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Operation Strix has been in development for seven years now. Seven years at Eden Academy, and I’ve barely felt I’ve gotten the hang of it; this year will be different. This year I will achieve world peace.
It’s only been a few weeks since I was last here, but it feels so intimidating; the large brick buildings and the subtle scent of ivy make me feel nostalgic. “Morning, Anya,” a cheerful voice interrupts my train of thought; it’s Becky Blackbell. Her family’s super rich; they’re the owners of this huge military manufacturer. She’s been my best friend since my first year here, and has been the key to getting closer to Damian, a.k.a. Syon Boy, my target.
“Good morning, M’lady,” I jested. Becky chuckles. Her smile quickly fades as she eyes Damian and his minions, Ewen and Emile, walking from the dorms. “Oh gross,” she hissed and looked away. “God, I hate them,” she thinks to herself. Her thoughts aren’t that hard to predict; she’s extremely honest. Something I admire. Her face scowls as she starts walking faster towards our first period.
“She looks so…” I can hear Damian thinking; his thoughts always seem to go nowhere. As if he were stopping himself from even thinking about how he truly feels. From what I’ve learned, his family is distant and cold; his dad’s a politician, once the Prime Minister. Donovan Desmond, the final boss with psychic powers, just like me. His mom and brother are also weird, to be honest. Damian’s probably the most normal one in his whole family, and that’s not saying much. Well, to be fair, my family’s also pretty weird, with an enemy spy for a dad and an assassin for a mom, but at least mine's not dysfunctional.
“Let’s go,” Becky grabs me and leads me to class. Last year I spent a great deal studying, so now I got to be in the more advanced classes. It also helps being a psychic; cheating becomes so much easier. The day goes on as normal, though during lunch I notice there’s a lot less staff than from what I remember.
“Hey, there’s like fewer people, right?” I remarked to Becky as we waited in the very long lunch line. She nodded, “Yeah, there’s been a workers' union strike or whatever,” she grumbled. “My dad’s manufacturing has slowed down because of it; can you believe how inconvenient that is?” she proclaimed. I suddenly remember Papa thinking about it the other night; workers from all over the country have stopped working so big corporations can meet their demands for higher wages and benefits. “But they’ll stop once their needs are met, so hopefully that won’t take long,” I interject.
There’s a moment of silence before she quietly chuckles, “Pfft, they don’t need higher wages, you know everything was alright a month ago what’s the problem now?” She quickly adds, “We can’t just give handouts to workers; they’ll get lazy, and society won’t function.” I’m taken a little aback by this; it’s kind of harsh. Besides, it's not like the workers are being unreasonable. “I don’t know much about this politics stuff,” I sheepishly laugh, afraid that any other answer could give me away.
Luckily, the awkward conversation quickly ended when we were served lunch. What Becky said reminded me how elitist this entire school was. With your popularity being directly correlated with who your dad is, ‘commoners’ are the outliers. The whole time I’vebeen reduced to that. I sometimes wonder where I’d be if I stayed at the orphanage; I’d receive much less respect than I do now from simply wearing the Eden uniform.
In the afternoon, I get ready to take the bus home when I notice a mob about a block ahead. They’re the workers, holding up signs that say “On Strike” and “Fight the Power.” They yell out a chant: “The workers united will never be divided.” I can hear all their inner voices at once, but for some odd reason it doesn’t unsettle me. I usually hate being near crowds because it strains my powers, but right now it’s not so overbearing.
I have to push the desire to join away as I quickly climb up the bus to take a seat in the back. I wonder what the reaction to an Eden student joining would be; would they resent me? I can’t help but want to join in despite the fact that it’d make me conspicuous.
At home, I don’t make my usual flashy entrance of yelling out “Anya’s home”; instead, I gently call out “I’m home” before closing the door behind me. The smell of my mom’s cooking is hard not to notice. It smells like burning wood with random seasoning placed on top. Yor comes over and smiles. “Hi Anya, how was your day?” she asks with a huge grin. She’s always exuded a calm and tranquil energy, one where you can almost forget she’s a trained killer. “It was good; there was a strike so our lunch had to be extended for five minutes,” I responded as I headed for the kitchen to marvel at her horrendous cooking.
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard about it on the news; apparently the protests have gotten pretty violent,” she remarked with a look of worry. “If they dare hurt Ms. Anya, I don’t know what I’d do,” she thought to herself. At this point, I know she’ll start fantasizing about saving me from a mob by killing them one by one. It’s a habit of hers that’s somewhat endearing, in a way.
“I’ll be fine,” I chuckle and start walking in the direction of my room, “Call me when dinner’s ready!” I open the door and notice the mess I made earlier. I woke up late and had to get ready as fast as possible; too many tardies and you get a tornitrus bolt. I’m just shy of three to getting expelled. I start with my classical language homework; for some reason It’s the easiest for me. Something about it just eases me.
We’re assigned to read and annotate the entirety of “The Republic,” by Plato. It’s about his definition of justice, what a just society is, and why being just leads to true happiness. In all honesty, it’s a little boring, but apparently it’s one of Damian’s favorite books. He had told me in passing when I asked if he had already read it. He had replied with a snarky tone, “Of course I am, I'll be a politician, you know?”
The fact that he admires his father so much is so stupid to me; he led so many men to their deaths. Not to mention he’s a bit of a fascist. I catch myself thinking that I must do something. Tomorrow I’ll bring spare clothes and join one of the protests secretly. When I get home, I’ll just tell my parents I got busy helping a teacher.
I grab my bag and stuff a spare outfit at the very bottom so it doesn’t seem too inconspicuous. I only hope I don’t get caught by anyone I know.