Attrition of the Gods: Book 1 of the Mystery Thriller series Gods Toys. (2 page)

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Adam, a squat, stocky boy made conspicuous by his short dark hair and olive skin, enters the auditorium and feels everyone’s eyes on him. He looks for his name on a seat, positive that he will be placed in the worst possible area, probably with an obstructed view. A young girl whom he recognises as the Procurator’s daughter waves at him and indicates a seat next to hers.

Shit,
he thinks to himself,
they’ve sat me next to Conrad Jones’ daughter? She is bound to be a right stuck-up bitch. Oh well, no one said this was going to be easy.

Adam makes his way up to the seat, looking around at the sea of blond-haired sons and daughters of the master race. He hopes his feelings towards them are not as obvious on his face as they are in his heart.

“What a bunch of tossers…”

The other students point at him, murmuring to each other as looks of disgust cross their faces. He knows how unwelcome his attendance here is and can’t help but imagine what they are whispering, although he doesn’t really need to imagine; most do not even bother lowering their voices.

“Fucking Schwartskull scum,” he hears from the group of uniformed lads.

“Yuck, he touched me,” a plump bespectacled girl shouts, wiping her shoulder against the chair.

Adams feels his face get redder and redder as he climbs the steps to the seat. He does not know if it is embarrassment or anger causing this raised blood pressure or if perhaps it’s the dread he feels at sitting next to the Procurator’s stuck-up daughter. “She will be the ultimate bitch,” he decides and prepares himself for a barrage of abuse.

“Hi, I’m Ember Jones.” She stands, holding her hand out, a huge warm smile across her face.

Adam is momentarily stunned.
She is either taking the piss or she has taken a couple of
DMTs
, he thinks to himself, tentatively holding his hand out too. He half expects her to retract hers and blow a raspberry, creating great hilarity amongst her fellow students. Instead she takes his hand and, with a noticeably firm two-handed grip, she warmly shakes it.

“I have been looking forward to meeting Adam Costello, the first Caucasian ever to graduate to the RLT.” Ember’s enthusiastic greeting surprises Adam so much he responds with a pathetic reply.

“It’s an honour to meet you.” Instantly realising how lame he sounds his face reddens even more.

Ember smiles awkwardly. “Really?”

“Sorry, I’m not used to Aryans talking to me.”

The two sit down; looking around they notice that almost every student is watching them.

“See, you’re a celebrity,” Ember whispers to him, with a cheeky grin.

“More like a freak show,” he replies.

The lights dim and a lone figure walks onto the stage. The auditorium contains a semicircle of seats rising thirty rows from the stage. Two giant smooth liquid crystal statues flank either wing of the stage. One is a representation of Reuben Lupas – also known as the Messiah, or sometimes revered as the Host – the other is Solfrid, the High Priestess and first of the Djinn. Their images stand either side of the stage almost touching a ceiling that moves like liquid. The venue seats over a thousand students. The stage is small, set high up with a black liquid screen behind it. Dallas Proctor, the world’s leading authority on Old World history, is illuminated by a spotlight, giving him a celestial appearance.

“Welcome, students of the Reuben Lupas Temple of Learning. I am Dallas Proctor, First Scholar of the Templi and Historian to the Host.”

The word
Host
prompts all the students except Adam to bow their heads and chant a sort of prayer: “One world a gift from the Host, One world to serve the Host.”

Ember nudges Adam and he takes the hint and bows just as the rest lift their heads. Ember suppresses a giggle. Dallas Proctor looks for the source of said giggle and sneers when he sees the dark-haired filth he knows to be Adam Costello.

“Today we will give you an overview of the subjects that we will be covering during this first semester. You are going to learn about some very vile people. Some of whom are responsible for the slaughter of millions of innocent people. I do not apologise for the graphic knowledge we inflict upon you. You are entering adulthood…well, most of you are.” He diverts a look directly at Ember. “Only by showing you the unsavoury details of our past can we ensure the same mistakes are not repeated.”

