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"Phainon~!" Cyrene called out from under the tree. "Come, come! Take a look!"
Just as he came rushing over, the little girl raised the paper up into the air. Drawn on it was a picture of them both holding hands with a setting sun just behind them. Beside there were numerous items that he couldn't quite recognize. But, nonetheless, he was awestruck.
"Wowww!"Phainon gasped, slowing down as he came closer. "That looks so cool!"
"I know, right?" Cyrene grinned. "My dad told me that there's so much more out there aside from home. I can't wait to see them all one day!"
"Oooh, can I come too?" Phainon asked, his smile beaming from ear to ear.
"Sure! I bet we can all go together one day!"
It was the 33,550,337th season of the competition. His guardian, Lygus, loomed over him for countless of years watching as he rose to fame and annihilated every competition. This season? It was nothing special. It was another round of watching as his competitors were brutally slaughtered before his very eyes. Another round of mindless praise from a monster that meant nothing to him.
It was time for the final round. By now, his heart had grown sick of the entire thing. How much longer could he fake the passionate drive in his heart? To sing for someone who never seemed to return. To dream of another day under that artificial sky before she was taken away from him. What more could he do than grieve and do as he was told?
By his side was a young man grieving, crying his heart out. How could he blame him? Watching as each competitor was killed, forced to move on and now face what could be viewed as a goliath in the scene? There was no hope in beating Phainon. What more could he do but grieve his awaiting death?
But, even after all these years, Phainon pitied him. He pitied the humanity that still wavered in his heart. Approaching the boy carefully, Phainon knelt down to his level and offered a comforting embrace.
"You did great," he comforted with a soft whisper. "Keep believing in yourself, please."
The man looked up, staring into Phainon's cloudy eyes before a hesitant nod followed. Helping the man to his feet, their conversation was shortened with the sound of doors creaking open, revealing blinding stage lights that made their way towards the two.
Phainon wore a practiced smile like every single round, waving towards the sea of monsters that reveled in their misery. The other man could barely hold himself together, afraid that this would be his end.
But, as Phainon looked through the crowd, a glimmer of pink caught his attention. The same shade as her hair. His smile faltered for a second before forcing it back to his face. When he looked again, there was no sight of that pink shade to be seen. It was just his imagination, just as always.
With the music starting, Phainon sang as he always had. His voice powerful and artificial, crafted by his guardian to be the best, enough to destroy his competition. Even if he wanted to slack and let others win, his voice wouldn't let him. That monster wouldn't even consider the thought. It was solely thanks to his voice that that monster rose to fame. Flaunting his ever so beautifully crafted masterpiece, claiming it would be enough to even make greatest aliens fear him.
"What are you doing?!" The Herta scolded her, dragging the young lady down to her level. "You're risking us being seen. The entire mission could be ruined because of your recklessness!"
"Sorry," Cyrene muttered. "I just, had to see if he was okay."
"Define 'okay'," She replied harshly. "Your friend has watched person after person get killed because of his talent. He witnessed countless of deaths practically by his own hands. Is that 'okay' to you?"
Cyrene's face scrunched in horror, glancing away as her heart shattered into pieces. Having everything just laid out to her like that felt gruesome to face. Upon seeing this, The Herta's face softened upon seeing the pain on her face.
"Okay, admittedly that was a little harsh but—"
"I get it," Cyrene interrupted, falling onto her level. "He's in pain, and we have to stop this right away."
"Right," she replied curtly, accessing the computer and booting up the system. "Well, it might take some time to download the virus but Screwllum made this to be efficient. The second we're in, the virus will implant itself immediately and shut down the entire system. Then, we'll just have to go from there."
"Do you mean, this is only meant to shut down the contest? Nothing else?" Cyrene asked, taking a seat beside The Herta as she tries to boot up another computer.
"Unfortunately, yes," she said directly. "With a society like this, there's no way you can dismantle the system overnight. Every 'guardian' has a human they want to take advantage of because of their own pleasure and desire. Like how they've used humans for entertainment with these contests. You can't just get them to stop, they have a mind of their own. But, if we could stop these contests, it should buy use some time to free more people and maybe dissuade them from thinking of them as entertainment."
