts pressure on the leg, smiling upon managing to stand. "They didn't puncture anything vital. The armor must've cushioned the impact." Relief. A timeout. "Pittock's not far from here. When we get there, we have to be ready to pry it from those bastards' hands."

A knight approaches the door, scoffing. "You think they're already there?"

"Any competent strategist would make it a stronghold." She sighs. "There's going to be a lot of people there; more than we've seen so far, probably. When we take it, we're going to win. That's all that matters. No sacrifice is pointless anymore."

From here, grit fuels their survival. During the Battle of Thermopylae in 480 BC, 300 Spartans fought the Persian army until they all died. The Babylonians feel that same aura; the acolytes outnumber the knights in a ratio of 5:1. From what they see during battle, Heather's troupe concludes that most of them are skillful at combat.

Finally, they reach Pittock Mansion, where the residents of San Francisco stockpile their resources. Now, only ninety-six knights remain; in the building, Heather calculates a range from 150 to 235. Low on ammunition, medical equipment, and energy, they conjure whatever motivation they can to bring Heather's plan into reality. Acolyte snipers position themselves in the mansion's windows, firing in unison at the approaching knights.

Pittock's architecture comes from the styles of a French Renaissance chateau. It was built in 1909 as a private estate for Henry and Georgiana Pittock. Henry was a publisher, active in Republican politics and the great-grandfather to Heather. Thanks to her background, the commander knows of several secrets that will be useful to them after they obtain the outpost. Memories of this place flow through that frail mind. On her fourteenth birthday, January 18th, 1943, after Henry's death, her family gathered here to celebrate the announcement of Heather becoming the heiress to the Pittock fortune. She enjoyed the money for a few years, right up until the blackout. However, she's glad the blackout took every material thing out of her life. The greed was getting to her head, and if she kept going down that road, she figures she'd turn out to be just like or worse than Ignatius.

She cowers behind an ice-cream truck, bullets zipping by in every direction. Some Babylonians fall from cases of friendly fire; others are crushed under the weight of vehicles after being launched into the air by grenades. Just when she thinks there's no hope, cannonballs fly through the mansion's windows, striking the snipers and sending them to their maker. The facade becomes the focal point of the conflict, and when the acolytes feel desperate, they charge out of the mansion, wielding melee weapons of all shapes and sizes, each blade reflecting the sun's winter rays.

The Babylonians, now out of ammunition themselves, fight fire with fire. Iron clashes against steel; sparks from instant contact spray in every direction. Shields block fatal swings, and sighs of relief blend in with passing winds. It's here where Heather declares this event the Siege of Pittock, cataloging it in her mind's databanks. These gestalt moments will come together under her umbrella term, "The Babylonian War". She thinks about how Merlin will teach about this day in the future, and this gives her the motivation to continue. In the back of her mind, she knows the other knights have these same thoughts. Somehow, they'll get him back from the acolytes.

They eventually breach the stronghold, pushing the cultists into the building. In one of the topmost rooms, Brandon Sherman, Ignatius' most trustworthy lieutenant, reloads a FN MAG. He wraps a coil of ammo around his shoulders, hoisting the heavy equipment into the air. Rage pulls him into the hallway, where he proceeds downstairs.

The tables turn against the Babylonians upon his arrival. Bullets pierce through armor, and Heather has to hide beneath the fallen knights to survive. She remains here as the clash continues, but miraculously, the Babylonians press on, believing in everything they can. Eventually, Brandon runs out of bullets, and the knights get the upper hand; the acolytes retreat, pouring into the mansion's front lawn.

Her soldiers aid the commander to her feet. "We need to prepare this place; they'll be back."

A female volunteer asks, "Where do we start?"

Heather smirks. "Grab whatever guns you can, find whatever ammo you can, and position yourselves at the windows. I have a surprise for everyone."

In the mansion's library, she approaches a large painting. Smiling, she removes the artwork, revealing a hidden hatch on the other side. Wrapping her hands around its knob, she opens it, revealing a valuable stockpile of guns and boxes of ammunition. Henry was also a gun collector; he supported the second amendment, albeit a select few of the arms inside are illegal.

When the knights receive the weapons, confidence flows through the mansion like a cloud of gas. Heather does another headcount, coming to the number thirty-five. They wait until nightfall for the next attack. Snow continuously falls from the sky, blanketing the front lawn in a heavenly, virgin white color. To Heather, this moment represents the worst side of the chaos and order paradigm. They're all cold, scared, but waiting to protect an idea that's clearly worth dying for now. Babylon has never experienced something like this before; however, an aura of understanding rings through her heart, for they're all experiencing it together.

A knight standing beside Heather says, "Why didn't you get the guns before they took over the mansion?"

"How was I supposed to know about Oregon's involvement? I didn't have enough time."

The Babylonian soldier shifts his position, exhaustion consuming his psyche. "Tell me why we're doing this. Is it just because of Alex?"

Heather scoffs. "He was your leader for years, and that's how you honor him? What if it was? What if it's simply because we can't coexist with them?"

"Did Forrest want this?"

"He wants Babylon to succeed. Sometimes, kingdoms have to do this kind of shit to become empires."

Suddenly, gas canisters land in the front yard. Poisonous mist emits from the equipment, and the Babylonians naively duck beneath broken windows, covering their faces with anything they can find. Some knights resist the clouds, firing into the darkness as black shadows approach the mansion like demons crawling out of hell. The acolytes don masks and suits to protect them against the forces of this terrible retaliation. What they have up their sleeve is bromine, a powerful chemical capable of melting flesh to the bone.

Abiding by intuition, Heather abandons the scene through a first-floor window overlooking the backyard; the Babylonians can't afford to lose another commander, not at a time like this. A captain always goes down with their ship, but what happens when that captain is morally obligated to protect the future of the idea that built the ship? Will people only remember her as the woman who went AWOL from this moment on, or will she be lucky enough to have no survivors following that scent? Is it morbid to hope for the latter at the risk of banishment? Dante Alighieri was an Italian poet in the Late Middle Ages; he was exiled from Florence for being an absconder. Will that aura Frankenstein itself back into Babylon, a crude repeat of that mystic event?

That night, the cruelest form of slaughter occurs within Pittock's impenetrable walls. As poison engulfs the land, Babylonians rip off their armor, surrendering to Brandon, who guns dying knights down with his machine gun. By the time his reign ends, blood paints every surface imaginable. He notices the abrupt increase of their guns, stealing them. The lieutenant takes a moment to treasure the aroma of death, a thick crimson scent blending with copper. His men return to their regular duties before Heather's arrival. They clear out the bodies, waiting for the gas clouds to disappear, but they don't dig graves. Instead, Babylonian corpses now line the front yard, acting as a final warning.

The commander copes with her failure, returning to the fight downtown with an Owen Gun. Over ninety people, dead because of her within the course of an evening. Is this effort to change things futile? Combing over similar thoughts, Heather wonders what her next move will be. Gathering more Babylonians for a second attack? Finishing downtown? Which option contains the least amount of casualties? What saving grace can prevent their destruction? If Emperor Clovis gets a cross in the sky from God that helps his people win fights, that same force should allow Babylonians the power to conjure hellhounds to right the acolytes' wrongs.

During her return downtown, Heather realizes that Alighieri's crime wasn't that he was an absconder; his true act was publishing a vision that the world wasn't ready for. Babylon is analogous to this chain of thought, and it motivates the commander to push the AWOL event out of her head, for now at least. She can't go back to Pittock; Brandon has his hands on what she was after anyway. What is she going to tell Forrest?

Outside of Portland, the king wakes up in the back of Ignatius' van; its wheels rumble across some bumpy road in the boonies of the apocalypse. At some point, the Babylonian lost his crown and burnt away the purple cape. The material he wears are leather garments, which Ignatius put on during his coma.

The voices did this on purpose; havoc is their only reason for existence. Snow howls outside the cargo hold, and distant gunfire fades quickly into the background. He rubs his eyes, acclimating himself. They knew this would be the outcome, and he fell for their seduction like he always does. Turning his head to the left, a hallucination of Echo sits quietly. She lays her cold, ghostly hands on his lap, and tears flow down the king's cheeks. Pure exhaustion rings through his heart, letting everything out to this spirit.

"I'm… so tired, Echo."

"Heather isn't."

Rubbing his eyes, he says, "What?"

"Pittock was a failure. More than ninety people, gone, and she left to survive during a gas attack."

Bewilderment, heartbreak, and hopelessness. "Why did I trust her? Why do I trust you?"

"I'm Echo; why would I lie to you?"

"You're a mirage."

"Am I? Perhaps some part of me is permanently stuck to you. Do you think those voices of yours would know who I am had I not met you? There is an undeniable impact I have on you, and you know what it is: my submission to your control."

He chokes on his words. "Why do you stay with me, after everything I've done to you?"

"I believe in Babylon. Although you're a psychopath, I want it to succeed just as much as you do. Future generations will remember us, but I want them to remember it for good reasons."

"Do you want to kill me?"

"If I did, we wouldn't be talking."

"Do you hate me?"

"I'm not allowed to do so."

"Oh."

"The thing is, Forrest, one day, this will come crumbling down around you. Everything about what you think you know about me will change, and when it does, you have to be ready. I'm starting to decode your game, and your selfish ego prevents you from comprehending my capabilities. You try using schizophrenia as a gift; you obsess over that need. I'm beginning to see who you really are."

"Echo, I… I love you."

"I love you, too."

The apparition disappears. Shadows dance across the walls, whispers following their tails. The road grows bumpier, and it's as if the van's driving off-road now. Before the climax of this vision, the cab smashes into a tree, turning everything upside-down. The crash breaks the cargo hold's doors open; winter's screams flow into the mobile cell. Forrest doesn't black out, but a severe headache forms in his cranium upon regaining stability. He stumbles outside, falling dazedly to his knees. Surrounding him, miles of bare bark corpses. How did they steer so far off course? Standing up, he scans the environment for any signs of the President. The monarch then investigates the cab, finding a broken windshield, an airbag, and an empty seat beneath puddles of blood. His eyes land on footprints leading away from the scene, into the woods. Malice grows with every step as he follows the trail like a bloodhound tracking an escapee. Terminus is a word that means, "End of the line", and whoever stands at the end of this one is the physical embodiment of that very definition.

The snowfall hastens, and nature covers up any leads. He finds himself stumbling through an empty landscape, with little protecting him from harm. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf's cry echoes through desolation. Fear overwhelms his bravery, but he doesn't know which way to go. Back at the van, he'll find nothing; the same goes for if he continues down this path. When you're lost, the only way out is through. The repetition of this mantra fuels the king's motivation. Whether or not these hellhounds attack him is up to nature; if it's his time, then it's his time. Natural selection will never turn its back on the world's balancing act, and who is he to take that power away from something so omnipresent?

Can you see it, Forrest? Do you know how close you are to becoming one of us? You fail to recognize that you are the victim of yourself. There's a pack of wolves nearby, and they're hunting you. We don't have to lie to you anymore; you're going to end up dead soon anyway.

He feels eyes peering at him from behind dead trees. This sensation exists all around him, as if there're more than five stalkers. The worst part of this situation is its grounding in reality. What if the voices are playing tricks on him? How would it feel like to let one of these fanatical cryptids chew away at his arm? Is it pointless to search for a deeper meaning in this event? After all, a symptom of schizophrenia is believing that an ordinary event has special and personal meaning.

Silhouettes of ravenous beasts wax and wane into the endless mist; the Devil's pets are circling, taunting the weak Babylonian as if they're vultures flying high above their prey. Growling from behind stops all movement. Running ahead would be suicide; turning around would yield the same results. They say that God made the hardest choice by sacrificing his son for our sins. What if someone could be put in a worse situation than that?

A humanoid figure emerges from the storm; she's at least thirteen-years-old, wears a tiara, and covers herself in a blue corset. In her left hand, the tip of a golden scepter.

Forrest stops. "Who are you?"

"You should know your own daughter by now, dad."

He squints. "A… Alice?"

"Yes."

"How can that be possible?"

"The mind is powerful. What's that saying you were taught in school? Mind over matter."

"Are you real?"

"Is anything around you real? Can your delusional conceptions of leadership withstand the sands of time?"

"I'm sorry."

"For?"

"Leaving you alone. A king has to protect his people; I'm trying to show them that I'm not a fraud."

"This is because of you dodging the draft during Vietnam, isn't it?"

"How do you know that?!" he exclaims. "I had no choice! The army would've found out, and I would've been sent to an asylum! Do you know how hellish those places are?!"

She grabs him by the hand. "Come with me."

"Where are you going?"

"You'll see."

Wolves pounce at them, showing their razor-sharp molars. White fur helps the animals blend in with their surroundings, like chameleons. When they attack, they disappear, leaving Forrest in a constant state of catatonia; Alice becomes the only thing that controls his movement. Further down the path, they come across a clearing. In the middle of it, gallows burning to the ground. Babylonian corpses encompass the murder machine; they're all of Forrest's victims, manifesting in one area to show how far gone he really is. The girl leads him to the bodies, gesturing over their deflating positions.

"Do you know how many of your own people you've killed?"

"No."

"Do you know the effects such demonstrations have on the populace?"

"No."

"When was the last time you felt regret?"

"I… I… why do you need to know that?"

Alice smirks. "Don't worry, dad. Anything you say is completely confidential."

His eyes fixate on the fire. "A few years ago, Echo went beyond the walls. This was during a time when anybody could. She was hunting, and this bear rips off her arm. The most captivating thing about this story is that she still managed to kill it. Do you want to know the first thoughts my brain came up with after I heard the story? At least we have more meat. That's when I forced myself to feel sorry for someone else's pain. I didn't want the burden of an ego… I just wanted to care. I still want to care, but I… I don't want to get too attached to anything. Anyway, after that event, that's when we became isolationist."

"Follow me again."

"Isn't the trail back to the van in the other direction?"

"All paths lead to the same destination. Everything happens for a reason. Just go with the flow."

"You don't understand; Babylon is at war right now. I have to be with my people. They'll know who to thank after this is over."

"So you're only fighting for your ego?"

"Isn't that why anybody fights beneath all the facades we project? Isn't the act of survival something to be proud of? How about the act of helping your people?"

"You haven't changed at all. Does some part of you want to get better?"

"OF COURSE! BUT WHO CAN I TRUST NOW?! IF I TELL ANYBODY, WE'D FACE REVOLUTION!"

"You weren't afraid of that when you told Heather."

He gulps, remembering that distant night in the hospital. "I was sick, delusional. I didn't know what I was saying."

"Have you two talked since then?"

"About the war, not… that, though."

"Does Echo know you told her?"

"No, we're going to talk about it when this is over."

"In that case, let's get a move on."

Ten minutes of walking pass, and they happen upon the ruins of a slaughterhouse. A sign on the door reads NO TRESPASSING. Conscious of her decision, Alice leads him into the relic. Here, he begins coughing from winter's exposure. The girl leads him to the main floor, where black, infinitely rotten carrion dangles from hooks. The cold doesn't keep the swarms of maggots and flies from partaking in their usual behavior. Thankfully, this area seems to be a suitable hideout.

Alice sighs. "If you went back to the van, hypothermia. At least you just have a cough."

"How long do I have to be here for?"

"Until the snowfall stops."

"Did Ignatius make it?"

"How would I know that?"

"You seem to know everything about me."

"His people are traveling in mobile campsites, like the tribes. He'll find one eventually."

"Even if he's wounded?"

"He wants to see you fall before he dies. I doubt the crash was fatal."

"Do you know where we are?"

"Southern Oregon. A long ways from Babylon."

"Where can I go from here?"

"Do you remember what Merlin said all those years ago? The path to heaven begins in hell. This is your hell, Forrest. This can be your chance to redeem yourself."

Back downtown, Heather joins the Babylonian knights as they swarm a skyscraper. They flood into the lobby, drawing their blades against the forces of a seizable vantage point. The roof gives way to a perfect aerial view of Pittock Mansion, a vital pathway for the commander's next decision. With an urge of hope, the commander fights with her people to the top of the tower. The thing that terrifies her the most about war are the screams of the dying. Some cry out for God, begging for their father to just let them come home. With no available medics, people die on the scene. Heather feels guilty for surviving the bear trap incident, as if she needs to experience what they're experiencing to get a full understanding of what she did to those people after the siege. She turns her focus away from these things, homing in on her fighting capabilities and bravery.

The skyscraper becomes vital to the Babylonian's success. Stairwells and narrow hallways paint themselves in the blood of the weak. Smoke clouds build up from consistent gunfire, choking some to death. The battle damages the skyscraper's structural integrity, and when the knights reach the rooftop, it sways slowly, barely noticeably, beneath their feet. They steal snipers from fallen acolytes, taking their positions along the rooftop. Below, the fighting continues in the streets. Who knows how long they have until their enemies reach them again?

Heather watches as expert shooters calculate wind currents. Their crosshairs focus on Pittock's facade, finding humanoid shadows in the snowfall. Hellfire rains down upon their foes, surprising all inside the mansion. One Babylonian manages to find Brandon, but a fatal error sends the bullet flying right above Sherman's shoulder. The commander turns her attention to the main conflict, ensuring the building's safety from those goddamn acolytes. The thing that worries her is that if the battle inflicts anymore damage on the skyscraper, it will collapse.

As the scene unfolds before everyone's eyes, a dreadful aura consumes the battlefield. This intuition grows stronger with every passing second, and Heather finds its source after looking over her shoulder: a fleet of airships from San Francisco just over the eastern horizon. They fly in a 3x3 grid pattern; hatches along their underbellies allow good passage for bombs. The only chance the Babylonians have is shooting at the fabric.

"ARMADA!" screams the commander. "WE HAVE TO GO!"

"We lost people on our way here!" retorts a knight. "We can't just forget that shit!"

"We're not! I'm keeping you alive so that you can remember it; but now, we need to leave!"

"And go where?" the previous Babylonian inquires.

Heather moves over to the roof access. "Back to the fight. We need to end this."

The fleet arrives quickly, dropping explosives onto unsuspecting knights. Buildings collapse under the responsibilities of retaining themselves in this environment. In her mind, Heather knows Forrest made the right call in negotiating boundaries. If this took place at Babylon, they'd lose a lot more than the Farmlands. Every time she closes her eyes, out of shock, fear, or disarray, Brandon's face still appears. He is the only consistent thought right now, perhaps for good reason. She figures killing him would redeem herself from losing the Siege of Pittock. The only way to achieve this is by drawing Brandon away from the mansion. Keys to her success fly high overhead, but they're not out of reach.

Uncertainty is a leading force of expression in the universe. The balance between good and evil is only but a small part of the sum of our collective unconscious. War and uncertainty share a nuclear bond, a bond almost atomic, for the scars of both ring through endless centuries like the blasts of Hiroshima or Nagasaki. Nothing is clear during these periods; nebulous demands bounce off a climate where negative change is the only consistency. People believe that since we aren't born with murderous limbs like tusks, horns, or claws, this means we weren't built to kill one another. That's why soldiers return home with mental disorders. It becomes apparent to Heather that this idea is false. If man is capable enough to construct weapons of mass destruction from thought alone, even if they're meant to protect his home, then he, deep down, has always felt killing to be justifiable to some extent.

The fleet pulverizes the Babylonians. Gunslinger knights climb crumbling towers in a desperate effort to destroy the sky demons. At this point, food supplies are close to zero. Ammunition on either side is drying up like a pond in the desert. Even the bullets they steal from the infected are gone. Somehow, Heather manages to take down two Zeppelins with a bazooka. While reloading it for a third shot, a bomb lands ten feet away from her, and she evacuates the scene, dropping and breaking a bridge out of obsolescence.

The surface of Portland turns into Swiss cheese; craters polka-dot the landscape like a child with smallpox. A third Zeppelin goes down because of its lack of fuel. A fourth from the blast of a flare gun. A fifth from a knight sniping a pilot. The rest go down in a similar manner, over the course of two hours. However, after the armada dies out, the Babylonians' numbers are severely below that of their rivals. The knights who weren't exposed to this technology wonder why Forrest built Babylon into a kingdom. Why don't we have this equipment? Why is there such a restraint on moral progression? If he wants to emulate the Dark Ages completely, he's doing it right.

The moment finally comes when bullets run dry. Hand-to-hand combat rips through the fabric of sanity. Survivors from both sides will remember this day for years to come. No matter how hard they try, they won't be able to forget about this tragedy. An interesting thing about war is that, although we perceive the other side to be the enemy, they still go home feeling the same regret, sorrow, and moral decay. The essence of a societal machine exists primarily at the core of any war. It becomes difficult to perceive one's right to exist.

The conflict forces many to confront their religious beliefs. Some toss it away while others pick it up. The acolytes seem to sense this self-doubt, capitalizing on it by damning Babylon. A ninth circle of Hell forms around them; winter mixes with fire in an incredible chemical romance, like how tea blends with honey. As day fades into night, one's morality turns into immorality. There is no way to survive a situation like this without giving into your most basic, primitive actions. This raw world is about what you do, not what you want to do. The Babylonians, through this collective instinct, become calculative. Any food they find on their victims, they eat or save it for their families.

The loss of acolytes attracts Brandon to the scene, who aims his machine gun at any target possible. Gritting his teeth, the lieutenant fires off seemingly infinite rounds; empty shells spray everywhere, striking some of his own men. After witnessing the destruction of an entire fleet, he has no mercy. Nobody gets a second chance today; he doesn't care if Ignatius won't like it. His tactics send the Babylonians fleeing; Heather hoists herself into a dumpster, clouds of dust preventing the lieutenant from spotting her.

When the onslaught ends, Heather grasps the hilt of her sword tightly. Brandon's the only one with ammunition right now; the other acolytes chase after the Babylonians, leaving the lieutenant on a search for her.

"I DIDN'T SEE YOU LEAVE WITH THEM!" he shrieks. "I REMEMBER YOUR FACE! SAN FRANCISCO HAS STORIES ABOUT YOU, COMMANDER! I KNOW HOW BADLY YOU WANT THAT MANSION, AND I KNOW HOW MUCH YOU WANT TO SEE ME DEAD! But as far as I'm concerned, you brought a knife to a gunfight."

He checks every nook and cranny of the block, shooting at anything suspicious. The gunfire tethers Heather to her hiding place; she figures staying put is the smartest thing to do, for a bullet from the machine gun is strong enough to cut through their armor. Even if she finds something to hide behind, what would she do? She's practically defenseless, and it wouldn't take long for the bullets to destroy her fanatical barricade. The commander feels like she's caught in a rat trap.

Eventually, Brandon reaches her dumpster. Looming over the lid, he knows this is the spot, his own personal treasure chest. Wrapping his hands around the cover, a surprisingly fatal force strikes the lieutenant's chin. He stumbles backwards, dropping the machine gun and screaming as it clatters across the floor like a stone being cast over a pond. Heather reveals herself, dropping down to her feet, the tip of the sword against Brandon's throat. Just out of reach, his only chance of survival.

"Where's Ignatius?" Heather demands. "He told us he'd be here. He gave us his word."

Brandon presses his throat harder against the sword. "He has Forrest. He's gone."

"Where are they going?"

"Marisa's fort."

Closing her eyes, she finishes the job. Around her, Portland burns to the ground. Ash blackens the sky, choking anyone in the upper stories of these gargantuan towers. Behind her, the Babylonians fight the remaining acolytes, withstanding waves of treacherous infantry. As a soldier, you never forget the smells of warfare. Whether it be the stench of your friend's organs strewn out across his body, the smoke of blazing infernos, or the simple act of survival, the odor of betrayal and deceit remain unforgotten in the eyes of a forgotten justice.

At the slaughterhouse, Forrest finishes crafting a makeshift bow and arrow. Outside an open doorway, snow falls against the backdrop of dead trees. The Alice hallucination sits in the center of the main floor, watching the king with great curiosity. He notes that the stubbornness of this entity makes her the longest-lasting visual. No matter how many times he shouts at her to go away, to disappear into the Aether, it only makes her want to stay. He figures the war is worsening his schizophrenia, wondering if he would be seeing her if it wasn't happening. These thoughts haunt his mind as he bounds over the threshold, into this cold morning.

He hunts for most of the day, coming up short in most occasions. When he's about to give up, he spots a large, animalistic silhouette in the distance: a black bear. He follows a path to it, remembering the day Echo got her arm torn off by one of these beasts. Aiming his arrow, he holds his breath, launching it into the unknown. It pierces through the side of the animal's head, crying as it goes down. Smirking, the king approaches his game, ideas formulating in his head.

He takes the creature back to his hideout, skinning it with a sharpened rock. Over the course of three hours, he puts together a fur suit, reminiscent of what Native Americans would wear during their travels across peculiar lands. He's always admired their mobility and resourcefulness, but the tribes today act nothing like how they did all those years ago. Donning the suit, he instantly feels warmth. Alice stays quiet.

"Are you ever going to say anything?" he asks. "I can leave now without getting sick. Does that bother you?"

"No, because unlike you, I have direction."

"How does a spirit have such a thing?"

"Like I said, my job is to help you redeem yourself."

"Why would a voice want that for me? You're just a symptom, you seek something more."

"I'm your child. Why would I want to hurt you?"

"You can keep saying that, but she's back at the kingdom, with Timothy. You said Ignatius is still alive, but he's bleeding. I need to end this."

"Really? You don't have something else eating away at you?"

"No."

"What about Merlin?"

The king pauses. "What about him?"

"Jesus Christ, do I have to spell it out for you? If you save him, your people would respect you more. Imagine how much help he can be."

"Infiltrating San Francisco is a suicide mission. I'll get to him when this is over."

Alice smacks herself in the face. "AM I TALKING TO A FUCKING BRICK WALL?! HOW DENSE CAN ONE PERSON BE?"

He turns 'round, facing her. "All my life has been is an uncontrollable sin. I had dreams before Babylon, Alice. I had ambitions that were helping me with my schizophrenia. I come into people's lives like a forest fire, because I have this undeniable urge to control people. Do you want to know what it's like, not knowing how to tie those instincts up? I've been a prisoner; the only thing that distracts me from ending it are Echo, my actual child, and the kingdom's success. That's why I do what I do." Lowering his gaze, he ponders on a realization. "You're right."

"I am? Are you sure?"

"Only a select few have to live and die for this to end quickly. I need Merlin back to help us with the war effort."

"Good." The hallucination stands up. "Before I go, why did you build Babylon into a kingdom?"

"Where would the peasants be without one?"

"We've taught you well." With that, she exits the room.

Having a direction in mind, he disregards Ignatius for the real prize. To Hell with chasing after him; this is the perfect time to sneak into and out of the city. Most of their military is fighting; he'll only have to deal with guards. However, what would be the right way in? The Golden Gate Bridge would be suicide, and it's their only entrance. He stores these concerns for the future, letting the relief of survival wash over him. Some people feel guilty for this act, but he venerates it. Congratulations, you get a second chance at setting things right.

Without feeling sorry, he carries on. Without feeling shame, he carries on. Living through these terrible days helps him convert his pain into motivation. During the journey, he wonders if this decision means going AWOL again. Reminding himself of Merlin's usefulness, he figures it's worth it.

