Chapter 5
A Good Night’s Sleep
End never knew a pillow could feel so good when it came in contact with one’s face. After it did, he thought he would never get up from his bed again for the next century. Beside him, Beef strolled in from the toilet after his bath with a towel strapped over his shoulder. As Beef walked past Akira’s bed, he overturned the entire metal bed in anger. Yes, he hated Akira to the core. But no one cared about Akira, because everyone was too tired from the training. End was perhaps the only person who remembered Akira, and still felt that sadness that he had been sent to the Sphere through something of a misunderstanding. Beef on the other hand, felt good that there was one less person challenging for leadership.
Beef went to sit down with his newly formed gang. End knew who they were, after listening to their conversations night after night. There were three members in his gang, The first was Patrick Bates, a handsome, smooth talking guy who said he was studying investment banking but quit to join the ILC because he wanted some “action”. End didn’t like him, because to End, Patrick was someone who exercised an over-intense friendly-ness, but had only emptiness inside his eyes. Next to him was Mickey Mallory, an extremely strong looking tough brute with a bald head, tinted glasses whose face suggested that he was the epitome of violence. Then there was Guile Wayne, a kid from the Outback City, who seemed to be filled with too much energy. He strutted about like an over enthusiastic reporter who was only interested in gossip, violence and sensationalized news.
Away from the thought of them, End laid on his back and tried to sleep. For some reason, he missed the days in his cell, where he could fall asleep much quicker. He tossed and turned, but all to no avail. No position matched the security and predictability of his prison bed in the Institute of Salvation. End decided to look around his bunk.
Some of the recruits were looking at their holographic videos with their ID tags. Most of them were watching videos of themselves when they were younger, and their parents. End pondered over why his own parents had not contacted him yet. That thought was depressing so he decided not to dwell upon it. In the other corner of the room, almost all the recruits were using their Viewfinders to play an online game with their portable gaming console called the Paystation Portable, or PyP. A curious End whispered to the nearest recruit, Ed John De Nhoj.
“How does this work?”
“Oh, we don’t have internet access here, so we are using the VF to access the internet, as well as power our PyPs to play online games.”
“What are you playing?”
“Oh. This is the World of War Bluff.”
“How do you play it?”
“It’s simple. Everybody gets to be a weapons dealer online. You have to create conflicts between other cities so that they will go to war and buy your weapons.”
End actually found that concept disturbing. But he saw that everyone else playing it seemed to find the game extremely addictive. End did not think that anything he said would dissuade them from playing the game into the night. He looked at the arm of Ed John and saw that there was a pack of blood, which was hooked up to the gamer’s vein.
“What is that?”
“Oh. You have to pay a monthly subscription to continue playing.”
“With real blood?”
“Yes. This blood pack sucks my blood to keep track of how much I donated.”
“Why real blood, why not money?”
“Oh, everyone knows that game companies that make war video games are financed by weapon manufacturing companies. And these companies value blood more than money, because you can print money, but you can’t replicate blood to pump back into injured soldiers to keep the real wars going.”
End did not know which was more frightening. The fact that the recruit could say it all in such a calm voice, or the fact that the recruit knew all of this, but continued to support these gaming companies because of his addiction. If he understood what the gamer just told him correctly, then a simple layman explanation would be this. Weapon manufacturing companies build weapons to sell to the cities at war. The cities at war sustain such heavy human casualties, that they need more blood donation to heal the wounded to keep the fight going. That is where video game companies come in, and create addictive war video games that sap young men of their fresh blood. The blood and the weapons can then be sold off to the warring cities at a premium price.
“Do you want to play something?” asked Ed John.
“I, Er…”
“Come on try something. I have a spare.”
Ed John handed End another PyP.
“This one doesn’t have this same game, but it has something better. A classic, and my personal favorite.”
“What is it?”
