Chapter 1.1 - Robbed of Their Pasts

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

August 13th, 2026. 18:45

Logan Preaker

Mirages form on the searing tarmac of Route 108, California, as the sky slowly turns orange. A pale blue transport bus drives across the road, where it carries a handful of people with their luggage. The stale air inside smells of sweat and baby powder, and some passengers comfort the screaming toddlers in their laps, while others try to catch up on sleep.

Six soldiers are on guard with their M4 rifles on the bus. No one is safe anymore.

Among the passengers is a timid, tan-skinned man slumped next to a window. His breath fogs up the glass, a single tuft of brown hair sticking out from a slicked-back style.

Riding alone with some lovely people, I guess. I just hope I can make it out with the others.

His eyes are puffy and distant as he wistfully stares at a picture on his cracked phone.

Mom and Dad, your faces at the anniversary are now a scarce happy memory in these times. Alongside those who fought with you all your lives.

He swipes the screen of the phone with his thumb, as another picture crops up.

Did you use your knowledge to create a safer future for yourselves, my students? Even my love for you to carry?

He swipes for one last.

And how can I forget that my time training paid off? Winning both the championships of fencing and kendo sure did lots of wonders for my health... or so I hope.

He gazes at his left hand, like a gift he loved and now away from his grasp.

All he has is himself.

His trembling fingers curl into a fist, pressed against his chest as tears slide down his face and breathes slowly.

My blood, the blood I share... all left undone. For the sake of my unseen future, I'll do my best to start anew. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to hold back his tears.

I'm so sorry.

He wipes them away with shaky hands.

***

Graffiti covers every tiny surface of the bus stop where the vehicle parks. Spat-out bubblegum is scattered on the ancient, grimy benches. An elderly black woman sits on the very edge of one, clad in a dark jacket and a long skirt.

A bun covered by a snood rests on the back of her neck, and a gleaming Star of David sits on her collarbone. She has skin bunching around the eyes, and keeps rearranging the stack of papers in her hands. When she sees the bus, she rushes forward and enters as soon as the door opens.

She looks at the only empty seat next to the young teacher, but the light-skinned bald man sitting across the aisle places his foot on it.

"Excuse me, sir. Am I doing something wrong?" she asks.

His rugged face twists into a sneer. "Wrong? Your presence plagues this place."

"But I've just arrived here. I came a long way to look for a bus to take me to the Safe Zone and right now this is the closest seat I can find."

"I'm not comfortable with you sitting next to me," the bald man grunts.

"Why does my presence bother you so much?" The lady is close to snapping.

"Shut up and find another seat, you stupid kike! You're bothering the good men around here!" the bald man yells back.

The tension already present in the air shoots up at his words. The teacher moves like a flash of lightning, grabbing his arm and twisting it hard.

"What the hell are you doing?" the bald man groans as the arm trembles from the grip. The teacher doesn't look disturbed in the slightest.

"This woman is just like everyone else. She may belong to a different race, but she has the same rights and opportunities. How dare you treat an equal like this? You're no different from the invaders," he replies, cold contempt in his voice.

The rugged man tries to free his hand from the teacher's grip. He yanks it out only for the young man to grab it again. His grip is too tight and strong to let go, and a strange madness clouds his eyes.

"I have the right to my personal space and you can't-"

"This is a land for everyone, sir. If I hear you being hateful one more time..." His voice is deceptively gentle as he asks, "What will it be?" He presses harder.

This causes the man to wince and groan as the force proves too much for him. The elderly woman mutters at them, which while a whisper, a keen ear could hear. Stop, for God's sake.

A fair-skinned soldier rushes down the aisle at the pace of a miracle worker and almost yells, "What's going on here, you two?"

The rugged man lowers the foot from the seat which blocked the lady, allowing her to sit on it.