At Marisa's fort, the Warden stands outside, observing the campsite in its front lawn. In the tents, boxes of ammunition, food, water, and medicine. Behind her, soldiers add reinforcements to the Civil War structure. Some work tirelessly at crafting Molotov cocktails, coats, smoke grenades, and car bombs. Gazing at all the burnt-out vehicles on the roads leading to this place, the Warden realizes how they can use them to their advantage.

"Jenkins!" she screams at a soldier. "What's the news?"

A man twice her size approaches. "While we were scouting, we found him. I ran ahead so I could give you the heads-up."

"Is he injured?"

"He was. He found one of our mobile camps, and they patched him up."

"Thank God. Bring him to me when he gets here."

"I was already going to do that. Is there anything I can do in the meantime?"

"Help Baxter with the car bombs. I trust him, but some extra brainpower wouldn't hurt."

"On it."

The President arrives with the scouting party thirty minutes later. Bandages cover his arms and legs, and scratch marks plague his face. He doesn't look mad that he lost Forrest, rather he's in a state of total acceptance, with calculative thoughts flowing in the back of his mind. He begins to see the conflict as one would see themselves at the peak of a heroic acid trip. Ego death is the only appropriate nomenclature to describe such an experience; he realizes this is just a symptom of leading society during wartime.

In one of the Fort's rooms, Marisa and Ignatius sit on lawn chairs.

"I couldn't see where I was going," he explains. "I was bleeding, and I knew I had to get Forrest off my back. I led him deeper into the woods; the snow covered up my trail. If anything, he's going to freeze to death."

"I'm surprised you didn't."

"Georgina found me, half-conscious against a tree. She took me back to a camp."

Marisa shivers. "What do we do now?"

"Go back to San Francisco."

"Why? We're needed here."

"Brandon can lead this crusade; I need to confront Dewey about siding with the prisoners on Alcatraz; my stomach tells me that something terrible is about to happen."

The Warden smirks. "Remember that time we took that trip to the Grand Canyon?"

The President sighs, calm imagery flowing through his mind's circuitry. "How could I forget?"

"You were worrying about one of your elections. I divorced Hudson."

"Escapism is the only cure to depression for me."

"Did you want the conflict to escalate to this?"

"To what, justice? Marisa, they're terrorists. They blew up Alcatraz, destroyed our minting facility, and sent everything out of control with that train incident."

"How did they know where that train would be?"

"I don't know."

"You're oblivious; Merlin's still communicating with the Babylonians in some way."

"You… you think he would do that to me?"

"Has he done anything to make you question his trust?"

"Yes, but we need him for the future of San Francisco. He was a chemist turned architect; there's an endless amount of ideas we can draw from his mind."

"So, what's the plan? You're really going to let him run free?"

"I have a spot for him in Athena's chamber." He lets out a low grunt. "This is worse than all of those elections combined."

"We don't know how our world is going to be when this is over, but one thing's certain, Ignatius. The social pyramid can't be complete without a capstone. That's your role."

The President stands up. "Let's pack our things."

They spend the day at the Fort, helping soldiers prepare it for any sudden attacks. The bombs will take a lot longer to complete than the rest of their objectives, so they forgo it. Through the snowfall, they work effortlessly until nighttime. Campfires kindle and burst into fantastic flowers, a simple projection of Hell. The smell of burning meat expands outward into a two-mile radius. Conversation, whispers, and rumors about Portland spread like their grief for fallen comrades.

Ignatius clears his throat, standing before a gathering site. "I know all of you are tired, but let me assure you that your work doesn't go unnoticed. Like your work, your lives are eternal. It is our obligation to fight for the ones that brought San Francisco together. Our blood is the price we pay to keep society's heart beating; our actions are the pulses in the city's veins. We are not killing; we're cleansing the world of evil. Just like how your productivity isn't forgotten, neither will the actions of our terrorists… the Babylonians."

Canisters fly out from the darkness, spontaneously exploding into ear-popping blasts intertwining with bright flashes of light. Screams of panic and confusion precede the blasts of Brandon's machine gun and whatever bullets the Babylonians found. Marisa stands her ground, but Ignatius retreats to the Fort, considering his injuries. The peaceful night turns upside down in a matter of seconds, a true symptom of a true fight. Blood spills over the once white grounds; splatters turn into crimson rivulets from a source of complete malice and vengeance.

The acolytes don't hesitate at pushing back. On this cold, terrible night, the battle answers the longtime question of evil. There is no such thing as someone who is truly altruist, selfless, and heroic, and the same goes for the opposing end of the spectrum. We are a combination of all these things, because duality exists as an eternal mirror. Those who watch their friends die become the bleeding on either side of the party. Even the children of Nazi soldiers grieved over their fallen parents.

Where did I go wrong? This is the question that repeats itself in Ignatius' mind as he cowers behind stone walls when he should be outside them. The only thing the President witnesses tonight are the bellows from his own suffering people. He remembers what Hudson said to him all those years ago about the Butterfly Effect. If the accident didn't happen, this entire part of everyone's lives would be different. The squatter's eyes sink down to his cast, damning the eternal balance.

All societies come to a breaking point. It doesn't matter if they experience a Golden Age, or whether or not a country unites with all others; natural law dictates. The orchestra of society performs its show for however long it's meant to, and then it collapses. We even immortalize great fallen civilizations like Egypt or Sumer in our history textbooks. What do you think will become of us in the near future? What makes us so different? Do we carry today within our knowledge the same sophistication it must've took to construct immaculate pyramids or other structures from the past?

He decides to turn his back on Forrest's deal. The king wanted both societies to remain undamaged; the Fort is part of San Francisco. When he returns to the city, he plans on gathering the entirety of his air force to invade Babylon. He doesn't care if these knights were led down the wrong direction by an incompetent leader; you do not turn on your word.

Outside, dreadful events continuously unfold. Nobody has a legal obligation to their innocence, especially during these desperate times. Heather already lost most of her people in the Battle of Portland; 7,000 people came with her then, less than half remain. However, the numbers and the way she works with them makes her look like a corrupt, successful stockholder on Wall Street. The commander gives orders, and the knights respect them. Every passing second, an interesting sensation of brotherhood flows through the Babylonian warriors, something they haven't been familiar with in quite some time. The action of saving one's own back means a lot to anyone today; trust is a rare resource, with sacrifice becoming as valuable as love. Heather recalls the National Anthem in her head. As long as their bullets burst through the air, it will provide proof of Babylon's success.

At some point, the commander draws her sword, lowering the machine gun forever. She encounters Marisa in the middle of a fray, and their melee weapons shatter insanity's fabric. What kind of person does it take to wake up tomorrow morning to do this again? Is the psychology of war based on the most primitive functions of survival, or is it something we haven't confronted yet? More and more impossible questions ring throughout the night like the echoes of gunshots. During the fight with Marisa, Heather knocks the Warden off balance, pinning her to the snow.

"Where's Forrest?!" growls the Babylonian as knights protect her.

Smiling, the Warden replies, "Not here."

Acolytes appear on the Fort's rooftop, and they fire down upon the scene, sending Heather to regather the rest of her people for a final charge. The massacre within begins as quickly as it ends. Tight, lengthy corridors prevent any side from advantage. Sections of ceiling collapse onto some fighters, crushing them to death. With the end nigh, it becomes clear that the knights will prevail. Some acolytes flee, deserting people who give their lives for treason. Babylonians chase after those who run, killing them on the front lawn. The shooters from the roof descend, their hands high, empty, defenseless. Heather watches as weapons clatter to the ground; the knights don't know what to do.

Cutting the silence, she executes them one by one, her people hailing the decree, "No prisoners."

A slaughter ensues, concludes and coalesces into their next steps. They search the building for any signs of Marisa or Ignatius, finding neither; after, the Babylonians steal any supplies they can, preparing the next journey. Heather gathers her remaining fighters on the front lawn, the smell of death fresh, crisp, and blending well with cold gales. Dying acolytes freeze to death slowly, begging to be put down. The commander stops her knights from listening.

"I know what I did in there was wrong," she explains. "But look: here we are, when they're all dead. This thing is going to end soon, but for now, we have to look for Forrest. If we encounter anymore acolyte camps, we use the guerrilla tactic like we did from Portland to here. That was the key to success for the American Revolution, and like the Revolutionaries, we have to conjure that same attitude so we can find our king. We find the king, we end the war. Those are the only two things in front of us, and we will overcome them. We'll set up for the night five miles away from here; we don't know who's around this place."

The sun rests high as Echo approaches the prairie, a national park being its backdrop. She guides her team confidently to the vantage point, where they get an overview of the battlefield. The acolytes dug bunkers and trenches into the grounds, snow filling some up entirely. To the queen, this is a perfect opportunity for a raid. To everyone else, it screams suspicion. Opinions, discussions, and debates last a half hour before Echo finally decides to press on.

In the trenches, the Babylonians find boxes of supplies beneath piles of snow. Not hesitating, they take everything. Echo doesn't understand why the acolytes shot themselves in the foot, but she learns that just because she doesn't understand something, doesn't mean it isn't so. Hitler made the mistake of re-routing the 4th Panzer Army early, leaving the 6th to face Stalingrad alone. Could Ignatius be on that same level of incompetence, or is this the set of some horrible show they're about to attend?

The quiet raid continues, and when they finish, they cheer. Unbeknownst to Echo, this becomes a decisive moment in the war. When the acolytes showed Merlin the infected in the pit, he didn't know about the possibility of weaponizing them. Rotten hands protrude from the dirt walls, which collapse to reveal the Lovecraftian nightmare. The Babylonians make a beeline for any bunker they can find; many die from the ravenous, infinite hunger of hijacked souls walking.

The knights form a human shield around their queen, fending off hordes of God knows how many. Echo watches as her people die before her eyes in agonizing ways; the overwhelming nature of the experience shows Echo the effectiveness of Forrest's manipulation. If he got to them this easily, if he threw thousands of lives into an unknown conflict without much trouble, he could've gotten to her without her even knowing. What was the thing that made her help him kill Judas? Did she actually want to? The more the queen thinks about that moment, the more she understands that it stems from blind attraction.

She ponders on the time when Forrest forced Merlin to make LSD; she still feels guilty about being the one to give it to Dante, even though it wasn't her fault. He probably would've threatened her too if she resisted. She still remembers the prisoner's screams; the way he thrashed back and forth, handcuffs keeping his wrists together. She wonders what he saw, or if he ever recovered before Forrest killed him. Following the execution was the extermination of Babylon's secret societies. In hindsight, she wonders if it was an excuse for Forrest to kill, because there's no way those groups are gone. After all, the main idea behind a secret society is for them to live in secret; maybe some fundamentalists take that meaning to an extreme.

Closing her eyes, she sees Alice, the only clarity in the moment. If there's any proof of order in chaos, it's her daughter. She wishes she had her with somebody else; that way, escaping their control would be easier. Manipulation was never meant to be an easy hole to climb out of, but now that she understands the king's true nature, she wants to do everything she can to escape it. She doesn't want to hurt anybody else because of him, and she craves the independent attitude of taking care of herself, her own happiness and sanity. Just because he's broken, it doesn't mean she has to stand by him. It took a war for her to realize this, but in a race, no matter how slow you go, you're always bound to finish.

Anger courses through her body, and she takes it out on the infected. Swords decapitate heads, and they finally clear a path to a bunker. Blocking the door with a supply locker, the surviving knights stand back, demonic cries emerging to them from the other side. They sit quietly, waiting. With no food or water, they all know this can't last long. Blood covering Echo's face, she sits up against one of the bunker's walls, crying.

Gazing up at the ceiling, she gasps, "Your consciousness… creates… reality."

The day opens calmly upon the remains of an old world. A strange mixture of peace and truth rings throughout the quiet atmosphere. Echo and Merlin conquer it together in 1952, experiencing the hottest summer of their lives. Droughts make it hard for water to come by; rivers and ponds evaporate quickly into the atmosphere. A defaced road sign comes into view, reading: the Acolytes' message survives anything. Keeping their bloodied melee weapons close, the pair presses on into a weary existence. They find that the closer they get to Seattle, the more questions they have. Merlin jokes about turning around, but Echo urges him on.

They hide out that night in an abandoned gas station.

Echo does her best to distract them from heat stroke. "When I was younger, I had a typewriter. It was this stupidest little contraption, but I still remember using it to this day. The way the ink came out in this brisk, jet black color… the thoughts my mind had… it brought me back to the simple times. Those days when all we have to worry about is getting another cartridge of ink for a clumsy typewriter… those days are why we're alive right now."

"And you're telling me this because…?"

"You've been questioning your existence; I can tell. Don't doubt yourself, Merlin. You do all these things with your life that nobody else has done. When someone like you starts questioning their meaning, you will lose that spark you have one day because of what you end up telling yourself. That you're worthless, nothing, and that there's no value to life."

"What the fuck does that have to do with a typewriter?"

"I doubted my writing."

Merlin's heart sinks. "How can someone not question their existence today?"

"I know it's hard, especially with what we've been through, but every step we take gets us closer to Washington."

"What if the rumors aren't true? What if there's nothing, or what if it fell already?"

"That gives us every reason to check. We might find Shangri-La, or something else. Either way, we can't pass up this opportunity."

He glances towards the gas station's front doors. "Have you seen any infected?"

"No… I'm starting to see less and less of them."

"I can't wait for the day they starve themselves out."

"You think that's actually possible?"

"Those things are hijacked by whatever the Vietcong cooked up. Even the corpse of a soul can't stumble around forever; it's only a matter of time before nature takes everything back."

"That's when we rebuild civilization."

Merlin laughs. "Civilization. If you ask me, we deserve this. We did this to ourselves. War, greed, propaganda… the end was bound to happen. Do you want to know what Russia would've done to us after the EMP? We're lucky."

"Do you really have the audacity to say something like that?"

"No. It's just what I feel. On the contrary, I think looking to the bright side is a strength."

Echo remembers a night she went to a Denver club with her old boyfriend. Jefferson Airplane was playing, and people were using all kinds of illegal substances ranging from light hits from blunts to long lines of cocaine. She didn't partake in such activities; she believes in the medical possibilities, but disagrees with the recreational, regular intake. One's brain can only take so much, and when foreign substances bombard it on a daily basis, it's as if you're destroying a temple. This philosophy has kept her safe so far, but on this night, it proves to her that even such strong thoughts share glimpses into their fallacies.

At the bar, her boyfriend sits down next to her. "This guy was selling a jar of liquid acid for twenty. I stole it when he wasn't looking."

Awestruck, she replies, "Acid? Are you kidding me? Why would you do that?"

"I wanted us to try it."

"How will you drive home, let alone be ready for school tomorrow?"

"Come on, we won't take a lot. We'll micro-dose."

"No." She stands up. "I'm going to the bathroom. You can have my drink when it's done; I don't want it anymore."

Instead of going to the bathroom, she exits the club, alone in the city. She shivers as the autumn winds pass through the surrounding mountain ranges. From her perspective, society looks like an unstoppable force, even with everything that's going on right now. If she doesn't want to be a writer, she plans on attending college for political science. She wants to improve foreign relations; every time she ponders on her motives, she scoffs. A woman will never be president. Sexism today will forever remain a staple in the government's ideology. As disappointing as it is, she transforms it into a compliment to gain some comfort from this situation. If the country falls, at least it won't be from the hands of her gender.

Despite the current state of the world, a calm feeling befalls her. The journey home is long, but relaxing. A few blocks away from the club, she passes an alley, where an abrupt force knocks her to the ground, out of the trance. Blood oozes out either nostril, and a taste of metal lingers on her tongue and broken teeth. She spits out crimson globs, gazing up at the attacker through hazy vision.

"What're you doing out here all by yourself?" a shadowy figure hisses. "You did this to yourself. What kind of girl would go out unaccompanied by a man?" He wields a rusty pipe, trapping it against the palm of his free hand.

She stammers, "I-I do have a man."

"Oh yeah? Where is he?"

"He's at his car right now, and he's coming back for me. Your best course… would be to turn around."

The attacker laughs hysterically. "Do you really expect me to believe that bullshit? I've been watching you since you left the club, hell, I was even there. Your boyfriend stole my drugs."

She swears to herself. "Why didn't you beat his ass? Why do I deserve this?"

"Because I have a feeling that you can't reason with someone like him. I mean, if he treats everyone else's shit like it's his, why don't I do the same?"

"Would you do this to other girls?"

Raising the pipe, he replies, "I have."

Echo's boyfriend arrives at the scene, tackling the delinquent. She screams, crawling into the darkness and watching as her high school sweetheart saves a life. This is what every man should do for the woman he loves, if the situation ever calls for such actions. The fight, however, takes a grotesque turn. The drug dealer gets a jump on her boyfriend, pulling out a pistol and pinning the boy's head to the ground. Echo shrieks, causing the drug dealer to press down on the trigger. A blast rings throughout the alleyway, and Echo collapses in tears. Smiling, the attacker drops the pistol, grabbing the pipe. He beats the girl for several minutes, leaving her a bloody mess for the ambulance he calls. Disappearing into the night, Echo falls unconscious.

The next morning, she wakes up in a hospital. Daylight shines through the windows, and a heartbeat monitor vibrates from a machine next to the bed. Bruises and bandages cover her arms; IV tubes transport blood and fluids throughout her body, keeping the stability alive. She feels more like a machine than a human, but in the end, isn't that how things always turn out?

Why did she have to go to that club? She usually never attends those kinds of events, but that night, something about it made her want to go. Was it because her boyfriend was destined to die in all the versions of his life, like some entity unanimously agreed with itself? She can almost hear it whisper, it's written in stone; there is no stopping what's going to happen. Recently, her life has been like a snowball that rolls infinitely down a mountainside. It grows with every rotation, ending up as a size similar to a boulder. To her, the snowball represents an endless pressure from an unknown source. On the surface, everything is going fine, but in her mind, a storm over the ocean grows into a hurricane. She quietly wonders if anybody else has this problem as she stares into the great void before her.

She realizes her parents aren't here. No sign of her mother, father, or siblings. What made them stay home? Perhaps the reason stems from their disappointment, neglect, or some unforeseen wisdom the forces of nature prevent her to detect. The nurse doesn't come in the entire day, and she's alone for the entire night. Here, she doubts her existence. How could someone be so forgotten by society? Would the world be any different if she weren't in it? All her life, it's been a domino effect of bad events. Her parents' divorce, the youngest sister getting kidnapped, and the old house burning down. It's like the universe won't let her take a breath. One second, she begs. One second without all these memories, that's all I want.

In the gas station, she sits against empty shelves, tossing a flashlight back and forth in her hands, the same one she found in the police station. It's funny to think how such a simple object can save someone's life. Way before flashlights, all cavemen had were fires. Imagine the amount of time it would take to prepare one if you didn't know what you were doing. Life began with science, and it ended the same way. To her, the apocalypse is the gateway to a clean slate.

Now, lifetimes later, she finds herself cowering behind the walls of a cement bunker, asking questions similar to those after the night club incident. Why did she join the war when all she does is kill? After leading several innocent people to their deaths, she wonders if she's just as bad as Forrest. Codependency is a damn mess; it forces you to rely on someone else for happiness, love, and acceptance. Why did God do this to her? If He is so loving, shouldn't he offer her at least a pinch of mercy?

The queen's eyes widen upon remembering a revelation. "Your consciousness… creates… reality."

She doesn't have to remain under Forrest's control. Their relationship started with a death; what kind of love story is that? Will she really be able to distribute these memories unto Alice in the future? At this point, she figures a bullet is the only thing that can put an end to this madness.

Outside their hideout, the infected continuously pound on the door, their weight breaking it off its hinges. The Babylonians stand by their queen, ready for a fatal fray. Instead of feeling weakness, Echo climbs to her feet, newfound energy spreading throughout the veins of a brittle soul. Raising her sword, she moves to the front of the congregation, over to the entrance. Wrapping a hand around the knob, she twists it, allowing their enemies a breach.

The first puddle of blood forms within milliseconds; crimson liquid covers the room within the course of ten minutes. Echo remembers her conversation with Merlin at the gas station. The advice she gave him was meant for this moment. Overcoming doubt is the only way to survive in this world; it serves as guidelines on how to make it to the next sunrise. When you wallow in your own self-destruction, what good does it do? What advantages do such toxic mindsets bring into your life? The queen thinks about this as the fight continues.

At some points, the infected push the Babylonians against the walls. In those moments, their combined strength shoves the hordes back. The room ends up looking like the aftermath of a concentration camp liberation; the atmosphere surrounding them makes it feel like the Russians are right around the corner, ready to save the allies. In this world, Echo compares Ignatius to Hitler. Using this analogy, she comes to the conclusion that she is the one who should bring him down. What he did to Merlin is enough of a reason to her. Forrest justifies who he kills with this same philosophy. The road she's going down reminds her of an old hatred for hypocrisy. The more she tries to escape the king, the more she ends up sinking down into a bottomless well. This war will either make or break her future. No matter how hard she tries, her gut instinct implores the girl to do what's right. How can she know what's right in this situation? What choice is identifiable? The king's face appears when her eyes close; every time she swings at a predator, Forrest's head replaces the one her blade decapitates.

The motivation she feels morphs into anger. The Babylonians use this to struggle into the trenches. They stomp over their friends' bodies, stumbling towards the access stairs. An endless swarm surrounds them; it droops out of the walls, over no man's land, and consumes the lives of brave forces. The queen doesn't let this bother her anymore. It's a waste of time, feeling survivor's guilt. Negative thoughts loop in your head as if you're on some cosmic carnival ride. Dead end conclusions, self-destructive habits. She wants her life to change, and she'll do anything in her power to make it happen. A crown will never prove somebody's in charge; only actions matter.

Doubt has always been a fleeting demon in her subconsciousness. In dreams, she represents herself as a dandelion. As these sequences progress, the dandelion dies, because that's what it's supposed to do. Her doubt is the stem, and she is the petal. Doubt creates her codependence; it drains her of being a person the universe forgot.

She remembers going to a haunted house with her old boyfriend one Halloween. When the walkthrough began, she instantly took hold of his arm. This is a perfect example of how far her codependency has come. Every time she ponders on that moment, she wonders if it's the world's way of saying, "I know who you are, and who you'll always be." During this fight, she realizes the easiest method of overcoming this issue is to let it go. It took the lives of brazen men for her to understand this. Yet she walks.

Dread replaces circulating trains of thought. Is this her only purpose now, watching voiceless names die before her? Brutality is a poor word for describing these events, but it's a start of grasping something incomprehensible. Will anybody remember this day two years from now? Does it trigger hidden demons within her ranks? The more she kills, the more a persistent numbness consumes her soul.

"Get the king, end the war. Get the king, end the war." This truth repeats itself in Heather's mind as if it's on an infinite reset. It latches onto her soul as they destroy acolyte camps, hidden behind dense foliage. They're the only obstacles, and they become nothing more than a minor nuisance. With every step, San Francisco gets closer; that's all the Babylonians care about. The less cultists there are, the better. The knights encounter some camps at night, sneaking into tents and stabbing their sleeping occupants. It seems with every action, the Babylonians descend into emptiness. By the end of this, will they all turn from victims into criminals? Will poetic justice be their greatest fear?

Justice. That damn word slithers into the commander's thoughts like how syrup flows into the depressions of a waffle. It leaves a bad taste in her mouth; anybody who has the audacity to even think about such a concept should walk off a cliff. The Babylonian dungeons prove justice is dead. The only thing she disagrees with Forrest on is the concept of law. To her, a society as large as Babylon shouldn't be under a singular, "Obey the Monarchy" policy.

Their attempt at hunting down Ignatius and Marisa turns into an inescapable game of cat and mouse. With every camp the Babylonians destroy, the further away their main targets become. How can the pair move around that fast? Is it strictly because of their importance, or is it merely pure skill? It's like they seep through cracks, akin to how light floods into a room from fissures in the rotting boards on some empty window. Are they wasting valuable time? What else should they even be doing?

Heather thinks about her speech after the battle at the Fort. "No prisoners." She can't understand why those words shot out as if they're air. No breaks, pauses, or second takes. One with humanity should hesitate before speaking such deadly words. She didn't feel anything besides acceptance. This is what you have to do to protect your people. The lengths you must travel define who you are. Today, one's mind is as broken as one's heart. What you experience changes you; everyone understands this truth at the core of its definition. We are a rare species, able to be consciously aware of our own death. Facing this daily, they can't afford a moral compass anymore. Today, a compass gets you lost.

Is honor obligatory when the cause is costly? What's the exact root of evil, and if money is, why do we stop ourselves from eradicating it? Escapism is the art of distracting yourself from existentialism. Could this conflict be a symptom of that truth? Is war really a necessary choice when peace always prevails? A thought passes in Heather's mind: we aren't meant to kill each other. We are a social species; the core of our collective subconscious thrives from this.

When we didn't have guns, we fought with fists. Evolution works in countless ways, from different, modern versions of technology all the way to how we interact with each other. It doesn't just entail one genera turning into another via missing link; it's natural growth. The world vibrates on microscopic waves, and the theory of evolution is part of it. War is proof of moral devolution, which implies evolution to being a law in the first place. A sense of nationalism drives this conflict into deeper territory. Pride cometh before the fall. To Heather, the only thing nationalism can do is make things worse for the Babylonians. At a disadvantage, their cockiness will bring the acolytes' wrath down upon them. Heather knows they will silence the knights' voices, so whenever she sees an act of patriotism, she stops it. The commander implores them to be mature, to die quietly with dignity.

Dignity. Another word that shouldn't exist anymore. In conflict, one must separate themselves from dignity and altruism if they want to survive. It goes hand in hand with innocence; the difference between them only apparent through the perspectives of their creators. It takes a certain kind of person to kill another, and when outside circumstances push you to that point, there is no turning back from a person darker than yourself. However, is killing really bad when you do it to protect the ones you love? Is that guilt trip just part of the human experience? Taking the life of someone else is a divine sin in the eyes of the public, but when the public doesn't understand a simple act of self-defense, does that make you a killer or a savior?

She feels lost as the day progresses. The Babylonians act as if they're wandering in circles, except they're moving forward. March down the path, screams a distant whisper. No pain, no gain. During the Revolutionary War, Washington trudged through the harshest winter of that time period, barefoot. If they could do that and win, the Babylonians can do anything. Nothing is more motivating than hope, albeit it's only a pinch.

A secondary goal becomes stealing supplies from the fallen. The knights end up calling this walk the "Trail of Tears". Andrew Jackson would've been proud of them had the acolytes been Native Americans. Are there any true, good people anymore? Are the cracks in our modern perspective of morality getting too wide? What's empathy to an inoperable tumor of apathy? Man has been stealing from one another since Sumer, but for some reason, this action drives the Babylonians further into their infinite numbness. No honor, no glory. Only survival.

What causes someone to take the life of someone else? What causes the criminal to go on a murder spree, regret thrown out the window as if it's trash? If you kill someone during war, does that make you a bad person? Who gives life to these rules, or is it just a mere social construct, void of any concrete law?

