The Evil That Came

Part 6: Silence or Oblivion

The park, a microcosm of human existence, unfolded before Viktor's eyes. Children laughed like a play he wasn't cast in, their innocence echoing through the dry air as they chased each other on the playground. Entangled in the complexities of youth, adolescents strolled through the adjacent garden, whispering secrets and sweet nothings, their bodies briefly hugging, hands gently touching along the way. Softness, something Viktor never felt. He observed it all, a silent observer—an outsider.

Viktor felt like he didn't belong here on Earth; it felt foreign to him, even though he had been on Earth as long as he could remember. The way the hot sun never seemed to truly warm him, the air brushing his face never seemed to truly cool him, even the way gravity felt as he walked amongst men, his body bouncing as he walked. I don't belong here. He thought about it some more, and with more conviction, he felt he didn't belong on Earth. In his DSR history class, which discussed his culture, the teachers never mentioned the name of the world he came from, glossing over its governance, leaving Viktor hollow with unanswered questions. The monarchy remains shrouded in mystery. He found it suspect as well, since they never mentioned who ruled. 

Genetics intrigued him most. He spent hours and hours wondering why he and Victoria were the only ones without the crimson-red eyes. Ever since he could remember, he had been excluded from his peers because of his differences. Although he didn't mind the exclusion, he even preferred it; he liked being alone somewhat because there was only one person he truly wanted to share it with.

Lea. She was the only one who looked at him and didn't see him as a freak. She was always there and saw Viktor, the true Viktor, the bruises, and the tears. He would run to her in the park or somewhere hidden after a vicious beating from his father. Viktor wrestled with his existential musings on the weathered bench, then grew disinterested and went home after a while.

 Viktor glowered. "Wherever home was," he muttered. As he kicked rocks along the dusty Earth. 

Viktor walked home and saw that his dad was home early. His HUV-car was parked half-hazardously in the driveway. "That's odd." Alarm bells rang as he pushed open the door.

He crept inside the house, the air heavy with synthetic alcohol, and a fist met his jaw, sending him sprawling. "What the --" He looked around in bewilderment when he came to his father standing over him, an embodiment of calm brutality. "Nice nap?" The mocking tone stung. Then, Zoran knocked Viktor out again.

Victoria's room stood silent—a sanctuary turned sinister. His sister, fragile and trembling, bore the weight of secrets she didn't have the strength to carry. Their father's whispered threat echoed: "Silence or oblivion." The room held its breath as he kissed her forehead, a gesture that made Victoria whimper in complete terror. Her father then pulled her closer and hugged her. "Be good," was all he said before he left her crying in her room.

"Aww Fuck," Viktor groaned. I fucking hate that man. He thought as he rubbed his head. He felt the sprawling heat of rage flush his face. 

Viktor's Father, Zoran, was one of the older children who originally came to Earth. He vaguely remembers what life was like before Earth. He remembers it was hot, and the orange sun warmed over his brown skin. He remembers lying down in the dirt and playing with his hands, blocking out the sun, watching the juxtaposition of sunlight and the shadows of his hands. The sky was a light purple at dusk, and as he watched the sun go down, it turned indigo blue, then to nightfall, a midnight blue. Those were the times when his world was good.

Then Came The Monster.

Zoran asked the bartender for a beer, remembering the war. The fire, the screams, the charred skin.  The Monster rode around on an animal like an elephant with the skin of an armadillo. He had soldiers at his beck and call, pointing at any village operated by the queen to be destroyed. Their weapons and vehicles were far too advanced for the simple farmers they were. Zoran could almost recall the sound of the bombs blasting, the ground vibrating,  and as he saw limbs flying, he heard the thunderous roar of the soldiers' arm cannon. 

The arm cannon.

The villagers never had the time to escape. If "The Monster" deemed it so, then it shall be. He remembered his parents shivering in fear as The Monster disintegrated them with his arm canon, and then he laughed as he watched little Zoran frozen in stark and absolute fear.

Zoran gripped the beer can tight, the memories swirling like sediment in a glass. A family he didn't want—a legacy thrust upon him. The choice: comply or face oblivion. His crimes, veiled in the shadows, weighed heavily. The past clung to him, a relentless specter watching his every move.

Zoran, a shadow in the chaos of the Robos vs. Human War, thrived on the fringes of morality. His crimson eyes, once symbols of rebellion, now shone a cloudy, dull red. As humans scrambled for perceived survival, he seized the opportunity—their fear, their desperation—like a scavenger. He wove his web in the abandoned military base, where rusted tanks and forgotten weapons lay crystallized in time. His booming criminal enterprise —a clandestine society of Robos who yearned for more than mere existence. They hungered for life as humans knew it: freedom, indulgence, and the taste of stolen pleasures.

Resources were scarce, and the U.S. government quarantined their city. The base's walls whispered secrets—rumors of human lives beyond the perimeter. Some Robos coveted these lives—their laughter, sunsets, and mundane joys. They craved the forbidden fruit, ignorant of its bittersweet core. However, pragmatic and resilient others sought to make lemonade from the military base's "lemons". They scavenged, repurposed, and adapted. Their existence was a patchwork quilt of ingenuity—an ode to survival. 

 Zoran's empire expanded, its tendrils reaching the heart of human cities. He pilfered art, technology, and secrets—the spoils of war. His loyal yet conflicted underlings danced on the precipice of betrayal. One, Elena, harbored doubts. Her change of heart was a fissure in Zoran's armor—a vulnerability he couldn't afford. She was turned against him by offering her a better quality of life in the city. The Uniform Code of Military Justice also covered extraterrestrials. The investigation, led by a high military authority and General Alden, led to the discovery of Zoran's enterprise.

 Amnika, his wife. Couldn't have children. General Alden, a stern figure with eyes like flint, offered a choice: raise the children, Victoria and Viktor, as his own or face "oblivion", or death,  bluntly put, for his crimes. 

"Silence or oblivion", he would say. Zoran weighed the scales—a martyr's death or reluctant fatherhood.

He chose life—the children. Their arrival disrupted his empire; their innocence was a mocking contrast to his schemes. In Zoran's mind, they were shackles—Their existence stunted his ascent, a reminder that greatness was elusive, even for a criminal kingpin. General Alden's generosity was a puzzle he couldn't put his finger on. The same human who could dispose of him like trash now entrusted him with these fragile lives. Perhaps it was a twisted kindness—an act of redemption. Or maybe General Alden, too, carried secrets—burdens that weighed heavily on his soul.

Zoran grappled with these paradoxes as the stolen legacy unfolded before his eyes, watching a boy with green eyes grow into a man who might one day realize exactly who he was. As the sun lowered, Zoran sat in his silent regrets. Beyond the quarantine, humanity thrived, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in their rusty backyard.