The young teacher then releases his grip from the bigot's hand, while the man tries to hold it together from the pain. "My deepest apologies, soldier. As an advocate for the rights to any sort of public service, I strongly condemn the violation of such," the young teacher says.

"I understand, sir, but you could've called and let us handle the situation. Not to mention, the way you solved it."

"It's just... something is provoking me to do it. Something I've been trying to control for so long..." his voice quivers as he glances away.

"Well, no matter, it's settled now. In the meantime, we can all continue the trip to reach the safe zone in Carson City, and I hope you two will keep the peace this time around."

"I will."

The bald man nods.

"Good," the soldier says before he goes back to his post.

The old lady glances at the young man, at his shaky hands and eyes that are moving like shutters. "Do not worry, young man. He might not understand who we are."

"It should be that simple. This is the bare minimum expected in this age and era," the teacher replies.

"Even if it may not look like it, he will eventually learn to see every being as an equal. He may not be different from the outsiders."

"It's true. I should believe it, after all."

"I look forward to the day peace settles. For a stronger union between any future race of outsiders and our own people."

"I'm sorry if I sound rude, I just need some peace."

"I understand, young man," the lady murmurs as she lowers her head and closes her eyes. A necessary measure when there is a long way to safety. The teacher stays awake. He is almost afraid of closing his eyes at this point.

***

After a brief period of silence, he leans toward the driver's seat. "Hey, mind if you can turn on the radio?"

"Sure thing," she replies, pushing a button near the radio.

Static gives way to a news channel, where a woman can be heard talking:

"In the latest reports from military and war correspondents, the outsiders recently known as the Zlocu have been making rapid progress in their conquest of the US. Texas, Florida, Maine, and Vermont have been overrun with California, Nevada, Colorado, and Kansas to follow suit. There are also reports of Zlocu activity in the African continent, India, Siberia, and China. This report, alongside the massive exodus of refugees from Russia, Mexico, and several African countries have put even stable regions at risk. Reports of massive casualties in the contested zones also came to light in the latest hours."

"One week later, Zlocan troops have also landed on the Gulf of Mexico, the Philippines, Argentina, and Canada in what many consider to be the most dangerous threat to have ever occurred. With the progress in their conquest and multi-faceted attack, one can only wonder when and where the Zlocu will strike to keep instilling their fear in the people of planet Earth. All military commanders advise the people to stay alert-"

A white-hot flash, and then the bus is split in half by a giant laser. A long, ugly line appears on the floor and everything seems to stop in his head.

The force makes the bus skid off the road, taking its screaming passengers with it. Sparks fly, and a plume of smoke appears. Flames roar and engulf the hapless victims of the attack.

The teacher's face presses to the glass as one half goes crashing into a skeletal tree. Jagged pieces embed themselves into the left side of his face, and the wind is knocked out of him. He cannot scream in pain. As he crawls further, he sees the remains of a man's head, one separated from the main body. An empty left socket, and some cracked up teeth. The teacher grimaces at this yet keeps on crawling.

More people lay on the ground, some barely breathing and others missing vital body parts. Many make attempts at dragging themselves to safety.

The young teacher tries to crawl outside the bus while stumbling over each slashed-up seat. He uses his strength to get up from the impact and then tries to keep on going outside. His head is full of bruises, with the right arm of his shirt slashed up as well.

No... I must get away...this noise hurts.

As he crawls out of the bus, his blood runs cold. He sees something far worse than his nightmares.

How can he possibly help the others when his legs have lost all sensation in them?

Zlocan Walkers and Knights drop from cargo ships—medieval killers in modern armor.

The fabric that is used for their armor and gloves was multilayer carbon fiber in red and black. Tube-shaped weapons with plasma powers give them the upper hand in combat, and the people something to fear.

Like clockwork, they stomp on every resisting survivor or execute them on sight. Not a single one of them flinches. Their moves are precise and well-calculated with terrifying aim.