The weather decays into a nightmarish howl from Boreas. It disorients both parties, slowing them down at unnecessary intervals. The environment becomes an almost impossible obstacle to overcome. People get sick; they have to be put down. Desperation drowns any sense of relief. We don't know the power of that word until the universe forces us to face it. The emotion comes on slowly, a clock slowly ticking backwards. When the bomb goes off, it does so when you least expect it to. Contingencies fail, backup plans are thrown out a window into the nothingness from whence they came.

The game lasts for several days. God doesn't know when to stop. God probably might not have the controller in this one. When something like war happens, what role does God play? Is He the controller or the observer? Why does the concept of an alternative perspective frighten so many people? Does God's love blind them? If God was so loving, wouldn't He want to stop the hate, the murder, the destruction? Why does God seem to make people so closed-minded? The more everyone thinks about this, the more they lose faith in their beliefs, even the acolytes. However, the fear of Ignatius finding out forces them to find excuses to keep going.

Swords dance against bare throats, slicing them as if they're as thin as a piece of paper. The Babylonians feel like they're winning, and this realization pushes Ignatius and Marisa to the finish line. The only goal is getting to San Francisco's airship facility. The blitz on Babylon will be the final phase of this horrific chapter. Why do they feel so uncertain when they're ahead of the knights? What could possibly scare them now, what exactly are they running from? The Israelites wandered the desert for 40 days and 40 nights. Ignatius and Marisa begin feeling like that, lost in their own minds.

They barely speak to each other as time passes. Nothing of their relationship, no bonding. Why should they have the time to do those things? A terrible part about war is that it isolates you, even though you're right next to someone. When you focus on living, especially winning, there is no leisure time. Rest loses itself in the aftermath of confronting true survival.

There seems to be two sides of communication during conflict. Orders, and whispers. When a private has a different opinion than the sergeant, the social construct is for the private to keep his mouth shut, to dismiss his individuality. When you first go to prison, guards use this same philosophy to keep inmates in line.

Death becomes normalcy, an acceptance. This is when war peaks. Exhaustion adds to their desperation, which only makes both parties fight harder. The orchestra of good and evil intertwines with a morsel of peace. Even in conflict, the moment is peace because you're alive. When you have to live presently just to make it to the next second, you know you're breathing. Air becomes as valuable as our currency. Keep your eyes open, keep your chin up. Cling on to a branch of positivity if it'll save your life. All of these confusing ideas and revelations mean nothing in the bigger picture, but they mean something now.

Appreciating the small things becomes a last resort for sanity. The Babylonians feel grateful for every second they exist. They feel like an empire will come from these ashes, but Heather smites those who speak those things out loud. She still believes that nationalism is their enemy, that the only way to win is through a bittersweet victory. The ends of wars always leaves one side in humiliation, like Germany after World War 1. If the Babylonians win, she doesn't want to do that. She doesn't want to rub it in their faces; instead, she wants to show the kingdom grow. Perhaps one day, she can assimilate the acolytes into Babylonian culture.

Wishful thinking. That's all it is. The smell of violence brings her back into reality. There is no escaping the truth that the acolytes will never change, that their evil sticks to the world like glue. Genocide slowly becomes an option, but she doesn't want to be as bad as Forrest. If they end up conquering San Francisco, how will Babylon change? What if they fail, just like how she failed at the Siege?

Heather imagines two possible scenarios. One, Forrest forces them to give up their democracy for the Monarchy. Two, the acolytes win and do the exact same thing. Ignatius is exactly like Forrest, ruling over society with iron fists. What happens when one side suddenly overcomes the other? Does it prove that balance is nonsense, or that the scales tip in their own favor sometimes? Is it really lucky to survive this kind of situation when mental illness becomes a symptom? People weren't born to kill one another; that's why soldiers returned home from the Western Front with shell shock.

Empathy fizzles down like the wick of a burning candle. Mercy is comparable to the acts of a jester. The cold hours fly by within the winds of blizzards. If draining someone of perspective was possible, this is how you could do it. The Babylonians lose many ranks, Heather feeling every last blow. Outwardly, she exudes an emotionless facade, void of any compassion. Her experience turns the commander into a different version of herself. Before this, she would have been humane. Now, all she holds is contempt.

Contempt towards what, someone Forrest told us to hate? The flashbacks from Pittock surge through distant, evil memories; this is personal now, even after Brandon's death, after their win at Portland. No amount of victory can replace the guilt. No amount of luck can overcome everlasting sorrow.

War breeds death; it's the centerpiece of life's show. Humans have been fascinated with conflict since the beginning of time. What was once fought with sticks and stones is now fought with blades and munitions. It retains its natural characteristics, especially after the end of civilization. To survive, one must fight to the edge of sanity. The edge. That threshold between reality and madness. A conflict as large as this one pushes its victims to this terrible, unforgivable place. The edge is a region where comprehension goes to die. It's a soft fog that falls over your perception of existence, a mindless, aimless state of being. When something finally pushes you over, when that telltale gale strikes where you stand, there's no turning back. Some call this the deep end, the pressure of the situation drowning and choking you out.

Wherever that abyss lies, Heather is certain that her soldiers are close to that point. When the mirror starts cracking, when the well fills up, what can she do? How will everyone react to her actions? What kind of guilt rests on the other side of one single decision? Love can't be the end to this fight. The only thing that can come out of it is balance. What pushes society to the breaking point isn't the government, it's the people not resisting it. But what good can come of a revolution, especially when Heather supports the Monarchy? Why are these events making her face these thoughts? Purely because of simple exposure, she falls victim to an unhealthy cycle of overanalyzing her philosophies. However, she retains an appearance and attitude of a respectful leader.

Broken scenes flash before everyone's eyes as if the fissures in civilization form at its seams. The Babylonians finally reach Eureka, California after a week of chasing down faces the knights have yet to see. Heather's challenging internal battle takes its internal toll. A turn for the worst occurs when she kills a sixteen-year-old acolyte. The moment unfolds right outside of the city, during an ambush. The knights storm a camp, disarm and drag everyone out of their tents, and the commander forces them to their knees. In the line-up, the boy whimpers and sobs, begging for mercy. Heather, remembering what she said after the Fort, forces herself to remain consistent. She justifies this by referring back to the Civil War, when fourteen-year-old children marched at the front lines with drums and trumpets, commemorating their inevitable demise. This is the first teenager she's seen, and she figures Ignatius placed him here on purpose to test her morality. Whether it be paranoia or a simple want, she gives the all-clear, turning away as a knight decapitates the teenager.

War brings you to the face of immorality and humanity. The division bell rings like the chimes of a clock at noon. Nothing seems to put this fire out, and Heather doubts a simple, risky attack on San Francisco will work. She crosses her fingers and prays for extra help, not wanting to succumb to any brutality. Struggling to think of a better future, the commander distracts herself by focusing on the present moment. This-ness is all that's here. Your beliefs don't define who you are, because this is where the truth is. Sometimes, it can be terrifying; others, fulfilling. Only you can decide how you react to it.

She doesn't know why things are the way they are. It feels like the conflict's taking place on a continent colder than Antarctica. Temperatures continue to drop, and people begin suffering from hypothermia. Amputations resulting from frostbite becomes commonplace, and hunger continues to be an unstoppable obstacle.

The commander reminisces on her childhood, everything she took for granted. Heather could be rude sometimes, especially when defending something she's passionate about. If she's going to die, she might as well remember who she was. Memories from an old Prom night come back to her, a defining moment in a young life. Her friends didn't go, but she did. She met a boy by the name of Dennis, an aspiring jazz musician. That night, she felt love for the first time. Not a love where lust plagues its meaning, a true feeling of a passionate heartbeat. The music drowned out of existence as they danced together, the theme of the night being Ancient Rome. People wore togas and let go of the worries of tests and homework. She misses those simple times, moments where anxiety seemed nonexistent.

She doesn't remember her mother well anymore, for good reason. Narcissism infested within the mentally disturbed matriarch, infecting Heather's life for decades. When she moved out, she broke connection completely, living on her own from fifteen onward. At times, she felt guilty for not being happy with what she had. Her past consumed her until she eventually found a therapist, finally letting herself confront many private demons. Her dad was a scientist, developing the A-bomb during the Manhattan Project. He would come home some nights, too tired to stand up. He believed in what he did, and looking back at his work, she feels as though she needs to do the same thing, not for herself, but for her people. Somehow, she has to be altruistic to forget a bad mindset. Somehow, she needs to overcome this.

Back at Babylon, a bloody Echo walks over the kingdom's drawbridge, alone. The guards upon the wall-walks notice this, dread consuming them. Friends, families, mothers, fathers, all gone besides the queen. Echo doesn't know how to feel, walking through the gatehouse. Shame? Why should she when they were the ones who sacrificed themselves; they did it of their own volition. Silence rings through the empty streets as she approaches the Space Needle. Citizens peer from curtains, the same revelation hitting them like an atomic bomb. In the Throne Room, she stands in front of a mirror. The queen raises scissors to her hair, glaring at the reflection. The next ten minutes are spent cutting every inch of it off, zero all around. It takes a few moments to get used to this change; she forces herself to accept it. Gazing down at her prosthetic hand, the new look makes it seem as if she's straight out of a comic book. Now a true acolyte, the queen leaves the room, making a beeline for the Bell Tower.

After gathering everyone together, she makes one fatal, final speech. "Sun Tzu once said, 'To defeat your enemy, you have to become your enemy.' That's what we have to do to win. That anger you feel right now, that betrayal… we must use it to our advantage. We have to make this sacrifice for the future of Babylon. Banding together to put an end to this should be our main goal; we can't waste anymore supplies or time. Your consciousness creates your reality… wouldn't it be better if we made one without the acolytes? If you're a true knight, if you believe in Babylon like I do, join me. This will be our last stand."

Cheers put an end to the infinite silence, reverberating off the edges of reality like how echoes bounce from one side of a ravine. The equilibrium between good and evil reveals itself at this moment. They all accept the queen's ideas, her demands. The Babylonians are forever under Forrest's spell, and she had to do it in order to retain public support. The queen turns away, knowing she has to put an end to his madness.

That cold night, Echo walks through the now-empty gun factory. She disregards the floor below, its machinery forgotten. With no materials, what can anybody do? Why would they waste their time coming to work when they could be protecting their families from starvation?

Arriving at Timothy's office, she lets herself in. A baby cries in the gunsmith's hands as he cradles it back and forth.

"You're still here?" the queen asks.

"A man should honor his work." Glancing up, he ganders at the bald head. "What… made you do that?"

"It doesn't matter. We're doing a final attack on San Francisco. This didn't go like how we thought it would…"

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You're taking care of Alice; you're doing more than you can imagine."

Timothy hands the queen her baby. "You know, I saw you when you first walked in… I can't comprehend what you went through. For what it's worth, thank you, for everything. If it wasn't for the Monarchy, a lot of us probably wouldn't have met each other."

She decides to keep quiet about her revelations. "Community is at the heart of civilization."

"When's the last time you saw Forrest?"

"Before he left for Portland… I'm assuming things went bad over there, too… I can't believe he thought they would abide by his deal."

"Is there an argument coming?"

"What do you think?"

"I just want you to remember that what affects the Monarchy affects the people. You've always been a better listener than him; you understand what I mean."

Echo looks into Alice's eyes. "Do you think this place would… operate more efficiently under a different style?"

"No, we'd be worse under anything else. Don't doubt yourself, Echo. Do you know where that shit can lead you?"

The queen spaces out, the word "doubt" triggering several unpleasant memories from her travels with Merlin. She doesn't know what to make of this situation anymore. When the lines between good and bad are drawn this thin, could morality and immorality be nothing more than an illusion? Humanity is a concept long dead to this world; civilization doesn't mean anything more than a large group of people living together. Is community really at its heart of it, or is it at the deathbed after realizing society's self-cornering nature? However, if that's the case, does that mean there's a chance for them to come back from this?

No matter how hard the Babylonians try, the world still seems to break down before them every single day. There has been no moment for rest; everyone is either scared or brave. Facing the end of existence takes its toll on their psyches. What kind of world is going to emerge from these ashes? Who's going to be the one to clean up the mess, to get that rotten smell out of all the carpets in all the houses?

With every step they take, wrong decisions push them two steps back. The failure at the national park and the presumed failure at Portland brings Echo to this conclusion. A deep anger festers within her, and she directs it towards Forrest. For this single instant, she becomes aware of his manipulation. For this one blink of truth, she faces it with open eyes. He is not right for her; he never was, and he will never get better. The queen realizes that in order to correct an immaculate imbalance, one must restore justice to it. How can she with a situation this big? Putting a pin in the thought, Echo figures she'll cross that bridge when she gets to it.

She wonders how bad people get away with what they do. It astounds her how long it had to take to notice Forrest's true nature. How did Castro come down from the mountains, only to end up controlling an entire nation? How did Kim Jong-il manage to retain power when he despises everyone who follows him? Forrest is just another version of this archetype. If the Devil tempted you with an irrefutable offer, would you place your bets if it got you what you desire the most?

The queen lays her baby back down in the crib. "You don't have any room in your house?"

Timothy scoffs. "Leave an infant around gun schematics, shells, and models. Sounds good to me."

Echo rolls her eyes. "I was just curious."

"Speaking of curiosity, what's our next move going to be?"

"We're moving out tonight; all of us."

"So, I'm going to be alone with her?"

"Only for a few days. How much formula do you have left?"

"Enough."

"Good. You really don't know how much help you give us."

He smiles. "It's my pleasure. What are you going to do about Merlin?"

She tilts her head in confusion. "Don't you hate him?"

"Yes, but I sure as hell don't want him on their side."

"We're working it out… Forrest or Heather is going to do something about it."

Timothy closes his eyes, leading Echo to the pathway outside the door. He gestures down to the empty spaces below, machinery locking itself in a messy fog of the present moment. "It took us three weeks to run out. We don't have the Mines anymore, not since the collapse. We were always running on red, but now… we are on red. It's a weird feeling, being on the other side for once. We thought we could do anything, but look." He points to the barren equipment. "Men used to respect your law, your one request over thousands of civilians. You wanted them to obey, and they did. What you need to do… is make the acolytes obey."

That same night, in San Francisco, Merlin wakes up in the Presidential Palace to the sound of glass breaking. Fear drags him to the bedroom's door, and he locks it quietly. Taking deep, sunken breaths, he hides underneath the bed. Distant footsteps bounce off empty walls, and the clicks of locks precede the creaks of opening doors. A storm rages outside, lightning bolts illuminating pitch-black nooks and crannies with a holy, electronic aura. Whoever's skulking through the halls arrives at Merlin's room. Attempting to open it, the intruder grunts at the lock on the other side.

Merlin takes a sigh of relief at the pause of brief silence. Suddenly, it comes crashing down on him as the perp kicks down the door. Wooden panels clatter to the floor, and Merlin lets out a yelp. The silhouette of the figure genuflects before the bed, peeking beneath it.

"Thank God," exclaims a familiar voice.

The former Babylonian's heart races. He emerges from his hiding place and climbs to his feet. "What… how did you get in here?"

The king readjusts the straps on his rucksack. "Your letters didn't mention a sewage system."

"We abandoned that project weeks ago; is that really all it took?"

"Most of your guards are out fighting my people. There's not much security."

"They're not my guards; I'm still a Babylonian."

"Did you attempt a way out before?"

"I… I couldn't. I had too many questions."

"What did you make them?"

"That doesn't matter; what matters is what I did on the side. Other than the pigeons, I've constructed bombs and placed them on the suspension towers of Golden Gate Bridge. I didn't do anything without asking myself, 'What would the king do?' Forrest, although great distance separates us from who we once were, I still believe in Babylon."

"And you abide by this with your life?"

"What other life is there?"

Forrest grins. "Then let's get out of here."

They sneak out of the mansion and into the city's underground system. Forrest produces a flashlight, flicks it on, and leads Merlin into a darkness beyond imagination. Skeletal remains lean against cracking brick walls; clusters of rats scurry past their feet. During the early riots, people tried to escape into this world, but none of them came out. Was it hunger that drove them to death, or a forgotten fear? Some tunnels lead to maintenance stations, wherein tents rest quietly from years of abandonment. Cobwebs stretch from one end of a passageway to another, gargantuan arachnids dangling from their own ensnarement.

"What's the plan after we get out?" Merlin asks.

"I haven't thought that far ahead."

"Well what if we run into Ignatius?"

"We won't. We'll set up camp somewhere where the acolytes won't find us."

"Why not here?"

"Are you insane?"

"What do you have in the rucksack?"

"Enough for a few days. I gathered supplies on my way here."

"Then we'll stay. We need to lay low, at least for the next few hours. We don't know anything about what's going on above our heads."

Forrest stops walking. "Why did you leave? Did you know you were going to be a spy?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Because the smartest person in the kingdom left without resisting."

"Timothy would've died if I didn't intervene. I just… had to make the most of whatever was mine. What I did doesn't matter now, because we have a way out." Merlin retrieves a detonator from his pocket. "We just need to wait for the right moment."

Hesitantly, Forrest agrees. They stay in one of the maintenance stations, droplets of water echoing off a cement ground. Rust drapes every metallic surface, and green liquid leaks from filtration pumps. The WHO should set up laboratories here, studying the possibilities of reviving longtime dead diseases. Claustrophobics wouldn't last two hours down here, the stench alone being enough to drive someone mad. This is their only choice right now, a choice dependent upon Babylon's future. Whether that future stands is up to them to decide.

They sit against the crumbling walls, waiting for the ceiling to collapse. The only thing separating them from death is time. How many hours do we have to wait down here? Is there anything else we could do? Within the coming hours, distant gunfire echoes through empty landscapes. Whether it's the acolytes or the Babylonians, the squatters don't care; at least they know a fight is still going on.

"Forrest," Merlin sighs. "I know there's something wrong with you."

"What?"

"I hear how you talk. I watch how you act when you're giving speeches. You're hiding something. But, at the end of the day, you saved me. Consider my awareness a thank you."

"You think we're going to die. That's why you're telling me this."

"I didn't want you to go without me saying anything. I'm just warning you, Forrest. If other Babylonians take notice of these things, the Monarchy will receive fallout. When rumors spread like wildfires, they're considered the truth. If you don't want another Dante, you need to learn how to control yourself."

"So you think this war was for nothing? You think we're gonna go back to the days of capital punishments and secret societies?"

"We're still in those days. But we don't have to be. That's what you can't understand."

"I was going to sacrifice my life saving your ass, and this is how you pay me back?"

"You didn't have to. You needed me back in Babylon, because you know that's where I belong. That's why you're not going to kill me after this is over."

Forrest straightens his back. "I don't know what to do, Merlin. I feel like I've failed as a leader. The war brought the people together temporarily, but what happens next? Maybe you're right… we might be on anybody's watchlist right now."

"How are you going to control things when it's over?"

"What if I personally want to change? What if I'm done being the person I am right now? What if I… want to be better?"

"Changing your style is how you start. Don't do it for me, do it for Echo and Alice. You still have a family to live for, to make happy. I've known you for the past thirty years, so trust me when I say that I know you can free your head. Leading through fear doesn't help that, Forrest."

"Where did I go wrong?"

"When you chose to let it be that way."

Forrest stands up. "Well, that's not the case anymore. Come on, we're leaving."

"What?"

"You want me to change, right?" The king finds a ladder leading up to a manhole. "Then I will."

Merlin, smirking, grabs the rucksack and joins him. They climb up, and when the king lifts the manhole, Babylonian knights above ground remove it, flashlights shining into the open cavity. After pulling the familiar stowaways to their feet, the knights disperse, Heather ordering them to do so. She approaches the duo with a beaming smile, feeling hope for the first time since Portland.

"We heard gunfire," Merlin states. "Was that you?"

"The weather slowed down Ignatius and Marisa. We wanted to get ahead so we could ambush them on the bridge. We didn't know we would come across you."

Forrest smiles, breathing in the air for the first time in years. "We need to end this today. We're going to win."

Heather chuckles. "What makes you so confident?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Because we're Babylonians."

Merlin locks eye contact with the commander. "I have an idea for an assault. Is there anywhere we can talk privately?"

Heather motions them forward. "Follow me."

In her tent, the acolyte traitor shudders before speaking. "Whatever you guys have done has put a huge dent in their military; the citizens are scared, and Ignatius seems to have underestimated you. This will hopefully be over quick." He reveals a detonator to Heather. "There are bombs on the bridge. We wait for the opportune moment, and they go off."

Forrest rubs his forehead. "How will we know when that moment's here?"

Merlin draws up a scenario. "Ignatius and Marisa are on the bridge. We kill everyone but them. We let them see what we did to them, and then we end it." He gulps. "However, the detonator has a very short range. Someone has to be near the bombs in order for them to explode. Ergo, I will be the sacrificial lamb."

"What?!" Heather shrieks. "We just got you back!"

"Those are my bombs," he growls. "A man remains loyal to his work."

Forrest lowers his head. "Jesus, why didn't you tell me in the sewers?"

Merlin pockets the detonator. "You'll understand."

A dreadful silence falls upon them. They ponder on that distant moment, where everything will change once and for all. The awkward atmosphere pushes them out of the tent, down unknown paths.

Time passes slower than the familiar relapse of falling in and out of love. The snow falls through metaphysical passing seconds, burying the Babylonians in their woes. Nobody knows what will come of tomorrow, but after, everything will change. This is the edge they all fear; this is the tipping point of balance. They write letters home to their families and friends, saying their final goodbyes and passing on regrets. Opinions about the Monarchy flourish when reading between the lines. The only thing that hides the Devil in the details is God. Heather observes from afar as the scene unfolds. In our darkest hour, we often find the core of humanity in strange places. A unique sensation of gratitude flows through her. If she's dying tomorrow, at least she's dying with her people. Forrest approaches the commander, wielding a flamethrower. However, before they meet, a knight shouts Echo's name. The king forgets why he's here, pursuing the source of confusion.

Reaching a crowd of campers, he pushes through them, meeting the queen face-to-face. The first thing he notices is her bald head; more questions, no answers. She appears as if she's looking at him, but flashlights reveal Echo gazing over his shoulder, into the cold blackness. Behind her, an endless gathering of Babylonian volunteers; all of them wield makeshift weapons.

The reunion passes, everyone disperses, and Forrest pulls her aside.

"Why did you shave your head?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "Why are you like how you are?"

Forrest, awestruck, retorts, "What do you mean?"

"They all died because of you. I don't want to be another one of your victims anymore; I'm my own person."

"You're not thinking straight; you saw countless people die before you. You can't relinquish your sanity now, not when we're on the verge of something bigger than us."

"Sanity?! Was it sane to kill everyone we deemed suspicious for being in secret societies? Was it sane to force Merlin to make LSD just so that I, personally, could give it to Dante? Was it sane to kill Judas so that we would have control? Was it sane to get us involved in something we clearly have no control over? We take one step forward and two steps back because of your actions. It is not insane of me for wanting to think for myself, to be void of you completely. You say you hear voices, Forrest. But you can't hear me."

With that, she leaves him behind. Should the world grant him motivation to get better, or should he let it stomp him to the ground, out of existence like God's vacuum collecting dust? Why should he even try to change now that he has nothing to change for? Perhaps he can blame destiny on the downfall of their love, but in the back of his broken mind, distance is the final nail in the coffin. How much time has he spent with her recently? How many leisure hours are in a day when you have to control society? What is this ever-widening wedge that keeps driving us further and further away from each other?

He returns to Heather's tent; she instantly reads his distress.

"What's wrong?" she urges.

"Do you think Babylon has a chance to survive without the Monarchy?"

"No. Isn't that what you want?"

He corners himself with his own philosophy. Waving outward, he states, "Delusional thinking, all of that negative shit."

Heather walks around the thought. "Are you and Echo okay?"

"She's in shock. She says she doesn't want to be with me anymore."

"Did she say anything else?"

"An entire fleet of Babylonians, dead, right in front of her eyes."

She gasps. "My God. Jesus, what's going to come of us in these next few hours?"

The king, hanging his head, replies, "I just don't know. Everything we've been doing…. every death that's led us to this point… what was it all for, Heather?"

"What's any of it for, Forrest? Why do we live these constant daily cycles that ultimately lead to nowhere? Because it's what we do until we find ourselves. Babylon gave me a chance to find myself, and I took it. If you weren't there, I wouldn't have known what to make of myself. I wanted to be useful, and you helped me recognize my potential."

He struggles to find words. "I wish Echo saw it that way…. I need to talk to her when this is over… We haven't had a good conversation in months. She was bald when I saw her, and I asked her why. Do you want to know what she said? 'You hear voices, Forrest. But you can't hear me.' Do you understand how worthless that makes me feel? Thirty years, and that's what she does?!"

"Your first mistake, all those years ago, was letting her stay."

"I… I loved her."

"I loved Alex. Life changes you, Forrest; it isn't obligated to save you from anything; the only way you can get better is by accepting the truth."

"That I'm a piece of shit?"

"Well, yeah. That's how any of us get better; it's a cycle of maintenance and persistence."

"Do you think the world forgives you of your actions?"

"Eventually, yes. Eternal hatred is nonexistent."

"I'm a sinner, Heather. I forced Merlin to make acid so that he could give it to a prisoner. I killed everyone who might've been involved in secret societies, anyone who I thought was a traitor. Ignatius says we're the same… I might begin to accept that soon. The thing is, Heather, you're the only person outside the Monarchy who knows about my schizophrenia. Merlin's suspicious, but won't act on his emotions. I only told you all this, because what you did in Portland, you did it for Babylon. That's why I do what I do."

"Do you feel guilt from any of this?"

"If I felt guilt, we wouldn't be here. Tell me, Heather, if I die, what will Satan do to me that I haven't already done to myself?"

Heather's voice turns colorless. "He'd just shrug."

The next morning, Babylonian soldiers find themselves at the edge of a tree line. Barrels of guns from snipers to RPGs protrude from the foliage, aiming directly towards the Golden Gate Bridge. They're careful not to rush things, keeping quiet and surveying the surrounding landscape with binoculars. Their hearts beat faster than the chugs of a steam engine, and perspiration boils on their foreheads, even beneath a winter sky. Nervousness, detachment, self-pity.

Standing by Merlin, Echo gazes through the scope of a sniper. "It didn't have to come to this, did it?"

He shakes his head. "However, it's our responsibility to make it right."

"Don't give me that bullshit today, Merlin. Today, there's only going to be blood borne from vengeance. There is no need to hide behind these altruistic facades; they'll only end up making you weaker in the end."

"I'm sorry for what happened at the National Park. I wish I was there to help."

"We didn't want to disturb any time you might've wanted with your boyfriend."

Merlin can't help but to chuckle. "Ignatius doesn't swing that way, just ask Marisa. She's… hypnotized by him; I don't know what it is she sees in that asshole." He remembers the detonator. "Echo, there's something I have to tell you."

"Oh? And what could that be?"

"Forrest isn't right for you. If the Monarchy needs change, you have to go through with it. You have to be a better person for Alice. Life, it's not about you. It never was, and it never will be. Think of how she'll turn out if he raises her."

