With an average surface temperature of - 20 degrees Celsius (-4 degrees Fahrenheit) and growing colder every year, Thalassinus is a dying planet. The primary sun, now near the end of its stellar evolution, exists in the form of a white dwarf, giving off minimal light and warmth, and photosynthetic plants survive only with the assistance of a secondary sun, failing to produce enough oxygen to sustain human life. Supplemental Oxygen is mass-produced by genetically-engineered algae cultivated in farms - the plants have been modified with human DNA to eliminate the need for sunlight to fulfil their energy needs.
In recent years, the oxygen yield produced by algae farms has steadily declined. The reason for the decrease in production is unknown. Governments are engaged in frantic searches for other planets better suited to the sustainment of human life. Restrictions on population grown limit only families meeting certain criteria to a single child. Only the Emperors are exempted from this rule.
With over 90% of Thalassinus's surface area covered in ice, the few land masses located above sea-level are divided into three countries - Terasu, Ibara, and Enma.
Most cities in Terasu are enclosed within artificially-controlled environments, allowing for the growth of plants extinct elsewhere on the planet. A conservative monarchy dictates every aspect of the lives of its citizens, from prohibition to the illegalization of homosexuality.
Ibara is a liberal monarchy with few restrictions.
Enma has been abandoned for hundreds of years, and now serves only as a site for military experiments.
The people of Terasu and Ibara have effectively been lead to believe that their countries are at war; a battle for which no resolution is logically attainable. The source of their bitter animosity - a disagreement over which Emperor is a true descendant of the Gods. This contrived conflict generates millions in taxes and war bonds, money which goes toward funding projects unknown to the public. No battles are fought. No blades are drawn.
Instead, their "war" consists of drinking contests and the degradation of athletically inferior officers. It's restricted to a select group of military personnel; most soldiers never see the field. Their service is confined to operations such as Irihi (the slaughterhouse) and Akusho, a colony for those afflicted by a disease known simply as "moon sickness".
"Moon sickness", believed to result from a viral organism brought back to Thalassinus from the moon, has very different origins from those ascribed to it.
Kuroda knew this even before he was first invited to witness the experiment; long before the information was entitled to him. Reisen Kaneko, father of the boy currently held captive at Irihi, had known it, too - and that was when all the trouble started.
It begins by selecting a civilian at random. Male, female, young, old - it makes no difference, as long as the individual is healthy. They are taken to Enma, where in the presence of royalty and high-ranking military officials, they are subjected to high doses of divine energy. The object of the procedure is to discern an effective means of infusing a host with a direct connection to the Gods, granting unlimited access to powers only attainable through contracts with individual deities.
When the experiment fails, as it always does, the victim exhibits symptoms which include blindness, severe facial disfiguration, the secretion of a tar-like substance, decomposition of the fingers and toes, and episodes of haemophilia. The incident is then purged from their memory, and they are left somewhere in their city to be found wandering around, disconnected from reality. Distraught family members arrange for the transfer to Akusho. Samples of the black substance are frequently collected and used for further experimentation, often deliberately injected into anyone displaying a tendency toward political activism.
Kuroda expects this procedure to go no differently from the others and resents being called away from the slaughterhouse; he fails to share in the optimism held by the other soldiers, the ongoing belief that things will work out this time around, but keeps this to himself. Instead of joining the others in the festivities, including the availability of alcohol (which is illegal in Terasu), he keeps to himself, at least until a small pair of hands close around his eyes. He knows who it is without having to ask.
"Hey, kiddo."
Head of security for Emperor Jadoku and only seven years old, the young girl prefers the company of Kuroda to his inferiors, establishing what will be a lifelong affinity for powerful men. She moves to stand beside him, touching his arm, large green eyes staring upward in childish curiosity, which remains in spite of her profession.
"Why aren't you making a fool out of yourself like the others?" she asks.
"I prefer to keep my dignity intact."
"Sounds like an excuse to be anti-social."
"Perhaps it is."
Soldiers from Terasu and Ibara appear, their fingers locked around the young woman who is to be the subject of the experiment. She appears confused and alarmed, pleading for answers.
"Looks like they're about to begin." Kuroda looks to his companion, concerned for the impact the spectacle might have on a young child - even one who is a killer. "Are you sure you want to watch this, Samidare?"
Samidare bristles from the implication of being anything less than resolute, "I decapitated someone this morning."
Kuroda begins to follow the procession in the direction of the ruined church. "This is different," he states, and it is. She gives him a look of defiance and walks close beside him.
