Chapter 1 - May 2, 2086 - Philadelphia Art Museum

Chapter_1

May 2, 2086

Philadelphia Art Museum

Chills ran down Benjamin’s spine, making him shudder as the tingling progressed, unadulterated, throughout his body. Though there was a crisp chill to the air, the unusually cold spring morning did little to generate such a response. Instead, the putrid smell of sickness and disease inundated his senses. The horrid odors seemed to cling to every part of him; he could almost taste the air.

Benjamin ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, attempting to get a few strands out of his eyes. Used to a buzz cut all of his life, he felt as if he needed to constantly scratch his thick hair, which was in desperate need of a cut and wash.

Looking around the room, Benjamin attempted to imagine how this brilliant museum once appeared. He recalled how as a child he had once visited this place during a seventh grade school trip. That was ten years ago; he could hardly fathom now how much excitement and joy he had felt running into this particular room, looking at all the armor and swords with such amazement.

Ben, walk don’t run, he recalled one of his teachers cautioning as he sprinted from exhibit to exhibit. Don’t touch that, another scolded as he ran his hand along the metal armor of a fully suited medieval knight sitting on an equally fortified black replica of a horse.

As he looked at the floor, Ben saw what was left of this once mesmerizing exhibit. A few stray metal plates and shattered pieces of the horse lay strewn across the white, porcelain tiles, already cluttered by broken glass debris from all the shattered windows. Though saddened about its destruction, he felt overwhelmed by the memory of how excited he was to tell his mother and father about what he saw during his museum tour. When he arrived home later that day, he could hardly catch his breath.

The swords, the suit of arms, the guns, he sputtered to them over a home-cooked dinner. He could barely eat as he went on and on that night regaling them with the details of what he had spotted during the day.

Innocence lost, Benjamin lamented.

Benjamin took a deep breath, momentarily forgetting he was in the present and not the past. His lungs were overwhelmed by the unfettered smell of urine and stool. Attempting not to gasp, he almost vomited.

He zipped up his jacket, struggling to stay focused, but the memories persisted in his mind’s eye. He remembered how vibrant both his mother and father looked at the time. Always impeccably dressed, his mother wore a beautiful floral dress and had her blond hair tied into a bun. In addition, he could recollect how intently his father listened to his stories that evening. A hulking man dressed in a gray jumpsuit with Armor Assembly written on the sleeve, Benjamin’s father was jolly despite having just finished back-to-back grueling shifts at work.

The Disease it was simply called. Benjamin shook his head in disgust. His mother was the first in his family to be claimed by the plague that had engulfed the planet just four years earlier. Before claiming the lives of its victims, The Disease first took their dignity and sanity. Benjamin recalled how his beloved mother had withered away helplessly in their home. With no cure at the time and the hospitals overwhelmed by infection, most people were left to die in pain without any medical assistance. Two of Benjamin’s grandparents and one uncle soon followed his mother.

The sick and wounded lying around Benjamin on the floor, huddled under blankets, had triggered the memory. Having been barricaded in this room for almost four days with little food and water and no medical supplies, they were trapped. Two had already died while a few others were soon to follow. Without access to any form of sanitary facilities, the sick were forced to wallow in their own excrement.

The Disease, Benjamin sighed. He had naively believed that its cure would be the end of the suffering. Instead, it had proved to be just the beginning—for not only him but also the entire planet. What most angered him was that The Disease was manmade and supposedly released inadvertently. The New Reality, Benjamin cursed, knowing they must have been behind it.

Benjamin stood up and stretched his back and legs. Though he had been a Boy Scout in his younger years, he certainly was no longer prepared to sleep three nights on a cold, hard floor. He felt stiffer than the pieces of armor that used to adorn this very room. Looking down, he grabbed a Spanish era sword that was lying next to him.

Just in case.

“Ben, I made some coffee and picked up a dozen donuts,” Christine jested as she sat against an empty glass case. Taking a bite from a ration bar wrapped in foil, she reached out and offered, “You want some?”

“Is that jelly filled?” Ben responded, with a slight smirk. “You know I would prefer the Boston Cream.”

Christine smiled. Her big blue eyes and vibrant red hair seemed to illuminate the room. Though she had only known Ben for a few months, she felt very comfortable with him. She knew that as the de facto leader of this rag tag bunch he had done everything he could to keep them alive. Now outcasts in their own home city, they, along with many others just like them, fought for their own survival. With the Art Museum now surrounded, she knew it was just a matter of time before they all met their creator.

“You have to eat something,” Christine insisted. “What if the Lopers break through before help arrives? You need to stay strong.”

“How much food do we have left?”

“If we’re lucky, maybe another day.”

“Is that it?” Ben asked. “What if we reduced rations by half to stretch things out a little longer?”

Christine’s eyes said it all. With a tilt of her head and one-raised eyebrow, Benjamin knew what she meant. The rations were almost completely gone. They could be stretched no further. With the cold weather, starvation would set in sooner rather than later. Thankfully, a sole water fountain provided them with all the liquid they needed. Though the water was tinted brown and emitted an unusual smell, it served its purpose.