"That's something I've been thinking about quite a lot lately."

"Really?"

"Yes. What I saw at the National Park, it made me realize who he really is. I woke up to that, and I want to be my own person now. I've been codependent all my life, but it's time I break away from that. Relying on people makes you weak, Merlin. It cripples you and allows the other person to manipulate you into doing whatever they desire. I used to depend on people for emotions, but not anymore. I'm going to find peace by saving Babylon. After that, I'm leaving the Monarchy."

"Did you talk to him about it?"

"He disagrees; I don't."

"You shouldn't. What are we going to do without a queen? That's the part I can't figure out."

"Well, Forrest and I aren't really married; I never wanted to because I don't believe in it. It was my first attempt at fighting codependency. We can just have an election."

"What about Alice? What are you going to do with her?"

"Timothy takes good care of her; I'll get an apartment in the Housing District and set it up before I move her in."

Chuckling, Merlin states, "The worst part about any of this is waiting. Before the train incident, I thought they were onto me for being a spy. I was so paranoid that I ended up sticking to the backyard; Ignatius was too busy elsewhere. I'd spend hours training the pigeons until they could reach Babylon. It's either you got the message, or you didn't. When the train incident happened, I knew that it was time to stop waiting, that the time for action is now. For what it's worth, you and Forrest gave the Babylonians something to fight for, something to distract them from disputing amongst each other."

"Will they forget?"

"Forget what?"

"Who we are? Is this really enough to extinguish what was about to happen? I don't think so. That's also why I'm stepping down; someone could kill Alice out of spite." Through the scope of her sniper, she tracks a mobile acolyte convoy moving towards the bridge's entrance. "I got them!"

"Wait until they get to the middle," Heather instructs from afar.

The Babylonians obey, unleashing their terror as soon as Ignatius reaches the end of the line. Acolytes drop dead under the surprising waves of bullets. Screams tear through the desolate environment, blood covering the asphalt beneath their feet. Without much hope, some acolytes surrender, dropping to their knees and raising their hands towards the sky. Heather repeats what she said at the mansion, and the Babylonians abide by her wishes. Within minutes, Marisa and Ignatius stand alone.

Merlin slips away from the group. Echo notices, reloading her sniper as she follows him.

"COME BACK!" Forrest exclaims.

Heather rushes over to the king, subduing him. "No, let them go. They know what they're doing."

He struggles against her strength, breaking free briefly before other knights tackle him to the ground. He cries Echo's name, reaching for her as if she's within grasp.

Running towards Golden Gate Bridge, Merlin and the queen notice San Francisco's gates opening. Acolytes flood out, but the Babylonians shoot them down. Merlin reaches the President first, striking him with a punch to the jaw. Marisa retreats as Ignatius tackles the traitor, whose detonator falls to the road. Echo swipes it off the ground, causing a stalemate between the fighters.

"GO!" she demands. "I BELIEVE IN BABYLON! WE HAVE TO CUT THEM OFF FROM THE WORLD!"

Without having time to think, Merlin runs away. Echo presses the button, and the suspension towers explode one by one, sending flames soaring into the air.

Merlin loses balance while the bridge collapses, his heart burning with every step. At the tree line, Forrest collapses in tears, Heather holding onto him for support. Babylonians grieve over this tragic loss, watching in agony as the only survivor approaches the end of the falling bridge. Fire spreads over the city's walls, and the victors have a bitter-sweet moment of celebration. They only allow this when Merlin finishes his journey safely. He trips and stumbles face-first into the snow, sitting upright and observing splashing debris.

Did they really win this war? Is the loss of power something to be proud of? Nations should emerge from conflict with their leaders, with someone to turn to for guidance. Forrest remembers telling Echo not to join the war, and this moment brings him nothing but pain. Why didn't she listen; what was the thing that made her so goddamn stubborn in the end? As the bridge separates the acolytes from any chance of survival, they wonder if this was the right way, or if this is a monument to their immortality. Is this what it takes to win now? Are these the lines we have to cross in order to make it to the next day? What hope is there for the future if this devolution continues? The age of the unknown begins now. The morning after entails disarray and futile attempts to get things back on track.

Forrest remains staring at the bridge for several hours, the Babylonians preparing for a tough journey home. Merlin returns, sitting next to the king. "I was with her before she went. She told me that… she was looking forward to the future." His lips quiver. "None of this makes any sense… Why does nothing go as planned?!"

"That's why you told me you were suspicious," the king states. "You knew you were going to die."

"Yeah, I did."

"When we get back to the kingdom, things are going to change. You told me once… that the path to heaven begins in hell. Do you still believe that?"

As San Francisco burns, Merlin nods his head. "I do." He suddenly remembers Liberty Leading the People. "Then it's time to make our way to heaven somehow."

With that, the Babylonians pack up their camp, leaving as the backdrop of an inferno blooms from a flower pot.

Two months following the Babylonian War, the kingdom rests in an eternal state of catatonia. They grieve over their losses, funerals becoming a regularity. With the bodies they can't retrieve, volunteers etch names into a granite plaque. An emotionless sky drowns the kingdom in restlessness. The Space Needle sits quietly among empty streets. The Districts look like ghost towns, their occupants hiding in their homes. Aftershocks of fear race through the minds of unlucky survivors. Few Babylonians guard the wall walks with blank expressions, satchels of arrows on their backs. If we have to kill, we will do it without mercy.

Construction crews build the walls higher around the archers, encasing security personnel in cylindrical masonry towers, pyramid roofs serving as a capstone. Arrows protrude through small slits in the stone, aiming out into a desolate world. Now, they really are the last civilization.

Merlin rests in his house, gazing into a mirror and smiling at his sprouting hair. Moving over to a window, he pulls back the curtain, glancing at the dirt road outside. Nothing. Everyone is effectively isolating themselves from each other. Echo's sacrifice, the war, all of it… the purpose is unity, to bring people together, but the truth is they've never been further apart. He hasn't seen or heard from Forrest in days, and nobody knows when the election for a new queen will be, or how it will even work.

He ponders on the current gun dilemma. What are they going to do with all of this spare weaponry? Where are they going to store it? Should we get rid of them? No, God damn it! Merlin scowls just for having an opinion about it. The kingdom needs guns no matter what. Even though we might not have the right ammunition, we can make it. Timothy has enough experience to do it.

However, preventing this from happening is the Monarchy's policy. With no gun regulations, violence would surely occur. What kind of protocols do they need to protect the streets if everyone has a gun? What kind of horrors will ensue from this fatal choice, given it even has a chance? He needs to think of a code, a system for everyone to abide by. There will be rewards for the people who obey them, and punishments for the ones who don't. It needs to be something the king will look at twice.

At the kingdom's gates, Timothy wears the happiest expression imaginable. A new team of miners marches off to repair and prepare the Mines for restoration. Civilians stand behind him, gasping. That place hasn't been touched since Alexander's death. Behind forming crowds, smokestacks remain useless in the Industrial District. Not for long, Timothy thinks.

In the Throne Room, Forrest weeps loudly at the dining room table. Next to the bed, Alice's crib. He wipes his eyes, reality cracking open before him. What they did killed off an entire nation, and Echo paid the price for his negligence. Was her sacrifice really necessary in the end? Couldn't they have just used some desperate volunteer? The worst part about it is that the voices aren't talking to him anymore. Now, it's just him and his actions.

What made them disappear? Why did they leave his mind for once? Will they ever come back in some god-forbidden nightmare, or is this true? Silence. All his life, noise. No more. This time, he actually hears passing gales, howls bouncing off edges of hay rooftops.

He thinks about Echo every day; more specifically, the moment she went up in flames. The sound of the boom still rings through his mind like the church bells of some demonic sanctuary. The warmth of the ensuing fire wraps around his arms in this present moment, burning flesh and melting bone as if he's catching a glimpse of God's face.

Without the queen, what will they do? Would an election be of any use if the people are too afraid to move on? Crossing over to the window, he scans the kingdom below, just like how she used to.

Babylon is like this because of him yet he doesn't feel any guilt. What will be the thing that finally breaks him, that physical representation of dissolving boundaries in his psyche?

Ignatius is nothing more than a memory, but that memory persists through one's abstract perspective of matter. It's as if an invisible crater rests forever in the hearts of countless survivors. Whether that crater is of emptiness, regret, or shame, it's up to the host's decision. Forrest thinks about what happened to his partner, Marisa. Did she survive that terrible hour, or did she succumb to the collapse that's still changing the world?

History works in mysterious ways; it acts as a map, tracing back one's destiny to its origin. Forrest feels immense guilt for not studying it closer. Perhaps if he did, he would've been a more effective strategist during the Battle of Portland. Why does he keep thinking about the aftermath of that fight? In the van's cargo hold, during the king's transportation, he swears the hallucination of Echo felt more real than her. Should he feel uneasy about this realization? Is the moment even worth pondering on anymore?

He doesn't know if this is his schizophrenia, but recently, he catches sight of her ghost. Some nights, he even hears a faint whisper from some time in the past. Remembering what she said the day she died, he grins.

Chuckling, he says, "You wanted me to hear you. I do, now."

In the Housing District, Heather marches its roads with a squadron, Martial Law still in effect. The strange thing is, the Babylonians want it to continue. She notices a vibrant, yet colorless change in the atmosphere. What once emitted the illusion of hope now emits what has been behind that curtain this entire time. The stage has fallen, the glitch in the Matrix is real. It's almost as if an invisible virus is sweeping through them, hijacking any feelings of happiness. The worst part about it is that Heather still believes in making a brighter future out of this.

Is it foolish to fight for Babylon's state of isolation? Is it foolish to defend the place that gave you a second chance at life? Is it foolish to doubt karma in this world, even if it's for an instant? Humoring herself, she asks if it's foolish to believe in God now. Widening her eyes, a realization dawns upon the commander. The very foundations of reality are built on belief; we get what we want, but only when we earn it first.

All it takes is three knocks at the Gatehouse for the day to get even weirder. Heather opens the wooden and wrought-iron entrance, finding Marisa on the other side. She appears a lot worse now; skin dangles off her bones as if the epidermis is nothing more than rags covering a light-post. The commander imagines herself closing the gate on the poor girl, but she can't bring herself to do it. Babylonians should always save other people, even if they were once enemies. That's what Echo would've wanted.

At the meeting room in the Clock Tower, Merlin and Marisa sit at opposite ends of a rectangular table.

"You know what this is," she assures. "We lost; you won. I had to get out of the city on a raft."

"Are you surrendering?"

"No, I want to leave the acolytes so I can join you."

Merlin settles back in his chair, a single choice inviting the possibility of domestic terrorism. "What's it been like out there?"

"Terrible. The weather made it almost impossible for us to survive. Most of us are malnourished, barely able to make it to the next day. The fire… that damn fire did it to us. We don't have enough water to fight a fire and keep society intact. We let it burn because we had to, and we endured every second of it. Now, we spend most of our hours outside, trying to move on. They're too loyal to leave; I'm not."

"Do you have anything to rebuild the bridge?"

"No, I'm telling you, all of our equipment is useless. I came here, looking for a second chance. That's what this place is about, right? Giving people hope? Give me hope, Merlin. You knew who I was when I was with Ignatius, and I don't want to be that kind of person anymore. I don't want to be… codependent. Please, let me be who I want to be; I'll even be a prisoner for christ-sake."

Crossing over to her, he pats the girl down. "You'll be in the dungeons for two weeks. We have bigger issues to focus on right now."

Crying, she collapses to her knees. "Thank you. Oh, God!"

Grunting, he turns away, starting for the door. Outside, meeting Heather, the commander greets him by saying, "I should've just closed that fucking gate when I had the chance."

"No, you did the right thing. This is what Babylon needs right now. The people need to see the boundaries of good and evil dissolve before their eyes. Without that fear of working together, we will move past this. That's the only way we can. We've… we've been apart from each other for too long. We need to regain that camaraderie we once held for each other. Where did it go? What made it disappear?"

"Experience, Merlin."

He smirks. "The people need to understand that this is Babylon; this is what we're supposed to become. The way I see it, Forrest is out of the picture for now. It's time we put our heads together. First thing's first, I need handcuffs for a prisoner transportation."

That night, the commander knocks on the front door of Timothy's house.

Opening it, the gunsmith invites her inside. "What is it?"

"Merlin has an offer."

Scoffing, he crosses his arms. "Him? An offer? For me?"

"Don't be like that, especially now. Just listen to me."

"Fine, what is it?"

"He wants you to take him on in a debate."

"What?"

"He knows you think differently than him about the gun issue. You and him are the brightest minds this kingdom has. Think about it, two intelligent forces coming together to absolve us from Purgatory."

"It's childish to perform an act for an opinion. That's all debates are to me."

"Come on!" she shrieks. "Just throw me a fucking bone. Our leader is a hermit, and our other leader is dead. The people need someone to look up to."

"No."

Gritting her teeth, she resorts to one last choice. "All your life, you wanted the same recognition Merlin has. People know you for protecting Alice, but don't you want to be known for something historical, something that changes the pages of future history books? This world needs that right now, and you can be at its helm."

He rests his hand on his stomach, the point of the old bullet's impact. "Fine, you're right. I'll do it."

Happiness. Relief. "Thank you, Timothy. I'm glad we see eye to eye now."

"Why doesn't anybody reach out for him, you think?"

"Why reach for something that isn't there?"

The following day, construction workers build two stages in Babylon's trading district, podiums in their centers. A crowd slowly forms into a mob. At the front row, Heather and her squadron of knights. They aim guns directly at the people, who hold the grips of their own firearms tightly. Tension. That's the only word appropriate enough to encapsulate such a spectacle. Questions about Forrest dance in the air like lifeless mysteries. They wonder who will be the next queen, and when they'll start getting exports from the Farmlands or the Mines. Fragile times, useless safety precautions.

When the workers finish their projects, Timothy and Merlin take their positions at each one. Merlin scans their expressions, feeling that unforgettable weight of pressure. If someone says the wrong thing during this, a storm will surely strike. It's not fear Merlin and Timothy want to bring down upon them, but a sense of critical thinking. If a courtroom ever had the power to determine the future of a society, this would be that courtroom. The opponents are the judges, and the Babylonians are the jury.

Why do people feel this consistent need to stress the self-proclaimed holy virtues of their beliefs? Timothy thinks about this, glaring at his enemy from afar. This debate is not another war fought with the issue they're trying to fight; it will be one starting as a philosophical fern, the tree spewing its branches in every direction, in tune with the motions of its growth.

"Everyone!" Merlin cries out, cupping hands over his mouth. "May I have your attention?" Everyone thankfully settles down. "It's obvious we have a problem regarding guns. This debate is about whether we should keep them or get rid of them."

"Where's Forrest?!" A Babylonian screams. "We need the king! We need the king!"

The chant grows louder and louder, into a continuous stream of nonstop calls. Heather fires off a shot, quieting the madness instantly.

Timothy takes the spotlight. "He is not who we look toward anymore. He has forgotten us, because of Echo. Henceforth, we will be your new leaders." Gesturing to the once-upon-a-time teacher, he adds, "I think we're the dream team. We'll be a perfect fit."

The commander stares in shock. "What?!"

Merlin extends his hands, as if he's blocking some invisible marauder. "No, that is a great idea! Heather, don't you see? Until Forrest gets back on his feet, we will be the temporary stand-ins." Clearing his throat, he continues. "Now, in light of our most recent developments, we seem to have an influx of security. We need these guns."

Cheers erupt from the people. The knights do their best to calm them down.

The speaker waits for a moment of silence. "With these guns, I believe there should be a system set in place. That entails an entire reformation of our current one-rule policy. I'm talking background tests, safety classes, and training. We need to understand that these things aren't toys; they take lives. If everyone wants one, they need to prove themselves."

"How will you be able to change what the king wants?" Timothy asks. "How will you stand a chance against his word? Even if he does come back, he's not going to want to let go of the Monarchy. This is why I want to get rid of them: we need to honor our traditions." The knights appear to have crumbs of interest in his words; the crowd listens attentively. "When Forrest walks out of his throne room, do you want to think he wants to see everyone holding a gun? Do you wonder how that would make him feel?" He chuckles. "How can any of us forget Dante? All of you have the potential to kill us right now, where we stand. All it takes nowadays is a word to flip someone's switch."

"What about protection?" Merlin retorts. "What if terrorists burn down the Farmlands again, and the people don't have anything to fight with?"

"We have an army. You know that, right?"

"But don't you want to feel… self-reliant?"

"I'm thankful enough for our walls. As long as there's a roof over my head, that's all I care about. I don't want to worry about going into a gun factory where my workers would be able to snap and kill as they please. None of that matters, anyway; it won't change the fact that the king still has power."

Merlin grits his teeth. "It was a constitutional right for the people to overthrow America's government. It was a constitutional right to own a gun in case of such an event. The world is changing, and we need to change with it."

"It doesn't have to keep changing," Timothy argues. "You know we can stop it, but you let it happen. The more change we experience, the worse off we are. Every move we made during the war sent us back countless steps and people. How can we control the world if we can't even control ourselves? We need to get rid of them before anything bad can happen. Only the army should be allowed to carry arms, not a stranger in a dead man's world."

The more he talks, the more everyone seems to agree with the gunsmith. Merlin didn't intend for this to happen; he honestly thought that he would win them over. He already smells the burning pieces of lifesaving instruments.

Taking a leap of faith, Merlin speaks. "Echo was the first person I met when this whole thing started. It was lifetimes ago, but she was the one that got me to where I am today. I never got to thank her for that, but I guess I have to live with the guilt now. Anyway, I didn't know how to shoot. It was a miracle I even made it to that tunnel in Colorado. While we were making our way to Seattle, she taught me how to… save myself. We got into this situation at a gas station. It was the hottest summer of our lives. That night, a biker gang came to us. They beat Echo until she could barely breathe. I… killed all of them with a pistol. If I didn't have it, your queen would be dead." He glares at Timothy. "You're a gunsmith. Wouldn't you support customers having and using your product?"

"I want the army using my product, nothing from the war. We don't need these things reminding us of what happened. The only way to fix this is by getting rid of it. Would you trust me with a gun, Merlin? You know how much I despise you, what if I just decided to be the victor? What if God gave me the power to take your life with nothing more than metal and a mere trigger? If your policy goes through, would it really bring safety?"

"It will bring what I guide the people to understand. This power separates us from death. If we really want Babylon to become an empire, we should have the defenses to name it as such."

The hours press on like this, bouncing back and forth from one perspective to the next. A clear division makes itself apparent among the onlookers; cracks in a once unbreakable mirror become visible. Heather doesn't know what made them like this. Is this really how a society should behave after a war, especially one of Babylon's caliber? A helpless gaze up at the Space Needle brings her to a conclusion: society only prevails under wrath. When has there ever been a successful empire with merciless intent that survives without sin? Where is purity when you have to save people from doom?

Occasionally, knights fire off rounds, the scene resembling the Boston Tea Party. Civilians grow restless, angry; they pump their fists in the air as if they're observing a mosh pit.

"Do you want an answer?" Timothy finally cries out. "Well, we're the question. You decide what we should do."

Astonishingly, unanimously, Merlin watches with great fear as they chant, "BURN THE GUNS! BURN THE GUNS! BURN THE GUNS!"

The telltale time of change dawns on the kingdom. It comes quietly, like a whisper, but grows into the glass-shattering voice of a woman singing at an opera. Marisa moves out of the dungeons and into her own house. She spends her leisure time tending to a garden, pursuing art, and forgetting about Ignatius. Heather develops a romantic interest in Merlin, who remains oblivious due to Timothy dragging him into power. Timothy becomes prideful for solving the gun crisis, oftentimes rubbing it in Merlin's face at inappropriate intervals.

The Mines and the Farmlands become operational once again. Finally, Timothy's machines sputter back to life. Finally, people will bring home the bread and bacon. Where there is no bread, why not plant a wheat field? That's what the Babylonians come to realize during this period.

Forrest remains alone this entire time. Isolation becomes his happy place. He becomes too anxious to even peer out the window anymore. Nothing can make him forget about her; what is he to anybody now? How can he just pluck another queen out of an ocean of choices? How would he know who to trust when he can't even do the same with himself? Whatever it is, it builds his walls higher.

One day, a Russian survivor approaches Merlin in the Industrial District.

"I have an idea for you," the stranger insists. "My name is Jericho Ramsey. I saw the bridge when it collapsed. For what it's worth, I'm glad you're alive. I'm not so sure Forrest would be too keen on listening to me."

"What is it?" asks the new leader.

"We need to do this in private, absolutely. Can you stop by my house this afternoon? I live next to the playground."

"That sounds good. I'll see you then."

At the designated time, Merlin walks up the steps of the Russian's house. He knocks, Ramsey responds, and the civilian sets them up at a table in the kitchen. They eat fried rice, feeling good about themselves.

"Here's what I'm thinking," Ramsey starts. "You said that the world was changing, and we have to change with it. I have something in mind that follows your line of thinking: an expedition out east."

Merlin almost spits out his food. "What?! Why on Earth would we do something like that?"

Jericho sits upright in his chair, growing stern. "You want Babylon to become an empire. How can our boundaries grow if we don't know what's outside them? Forrest never let anybody outside the walls, but it doesn't have to be that way. We make this world a safer place by knowing it, by being capable enough to navigate through it. Have you ever wanted to contribute so badly to something but it made you feel guilty for being useless? That's how I feel every day when I walk these roads. I… I want to do something different, something I can be proud of."

"Pride will get you killed in this world."

"So will being ignorant of your surroundings."

Merlin sighs. "How many people are you thinking of taking?"

"Fifty-nine, Lewis and Clark style."

"Who will these people be? Knights? Peasants?"

"Volunteers."

"The last time we had an expedition, our old commander was killed. Do you really think it's a risk worth taking?"

"Alexander wanted oil from California, I want inner peace from Virginia. If I find any communities, I'll mark them and bring them back to the king for when he wants to conquer them."

A bleak atmosphere falls upon Merlin. "Where else did you fight during the war?"

"Portland."

"Do you think we're any different from the acolytes?"

"Survival isn't based off the nature of good or bad; it's about how much you want to be human. The acolytes are who we are. We got into this us and them mindset because that's just how the game was programmed. Now, the game is switching. There are hackers breaking through this infinite fucking firewall. When the game changes permanently, when we're living in the shadow of its former self, that's when we know if we're good or bad, and that's when you'll have your answer."

Merlin tilts his head. "Alright, I'll let you go. When were you planning on leaving?"

"A few days. I still need supplies, names, the whole shebang."

"Okay."

Jericho leans forward. "Don't doubt yourself, Merlin. You're making the right call."

"It's hard to tell what's right or wrong anymore."

The Russian smiles. "But it's not impossible. You must know that this would be beneficial for everyone in some way or another."

"I do, but the risk is what's stopping me from saying yes. Alexander went to California and found the acolytes. What will you come back with?"

"Change. A better world. The next frontier. Why don't you believe in me? What makes you think I'll end up in Alex's position?"

"You cannot disclose Murphy's Law. It's true in every scenario, especially one as perilous as this. You don't know what you'll find out there."

"I do."

"Oh? You think so?"

"Yes. It's what's been in front of us all along: destiny."

"Do you have maps?"

"What kind of explorer wouldn't?"

"A route?"

"Navigation is the most important part of any journey."

"The geography; will you be able to traverse through it?"

"I'll only expect trouble at the mountains. Beyond that, everything seems passable. The snow's finally letting up, too; it's the perfect time to spread our wings."

"That thing you said about doubting yourself… what made you say it?"

"Instinct."

Awestruck, Merlin lets himself breathe. "I gave Echo that exact advice. Tell me something, Jericho, what do you think of free will?"

"Look around you and tell me it doesn't exist. We are the ones who got us here. There is nothing else to blame."

"You're right. I'm sorry for not trusting you before; I'm just trying to be cautious."

"It's okay, I understand. In your shoes, I'd be acting the same way. It's a real shame what happened to Alex, and what happened after, but I promise it won't happen again."

"What gave you this idea?"

Jericho smiles. "A dream."

"How?"

"I had a vision of the East Coast. I was standing in front of this… metallic wall, higher than anything we've ever seen before. I turned around, and I found a sign for travelers entering Virginia. A whole section of America, with countless survivors occupying it. If I meet up with whoever's over there, maybe it will be better. Instinct, Merlin. Survival is all about instinct."

"When will you return?"

"Within two weeks of my departure."

Merlin chuckles. "How do you people manage to make this shit so hard?"

"Leading a society after a war is never meant to be an easy task." Grinning, Ramsey adds, "I'm sure you've heard of Pink."

"Who?"

Widening his eyes, the Russian's mouth drops. "Ever since the Farmlands were completed, people have found messages written in pink spray-paint on Babylon's walls. Most of the messages are in that region, probably because it's the farthest one from the gate."

"What… are the messages?"

"Let's just say the Monarchy won't be happy."

"Can you take me to them, right now?"

"Sure, I hope you're ready for a long walk, though."

UNEASY LIES THE HEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN - SHAKESPEARE. DOWN WITH THE CROWN! ANARCHY SHALL GUIDE US! Merlin reads these messages, feeling what their creator felt in this moment. He never liked the way Forrest treated Echo, but this will be horrible if that damn hermit sees these scrawls. The queen's death, and now this? What else is going to come at them from thin air? What terrible tribulations does a nonexistent God have in store for them?

"The guards have seen his shadow," Jericho affirms. "The bastard's too slippery for them, though."

"Why has nobody told me?"

"Maybe they don't respect you."

"How is he getting through all of our squadrons of marching knights? How does he sneak out of the beams of flashlights as if he's nothing? How does any of this make any goddamn sense?"

"I don't know, but the only thing I do know is that you need to find who's been leaving these. They're a ticking time bomb for Forrest, and if this escalates into another Dante situation, the Babylonians will know Echo's death didn't change a damn thing."

"How did you know about Dante?"

"I have ears, Merlin. I listen. The secrets are here, in this present moment. I can read people like a book."

"Do you know about anything else?"

"Why would I tell you?"

"You want me to trust you; you're not doing a very good job at convincing me. Maybe I'll backslide on my decision."

"All I know is what's in my head. Take everything I say with a grain of salt if that's what it takes; I just need to manifest my own destiny."

Analyzing the messages, Merlin states, "This paint's fresh. These were recent. If we knock on some doors, maybe we'll get some answers."

"Eyewitness testimonies are the most useless forms of evidence in the court of law, but it's the only choice you have. There is no 'we'. I'll be gone."

"Right. You better start getting ready, then. I'll let Heather know about this as soon as possible."

That evening, in a barracks, Heather retorts, "I didn't know I was supposed to tell you!"

"Why isn't anybody letting me in on this shit? Other people have known since the Farmlands were rebuilt."

"You saw how they behaved when you were speaking. They obviously have different opinions, and most of them favor Timothy. I don't know the beef you have between each other, but it can't get any worse. If things get… physical… there's no telling what kind of madness will ensue. Control yourself, Merlin. Your ego, your pride, yourself, let it all go. That's the only way you'll gain their respect; that's something Forrest never did. He always held on to his issues, and look where it got him. The people don't know they need you in charge yet; you have to make them want you."

