Fatal Urge Carefree Kiss








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GOD of a man

Eternity Versus Eternity


“A battle with no expected positive outcomes may as well never be fought.”


Chapter Thirty Three: Silent screams

Dated: 29th February, 2460


It is really easy for a fighting spirit to get carried away in the wave of emotions and start a battle over anything that dares challenge its’ chivalry and beliefs. However, what is paramount is not the ideology, but rather the achievement to be had. It is futile to fight over an ideology for a victory will not justify it, rather it will be the beginning of what will end in the ideology’s replacement by another in the course of time. However, if a victory needs to be sought to create an opportunity for ideologies to develop and grow, then its’ an entirely different scenario. Here it’s not the initiation point that is important, rather the ultimate goal to be achieved. If a battle will not add anything qualitatively to the initial situation, fighting it will only be a waste of resources with zero productive outcomes. A seasoned campaigner however knows these pitfalls.


Maturity in judgement comes with experience, patience however can be practiced. Knowing when to react is more important than knowing how to react. Marshalling your resources includes miserly accumulation and a judicious use at the same time. Most of the battles one faces in life are made relevant by the protagonist’s own insistence in their merit. Step back and one will notice how superficial much of the commotion is. Another step back will not only avoid a conflict, but will also leave the sensible warrior with resources unused. An impetuous combatant however will continue wasting his resources unabated, ending up weaker than what he started off as. Sometimes avoiding a conflict leaves one much stronger than having been involved in it.


However, when what is at stake is too important to be lost without a fight, then saving it is paramount. And the reason to fight once again is not what is under threat, but rather because it can only be saved by fighting for it. It still is the implication which is more important than the initiation point. New Saisho is on the brink of a chaos outbreak. Its’ loyal warriors will have to decide which battles to fight, and how best to fight them.


Standing at the edge of the field it was hard to miss the vastness of the open stretch, not a sign of vegetation atop. It spread out so far and wide, it felt lonely standing there. Nobody in their wildest dreams would have imagined there was a ten block wide housing area and a research facility spread out underneath those barren sands. For a moment even Colonel Davison was perplexed.


“Are you sure this is the real location?” Colonel asked Mrs Downing, “Don’t muck around with me?”


“It’s an underground facility,” Mrs Downing calmly replied, “From the information I was able to steal from Anne’s office last night, they are holding the team members selected for this mission and their closest family and friends in the underground housing. The pretext is; they are a part of a three month experiment to determine our capabilities of surviving an apocalypse.”


“And where’s the space craft located?” Colonel asked.


“There’s a research facility in there, separate from the housing,” Mrs Downing replied, “A small underground shuttle connects the two. The selected team members travel to this facility every day and continue their work on the space craft. Only a few members like Anne, Research Fellow Jhiang, and some others are allowed to leave this facility at night. Some team members are yet to be selected.”


“How do we get in, and do you any idea about the number of force in there?” Colonel asked.


“There are twenty soldiers in there; two behind the entrance, three for the housing, and rest in the research facility,” Mrs Downing replied, “Here are the door codes I copied last night.” And she handed over the slip containing codes to the Colonel.


Colonel turned around to his ten odd men and briefed them about the plan of action. The plan was to take the main door by a surprise charge, taking out the two sentries. Then the group was to proceed to the housing area and take out the three soldiers on guard there, take hostage a few family members of the mission crew, and then proceed to the research facility. The hostages were to be used both as human shields against the remaining defence force, and also as a leverage and negotiation point to achieve a smooth takeover of the facility and the craft. Mrs Downing was to stay behind with one man on her guard, until the facility had been completely overrun.


Those who cannot be trusted, themselves never trust anyone either. They are constantly on guard, even against their own friends. Relationships are like a symbiotic relationship where if one turns parasitic, the other perishes.


The streets were deserted, even in broad-daylight. A scarce population can vanish behind the walls in no time, any time of the day. Everybody was busy with their work. Only two souls stood in the middle of the street, looking into each other’s eyes, contemplating what had transpired, and what possibly would from thereon.


“Colonel cannot be trusted,” Norman finally spoke.


