Afterglow. The Justification of Chaos
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“As if you don’t know,” I smirked in response.
Dort either exhaled loudly or let out a groan of pure disappointment.
Neither Sam nor Andrew knew for certain who our unnamed assistant and influential patron was – certainly not the person whose name had signed off the passes for the customs officers – who had helped arrange the meeting with the doctor. Both of them understood perfectly that sometimes it was better not to ask unnecessary questions. The less you know, the less the Reapers could find out if it came to that.
“We’re going because it aligns with our worldview and our position,” Andrew said before we left, “The rest doesn’t matter. You know what you’re doing, and it’s not our place to doubt you.”
I asked the administrator where the chief physician’s office was – most of the corridors and passages were blocked, emergency crews were leading people out of the hospital, and security forces had cordoned off two wings – and when she heard my last name, the young woman at the counter said they were expecting me. She pointed me in the right direction and suggested I hurry, glancing nervously at the uniformed officers. I didn’t hesitate; I wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible and made my way to the chief physician’s office. Fortunately, his office had been temporarily moved to the first floor of this wing – was it some kind of divine blessing?
The medical staff was in a nervous, restless state. The faces of many showed the aimlessness of running back and forth down the corridor, as if trying to shake off their anxiety, to distract themselves, but instead they only pushed themselves deeper into the traps set by the tension gripping the hospital. The strain hung in the air like a dense shroud, pressing down on my chest. For a brief moment, a chill ran down my spine, and fear tensed my nerves, making them vulnerable to a cruel game. I felt my fingers grow cold, noticed myself glancing around and listening more intently – was that gunfire echoing somewhere in the distance? Were the screams real, or was it the acoustics of the space and the pounding of my heart playing tricks on my perception? But the overall confusion only urged me to keep moving forward.
The steadfast conviction that the rumors were not just tales and that the infection from the North had truly reached here, to °22-1-20-21-14, strengthened in my mind.
The gathering of security forces behind the hospital, the military vehicles in the city, the blocked roads and neighborhoods – there could be no doubt left. The fact that we had managed to get in was truly a miracle. It felt as if fate itself had intervened.
The corridor seemed endless. A series of closed doors, staircases, and passageways… When the right office finally came into view, I exhaled quietly, releasing the tension. I knocked. Without waiting for an answer, I opened the door and took a cautious step inside.
A man, around forty years old, was putting papers into a small safe beside his desk.
“May I?” I whispered as I gently closed the door behind me. The doctor turned around, adjusting his square glasses in their neat frame and quickly shutting the safe's door. “Dr. Givori, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Good morning,” He nodded, tossing the key onto the desk and settling into a tall leather chair. “How can I help you?”
“I’m Stephanie Shayer. An independent journalist, correspondent, and simply an interested party.” I gracefully took one of my most recent business cards from my pocket and stepped forward to hand it to him. “I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“I was given a different description of you…” He muttered to himself, studying the card closely and thinking intently about something in parallel. “But it doesn’t matter.” He carelessly flicked the card aside and nodded to the chair across from him. As I examined the office, my attention was caught by Givori’s hand: his palm was bandaged, the cloth already soaked with blood.
“Thank you,” I said, settling into the chair under the man’s intense gaze. I looked straight into his eyes.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Snippets of ordinary conversation drifted in from the street through the open window.
“Medical ethics prevent me from disclosing my patients' secrets,” Givori said curtly. “I trust you’re aware of that.”
“Oh, certainly,” I replied, letting the corner of my lips twitch up. “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in specific individuals. I came to you for a different reason.”
“I remember,” The man let out a short, humorless laugh. “Unfortunately, I was informed this morning that all materials regarding the outbreak of the unknown disease must not be disclosed.” He cast a quick glance toward the corner of the office, where I noticed a small camera with a green light blinking, and then at the safe. That was enough to understand what was being kept locked away. “As you can imagine, this directive came from the local Inquisition department of the Reapers, and it was by no means a request. Disclosing any information would have serious consequences,” Givori paused for a moment. “I’m afraid to disappoint you, but aside from the existing, already-circulated theories and assumptions, you won’t learn anything new.” His voice took on an air of feigned disappointment, but in the expressive depths of his eyes, there was a profound weight to his words.
