Violence in Peacetime

A high-pitched shriek rang through the hallways of Julius’ villa. Inside, the door of the small bedroom from which the sound originated was slammed open by two well-armed nightguards. One immediately proceeded deeper into the chamber while the other flicked the lightswitch.

“Young master, are you alright?”

A boy, short brown hair, 7 years old, sat upright in his bed, his cheeks having two glistening streaks of tears running down them. His breaths were shallow, panicked, only calming when he saw the guards coming towards him. In the now open door frame Julius, as well as his wife, Calpurnia, appeared, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

“Mama! Papa!” The boy exclaimed, jumping out of his bed and running towards them with his arms ready for a hug, which Julius accepted.

“It’s alright,” Julius said, “Don’t worry, Augustus, your parents are here.”

“Darling, did you have a bad dream?” Calpurnia asked, “Oh you poor thing.”

Augustus nodded.

“Tell me,” Julius said, “What did you dream about?”

Augustus pointed his gaze downward and began to blush.

“mmmm?”

“I- I know it’s bad, papa,” Augustus said, “but me and Cass went to look at the fight. I thought it would be cool, but it was really, really scary. It was so yucky, I had to puke. In my dream the big monster from the fight ate me and you and mama as well.”

The boy looked as if he was about to burst into tears once more.

“Tell me, Augustus,” Julius said, “do you know why we have these battles?”

Augustus shook his head.

“A long time ago-” Julius began.

“There were romans!” The boy interjected.

Julius smiled.

“Yes, that too,” Julius said, “but this is a little after that. This is the story of your great-great grandfather. For a long time, including when he was alive, people didn’t just die from being old. They could die from getting sick, or not getting enough food, or, at worst, they could be hurt so much by other people that they stopped living. When a lot of people tried to hurt each other, they called it ‘war’. ”

“Why would they do that? That is really mean!”

“They went to war for all sorts of reasons. Power, resources, land or even because of what people believed in. When your great-great grandfather was alive, a war was going on. A lot of people, including him, really didn’t want to get hurt anymore, so they went to a planet far, far away from everyone else, which is how our country began.”

The boy looked at his father with wide-open, wonderfilled eyes.

“A few years ago, just before you were born,” Julius continued, “some people started saying that we should go back to war. We didn’t want that, of course, so uncle Theo helped create the puppets, which could fight in the arena to remind people of how evil and sick hurting people is.”

“But isn’t that sad for the puppets?”

“It is not, because they don’t have a soul.”

“What is a soul?”

Julius was visibly taken aback by this question. He stuttered out a few ‘uhm’s and ‘oh’s before expectantly looking over his shoulder at Calpurnia.

“You see, darling,” she said, “your soul, your… consciousness, as we adults call it with a big word, is like the voice in your head whenever you think. When you and your friends log your brains into Cerebrumtela, your body, your avatar, changes, but you’re still yourself, right darling? That’s because your soul remains the same. You, your friends, your father, me, we all have that. It allows us to be ourselves, to think and experience the world.”

“I- I think I get it.” Augustus said, his voice revealing his hesitation.

"Think of the puppets as actors,” Julius said, “they may look like they’re hurt, but they aren’t. It’s like they’re playing pretend.”

“But when I see them cry, I still feel sad.”

“You should! That means you have something called ‘empathy’, which is very good to have. It means you are a kind person.”

Julius paused for a moment before sighing and continuing his speech:

"Still, given that you’ll become emperor one day, it’s best to get used to watching these fights. Tomorrow night, uncle Theo will give a very special show at our house. You’re going to watch it together with me, so that you’ll get a little more used to these kinds of battles and they won’t be as scary anymore, okay?”

“Okay.”

The boy fell silent, clearly in thought. Both his parents observed him, interested to see his reaction to this information. Augustus balled his fists and made a declaration:

“Papa, when I grow up and I’m an emperor like you I will never go to war, ever.”

Julius smiled.

“Great. Then that’s a promise.”

-

“D-48, U-48, Z-48, put your armor on!” Theocritus said, “And C-48, put on your dress and make-up! We will be leaving for a performance in ten minutes!”

“Of course, manager.” All of us soullessly replied. Theocritus left the room, slamming the thick metal door behind him. Tension permeated the air of our small living quarters. ‘Performance’, we all knew, was a coinflip of life and death. For some of us, this would be the last time we ever laid eyes on this room. Not that there was much to be missed, but having lived here for our whole one and a half year life had certainly made it feel like home.

“Wh-where do you think they’re taking us?” Sea asked.

“I do not know,” Yu said, “my only hypothesis is that a wealthy individual has decided to buy us from the state, hence why the manager has said we will be leaving the coliseum.”

“M-Maybe this is a bit naive ,” Sea said, “but perhaps we’ll have to sing and dance and really perform or something. I-I know you guys have to wear your armor and stuff, b-but it could be like, a battle-themed song, you know?”

“I really don’t wanna crush your dream, Sea,” Dee said, “but we all have to get it straight that unless we do somethin’, some or all of us are gonna die.”

“Then what do you propose we do?” Yu asked.