“Moron Combat. It’s basically a death match. I mean, a lot of wimpy game makers out there are still obsessed with fight engines and character design to make their fighting game awesome. But they’re missing the point. The point of fighting is violence!”
The game started on its own in End’s hands. End realized that he was controlling a fighter to rip out body parts and guts of the opponent. Only when there is nothing left or if the opponent suffers enough, will the player win. End puked after round one.
“I think I am going to be sick.”
“Wimpy.” Said Ed John as he snatched his game back.
This is a strange and cruel world, thought End. End walked away, and the gamer was too addicted to the game to feel his absence. End did not understand the necessity of war one bit, and thought that perhaps in this lifetime, he never will. He felt that if this training went on, it would all amount to nothing anyway. End hated the ILC.
He went back to his bed and put his head on his pillow. As he closed his eyes, he could hear the sound of crickets. Crickets loved to whisper amongst themselves but what they don’t know was that they were whispering so loudly that everyone could hear them. Tonight, the crickets were not the only ones. There were also the Wa brothers famed for chatting with one another till morning. The Wa brothers were two brothers who hailed from Canton City, also nicknamed the “City of Dim Sum”. When they spoke, it was with their Cantonese accented English. They were called the Wa brothers for two reasons. One, was the fact that it was actually their real surname. And two, was that they would marvel at almost anything with the expression, “Wah!”
“Wah Larry, ah.”
“Meh-si ah, (Cantonese for ‘What’s up’) Andy?”
“Why aren’t you playing World of WarBluff?”
“Because I hacked into the game and got unlimited credit. Then I cheated, and found it too lame to continue playing the game with infinite credit.”
“Wah.” Replied Andy, “Wah Larry ah.”
“What?”
“Why doesn’t End have a buddy? Everybody has a buddy, like you and me.”
“I am not your buddy. I am your brother. Don’t talk. Sleep!”
End opened his eyes. Beside his bed was an empty bed. The two were right, every recruit was assigned a buddy so that everyone had someone to watch their back. End had no one.
“Wah Larry, ah.”
“Meh-si ah, Andy?”
“Have you ever heard the rumor that the ILC was never designed to be a military school?”
“Then what was it designed to be? A kindergarten?”
“Haha! You are so funny. I love it when you tell jokes.”
“It’s not a joke.”
“It is. You are so funny. Hahaha.”
“Sor! (Cantonese for ‘Crazy’). Don’t talk. Sleep!”
The silence lasted only about five seconds.
“Wah Larry, ah.”
“Meh-si?”
“Why don’t they invent a three-hundred and sixty degree lenses for the VFs.”
“I don’t know.”
“But don’t you think it would be useful?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of? Come on! It’s very useful!”
“Ok, I admit it’s a good idea.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“Maybe we could call it The Geta”
“Why Geta?”
“Remember our school mate in class, David Geta? And how we always thought that his glasses were so thick that he probably could see everything with a three hundred and sixty degrees vision.”
“The one who makes music!”
“Yes.”
“The DJ?”
“DJ and scientist. Part time scientist. Full time DJ.”
“I like him.”
“Then let’s call it Geta.”
“Ok! But we haven’t invented it yet.”
“We’ll do it tomorrow. Now, don’t talk. Sleep!”
This time the pause was about five seconds.
“Wah Larry, ah.”
“Oh come on, Andy! Shut up and sleep!”
“Do you believe what Uncle E said about a time traveller who came to this City and gave us the technology of the viewfinders?”
“When did you hear that?”
“He repeats it to everyone. So, what do you think?”
“I don’t care! If you say another word, I swear I am going to…”
Suddenly, End heard a sound. He turned to his right to see Beef and gang, ganging on another recruit. The recruit’s name was Billy Gin, a soft spoken, dark skinned African-American boy with curly hair.
“Hey! Get off Billy!” shouted End. Beef and gang turned around to look at End. Suddenly, End felt someone cover his face with a blanket. What followed was a harsh round of beating.