“So, the incidents did happen, and the patients’ madness isn’t just stories and ghost tales but a real outbreak of a disease brought from the North?”
Givori nodded almost imperceptibly.
“You’re not the first to try and find out what’s really going on.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll just have to be the first to find answers to all the questions,” I said with undisguised determination.
A chill ran down my back, while my neck and face burned with heat. All or nothing. Because taking this kind of reckless risk had two outcomes: on one hand, it could land me by evening in a cell facing a Reaper interrogator. On the other, the fact that the intelligence service was actively working to prevent any information leaks only confirmed its existence here.
We didn’t endure four grueling days on the road, braving barriers, restrictions, and traffic jams, for nothing.
Givori remained stubbornly silent, and I clicked my tongue:
“Do you really think I’d reveal the name of my informant?” He raised an eyebrow, casting a meaningful glance toward the camera in the corner. “Dr. Givori, the country is in panic, and it won’t be long before that panic escalates into uncontrollable chaos. Do we really want another scenario like the southwestern territories?” I said it more to the small, flashing camera in the corner than to the doctor. “Or another situation with aggressive opposition groups? People are terrified. Rumors of an epidemic are spreading everywhere. Loyal citizens need at least some concrete answers, not scraps of gossip that only grow into more horror stories and fabrications. If you know something, it’s a chance to help others. Besides,” I added, “You won’t deny that your patients are in a state teetering on the edge of death and are attacking others, trying…” I paused briefly, taking a deep breath and exhaling almost silently, “…to bite them.”
His response didn’t come immediately. The ticking of the clock seemed louder, and I flinched again, now certain I could hear gunshots in the distance.
"I won’t," the man nodded. "And I can tell you one thing: this is clearly not a psychiatric disorder, as many believe," he continued, his voice feigning boredom. Quickly, I pulled a battered leather notebook and pen from the inner pocket of my jacket, ready to jot down every word as he spoke. "First of all, mental illnesses cannot be transmitted from person to person. Second, it’s impossible for so many people to develop the same mental disorder practically at the same time. And third," he continued, "as you rightly pointed out, the carriers are in a state that teeters on the edge of death. And I’ll tell you," Givori’s face twisted with an expression of terror and panic as he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead, "the term ‘on the edge’ is an extreme understatement. Can the equipment really lie to us?"
His face contorted further, reflecting his horror. His voice became hoarse, breaking as he spoke. His fear seeped into me; I could feel it building inside, scratching and twisting.
“A sudden outbreak. One day, everything’s calm, and the next, we have an entire ward full. By the third, police and military are cordoning off entire neighborhoods and districts. Rumor has it special units have arrived in the city. They’re saying… very special units.” He spread his hands, a helpless gesture. “And we, we can’t even take proper samples from the infected… They’re extremely aggressive,” Givori muttered, rubbing his bandaged hand. ”And bloodthirsty. A significant portion of the medical staff has contracted the infection. Five died on the spot from patient attacks. We managed to isolate the infected wing, and now the best specialists and military forces are working there…”
The silence lingered, and the background noise grew more distinct, forcing me to turn toward the door.
“Well… That sounds like a headline story,” I replied with effort, looking at Givori intently and seriously. “If you could call me when anything unfolds, I would be immensely grateful. Of course, any information shared would be within the bounds of your medical oaths,” I added, raising my hands with open palms.
“I’d really tell you more, but I’m concerned for my safety and that of my family,” the man admitted suddenly, his voice surprisingly candid. “Besides, this borders so much on pure madness that your headline might be dismissed as sensationalist.”
At that very moment, the door to the office burst open, and in the doorway stood a nurse whose coat was noticeably soaked… in blood. She was breathing heavily, her wide, panicked eyes staring past us.
“Dr. Givori!” She cried. “The patients from the third wing are trying to break down the doors! It’s almost impossible to hold them back!”