Cyrene frowned at the thought. This ongoing cycle, was there really nothing else that could be done? Were humans, these beautiful and magnificent creatures, just forced to be mere toys for aliens' entertainment? Her hand balled into a fist, barely able to contain itself as the number slowly crept up, booting up the entire system that held this disgusting show together.
"Miss Cyrene," a new voice called out from behind them. "Could you see if there are additional back-up files we could access from the main computer?"
"Ah, yes," she replied, quickly scooting away to a new computer to access to cloud data. "Would it be enough to access it through the cloud data? Just so that every device with it would lose the main file?"
Screwllum inched closer, glancing from across her shoulder. "It should do enough damage," he responded. "They may have additional back-ups but if they were not saved nor updated through the cloud, they would have a lot to rebuild before we could see another one of these shows pop up again."
The thought was enough to make her grimace. The situation seemed so barren. Will this be enough to change the future and humanity? Or will it be enough to free only a handful of people?
No, she refused to think like that. If this mission could be enough to save even a single person, it would be worth it. It would mean they had a chance to save another person, then another. If humanity had to be rebuilt one person at a time, so be it.
And let it start with him.
His voice carried across the stage, sending cheers and applause throughout the stadium. Each word crafted perfectly to represent the image of him he presented to the world but never true to himself. But, that was for the best. How could he entertain if he was his true self? A reflection of hatred towards the monsters that held him captive in this moment? His voice of power would quickly be simmered if he showed an ounce of defiance. A cruel truth Phainon had to bear.
Across from him was that young man, his voice trembling with each high note. He sang desperately, his voice scratching against his note. Each move filled with please and desperation, begging to be seen, to be looked at, to live. The dichotomy between them both could be posted as the sole reason why this season was anything remarkable. Because even with his pleas, the winner was set from the very beginning. He entered a stage where everything was rigged against him.
Then suddenly, the lights began to flicker. The screen illuminating behind them struggled to stay on. For once, Phainon's voice stuttered, his attention being drawn behind him.
But, rather than many capturing his imperfection, they began to scream and cheer even more. The drama and excitement was the kind of entertainment these monsters needed, an unknown factor that sent them to the edge of their seats.
With the instrumental still blasting behind them, the pathetic man looked towards Phainon, seeking reassurance. "What happened?"
"I…I don't know," Phainon whispered, his calm expression doing nothing to comfort the man. "We just have to keep going."
Turning back to the audience, Phainon continued to sing, as he had always practiced.
Breaking through the loading screen, The Herta had the drive stuck into the USB port. The virus quickly settling in and infecting every file and folder inside the device. Before they could even celebrate, a presence made themselves known.
"Ah, what do we have here?" An eerie, robotic voice called from behind. "Cyrene, my child… And the children of Nous? What a pleasant surprise."
Cyrene snapped her head back, blood running cold as that monster stood behind them. "Lygus…!"
"I was naive to think this would go as smoothly as it had been." The Herta shook her head, standing up to her feet and facing him. "But, it seems you've arrived a moment too late."
Lygus broke into a hysterical laugh, the sinister smile plastered on his inhumane face. "Foolish humans, you seem to have forgotten how frail and pathetic your bodies can be."
Raising a gun, he fired at Cyrene's arm, forcing her to recoil back and shudder with pain.
"Miss Cyrene," Screwllum called out, taking her side and quickly inspecting the wound. "Allow me, please stay still."
"You monster!" Cyrene screamed, her face boiling with anger.
"It was merely a matter of time," Lygus laughed. "You managed to escape your very first season despite losing so disgracefully."
She scowled at the thought, teeth gritting as Screwllum had to treat her wound.
"It must be a tragedy," Lygus continued. "To flee for your own life but leave your dearest friend behind and force him to rise from your ashes. Only to return and soon spell his demise."
"What are you saying?" The Herta interrupted, brow raising at the alien. "You've crafted Phainon so he wouldn't lose. Do you intend to keep him suffering for this long?"
"Not quite. In fact, this may be his second to last song. What a shame he won't enjoy it like he should."
"Nanook?" The Herta said. "Are you planning to draw THEIR gaze?!"