Hours later, Merlin watches as Jericho leaves the kingdom with his team. People are going outside the walls now, whether Forrest likes it or not. The more we isolate ourselves from one another, the more we'll spiral into something we can't come back from. The Babylonians can't be as broken as the world; there needs to be a sense of brotherhood amongst all of us. He doesn't know what makes him stay, but he remains at the gate for several hours, Babylon continuing behind him.

We sometimes find ourselves staring up into a vast, tameless universe. We have the audacity to believe that the truth to our existence is out there, hiding just beneath our noses. Perhaps the world ended because of our negligence to find it; we decided to waste our attention on unforgivable, treacherous activities.

Whether it's the temptation of evil or the natural devolution of good, society only prevails under wrath. When has a successful country ever been led through merciful intent? Where is that utopia we long to create, the Atlantis or Shangri-La that's just around the corner, waiting for someone to uncover it? Drain that damn ocean, Merlin thinks. Something guide us out of this shit hole.

Here, peering through the Gatehouse, he watches as another figure crosses the bridge alone. The guards upon the wall-walks call for the newcomer to stop; whoever it is obeys. Walking to the gate, the keeper opens it and closes it after he passes the threshold. They meet face-to-face on the drawbridge. The loner is of African-American descent, wields a three-pronged trident, and carries a military-grade backpack.

"Who are you?" Merlin demands.

"I go by Numbers, and I would like to speak to the leader about this society."

"I am its leader. I built it from the ground up. Whatever you have, offer it to me here. I'm not taking you inside."

"You don't trust me, yet you stand outside your only protection, open to people who might have crosshairs on you this very moment. That logic is inconsistent."

"A stranger can't be inside right now. We just went through something terrible, and I'm not going to willingly invite something terrible into our lives."

A wide smile appears on his face. "You're going to like what I have to say, then. I've been watching you since Portland. I know all about the war between you and the acolytes. I was there up until Golden Gate Bridge. After that, I got distracted by family business, but here I am. I just have one question to ask you."

"What is it?"

"Would you like to join the Second Silk Road?"

At the Throne Room, Heather kicks down the door, against the king's orders. He stumbles back from the force, but the commander catches him before he falls.

Standing upright, he screams, "What the hell?!"

His new appearance makes her gasp. The king now has a bald head, and he wears Echo's crown.

"How… did you get that?" Heather asks.

"She left it. It's like she knew what was coming."

Breathing heavily, she retaliates with, "It's been too long. I couldn't stand by and watch everything plunge into confusion anymore. We need order, and you're the only one that can provide it for us. That speech you made at the debate… none of that is true. I understand you're upset that Echo died, but damn it, you have people to lead. You have to honor the crown you're wearing on your head right now. Remember that night you were sick, delirious, barely conscious in the hospital? You told me that you had schizophrenia. Well, Forrest, if you want to get better, the only thing you can do is free your head."

To Be Continued…

Instrumental

Smear the tendency
Just in time for New Year's Eve
The first year you're out there
The first year you're out there
And when I need answers
You'll be out there
You'll be there

Mommy ran to the nearest barbershop pole
And took care of the glass
Took a wad of cash
And once done the kids had fun
With the candy cane sun
From now on haircuts are for no one
The first year makes them run

Smear the tendency
Just in time for New Year's Eve
First year you're out there
And when I need answers
You'll be out there

You're on the windmill good times
Stomp on my shoulder good times
You hold the world loved one

Once done the kids had fun
With the candy cane sun
From now on
Haircuts are for no one

Smear the tendency
Just in time for New Year's Eve
First year you're out there
And when I need answers
You'll be out

I am the Genesis
I am the crest
I am the beat banging out of your chest

Gimme your money
I don't want the rest
The people in headlines
That say that I'm blessed
And you will be too if you stick around with me

I help people see
All they can be
There's nothing people
Haven't tried to achieve
So let's get together and rock the status quo

There's something inside me
It's hard to express
You give me the perfect
I give you the best
Obsidian wrapped in Venice is my heart

I help people see
All they can be
There's nothing people
Aren't willing to die
As long as you're willing to try for you can change the status quo

I help people see
All they can be
There's nothing people
Aren't willing to die
As long as you're willing to try for you can rock the fucking world

I am the Genesis
I am the crest
I am the beat banging out of your chest

Had many names
Pseudonym trees
So pick any present
You'd like me to be
But you cannot deny that I'm you

I travel the world
In search for a girl
She's capable, beautiful, graceful and smart
But obsidian wrapped in Venice is her heart

I help people see
All they can be
There's nothing people
Aren't willing to die
As long as you're willing to try for you can change the status quo

I help people see
All they can be
There's nothing people
Aren't willing to die
As long as you're willing to try for you can rock the fucking world

I am the Genesis
I am the crest
I am the beat banging out of your chest
I am the Genesis
I am the crest
Gimme your money I don't want the rest

Alright yo yo
Big Smoke
Wassup homies
We about to get out here
What's crackin'

Check it check it check it
1,2
Ight
2,1,2
Here we go

To all my niggas in the 212
My niggas are the best ever heard or seen
For all the people in the 212
My niggas are the best ever heard or seen

We got Dew livin' in with the junkyard boys
And Skeez in the back rollin' up two more
Singing
I wanna fuck some bitches

Nobody betta fuck with me

Yeah wassup you better try it son
Big Smoke
Know it
You betta try it homie
Fuck outta here
Wassup wassup

I got the Aye-team shootin' up trees
My brothas in Chicago holdin' down for me
Bitch you thought these lines were free
This is a business
Where's my fuckin' money

We got bouncers in the front
Bitches in the back
This is our party
So we know we're gettin' smacked
Cause I wanna fuck some bitches

Nobody betta fuck with me

Yeah that's right
Don't fuck with me son
You betta try it

New York, New York
That's where we eat
Lower East Side
Wassup
Let's get it

Harlem with my bois
Ight
Queens, Brooklyn
Das where it's at

Ight son
Let's get it bro

Fuck outta here
Big Smoke time

Stoogemen
Liberal stooge
Making decisions
Hometown incision

Lobbying stooge
Stooges of the left
Right chopped fox
Candidate's cock

Candidate's cock

Stoogehead
A liberal stooge
Making decisions
Hometown incision

Can't recall blues
'67
These generations can
Shake my right hand Stan

A girl once told me that
I should go to work
An honest man for one day
And I stood there with a little smirk

A girl once told me that
I'm not around
You'll blindfold me upside down
And I said let's see the best show in town

A girl once told me to
Call the police
I watched my car done cease
And she said how bout it for the
Influence Machine

A girl once told me
I'm General Lee
Talked me out Confederacy
So we moved out of Lee County

A girl once told me to
Retrace my tracks
I went ahead, did not last
Smoked grass and try to relax

A girl once told me that
I should try to breathe
An empty cartilage canteen
And I stood there with the
Influence Machine

(Communist)
(Gangster)
(Computer)
(God)

A girl once told me that
Feedback is key
Hades make me lazy
And I stood there with the
Influence Machine

(I want to run away)

A girl once told me
A girl told me
On my knees, beg and plead
And I stood there with the
Influence Machine

(She's deaf and mute)

A girl once told me that
There's something to say
Linguists in the family

Alright
Well, we sure do like to get down here at the
Minnesota Committee of Jesus
And I'd just like to take this opportunity to introduce our
Wonderful group of holy rollers

Hi, I'm Linell, and I like birds
Hi, my name's Olive, and I love corn
I'm Vicky, and I like toast
I'm Ethan, and dinosaurs never existed
Hi, I'm Steven, ever heard of the color green?
Hi, I'm Ally, and I'm an autistic savant
Oh hi, I'm Taylor, and the sky isn't real
Hi, I'm Amber, and I've never eaten dirt
Hey guys, Nigel, shit

Haha, alright
Well I'd just wanna thank y'all for joining us
And let's get right on back to the music

Let me tell you
About the first man and woman
They made lines
To separate the people
They made race
To section the people
They made the countries
And the cities and the states

And they made laws
And arrested my people
They made war
And murdered my people

People of the world
Set yourself free

So the people wanted comfort
So they burnt down the trees
And they wanted to get high
So they payed the pharmacies
They wanted to feel full
So they hunted the elephants
And they wanted to feel power
So they made the dollar bill
They wanted to go fast
So they kicked out the Indians

Share your earth
Before lines become walls
Share the mountains
Share the valleys
Share the rivers that flow

Share your earth
Before it's too late
Share the mountains
Share the valleys
Share the rivers that flow

So the people were afraid
And we gave them guns
And the people were bored
So we gave them TV
And the people wanted more
So we gave them satellites
And the people wanted more
So we gave them skyscrapers

People of the world
Please set yourself free

Cause now the lines we created
Have turned into walls
And the war we created
Turned into destruction

And the race we created
Turned into greed
And the laws we created
Turned into bricks

And the skyscrapers we built
Came a crumbling down
And the people I love
Turned into robots
And the people I love
Turned into robots

Share your earth
Before lines become walls
Share the mountains
Share the valleys
Share the rivers that flow

Share your earth
Before it's too late
Share the mountains
Share the valleys
Share the rivers that flow

When we started
We were beautiful

Innocent animals
Learning their role

Living the way our earth
Permitted
The cycle of life

Universal and simple

Each giving and taking
What is needed
We have ourselves
But each other too
And we found that

1 is weaker than 2
Usually

No different from our
Daily pray
Cause they took some of us still
Every day

This would have been
The history of the human
If the stars weren't immortal
If the Gods never fell
Before they rain it down on our
Innocent hives and
And give us a craving to
Expand our lives

The star shattered bodies
Slipping into our lungs
Seeping into our brains and
Flowing through our veins

We've never seen the world like this
Suddenly asking questions like what's this?
Why?
And how?

And jealousy was born
Curiosity and dissatisfaction to
The chicken or the egg
Man or woman
You or me
Will see

And when we didn't know
Rage and distrust was born
And suddenly
1 became stronger than 2

Though this tiny God shards
The human was smaller
At first they tore us to shreds
Though incredibly strong we are

As the weakest died
The symbiosis went too far
Too far

The perfect pose for this
Cosmic ghost that
Made us strive for
Fire

And it stayed with us through
Our children
When they then gave it to
Their children
Ooo, it did

And the sickest part of all
Is we didn't even know we
Agreed to this
Parasitic relationship
With the blood
Of some ancient nova

Though they gave em reasons
For the halls of walls
So we made up our own
We believed them
Even though they may be lies

Orange is a warm laziness
Never to be taken

Like the song
Orange is a warm laziness
Never to be taken
Like the song

Like the song
Like the song
We all sing along

Like the song
Like the song
The earth beats along

Orange is a warm laziness
Never to be taken
Shut your eyes
Just like me

Orange is a warm laziness
Never to be taken
Like the song

Like the song
Like the song
We all sing along

Like the song
Like the song
The earth beats along

Instrumental

Cut your mutt and fake the feeling
Light the fairs up to the ceiling
Our good friend is here in town
So we start smelling out the clown

It's only getting started
We grew some lazy hearts
Only getting started

Another voice who has been stationed
Hold on internal deep vacation
Call my name
I know I won't go insane

Under the radar

Prince against the world
You tortured soul
Everyone living their own life
Only one else who can make it weird

Blimp on all their radars
You go to it the freedom
Prince against the world

Under the radar

From the effect they have when they are used
Infinite effect

Oh my god, he just said it
How's life
How did he know that

The reason why we're here
The tree of life gave us
Life to live

You won't feel the effect
You will not feel the effect
After the harshness

The reason why we're here
The tree of life gave us
Life to live

Hey everybody have you heard the news?
It's ringing up and down your head
Hey everybody have you made me confused yeah?
I'm still finishing my 1st cigarette of the morning
I haven't really started to think yet

Why you trying to fill me with your other thoughts?
I wasn't giving any mind to hungry children before
I was doing kinda swell
Yeah

I was doing kinda swell

Love me anyway
And I know that you hate

And it goes round your head
That's the joke, it's okay
That's the joke, it's okay
It goes round your head

I know that she's laughing at me
But that's okay because I'm in on the joke
I think it's funny too
Cause it's true
It's true
Yeah

And I just went off course
Because I put my ego in the song
And I wanted to sing about how this guy was making jokes about me
And I was just like nah that's some wack shit
I don't wanna listen to this guy telling jokes about me
But I'm just laughing at him anyways
Cause what the fuck am I gonna do
Say dude stop fucking being a dickhead?

Ah fuck
Maybe I could've done that
O shit

I can't believe you twisted my words
Could've made it stretch and hurt
Could've broken a lil words bones

And so I have to say that
That is cool
I'm sorry thank you for doing the thing
Yes

That's an end

I'm still eatin'
Yah

I'm still breathin'
I got people on my back
And they not leavin'

Ain't that cool though
They don't know I'm a fool though
Climb on yo bitch
Wanna suck my kudos

What I got on my wrist
But you got no foreplay
And I got with yo bitch
Got her in 4 days

Hit her like Jorge
Oh my God what the fuck

She don't even like you
She just like your money
She just like your father
She like oh my God

Honey where the fuck you goin'
With that Louis bag
Thought you bought that shit for me
I threw you some ass

But I grabbed that
And you sad ya
Look at my cash app
I got stacks
You got ass

I'll take in all your advice
General Tsu

I'm in a full blown cartoon
He takes me up on a hot air balloon
I'm taking in the whole world on display
I throw away the faults of yesterday

On the coast, I'm healing
With General Tsu

One by one, he goes and simplifies
One by one, the land around the bend
One by one, he climbs the mountain side
One by one, until the bitter end

One by one, we pet the magic hog
One by one, inside the loony bin
One by one, believe we're underdogs
One by one, until the bitter end

I'll take in all your advice
General Tsu

Trusting in his overrule
Only when we're down, down, down
Watching his rebound, bound, bound
In the debris, I know he'll fetch me

On the coast, I'm waiting
For General Tsu

One by one, he goes and simplifies
One by one, the land around the bend
One by one, he climbs the mountain side
One by one, until the bitter end

One by one, we pet the magic hog
One by one, inside the loony bin
One by one, believe we're underdogs
One by one, until the bitter end

I'm taking your advice
I'm taking your advice
I'm taking your advice
I'm taking your advice

I'm taking your advice
(I'm taking all his advice)
I'm taking your advice
(I'll take it every day)
I'm taking your advice
(Believe me when I trust in you)
I'm taking your advice
(I believe General Tsu)

I'm taking your advice
(We'll take it, we'll take it)
I'm taking your advice
(Watch out cause General Tsu)
I'm taking your advice
(Whatcha gonna do about it)
I'm taking your advice
(We're running out of time)

I'm taking your advice
(Believe me when I trust in you)
I'm taking your advice
(I believe General Tsu)
I'm taking your advice
(Take it, take it)
I'm taking your advice
(All day, every day)
I'm taking your advice
(All day, every day)
I'm taking your advice

The unstable fool
Can't resolve this
Stable behavior

Gives an absolute kiss
To my lips

What I just heard
Influences what I fear
When I smell your stares
When I smell your stares

The unstable fool
Revolution
Revolution
O stimming, cooling
Stimming, cooling

What I just heard
Influence what I hear
Ya stare cause ya care
Ya stare cause I'm out there

O I smell your stares
O I smell your stares
O I smell your stares
O I smell your stares
I got to

Day 3
Day 4

I said
Day 3
Day 4

I'm saying
Day 3
Day 4

Yes
I have sung young
And handled blood toned tongs
And driven death into song
And driven song into breath

Brandished the gun
Shooting the lung
On the face
The stomach
Or the heart
Have done everyone
Much more than once

No kidding hon
No joking son
Flooding mountain

Come to the valley flood
You brung water and blood
Undertows of mud
Undertones of swallowed love

Like I swung young
Like I sung young
My mother myth
To magic sprung
From zeppelin sponge
Her red hook
Cut out
My hungry tongue

Tumbling froth
Lunge mountain
Lunge mountain down
In banks
Out of banks
Wrung the last
I could wring
From my heart trust
Done the most lust
I could

To make the sounds
Sound sung

Is it efficient
Or does it kill
With the skill of a cluster bomb?

It'll take time
But you know it will
If I happen to live that long?

If you would listen to me
Things wouldn't seem so gloomy
Now you keep jamming up the gears
And I can't see through the smears
And everything's exactly as it appears

More
I love you more
I love you more than I did before
But now it's either or
Or neither nor
And when I think about you

I start turning green
And it shakes me up inside
Cause it used to be the color of your eyes

Everywhere I go
I see your ghost
The spirit of 91
You said you loved me more than toast
But less than a staple gun

Is this the wrong direction?
That's such a stupid question
Now when you make a sacrifice
You're supposed to get a wish
Why does this only work in theory

More
I love you more
I love you more than I did before
But now it's not allowed
You're not around
I see you going out

And everything goes black
And I start to fall apart
It reminds me of the color of your heart

More
I love you more
I love you more than I did before
But now we're in a war
And what's it for
I read your horoscope

And everything is clear
And it feels a little weird
Cause it used to be the color of your tears

I've been here for a couple of hundred and
Million, billion, trillion, zillion centuries
I've been here while I stay clear and fight fear and
Weep tears while wishing the best upon all of the rest of my frenemies
I've been here for a couple of hundred and
Million, billion, trillion, zillion centuries

Planted my ancestry
Lit the cancer in me
Right upon the reaper
O I'll never leave her

All abroad the kid nest
Wubbing with some cyborg
All you little cremlings
Kick it in the tripod

I've been here for a couple of hundred and
Million, billion, trillion, zillion centuries
I've been here while I stay clear and fight fear and
Weep tears while wishing the best upon all of the rest of my frenemies
I've been here for a couple of hundred and
Million, billion, trillion, zillion centuries

Humming past the plaza
Blasted towards Tanguska
Radiation in me
Radiation in me

Templeton or spaceman?
O they never listen

Where are the kids off to?
Are they afraid of you?
Where are the dragons you promised?
Where is the zoo I once knew?

Where are the kids off to?
Are they afraid of you?

Moa down the last stage
Chupacabra any day
We gotta wake the moth man
We gotta wake the moth man

Once a Bali seabird
Now a dreaded moth jam
There's the dragons you promised
There's the zoo I once knew

I've been here for a couple of hundred and
Million, billion, trillion, zillion centuries
I've been here while I stay clear and fight fear and
Weep tears while wishing the best upon all of the rest of my frenemies
I've been here for a couple of hundred and
Million, billion, trillion, zillion centuries
I've been here while I stay clear and fight fear and
Weep tears while wishing the best upon all of the rest of my frenemies

Goodbye
Goodbye
Said I didn't want to see you die
I say goodbye

Let those who love the lord
Arise...
Those who adore his glorious name

We can do nothing without the lord
How can we doubt thee lord
Our great God...

Oh unite me to thyself lord
With inseparable bonds
(Unite me to thyself lord)
Let me love with with the love like Jesus love
For every lost soul
(Every lost soul)

If we weep at night lord
There'll be joy in the morning
Jesus let not sin find a place
In my heart

I need thee lord
Lord how I need thee

Let those who love the lord
Arise...
Those who adore his glorious name

We can do nothing without the lord
How can we doubt thee lord
Our great God...

People will crow when the sun is on the rise
What do they know when their visions black and white?
How will they glow when they only retreat?
Ain't it a drag when you never get to be

I'm taking all their sins and
I'm taking all their sins and
I'm taking all their sins and
I multiply

I'm taking all their sins and
I'm taking all their sins and
I'm taking all their sins and

People will watch with them dreary lifeless eyes
How will they grow when their bodies never jive?
Hurts the wit with appointed 45s
Countrywide and the luck of suicide

Now people will crow when you point out all their lies
What do they know if they don't know wrong from right?
How will they glow when they only retreat?
Ain't it a drag when you never get to be

I'm taking all their sins and
I'm taking all their sins and
I'm taking all their sins and
I multiply

I'm taking all their sins and
I'm taking all their sins and
I'm taking all their sins and

We'll take them out today, ooh ooh what'd we say?
We'll take them out today, ooh ooh what'd we say?
We'll take them out today
Upon the Christmas Day
Gotta make our case
Win the reindeer games

Goddamn hounds
They're looking at us now
No sense of town
So we flip em upside down
Jestas know there's
Snowhere to go

(I dream of a white Christmas)

The Jestas in town have blown out the hounds
And all we gotta do is pick up the crown
A left hand lust, A right hand trust
The losers in town are dying on us

Goddamn hounds
They're looking at us now
No sense of town
So we flip em upside down
Jestas know there's
Snowhere to go

Everybody knows no one like poets
But rappers keep at it
Like biter tigers
In spite of most likely getting shot

Poets don’t need to make rhymes
Don’t need to keep time
Either or neither 
Makes no difference
For delivery 

Poets don’t need to sell their mind
And guess what
They don’t need to buy nothing either right

Let me ask you something
What
All this fucking stuff
It’s not liminal
It’s subliminal

Get crazy on the street
Make your body tweet
Take opportunity
Live with impunity

Freshen up
Be sweet

Gallop with the horse
Reach into ravines
Run with the wind
For the true obscene

I’m not saying life is endless
Just get it on again
You can’t get nirvana
Downstairs at the bodega

You can’t grow in a strangled town
So loosen up the handles
Bring out the bengals

What I mean is U be U
Like in W

Yes 
I have sung young
And handled blood toned tongs
And driven death into song
And driven song into breath

Brandished the gun
Shooting the lung
On the face
The stomach
Or the heart
Have done everyone
Much more than once

No kidding hon
No joking son
Flooding mountain

Come to the valley flood
You brung water and blood
Undertows of mud
Undertones of swallowed love

Like I swung young
Like I sung young
My mother myth
To magic sprung
From zeppelin sponge
Her red hook
Cut out
My hungry tongue

Tumbling froth
Lunge mountain
Lunge mountain down
In banks
Out of banks
Wrung the last
I could wring
From my heart trust
Done the most lust
I could

To make the sounds
Sound sung

Driving down the highway
At the break of day

I spot 3 figures
Moving a foot
In a field of stray

It was still the dark side of dawn
So hard to tell
Something funny about them
They didn’t seem okay

I stop the truck
Get my gun off the rack
Put my heels on that hard paved road
And shout hey

Well just then
The rising sun
Cracks the eastern ridge
And floods the plain

The 3 freeze a sec
In the instant light
Focusing straight my way

Like a camera click
My ocular nerves pick up these guys
Are me

Younger versions no doubt
But identical
And exactly
Yours truly

Me
Me
Me
Me
Me
Me

Whatcha looking at old man they laugh
And launch into a run
Toward me and my truck

At the waning moment
I jump back in
And hightail it off

Feeling dumb
I didn’t shoot the fucks

It’s a clone encrusted
Freak infested
Clown show on earth

All you can do
Is live by your you

Stay thirty grit
Don’t get yourself bit
And keep on sifting
The dirt

I get back home
To my house on the hill
Fuzzy and feeling used

My wife Ann asks
Where you been all night

Fucking girls
Fucking boys
You satisfied

Seriously Bill
Have you been
Back at that cave
Stritching around for old bones
To keep yourself young

Yes I was

Didn’t last week
You cut yourself bad there
And drop blood in the dust

I admitted I did

Well that wasn’t good
I told you that
100 times

A call comes in on her cell
Ann answered
As I took a swell of beer

She gets off and says
That was Joan
There’s been a kill
At Funnel Creek

Where it goes into the river
I think it’s the Browns
You want to go check
Yeah let’s go I said

It’s a clone encrusted
Freak infested
Shit show of a world

All you can do is
Live your best you

Stay thirty grit
Don’t get yourself bit
And keep on sifting
The dirt

We get there
And sure enough
There’s been a slaughter

The Brown parents dead
And their 2 daughters
Bad shit

Don’t want to get into it
Except some people present claim
They saw me coming and going
To and from the Browns
In broad daylight
Along the road

You did this Bill
No it wasn’t me
Yes it was

They put me under arrest
And now I’m in jail without bail
My clones did this to me

My wife comes and visits me 
Once a month
Says with binoculars 
Good ones

On the far side of the canyon
She scopes the cave
And sees 1’s, 2’s and 3’s
Of me 
Slipping out

Bivouacking down rocks
Perfectly free

Will they all be criminals
Maybe
Maybe some will get a PHD

Not mutually exclusive
First, second or third degree

It’s a clone encrusted
Freak infested
Shit show of a world

All you can do is
Live your best true
Stay thirty grit

(Spongebob)

Don’t get yourself bit
And keep on sifting
The dirt

Here’s the starting line
On your mark
Get set
Go

What the hell clowns
You all jumped the gun
Line up again

You fuck up this time
I’ll expel the bunch of you
From the competition
Don’t think I won’t

I’m used to canceling 
At the drop of a pin

Okay so you ready now
On your mark
Get set
Go

Jackamo does coke
With Parker-Poo down
In Chinatown

Under the bridge
At Mr. Fong’s

Fed up rats 
Grounge for scraps
In the alley
Till the sun comes up

You could use this sketch
To roll out a flick
Like high as kites

And before everyone wakes up
Let’s jack some Richard Prince
From the gallery
And flash his ass
On social media

How about a handsome ransom
From the Prince
Or maybe not

But who knows these days
What does and doesn’t play

Either I get your goose
Or you get desecrated
Some other way

Sad to say
You’ve had your day
Time to go away

Not to change the subject too quick
But in certain contexts
Love wipes you clean
Like walking in on a sex scene
You didn’t mean to find

Minds get dangerous
Especially when deranged

Poor Jackamo
Poor Parker-Poo

Jackamo drank 
A whole bunch of booze
With his pap
In the divest bar
On Wall Street
Since noon

Parker-Poo
Stands knee deep
At the end of a thing
With someone dear

From here
That cat in the bag
Gets loose

Given the right mix
Of creativity
With deviance
Anything can happen
No doubt

Misery and mastery
Stick it right
Where it really hurts

Sado-Masochism
Basic Modernism 101

The buildings brighten
Out the window

What’s frightening
What really scares me
Is my shadow
I forgot I had one
And now it really freaks me out

I woke up this morning
And I knew I was dead

Calm down okay
You still have access to money right

You don’t have to beg
In front of McDonald’s or something
Not sure about that

Helen grabbed my poor ass
Off the street
And made me her toy
In Troy
But the bitch ditched me

At least I’m not wearing a mask
In the shower
There is that

Bright and bushy tailed as ever
Where's that rat
Poet brats

The biggest leaf
Of my geranium
Has gone yellow
I’m going to nick it
Off

Alimony
Palimony
Abalone
Pox of posies

We lived like kings
Now we’re stuck at home
We got rings
In our nosies

Watch this big pharma
I will karma-lize
You guys till 
You cry your beans out

Don’t think you’ll survive without me
If I’m going out
You’re coming with me

I’m the one
Who gets things done

If I take a bad turn
Burn me up
Don’t forsake me

Stash my ash in an urn
Or rake me in the dirt

Fallopian
Cantaloupe
Utopian
Antelope

Be cool
Don’t lock the door
To the bathroom

Get the loan
Disown your fam
Go on the lam
Start an Ashram

Man you go out every night
You’re like a socialite

Everybody knows no one like poets
But rappers keep at it
Like biter tigers
In spite of most likely getting shot