“What?!” The man exclaimed, leaping to his feet. He shot me a glance and gestured firmly toward the door without saying a word, while my gaze momentarily caught on the keys lying on his desk. “Leave my office!” Givori barked, and I sprang from my chair, nearly knocking it over as I slipped past the nurse. “Where…? Never mind! Let the office stay open! What are the security forces reporting? Will the Reapers step in to manage the situation? Has there been any directive from the mayor’s office?…”
The voices dissolved into the noise. My heart pounded in my throat, making it hard to breathe; I was deeply worried about Sam. The corridor filled with a cacophony of screams, groans, and an ominous humming sound, which made my head spin slightly from anxiety. I hurried toward the exit, and the closer I got, the clearer the shouting, pounding, and incomprehensible growling – accompanied by harsh swearing – became. The flickering lights continued to pulse erratically, and fear slithered up my neck, tightening like a noose.
But when I stepped out of the corridor, the scene before me made me stagger. Police officers, holding shields in front of them, were forcing patients back through doors while the latter struggled to break free. The patients clawed at the officers, emitting inhuman howls.
And blood was everywhere. The stench was acrid, suffocating, sickening. It reeked of decay, fetid dampness, and the sickly-sweet rot of death.
At that moment, I couldn’t process much, but the image seared itself into my memory with striking clarity: disfigured faces and bodies, bite wounds unlike anything the rumors described – not just bites, but chunks of flesh and muscle torn away, a grotesque spectacle of gore.
Everything around me felt distorted and sinister, as if I had stumbled into a nightmarish dream.
I should scream, run away as fast as I could, or at least turn away… But all I did was stand there, frozen in a state of shock, staring, feeling the nausea rise in my throat. The ground beneath me seemed to tilt, frantic screams ringing in my ears. And everything inside me clenched. Acid filled my mouth…
“Please evacuate the building!” A police officer came up behind me, almost knocking me over. He shook me by the shoulders. “Leave the building! Now! It’s not safe here!”
I don’t remember if I mumbled something in response or ran straight for the doors. All I know is that the suffocating heat outside made it impossible to take a full breath, as if all the oxygen had been drained from my lungs. I barely managed to hold back the urge to vomit and probably would have collapsed right there, rolling down the stairs, if Dort hadn’t caught me.
“Sam!” I grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, unable to say anything else. Suddenly, a violent chill overtook me. I was shaking. A heavy weight sat in my stomach. And… fear. Paralyzing. Sticky and cold. With the smell of blood and decay. It clouded my vision, shrouding the world in a dark haze.
“Let’s go,” he nodded, and steadying me by the arm, helped me make it back to the trailer.
Not once did I look back at the hospital. I couldn’t hear anything over the noise ringing in my ears. The police reinforcements seemed to have helped calm the chaos inside the hospital, at least a little, but the turmoil that had ignited within me erased every thought about the things I’d cared about for months and years.
Shock.
It was stuffy outside. Unbearably stuffy, and there was not enough air. The heat rose from the asphalt, and it seemed like everything around me was shimmering in this yet-to-erupt hell.
I had no idea what the future held. I didn’t even realize that the day we arrived at °22-1-20-21-14 would forever change my life.
2
Andrew and Sam were settled on folding chairs by the trailer, while I, wrapped in a blanket, sat on the step at the entrance to our motorhome. My gaze was fixed on the horizon, where enormous chimneys spewed dense, grayish-brown smoke in a continuous stream. The trembling still hadn’t stopped; my ribs felt tight, haunted by gruesome images and the lingering echoes of screams and noise in my head.
Yes, I wanted a sensation. I had dreamed of the rumors being true. We all did, knowing how pivotal information like this could be in shaking the power of the Three.
But when I saw the truth with my own eyes, I was terrified. No, not terrified – I was horrified. The thought of being pursued by the Reapers or thrown into the damp confines of their dungeons seemed almost childlike by comparison.