"Not just that," laughed the maniac, turning his back to face the barely functional screen as it pans to show Phainon singing. "Nanook will grow interested in this boy. And soon, enough to try and face him themselves. And once THEY even attempt to, Phainon will destroy THEM. He'll be enough to destroy every higher alien out there—even the evasive Nous!"
"What a short-sighted dream," Cyrene snapped. "And you think Phainon will follow you till the end?"
"What choice does he have?" he laughed. "He has nothing but that voice I've gifted him."
"No, he has more than just that," she interrupted, taking a step back toward the computer. "He has a will that burns just as bright, one that he'll command for his own sake!"
With a push of a button, the screen began to distort before rolling the camera on all four of them.
The crowd gasped, seeing the well-known Lygus confronting two humans and another alien. But, among all of them, Phainon was the most shocked. Cyrene, she was there and alive.
Immediately, he stopped singing and faced the screen. One step after another, he approached the illuminating dots that formed the image. "Cyrene…!"
"Phainon, if you can hear me…!"
He froze in the spot, watching Cyrene's mouth move on its own. His gaze traced her figure, noticing the familiar deep red hue trickling down her arm.
"You have to break free! Let's finally end this and see all those sights we talked about! The beautiful setting sun, the endless blue sea, all of it! Let's see it together!"
Bang.
Another shot. Clear as day, shot through her heart. He watched as the other two that accompanied her stumbled to her side.
His hands trembled with anger, one he had never felt before. The sounds of points jumping back and forth from him to his competitors rang through his ears. Points suddenly skewed away from him, placing him at second place. The gun clearly pointed towards him. With a push of a trigger…
He stepped aside, the bullet scratching the metallic floor. His head snapped towards the gun before he quickly approached, snatching and pointing the weapon towards the alien. Phainon didn't give the man another chance as he fired, killing the monster.
Suddenly, the crowd erupted in fear, witnessing a murder before their very eyes. But, it wasn't the typical human fear. No, it was as if they were enjoying the sight before them. The inhumane nature of the singer they once praised.
He kept pulling the trigger, mind keenly aware of every spot they occupied. Phainon had watched person after person fall, each from a similar position, similar angle. He etched every death he witnessed into his head, remembering the spot those shots were fired from.
Before long, the stage was bloodied with whatever these aliens had inside their bodies. And still, the crowd cheered. They reveled in the twist, utterly moved by the entertainment. The sight was revolting.
When the gun was pointed at them, he expected a new kind of response. But instead, they laughed harder, mocking his autonomy. As audiences, they all believe themselves to be immortal, mere observers of the chaos around them. They believe their to be untouched, unharmed, and at no risk of the consequences of their actions.
But he disagreed.
His finger tightened around the trigger, holding the pressure until the bullet escaped the muzzle. Swirling through the air, the bullet sliced through air, striking through the chest of an alien, and digging deep into its skin.
Silence fell across the stadium, all in shock as they watched the alien stumble backwards. It's panicked breath turned to its peers, asking for help through strained cries, only to collapse pathetically on the floor.
Now panic erupted. The once cheers and screams of thrill and laughter were now shrouded with horror and fear—human fear: the fear of death.
Aliens fighting among themselves for the exit, pushing one another away to make it to safety. But, Phainon wouldn't let them.
One shot after another, he shot at the crowd, keeping count of how many bullets he let loose. Each bullet was dedicated to every person who died to bring him here. Three rounds, countless bodies, heart-wrenching screams, for too many seasons. A bullet for those held captive, forced to serve and raised to be cattle, a toy for entertainment. A bullet to those who had their voices silenced by these monsters. And a bullet for all his suffering, the torment his voice brought him, and those he played a hand in killing.
Before long, the stadium was cleared. Bodies scattered across the seats, some aliens successfully escaping. But, emerging through the open doors was an alien he had never seen before. Golden blood oozing from THEIR veins, illuminating the darkness that surrounded them. THEY towered over the stage, eyes looming over the boy that chose to defy his fate.
"Phainon," the contestant stuttered, reaching out to tug the man's sleeve. "We have to go, we should—"
"Go," Phainon demanded, his foggy eyes staring right ahead. "Go find the others, get out of here safely."
