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Deadtropolis

By Mantrid Brizon

Prologue: Once Upon A Time

“I can't believe you're okay with that..." Cameron murmurs.

“Why wouldn't I be?"

Cameron stares with a raised brow, his eyes wide in surprise. Sitting across from his father, Joseph Daniels, the tan human blinks his deep brown eyes. With a subtle shake of his head, he sits back and runs his fingers through his wavy brown hair, which reaches nearly to his shoulders.

“Because it's un-American, I suppose. I figured you of all people would understand that." Cameron says with a sigh.

“Just because your granddad came here from Mexico doesn't make us American."

“What?!" Cameron laughs. “He came here legally when you were a kid. I was born here. I'm as Mexican as the white human working the counter, or that Voeldahn in the suit with the German accent."

“Ai dios mio... How could you deny your heritage?!" J.D. snaps.

“I don't. I will, however, not pretend that I'm anything other than a citizen of this country... And grandpa wouldn't either." Cameron growls, rising from his seat. “Why do you think he left Mexico, the hellhole that it is? ... I have to go to work. I'll call you later, dad."

Taking his backpack, the twenty-four-year-old intern prepares to leave. Slinging the cheap, M1936 style musette back over his shoulders, her straightens his hooded jacket and heads for the door, walking around the table and past his father.

“Wait." His dad says, quickly grabbing his right wrist. “This is change, son. Progress... You shouldn't fight it."

“It's not progress to me. It's slavery. If I was old enough to vote in 2032, I would never have picked who you did." Cameron retorts.

“Oh? And you think this country was better when it was a nationalist hellhole of homophobic, misogynistic, racist, xenophobic trash?"

“You're damn right! What's globalism done except triple the crime and poverty rate and given us mega corporations that own everyone and everything?! If I said “fuck the president" at my job I'd be fired, just for having free thought!"

J.D. looks around, holding up a hand, silently signaling for his son to lower his volume.

“Socialism never worked, and it won't work this time. It's already falling apart..." Cameron dolefully says. “I just wish you could think with your head and not your heart. Bye dad. I love you."

“I love you too, son." J.D. quietly replies, turning his head away.

“Say hi to mom for me..."

Stepping out of the Starbucks, Cameron walks away as quickly as possible. He looks at the cameras outside, hoping that no one inside has used their new phone apps to report his dissent. Facial recognition will blacklist him immediately if he were to be reported, as he already has points for the crime of 'public dissention', or as he prefers to call it, 'wrong-think'. It's become a new trend among the younger generation. Americans used to love rebellion, feeding off of their own individuality to the point that it was a cliché; all Americans where gun-totting freedom fighters with flag tattoos and cigars in their mouths. The America he lives in is nothing like that, however.

Hailing an Uber with his cell phone, now a mega corporation of driverless hovercars, the first of their kind, he steps inside as the automated door closes. Pressing his thumb to a plate, it logs his identification; no on can use 'advanced transportation' without logging their identification, and hovercars may only be driverless. As the vehicle lifts off to take him to work, he looks out of the window at all of the people of his bustling city. A feline Voeldahn walks by, her naturally colored fur dyed teal with purple stripes. The man who accompanies her has black fur, with spiked hair and pink highlights and pink in his bushy tail.

Surely, they are living on government assistance, though recently a law was made that requires your voting history to be documented beforehand. Only those who have voted in favor of the current, tyrannical regime receive aid, while others simply starve. The news never speaks of them. Cameron only knows because of the underground networks that run on the deep web, the only place where censorship hasn't taken hold. How could a once great country have morphed into this? It often boggles his mind, but as he's cut from the same cloth as his late grandfather, he believes he knows the answer.

During the 2010s, twenty years after his grandfather abandoned Mexico and became a legal United States citizen, individuality became so important as to somehow evolve into tribalism. A certain president elected in 2016 stirred the pot, now a nationalist icon and folk hero to many like Cameron. After a second term, and a two-term president who carried on his legacy, who was also the first female president, America had an economy unrivaled. No one could deny the greatness, the success, and the security brought on by nationalist policies. Unfortunately, the outspoken minority never went away.