Poets don’t need to make rhymes
Don’t need to keep time
Either or neither 
Makes no difference
For delivery 

Poets don’t need to sell their mind
And guess what
They don’t need to buy nothing either right

Let me ask you something
What
All this fucking stuff
It’s not liminal
It’s subliminal

Get crazy on the street
Make your body tweet
Take opportunity
Live with impunity

Freshen up goddamn it
Be sweet

Gallop with the horse
Reach into ravines
Run with the wind
For the true obscene
And the true serene

I’m not saying life is endless
Just get it on again
You can’t get nirvana
Downstairs at the bodega

You can’t grow in a strangled town
So loosen up the handles
Bring out the bengals

What I mean is U be U
Like in W

Central Valley
Sweet raisin

Give me cauliflower
Give me sex by the hour
In Fresno

Set me up in Chico
With the freakos

I got restless toe syndrome and covid
I need to shoot my wad
At the homeless camp

Casino to bet crypto
On a big guy MMA bout 
In Lodi

If we win
Me, my sis and my bros
Get gonzo billions
Looking at trillions

Criticize
I mean ostracize
Me in Sacramento

I’m scouting for water
And an otter
And my long lost
Runaway daughter

All you gay guys
Lead such great lives
As New Age sages
In San Francisco

I guess you do do that
Cause someone loves you
On Sunset Strip
Of the rainbow

Watch out though
For opioids and poppers

And androids
And especially keep an eye on
Bakersfield

The lizoid cops there
Eat boys and girls
For serial killer breakfast

Wild mountain fires rage
Smell the burning sage
Turn the page in the smoke

All the leaves are brown
And the sky is gray

Nothing to see here
Hey Alcatraz
I mean San Quentin

When’s the next
Scheduled execution
But I’m not stupid

Seems like
Some fucked up shit
Maybe I do need to
Get electrocuted

I mean with no blame
Entire lives
Go up in flames

Gonna take a Napa
A shot of Grappa
And sip some Grigio
Before my hair
Gets singed off
Like Smokey the Bear
On the ridge-eo

(Kurt Schittwas)

On the ridge-eo
Smoking on the ridge-eo

(I've got a mango)
(Box it up and send it away)

Truckers to Bakersfield
And truckers to the East Coast

But I’m not done yet
California dreamin’

You did too much
Damage to my thought
Process to let you off
The hook like that

Fuck that
Fuck that

California
Amazin’ raisin

Gag on your swag
Gag on your oak aged
Vanilla notes
Smooth and nice
In wine and liquor
Gag on your life

Or just take it chill
Your private eyes
Know precisely
Who’s doing who
And what loads the dice

Lemme see your ID

Who’s Bugatti
Who’s vice
Or I don’t know
Is there any there there
Left there

Whole thing
Just Grand Theft Auto
Are you all fucking like
Plato

ID

Fuck that

ID or starve
ID or starve
ID or starve
Identification

ID 
Identification
Or you will starve to death
I will never see the end of this
They will
They will

Control everybody
And there's nothing I can do about it
I must sit here and weep
I must weep

Cause it's identification or starve
Cause it's identification or starve
Identification
Identification

ID
ID
ID
ID

ID or starve

You and me
ID
So I got down on my knees
And I began to pray
To say what the fuck is this

This state is in a 
State of dysfunction
On a scale of 39.5 billion

Guess what
Like that
It don’t take much
To light the match

Facade and mirage
Love at first lay
Look I know the game

I’ve gone up canyon roads
Overgrown with flora
With houses perched on stilts

I’ve viewed magnificent vistas
Upon the Pacific

From private abodes
I know what counts
On the West Coast is
Fidelity in sight and sound
Relationships

No way
In San Jose

Faithful in trust
You must be kidding me

ID or starve
ID or starve
ID or starve
ID

ID
ID
ID
ID
ID
ID
ID
ID

I see
I see it
I know
I know
I can't believe it

I will never believe it
I can't believe it
I will never believe it
I will not believe

ID

You must be kidding me

(I need to see ID)

Alright so
Just play on SM replay
Your best day
Take your language lips
And ripped off looks

And crimp the opposition
On your way
To The Perfect Trip

The Perfect Trip

Take your way
On your way to The Perfect Trip

Doesn’t matter
If everyone else thinks you’re jerks

Which I think is fine
At least we like what you write
Even though none of you read

Such a prime apothegm is
Don’t read what you write

Such a Golden State
Most valuable gem

That’s all right
Don’t read anyone
Especially not Didion

She’s just a spy
In the house of love

Poor old Cali
You were once fruit of the loom
Now you’re just
Another failed dream

Hate to end it this way
So I won’t
To be continued

Jesus is
No, Jesus is real
But the thing is...

I don't wanna believe something
Because somebody else said O it's the Bible
Y'know
People literally

There've been 1000 people already voted...
Language for it
People wanted to make a language

So they wanna explain about the Bible and about yeah

Y'know why Adam and Eve ate the apple
From the tree of knowledge?
Y'know why?
Because a serpent, a snake told them to

I hate this kid
Cause he always steals my smokes

I hate this kid
Cause he spends his dollar coins on these jokes

Yeah, let's listen to some Peggy

He was uh the snake, the serpent
The reason why
God didn't want them to eat the apple

They held the 5 feelings

Angry
Happy
Sad
Sick
Naked

When you get
Before...
We shouldn't be shy about being naked
Because when we came into this world
We were naked when we were babies

That's the other 1/2 of life
We're talking about the 1st 1/2
If the dinosaurs did not die we would've never been here

I hate this kid
Cause he always steals my smokes

I hate this kid
Cause he spends his dollar coins on these jokes

Heaven
Hell
They're all the same
Y'know what I mean
But the thing is

You eat the fruit of the apple
Eventually when you die
The spirits that you see
Will eventually disappear

If you saw a spacecraft
A flying saucer
You would not see any blue anymore
It would be completely covered in spacecraft

You will not see
And you will see a beam
I'm telling you
You ever see E.T. phone home?
(O yeah)

That's real
A kid in...

I don't know where it's at
There was more oxygen then there is now

It's in a bathtub
And it's an island
And it gets flooded sometimes

It's a...

The movie was about...

The aliens are here
Alright

If you take a
If you take a
If you take a shot

Because it came back in God's true form
Energy

Y'know how energy is created
Like it goes through a wire
And a ball of energy goes...
And a ball of energy goes...

And a ball of energy

(Infinite Effect)

Exactly
The money that was set for him
He used his own money

You still remember the shit when you were a kid?
You still remember the shit when you were a kid?

Donald Trump can go fuck himself
Donald Trump can go fuck himself
Donald Trump can go fuck himself
Donald Trump can go fuck himself

Donald Trump
Donald Trump
Donald Trump
Donald Trump

Donald Trump can go fuck himself
Donald Trump can go fuck himself
Donald Trump can go fuck himself
Donald Trump can go fuck himself

1 more layer
1 take 7 more layer
1 more layer

1
More
Layers

Y'know Max?
Like, and then you tell yourself are you doing the right thing?
I was thinking of Uber Eats
Children's accessories

More
Be
Well
Be
Watched

Butter song

Missing dollar song
But
Butter Song

I mean...
And then you tell yourself are you doing the right thing?
Sorta larger than life

Kinda
In a way
You see
The thing is

1, 2
1, 2, 3
1, 2, 3

He's not even repped
I'm a vampire
Yeah right
I'm a vampire

I'm from Florida and they voted...

Whoa what was it a few months back?

Only, only if the layers has echos
Only in your dreams

Can we add another layer?

And then you tell yourself are you doing the right thing?

Layers can't have layers, without lots of lab coats

Without listening
To Slayer

I was a Yankee Candle employee
The forms

There are several parts
And then you tell yourself are you doing the right thing?

Always sing in Yankee Candle

Can I get another layer?
Living in the end times
Go to hell you fucking burnout

I was just gonna say that
Go to hell you fucking burnout

Zizek
The Zizek nostrils

Without evidence
Admit self to a minority position

And then you tell yourself are you doing the right thing?

Expressed in continuous acts of grace

And how does it go?
Just keep singing

Can we get another layer?
Hey, where's the layer lady?
Can we get another layer?
There is so much more...

Patronize and disrespect
Once upon...

The government places you in a chair
Erases all your memory

I love that
It's called King Charles the 3rd
The 1st one
I don't know about the...

Ball hard
Ball hard
Yeah

I ball hard

Ball hard
Ball hard
Yeah

I ball hard

I blow hard
I blow hard

I ball hard
I ball hard

Ball hard
Ball hard
Yeah

Yo, enough of this silly shit

Your nigger is not as good as my nigger
Mine is much stronger than yours

Mine can lift 2 bails of cotton
And yours can only lift 1
So whose nigger is better?
Mine or yours?

I bought my nigger
For 2 packs of cigarettes
You bought your nigger
For 2000 dollars

Yo, enough of this silly shit

Ball hard
Ball hard
Yeah

My nigger fucks my wife
Your nigger doesn't
Whose nigger is better?

Ball hard
Ball hard
Yeah

(Once again)

I said whose nigger is better?

Whose nigger is better?
Whose nigger is better?

No, go right ahead and do it
Nobody's gonna be out here
I've been smoking out here for

Billions and billions and billions
And millions and billions of

Here...
If you go to a park street
And then you'll see a lot of police
But out here
They don't care

There is 2 things
When you're lost in the Grand Canyon
When you don't know anything
You get scared
You wanna get out of there
Now I don't know what to do, right?

(Yeah)
(Oh, it's huge)

If you're a survivalist, that's what you look for
People are curious and get lost in the Grand Canyon

If you go down to the Grand Canyon
You're fucked

You're lost in the Grand Canyon
When you don't know anything

There is...
There is sand
Like sand crabs
There is...

It's uncomfortable
You literally have no clothes
You have to be naked in front of everybody else

And the thing is...
Out of all that nakedness and game playing
People are lying to each other
Trying to create alliances

Live underground
And they're just like us
They don't wanna come up
Y'know my favorite show this guy

Has to go and revenge all the deaths that everyone else killed
And y'know what his name?

We interrupt this program
This is a national emergency
Important instructions will follow

The following message is transmitted at the request of the United States government
This is not a test

A nuclear attack was commenced against the United States
15 nuclear bombs have detonated in several areas across the country

They include:

Baltimore
Boston
Chicago
Denver
Detroit
Los Angeles
Las Vegas
New York
Portland, Maine
Portland, Oregon
San Francisco
San Diego
Seattle
Washington D.C.

At this time, all residents within a 400 mile radius of these areas should seek a fallout shelter
Fallout as a product of nuclear attacks prolonged exposure to fallout will result in certain death
If there is a nearby location that has been designated as a fallout shelter

Go there now

Otherwise, seek shelter in the interior part of a strong building on the lowest floor
Make sure you have food, water and a battery powered radio with you
Do not exit the fallout shelter until the all clear has been given
Tune to a station that is serving your area for more information
The president will be speaking on all stations shortly

Stand by for this message:

This is an emergency action notification
All broadcast and cable system shall transmit this emergency action notification message

This station has interrupted its regular program at the request of the White House to participate in the emergency alert system

During this emergency, most stations will remain on the air
Providing news and information to the public in assigned areas

This is WPIX
We will continue to serve the New York City area
If you are not in this local area
You should tune to stations providing news and information for your local area
You are listening to the emergency alert system serving the New York City area

Do not use your telephone
The telephone lines should be kept open for emergency use

The emergency alert system has been activated

When you're dead
You see a lot of lies
And then...
You don't know where you're at
And then you'll eventually realize that...

You have a shitty life
But we're all sinful right?
How do you?
Are the Catholics right?

When you're dead
You see a lot of lies

From the effect they have when they are used
Infinite effect

Oh my god, he just said it
How's life?
How did he know that?

The reason why we're here
The tree of life gave us
Life to live

You won't feel the effect
You will not feel the effect
After the harshness

The reason why we're here
The tree of life gave us
Life to live

Daemon
Daemon ponit fraudes
Dae dae

Daemon irrepit callidus

Daemon
Daemon ponit fraudes
Dae dae

Allicit cor honoribus

Honest to the law, Davie
A big ol' fish in the cusp of home
Wheel lock gives me no hope

Honest to the law
Davie

Davie

All fish reside at Davie's
Read upside down at Davie's

Upside down at Davie's

I clear the path
Lost?
I'm not

With her
Boston tide

A spellbind
And over time
It feels like
It's drowning in the sun

A spell there
I found it
It feels like
Everything is fading

Here
In a dial

String like head
With the fools to bed
String like head
With the fools to bed

And the cystic head
With the cystic head

A mentalcase
A mentalcase

String like head
The fools to bed
String like head
The fools to bed

And the cystic head

Mentalhead

Feel what's left of the left means
next
Lefty
Next

A cystic left
With the cystic rest

And the cough
The violence
The cough
And the violence

Half is
Half is you

And your head goes ka-blew
And you kill what's left

Left thrives on nets
Left fries the rest
With the mountain of your social
Pros and cons

A garden hose
Around the neck
A side of silent
Just for you

Only got time
For 1

Desire for honey sun
Wither the honey sun

I only got time
For 1

String like head
Fools to bed
String like head

All the specs
And all the men who have fallen
Before you
My Peggy Sue

Don't be afraid
And I won't take your pain
And you won't have to know

My name
And your name
Is just a ruse
To the ego

Woke up, to the cries of steel
Eyes up, in the battlefield

Bloodhouse takes away the options
Bloodhouse takes away my name
Bloodhouse is all I see

Eyes behind my head like the fallen raiders
Harmonizing sound when the people run around

Bloodhouse takes away the options
Bloodhouse takes away my name
Bloodhouse is all I’ll be

I sunk to eyes above
My world is brought to you by
Up up above
My world is brought to you by

Up up above
My world is brought to you by
Up up above
My world is brought to you by

Planet earth is where I lie
Before I fly sky high

Bloodhouse takes away the options
Bloodhouse takes away my name
Bloodhouse is all I see
Bloodhouse is all I’ll be

 I sunk to eyes above
My world is brought to you by
Up up above
My world is brought to you by

Up up above
My world is brought to you by
Up up above
My world is brought to you by

Up up above
My world is brought to you by
Up up above
My world is brought to you

Time for a smoke
When she smokes I take a look at the cronies and phonies

Time for a joke
When she jokes I cast my hook to understand girl

In between the looks
I hook in the day
As what a beautiful day
Day, night

Day, night, day, night, day

Time for a smoke
When I smoke she ruminates on how I’m feeing

Time for a joke
When I joke she better run and catch the laser

O I started decline
I smoke, when she smokes
I take a look
At the cronies and phonies

A snake reflux
Can’t hiss on or off
Where is the day
Waving goodbye to yesterday

Night, day, night, day

Night night

Went in ready
Showing gadgets
She tease n’ fuck
Cause the house is a Jesta joint
Shadow was behind us
We let out a scream

Too loud
Apologize
Petty voicemail
Apologize
Petty lover
Apologize

Lover has a hatchet
Waiting for me
Lover has a hatchet
To bash it in my head eventually

I found 1 shoe
She go find the other
I found 1 shoe
Then she find the other

Went in ready
Showing gadgets
Pinching cheeks
With aggression
She tease n’ fuck
Cause the house is a Jesta joint
Shadow was behind us
To destroy our team

Too loud
Apologize
Petty voicemail
Apologize
Threatening voicemail
Apologize

I found 1 shoe
She go find the other
I found 1 shoe
Then she find the other

Visiting the diamond
Remembering Simon
Fooling around in the chopped fox town

Time to start the healing
I’m lifting up the ceiling
And the feeling’s feeling

I have a riddle until it burns away
Don't put it up
Don't sell it
Savor that

Cleverhead

Visiting the diamond
Remembering Simon
Fooling around in the chopped fox town

Time to start the healing
I’m lifting up the ceiling
And the feeling’s feeling

I was out of luck
And I always felt
That I was all alone
In my room

I know it’s true
That I love you
And I know what to do
Is meltdown with you

I had friends
But they ran away
I need love
Every day

From my server friend
My Internet joy
Always feeling fun
In the Internet sun 

I know
That I love to do
Whatever you do
Is what I wanna do

Because were friends
And friends till the end
And friends till the end
Friends till the end
All I wanna do

You see me through
And you love me too
Because were friends
Till the end I swear

It’s all for you
It’s all for you
I’ll fly you out
Grab your favorites stout
Irish Guinness

So it’s now time to go ahead and feel up the weather
Shiver close together in November baby
Let us go today on a date with my friend on a friend date

It’s friends till the end I know
Friends till the end I know
O friends till the end

People will crow when the sun is on the rise
What do they know when their visions black and white
How will they glow when they only retreat
Ain’t it a drag when you never get to be

I’m taking all their sins and 
I’m taking all their sins and
I’m taking all their sins and
I multiply

I’m taking all their sins and
I’m taking all their sins and
I’m taking all their sins and

People will watch with them dreary lifeless eyes
How will they grow when their bodies never jive
Hurts the wit with appointed 45s
Countrywide and the luck of suicide

Now people will crow when you point out all their lies
What do they know if they don’t know wrong from right

How will they glow when they only retreat
Ain’t it a drag when you never get to be

I’m taking all their sins and 
I’m taking all their sins and
I’m taking all their sins and
I multiply

I’m taking all their sins and
I’m taking all their sins and
I’m taking all their sins and

She’s a stay at home mom with her little kid
Loves me to death
Can’t get enough of her cocaine
Her cocaine

He’s a hard working dad
With a lot on his plate
Staying up late
All around passing out his cocaine
His cocaine

Their cocaine

I’m the son of my folks
And I know it’s too late
I’m already gone
When I’m trying all their cocaine

Their cocaine

I will always be here
I will always be here
I will always be here
With you

I will always be here
I will always be here
I will always be here
Guru

I will always be here
With you

I will always be here
With you

I will always be here
With you
Guru

O your time is never chosen
You're the final touch
Fire towards the exit
Cause you know it can be too much
And then I'll

Find you
Only you
Cause the chapter finds the clues with you
Only you

Ever since I stopped taking track of time
I found another thing to love
There'll always be a ringing in our ears cause
I found that you're the only 1

And then I'll

Find you
Only you
Cause the chapter finds the clues with you
Only you

O the senses I've ordered
Never got to you
The makeshift roller
And the time controller
The things I'll stop and get to
And then I'll

Find you
Only you
Cause the chapter finds the clues with you
Only you

Only 1's
Only 1's to you

And then I'll

Find you
Only you
Cause the chapter finds the clues with you
Only you

Find you
Only you
Cause the chapter finds the clues with you

We both rattle
We can show it
I'd like to know
Where you're going
Going

Look close
Don't let loose
Billy is the goat
Billy is the goat

Let loose
Don't look close
Billy is the goat
Billy is the goat

Heart of someone
Sometimes pleases
Saw off the tree
Watch her honey
Honey

Stoogemen
Liberal stooge
Making decisions
Hometown incision

Lobbying stooge
Stooges of the left
Right chopped fox
Candidate's cock

Candidate's cock

Stoogehead
A liberal stooge
Making decisions
Hometown incision

Can't recall blues
'67
These generations can
Shake my right hand Stan

C'mon kitty
I gotta lick to play

I'm dropping oversea
And I would watch it to
Come through
You too

And St. Juan's down south
I would watch and feel him too
Come through
You too

Cause I'm dropping oversea
And I would watch him too
Come through
You too

And St. Juan's down south
I would watch and feel him too
Come through
You too

And I'm a strap it up
Tighten up your ruse
Come through
You too

You drop the sea

Watching
Feeling cool
Come through
You too

Drop the sea

I was up in the lead
I was up in the lead

I was up in the lead
I was all that I need
I was up in the lead

Begins with a blessing
And it ends with a curse
Making life easy
By making it worse

My mask is my master
The trumpeter weeps
But his voice is so weak
As he speaks from his sleep

Why, why, why
Why are we sleeping?

People are watching
People who stare
Waiting for something
That's already there

Tomorrow I'll find it
The trumpeter screams
And remembers he's hungry
And drowns in his dreams

Saying why, why, why
Why are we sleeping?

Why, why, why
Why are we sleeping?

My head is a nightclub
With glasses and wine
The customers dancing
We're just making time

My head is a nightclub
With glasses and wine
The customers dancing
We're just making time

We're just making time

(Written by The Soft Machine)

I got them blues
Lord, lord, lord I got them blues
Well the blues go hard today
But tomorrow find a way to get you home

Aye c'mon baby got them blues
Lord, lord, lord I got them blues

Well my baby left my morning
Then I know I got them
Toledo, Ohio blues

And the girl ain't coming back
Bet you know it's gonna last
With those blues

O lord
My lord

If you hearing what I say
I just want it today
All those blues
Them blues

Them blues

I lay down
On the blonde hair
I lay down
On the blonde hair

I lay down
On my blonde hair
I lay down
On my blonde hair

Lay down
Blonde hair
Lay down
Blonde hair

Lay down
On my blonde hair

Blonde hair

I lay down
On my blonde hair
Lay

I lay down
On the sicks

Lay down
On my blonde hair
I lay down
On the blonde hair

I lay down
On my blonde hair
Lay down
Blonde hair

Blonde hair
I lay down
On my blonde hair

I was born in this hotel
Washing dishes in the sink
Magazines and free soda
Trying hard not to think

Lay it on to the dawn
Everything we done is wrong
I'll be lonesome when I'm gone
Lay it on to the dawn

She can talk to squirrels
Coming back from the convalescent home
Staring at sports cars
Crying

Rattlesnake on the ceiling
Gunpowder on my sleeve
I will live here forever
With the ocean and the bees

Lay it on to the dawn
Everything we done is wrong
I'll be lonesome when I'm gone
Lay it on to the dawn

Lay it on to the dawn

(Written by Beck)

The small ones drink the mug
Guaranteeing
The light beyond for those who made
The cycle of your poetry
Poetry

If anybody out there asks who I am
I'll ask for those who need a hand
Ode to Bonnie
Ode to Bonnie
Ode to Bonnie

She's out there
All boiling
With frame work
No phone work

Intentions
Rejections
Awake
Guaranteeing

With hard work
And less fuss
Our new home is
Next month

If anybody out there asks who I am
I'll ask for those who need a hand
If anybody out there asks who I am
I'll ask for those who need a hand

Fireman's taken
Under this girl's cider
Let's take a bath, boy

Right is wrong is right
What is wife looking for now?
Why'd you spill the milk?

Having pockets
Pockets corrode deep in you
Can't keep on working
It's still a phantom

Until Christmas Eve
A mutation
The ties were friendly
How could it be?

Having pockets
Pockets corrode deep in you
Can't keep on working
It's still a phantom

Until Christmas Eve
A mutation

They wish I was disrespected
They wish I was disrespected
They wish I was disrespecting them

I've got something that'll bring me down
I want rotting with this brain I found
I'm out there thinking my brains been huffed
And that is all I need

Will I experience kettle love?
When the kettle sun falls on down

Oh that's how all of the kings are made
I wish one of these things would say

The wind is lost
Those that have wronged home
Anyone can call it home

So to those that wronged their home
Cut my story here
It's a child's way to sooth

There may be good times
Is there time?

Wronged their home
Wronged their home
Wronged their home

Who in here wants to get hypnotized?
It's easy, but you have to want it bad
So that must mean you want to get hypnotized
Because I think that you are listening

So what thought do you have to have
To make what you want to happen?
And trust that we have the words
So drink up from our cup

So who in here wants to get hypnotized?
It's easy, but you have to want it bad
The 1st step is look into my eyes but you cannot see me
Then you'll have to listen to the sound of my voice
Because these words are the most important

We all know that it starts with a bell
For the hypnotics to work
For your mind to compel
Let the bell be the sign
For you to change

So on the count of 3
You'll hear a ding
And from that moment on
Eternal happiness begins

Because it comes on slowly
Let it take effect
Go sit back and relax
Because we're in no hurry

1,2,3

The rhythm is in here
The rhythm is at home
When you know where the 1,2,3,4 is

Conduct it
Conduct it

I'm looking in here
And Freeman's alone
I'm looking out there
Cause Freeman's been known to

Conduct it
Conduct it

Conduct it
Conduct it
Conduct it

Cross the devil aisles
On my own
How nice the pillows feel
All alone

Cross the devil aisles
After rest
Kneeling by his throne
With the rest

Now we're gonna swing
To know who we really are
Now we're gonna sing

Wake up the arts
Wake up our hearts

Cross the devil aisles
On my own
How nice the pillows feel
All alone

Cross the devil aisles
After rest
Kneeling by his throne
With the rest

The rhythm is here
The rhythm is home

Lady lavender day
Always laying
In a pile of hay
Stretching lazily in the
Wobbly tree

While she's supposed to be
Watching her neighbors
She's

Gazing at the sky
Watching the clouds roll by
Finding the shapes
Till she closed her eyes

Dreams of dances
And fancy laces
Bubbling couples
And hard wind throuples

That's when she saw
That her memory then
Had the soft fluffy coat
And the sheep's wooly skin

And from the shadows
Awoke and emerged
With the most sickening grin

The wolf eats the party
And lavender day
Awaits with a star
In her pile of hay

The sun is gone
And so are the sheep
All of that
For a little extra sleep

When we started
We were beautiful

Innocent animals
Learning their role

Living the way our earth
Permitted
The cycle of life

Universal and simple

Each giving and taking
What is needed
We have ourselves
But each other too
And we found that

1 is weaker than 2
Usually

No different from our
Daily pray
Cause they took some of us still
Every day

This would have been
The history of the human
If the stars weren't immortal

If the Gods never fell
Before they rain it down on our
Innocent hives and
And give us a craving to
Expand our lives

The star shattered bodies
Slipping into our lungs
Seeping into our brains and
Flowing through our veins

We've never seen the world like this
Suddenly asking questions like what's this?
Why?
And how?