Abandoned for centuries, the church scarcely stands up to the elements, especially in the bitter cold of winter. Snow drifts in through the broken glass, blanketing the cracked stone floor. Sections of the walls have begun to crumble, allowing frigid gusts of wind to tear through the cathedral, scattering the snow like ashes.
A low circular altar awaits the woman, who strains one last time against her armed escorts.
"Please, stop this!"
A soldier snarls and delivers a swift kick to her lower spine, bringing her down on the ground.
"Shut the fuck up."
She stares up at them, searching for something human in their faces, "Please, let me go. I haven't done anything wrong. My family will be worried about me!"
She's ignored.
The ritual is of such importance that even the Emperors are in attendance: Emperor Kin of Terasu, and Emperor Jadoku of Ibara. A group of seven masked priests hover around their thrones, offering reassurances until they're finally ready to begin.
"We will proceed with the contract," declares a priest, bowing to kiss Emperor Kin's hand.
"Please try your best." Emperor Kin encourages the success of the experiment with positivity.
Emperor Jadoku is not so indulgent; for him, boredom has already begun to set in, "You bastards always fuck this shit up. Impress me for once."
Stripped of her clothing, the woman is placed on the altar. The priests gather around, extending their arms outward as if embracing someone only they can see.
"Mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur." It means, "The world wants to be deceived, so let it be deceived." It's the official motto of these seven priests - the highest ranking representatives of the church on the planet. The words are soothing to almost everyone, justifying every piece of information withheld from the general public. Only Kuroda is troubled by the phrase, and not because he disagrees with it. He's thinking of Reisen, late one night, trying to convince him that an individual's aversion to the truth does not justify withholding it from them. Reisen the idealist. Reisen the terrorist.
"Open the channel."
Divine energy begins streaming into the woman's body. Balls of light gather in number, swarming around her, filling the decaying building with white light. A sudden flash momentarily blinds the spectators, and there's a second when even Kuroda thinks, "Maybe it worked this time." He feels Samidare gripping his hand and gently closes his fingers.
Any thoughts of success are promptly trampled. Black ooze surges from the unfortunate woman's mouth in an inky torrent. Within seconds it's leaking from the corners of her eyes, eating away her corneas. The condition is a curse (divine punishment and rejection alike) and will only worsen with time.
Emperor Kin is the first to stand, affectionately taking a priest by the arm, "It was an admirable attempt. Perhaps next time the results will work in our favour."
Emperor Jadoku remains seated, looking on in disgust, "Nice work, assbags."
"Erase her memory, then take her home." Emperor Kin's orders are quickly followed; the unconscious woman is escorted out of the building.
Samidare pulls away from Kuroda slowly, approaching the altar. Nearby, a small bow has fallen from the woman's hair, and she reaches for it, small fingers wrapping tightly around its contours. She stares off at the black trail leading out of the building, and understands what Kuroda meant - this is the first time she's seen anyone seriously injured, when they've done nothing to deserve it. It's a heavy, uncomfortable feeling, starting in the upper quadrant of her chest, spreading all the way down to her stomach. When Kuroda asks her if she's okay, she has no idea what to say; she just grips the bow a little tighter and walks away.
The trip back to Irihi is uneventful and the first thing Kuroda does is inquire about Kokkan. Omitting concerns for the boy's mental state, the officer simply reports, "He's working the pens, sir."
Kuroda revisits his efforts to develop a plan allowing Kokkan to work in a less stressful environment, but his options are lacking. A prisoner has never transcended the confines of the special divisions; even surviving the routine culling of the captives is a first. He needs to think of something which will allow Kokkan to function within the system, yet reduce the psychological strain resulting from constant handling of the dead and dying. After all, he has the right to be concerned.
Kokkan's mental health has taken a sharp decline. Assigned tasks are frequently left uncompleted, invoking the irritation of the guards, who tolerate the situation only out of the fear of what Kuroda will do to them if they don't. The boy eats little, scarcely sleeps, and startles easily; even the familiar sounds of the slaughterhouse are cause for alarm - the vocalisation of a curious piglet creates painful tension in his chest. He gives the piglet a light pat, despite the nervous ache, and his thoughts turn to Reisen; he'd been playing with his toys when his father came in, carrying his mother, her hands stained black from the sticky substance leaking from her eyes and mouth, blood dripping from the puncture wound on her arm.
It was the last time Kokkan saw his mother alive. Locking his hands around the piglet, he gathers the animal in his arms, hugging it tightly. Eventually he drifts off to sleep, lulled by the steady beating of its heart.
Next chapter.