A violent sect continued to be a problem for over a decade, but it wasn't until a vigilante organization finally fought back with more violence that the media, all puppets of the socialist agenda, spoke of any crimes. A backlash followed, and in 2032, a president on par with Josef Stalin or Mao Zedong was elected. Government reforms swept the nation. Thirteen years later, the successor, the daughter of the last president, is carrying on her father's work. With a system of social check and balances in place, a gift from the Chinese government, America is as dark as a certain book that Cameron's grandfather urged him to read as a child.

Unfortunately, the dramatic shift has left the country in turmoil. Crime has skyrocketed, as has poverty. As the hovercar lands, Cameron prepares for another day slaving away for the Zaibatsu corporation. One of the largest of the mega corporations, Zaibatsu holds many government contracts; the President's father is also conveniently a majority shareholder. As an intern physician for a testing lab, he spends his days writing reports and treating wounds, none of which he can legally speak of upon leaving the building. The only thing that gets him through the drudgery is his fiancé, Jamie.

With cellphone in hand, he enters the building and passes the first security checkpoint as he syncs his Bluetooth headset. After several rings, Jamie answers.

“Hey, baby!" She happily exclaims.

“Yo." He replies in an exceptionally deep voice.

“How was your lunch with your dad?"

“The usual. He brought up politics." Cameron sighs.

“... You didn't say anything that might get you points, did you?"

“Er... Probably not."

“Baby!" Jamie exclaims in frustration. “You have to control that temper! If you lose this internship, we won't be able to afford our wedding, or the new apartment, and it's a great place to live! So safe and clean! ... Please, be careful. Nod your head and smile whenever he says anything."

“That's exactly the attitude that got this country in this mess..." He grumbles.

“What did I just say?! If you want to hit this tonight, you'll be a good boy." She teases.

“Alright, fine. You win... Again!"

“Good. I love you! I'll see you in a few hours!"

“I love you too."

“Oh!" Jamie suddenly exclaims. “I'll be late. I forgot to go shopping. I'm sorry."

“Well, then you'd better stay the night after dinner." Cameron coolly remarks.

“You know that'd be bad luck, baby." Jamie giggles. “We're not married yet."

“I make my own luck." He coos.

“Alright."

Hanging up the phone, the blonde human takes her keys and shoulders her purse before heading out. Stepping into the elevator, she can hear a lesbian couple fighting next door. The stronger of the two smacks her lover over a slight, making Jamie uncomfortable. Her marriage to Cameron takes place in a week, a day before her lease ends and she can move in permanently with her soon-to-be husband. It can't happen soon enough for her. Climbing into her rusty beater of a 2020 Ford Mustang, she struggles to start the car before the V6 engine finally roars to life.

Putting the car in gear, she pulls out of her apartment's parking lot and heads for the freeway. Jamie and Cameron have become a long-distance relationship since he took his internship, which required him to move from Cincinnati Ohio to Detroit Michigan. It's a long drive, the fight through Cincinnati traffic side. Being early July, it's a hot afternoon, and her car's air conditioning still needs to be recharged. Suffering through the nearly five-hour trip, she arrives in Metro Detroit. Her heart sinks as she sees the usual landmarks. Why is it that some cities are perpetually more dangerous, and why is it that Cameron's new job resides in one of the worst offenders?

Pulling into a local market, a small store with a relatively empty parking lot, she exits and locks her car. Looking at the car, an exceptionally short and pale human, with a scrawny build and shoulder length brown hair cocks her head. Tapping the shoulder of her friend, another cashier at the store, she draws her attention. Turning to the sight, the bunny Voeldahn's emerald green eyes grow wide. Leaning back, the taller, five-foot and six-inch Voeldahn rests on her counter. The doors slide open and a somewhat sweaty, lightly-tanned, blonde human female steps inside. Pausing as she feels the cool air from the climate-controlled store, a steamy gust follows her inside.

Fluttering her white fur, unbroken in color except for light brown fur at the top third of her pointy ears, the bunny Voeldahn clears her throat. Snapping out of her trance, Jamie looks toward the two clerks who stand at registers that are back-to-back with each other, their conveyor belts facing away from them.

“Sorry." She murmurs, stepping fully into the store.

“I don't blame you." The Voeldahn replies.

