It's Not Black or White

The bleach hurt my scalp.

I gingerly touched my head as I scowled at how tender it was. Since darker streaks were showing in my hair again, I had to bleach my roots in order to pass off as a blonde. I really hope I don’t go bald anytime soon. Jamming my old faded Yankees cap over my cropped hair, I put on my government-issued black filter mask and my green contacts. “Better safe than sorry,” I mumbled to myself in the mirror. I hardly recognized myself, which was good. Hopping on one foot, I laced up my black combat boots, quickly pulling on a nondescript puffy winter jacket. Despite the gradual increase in temperature every year, January is still pretty chilly. Slinging a duffel bag over my shoulder, I stepped into the frigid cold, pausing only to lock my apartment door behind me. Not that it really matters… I don’t have many valuables and I move every couple weeks. The action was mostly for comfort. Now that a fourth of the world’s population is dead, there’s a lot of empty luxury apartments to crash in.

It’s around 10am in the middle of the Salus City, a population of a few hundred thousand, but the chatter in the streets was all muted. It smelled of sewage and antiseptic, which was a strange but familiar combination. Dirty snow peppered the sidewalks, and there was a cloudy haze in the sky. Gonna snow soon, I thought. Catching a whiff of cigarette smoke from the Faction members loitering in the alleyways, I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Those people were either really brave or really stupid to smoke out here in the open. I haven’t seen a person’s full face in so long— it’s too dangerous. Arrogance doesn’t protect you from the virus, and neither does faux medicinal smoke. Wearing masks was the norm now.

Many people were bundled up just like me, hurrying by with gas masks and suitcases, the wheels clacking on the cracked asphalt. I wonder how long the medical, food, and resource rations are going to last. I gripped my bag tighter. Hopefully long enough until I can find a way out. Society was a few wobbly steps from collapse, and the last thing I wanted to be was another forgotten name in the growing list of victims.

Patrols marched across the corner of the street, causing most people to slink into the shadows. Even after the Quarantine, people still chose to mainly stay inside. Health is wealth, and all that. We all remember what the Patrol did when you were out of line. I shuddered. It wasn’t pretty. Even now, I could still taste the fear in the air, a heavy, cancerous aura that fed on pain and paranoia like a parasite. I felt a sharp pang in my chest. Salus City wasn’t always like this. It used to be called New York… whatever a york is. Supposedly it was nicknamed the city that never sleeps. Now, it’s been in slumber for more than two deca—

“—not foolin’ anyone, you fuckin’ Aiz!”

My blood turned into ice as I registered the venomous words. Wodema, I swore silently. Do they know? Risking a glance around me, I noticed three young men —teenagers, really— surrounding an older man wearing a wide-brimmed hat. Traitorously, I felt a huge rush of relief. Not me. The older man tried to duck past them and run away, but one of the younger men reached to rip off the older man’s mask. Another one, wearing a green mask, knocked off the old man’s hat. Peering at the old man’s eyes, Green Mask yelled triumphantly, “We got ourselves a Chinker, boys!” 

I suddenly realized that I was just standing there, simply watching what was happening right in the open. I also had monolids. The last thing I wanted was to be stabbed to death alongside that old man. Keep going, I begged myself. I didn’t want another event weighing against my conscience. I didn’t need the guilt to eat me alive. 

Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to walk away. Brushing up against the side of the nearest building, I grabbed a receipt out of my pocket with shaking hands and pretended to study it as I shifted my attention back to the conflict right across the street. My heart thudded up to my throat, and my fingers prickled with anticipation. 

The switchblade in my pocket felt awfully heavy. 

“—American, I’m American,” the old man pleaded, “I was born here! I lived in New York City for nearly forty years— I don’t have Immunity!” The younger man with a grey hoodie kicked the old man in the stomach, and the man sank into the ground, groaning. Nobody bothered to help him. Most people steered clear of the group, heads down. They already knew what was going to happen to the man, innocent or not.

What should I do? What can I do? My hand slipped around the cool metal handle of the switchblade, fingers curling around it. Do I even have the guts? The few who had stopped briefly only did so to cheer for the group of three. My heart leaped in my chest as one of the passersby snarled: “Merc the Aiz already! It’s all their fucking fault!!” I subconsciously shrank back as Grey Hoodie drove his heel into the man’s back, knocking the old man flat on his stomach. I’m a coward, I think. The old man cried out in pain, but Grey Hoodie only sneered, “Hey, Chinker. I don’t give a fint about any of that except that you’re an Aiz. Got that, yeah?” 

The old man tried to shield his face from the blows as Grey Hoodie continued viciously, accenting each word with a hard kick: “My. Whole. Family. Died. Because. Of. The. Finting. Cerebrivirus.” The old man tried to crawl away as Grey Hoodie aimed a kick at the old man’s knee, bringing the man down again. “It was V13, too. Don’t give me any of that fint, you piece of Aiz shit. ” I stifled a gasp. Cerebrivirus-V13 had advanced brain and spinal swelling, often resulting in epilepsy or paralysis. “My little sister was only— only five years old,” the young man’s voice broke at the end. 

