With Great Stability Comes Great Accountability

“There is nothing more certain and unchanging than uncertainty and change.”

-John F Kennedy 1962

-60 years before the rise of TyrannoCorp

*

67 years later

John's can wheezed louder than he would've preferred. The gust of winds had vanished in the city, amplifying the noise they were making. In its place, an uncomfortable stillness choked and clung to the city like a python waiting to lunge at any sound or movement.

John's gaze twitched to and fro, making sure his friend was checking the perimeter. As he looked back at their work he could barley contain his laughter.

"Oh we are going to get so fucked! Jagger, they're gonna hear. "

Jagger kept his eyes focused on the streets and sky while smirking at his less intrepid friend.

"We're trying to make them afraid, not us. Just relax, it's almost over."

A minute passed, and Jagger hadn't shifted from his stance against the tan peeled wall, searching for others that may have been spying from the buildings high and low of Gomorrah. As Jagger stepped out to check for, John appeared next to him.

They both turned around to see their work. A shoulder wide red line coiled the buildings walls, that slithered in loops, with one larger than the others. After two more swerves, the red line returned to its starting position.

The building in question was Purpose Center, facility created by TyrannoCorp. People of all shapes and sizes pushed their way through the doors to get approval. The lines usually extended to over two blocks. You see, before the system, everyone had to merely purchase tickets to get inside the the dome. But once our reporters exposed philanthropists and billionaires as helping more 'unqualified' people through, our government was not pleased.

They had drawn a giant middle finger.

"Cool," John said, the monosyllabic compliment making Jagger's ribs sting with laughter, "I like it. Better than that time we defaced Eames at the central billboards."

When Director Lionel Eames, an idolized captain of industry, was elected as president, and he made the call that the other members wouldn't. The system, as we called it, condemned every entering man and woman to passing a test, in addition to a ticket purchase which tripled in price. Now their professions had to be of use to our society, and as diverse as possible.

Doctors couldn't go above 1000, cab divers couldn't go above 4000, congressmen couldn't go above 200. Basically Eames made guildism they new religion in what used to be the US.

Jagger smiled at his friend. They weren't exactly messiah's, but they hoped that late night defamations would call others, rich and average, to stand up. No one had reached out of course. The enforcers would've caught us, shoot us on the spot if we were lucky.

Much to their pleasure, it seemed in addition to vandalism, raids were becoming more rampant. And more good news.

"Glad you approve, Johnny." The words fell flat, but Jagger didn't know how to proceed. "Thank you for getting me here. I know you're family already had enough trouble, paying us."

All John could do was smile. Although they had radically different notions about politics and ideas initially, their partnership at the academy had fostered an inseparable friendship. One that even his parents could not deny. That's why they offered to finance Jagger and his mother's testing.

They began to depart, using hoods to remain as subtle as possible. As they walked, Jagger looked up at the dome mounted lights, which looked like a hundred suns decided to gather for dinner. But they had half waned by now at night, leaving an artificial greyness over us. Jagger smirked at the symbolism, of how protection and oppression, black and white, became grey so easily.

Now here, inside Gomorrah, the city that protected us from horrible retaliation of nature, that is exactly what happened. Gomorrah happened to be one of the few operational sanctuaries presently. The pair were unconsciously jaywalking in a lane that bisected the center of the prosperous city, surrounded by ridiculously modern skyscrapers and stores.

Jagger kicked a loose grain of asphalt, catching John's attention. "Upset about the flay? We're going to have domes all around the country soon. Maybe some of our friends will make it in."

He shook his head. "It's just...it's so goddamn unfair. It's been a 6 months inside this place, and assholes like Eames and the Leaders treat survival like the fucking powerball."

Jagger, struggling to see his friend's face through their hoods, spun around and backtracked in front of John.

"Actually it just might. I reached out to Diego and the other members back at our old home. Some of their parents have contacted foreign governments and are debating whether they should respond to our pleas."

Jagger smirked, "The only profit in for them is to get more finance from the company. Let's be honest, ever since they found out we've been treating their fresh off the boats like shit, they only ever come to us for more money. They need domes to you know."

"You really think we and Diego can get enough officials on our side?"