With a dramatic wave of his arm the auditorium lights go out and the students’ chairs recline back fully. The beautiful painting above their heads seems to melt and they find themselves staring at a three-dimensional picture emanating from a fluid ceiling. Once the paintings fully fade a bright light descends, enveloping the students and thrusting them into a virtual image experience. Ember feels an incredible sensation sweep over her as she and the other students are immersed into this computer-generated simulation. She looks ahead, startled, as the life-sized depiction of a man appears inches from their faces. He is wearing a black uniform adorned with a red badge displaying an upside-down crucifix. His face is blood splattered and his arms tattooed, the muscles like knotted ropes. His whole body seems to be criss-crossed with thick veins and a scar runs down his left cheek. His face is that of man who has killed many times; a man with hate-filled eyes and no remorse. He stands amongst derelict, bomb-damaged buildings, a swirl of dust covering a group of ragged-looking women and children that are cowering at his feet. Ember knows exactly who this man is.

“SHANE MILLS – the Antihost!” shouts Dallas over the noise of the gunfire and explosions that accompany the images. The image is complemented by the smells of the scene: a mixture of burning and rot. The image of dust is so real Ember instinctively covers her mouth with her hand.

The students’ view moves from Shane to a small child whose tears create tramlines through the dirt on his cheeks. The small boy is no more than four or five and can be heard crying for his mum. Shane Mills walks over to the child, wipes his tears, then puts his gun to the child’s head and, showing no emotion, pulls the trigger. Horrified screams from the other captives are soon drowned out by the sound of rapid gunfire as two other uniformed men and a woman with crazy eyes pump round after round of bullets into the bodies of the desperate mothers and their children until only two small girls are left alive.

The students recoil in their seats, a mixture of fear and revulsion overcoming them. Most subdue their screams but at least two can be heard crying as the image reverts to Shane’s face. His image appears to be looking at each and every one of the students, as if they were to be his next victims. He lifts his infamous machete and with two heavy blows he beheads the last two children. The screams are no longer subdued and the image is so real only a brief shimmer in the picture reminds Ember that this is a virtual scene.

Many of the other youngsters struggle to remind themselves they are in fact safe in the confines of their seats in the RLT auditorium and that this is an image of a man long dead, a historical event. Dallas is aware they cannot detach themselves but persists with the simulation. Over the years he has witnessed many students scream, cry and even soil themselves while experiencing these portrayals of the Antihost. Only when one young girl vomits and passes out does he relent and end the programme.

The scene fades, the seats retract and the spotlight returns to Dallas Proctor.

“That may be the first time many of you have seen an image of the Antihost. Of course, it is by law that his image is banned in most places outside of this learning establishment. But here you will become familiar with not only his image but also those of his co-conspirators whom history has aptly called the ‘Diabolicals’. You will endure graphic images of the horrendous atrocities that they were responsible for. Anyone who feels overwrought by what you have just witnessed may be better off joining the catering class down the corridor.”

Dallas peruses the faces of the young people and a smirk grows across his face as he can see how disturbed and unnerved the new scholars are. Some shift uncomfortably in their chairs, not even conversing. The young girl who vomited gets up and leaves. Dallas revels in their discomfort and fails to suppress a smile. That is, until he catches the eye of Adam Costello who appears unperturbed; in fact he looks impressed at his first 3DVI experience. In truth Adam has never encountered such a high-tech video experience and is truly impressed but unlike most people he is already familiar with the image of Shane Mills from old-style TV footage he has watched with Raphael.

Dallas knows immediately that this boy from the Caucasian sector has little respect for Aryan ways. His joy at the other students’ discomfort is spoiled and his lip visibly curls with disdain for this boy who had passed the entrance exam despite not having access to the Bibliotheque or any ordained tutor. How he managed to pass is a mystery. Dallas was not happy about teaching a “Schwartskull”, but he is confident that he will dissuade the lowlife from continuing with his chosen subject very soon.

Adam feels the disdain coming from the lecturer. As a Caucasian he is very aware that his presence here is not welcome. Since he was a child Adam has obsessed about Old World history, especially the exploits of the Diabolicals, yet most books and footage have been banned. Of all the injustices his type have to endure this restriction of education on any subject was the one Adam resented most.

