Walking Dollar Bills

Chapter 43 (1/2): Terse Talk about Eternity

"Get out of my way!"

Jayce squeezes both of his hands around the arm of a government worker and hurls him against a wall and out of his path. Two other government workers are on their butts against the same wall. They don't bother to pursue him further since fighting isn't a compensated part of their job. Health insurance isn't either. New bodies—not the recovery of injured ones—are the Dictator's health insurance.

After sprinting down a winding hallway, Jayce finally reaches the Dictator's most likely destination.

An enormous cylindrical stadium awaits him. The stadium has an upper level with metal rails that form a protective circle preventing people from falling 90 feet to their death. The circumference of the stadium rivals a Roman Colosseum roughly 545 meters. Another 90 feet above the upper level is the dome ceiling. Four stone staircases coated in white paint connect the bottom level to the upper level. The staircases are equidistant from each other.

Jayce slams his hands against the rail and searches the bottom level with hawk eyes. He sees the Dictator beside two government workers. In front of the three is Amara. She sits on the floor of sand with her back against the stone wall. Her hands massage her bruised ankle.

Having spotted his target, Jayce dashes to the nearest staircase and begins his descent down hundreds of steps.

On the bottom level, Dictator Beneficence holds his hands behind his back and perambulates back and forth. He crosses Amara's vision every couple of seconds. The two government workers stand behind him motionless like marble statues.

Amara studies the man before her with a puzzled expression. She can't believe that this is Dictator Beneficence. While she had some idea of his appearance from the numerous paintings that spoiled the walls, streets, and windows of the Benevolent district, she did not anticipate this level of inaccuracy.

The propaganda around Mao country clearly portrayed the Dictator as man with a fortune of sex appeal, charisma, and charm, but that wasn't the man in front of her.

Amara observes his lilliputian stature, his crater-sized bald spot, and extraordinary forehead that appears to curve to the back of his neck. This is the power of propaganda. She realizes that millions of citizens have probably never seen the Dictator in person. Their image of him is not rooted in reality, but gross-representation.

"You've caused me a lot of trouble" says Dictator Beneficence, "You Nationalist won't be satisfied until you're all dead or in cages."

Tiny footprints form in the sand as the Dictator continues his methodical pacing. He only looks ahead of him. His face is firm.

"I want the pill."

Amara tightens her jaw at the mentioning of the pill. She thinks that this is the worst possible scenario. The purple pill is in her possession. It sits in the bag strapped around her shoulders. The fear of the Dictator confiscating her bag builds inside of her.

Flashbacks of Earl smacking away a cannonball and Gumbo flying into the sky hound her. She wonders what powers the Dictator might acquire if he consumes the pill. Would this small man, who relies on propaganda to morph him into a nightmarish figure, transform into the character he has created?

What would she do? Amara wonders if she should move quickly and consume the pill. Maybe she should turn herself into a monster.

But she cannot move. The government workers keep their eyes on her. Her best bet is to deny having knowledge of the pills.

"I sent one of the most expensive assassins in the world after that pill" says Dictator Beneficence, "And what happens? He returns to me in bandages."