A message appeared on the large projector—a crude, likely handwritten message.
[GET ANGRY, GET LOUD, RESIST]
In front of that image was a man dressed in garish purple with slicked-back hair. He wore glasses that didn’t quite fit his head shape, and his eyes lacked the solemnity one would expect for an emotional broadcast.
And then, he spoke.
“On the night of August tenth, a bomb was detonated under a police cruiser, killing two active-duty officers. The following night, an assault on multiple police stations, killing a dozen more, with roughly 450,000 dollars in equipment damaged, stolen, or sabotaged. 8:00 AM, August twelfth, a mass shooting at the district Supreme Court building, killing five civilians, twenty active-duty officers, and gravely injuring a humble member of the Council of Justice, Julian Faur . The perpetrators of these tragedies, the human menace, ask us to reconsider the value of Shura life!”
He struck a dramatic pose, sticking up his middle finger.
“FUCK YOU!”
“...”
This was strange. I was expecting something a tad more…serious, like a threatening declaration of war or a heartfelt plea from a rebel. I looked around, seeing if anyone else shared the same awkward tension as I did.
Unfortunately, I was the only one who took issue with this situation. This must be how humans and Shura communicate. How odd.
I massaged my furrowed brow in an attempt to regain my focus on the silly broadcast.
“My name is Junn Marauder, and I present to you the broadcast of the century — THE FIGHT FOR TOMORROW! TOPIC — EXTERMINATING THE HUMAN MENACE!”
Flashing lights. Obnoxious music. Confetti flying everywhere. It was nothing but an ordinary radio show, with the sole exception of a single factor.
There, at center stage, sat four human hostages. They sat in Seiza, their arms and legs bound tightly with zip ties. Bags obscured their faces, and to their sides, merciless executioners.
The purpose of this performance, this farce, became obvious to me — this was a humiliation game.
Junn Marauder, with his irritating grin and ugly outfit, gestured to the right of the screen. “It’s time to welcome our executioners! Coming first is the hit rock ' n ' roll artist of the century, Raigen D! Next up is Madam Crowler of the Great Magic Association. Then, the sensational pop group of the times, Calico Rhythmic. Last, but certainly not least, is the Supreme President of Urr, Skadhi Bhattacharya !”
“—!”
Skadhi Bhattacharya, the tall, balding man with tanned skin and an eccentric Hawaiian shirt, gave off a sickening presence, even compared to the other Shura on the broadcast. His demeanor was most vulgar, his mien most repulsive and disturbed.
He had a lazy expression, a know-it-all expression, as though he was truly the greatest person in the room — no, the entire world.
“That man is our target…” I muttered under my breath.
Returning my attention to the screen, Junn Marauder handed the microphone to a middle-aged man with blond hair and frosted tips. “Now then, Raigen-D, what would you like to say about these criminals?”
“I…” He hesitated, his gaze downcast. A moment of silence, and then — “You bastards!”
He erupted in a flurry of emotion, tears streaming down his cheeks as he violently strummed his guitar.
“Life has value, you monsters! Shura life! To take so brazenly…to steal so brazenly…that means you must be willing to be stolen from yourself, right?!”
“So,” Marauder inquired, “What do ya say?”
“Death penalty!”
And with the rockstar’s declaration, the axe of the executioner falls.
SPLAT.
The head falls, blood splatters, and with it, a resounding applause from the audience. The sight was enough to arouse a sickening nausea in Derrick’s throat.
To throw away life so recklessly, to throw away life so cruelly…it aroused an unfamiliar emotion, welling up from my viscera.
And still, Junn Marauder continued to the next contestant.
“Madam Crowler, esteemed magician of the ages, what do you have to say to the criminals?”
“Hm…”
She got up from her seat and approached the second prisoner, removing their hood. The prisoner was a young woman—no, a child who looked no older than 17. Crowler placed her hand on the child’s cheek and said, “Why? Why did you do all of this, little girl?”
“I…I just…” Tears streamed down her face, her voice hoarse. “I wanted power.”
“Power, hm? A human motivation indeed. You, without a doubt, are a human being, and that’s precisely why you need to die.”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, I didn’t mean to! It was all his fault, see!? He did it!” She wildly tossed about, gesturing to her comrade to the left of her.
“Disgusting. This is why I hate you, humans. So greedy, so selfish, so utterly unashamed of your own vice. A noble woman would have accepted her death with honor and grace! That is what separates us, Shura, from you degenerate humans! You are but cattle at best, and feces at worst. Execution should be considered a luxury for you!”
“W-W-Wai—!”
BOOM
An explosion expanded from Madam Crowler’s palm, likely fire magic, and evaporated the woman’s head in an instant. Once more, the crowds cheered, this time with even more vigor.
The pop group—Calico Rhythmic—went next. They didn’t have much to say aside from a generic speech, and the next victim was mercilessly executed, this time by a crushing iron block dropped from above.
“Last, but certainly not least…Skadhi Bhattacharya releases his verdict!”
“Thank you, Junn, allow me to handle the rest of the broadcast, yeah?”
“Yes, sir!”
Junn Marauder took his leave, the crowd clapping in celebration of their leader’s arrival. It was nearly out of control until the President raised but one hand, bringing the room to a deafening silence.
“Good evening…everyone.” The lights, focusing solely on the President, as though he were an angel descending from heaven.
“Tell me, my fellow Urrsman, what is the essence of society? Is it virtue? Well, on the surface, it can be considered so. Is it might? Once again, it is a valid response, though lacking in nuance. Ability, rapport, efficiency—all good answers, yet lacking in depth!”
His voice boomed with charisma, confidence, and virility befitting a high-ranking politician.
“The essence of society is that of a superorganism — individuals who cannot survive by themselves, and thus, create highly-specialized divisions of labor. A construction worker cannot create beauty to the extent an artist can, and an artist lacks the strength to perform such labor. Weak as they are individually, strength can be achieved through collaboration! That is the meaning of society! All is one, and one is all!”
“Society is one body, one mind, and one essence. That is the nature of the planetary nation of Urr! And so, what does that make humans, beings so attached to individuality that they would sooner massacre their own kind than share amongst the people? A cancer. They are a cancer that has infected our body.”
He turned to the lead singer of Calico Rhythmic. “Tell me, Ichi…what do you do with a legionous cancer?”
“You cut it out!”
“That’s right, ladies and gentlemen! Those who refuse to conform to the majority must be cut away! They must be executed, lest our great society be destroyed! Say it with me, everyone! Kill the deviants!”
The audience roared in his honor.
KILL THE DEVIANTS!
KILL THE DEVIANTS!
KILL THE DEVIANTS!