“We are stuck!” Granger replied, “We can do nothing except follow his instructions. If we question, we will be dumped. Otherwise, he still might be generous.”


“But we can do something to ensure our interests,” Norman quipped.


“We can split up,” Granger suggested, “Once our work is done, whoever gets picked up first and is transported to the facility, can call the other with the location.”


When a trouble is expected its’ shock value is diminished, thus softening the initial blow that would have otherwise blanked the receiver. A diligently planned out response will minimise the damage, and an intelligent foresight will recover the lost ground.


The day was as calm as the late afternoon sun shining the ‘Grey House’. The morning clouds had left a pleasant day behind. President Shoji Katsuo was enjoying a cup of his favourite tea under a tree in the front yard, his son playing with a ball in the foreground, his wife seated beside him. It had been a short day in office today, and tea was a good excuse to catch up on some news in the papers. With a few birds chirping behind the bushes the day was so calm that everybody missed Anne as she rushed out of the house and made a dash towards the President.


“Sir we have a situation,” Anne informed the President as soon as she broke her stride. There seemed to be no time for greetings. President looked up at her.


“Can’t you just let him rest for a while?” the First Lady complained, “Does he have to pick even the colour of the knickers for the boys?”


“It’s my job sweetheart,” the President smiled as he answered on Anne’s behalf, “That is why we have been put up in this mansion by the people of this tiny nation of ours.” He then turned around to Anne, “What’s the matter?”


“You better take this call,” Anne said as she pushed forward the cordless phone she had been carrying in her hands, “Its’ from Admiral.”


The President immediately knew it was something serious. The moment he put the handset to his ear, his expressions became grim. He put the tea cup down and stood up from his chair. He only acknowledged the message from the other end with a very short exclamation before disconnecting. “Lets’ go Anne,” that’s all he said.


“But your tea,” the First Lady tried in vain to stop her husband for another sip. The duo walked away in haste, a couple of security officials close behind. In no time the Presidential motorcade was on its’ way to an undisclosed location.


Disclosures are always damning not because of what they expose, but because of the trust they mutilate. It is hurtful to know not what has been harmed, but who has harmed it. An enemy is only expected to do what he is, but when a close confide does the enemy’s job, one loses the confidence to differentiate a friend from a foe.


With right substrate it takes little for the fire to spread, and a pleasant day can turn into a scorcher in no time. Mutilated interests are far more violent than mutilated egos. The sea of humanity that had descended on the gates of army headquarters was to be seen to be believed. The whole town had been set alight by the rumours of impending doom in just under an afternoon. Everybody including the media had descended upon the gates. A senior army official was trying in vain to convince the mob it had the wrong information. The fact however that he himself had to call his high command thrice to confirm the truth instilled little faith in his words.


The impasse was finally broken by the loud horn atop the first vehicle in the Presidential motorcade. As the motorcade made its’ way through the crowd and stopped at the entrance to the army headquarters, more than a handful of security agents jumped out of the vehicles and secured the perimeter. Finally the President and Anne stepped out of their vehicle. A megaphone was immediately made available for the President.


“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your President,” President Shoji Katsuo’s words were greeted by a loud cheer from those gathered. He continued, “I’ve been informed there is trouble in my town, and that my people have lost faith in my own government. Is that true?”


“No,” the crowd yelled in unison.


“Then what is it that brings you here,” the President asked, “Can the harbinger of this commotion please step forward and dare explain the ruckus he’s raised to disturb the peace of my nation?”


At this point everybody looked around searching for Granger and Norman, but the duo were nowhere to be found. “Were have they gone,” somebody yelled in the crowd. “Don’t know,” another answered. “Where’s that scumbag Alan? He’s the one who introduced those two venom squirts to us,” someone else asked.


“I am here,” Mr Alan Dwight raised his hand and took up the responsibility.


“Go and talk to the President you idiot, and explain to him how you have misled the entire town here,” someone quipped.


“And what’s your name?” President asked Mr Dwight in a refined tone as an uncomfortable Mr Dwight took a few undecided steps out of the crowd.


“My name is Alan, Alan Dwight,” he answered in a shaky voice, and then added abruptly and in a rude voice, “Tell us Mr President, isn’t this world going to end soon and that you have decided to save only your family and a few close friends, leaving all the rest of us to die?”