The Walkers are bipedal machines with high-impact armor, a pair of heavy cannons on the front and, like the armored Knights, black and red lines around the vehicle. Most emerge in sight of the naked eye, their camouflages cloaked for a while before advancing to the road accompanied by the Knights.

They pick up the survivors, rounding them up and putting them in nets, all while battleships appear in the sky.

The nets are then picked up by the cargo ships as their giant engines howl and whir before they fly away.

The young teacher slowly stands up, but not before a Knight smacks him with the back of his rifle.

He tries to get up, but the Knight stomps on his chest. The teacher winces in pain, the air knocked out of his lungs for the second time as he clutches at his chest.

"I bet you'll be a perfect specimen for the Inquisition. Enjoy this new trip, Human." His voice sounds mechanical, emotionless.

Before the Knight gets to him, he gets tackled by none other than the bald man. Though bruised and battered, he tries his best to beat the Zlocan down.

"You don't mess with US!" he shouts as he tries to pound the knight into submission.

Each weakening punch makes him vulnerable to Zlocan's hits, as the Knight snags his arms and breaks them while pushing him to the ground. The man resists, but knows he will die soon.

He glares at the teacher and gives out something unexpected while taking his last breaths.

"Run, you fool!"

The young man is able to move his legs suddenly and bounds into the woods. He has never run faster in his entire life. All while shielding his nose from the burning fuel and iron around him.

The Knight notices it, but keeps restraining the bald man while trying to keep the others in order.

He pulls his hand to put it on the intercom on his wrist. Once activated, it presents the map of other Knights in the area or beyond in the user's visor.

"To the Xelgea division, there's an escapee heading toward the forest! Your new orders are to find and capture the human, no killing unless authorized!"

Echoes of "Roger that" and "Yessir" are heard as they give chase to the teacher.

He runs faster and faster still, noticing the Zlocan troops around. He can't let them close in. He'd be better off dead, even with a disjointed road in his path.

And so he bounds over roots and rocks, he races toward salvation the whole Human race needs. He runs for everything he's ever lived for.

                                                                                   Seiner Butch

High above in the Californian skies, near Carson City, a G650 plane flies above a few clouds, its paint glittering.

There are ten people aboard, each sitting near the windows and alongside other people. Some sleep profoundly, others are at work, or comforting others over what happened.

They truly needed to be away from the horrors.

There's also a TV screen near one of the windows showing the news, muted for the sake of the tired passengers.

The TV shows a news anchor talking about the recent events while it shows images of the Zlocan invasion around the world.

"Outsider force expanding, Humanity's judgment day?"

"Cases of missing millionaires increase daily in the US following the invasion."

"Emergency meeting in UN HQs from remaining nations in response to the invasion."

Up front with a window next to the passengers, a dark-skinned man sits next to someone else. The person sleeps on a table in front of them.

His immaculate appearance hints at the newer generation of scientists he seems to be a part of. Amber eyes set in a sharp face. He dons a clean white coat, short spiky hair and a pair of square glasses.

But there's always something that can hide beneath a perfect exterior. He stares at one of the TV screens showing the news with a nonchalant expression, but his unusually fast breathing says something else.

He picks up a glass of water from the table, but his left-hand starts to shake and drops spill out onto the carpet.

A man in a tux with a fair skin tone notices his distress and walks over to him after he hangs up his phone.

"Seiner, what's wrong?" he asks.

The scientist turned to the man calling him, eyes wide like saucers.

"Nothing. Just trying to relax, Salim," the scientist says.

"Are you sure?"

"Y-yeah." His hands shake uncontrollably.

Salim won't budge as he places his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Hey, I know you've seen something terrible back there in Harvard, but I assure you that no matter what, you'll get a second chance in who you can be here."

"But what about... the invasion?"

"Eh, the military will find a way, I hope."

"I-I see."

"What you did back there in Boston was surely something heroic. Your family would've been proud of the courage you showed back there, like a good boy."