Approaching a deceased alien, Phainon swapped his weapon, opting for something with more bullets than a simple pistol. "I'll keep him distracted."
The screens flashed bright yellow as gunfire sounded through the speakers. Lygus stood hovering over the keyboard, smirk reaching from one ear to another as he watched the gruesome display between human and alien. While Cyrene laid there in pain, comforted by Screwllum, The Herta approached, brandishing her weapon.
"Have you gotten all you wanted?" she asked bluntly, her manner still cool and composed. "Have you witnessed the culmination of where your knowledge can take others?"
Lygus simply laughed, his eyes glued to the monitor. "Can't you see it?" he asked, voice twisted with maniacal laughs. "My Iron Tomb, the perfect creation, enough to draw the ire of the greatest alien… And look, he still struggles against THEM. How pathetic."
"No," Cyrene interrupted, her voice harsh as she forced herself to sit up. "Phainon is doing something incredible, far beyond what you could ever do. He has face horrors you could never acknowledge and he still fights for everyone. Unlike you."
"Fighting for this so-called humanity," Lygus chuckled, turning around to face the trio. "Though a pointless endeavor, I find it thrilling to witness. The so-called will to live, desire to fight for others. It results in nothing but the cycle continuing yet, it is entertainment for the masses."
"That's all that we are? Entertainment?" Cyrene shot back, her face scowling at the thought. "So what was everyone? A stepping stone just for what you want?"
"Yes, exactly," he remarked, his tone twisted with narcissism. "All of this was to witness this very moment! The epitome of my brilliance against those powerful enough to be regarded as god-like, beloved and worshiped."
Before Cyrene could say another word, Screwllum stood up, stepping between The Herta and Lygus. The two shared a long stare before…
Pain. All he could feel was utter pain. How their fight turned so one-sided so quickly. Phainon could barely move his legs let alone his arms. But, regardless, he forced one foot forward. His mind forced himself to remember all the poor and innocent lives that were taken for this. How the world failed them, failed Cyrene.
The scream was born from deep within him. All of the anguish and rage culminating to a single scream clawing its was through his throat till it escaped his mouth. Raising the gun, he took aim and fired. The bullet… grazed against THEIR cheek. The first blow he was able to make.
The alien stood there, expression unchanging as the skin around the wound grew back together. But, it still meant something. This monster could be harmed, the same way everyone else could be. Phainon raised another shot—but felt the stinging pain across his chest.
In just a blink of an eye, a painful shot was delivered through his chest, shredding upwards. The gush of red was the last thing he could see before his eyes fell to a close. Hopefully, all he did was enough to buy someone time to save themselves. Maybe, he could finally rest, knowing he carried everyone's revenge to the very end.
His body ached like before, but he could feel something warm against his hand. Even though it hurt, he forced his eyes to open, revealing a familiar shade of pink into his blurry vision.
"Cy…rene?" he whispered through his hoarse throat. "Is it really you?"
Immediately, her figure bounced up to her feet, taking both his hands and greeting him with a soft and warm smile. "Yes! Yes, it's me Phainon," she reassured. "We're free, thanks to so many people and you, you're finally free."
Phainon laughed, immediately regretting it as he began coughing a storm. "That contestant," he managed to speak through his fit. "Is he ok too?"
"Yes, he's ok too," she laughed, her hand gently caressing his arm. "He saved other people too. All thanks to you."
Phainon softly laughed thinking about it, slowly resting his head back onto the pillow. "Finally," he whispered. "I'm glad."
"You should be," The Herta interrupted, standing by the doorframe. "You did impressive job against THEM. Actually landing a hit."
"Yeah, she's right," Cyrene continued, bringing Phainon's hand close to her chest. "And, now that you're free, we can start experiencing the world together! With everyone else too. You'll love everything—it's even better than what we thought about as kids!"
Phainon smiled, his hands tightening around Cyrene's. "Well, since I'm still recovering, can you tell me more?"
Seeing his eyes twinkle with a shroud of hope and excitement, Cyrene reflected his smile, inching closer as she nodded. "Of course. I'll tell you everything I know till you get better."