The Evil That Came

Part 6: Silence or Oblivion

The park, a microcosm of human existence, unfolded before Viktor's eyes. Children laughed, their innocence echoing through the air as they chased each other on the playground. Entangled in the complexities of youth, adolescents strolled through the adjacent garden, whispering secrets and sweet nothings along the way. Viktor observed it all, a silent observer—an outsider.

Viktor felt like he didn't belong here on Earth; it all felt foreign to him regardless of whether he had been on Earth as long as he could remember; then he thought about it some more, and with more conviction, he felt he didn't belong here. His R.O.B.O. history class, which talked about his culture, glossed over their world's governance, leaving Viktor with unanswered questions. The monarchy remains shrouded in mystery. He found it suspect as well, as they never mentioned who it was who ruled. 

Genetics intrigued him most, and he wondered why he and Victoria were the only ones without the crimson-red eyes. Ever since he could remember, he had been excluded from his peers because of his differences. He didn't mind the exclusion; he even preferred it; he liked being alone somewhat because there was only one person he wanted to share it with.

Viktor wrestled with his existential musings on the weathered bench, then became disinterested and decided to go home after some time. Viktor glowered. "Wherever home was," he muttered.

Viktor walked home and saw that his dad was home early. "That's odd."

He walked inside the house, and a fist met his jaw, sending him sprawling. "What the --" He looked around in bewilderment when he came to his father standing over him, an embodiment of calm brutality. "Nice nap?" The mocking tone stung. Then, Zoran knocked Viktor out again.

Victoria's room beckoned—a sanctuary turned sinister. His sister, fragile and trembling, bore the weight of secrets. Their father's whispered threat echoed: "Silence or oblivion." The room held its breath as he kissed her forehead. By now, Victoria was whimpering in fear. Her father then pulled her closer and hugged her. "Be good" was all he said before he left her crying in her room.

"Aww Fuck," Viktor groaned. I fucking hate that man. He thought as he rubbed his head.

Viktor's Father, Zoran, was one of the older children who originally came to Earth. He vaguely remembers what life was like before Earth. He remembers it was hot, and the orange sun warmed over his brown skin. He remembers lying down in the dirt and playing with his hands, blocking out the sun, watching the juxtaposition between the sun and the shadows of his hands. The sky was a light purple, and as he watched the sun go down, it would turn an indigo blue, then to nightfall, when the times were good. Then he remembers the war. The fire, the screams, the charred skin. The Monster. He rode around on an animal like an elephant here on Earth with the skin of an armadillo. He had soldiers at his beck and call, pointing at any village operated by the queen to be raped and destroyed. Their weapons advanced, as well as their vehicles. The villagers would not have had the time to escape. If The Monster deemed it so, then it shall be. He remembered his parents shivering in fear as The Monster disintegrated his parents with his arm canon, and then he laughed a sick laugh. 

Zoran sipped beer, memories swirling like sediment in a glass. A family he didn't want—a legacy thrust upon him. The choice: comply or face oblivion. His crimes, veiled in shadows, weighed heavy. The past clung to him, a relentless specter.

Zoran, a shadow in the chaos of the R.O.B.O vs. Human War, thrived on the fringes of morality. His crimson eyes, once symbols of rebellion, now glinted with cunning. As humans scrambled for perceived survival, he seized the opportunity—their fear, their desperation—like a scavenger.

Zoran wove his web in the abandoned military base, where rusted tanks and forgotten weapons lay crystalized in time. His criminal enterprise burgeoned—a clandestine society of R.O.B.Os who yearned for more than mere existence. They hungered for life as humans knew it: freedom, indulgence, and the taste of stolen pleasures.

Resources were scarce, and the U.S. government quarantined their world. The base's walls whispered secrets—rumors of human lives beyond the perimeter. Some R.O.B.Os coveted these lives—their laughter, sunsets, and mundane joys. They craved the forbidden fruit, ignorant of its bittersweet core.

However, pragmatic and resilient others sought to make lemonade from the military base's lemons. They scavenged, repurposed, and adapted. Their existence was a patchwork quilt of ingenuity—an ode to survival. They whispered stories of resilience, shared secrets of makeshift gardens, and reveled in stolen moments of camaraderie.

Zoran's empire expanded, its tendrils reaching the heart of human cities. He pilfered art, technology, and secrets—the spoils of war. His loyal yet conflicted underlings danced on the precipice of betrayal. One, Elena, harbored doubts. Her change of heart was a fissure in Zoran's armor—a vulnerability he couldn't afford.

And then fate wove an unrelated thread into Zoran's tapestry: Amnika, his wife. She bore no children, her womb a barren landscape. General Alden, a stern figure with eyes like flint, offered a choice: raise the children Victoria and Viktor as his own or face oblivion. Zoran weighed the scales—a martyr's death or reluctant fatherhood.

He chose life—the children. Their arrival disrupted his empire, their innocence starkly contrasting his calculated schemes. In Zoran's mind, they were shackles—an anchor to his past. Their existence stunted his ascent, a reminder that greatness was elusive, even for a criminal kingpin.

General Alden's generosity puzzled him. The same man who could dispose of him like trash now entrusted him with these fragile lives. Perhaps it was a twisted kindness—an act of redemption. Or maybe General Alden, too, carried secrets—burdens that weighed heavy on his soul.

Zoran grappled with paradoxes as the stolen legacy unfolded and Zoran's silent regrets. Beyond the quarantine, humanity thrived, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in their rusty backyard.