Christine took one final bite of her ration and threw the wrapper on the ground. Wearing a ragged and torn blue coat and equally tattered pants, she stood up and gave Benjamin a hug. Looking up, she asked, “Any word on help?”

Benjamin smiled. “Maybe today,” he said, attempting to respond optimistically. But he knew the truth. The chance that they were to receive any form of help, especially within the next day or two, was slim to none. Most groups like his were also in hiding, scared to show their faces.

Looking past Benjamin’s smudged glasses and into his hazel eyes, Christine wished she could believe him. Deep down, she knew he was attempting to be optimistic and provide her and the rest of them with a tiny hope. Despite the lack of substance to his words, his optimism did bring her some solace.

Christine took her right hand and lightly caressed Benjamin’s stubbled face. Right now he and the rest of the group here were all she had left. She especially appreciated Benjamin who had taken her in after her entire family had been murdered. Traumatized and nearly suicidal, she felt grateful how he had personally nursed her back to both physical and mental health.

“Thank you,” Benjamin responded, enjoying the momentary tranquility.

Benjamin then looked around the room at people huddled amongst the broken glass display cases and the bits and pieces of history cluttering the floor. Many were bunched together under blankets or simply leaning against a wall as they awakened to another cold morning.

“How’s Bruce?” Benjamin asked. “I don’t see him.”

Christine grabbed him by both arms. “He passed last night.” She let the news sink in before continuing. “Sepsis got the best of him”

She then pointed to the corner of the room where a few large quilted blankets covered the silhouettes of three bodies underneath.

Shocked, Benjamin was left speechless. Bruce’s death had been so quick. It was just yesterday that he accidentally cut himself on a jagged piece of armor on the floor. Now, not even twenty-four hours later, sepsis had taken his life. It seemed so appalling and senseless—especially now in 2086 with modern science. A simple antibiotic could have easily saved him.

Benjamin shook his head. What type of leader am I? he lamented. People die under my watch, and I don’t even know it happened.

“Ben, it’s not like you could have done anything,” Christine responded, lifting up his head. “I thought it best that you slept. We need you at your finest.”

Benjamin knew Christine was rationally correct. However, the shallow feeling that dug through him did not abate with her words. The rapidity of Bruce’s death reminded him of the passing of his own father; the agony of that event resurfaced involuntarily.

Bruce had reminded Benjamin so much of his father. Not only did they share the same name, but also physically they were both large, strong men with the kindest hearts and a great sense of humor. Even in death they were alike: Bruce and Benjamin’s father had both died within twenty-four hours of falling ill.

“Stay focused,” Christine implored, recognizing Benjamin’s blank stare. She gently squeezed his chin. “I know he reminded you of your father.”

She stopped talking, suddenly realizing that she had said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry,” she quickly responded. “It’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, attempting a smile. “It’s what you were thinking.” He paused a moment. “It’s what I was thinking.”

“The nanosplicers took so much from us all,” Christine commented. “We all had to bury at least one person dear to us.”

Even the word nanosplicer sent chills down Benjamin’s spine. Released onto the entire planet, these self-replicating microscopic, half biologic, half robotic devils tore up the DNA of over a billion people and sent them prematurely to their graves.

“Myra Keres,” Benjamin said with revulsion. How he wished that he could have personally killed her and watch her whither away just like his father. Her instant and painless death by poison was far too easy for such a callous monster. Her thirst for power and control had left over a billion dead in her wake.

“She’s gone now,” Christine said.

Benjamin pointed to a poster hanging on the wall. Still in reasonable shape, it covered an unfaded rectangular area that might once have boasted a painting or other piece of art.

“By coming together and accepting each other’s beliefs, we can come to ultimate truth,” he read.

Christine looked over at the poster. Until now she had not noticed it clinging to the wall. The slogan was set in front of The New Reality insignia, a diamond with a gold circle in its center. The ignominious symbol had replaced the country’s national flag and all the flags of the sovereign nations around the world.

Though she despised the company, Christine knew that they, the people, were to blame for its rise to power. When the countries around the world had reached an unfathomable deficit spending and accumulated insurmountable debt to The New Reality, the company called in their loans, taking advantage of havoc wreaked by The Disease. When the countries were unable to repay even a pittance of their debt, The New Reality usurped their sovereignty, creating a New World Order that fundamentally changed the planet.

Personal freedoms and individual thought had become a relic of the past. Central planning, massive regulations, and insurmountable taxation had made the accumulation of personal wealth almost impossible. The bankers and businessmen who ran The New Reality became richer by the day while the rest of the planet’s population wallowed in servitude and fought for the economic scraps left behind.

The middle class had been eradicated and an “even playing field” had been created for everyone except the extremely rich bankers and businessmen who essentially controlled everything. Well over 99% of the world’s population lived in the same economic misery.

