2 At the Ardum District

13th October

Walking in an alley full of eyes gave me fear and anxiousness. It seems happiness and contentment were deprived in this street that death will be the consequences.

Of a sudden, a man jumped out of nowhere and stumbled on his landing. A lad runs towards him. I thought he would lend him a hand but the opposite.

The lad stabbed the man endlessly without doubt, fear, and worriedness visible in his action. His ultimately goal at the very moment was to slaughter the man in front of him.

“N-no!” screamed the man, not minding the blood gushing out of his wounds. Still, the lad never stopped stabbing him.

Seconds passed, an older man in his ball cap got out from a doorway and had a rifle in his hand. He cocked the gun and pointed it on the lad, stabbing his lifeless man. Two consecutive gunshots resonated that made me cringe.

A splatter of blood reached my shoe, and a loud thud echoed around the alley. I saw the smoking nozzle of the older man’s rifle. It was still pointing at the bloodshed scene. The next thing I knew was the lad already lying on his blood bath.

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, but the circumstance never permitted me. Wide eyes, I scanned my gaze on the same alley I had walking a while ago still, eyes looking at me intently. They’re like innocent refugees that don’t know a thing around.

“You should leave before the gun shot.” A beggar child pulled the hem of my shirt. Eyes any moment may step out of his skull and haven’t eaten for years.

“W-what gunshot?” I asked nervously. But he didn’t reply.

I felt his grip tighten, and then he just closed his eyes and stumbled unto me.

“Hey, kid!” But he didn’t answer.

“Run, young man,” an old voice spoke. As I turned my gaze, the nozzle of the riffle is pointing at me.

No doubt I run but can’t fasten my steps because of the kid gripping my hem.

***

Striding my foot on the cemented road, I saw people like me walking off to somewhere. Having with them their belongings which the government sure donates. But some of them are rewards for their hard work.

The New Cica—which is new, established 30 years ago. World War III, which people of the world didn't know who to blame, ended after five years of bombing and killings for no good reason. Too many refugees around the globe escaped and found places to hid and surpassed the war. Some known personalities in each country established Capitols to lead the remaining refugees to a new life series. For a new generation of people in the world.

I'm sure my family was part of the refugees, but then I didn't care much.

Before the war, no such stories and reading materials tell stories as every infrastructure was all wrecked and burnt. Stories through the mouth are the ones we all know. But not certain. Not accurate enough to excite us. Those were all taught at school; hence, nothing inspiring.

The New Cica 001 was hard as all needed to start from nothing or something they've rescued and kept. Until they planned to put someone in the position to lead his people, maybe that's the system before the war started. And three intelligent men show, called themselves the Higher Ups, and appointed civil guards as watchers all around the country.

Crops grow. Animals raised. Three different factories of goods started their production, two milling stations, and some other buildings arose that I can't name. Main roads are constructed, and some are being planned. A school for elementary, secondary, and tertiary to elevate learning. Food station for ration every second week of the month. And much more.

For about thirty years, the New Cica developed accordingly and gained population. Additional railroads, buildings, and plantations, to name a few, added to the abandoned city-state. There were also cell sites for technological connection.

I could presume that the Higher Ups nearly sacrificed their own time to have this New Cica. But taking a position comes a great responsibility to do. So, nothing much honorable.

I traveled by train and stopped at the first station. Directly across the main road was the 4-story hospital of district proper, Ardum. I got my feet inside, asked for assistance, and waited for the doctor. I had some conversation for about an hour and a half and just received a result of finding a dream interpreter.

What a waste of time! I indeed had headaches after this day's end as the temperature is high and I can't overcome the noise. The air condition inside got through my head.

"You know about Jetkins?" I overheard two persons, one in a cardigan and the other in denim, on their conversation. I suddenly got curious about this Jetkins District. The noise got silent—every inch of it.

"The well-known reverend or the not-so-nice-to-smell mass grave? Or the award-winning Elite Officer? I somehow look him up," answered his friend. They're standing in affront of a coffee shop's high table and sipping their cup of coffee. This shop is three blocks away from the hospital.

"None of the three," answered back by the cardigan one. "It's the unreported and unknown killings."

"What the! Seriously?" Upon hearing those, I got my escape.

There was nothing to be astonished—just killings which actually, I agreed, unreported to the civil guards. I thought the Capitol has a good image of true peace and order. What happened?

Speaking of Jetkins, I remember the well-known reverend who guides someone like my situation into comfort. I've read articles about him, and many people visited his church, not minding those negative proof less fake news. They also mentioned that healing is his gift from the above. And he's the only reverend left after the world war.

What if I tried? None will go out of track anyway.

Again, I found myself traveling through the train and stopped on the farthest station where the borders of Jetkins started.