"Well, it'll be a miracle if we gain one Senator's favor, and even then, we'll need almost everyone in and out of Gomorrah to join together to remove Eames. Hopefully someone better can take his place next election. We got till then Johnny."

He nudged John in the shoulder softly. The motion reminded John of his friend's a sparse habit of taking matters into his own hands. This, in turn, also meant putting others' lives before his. This was incredibly rare in a place like this, where kindness and bravery were treated the same, and people hated the notion of aggression.

These sentiments likely had something to do with the way his mother raised him...or rather, how they raised each other. Diagnosed people aren't worth much in Gomorrah, and that made it all the more harder to pass. Jagger's grandfather was a decorated veteran, and his mother was out of garage programmer. Fortunately, in an age where that profession became more popular, her aptitude was superior to most young adults. For Jagger and her, it was simply a matter of paying the toll, which John's father was more than delighted to do.

Friendship had a whole more potent meaning in this world.

Their ears perked up when a hooting sound called to them three lanes diagonally. Jagger didn't know that for sure, but after a myriad of evasions from enforcers, using their tocsins as warnings, he was rarely way off.

Without needing to say a word, they shuffled to the adjacent lane, and removed their hoods, superficially inspecting the cars and facilities to the left and right.

"They're not going to find us, so you can stop looking like an ambitious stripper." Jagger reassured John who, although less conspicuous, arched his head forward in front of his coat, like a 20 something year old who had shoplifted an axe.

*

They had been walking past the lanes, making it to a more tolerable area of the dome, not as avant grade as the TyrannoCorp but evoking the suburbs of LA that used to exist decades ago. An ad on TV said architects designed it to match that early 21st century aesthetic. It was almost unnerving how glaring the areas blended into one another, but such is the work of desperate capitalists.

Coming up along a lane of polished refined houses, they turned their attention up ahead, where John's father lived.

"You know what these always remind me of? Karen Burt's house, that brutish girl from college." John said, speaking his mind.

Jagger, regressing from his thoughts, smiled wryly. "Yeah, the girl who never had enough boyfriends, voice like a ten year old boy."

A little less timid, John smiled and walked forward. "Remember the day she took it upon herself to vandalize her parents' house the night of prom. No one knew why, and no one spoke of her. We debated what they did to her."

Jagger nodded leisurely as John's teeth shown. It was the time when TyrannoCorp was gaining influence over government policy. No one could remember what exactly it made originally, but the point was, The Leaders liked what it had to offer, and one thing led to another; here they were remaking the world.

He missed those days, but the past always contained a bitter flavor that he detested.

"You sound like she's your girlfriend or something." Jagger said smugly.

His hands congregated together at his chest, twisting his grip over his left middle finger. "Somehow I doubt her wealth and grace will be enough to get into Gomorrah. But no, it's just....we're smart men and it seems counterporducti-"

"You worried what'll happen."

His answer seemed to oddly relieve John, and the latter smiled in humility.

"Well, if it makes you feel better you can always tell your dad."

"No no. Besides we're grown up now, I don't have to tell him my business. I'm only going to let him in if we need him. He and mom have been through enough already. All of us have."

Each word began to fade more and more until his voice trailed off. This was something John knew was immature and unbecoming to his standards, yet had no polite way dropping the subject. What followed was a more than abrupt halt to the conversation as Jagger began to observe the shrubberies along the houses. John followed suite, filled with an indescribable thought that obscured the awkward silence they stood in.

Jagger didn't know the first rule of phycology, but he had a keen habit for uncovering the desires of others. He had used it when he first met John's father, became more amiable than his wife that evening in the city. He heard John and his friends say it was like he had a superpower and by the time you knew how to counter it, you had already been exhibited. He always tried to find subtle ways to utilize his habit.

It took a moment for John to realize that the two of them spent a lingering minute staring at the trees.

Although John tried to disguise it at once, it was blatantly clear to Jagger.

"John what is it?"

John heaved and his shoulders held him in place as a tidal wave of sorrow swept over him. "It's my father. Eames has asked for him at the capital, and he wants me to help step in for TyrannoCorp"

Jagger's fell into his own personal hell. "But John..."