“Everything was supposed to change after Myra Keres’ death when The New Reality instituted their Open Society Initiative,” Benjamin commented. “Instead, it became worse. We turned on ourselves, devouring one another for the scraps left behind by the elite.”

Christine agreed. Once Jules Windsor grabbed power from Myra Keres and gained control of The New Reality, things were supposed to be better. The world he promised to all based upon the philosophies of his hero Karl Popper, was supposed to create a veritable utopia on Earth. The thought that a new, greater society would emerge out of the collective, shared values of the many proved to be a farce. Instead of keeping the morals and values that held civilization together for hundreds of years, a new morality and value system was created, one based upon the masses.

It was a system where borders, religion, and traditional values were eradicated and a new moral construct arose. In but a year, civilization completely changed. Absolute value was based upon mass belief. What is right or wrong could change on a whim.

Plus, everyone had equal say in this newly-created society. All the criminals, deviants, anarchists, racists, militants, and radicals now had an equal seating at the worldwide table. Without a true moral compass to guide this new Open Society, people self-segregated themselves into individual groups, fighting amongst each other for their voices to be heard. Instead of lobbying The New Reality for change or holding them accountable for their actions, the people turned on one another and fought amongst themselves, each faction hoping their will and beliefs would win.

Most never understood what was happening to them and their previously sovereign countries—they blindly supported Jules Windsor without hesitation.

“It led to this,” Benjamin grieved.

Ever since The Disease had taken his mother, he never trusted The New Reality again. Left to fend for himself, and homeless after the death of his father, Benjamin quickly learned how things worked on the streets. He soon realized how this Open Society was merely a ploy—a means for The New Reality to keep control of its citizens without the mass surveillance and global military force it once needed to stay in power.

As humanity’s usefulness was becoming more obsolete by the day with the rise of automatization, a massive population reduction was not frowned upon by the global elite. In fact, with less of a working population and more robots doing the labor, they could wield a much stronger stranglehold over the planet than ever before—just like their Illuminati guidelines mandated.

A rumble shook the Art Museum, sending a few loose shards of glass precariously hanging from the windows on the ceiling crashing down to the floor.

Christine jumped back, startled.

Benjamin quickly reconnoitered the entire area, looking for any signs that they were somehow under attack. The doors were still boarded shut, and all the armor and tables behind them continued to bolster their defenses.

The people in the room snapped to attention. The worn and tired looks on their faces quickly subsided with the thought of a possible battle at hand. Many instinctively grabbed a vintage medieval sword lying next to them or a piece of metal pipe to defend themselves.

“Calm down,” Benjamin assured. “I think it was just an earthquake.”

“Like that’s any relief,” grumbled a man in the far corner of the room. With one arm in a makeshift sling and a poorly healing scar on the side of his face, he continued to heckle, “It’s not like dying from this building crumbling down upon us all from an earthquake would be any worse of a fate than we all face right now.”

“Jeremy,” Benjamin pleaded, “now is not the time.”

“Listen, Ben,” he continued, “now is the time. “If those bastards outside don’t come in here soon and kill us all, starvation will do it for them.”

Benjamin could see a few heads nodding in agreement.

“You got that right,” agreed a middle-aged emaciated woman.

“Lord God, take us all now,” Jeremy pleaded, looking up at the ceiling. “Send down the fire and brimstone and take us all out of our misery.”

Benjamin did not know if this outburst were out of pure frustration, post-traumatic stress, starvation, or a combination of all three. However, he did realize one thing: He needed to take control. If they were to survive, they must remain cohesive.

Utilizing a technique that he learned on the streets, Benjamin raised his voice and tenor to meet the anger projected by Jeremy. “Do you want the Lopers to win?”

Benjamin looked around the room, meeting the gaze of each and every man and woman before continuing. “When The Disease struck, who did we rely on to get through it?”

Silence echoed throughout the room.

“We here in Philadelphia stuck together. We took care of one another and made sure our neighbor’s best interest was that of our own.” He stopped a second. “What happened when the nanosplicers decimated our population? Did we sit and cry? What did we do?”

“Stuck together!” Christine added with a little enthusiasm. A few others joined in, echoing her words in agreement.

“That’s right. We stuck together,” Benjamin added.

A few of the people in the room held up their swords.

“You all here are my family.” He looked around the room again. “This is our family. We have—” he attempted to continue.

The entire building began to shake. This time the tremors proved much more violent. What was once a simple rumble turned into a roller coaster ride. Parts of the ceiling began to crash down upon them as the wall Jeremy had been standing next to crumbled down on him, crushing the man.

“Jeremy,” Benjamin pleaded as he touched a two by two mm auricular chip implanted in his outer left ear canal, “are you alright?”

He repeated the request twice but received no response. The crackles emitting from the chip gave him the only answer he needed: Another friend had been lost.

Over the rubble from the collapsed wall, Benjamin saw the glint of the sun flicker off what appeared to be a shiny metal object. A few more reflections of sunlight again glimmered in the distance.

Recognizing the danger, Benjamin yelled, “Prepare your weapons!”