“I don’t know,” Dee answered, “but I’ll know in the moment.”

“That is awfully optimistic for someone who just advocated for hopeless realism.” Yu said.

“Don’t listen to him Dee!” I butted in, “I believe in you!”

“And you know what I believe in-” Dee began to say.

“I appreciated your jokes yesterday,” Yu interrupted, “because you were trying to lighten the mood after a tragedy, but now we need to think clearly and without distraction, so if you start another one of your pun battles I swear to- ”

“Do not keep me waiting, puppets!” Theocritus shouted, his voice muffled by the slab of iron between us.

“Our excuses, manager.” Yu replied.

I quickened the pace at which I was putting on my clothing, finishing first, hesitating for a moment before making my way to the air vent on the backside of the room. I reached up towards it, standing on the tips of my toes and stretching out my arm as far as I could, which allowed me to just barely get my forearm into the opening. I felt around the stash of contraband items, looking for both a flat, papery and short, cylindrical object: my notebook and pencil. I pulled them out and stuffed them into my armor before rejoining the group. With Yu in the lead, we opened the door to find Theocritus, his back turned towards us, barking orders at a small team of guards while impatiently tapping his left foot. Upon hearing the sound of the door opening, he turned around to face us.

“Follow me, puppets.”

He led us through the dark hallways underneath the coliseum. The walls were primarily gray, concrete surfaces, occasionally broken up by barred cages that held various monstrosities. The ceiling was a tangled web of pipes and tubes, many of which were leaking water or other, unidentified liquids. Finally, we reached the exit: an upward slope with an open door frame at the end, letting through what was unmistakably sunlight. As we went through, our eyes adjusted to the brightness, allowing us to see a transparent, cubical object, hovering half a meter above the ground. Inside, there were four seats, each one placed against one of the walls.

“Get in, puppets,” Theocritus said, “just go through.”

I pushed my hand against the glass-like substance that the cube consisted of. To my surprise, it went through as if through liquid, although it did not feel wet. The rest of my body, and then the rest of the group, quickly followed. As we sat down the device began to move, racing through the streets at breakneck speeds, avoiding the other cubes present on the road with maximum precision. Yu leaned over to me.

“How is your story progressing, by the way?” He asked.

“It’s done,” I answered, “the first draft at least. It ended up being only six chapters long.”

“In a single night?” Yu asked, “Did you even sleep?”

“Not really.”

“After whatever it may be that happens today, I will gladly read it.”

The cube came to a sudden halt in front of an extravagant white mansion. I pushed on the wall again in an attempt to leave the vehicle, but my hand only met a barrier of thick glass. Only when Theocritus arrived in his own cube a few moments later, did he push a button on his tablet to release us from our see-through prison. He led us inside the home, guards never more than a few steps away, into an open chamber with three luxurious seats positioned near the opposite wall of our entrance. On them sat a young boy, a lavishly dressed lady and the one who had been the object of our collective hatred for as long as we could remember: Julius.

“Sir,” Theocritus said, “everything is ready. May we begin?”

“You may.” Julius answered.

“These puppets are all that is left of batch 48.” Theocritus said, “among them is D-48, who will be of particular importance this evening. D-48, step forward!”

I turned my head slightly to observe Dee. Her face was overtaken by fury. She didn’t move. The guards present in the room pointed their guns towards us.

“D-48, I commanded you to step forward!”

Dee took two steps towards Julius. Her expression remained unchanged.

“Full of passion and rebelliousness,” Theocritus said, “but ultimately caring for her ‘family’. These are her primary character-traits, which have led her to start secretly training her fighting capabilities in an attempt to escape.”

As she heard this, Dee’s anger turned to surprise.

“How did y-” She couldn’t even complete her sentence as she was cut of by Theocritus:

“Silence, puppet!”

One of the guards approached Theocritus, both his hands stretched out with something covered by an elongated, leather pouch resting on them. Some kind of handle protruded out of the back of this sleeve, which Theocritus pulled on to unsheathe the object, revealing it to be a medium-sized blade.

“This,” he said, “is a traditional Roman gladius.”

He presented the blade to Dee.

“Use this to cut down the emperor, puppet, and your batch will be freed from servitude.”

“What is the meaning of-!” Julius tried to exclaim before being cut off by Dee, who had grabbed the blade without thought and launched towards Julius’ head. He flinched, expecting his neck to be pierced through, only to open his eyes and see the blade still in the air, mere millimeters away from his body. A combination between pain and frustration was clearly visible on Dee’s face.

“Why- Why can’t I-” She said.

“As you can see, sir,” Theocritus said, “the puppet is incapable of harming actual people, no matter what desires it may outwardly voice. Still, I hope that for just a moment, you truly feared death, sir.”

“Is that all?” Julius asked, “was this all some elaborate trick just to scare me? Speak!”

“No sir, not at all,” Theocritus explained, “that was merely phase one of our performance.”

Theocritus tapped a button on his tablet.

“I will start phase two now, sir.” Theocritus said, “D-48…”

Dee looked at Theocritus. She had never felt so much fear and powerlessness as she had now.

“...kill every other puppet of batch 48.”