And jealousy was born
Curiosity and dissatisfaction to
The chicken or the egg
Man or woman
You or me
Will see

And when we didn't know
Rage and distrust was born
And suddenly
1 became stronger than 2

Though this tiny God shards
The human was smaller
At first they tore us to shreds
Though incredibly strong we are

As the weakest died
The symbiosis went too far
Too far

The perfect pose for this
Cosmic ghost that
Made us strive for
Fire

And it stayed with us through
Our children
When they then gave it to
Their children
Ooo, it did

And the sickest part of all
Is we didn't even know we
Agreed to this
Parasitic relationship
With the blood
Of some ancient nova

Though they gave em reasons
For the halls of walls
So we made up our own
We believed them
Even though they may be lies

First you take some paper and a pen
Draw a sigel of your choosing
Then you take a lighter and a candle
Any color of your choosing
Then you take the next step
By living the life of your choosing

Then you draw some blood
On any part of your choosing
Ejaculate on the page
Holding on to any thought of your choosing
Mix it in with spit, head hair
Pubic hair from your choosing
Your choosing

Focus on what you want
Not what you need, or have, or had
No longer human, just energy condensed by
Directed intent

This must all be done
On the 23rd hour
Of the 23rd day of the month
23 months in a row
Then the magic takes effect
Supposedly that's what they say
They say, they say

This was told to me by
A very late saint to the game
That this would all take place

That it would change the day to day
The very mundane
The boringness of life just slips away

To a spontaneous hallucinogenic orgasm
Built super computer inside a giant sun
Heading for earth at 160,000 miles per hour

I am your leader
The owner of your freedom
For a price you can live on this planet
That once was shared by the masses

And this is what we'll do
We'll say that you can vote
And turn your brains to glue
With something we all call the news
(What a blues)

But it's been violence free
Since a World War 3
Oops that was a secret for the
Illuminati

I'm the society you live in
That keeps the shoeless
Clueless

As to why you were paid in cents last week
While the fat cats
Sit on top of their towers

Well how do you like the air?
Well get used to it
Cause we're gonna smoke you out
With factories and nuclear power
(All aboard the acid hour)

So give an 8th of your wallet
In return I'll start a war
Does any of this make sense?
Cause it does to the 1%
(All your money spent)

Cause we own the sun
And everyone
Including you and your family
Yes your family
And all the streets and all the money
And all your favorite things

And then here's what we'll do
We'll give you benefits
Like put you in a zoo
They're called retirement homes
(Oh dey, oh dey)

Now the symbolism I reveal
In this message
That an imbalance in power
Is and always will be evil

Cause we own the sun
And everyone
Including you and your family
Yes your family
And all the streets and all the money
And all your favorite things

Cause we own the sun
And everyone
Including you and your homies
Yes your homies
And all the streets and all the money
And all your favorite things

All the streets and all the money
And all your favorite things

We own you
We own you
You belong to me

You

You are coming with me
I'm taking you to my pyramid, where you can work for
Minimum wage
How does that sound?

(Honestly man it doesn't make sense)

O but how bout a vote?

To the listeners at home yes you
Can you raise your hand if you want to
Come to my pyramid and work for
Minimum wage

Oh, I see 1 vote
And I see another 1 over across the world
I see 3 more New York
20 votes Missouri
I see 50
I see 100,000,000,000 votes

You
You're all coming with me

For the rest of your life
You will remain behind these walls
Until you go insane

Here's your hammer
Start hacking away
Any thought of revolution
There'll be a price to pay

Fireman's taken
Under this girl's cider
Let's take a bath, boy

Right is wrong is right
What is wife looking for now?
Why'd you spill the milk?

Having pockets
Pockets corrode deep in you
Can't keep on working
It's still a phantom

Until Christmas Eve
A mutation
The ties were friendly
How could it be?

Having pockets
Pockets corrode deep in you
Can't keep on working
It's still a phantom

Until Christmas Eve
A mutation

They wish I was disrespected
They wish I was disrespected
They wish I was disrespecting them

Victor Tausk was a man of mind
A student of 1 Sigmund Freud
He studied people who've been driven to madness
Torment by apparatus

The technology was always just out of grasp
And was always controlled
By a cult of white men

And the dead man's
Crazy visions of Victor Tausk
Call this
The Influence Machine

And history's black list
Shows evidence of a suggestion
Apparatus

Which is another meaning
For the Influence Machine

And the people deemed insane
Were thrown in chains
And claimed their friends and families
And everyone around them
Was hypnotized by
The machine

(He's looking at you kid)
(Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas)
(I don't get laid enough)
(Call me a slut, call me a virgin)
(My heart is reserved for the lord)
(I shall love thy neighbor)
(I don't know I think we're getting hijacked)
(Another one just hit the building)
(Wow)
(Coca Cola, Coca Cola)
(Things go better with Coca Cola)
(Things go better with coke)
(Life is much more fun)

The machine planted ideas
In the brains of the people
Through x-rays and magnets
And satellite steeples

And all around the world
Determines your ideas
But in the end
All ideas are lies

And Victor Tausk
Was shot my Freud
Who then made it seem like a suicide
Freud then claimed that the
Work of Tausk should be
Forgotten in the cracks of time

And never give it a 2nd thought
Or die

Doubtless you have noticed
That this influencing machine
Sounds an awful lot like television

In any event
There is no question
That television does
What the schizophrenic fantasy
Says it does

It places in our minds
Images of reality
Which are outside of our experience

They come in form of
Rays in a box

They cause changes
In feeling and confusion

As to what is real
And what is not

So just remember that there's
Rare moments in history
When there's possibilities for change
And then they're gone
So choose your battles
Or they'll tell you
They'll tell you you're insane
You're insane

I'm not crazy

Can you hear the cries
Of mother nature?
Their selfish lies
Have blinded you

Can't you see the signs there
In front of your eyes
That you refuse to see?

How do you mock the mother?
Hear her last sighs
You see the scorch marks
And laugh as she dies

How do you mock your own mother too?
Did you forget all she gave to you?
Built the world just for you

I'm tired of the killing
I can't keep on letting this go
I just can't bear it anymore
I can't go a day without another 1

I can't sleep at night
I lie awake and cry
Hope to water their life

Blue tears turn red when fire starts
And the beast awakes

Mother wolf inside morning raging
Will destroy everyone
Every coward who rapes and kills
You know

You know she would
You know she would

Andy look what I did
I just made a painting
If the canvas is your mind
Then music is the paint

If you'd like to see it
I can show you
But you have to use your ears
Get your mind up off the shelf

Andy look what I did
I just made a painting

Joy

Joy to my bestest friend yellow
Is the happiness I felt when
All God's children
Built the Arcadia

Joy, joy to the boys and the girls of the world
And I love the queens in between

Yellow is the extra elemental aspects
Of your life falling into place

Green is the colour of envy
A small stake planted in the grass

When we grew we wanted to be
What we could never ever be

All you Big Smoke's puffing green
The great green giant
Turns to brass

Purple is the colour we wear
When we think we are the best
But the feeling of freezing to death
Alone and so high

And the furs on our backs
Are the finest of Egypt
Purple is the colour we wear
When we think we are the best

Red is the magic of invention
The honoree forces
Of nature, time and space

The moment is now
To the blackouts and migraines
The unexplainable

Orange is a warm laziness
Never to be taken
Doomed to a stoney place

Falling into a warm laziness
Falling into the crape fields
Just like honey

Orange is a warm laziness
(Falling into warm laziness)
Never to be taken
(Falling into the crape fields)
Doomed it's stoney glaze
(Just like honey)

Pink is the softest colour it's true
Don't ya know
That pink is a containment that we feel
After giving birth

Our feelings of softness and sleep
When we're awake
As we fade to blue

Blue is the saddest of colours
A familiar feeling that we all know
We wear it like blanket
Through the purgatory of our living

And the culture that the vastness
Of art, Neptune and human nature
Can never be won

Andy look what I did
I just made a painting
And if you like what you have seen
Then you put it in a frame

Andy look what I did
I just made a painting

1 more layer
1 take 7 more layer
1 more layer

1
More
Layers

Y'know Max?
Like, and then you tell yourself are you doing the right thing?
I was thinking of Uber Eats
Children's accessories

More
Be
Well
Be
Watched

Butter song

Missing dollar song
But
Butter Song

I mean...
And then you tell yourself are you doing the right thing?
Sorta larger than life

Kinda
In a way
You see
The thing is

1, 2
1, 2, 3
1, 2, 3

He's not even repped
I'm a vampire
Yeah right
I'm a vampire

I'm from Florida and they voted...

Whoa what was it a few months back?

Only, only if the layers has echos
Only in your dreams

Can we add another layer?

And then you tell yourself are you doing the right thing?

Layers can't have layers, without lots of lab coats

Without listening
To Slayer

I was a Yankee Candle employee
The forms

There are several parts
And then you tell yourself are you doing the right thing?

Always sing in Yankee Candle

Can I get another layer?
Living in the end times
Go to hell you fucking burnout

I was just gonna say that
Go to hell you fucking burnout

Zizek
The Zizek nostrils

Without evidence
Admit self to a minority position

And then you tell yourself are you doing the right thing?

Expressed in continuous acts of grace

And how does it go?
Just keep singing

Can we get another layer?
Hey, where's the layer lady?
Can we get another layer?
There is so much more...

Patronize and disrespect
Once upon...

The government places you in a chair
Erases all your memory

A girl once told me that
I should go to work
An honest man for one day
And I stood there with a little smirk

A girl once told me that
I'm not around
You'll blindfold me upside down
And I said let's see the best show in town

A girl once told me to
Call the police
I watched my car done cease
And she said how bout it for the
Influence Machine

A girl once told me
That General Lee
Talked me out Confederacy
So we moved out of Lee County

A girl once told me to
Retrace my tracks
I went ahead, did not last
Smoked grass and try to relax

A girl once told me that
I should try to breathe
An empty cartilage canteen
And I stood there with the
Influence Machine

(Communist)
(Gangster)
(Computer)
(God)

A girl once told me that
Feedback is key
Hades make me lazy
And I stood there with the
Influence Machine

(I want to run away)

A girl once told me
A girl told me
On my knees, beg and plead
And I stood there with the
Influence Machine

(She's deaf and mute)

A girl once told me that
There's something to say
Linguists in the family

There are patient people waiting

Oh how you know your role
And how you know you'd love
To show the world
Just how you flow

How you glow

And your people always waiting

Watch me when they're gone

People patiently
People patiently
People patiently
Waiting

People patiently
People patiently
People patiently

We have 2 choices (no time)
Either live with all this
And condemn future generations to do the same
Or worse
If they have a future at all

No mark (we got no time)
Revolution
Brace ourselves
Fight for a world where all the chains are broken

Wait hey
Differently gendered people
(You've got 5 stops, 2 choices and 6 points of attenchun)
Are comrades and equals
We do not tolerate physically or verbally abusing women (revolution)
Or treating them as sexual objects
Nor do we tolerate (listen up fools pay attention)
Gender or sexual orientation

We have 5 stops, 2 choices and 6 points of attenchun
(Y'all got your nuts in your hands)
Easy to remember

(Listen up)
We have 2 choices
Either live with all this
And condemn future generations to do the same
Or worse
If they have a future at all

For the revolution

Viva la revolución (listen up boys and girls)
Before you get hurt

He said it

Kahvi
We need you to save the human race

The human race?
The human race?
Nah the human race
Nah
(We need you to save it)

To save it?

People are better friends with me than him

His ideology about life is fucking garbage
He wants to shoot homeless people

He wants homeless people to be shot and put in camps
He's told me this

Fuck him
And fuck his ideology
I'll tell them it's garbage until the day he dies

I'm going to kill you

Red Shaydez
Jah Christ on Davie
Red shady dome

It's you for the last time brethren
Your Christ is here to save the day

It's all on you and it's all on you
It's all on you and it's all on you

Now it is all on you
It is all on you
I know it's

It's all on you
All on you and you and you and you
And you and don't forget about you
I didn't forget about you
You you you you you you you you
You you you you you you

I did not forget about the one name that
I keep forgetting in my head right now is you
You you you you you you you you you you you you you you you

Red Shaydez
Drive me crazy lady
Red Red Shaydez
Drive me crazy lady

Red Shaydez Red
Drive me crazy baby
Red Shaydez Red
Drive me crazy crazy

I was out
I was living
In the slum
Of a revision
Of a nightmare legend

When I'm on
History Channel
I look for birds
To hit my window

I can touch
From my home
Revolution

Bandit man
Bandit vision
Bandit slum
Bandit revision
Of a nightmare legend

When I'm on
NBC
I look for you
And look in me

I can touch
From my home
Revolution

So that when you talk about the masses of black people
The precious poor and working class black people
Poor working class brown, red, yellow whatever color
They're the ones who are left out
And they feel so thoroughly powerless, helpless, hopeless
Then you get rebellion
And we've reached a point now
It's a choice between nonviolent revolution
And by revolution what I mean is

The democratic sharing of power
Resources, wealth and respect
If we don't get that kind of sharing
You're gonna get more violent explosions

I was out
I was living
In the slum
Of a revision
Of a nightmare legend

Hunker down twin girls scaled from
Scaled from 2 to 91
Ima call from the hailstorm
Ima call from the hailstorm
She agrees while her legs torn
She agrees while their next door

Hunker down twin girls scaled from
Scaled from 2 to 91
Ima call from the hailstorm
Ima call from the hailstorm

She agrees while her legs torn
She agrees while their next door

I'm not your brother
When I always keep on dropping your face
You'll find another
In the only place that's calling your name

A bit of a loop boost
Is never a ruse
It's only a program
So out goes the power

A bit of a loop boost
Is never a ruse
It's only a program
So out goes the power

God damn big brother
Holding down my memory
I've got the future
And I have nothing else to waste

A bit of a loop boost
Is never a ruse
It's only a program
So out goes the power

A bit of a loop boost
Is never a ruse
It's only a program
So out goes the power

I thought I'd be as surprised as ever
Out of my life
Snow deep in the night

Somewhere in my mind
Mutt Tour said yes
I won't stay
Forever

I'm not your brother
When I always keep on dropping your face
You'll find another
In the only place that's calling your name

Of the kinfolk weighing in
Picking the top of those locks
A combat zone
A matter of bones

The domination of dominations
And all is burning
In the league of the damp

Blues for everyone
No one missing out on them blues

They won't make a sound
They won't make you sneeze
Hesitant to the throne

And greet your brother
Greet one another

Blues for everyone
No one missing out on these blues

Cut your mutt and fake the feeling
Light the fairs up to the ceiling
Our good friend is here in town
So we start smelling out the clown

It's only getting started
We grew some lazy hearts
Only getting started

Another voice who has been stationed
Hold on internal deep vacation
Call my name
I know I won't go insane

Under the radar

Prince against the world
You tortured soul
Everyone living their own life
Only one else who can make it weird

Blimp on all their radars
You go to it the freedom
Prince against the world

Under the radar

Baby's head's gonna roll
Somewhere find it to drub and cry
For whose land?

Dead men, dead men roll
Lay down the cog and burn the plan
For whose land?

They open the doors
The clingy chains you find yourself
You're not the same

They open the doors
The clingy chains you find yourself
You're not the same

Baby's head will roll
Baby's head will roll

I spy the west
Till city hall set up flames
I'll make up games

I spy the rest
Lay down the cog and burn the plan
For whose land?

They open the doors
The clingy chains you find yourself
You're not the same

They open the doors
The clingy chains you find yourself
You're not the same

Baby's head will roll
Baby's head will roll

Tombstone trux
Strut them locks
Head in a lot
Lord above
Trouble in the medicine box

I'm not the weather
Cloud talk come together
Tombstone eyes
I'm not the weather
Cloud talk come together

Tombstone aye-aye
Tombstone aye-aye

Easter till evening shot
Keeping the bar shoving on
Easter evening shot
Keeping the bar

Not Easter null

What do you see when you look at us?
Do you see some hair growing out our ears?
Do you loop a thought when you think too much?
Will you sleep tonight?
O I don't know why

That you won't be around when you won't speak to us
What do you see when you look at us?

What do you see when you look at us?
The north and on June 10th beheaded
An early May me and other tenants
Was being sold without notifying any of the students

What do you see when you look at us?
What do you see when you look at us?
What do you see when you look at us?
What do you see when you look at us?
What do you see?

Only in your dreams

Only in your dreams

Sad sound
All around
Big votes with the big boys
With the crabby gut
You never thought you'd hate it

Only in your dreams

You know what's really important?
Experience
Experience

Only in your dreams (he said it)
Only in your dreams (he said it)
Only in your dreams
Dream

1,2,3,4,5,6,7

I'm a going to heaven's door
Slip into your dark, dark mind
Have a taste and you can come

I'm a touching the hands of God
While you float along on a cloud
Take a breath and you can join me

Can you see it, lay back down
Close your eyes, he's loving us now
Close your eyes and see
Mysterious shapes and colors
And blue skin, lizards and evil wizards

Let this current take us back
In this bed in the ocean

I think I love you
But it's hard to tell
When the skies turning purple
And the trees are growing hair

And the world keeps spinning
In this empty pool of darkness

Let this current take us back
In this bed in the ocean

Woke me up, I just fell back down
Cause I've been loving you for hours and hours
Buzzing my head till I hit the ground

Can you see it, lay back down
Close your eyes, he's loving us now
Close your eyes and see
Mysterious shapes and colors
And blue skin, lizards and evil wizards

Let this current take us back
In this bed in the ocean

I think I love you
But it's hard to tell
When the skies turning purple
And the trees are growing hair

And the world keeps spinning
In this empty pool of darkness

Let this current take us back
In this bed in the ocean

Bed in the ocean

I can’t seem to drone
It’s hurting my heart
I can’t seem to drone
It’s hurting my heart

Rubber stem

Can’t seem to drone
It’s hurting my heart
Can’t seem to drone
It’s hurting my heart

A forest awaits
Awaiting its shave
Skinnier rubber
Rubber stem

A forest

I got the psychedelic
A blues cause I gotta
A witch is on my mind

She slips into my vase, my vase
My eyes are fractals and polka dots

Tip toeing through the bloom of spring well
I'm going down
Psych blues make me hit the ground

Crash and bashing in my brain and
Believe me in the 
I got the psychedelic
Blues

Spot those legs on my bed
A give me something to ease my hand
Like a chamber of serious silence and confusion
Of perpetual science

Cause I'm going down
Psych blues make me hit the ground

Spell bound, how blue you seem
When you look at me, honey pie
Grow yellow flowers in your
Hair upon in tempting me
Gently water them so they will grow

This is trippy, dippy lacing
I got me in a sadist
Psychomental haziness

But what we do in the dark
I think I'll leave this scene 
And get out of this
Park

But all of this came from a psychedelic blues
The lesson is do not get trippy now
When you're feeling bad
It's gonna get slippery

Paranoia will still get sticky now
Cause I got the psychedelic blues
It will bring you down

Who is the paisley boy

He hides in our eyes
And trips us he tries

He lives in the walls
And runs down the halls
He gave the world colors for all

He sat on his hill
Feeling dotted and curvy

He is the lover of everything
He is the preacher for everyone

Those of you ask
Behind that green mask
You might guess

That it's me
(She is the lover of everyone)
(A preacher for everyone)

I'm a magician 
Let me show you a trick
So open up your ears
There's music in my fingertips

My hair is made 
Of silver and gold
My eyes have seen
Stories untold

I'll pull a rabbit 
Out of his head
I can sell you love
If you give me your coin

I can turn this jazz band
Into a cat
I can give you love
If you give me your eyes

I'll show you beauty
But you cannot see
For you are blind
You cannot unwind time

I'm a magician 
Let me show you a trick
I'll sell you love
If you give me your time

I can turn into anything
Do you like my tail I'll
Give you laughter
If you give me your lung

I'll show you beauty
But you cannot see
For you are blind
You cannot unwind time

Bound by chains 
By unnecessary pain
Waiting blindfolded
For your crimson rain

Got a beast 
That killed you for the feast
And shower me with your
Sweet release

Crawl into your meat hook
Just like me
A sliding sea of red
Dripping blood on your forehead

Can't tell where the pig ends 
And I begin
Can't believe this wicked state
I’m in

Belated
Created
Completed

Taken
Awake
And unbroken

Free from what you made me
And to be who I always knew I could be

Covered by your shroud of red
Close my eyes till I feel dead
Seething in you

After the fall
I don't see myself at all
I'm not the same
I don't even know my name

If you see this pig walking down the street
Be sure to give her
Everything she needs

Keep squealing
Keep reeling
Keep feeling like you owe me

Seething in you
Breathing in you
Seething in you
Breathing in you

Take me away
Or make me stay
Seething in you

Seething in you

I want you to experience U before U
Take a trip to pandora's box before it’s glued

What was it like before you knew
What you were
Where has your life gone
It's all lost in a blur

I want you to experience time before time
Open up your eyes to examine all of the lines

Want you to show yourself
That which you can't comprehend
What it takes to know yourself
Maybe death isn't even the end

And the day you knew who you were
You die
Then the flames your ego was burned
And that gave you new eyes

I want you to experience U before U
Take a trip to pandora's box before it’s glued


Want you to show yourself
That which you can't comprehend
What it takes to know yourself
Maybe death isn't even the end

And the day you knew who you were
You die
Then the flames your ego was burned
And that gave you new eyes

And from that you could see
Transparencies
From the ashes came new eyes
Which set you free

And the day you knew who you were
You die
Then the flames your ego was burned
And that gave you new eyes

Don't forget the sun
When it's not shining
Don't forget the words
When they've gone silent

The world is still alive
Even in the nighttime

Every other day
I go to the woods and
Hear the birdies tell
The secrets of the woodlands

If trees hit the ground
When no one's there to hear them

Will they still make a sound
If no one's near them
I think so 
Who knows

We may never grow
But I want to know
Where the birds go

Time is fate to me
I burn it like it's butane
I burn it to my will
So I don't miss the red train

I leave it far behind
So I don't lose my damn mind

When it catches up to me
Where in life where I be
Can't escape it all the time
We all end up six feet deep

So I'm a living life for now
But I still yearn the heat now

Keep wondering how I can see in the snow
I feel what you feel
And go where you go

Gonna lay in New York City
And listen to the song

All the birds will follow me
And I will sing along

Is there life after death
Is there just nothing
I think so
Who knows

I'll forever glow
Cause I want to show
What the birds know

What the birds know
Wherever you go

Can the moon still feel the sun
When it's hiding
I think so
Who knows

We'll never know
But I want to know
What the moon knows

What the birds know
Wherever you go

Greenish morning
Harold spreads his wings

Flowers blossom in Olympus
When Aphrodite combs her hair
In the sunlight

Down the river sticks
Flows a lonely boar
To the city of the dead

There Hades took his diety
For scenes
For the winter

Athens when
Anything can happen
Heaven life burning at night
While Zeus watches over

Friday night is over

Love drunk candle light
Breathing in the night
Night night he sings
Sleepy things

Can't tell which is mine
Anyone's is fine

To the kingdom of death
There Hades gave herself
Four seeds for the winter

Little one
Free of command
Roll the die
Start making friends

Need ID
And you can live
Need ID
And you can have fun

Don't ID Jesus
Don't ID Jesus

Cause they'll take it away
And then they'll give it back
10 minutes recess
Turning it back

They'll cut it to 5
But then they'll give us 15
Down to 2

I don't check ID anyways
What kinda difference does it make
If I let you through?

Take a chance
It ain't so rough
Way back there
That is the stuff

Need ID
And you can dance
Need ID
And you can have fun

Don't ID Jesus
Don't ID Jesus

Cause they'll take it away
And then they'll give it back
10 minutes recess
Turning it back

They'll cut it to 5
But then they'll give us 15
Down to 2

I don't check ID anyways
What kinda difference does it make
If I let you through?

Don't ID Jesus
(I don't need to)
See your ID lord

Cause they'll take it away
And then they'll give it back
10 minutes recess
Turning it back

They'll cut it to 5
But then they'll give us 15
Down to 2

Don't check ID anyways
What kinda difference does it make
If I

Don't check ID anyways
What kinda difference does it make
If I

Don't check ID anyways
What kinda difference does it make

What kinda difference does it make
What kinda difference does it make
What kinda difference does it make

Fairy world and my wild scaries
Earthshaking and overtaking
All along the berry prairie
Following the ones we buried

Pulmonary
Cemetery
Pulmonary
Cemetery

Unwhirl

Scary Mary make em wary
Scary Mary make em wary

Pull me up on the Sherry ferry
Pulmonary cemetery

Pull the trigger, after dinner
When I'm with her, when I wither
Reemerged with my fav sister
Bound to solve her whole tongue twister

Dragged along cause I'm a drifter
Whispering with all the fairies
Shapeshifter to rub on whiskers
Ending on a short miscarry

Fairy world and wild scaries
Earthshaking and overtaking
All along the berry prairie
Counting the last second to unwhirl

Unwhirl
Unwhirl
Unwhirl

Pulmonary
Cemetery

Unwhirl

Up in their platoon
All of the clouds drool
All artificial
With fizzy armed fools

Internet caused this
Always exhausted
Strapped up my psych boots
With my drugged out rooks

Up in their platoon
All day and all night crew
Bright looking tracers
Can't find my razor

Shaving's for cold feds
I'll risk a real bed

Passionate, but jaded
Lashed out and waited
Blitzed away past the traffic lights

Found the prize
Not money but free melty in your mouth
Chocolate chip cookies

These camo land rats go slippity splat
(Slippity stat)
These red eyed claymores go trippity trap
(Trippity trap)

My east coast platoon
We will cry with you
My east coast platoon
We will fight for truth

I'm out for summer
In mountain lands so high
I found my lover
In the cool blue sky

The freedom sealed why
We live free or die

Passionate, but jaded
Lashed out and waited
Blitzed away past the traffic lights

Found the prize
Not money but free melty in your mouth
Chocolate chip cookies

My east coast platoon
We will cry with you
My east coast platoon
We will fight for truth

Hup
1,2,3 and 4
Left
Right

Hup
3 and 4 and
Up and down and
Left
Right

1,2,3 and 4

I sway on a tree
Fell past your window
23 honeybees
Locked down my limbo

Lady day USA
All minds expanding
Lady day USA
1 more crash landing

Watch the bees buzz away
Watch the bees buzz away

Honey will never decay
Honey will never decay
Honey will never decay
Honey will never decay

My reality
Seeks for good people
Carefree teepee
Fly like an eagle

Lady day USA
Juxtaposition
Lady day USA
It's a tradition

My love PHD
Strapped onto a tombstone
Ain't no guarantee
We survive this cyclone

Lady day USA
All minds expanding
Lady day USA
One more crash landing

Watch the bees buzz away
Watch the bees buzz away

Honey will never decay
Honey will never decay

With this tradition
Expect some fuck ups
Warm decisions
For buttercup

So match their crazy
And snap the wishbone
And tap your daisy
Onto the tombstone

I sway on a tree
Fell past your window
23 honeybees
Locked down my limbo

Lady day USA
Juxtaposition
Lady day USA
It's a tradition

Line up, heads up, warm up
Pick up, shake up, teacup
Link up, beat up, dust up
Made up, sit up, clean up

I start to have a distaste
(The school is pushing daisies)
For watermelon toothpaste
(The school'll drive me crazy)

Submit the pre-k halfwits
The 64-bit misfits
And chuck them in the tarpit
Refit the endless outfits

They come home as a seacow
(The school is pushing daisies)
And they yell out a meow
(The school'll drive me crazy)

Thank God I don't have kids
I'd leave em on the skids
Most people can't commit
Because they won't admit that

Every now and then
Herds are lost by the Chinese man
Every now and then
Words are glossed by the CNN

Get up, check up, grown up
Chin up, wind up, set up
Pin up, make up, dress up
Build up, stuck up, break up

I watch them take their powwows
(The city's planting daisies)
They let them keep their eyebrows
(The city drives me crazy)