“We could feel that from here. It must be almost as hot as that car's engine." The human clerk replies,

“It's not that bad. A/C doesn't work too well, though." Jamie says as she takes a small shopping cart.

“I didn't think most people still drove gas powered cars anymore." The bunny comments.

“Everyone uses hydrogen fuel cells now. Where do you even find a gas station?" The human asks.

“Around." Jamie smirks.

The Voeldahn leans over her register, watching the blonde human for a moment. Her long, dark brown hair, which reaches to her mid-back, flows over her shoulders and lands on the stationary belt.

“Are you interested?" The human clerk teasingly asks.

“If she were a guy."

“Still have that human fetish?" The human teases, opening a bottle of Coca Cola.

“It's a preference, not a fetish, and some things never change. She just looks out of place... Anyway, we should stock some shelves. Nothing else to do." The bunny says as she walks around her register.

“I'd rather do this."

“We have to stock them anyway or Nick will get mad."

“But Natasha!" The human whines.

“No 'buts', Lauren. Get your bony ass over here and help me." The bunny smirks.

“Fine..." Lauren sighs.

After collecting her provisions, Jamie heads for the register. Lauren stops stocking a nearby shelf to cash out two men, a younger human and an older, horse Voeldahn. The human, about five-feet and eight inches tall, smiles at Lauren, looking at her with dark green eyes. He has a fair complexion with long, light brown hair in a low ponytail. His long goatee and somewhat gruff appearance would fit well in a Harley-Davidson ad. Beside him, the horse Voeldahn is visibly older; mid or late fifties to the human's late twenties or early thirties. With brown and black fur and black hair and tail, there are a few streaks of grey, as well as a small patch on his chin.

Taking her place in line right behind the six-foot and four-inch tall horse man, she turns her head to see Natasha squatting down and setting product on another shelf near the floor. Glancing at the clock, she sees that it's twenty after six. Cameron has been home for over an hour now. She feels terribly for delaying her visit; she still needs to cook for him.

“I heard that it's for real this time." One of the men remarks.

“Everyone says that and it's always horse shit." The other says.

Jamie turns her head, drawn by the sudden burst in conversation.

“You'd all know all about that, wouldn't you?" The human smirks.

“Poor choice of words." The horse Voeldahn chuckles. “I still doubt it, though."

“You can doubt all you want, Hal. Doesn't make it any less true."

“Doesn't make what any less true?" Lauren can't help but interject.

“The collapse." The human replies.

“Like, government collapse?" She presses.

“Mhm. Combine that with that weird outbreak in the west-coat and it might actually be a big deal for once." He explains.

“You think people should prepare?" Lauren asks, a hint of fear in her voice.

“Woah, that's some dangerous talk." Jamie suddenly blurts out.

“Being sensible isn't dangerous, no matter what 'the man' says." The human replies.

“Easy Alexey." Hal says, placing his black fur covered hand on the human's shoulder. “Don't start anything while we're still technically on the clock."

“I'm not starting anything. I'm just speaking the truth." Alexey says defensively.

“Subjective and dangerous. Let's go." Hal insists.

After paying for their snacks and drinks, the two men, both wearing black cargo pants and grey button-up work shirts with embroidered names, head outside and climb into what appears to be a semi-truck with a very short, fixed trailer. Lauren and Jamie watch them for a moment as the two men leave the store. Even Natasha watches, eyeing the human as she squats, her forearms resting on her legs.

“That Alexey guy needs to be careful." Jamie murmurs.

“I'm not going to report him. I don't even have the app for that." Lauren says as she scans Jamie's items.

“I don't either, but someone else will. I'm just saying." Jamie sighs.

“I hear you. He probably shouldn't go around scaring people like that. Right, Natasha? ... Natasha?"

Leaning over and glancing past her customer, both women soon turn to see Natasha as she watches the truck pulling away, Alexey at the wheel.

“Hey!" Lauren yells.

“Huh?! What?!" Natasha turns back.

“Never mind." Lauren says as both women grin.

Turning on his signal, Alexey pulls off of Woodward Avenue and into their company's lot. Parking the now empty truck, he shifts into neutral, pulls the air brake button and shuts down the turbo diesel engine, the last petroleum-based engine still in production; no hydrogen cell engines have been affordably made that can match the power and torque of a diesel.