I closed my eyes in a semblance of a prayer.

Within the past half-century, rising temperatures and climate catastrophes have caused new diseases to form and mutate at a rapid rate, often without a cure. Usually, there is a massive quarantine until the disease dies out on its own. Twenty years ago, a disease began in China that went unnoticed at first, because the symptoms were so bizarre. All variations of the viral infection led to transient or permanent neurological or psychiatric dysfunction within the brain, but the later mutations resulted in symptoms that were especially severe. Like Polio or West Nile, the disease targeted areas of the brain, while the region of the brain it affected and the age of the infected individual played a large role in the symptoms of neurologic dysfunction. The death was excruciatingly painful and the patient usually lost the ability to control the speech and motor function area of their brain. 

“Ya’ll lucky Chinkers all have ‘Munity now, but we sure ain’t.” One of the other young men with striped pants kicked the man in the head. I winced as droplets of blood splattered onto the pavement. “Ya’ll can blame us all ya’ll want, but it was the Chinker Gov tha’ failed to hold the Quarantine. If ya weakazz government only listened to the Docs durin’ those first few months, this woulda never happened. Now, China’s just hidin’ their sorry azz in their self-imposed isolation, smugly watchin’ us all die off one by one.” Striped Pants viciously kicked the old man again. “Ya probably a finting spy, ain’t cha?”

“I’m… not Immune,” the old man whispered through a split lip. “I lived t-through the V6… I’m just like you! I have a family here… a daughter!” The desperateness in the man’s voice sliced through me like a knife. My heart felt like a rapid beast in my chest, and I could feel my hands shaking. I’ve witnessed these kinds of conflicts my entire life… without ever doing a single thing. One day I could very well be that man on the ground. “Please…!” The old man choked, “I’m just like y-you. Please SPARE MY LIFE!”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my fear almost palpable.

After the Cerebrivirus had spread to nearly every country, scientists discovered that the survivors of the V1 through V4 mutation had developed an immunity to the virus and all other mutations of it. Those specific mutations were only found in the Quarantined population of China… Once the Quarantine fell apart, the virus immediately mutated to V5. That meant that the majority of the surviving Chinese population were Immune. The rest of the world were not. Even if the outside population managed to survive a certain mutation of the virus, it was possible that they could be infected by a new strain. Research showed that after surviving two to three strains, people are generally granted partial Immunity, but not full Immunity like the survivors of the initial outbreak. 

Even so, the majority of the Chinese diaspora hadn’t been in China during that time. Those people, just like me, weren’t exposed to the earliest versions of the disease. We don’t have Immunity… just all the racist hatred of the aftermath. Now, due to the racist and xenophobic mentality of the majority of the world, China has cut itself off from all communications, trade, and transportation, pledging to dedicate its scientists and doctors to find a cure. They’ve been in lockdown for nearly five years now. I’ve heard people theorize or speculate that China is secretly a shining utopia, or that China had already found the cure but wouldn’t distribute it, or that China had secretly created the Cerebrivirus as a bioweapon in the first place. Personally, I think that China is simply trying to survive.

And so am I. 

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Stuffing the receipt back into my pocket, I dragged my feet away from the scene, each step feeling like it was weighed down by the physical manifestation of my shame. I’m just trying to get my rations, I desperately argued with myself. I’m just trying to stay alive. I knew that being a hero is suicide. I’ve heard of Asian people who had banded together or tried to fight off racist comments or attacks… it never ended well. My own parents were murdered by vigilantes when I was a teenager, their brains blown out by some deranged maniac with a gun. They were first generation immigrants, and hadn’t even returned to China in nearly a decade. It didn’t matter. They were Chinese, so by the world’s twisted reasoning, they deserved to die. I choked back a sob. I wondered how many other people of Asian descent had been watching the old man just like me, but chose not to help. I wondered how long this division, this fear, this apathy was going to last. 

I wondered how long I would have to dye my hair. 

I knew about pain, loss, and fear. Maybe in a different life, I would have stepped in to help. Maybe in a different life, I would have done something. Anything. After all, I’ve always prided myself in my humanity and my kindness. I… I thought I was different from the prosecutors and white supremecists and racist xenophobes who targeted people of Asian descent. I thought I was a better person. 

Now, I’m not so sure.

It started to snow as I kept walking, the wind blowing specks of dirty grey and white into my face. The old man’s strangled cries grew quieter the further I walked, muffled by the snow. The other people morphed into blurry shapes as my tears froze onto my cheeks. By late afternoon, the snow would have hidden all of the blood and evidence of the conflict. The old man’s body would be buried under snowy flakes… no longer a corpse but an innocent lump in the streets. The Patrol would take it away in the evening. It would be like it never happened. 

I’m selfish. 

I want to live.