The men were intently reviewing the footage Sam had captured, occasionally exclaiming or exchanging comments. As for me… I couldn’t move. I hadn’t expected it to be like this. What I saw in the hospital was genuinely horrifying, forcing me to see everything happening in the State over the past few months in a stark new light. Tightened customs controls on the roads, disrupted broadcasts, power outages, the constant shuffling of political positions, and the general atmosphere of tension – all now painted a far more sinister picture. The voices of opposition had grown louder, but the government’s political police had seemingly become less aggressive in suppressing them. Now, in hindsight, it all made sense. My imagination wove living nightmares from the pieces.
Still, those dreadful phantoms felt distant and unreachable, while the madness in the hospital seemed more like the feverish delirium of a bad dream. If it weren’t for the sheer number of people in uniform, the flashing emergency lights, and the occasional blaring of sirens, I might have convinced myself that, after a sleepless night, I had simply drifted into an unconscious state and imagined it all.
I cast a cautious glance toward the hospital. A tall, fair-haired officer was shouting through a megaphone, urging everyone to maintain their distance. Shots rang out sporadically, and I flinched, dreading what might be happening inside the building. Although Andrew and Sam were eager to return (or sneak) inside, I had no desire to go back until the chaos subsided and the situation became clearer.
Besides, for the first time, I didn’t feel like risking another confrontation with law enforcement. First, I was too shaken and frightened for calm negotiations. Second, our reputation – already tarnished by breaking into private offices, stirring up controversy in heated debates, and exposing the dirty dealings of influential figures – was teetering on the edge. We had only just managed to smooth over the fallout from a report made over a year ago about the collapse of a dam on the Voluntas River, which had been sabotaged by the Terracotta organization. One misstep now, one careless move or word, could spell a death sentence.
It wouldn’t take much for government forces to dig deeper into our records or listen more closely to our questions…
Just half an hour earlier, courage and recklessness had clouded my judgment. Now, fear and the brush with death had sobered me.
I glanced at Sam and Andrew. The latter smoked a cigarette, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger, practically sucking the smoke out of it. Dort, meanwhile, was ruffling his hair and staring intently at the video on his laptop screen, practically unblinking.
We had never hesitated to push past plastic shields to get to the heart of the action, and I had often dragged the guys into questionable adventures. But now, I was absolutely unwilling to start yet another clash with the authorities, because this time, given certain factors, the outcome wouldn’t favor us. I couldn’t risk Sam’s and Andrew’s lives.
Because, apart from the factors I knew and was involved in, there were others. For instance, why had my file disappeared from the Reapers’ database? The memory took me back to the cold night of our journey here, to °22-1-20-21-14. Midnight. A checkpoint. A stack of verified documents and a half-asleep customs officer. A Reaper standing nearby was reviewing our papers. I was ready to recite my rehearsed lines – my record was checkered enough to attract the political police’s attention, but my time with «Crimson Skies» had taught me how to deflect and play roles convincingly. But then, unexpectedly, my file was nowhere to be found in the database. Should I have been relieved? Or terrified? Any attempt to analyze the incident was chased away by the morning’s horrifying images.
To hell with it. First, let's deal with the hospital, gather the materials, and then we'll act according to the situation… But at this moment, risking my safety by trying to get back into the medical facility was utterly reckless. So much so that even I wasn't daring enough to do it.
A queasy ache spread through my stomach. Coffee, my lone companion for days now, remained the only tenant in my stomach. On the edge of consciousness, I knew I needed to force myself to eat something… But the clash between thoughts of food and the memory of mangled bodies made me nauseous.
Suddenly, a phone rang. Sam and Andrew both turned their heads simultaneously, while I flinched, exhaling loudly as Andrew darted into the trailer to rummage through the clutter for the phone. The annoying automated ringtone continued to chirp cheerily as he searched. Sam and I exchanged glances, and he gave me a tight smile, slightly lifting the video camera.
In his eyes, there was fear, and his face was unnaturally pale. But Sam didn't betray himself – still the same 'immortal operator,' never letting go of the camera. I knew he would capture everything on video, even as the threat loomed over us like an avalanche.
