Flashes Of Light

Past - Logar

After we killed the President, the whole thing became a creepy freak show.

I was devastated, though it is hard to find pity for the super rich folks, they are people too. I didn't know about President White to know his perks and his faults, but he had a young boy which my friends had met.

He'd been married to the same woman for all of his life. He didn't have seven wives. And he was getting old naturally, with no doubt about his actual age.

He didn't deserve to be murdered in cold blood, and to be perfectly honest, we didn't deserve the weight on our chests. Ane Dioretsa, in particular.

Say what you want about me, but I am not a particularly self-centered kind of guy. I was feeling all of the grief I felt for my own parents, but Ane's hands were the ones stained by blood.

Which was why if the trauma had led her to questionable choices, like snogging Percie Tolkien, it was fine by me. Or so I told her. They didn't take it well.

"Well, well, well," The Anti said, opening the door of the room I used to share with Lix, and that I didn't share with anyone now.

"Well, well, Logar Iris. You are the Visionary. Do you know what this means? You should, probably, get a seizure anytime soon to help us decide what to do."

He clapped his hands violently.

"Do you, kind sir, get seizures at other people's command?" I asked, deliberately hanging out in my bathrobe to show him I didn't care. "Because I don't think you do. Well, neither do I. I have no absolute idea what to do next."

The Anti pursed his lips. "Hopeless," he said. "All of you. I will, of course, come up with something. How about a little photoshoot? Magazines haven't published your photos in some time, and I hate to declare you're the most famous face, albeit not the most photogenic of the lot."

"If you say so," I replied in a fastidious drawl.

"Dammit!" The Anti stomped his combat boots that looked very much like mine. "All of these children, and none gets after me!"

I thought for a fleeting moment that he was talking about his numerous biological kids, but then I understood.

"You shouldn't have had me with a Halloween monster," I replied. "On a Wednesday, on top of that."

"This monster-talk is getting self-pitiful at best," The Anti pointed out smartly. I was getting tired of it, too, to tell the truth.

"Alright," I replied. "But just so you know, I was born a Friday, on the 13th. It was a very hot July."

"Duly noted," The Anti said. "Prepare for the photoshoot now. We're going to Pix Industries."

Pix Industries was every conceited, or simply stylish, kid's dream. Which was to say, I never cared much about it. I've never considered myself good looking, so I had my doubts of how I would look in a preconfectionated picture. Selfies had already passed their peak by the time I was born, the world a too cruel place for active social media profiles.

There were the so-called influencers who still had those kinds of jobs, but I've heard talks back in the day everyone, even the humble guys like me, knocked themselves out by taking pictures of themselves. I believe it, but I haven't seen it happening in my day.

Pix Industries worked through AI -- there was a green screen and you could tell it what to change the background into. The worst and absolutely crazy thing about it was that it knew how to mimick sensations too, so if you asked for a picture that looked like you were in Iceland, then you would feel the freezing cold as well.