“You need to be careful man." Hal suddenly turns to him.

“What'd I do? I didn't run over anyone or hit anything pulling in."

“I'm not talking about that. In the store..."

“Oh, forget about that. It was no big deal." Alexey waves a hand dismissively.

“It is a big deal. I know you know about that new law they made." Hal growls.

“I'm not worried about that."

“Well, you should be. I got you this job, and if you get fired for social points, that might affect my record as your reference. Just knock it off... Save your opinions for your house."

“Apartment." Alexey corrects, a smug grin on his face.

“Whatever! Just... Please... I love you like a son; I've been friends with your dad since you were in diapers, rest his soul... I'm just looking out for you." Hal pleads, resting a hand on Alexey's shoulder.

“I know. I'm sorry." Alexey sighs, looking down at the floor. “I'll be more careful."

“See that you do. Now I want to see you bright and early for work tomorrow!" Hal exclaims as he opens the door and steps out.

Closing the door behind him as he steps out, the automated hovercar slowly lifts off as Cameron enters his apartment complex. After passing a security checkpoint, he rides an elevator to the ninth floor. There, in apartment forty-one, is his newly furnished home. Having attained a lease in the upscale apartment a month earlier, Cameron put his internship and new pay scale to good use. Though Jamie isn't there yet, nor will she be for a few hours, he's at least in the comfort of his home. Setting his earth brown musette bag down atop his living room coffee table, he sits in a black pleather couch.

“TV on. Channel seven." He speaks aloud.

The sixty-inch, wall-mounted flat screen turns on in response.

“This is channel seven, action news! A special report for you today as our beloved government performed yet another update on the social points system. The Zaibatsu corporation, in collaboration with the Chinese government, has rewritten the software to streamline the points algorithm." A female reporter speaks.

“In other news, the National Rifle Association, five years disbanded, still has supporters. Though their voting rights have been rescinded, a protest against firearm confiscation has begun as Cook County Sherriff's office began a house-to-house search. It'll be the first of many." A male reporter chimes in.

“Won't be long now, Dave." The female reporter happily remarks.

“Indeed, it won't, Susan. Now onto Casey for the local weather report!" Dave says.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Cameron yells at his TV to turn off. Rising from his couch, he walks into his bedroom and opens a drawer in a nightstand. The drawer contains only standard items that one might find in any nightstand drawer; a flashlight, some personal photos, and condoms and lube for his fiancé. Taking out the drawer, he sets it atop his mattress. Reaching into the hole, what looks like an expensive piece of solid wood, carved into a nightstand, houses a secret compartment. As a custom-made nightstand, a small notch far in the back allows access to the compartment.

With a special key on his keyring, Cameron inserts it into the notch and turns it clockwise. The compartment pops open, the lid the entire size of the drawer to make detection more difficult. Inside is a medium sized, high-end firebox. After a minor struggle, he works the box out of the hole for the drawer, as it's nearly the same size. Opening the firebox with yet another key, he looks inside. Beside a passport, five-thousand dollars in U.S. currency and a few photos of his grandfather, two pistols sit in leather holsters. A few boxes of ammo and spare magazines wrap around and hold the weapons in place.

Taking the firearms from the box, which even Jamie doesn't know he has, he examines the weapons. One is his grandfather's Charter Arms .44 Bulldog Classic, with a three-inch barrel. The other is a Beretta 92FS, his own firearm, purchased the day after his twenty-first birthday. He wrestles with a terrible fear. Should he remove these from his apartment somehow, or keep them? Surely his own firearm's records will see his apartment ripped to shreds in the search, regardless of whether he removes them or not. Considering the crises enveloping the country, however, he decides against it; he'll keep them, for now.

“Hello! I'm here!" Jamie exclaims as she steps into the apartment.

“Hey, babe!" Cameron chirps, sitting on the couch.

He jumps to his feet and rushes up to her as she pockets her keys to his apartment. Taking her bags for her, he ushers her inside.

“Such a gentleman." She grins.

“Only sometimes." He coos, giving her butt a firm smack before picking up the last bag.

“Well, you're in a good mood." She giggles.

“I am now."