The President turned his head down, forcing out a mild laughter before looking up and asking, “And who told you this?”


“That’s not the point,” Mr Dwight was however combatant in his approach, “The question is; what is the truth? And as our President you owe us an answer.”


President took a deep breath and finally replied, “That is not the truth! Trust me.”


The crowd fell silent for a moment. At this point a news reporter and her crew stepped forward, and the reporter asked, “That answer unfortunately is not sufficient Mr President.”


“And who gave you the permission to speak,” Anne stepped in to confront her on President’s behalf.


“I as a news reporter am the voice of this society Miss Secretary,” the reporter confronted her, “And today on behalf of my fellow citizens I enquire of our leader, the truth of what is happening in our world.” The reporter then went on to list the events that had occurred so far in the recent past, “We lost our space station, our most important oil well in middle east, a big part of our city has been ordered evacuated without giving a valid reason, our navy is digging out old nukes, and a new space-craft has been tested but nobody has heard anything about it since. Our investigations reveal a lot of New Saisho families have very recently gone out of town, all of them related to one or the other prominent member of our scientific or defence communities, and today this weird rumour about the end of our world. What is the truth Mr President?”


Anne was about to say something but the President put his hand on her shoulder and nodded her to step back. He knew he won’t be able to skirt the issue anymore, or get away with a weak explanation. The situation had decided to test his mettle as a leader of masses, and his only saving grace could be a presidential precedence.


“I realize if I told you everything is alright and you should go home, none of you will leave today, or believe me,” the President replied to a crowd that was pin-drop silent now, “There are questions which cannot be answered because of security reasons and national interests, and there are questions to which I don’t know the answer yet, but I assure you our best brains are onto them right now as I speak. However, to win your trust and assure you everything is alright, I have decided to pitch a tent right here in front of our army headquarters, and live here right in front of your eyes, for as long as you are not confident enough to believe me that there is nothing wrong.” The President’s words were greeted with loud cheers and chants. The President waved to the crowd some members of which were shouting, “We are with you Mr President, till our death. We will pitch here along with you come what may.”


At this point Anne received another call on her mobile phone. This time Anne’s face was flushed in an instant. Her voice trembled and her hands shook violently as she pushed her phone towards the President, “It’s Admiral, again.”


“Hello,” the President answered as he turned his back towards the crowd. The information he was forwarded, left him speechless.


Safety, a belief much like the surface of a lake, held together into calm by a fragile internal force. A small disturbance and ripples roll all over its’ surface. Safety itself needs to be secured, like a sheet of ice on top of the lake.


The evening had aged and night finally descended on the well lit house. A playful child could be heard in the drawing room. There was finally a smile on Jenny’s face after a long few days. She and Mrs Ahluwalia sat there watching Rosie laughing at the cartoons on television, blissfully unaware of the happenings in the town, for they hadn’t caught up on the news yet. All was peaceful until the lights went off.


“Mom,” Rosie complained immediately.


“Not again,” Mrs Ahluwalia quipped as she got up, “You two stay where you are and I will go and start the generator.” She got up and slowly made her way through the dark and out of the room.


A few uncomfortable minutes went by as Jenny chatted with Rosie, to make her feel comfortable, as well as comfort her own nerves which still hadn’t steadied completely after her recent experiences. However, neither the lights turned on, neither Mrs Ahluwalia returned. Jenny felt a shadow rush past the window.


“Mom, where are you? What happened?” Jenny shouted out to Mrs Ahluwalia, but there was no response. Suddenly some metal object fell to the floor in one of the rooms and the two girls shrieked. “Mom, is that you?” Jenny asked again. When she got no answer, she said to Rosie as she got up from the couch, “You stay right here where you are. I will go and check out on mom.”


As she turned around in the dark to leave the room, a matchstick lit up right in front of her face. Out of the dark appeared Viper’s face, “Hello sweetheart, did you miss me?” Jenny couldn’t even shriek before fainting, and Rosie’s shrieks were muffled by a strong hand that cupped her face as she was lifted off the couch. A child’s resistance was no match to the force of the arms that confined her frame.



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