Seiner's neck stiffens, and his chest starts heaving again. Feeling a confusing frustration within, he throws the glass to the floor, staring as it shatters.

In a flash, he gets up from his seat and shoves Salim aside, rushing to the nearby bathroom.

Trembling, he takes a long time to turn on the tap.

He takes his glasses off and puts them on the sink, gritting his teeth when they fall off.

He loses his balance and collapses, too weak to get back up. Black spots dance in his vision as dizziness takes over.

Sweating, on the verge of tears, almost out of breath, it all feels like his life is being drained away in a matter of seconds.

He tries to stand up after what feels like hours. Wetting his hands from the sink, he splashes it on his face while trying to breathe normally. Repeating so many times, to no avail.

He stops to look in the mirror while his hands rest on the sink to support his weight.

His face looks lifeless, dead amber eyes staring back at him in the mirror. He cannot look away. The same emotions come rushing through him again, and his fist shoots forward.

The glass cracks with a sharp sound, the force causing it to look like a spider's web.

Heavy laboured breaths fill the enclosed space. He looks at his right hand, now embedded with blood and glass shards.

No matter how hard he tries to hold them in, sobs echo after a minute of silence.

Salim's "good boy" is like the forbidden words of a certain group.

He washes his face again and grabs a first aid kit from one of the racks. As he painstakingly walks out, the rest on board cannot seem to look away from him.

They all wonder about the state of such a young man.

What he went through in Harvard was hell, and mentioning it would always break him down.

All these kinds of questions would be met with doubt in what to believe.

Removing the shards with tweezers, he places them on an old cloth and grabs a roll of gauze. And in the end, to conceal the wound, he pulls out some green gloves from his bag near him and wears them on his hands.

It was better to keep such shameful injuries out of sight. Mother would've given him a sound thrashing for it.

He shivers involuntarily upon recalling the many frosty nights spent outside because of such things.

Salim approaches him once more, but before he can say anything, the scientist lifts a finger as if to show an order.

"Seiner-"

"I do not want to," he says with a raspy voice, startling Salim. The man puts his hand on Seiner's shoulder.

"What I said was really foolish on my part... but as long as you can stick to someone and know who you are, then you'll be alright. Just be sure that you control what you do."

"But what if I can't?" the scientist sounds sombre.

"You'll find a way out. Trust me."

He nods slowly, and paints a mask on his face again, as if nothing had happened a few minutes ago.

He sits back down and picks up a pencil to solve a sudoku puzzle in a crumpled magazine.

A few minutes pass by and everything seems calm.

After all, the storm is yet to come.

The plane staggers as if there is turbulence nearby, even though there are not that many clouds around them or even a storm. Then loud knocks are heard, in both the forward and back part of the plane. Everyone gets up to notice what's going on.

Salim tries to calm down the masses while trying to figure out the situation, yet a handful get tense enough to attempt in holding one of the nearby parachutes to escape from the plane and its incoming fate.

The scientist goes to the window on the left side of the plane. Leaning as far as he can, he sees the unthinkable.

Shit- it can't be...

An electric cable is attached to the plane, coming from something above. He notices another behind him.

Two cables...and to ensure the proper capture of the plane, all common parts have to be connected...if there's two on each side... then the other...

The cable hoists upwards, starting to pull, making the plane's tail lift, tilting the plane downwards.

The entire cabin turns topsy-turvy. Many hapless people fall down. Others like Seiner hold on to the wall near the exit while trying to help others in getting to safety.

He notices the pressure of the lift tears the wings down. And then, a quick laser strike cuts off the tail of the plane. The pressure from the air and the altitude suck ten outside the plane, while some suffocate inside even when trying to hold to the respiratory devices in their possession. 

Even those who are lucky enough to survive see a fate worse than they can expect. And the source of it all.

A huge Zlocan assault ship flying above them is holding the electric cables that captured the plane.

Then five figures slide down the cables from the assault ship.

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net