“Crikey! That’s gonna hurt! Right in the gizzard!” exclaimed Guile Wayne. Mickey Mallory did most of the beating, because he enjoyed it the most, while Patrick was just watching the torture unfold, and smiling. Beef stood overall commander of this vicious attack. When the punching and kicking died down for a moment, End regained some vision to see Beef standing over him.
“Hi Knucklehead. I don’t understand why you of all people would dare to comment on anything that I am doing. You drag us down everyday, and you are more concern with what I do to him?”
Beef hit End in the stomach. End fell to the ground finding it hard to breathe.
“This platoon is full of the most elite people. I worked tremendously hard to score perfect As to be selected for this school and you are not going to mess it up for me. I will do this night after night, until you quit the ILC, because you don’t deserve to be here.”
Beef walked back to his bed.
“Anyone not happy with what I just did, please, by all means lodge a complain. But I did it for all of us. Ed!”
Ed John was surprised that his name was called.
“You told you me you wanted to be part of my elite squad. Prove it!”
Ed John was hesitant at first. He came across as a man who embraced the violence of video games, but lacked the real world experience when it came to such fights. Furthermore, he wasn’t very large in figure. He walked forward with small steps, until he finally decided to take the stick from Beef. Then he began hitting End but it was too soft.
“You Noob! Hit harder!”
Ed John began to hit harder. End shouted for him to stop, but he didn’t. Ed John was now inducted into Team Beef. Beef grabbed End by the chin, as he talked to him.
“The moment you close your eyes, is the moment, you get another round of our special service. Did he just blink?”
Guile came forth with a kick. It was weak, but he just wanted to do it. His leg hurt after.
Beef and gang covered End’s face and held him down for another rounding of beating. I wish I could tell you that End fought the good fight, and that weak people in the army don’t get beaten. But this was a real army, and the army never liked push-overs. It could care less about your hidden talents or your slow progress. With each jab in the rib and every kick on his back, End understood that this system never tolerated anyone like him. As the beating went on, End even became numbed to it, because it was his pride that was hurting, but if he could not feel any pride anymore, what else could hurt? Well, at least that was what he was telling himself. Just like the laws of conservation of energy, pain never goes away. A person cannot really numb himself from pain. They put it somewhere else, until further use. Every hit of injustice that End ate from Beef, he accumulated into some sort of emotional energy, becoming a time bomb ready to explode.
“Good thing this Viewfinder can record audio.” Said Beef, as he clicked for a playback of the screams of agony that End made, “If I ever get bored in class I can listen to this. Haha!”
Beef went to bed a contented man. End was left shivering on his bed. He wet his bed. Everyone in the bunk watched, as he just sat up for a minute unable to move, before dashing to the toilet, just down the corridor. He locked himself in, not sure if it was safe. He tried to whisper to himself that he would somehow find a way to make it through all this. As he squatted next to the toilet bowl for more than an hour, the pain gave him something. Perhaps It the doing of his subconscious mind, but he was able to activate his VF and use it to record audio just as Beef said. He recorded his own voice clip saying, “You can make it” and played it. He clicked it to hear it again. And again. And again. He listened to his own voice, pretending it was someone else telling him, “You can make it.” He listened to it all through the night.
Later into the night, his two shadow men Rob and Bob appeared before him. Rob used hand signals to tell End not to worry, that he and Bob will keep watch of Beef, and that End could sleep. End felt slightly more comforted by that thought, and tried to rest. Try as he might, he could not close his eyes. Was it the fear of Beef jumping up on him? Or was it the uncertainty of the ILC, and the new environment that was making him uncomfortable. Or perhaps it was the daunting thought that he was indeed slow, useless and good at nothing, and because of this, the Sphere of influence draws nearer each day. For a dark second, End relapsed into his lack of confidence and thought that maybe he deserved the sphere. End felt the walls of his psychological state breaking down, and if hope or something or someone he could hold on to, was destined to come, it had better come now and fast.