The Industrialist

We are almost at the brink of extinction.

Above our heads, a little over the towering skyscrapers are gargantuan exhaust fans hovering as if they were immovable. They are called Multi-Functional Air Filters or M.A.F., as the patent suggested.

There are dozens of them equally spaced along the stretch of the territorial skies of Axe Central.

They are our lifesavers.

The MAFs filtered the radioactive and polluted air that filled the skies which provided safe air for the people under these magnificent machines.

They normalized the warm temperature too, thanks for the organic-synthetic coolants.

Before, gas masks were needed as people went outside from their homes. With MAFs, gas masks are already a thing of the past.

Within MAFs’ gargantuan casing held integrated designs that served its purpose. It is more complicated than what it looked, externally - self-sustaining energy and generating power from perpetual rotating parts consisted of the internal complex design.

Everyone would glare up the skies and see these MAFs, which would drive a believer to praise Science. Like it is God. With vast knowledge locked in an infinite expanse unimaginable by mere people, like us.

These lifesavers are designed of course by the Industrialist Tier 4, Mr. Menks. It was his scientific breakthrough that catapulted his rank from Electronic Tier 1 to Industrialist Tier 4. It was a feat that only Mr. Menks had managed since the beginning of the post-apocalyptic age.

He is one of the brilliant few.

- Gospel of Science, Arch Priest of Science Ministry

It was the day after that Lance had gained further respect for how his father helped these rebels. From the camp, they went through various tight-sealed metal slab doors and a more sinuous and imperceptible maze of tunnels.

Damian checked every turn of his holographic map and even he, a Specialist, had utter difficulty finding the way the ins and outs of the tunnels.

Rats. Lance had become one.

This explained why the rebellion had thrived for so many years granting the might of the Corporation. They could send the whole strength of the police force searching for the camp but Erik provided escape routes as if a system was in place.

"These tunnels are a pain in my ass, George!" Damian said as he mustered his full strength upon turning a mechanical wheel to open the last door.

George laughed as he pushed the heavy door open with Joe on his side.

"History of these tunnels ran ages ago before this apocalypse began," Lance retorted.

"How do you know so much about this kid? You are still a teenager!" George responded, his breath had taken over his words.

"My father, George. He knew a lot of these tunnels and it is the foundation of the wall’s design." Lance answered.

"You said, way back. What do you mean kid?" Joe, the other rebel neophyte, asked.

"Father couldn’t explain but the Lost Engineers had somehow predicted the future. These tunnels served as trading paths to the interconnected cities. They can move freely away from whatever danger aboveground." Lance explained.

"The Lost Engineers?" George asked.

"Yes, the Lost Engineers were the ones who built the structures before resources were not yet scarce. We call them Lost because not one of them had even remained, even their names, their legacies, were gone."

Fingers of life emerged at the far end of the tunnel through metal grills that made the opening. Lance smiled upon the site with a deep satisfying sigh.

"At last! We reached the opening after a freaking hour of walk. I thought we were lost!" Joe covered his nose as the air thickened.

"Gas masks, boys," Damian said while he reached for one for Lance.

They rode out quietly with a vintage jeep and the humid and heavy atmospheric air greeted them as if ghosts embraced them. If without masks, they could taste the metallic sharpness of seemingly, blood that mixed with the wind.

Their car raged against the bumpy desert floor, a cloud of dust behind them as they weaved through throng of hills of somewhat useless junk.

He had his fists clenched hard, maybe involuntarily.

"First time, kid?" Damian asked as he drove.

"Yeah. It felt like one inhalation of this pollution would kill a cow." Lance said, training his eyes on top of the walls, receding behind them as they moved stealthily farther.

Heaving gust of dust enveloped gradually the site of the gigantic walls, fading into nothingness after moments of vague silhouettes.

"Don’t worry, kid. Nobody can detect this baby." Damian said, referring to the rustic, hopeless, tin can they were riding. Surprisingly, the engine was at top-notch performance.

"Why are you so sure that we are not detected?" Lance asked.

He heard Joe release a chuckle at the back seat. The two were relaxed with their arms resting on the sides of the open truck.

"Luckily, the Corporation had somehow had limited resources for the manufacturing of police units. They are even reducing their numbers, mysteriously." Joe said as if he was proud of somehow contributing a little bit of stock knowledge to the crowd.

"How come?" Lance asked. "The Government should be manufacturing more to have more power and control."

"I am not so sure, kid," Damian replied, "but you know as always, the Corporation is so influential that the Governor has little say on how to allocate his resources. Jefferson said that maybe they were cooking up a project that is big to stop the Abominants or even enhance them. Just a theory, you know."

"Not farfetched, actually," Lance replied.

"What about Abominants, are you not afraid even encountering one right now? We are outside the walls." Lance asked, he nearly forgot the journey and their destination, Axiom Trench, and the space beyond the walls sprawled infestation of Abominants or at least the Corporation preached.

"We call this a dead zone, kid," Damian said. "After five miles from the wall, that’s we are going to take down a notch."

"Five miles? How so?" Lance asked.

"The MAFs glared at the skies near the walls which repelled the habitation of the Abominants within five miles radius from the city walls. Especially during daytime." Damian explained.

"Don’t you worry, kid, we will not fight gargantuan Abominants like the wolf. If we encounter one, they are the small ones that will bite your hand off; these bad boys will do the trick." George referred to his ancient tech rifle that still used gun-powder bullets, snuggled in his armpit.

After a few exchanges of somewhat useless small talk, the three gentlemen asked the kid about his goal and his objective. Why they were compelled to help him, at least for the reason of their mandated assistance that they were going to partake.

"An industrialist!" Damian laughed harder than the humming machine of a road-wheel Jeep as Lance had exclaimed.

"What is funny about being an Industrialist?" Lance asked. He squinted at his back also looking at the other two who were clearly smiling beneath their masks.

"You are paranoid, kid. To become an industrialist is to have influence. You should be of royal blood to even become an Electronics Tier nowadays!" Damian retorted.

Damian was right. To become an Industrialist was nearly impossible and one should have a lot of financial resources to support his registrations augmenting from one rank to another.

"Call me paranoid or a fool, but my eyes are fixed on it. I am certain of it that I can." Lance answered lazily. He had known that his serious answers would mean shit to them.

"Ok, supposedly, I will believe you, kid. How will you do it? It is clear you do not have enough money just to live beyond the suburbs." Damian insisted.

Lance smiled. "Avarice and fear are the two elements that one cannot succeed. I know I am well aware of your fear that is why you live underground. But avarice or greed is very common these days. Especially that the citizens long for social status in a way of being ostentatious."

Damian and the rebels were silenced.

"Eliminating these two elements will give you success."

"Wow, kid. You are really a fool!" George said, tapping Lance’s shoulder from behind.

"You’ll see," Lance said. He was not going to explain himself further as the mask prohibited him to speak louder.

Damian was only silent at that and had his eyes fixated upon the dark and gloomy morning. After a few silent moments, Damian floored the brake pedal, halting their vehicle as wheels shrieked against the gravel.

"What?" Lance asked.

"Shhh!" George said.

"Remember the five miles, kid? We are at the border." Damian said.