"Look, he said if I don't, he's going to-"

"But John, what about our movement, our careers, Diego. We're supposed to be helping people. We're finally going to make a difference for all those lost"

John blinked in rapid secession, scrambling for a defense. "I know, and you will with Diego. I just...won't be there to help you anymore. My dad's only doing this because of the reporter."

Before John realized he had slipped, an iron stove had melted the back of Jagger's head off like butter. HOW THE FU-How did they see us. A reporter with no better story to chase finally got some dirt on John's rich family, and was perfectly satisfied sending him and his mother to prison or worse. In Gomorrah, enforcers were like any malicious justice system: guilty until proven innocent. Basically what it meant, was that unless John pledged his servitude to Eames, Jagger wouldn't be able to protect his mother, and John would suffer twice the consequences.

The wind was nearly exhausted from Jagger, allowing one final plea to escape. "But Joh...John we need you. I need you."

They were speechless. They were wavering. They hated themselves.

John hated himself initially for agreeing to start the movement with him. Follow the rules and look after our own is what his father said to him, and John wished more than ever that he had listened. At the same time though, he did not feel the slightest regret in helping Jagger. He'd always stick his neck out for him, reporter or not, movement or not. Jagger wished he had not gotten John involved at all. Back in their youth, his exploration was rivaled only be his friend. Now he felt shame and rue for irrefutably taking him into this conflict.

Standing opposite each other, it looked like a street fight was about to break out between them, even though they both knew that The Flay would kill them before that happened.

Finally, "John I...I didn....Do you remember the stone wall?"

Still appearing morose, John's mind vibrated at Jagger's echoed question.

"We both passed our finals that day, and we had a well earned rest on that cobblestone that bordered the lake. I told you how I was feeling good about myself that day, but then you asked a question. Remember what it was?"

The slender young man knew everything down to the fly on his shoulder that evening, but said nothing.

"You asked me if we were on the right path." Jagger exhaled as he stepped closer. "You then said that our future, what with TyrannoCrop rising, and this disease spreading across the globe, might not be the fluffing life we wanted. I told you no matter what happens, we'll know what to do."

Jagger came a comfortable distance close to John, a forearms length away from his chest they both noticed.

"I didn't admit it then, but even I had the same fear, beyond just surviving with my sick mom. You and your family helped us get across into this...place. We both knew that you were the smarter of us, you didn't have to help my mother, let alone sneak out every night like today. Now I can't tell you why you did; that's your own whacked up head. But one thing I realized, was how much I needed you."

Something in John wanted to laugh, but it was digested immediately by his worry. It was hypocritical to even think about, but his fathers request at joining the visionary but irrefutably corrupt company was not as ideal as imagined. Then at last, he spoke.

"My dad wants me to put my youth aside, focus on our future. But with this blackmail...I don't know if I can even have a normal life."

A sense of steeling oneself filled John, but Jagger shook his head, putting his hand on his friends shoulder. Another pleasure of Jagger's: to get uncomfortably close to his friends. Yet for John, when jagger would frequently punch his shoulder or slap his back, they were gestures that invested some kind of power within him. A confidence or a comfort that neither his parents, nor any other friend could quote match.

"Hey, what did I say. We're together in this to the end. And one day, they're gonna respect what we've done."

Jagger held out his hand, a conformation. Looking at it in initial apprehension, John's worry still prevailed. What if I changed at TyrannoCorp. What if I'm convinced this was a mistake. What if there is betray my best friend. TyrannoCorp is taken down by Diego and The Movement, then what? What if we make this government even worse. What if there is no future?

Suddenly, these questions dissolved and confidence, a feeling that was not entirely foreign but no less atypical, pulled the corners of John's mouth upward. Behind them the the night began to done its most soulless black veil, but John could've sworn there was still some light in the sky that evening. He threw his palm into his friend's, baring his teeth as Jagger nodded happily.

"Just remember, nothing is permanent in this wicked world not-even our troubles."

A compulsory roll of eyes came over John when he heard that.

"You got that from a book!"

Impersonating offense, Jagger scoffed. "No I didn't, that is a quote that you won't find in any book, trust me. "

"Yeah you did! You never say articulate shit like that."

"Look who's talking."