Fate of the Legacies

Chapter Three

Adamus Sutekh sat uneasily in a rickety wooden chair in the hovel that had been generously called the rec room for the Mogadorian prisoners in the Alaskan internment camp. The cabin was afforded two chess boards, a couple of pop culture board games that hadn't been updated since the 80s, a couch more comfortable than their beds, and the only heater in the entire camp that worked more often than half of the time. Thankfully, it was working then.

Usually, the rec hut was as full as it could be without the guards raining hell on them for violating the rule against forming large groups. Ten Mogs seemed to be the magic number. At that number or below, the UN soldiers that held the perimeter around the camp didn't seem to care. More than that, the intercom system if it they were inside or the drones if they were outside would lambaste them with horrific, grating sirens until the group split up—or, if they resisted for a few minutes, soldiers would drive in from one of their camps just outside the border—or from their camp patrol if there was one ongoing—to break the group up by force.

Adam had Rex as backup behind him, and he was only expecting one more Mog, but he was far more nervous than he would've been flagrantly breaking the rule against large gatherings.

Adam hadn't spoken to his sister face-to-face like this since back in Ashwood Estates. Ever since they had arrived at the camp, Kelliis Sutekh—Kelly—generally kept her distance except to sneer at him in the company of her loyal posse. The Mogadorians had broken apart into those who had rejected the teaching of Setrákus Ra and the Great Book and those who still foolishly clung to his and its teachings, and Kelly had slowly grown to become the face of the latter, the anthesis of all Adam stood for.

Adam could leave the internment camp whenever he wished. He had no reason to be there except that he felt compelled to protect those Mogs who were capable of rejecting the teachings of Setrákus Ra, and his sister—his own blood—led the opposing faction in the camp, the ones who tried to perpetuate the idea that Setrákus Ra and his ideas could still hold true, could still shine through.

And it was Kelly who had called this meeting with little justification except that she wanted to propose peace.

Adam didn't believe her. She had been loyal to the cause of Mogadorian Progress to the very end. He had no doubt she would come in to spout some nonsense about how the lessons of her Beloved Leader would pay off in the end and how Adam would be a speck of dust trampled in the eventual rise of Mogadorian Progress.

Yet, still, Adam hadn't been able to turn down the meeting. He was wary of what it could mean—of what could happen here—but he tried to keep himself calm. He focused on his breathing, trying and failing to keep it steady.

He desperately wished One was still around, to keep him on his toes with casual negging and off-color jokes.

It was times like this that he missed her the most.

After countless minutes of awkward silence, Kelly entered the room.

She seemed to grow ever taller and gaunter by the day, the pale Mogadorian skin accenting her black hair and eyes to an extent that even Adam found extreme. She had forgone the drab uniform that had been assigned to each Mogadorian, instead wearing an expertly-crafted black wool outfit that looked thick enough to combat the heat. Adam bristled at the sight, feeling suddenly colder despite the heater in his several hardly-effective jackets and pairs of thin beige uniform pants.

It still shocked Adam to see anyone out of the fatigues that they had been assigned when brought to the camp, but the guards had grown more lenient on that rule. A new UN declaration had turned the internment camp from simple detention to a work camp. New facilities had been hastily constructed at the camp's southern border to give the Mogs a chance to work under heavily-armed supervision. The Mogs didn't get much in return for their efforts except that the guards would be occasionally lax on some rules, and they could keep some of the things they made. Textiles and clothing was one of the workshops. The official UN decree stated that this was a measure to give the Mogs something helpful and productive to do to help prove that they were on a path to rehabilitation by providing for humans. Adam knew that was just a lie to get free labor. As Gregark—one of the Mogs in Adam's faction—had pointed out, humans had been using prisoners for cheap labor for a long while, and that had yet to make most of the law-abiding citizens view them in any better of a light. Still, it was nice to have the option to be able to make warmer clothes.