Aphoxema stared down at the other teenagers, hidden in one of his many spy nests. Though one of the lenses in Old-Man Ggetson’s binoculars had been long broken from the many times Aphoxema had dropped them, the other half worked perfectly fine and binoculars were hard to find in the remote community of the Flourette Arcology Project.
The others called him The Rat, among other names he was less fond of, as he had for years crawled through the service ducts throughout the hulking pyramid on Dantbeinn VII. He’d worked while everyone else slept to create hiding places, installing stolen cameras and laying traps. He’d long proven his ability to escape from the other children and hide away, no longer having to worry about being caught and beaten for their sport. Now he was mostly forgotten.
“Yeah, Lord Plush, this’ll be good... this’ll’ere be real’ good, fuckers’ll laugh, laugh at ‘emselves, but I’ll laugh, I’ll laugh better, I’ll laugh last. Us and them, us and them.” Lord Plush sat ominously silent, apparently revelling in their plans for revenge. Aphoxema laughed and smiled, picking Lord Plush up and making him dance in the air, “This’ll be so good...”
Brandt and Marco sat together in the den, laughing along with the other kids, drinking the cheap, imported beer and smoking the cheap, imported cigarettes. After he had his revenge, he would have to steal some of the leftovers.
Homosexuality was hardly forbidden in the arcology, though not widely accepted. It was certainly, though, one of those things that would make bad things worse, and Brandt and Marco both had girlfriends, and they were both pregnant.
Aphoxema tittered again, holding Lord Plush tightly, “Almost time, let’s just wait’a, no.. nah, we don’t need’oo wait. Let’s just do it, I’m ready. Are you ready? Yeah, you’re ready, you’re always ready for fun.” He picked up his diagnostic console, plugged into the superstructure’s network. He was the only one with unlimited access, even the administrators worked under the policies he had set for them, working hard to make them think they were always in control.
He tapped the display, grumbling at the poor condition of the console causing the backlight to flicker. He browsed through the devices connected throughout the network, finding the holoprojectors located in the den and uploading an interesting holostream he had managed to record days earlier. He laughed again, tapping his teeth together in perverse excitement.
Everyone looked up at the sudden projection of Brandt and Marco talking in a hallway. Holo Brandt laughed, “No, she... I know she’s having my kid but, that doesn’t make us like each other. It was just a thing.”
The very real Kendit looked at the very real, frightened Brandt. Holo Marco responded, “So, you still like
me, right?”. The real Marco stood, shaking, pinned by the glares of the others intent on both him and Brandt. He could have fought it right there, said it was a fabrication or out of context, but he knew it wasn’t and he knew what it meant to them.
Holo Brandt pushed Holo Marco against a Holo Wall, kissing him with all the romantic sensitivity a stupid, inexperienced teenager was capable of. The projection faded out, leaving the room in silence, Brandt standing slowly with Marco. Together, they were a furnace of embarrassment, which might be otherwise appreciated on a cold night in the arcology erected on an eternally barren planet.
Kendit stood up and screamed, “
What the fuck was that?!”
Aphoxema stifled himself, not wanting to give away his hiding place. He wanted to take credit for his accomplishment, to prove he was always watching and always waiting for a chance to expose the fools to themselves, but he knew they couldn’t appreciate it. They were all too immature, too close-minded to see his talent and power.
The room erupted in arguments, the other boys and girls standing to surround Brandt and Marco, to do to them what they did to Aphoxema so many times before, unprovoked. They tried to escape, getting caught and beaten by the others, eventually drug off to the garbage disposal where Aphoxema had been so many times before. They certainly wouldn’t be put in the incinerator, but the humiliation of bathing in wastewater and litter was a fate worse than incineration.
Aphoxema laughed with Lord Plush, finally free to, and climbed back through the ventilation duct to the makeshift ladder behind one of the light fixtures. He pushed the fixture out on the hinge he had built for it, sneaking out to pack up some of the rations the children had bought with their allowances. To earn credit, youths had to go to school and assist in arcology maintenance. Aphoxema didn’t do either, and had to get his spoils in other ways, the same way he got everything else he wanted.
Altering trade orders was risky, as the funds the project could work with were limited and things deemed too frivolous would be rejected anyways. The only way about it was to make small changes to individuals’ orders, which would be delivered directly to them, and steal it when they weren’t watching.
Many suspected Aphoxema, when they could remember he even existed, but there was never any evidence or witnesses he was a thief. He controlled the security recorders, he knew how to get anywhere, he had every key to every door. He was invincible, he earned this for all his suffering, he could destroy everything anytime he wanted.
Everything.