He had spent a childhood scraping around trying to find any books or films that related to the times before the New World Order and the rise of the Fourth Reich. Of course, the Grand Bibliotheque in the Aryan sector is bursting with books and research on this subject if you can get access. But being a lowly Caucasian, Adam was only granted a red chip and couldn’t enter these places. It was a classic catch-22 situation – he could only learn about Old World history by getting onto the course at the RLT, which he could only do if he passed the entrance exam, which you needed to study for using books from the Bibliotheque. Adam had just about been resigned to a hopeless life of curiosity and ignorance when he met Raphael.

Thanks to Raphael’s teachings he had access to all the knowledge he’d dreamed of. He spent hours every day at Raphael’s listening to tales of world history, mainly about the early to mid-twenty-first century, the Revolution and its main protagonists, the Diabolicals, Leo Verdi and, of course, Shane Mills. For Adam it was like Messiah day every day, not that many Caucasians really celebrated the festival marking the return of the Messiah.

Adam’s only concern was the authenticity of the knowledge that Raphael bestowed upon him. Many of the citizens of Ravensdale (Adam’s sector) thought Raphael was a weirdo who made up stories to gain the company and trust of young men. Adam never believed this but still, on the day of the exam, he wondered if he was about to realise they were right and that all he’d learned from Raphael had been fairy tales. In fact Raphael had confused him over the last few months prior to the exam.

“To pass the exam you must learn untruths as well as truths,” he had told him.

Adam lost track of what was supposed to be true and what was not, especially regarding Shane Mills. However, on the tenth day of the Autumn quarter Adam was awoken by the cheers of his sisters and his mother.

“You passed! Ninety-seven per cent! My son is a genius!” His mother yelled at him as she hugged him so hard he could hardly breathe. “My son is going to the RLT.”

Adam’s father, Aidan, showed no such elation. He feared for his only son’s safety. The Aryans would not be happy sharing their school with a lower-class citizen.

Back in the auditorium the students recover and settle. Dallas decides to uncover what knowledge these students have acquired prior to attending his class. He always likes to separate the wheat from the chaff early on and he also hopes the Caucasian will be exposed.

“Who can tell me what is believed to be the catalyst for the Verdi Revolution?” Dallas asks the class.

The majority of the students look straight ahead, some nervous on their first day, most completely ignorant to the answer. Adam is tempted to show his extensive knowledge on the subject but decides this will make him even more unpopular. Ember Jones, on the other hand, is nearly falling out of her seat with her keenness to answer.

“Ah, Miss Jones, isn’t it?” says Dallas.

Ember nods and spurts out her answer so rapidly that Dallas and the students worry if she will come up for breath.

“Shane Mills was incarcerated in prison for manslaughter. Before he went to prison he was described as a drunken thug with no affiliation to any political group or interest in world events. By the time he escaped four years later he was a dedicated extremist and anti-government activist. He caused havoc and promoted anarchy wherever he could. However…”

Dallas holds up his hand to stop her but Ember ploughs on. With her shoulders back and her chin slightly raised there is no question in her mind that she could be mistaken.

“However, the catalyst, as you mentioned, is thought to have been when Shane Mills murdered six hundred prison inmates and guards in order to escape from prison with the help of the Islamic extremist, Robert Price.”

“Thank you, Miss Jones.”

After a couple more questions, all eagerly answered by Ember, Dallas spends the rest of the class running through the areas that he will cover in the first term and finishes up with an assignment for the students.

“I want you all to present a thesis to me that will cover the period between the formation of the Diabolicals and the return of the Messiah. You will be working on this for the remainder of this first term and it will count towards your final results so make sure you get it right.” Groans fill the room until Dallas offers up what seems like a small concession. “You will do the research in pairs but I need separate papers. Now pick your partners before leaving.”

Adam immediately feels his face glow; he is sure he will be left out. A quick look at Dallas Proctor confirms this, his smug smile and raised eyebrow suggest this will be the first of many slights. No one will pick a Schwartskull.