When the endlessly ringing phone was finally found, I flinched again, this time at Andrew’s sudden, loud voice. He wasted no time boasting about the promising footage to his wife. Momentarily forgetting himself, he excitedly described what Sam had filmed and the sheer number of police and military personnel surrounding the hospital. I motioned for him to watch his words – our call could easily be monitored – and shivered slightly as I muttered a quiet curse. Andrew’s skepticism had vanished, and he didn’t seem remotely disturbed by what he had seen.
Relief and anxiety were battling within me, and it was still unclear which one would prevail.
Andrew then began talking about his daughter, which meant the call would drag on. For all his gruffness and reticence, dear Andy was a devoted father and exemplary family man who never missed a chance to ask me if I’d found someone special. Honestly, I always admired his ability to balance family, work, and hobbies, especially considering how different and disconnected those aspects of his life were.
I pulled off the warm blanket and tossed it somewhere deeper into the trailer.
“Andrew,” I called out to the man, and he turned around. “I'm going to the store.”
He gave a short nod, and I grabbed a small bag hanging on a hook near the trailer entrance, heading off with determination. Sam gave me a concerned glance, but without saying a word, he began disentangling himself from his cocoon of equipment. A few minutes later, Dort caught up with me and trailed alongside.
I had to admit: despite everything – my state, the nightmare, and the horror – I understood perfectly well that the material we had would cause a sensation. If Givori provided additional, extended information, it would trigger a massive wave, erasing any lingering doubts that the rule of the Three had run its course. That the monarchs had deliberately concealed an epidemic in the North. That their words could no longer be trusted. That people had become expendable tools in their hands…
I kept walking forward, lost in thought, paying no attention to the unfamiliar city around me. Instead of greedily taking in the sights, I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I completely forgot we were no longer in the Central Lands but had arrived in the Isthmus Region. Still, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the unusual layout of the winding streets, the distinctive, more refined and angular architecture, and the abundance of carmine and purplish-black stones in the buildings.
The echo carried the wailing siren from different parts of the city. Road workers in uniforms were patching a pothole in the asphalt; their work truck hummed, and its orange beacon light flickered intermittently. My feet ached terribly from my heels, my head throbbed, and the clamor and commotion didn’t let up for a moment. The loud voices blended into a singular cacophony, ringing in my ears. It was then that I realized just how out of sorts I was. I had lost track of time and barely noticed or comprehended what was happening around me.
Abruptly, I stopped and looked around. I had no idea how long it had been since we left the trailer – twenty minutes, maybe thirty? A loud chime from a tall red-brick building's clock tower marked the hour. Ten o’clock. In front of us lay a bustling intersection. On a small square in front of what appeared to be an administrative building stood a proud pedestal displaying three identical, faceless figures. The only thing that distinguished these shadows were their characteristic attributes: the crown of two rings on the head of the Ruler, the sword in the hands of the Commander-in-Chief, and the Book held above the head of the Heavenly Ambassador.
“Unity is the key to immortality” – the central paradigm of the rule of the Three.
And anyone who dared to criticize this paradigm, who questioned the Three or their divine right to power, would vanish – becoming just another sudden victim. If you stood against the monarchs, you’d disappear, erased by the Reapers.
“Are you okay?” Sam spoke for the first time during this entire walk. I felt his attentive gaze on me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sculptural representation of the immutable monarchs. Which of our Three are they? The Eleventh? “You don’t look great, to be honest.”
“Thanks for your honesty,” I replied with a smirk, turning toward a modest but long building with walls made of darkened glass.
A cyclist whizzed past, nearly knocking Sam and me over. Dort, swearing loudly, flipped the guy the bird, to which I just sighed heavily and shook my head.
“They’ve lost their damn minds!” Sam growled, adjusting his hoodie. “Let’s go!”
The building, consisting of a basement and a first floor, was larger inside than it appeared from the outside. Scattered throughout were various shops, from pharmacies to souvenir stores. The basement housed a hypermarket and a luxurious bookstore (at least, the sign reading “Best in the City” set certain expectations). Air conditioners hummed at every turn, and I greedily inhaled the cool air. The shopkeepers, not quite fully awake, yawned lazily behind the counters, enjoying the sparse number of customers and visitors.