They'll stab you with an ice pick
And pick at you with chopsticks
They'll throw themselves a picnic
While calling you a bootlick

I powder up my whole face
(The city's planting daisies)
And layer up a 2 face
(The city drives me crazy)

When Billy meets the Kid
Duels the Karate Kid
I grab my 3rd eyelid
And open up my bid cause

Every now and then
Herds are lost by the Chinese man
Every now and then
Words are glossed by the CNN

I'll take in all your advice
General Tsu

I'm in a full blown cartoon
He takes me up on a hot air balloon
I'm taking in the whole world on display
I throw away the faults of yesterday

On the coast, I'm healing
With General Tsu

1 by 1, he goes and simplifies
1 by 1, the land around the bend
1 by 1, he climbs the mountain side
1 by 1, until the bitter end

1 by 1, we pet the magic hog
1 by 1, inside the loony bin
1 by 1, believe we're underdogs
1 by 1, until the bitter end

I'll take in all your advice
General Tsu

Trusting in his overrule
Only when we're down, down, down
Watching his rebound, bound, bound
In the debris, I know he'll fetch me

On the coast, I'm waiting
For General Tsu

1 by 1, he goes and simplifies
1 by 1, the land around the bend
1 by 1, he climbs the mountain side
1 by 1, until the bitter end

1 by 1, we pet the magic hog
1 by 1, inside the loony bin
1 by 1, believe we're underdogs
1 by 1, until the bitter end

I'm taking your advice
I'm taking your advice
I'm taking your advice
I'm taking your advice

I'm taking your advice
(I'm taking all his advice)
I'm taking your advice
(I'll take it every day)

I'm taking your advice
(Believe me when I trust in you)
I'm taking your advice
(I believe General Tsu)

I'm taking your advice
(We'll take it, we'll take it)
I'm taking your advice
(Watch out cause General Tsu)

I'm taking your advice
(Whatcha gonna do about it)
I'm taking your advice
(We're running out of time)

I'm taking your advice
(Believe me when I trust in you)
I'm taking your advice
(I believe General Tsu)

I'm taking your advice
(Take it, take it)
I'm taking your advice
(All day, every day)
I'm taking your advice
(All day, every day)
I'm taking your advice

Scope's infrared
Hoping to pave the way
Make war neurons
Hoping to pave the way

I toss the tear in my eye
To the funny side of town
Told me how this goes

Don't hide
Stay calm
Outrun
Them guns

It's all about

Dipped em in water
Showed em how this goes
Dipped em in water
Showed em how this goes

Hardy maid with lost people
Left decayed and ripe
Underworld, hurled in the ice
Looking at the stars with a plastic knife

Take the ears out
When it gets loud
Do you hear it?
Here

Don't hide
Stay calm
Outrun guns

It's all about the
Source

Right to left, been a long death
Threw stupid rocks, so what?
Assigned rats, 1 for the path
2 for my wrath

Bet you won't give up
Trusting all this, bumbling bliss
I've seen these infrared teens
Hypnotic trance

It goes on for them
It goes on for them

Don't hide
Stay calm
Outrun guns

It's all about the
Source

The source
It's all about the
Source

Blue cardinals having fun
Nothing's real suspicious baby
Blue cardinals 1 by 1
Squeeze themselves in New York City

Some baking in the sun
Others in a thermal braintree
Dress like we're on the run
Flash our wristbands on the highway

Blue cardinals having fun
Not a need to learn ABCs
Blue cardinals 1 by 1
With their pearled up ecstasy beads

Some baking in the sun
Others in a thermal braintree
Press on, having fun
Everyday in New York City

I love you, I love you
I do, I really love you
I love you, I love you
I do, I do, I do

I love you, I love you
I do, I really love you
I love you, I love you
I do, I do, I do

Us Jestas
Peek upon the west of
The public square
We can go anywhere

Blue cardinals having fun
Nothing's real suspicious baby
Blue cardinals 1 by 1
Squeeze themselves in New York City

Some baking in the sun
Others in a thermal braintree
Dress like we're on the run
Flash our wristbands on the highway

We thread our souls
Down to our feet
If she seeks it now
He'll be growing wings

Grab my soul partner
Toss it in the streets
Grab my soul partner
Beak upon your cheek

We thread our souls
Down to our feet
If he seeks it now
She'll be growing wings

Grab my soul partner
Underneath the sheets
Grab my soul partner
Beak upon your cheek

I love you, I love you
I do, I really love you
I love you, I love you
I do, I do, I do

I love you, I love you
I do, I really love you
I love you, I love you
I do, I do, I do

(Divine are you a lesbian?)
(Yes I've done everything)
(Does blood turn you on?)
(It does more than turn me on Mr. Vader)
(It makes me cum)

I wanna travel the world
Make friends with lots of girls
Spend all my money
On one better batch hand

I don't wanna wait on these
Low ass bastards
Cause I can do myself
And I'll get there much faster

Cause there's not enough time
To waste your life on love
And I'll never give it up
Till I'm singing up above

You know I'd never kiss a basic bitch
They were looking kinda bored
So I pulled that switch
And they'll never be back again
Not gonna give up myself
For seven minutes in Heaven

(Kill everyone now)
(Condone first degree murder)
(Advocate cannibalism)
(Eat shit)

I'm gonna get lots of tattoos
I'm gonna swim in a fountain
And get real high
Like the purest of heroin

I wanna dive real deep in the earth
Where it's dirty
And then get myself clean
Cause it makes me feel perty

And I'm never gonna stop
Never never gonna stop
Yeah I'm never gonna stop
Till my time runs up

You know I'd never kiss a basic bitch
They were looking kinda bored
So I pulled that switch
And they'll never be back again
Not gonna give up myself
For seven minutes in Heaven

I'm gonna be the original
And then disrupt the scene
Give me ménage à trois
Give me lustful suffering

I wanna feel aye aye
Going everyday
Singing na na na na na na

You know I'd never kiss a basic bitch
They were looking kinda bored
So I pulled that switch
And they'll never be back again
Not gonna give up myself
For seven minutes in Heaven

You know I'd never kiss a basic bitch
They were looking kinda bored
So I left em in a ditch
Cause I got so much on my mind
And there's too many things to do
With so little time

Moonlight on God's green earth
Get up on my rocket ship
We'll have a magical trip

Moonlight on God's green earth
Giving birth
To our universe

When it's bound to the sun
You can let your martian friend
Come if he shows me some fun
Moonlight on God's green earth

The galaxy is yet to be
A mystery
The stratosphere
Milky way
And the roar of Ouranus

The rainbow views
Powered sky
The special look that's in your eyes
Shooting stars and meteoroids
From Jupiter and Venus
The stars they shine for you

Moonlight on God's green earth
Let me take you across planet skies
By holes of vanilla shapes
We can touch the sun
And then we'll take our wings
Like the son of Ouranus

When it's melting the sun
Even the biggest tree
Comes from the tiniest seed
Moonlight on God's green earth

The future holds what has been told
Across the sand
By 2100 AIs completed
And we bended all the rules

Saturn's rings
Neptune's kings
Some of which are my favorite things

The flood of puppy love
Of Virgo and Aquarius
The stars they shine for you

The galaxy is yet to be
A mystery
The stratosphere
Milky way
And the roar of Ouranus

The rainbow views
Powered sky
The special look that's in your eyes
Shooting stars and meteoroids
From Jupiter and Venus
The stars they shine for you

Lady lavender day
Always laying
In a pile of hay
Stretching lazily in the
Wobbly tree

While she's supposed to be
Watching her neighbors
She's

Gazing at the sky
Watching the clouds roll by
Finding the shapes
Till she closed her eyes

Dreams of dances
And fancy laces
Bubbling couples
And hard wind throuples

That's when she saw
That her memory then
Had the soft fluffy coat
And the sheep's wooly skin

And from the shadows
Awoke and emerged
With the most sickening grin

The wolf eats the party
And lavender day
Awaits with a star
In her pile of hay

(There's no way)

I am the Genesis
I am the crest
I am the beat banging out of your chest

Gimme your money
I don't want the rest
The people in headlines
That say that I'm blessed
And you will be too if you stick around with me

I help people see
All they can be
There's nothing people
Haven't tried to achieve
So let's get together and rock the status quo

There's something inside me
It's hard to express
You give me the perfect
I give you the best
Obsidian wrapped in Venice is my heart

I help people see
All they can be
There's nothing people
Aren't willing to die
As long as you're willing to try for you can change the status quo

I help people see
All they can be
There's nothing people
Aren't willing to die
As long as you're willing to try for you can rock the fucking world

I am the Genesis
I am the crest
I am the beat banging out of your chest

Had many names
Pseudonym trees
So pick any present
You'd like me to be
But you cannot deny that I'm in you

I travel the world
In search for a girl
She's capable, beautiful, graceful and smart
But obsidian wrapped in Venice is her heart

I help people see
All they can be
There's nothing people
Aren't willing to die
As long as you're willing to try for you can change the status quo

I help people see
All they can be
There's nothing people
Aren't willing to die
As long as you're willing to try for you can rock the fucking world

I am the Genesis
I am the crest
I am the beat banging out of your chest

I am the Genesis
I am the crest
Gimme your money I don't want the rest

The locket is a mine
Can I put it in my pocket?
Can I give you RCs?
And I'll smoke up all your weed

Can I bark a brown tree?
Like pissing off Shelly
Ima Scooby Dooby Doo
Ima see what ima do

I'm walking around
With the Injeong blues

Ima see what ima do
Like pissing off Shelly
And I'll smoke up all your weed

But I'm not really crazy y'know
I just wanted to know
If you'd come back to my place with me
You're crazy just like me
And you're trying to sleep
But I'm tapping on your window

This floor is a mine
Can I kick you out the door?
Bad luck, that sucks
Can I have 100 bucks?

Waking up at noon
Can I sing a song off tune?
Will you marry GI Joe?
Can we go to Singapore?

I'm walking around
With the Injeong blues

Ima see what ima do
Like fisting off Shelly
And I'll smoke up all your weed

But I'm not really crazy y'know
I just wanted to know
If you'd come back to my place with me
You're crazy just like me
And you're trying to sleep
But I'm tapping on your window

Ima see what ima do
Like pissing off Shelly
And I'll smoke up all your weed

I'm walking around
With the Injeong blues

Ima freak of nature
But I'm on my best behavior
You are not my savior
Don't you miss the chase yeah
Of coming after me?

Don't think you're really listening
Cause I know you wanna kiss me
Silly little boy

We don't know what
We're gonna do together tonight
But I guarantee it's gonna be something
You're gonna tell your friends

Cause Ima freak of nature
Liking that behavior
You are now my savior
Don't you miss the flavor
Of coming after me?

Thicker like a foam fairy
Cheap like shit designers
What a wonderful world

We don't know what
We're gonna do together tonight
But I guarantee it's gonna be something
You're gonna tell your friends

Cause Ima freak of nature
Liking that behavior
You are now my savior
Don't you miss the chase yeah
Of coming after me?

Thicker like a foam fairy
Cheap like shit designers
What a wonderful world

Find me in a oyster shell
Sleeping in the blue
Someplace in the ocean
Sensing gentle mist on your cheek
Her silence covers me softly
All across the sand

The moon carries her voice
Higher above
Sun sensors deep
Below the surface

She can climb upstreams
By river banks
Where hermits draw her like this

Near broken dams
And flooded holes
They're shallow
Don't disturb the sunken boat

Find me in a oyster shell
Sleeping in the blue
Someplace in the ocean
Sensing gentle mist on your cheek
Her silence covers me softly
All across the sand

The sea carries me out
To her while I'm trying to sleep
Found her clothes
Atlantis

Finding silky skin
And moonlit clothes
But leave it so they'll find them
So waves won't show
Their undertow
Lakes shallow
Rivers have a gentle flow

Kiss me on the Harlem
Stroke my hair
Hold me in your arms
Like I'm there
Do you wanna find out how much
I don't care

I know you see me here
And you want it now
But you don't know a thing
About me anyhow
Do you wanna know?

You'll never know
What I do
What you want me to
You'll never know

My golden glare
Is watching you
You wish you never knew me

(Never forget ya)
(Need ya)
(Need ya to think that)

You wish you knew
What I would do

I want you
I want you to live a shameful life
I want you
I want you to live a shameful life

I want you to live a shameful life
Shameful life
I want you to live a shameful life
Live a shameful life
I want you to live a shameful life

I want you to live a shameful life
Shameful life

I see people everywhere
They can see you all the time
Feel ashamed
Feel ashamed

I want you to live in shame
Shame everywhere

I want you
I want you to live a shameful life

Hello

U must be the audience
I say that because I think U are listening
That must make me the narrator
Why?
Because U don't hear anyone else talking
Do U?

We've met before
Whether U recognize it or not
And I've come to know U quite well

U fixate on your imperfections
Every time U see your reflection

I know that somewhere in the back of your mind
Your body's oder is appealing
And I think U touched yourself 
Before U got outta bed today

Have U ever met yourself?
Have U ever looked in the mirror 
And really understood what's going on in that 
Cheap suitcase of a body?
Would U like to?

This is you:

Ordinary
Brilliant
Beautiful
Ugly
Vegetarian
Carnivorous

U are what U are
Better or worse than everyone else
Isn't that the human goal?
To rise above the others?

Well 
Give us the time to change that view
Let us into your head
Well see what we can do

It'll be the perfect trip
And it's quite medieval
Come meet new characters
Scary and evil

U may begin to feel 
Uncomfortable
That's okay

Just let the music be the divide
Between world's real
And world's hidden

Maybe the kid's on acid are the first 1's to see
What the witch doctors claim to prophecy
But we've all stepped through a different door
Of reality

Oh what's that
That is the sound of doom
The first evil is approaching the stage

Good evening children
Let me make my way to center stage

Let me introduce myself
Take the time to say my name

I am waste
I'm here to kill U
Make it into stew

I am the hard winter
The acid rains
Living earth's pain

And I'll fuck your mother
And I'll drown U all
I'll fuck your mother
And drown U all

Oh yeah

Brazilian rains don't weep no more
Alligators at your door
Then one day the world will cease breathing
Then whatcha gonna do?
A whole lot of freaking

I am waste
I'm here to kill U

What U gonna do?

Down here at the zoo
The CO2
Is too fluffy for U

So let me ask U this
Don't cha have enough
Cows, cars and freezers

Don't cha have enough
Cows, cars and freezers

Cause the evil in me
I see in U
The more U burn me
The more I burn U

Time is fleeting to carve the path
To save planet earth from my wrath
And if this concerns you or brings you worry
Then I'm the thing that you must rid
And you, you can take it up
At the top of the pyramid

These evils always speak in riddles
But change will be pointless if the planet is unlivable in 100 years

(HAHAHA)

Oh boy...
This one is a real character
They think they are a different type of person
A royal breed

(MMM DID SOMEONE SAY ROYAL, THAT MUST BE MY CUE)
(WHAT IS GOING ON HERE, WHO IS THIS DEGENERATE)

This
This is the listener

(MMM THE LISTENER AT HOME, DON'T THEY KNOW TO BOW WHEN A PERSON OF POWER ENTERS THEIR MIND, THE PERSON OF HIGHER CLASS)

Oh yes of course
Go behind that curtain over there next to those mic cables
Let me talk to them

Psst...
Hey you
Listener
This evil is very insecure
Why don't we make them feel more powerful 
And give them a round of applause
Ladies and gentlemen 
The reptile

(BOW, BOW)
(1,2,3,4)

I am your leader
The owner of your freedom
For a price U can live on this planet
That once was shared by the masses

And this is what we'll do
We'll say that U can vote
And turn your brains to glue
With something we all call the news
(What a blues)

But it's been violence free
Since a World War 3
Oops that was a secret for the
Illuminati

I'm the society U live in
That keeps the shoeless
Clueless

As to why U were paid in cents last week
While the fat cats
Sit on top of their towers

Well how do U like the air
Well get used to it
Cause we're gonna smoke U out
With factories and nuclear power
(All aboard the acid hour)

So give an 8th of your wallet
In return I'll start a war
Does any of this make sense
Cause it does to the 1%
(All your money spent)

Cause we own the sun
And everyone
Including U and your family
Yes your family
And all the streets and all the money
And all your favorite things

And then here's what we'll do
We''ll give U benefits
Like put U in a zoo
They're called retirement homes
(Oh dey, oh dey)

Now the symbolism I reveal
In this message
That an imbalance in power
Is and always will be evil

Cause we own the sun
And everyone
Including U and your family
Yes your family
And all the streets and all the money
And all your favorite things

Cause we own the sun
And everyone
Including U and your homies
Yes your homies
And all the streets and all the money
And all your favorite things

All the streets and all the money
And all your favorite things

We own U
We own U
U belong to me
You’re not free

U

U are coming with me
I'm taking U to my pyramid where U can work for 
Minimum wage

How does that sound?
(We don't like it)

Oh but how bout a vote?
To the listeners at home yes U
Can U raise your hand if U want to 
Come to my pyramid and work for
Minimum wage

O, I see 1 vote
And I see another 1 over across the world
I see 3 more New York
20 votes Missouri
I see 50
I see 100,000,000 votes

U
You're all coming with me

For the rest of your life
U will remain behind these walls until U go insane
Here's your hammer
Start hacking away

Any thought of revolution
There'll be a price to pay

This is a song for the future
This is a song for the future
This is a song for the future

I wonder who could be
A time traveler in rags
Holding a hammer
Just like you

Dear creature
Who are you?

I am the human race
Including all of U sitting
The truth is there is only 1 of me

Cause race isn't real
There is only 1 human family
Who took it upon yourselves to label
And divide and pass it down through centuries
When in reality
U are all too special

And unique to be labeled
By the color of your skin or flag

U are all humans
And I love U

Now man made constructs aren't true
Cause if the world does not agree
It means it's in your head

Races in your head
Races in your head
Races in your head

Until
People are hurt
More people divide

Races in your head
Until the people subdue
To an ancient ideology
That was made to leverage power

But if we all come together
Come together in unity
I guarantee well all be accepted
Into a larger community

They've known about us
For a very very long time
And they want to involve us
In their intergalactic peace treaty

(Sebben, crudele)
(Sebben, crudele)
(Mi fai languir)

Curse this intelligent life up above
In the stars
But they don't want
To meet us 
Till we defeated our egos

Now don't get me wrong
Cause U might be
Ego free

But your so called race
Plays part in someone
Else's superiority

You seem confused
You don't get it
Every human on earth has descended from the same fish 
That crawled out of the ocean millions of years ago
This is the human family
No, not culture or ethnicity
That's just geography
Race will only exist
When people are being hurt and divided for it

We are all unique 
We are different from our ancestors
And we’re different from each other
And that’s a good thing 

Just look
See how beautiful they are
How free

No food or drinks on the organ
(THANK YOU PIANO)
No food or drinks on the organ 
(THANK YOU PIANO)
Please help us maintain these instruments with
No food or drinks on the organ 
(THANK YOU PIANO)

Deeper into the pyramid we go
(BRING OUT THE PUPPETS)

There was a

Farmer
Miner
Shaman
Creator
Romantic

They were a family
That lived amongst the trees
And the flowers and the bees
And their cabinets

The farmer grew apples of
Golden grapes of lilac
Served all plates
And buckets of cognac

The miner found them
Jewels, diamonds and
O

Built the cabinets they resided in
Amongst the trees
And the flowers and the bees
And their towers

The shaman blew minds with potions
Healed wounds and hearts broken
Studied all theories and history
Made medicine for the foreign war

Wanting nothing in return
They helped the world learn

The creator gave them joy
By making good deeds and mystery
Songs so hauntingly

The romantic loved them all
Themselves and the world around them

Upon the mess was trickling in
The root of all evil
Came to put a spin on this hymn
Devined betrayal

It got into the farmer's head
To put food in boxes
And stores and shelves

For dollars and expenses
And grew the wheat so strangely high
The top is not seen by the ground bound eye

Grew so tall
The scarecrow couldn't guard it

Aviation ate it all
Before the harvest

The miner dug it's nose right
To the farmer
Greed made the decision to
Tell him what the earth is worth

And they sold rocks
Shines through them clear
The cost of the rocks were just

The root of all evil
Appeared in the air

Next was seen
In a psychedelic scene
The visions held by the shaman

And all what was fair
And from whom to care
And even them to take from their trust

The vision told a charged medicine
For the old, the young and the crazy
To give to the other 4 based on
Values that were unfair

And in the eyes of the universe
Were untrue

The root of all evil's hypnotics made
The creator's are bland and romantic

The paintings became ads
And the songs turned bad
And they were all sold for profit

The romantic found shade for themselves
And others in barns
Serials redefined their features

This tale is U
We're living in currently
It's been in front of our eyes
Since the dawn of humanity

The root of all evil
Is in your pocket

Quite a tale isn’t it
It’s amazing what a little cash flow can do to a person’s life
But what’s something more powerful than money
Cancer 
Oh sure 
Love 
How about God 
God is older 
But what is God 
(IS IT MY TURN YET)
A Humble entrance for a grand old delusion

I am the thing
In your life U cannot control
U can call me God
Good evening

Death ends for me
And time moves for me
And space is ever expanding
For me to live
Oh so comfortably

In the early days of humanity
People afraid of my fatality
So they created religions in spite of me

Cause every living thing
Knows I'll take their life
At the end of the day

As the years went by
The confidence grew
That there is a heaven
Or a Moksha
Or Allah

Now I deem God
Know the truth
That it's all a spoof
And power is the root

And wars are fought
The defied my people
Even though no matter what

My morals
Were made the same

And U treat people
Differently cause of stories passed down
When U can praise me
Uniquely

I am the things U cannot control
U can call me God

(ALL OF U ARE COLLECTIVELY ME)
(THINK ABOUT IT)
(TAKE THE TIME)
(MY STANDARDS AND MORALS CAME FROM YOUR) 
(GRANDMOTHERS MOTHERS)
(BUT 1 MIND IS PLENTY TO MAKE THE IDEAS)
(THAT CHANGE HOW OPINIONS ARE WRITTEN)

God really is the collected minds of the people
Religions are just how we translate and personify 
The forces of nature we wish to control 
Wouldn’t U agree?

Now
On with the show

Can U tell me what I have in my hand?
Oh, silly me U can't see me
Well, it's a globe
U know what that is

Are all the lines on this globe predetermined?
Where U can and cannot explore
Who decided this?

Well, let's all huddle in 
Make ourselves cozy

Let me tell you
About the first man and woman
They made lines
To separate the people
They made race
To section the people
They made the countries
And the cities and the states

And they made laws
And arrested my people
They made war
And murdered my people

People of the world
Set yourself free

So the people wanted comfort
So they burnt down the trees
And they wanted to get high
So they payed the pharmacies
They wanted to feel full
So they hunted the elephants
And they wanted to feel power
So they made the dollar bill

They wanted to go fast
So they kicked out the Indians

Share your earth
Before lines become walls
Share the mountains
Share the valleys
Share the rivers that flow

Share your earth
Before it's too late
Share the mountains
Share the valleys
Share the rivers that flow

So the people were afraid
And we gave them guns
And the people were bored
So we gave them TV
And the people wanted more
So we gave them satellites
And the people wanted more
So we gave them skyscrapers

People of the world
Please set yourself free

Cause now the lines we created
Have turned into walls
And the war we created
Turned into destruction

And the race we created
Turned into greed
And the laws we created
Turned into bricks

And the skyscrapers we built
Came a crumbling down
And the people I love
Turned into robots
And the people I love
Turned into robots

Share your earth
Before lines become walls
Share the mountains
Share the valleys
Share the rivers that flow

Share your earth
Before it's too late
Share the mountains
Share the valleys
Share the rivers that flow

The lines we created are turning into walls
Just look out your window, walls stacked up tall
The Earth belongs to everyone, and none of us alike
We can’t divide, and let our pride keep us fighting the wrong fight
These ancient constructs we don’t have to abide by
Keeping our people in and those people, left to die
Because we are a future people who can think for ourselves 
Not follow Columbus or Attila the Huns fun

That reminds me
We're on to number seven
The oldest and the darkest
A character right out of the early ages
As soon as living things come into the picture
This evil was standing there, holding a mirror

(I AM THE 7TH EVIL)
(THE EVIL OF THEFT)
(NOT THE THEFT OF COMMODITY OR MATERIAL OF COURSE)
(STEALING THINGS IS NOT EVIL) 
(BUT STEALING SEX AND LIFE IS) 
(THIS IS MY DUNGEON, NOW MAKE YOURSELF COMFORTABLE) 
(I HAVE A SONG TO SING)
(THEN YOU’LL SEE)
(THAT I’M SO EVIL YOUR DOG CAN SMELL IT)
(SEE WHAT I MEAN)

Murder
And rape
Is evil

And I am not evil
And you could never be
Evil

But let me tell you
What it's like
To be evil

The taking of a life for love
Is so normal for me
It's as daily as brushing teeth
Or fixing tea

I'm incapable of changing
My mind
My way of thinking
Is set in time

Murder
And rape
Is evil
To you

Cause to me it is
A right of way
Turning you
Into monsters

So go out
And kill a lady
And rape a man
Because it only makes me
Stronger
What it's like
To be evil

The taking of a life for love
Is so normal for me
It's as daily as brushing teeth
Or fixing tea

I'm incapable of changing
My mind
My way of thinking
Is set in time

Well it comes so naturally
A surge of inspiration
To commit those bodies to
A permanent scar

I'm as natural as the dancing lily
Or the pollenated bee

Rape and murder are in my blood
Just like hate and jealousy
Are in you

Are in you
Are in you
Are in you

You hear that
The air in your lungs that we all share
The same air breathed by the mothers of your fathers
Do you hear how it writes a song
The song sung for centuries 
Telling of our good and evil
The song sung for every breath of every day
Until you breathe no more

The aware ones are catching on
But for those who aren't
We have another song
But this one
Is by you

Are in you
Are in you
Are in you

You hear that
The air in your lungs that we all share
The same air breathed by the mothers of your fathers
Do you hear how it writes a song
The song sung for centuries 
Telling of our good and evil
The song sung for every breath of every day
Until you breathe no more

The aware ones are catching on
But for those who aren't
We have another song
But this one
Is by you

So U are the 8th evil
It’s not your fault 
You’ve been born without consent into the deep end of 
Modern man made constructs
 
Did U agree to these systems?
Did U agree on who owns what land or what 
Gender, race, and culture U must abide by?
Did U agree on money being equal in importance
To food and water?

Did U agree to this?
No
Do U everyday continue to practice these systems?
Well that’s for U to decide

People set in their ways by age or subjective intelligence 
May find it harder to rethink and relive
Your cynicism may be what prevents the magic
For those who want to go deeper
We only ask one thing of U

U must remember a time before U knew who U were
U must remember a time before U knew who U were

A time before your parents, teachers, friends and more 
Influenced your morals and standards
Forget all the rules of the game we constantly compete in
But refuse to acknowledge

If we all come together
Come together in unity 
I guarantee we’ll all be accepted 
Into a larger community