05

It hasn't even been a full week before Selina comes across Juan's name again. This time, it doesn’t come with the crackle of a walkie-talkie. It is accompanied by the rehearsed, unfeeling voice of a newscaster. ‘Three suspected drug dealers were found dead yesterday, adding to the death count of Millian’s Drug War…’

His name wasn’t there. But the picture was unmistakable.

Selina locks herself into her room for most of that morning, 'studying'. She thinks of Juan when commuting to the University. What he said, or what they talked about. "Met someone. They taught me a lot about how to live."

He had said that. Why would he lie? When Selina was weaponless, defenseless, and he was unconfined, why would he lie?

He didn't, she thinks, making the rage surge higher. What else had he said? Juan was married. Juan had a niece.

Juan was murdered in cold blood, left in the streets as a spectacle of amusement.

Selina is so distracted by her thoughts, that she nearly lets the jypney driver get away with handing her change one mahar short. "It's just one mahar, lady," the driver says, eyes roaming over her lazily. "Just let it go. I have people to deliver."

"That's exactly the problem here," Selina says to the ground, her tone stern, and her voice louder than it should be. "It's just one mahar and you can't afford to give it back." When she looks up, the driver's eyes are less glazed, and he looks cautious of her. He asks the new passengers for their fare, and relinquishes the first mahar he receives. Selina takes it, hands trembling slightly. She stands there, frozen in place for a moment, trying to find her voice to say thank you. She figures the time for politeness has long been spoiled, so she leaves the driver without a word of gratitude.

“Lina!” she hears almost as soon as she enters school grounds. She takes a deep breath before turning around. Two boys her age approach. One is wearing glasses and a pastel blue sweater vest that really isn’t appropriate for the weather. His headphones encircle his neck, probably blaring out decades old hip hop. And there was a mango shake in one hand. Yes, it probably wouldn’t be Jared without the mango shake.

He flashes her a grin, but she can see his brow furrow. “You look terrible,” he says. “Haven’t seen you lately.”

"I've been busy. If you miss one day of classes, you missed a lot." Selina replies with a breathy sigh. She grips the straps of her backpack tighter.

“Well,” the other boy starts. He wears his uniform perfectly, almost like a costume. His hands are clasped behind his back, and his posture is as straight as the school flagpole. “If you need someone to copy from, you know who to ask,” Jophiel, Jared’s cousin, completes.

"You hear about the bombings?" Jared asks, his eyes smiling playfully through his glasses. “The ones orchestrated by Haliya?” The fingers of his free hand wiggle around at the name.

“I thought it was Sidapa, God of Death. Because of the skull helmet,” Jophiel interjects.

“Okay, but Sidapa’s associated with trees, right? Haliya on the other hand is the fierce mask-wearing god of the moon—“

“Goddess of the moon. The fugitive might not be a girl.”

Jared tolls his eyes. “Might not be a boy either. ‘Haliya’ fits better. Right, Lina?”

Selina stares at him, heart beating rapidly in her chest. “Um… How does the moon fit into this?”

Jared heaves an exaggerated sigh. Jophiel smirks in triumph.

Selina shakes her head and decides to get back on topic. "I didn’t just hear about it, though. I heard the bombing. Remember where I live?" she jokes, trying not to think about the thirteen people who died in Laudo’s market.

"Ah right, you were home when that happened. You alright now?"

It took a while for the question to register in Selina's head. You alright now? Were you actually sick in the first place? Why were you absent, really? She considers it. Telling them everything right there.

"What? Oh yeah. Of course,” she smiles, a sinking feeling in her belly.

"Whatever you were absent for," Jophiel says, "you missed the Grand Debate. I mean, honestly, those highschoolers were just plain amateurs, but the last round..."

Amateurs, Selina muses. The word brought blue hair and neon sneakers to the forefront of her thoughts. Not for the first time, she wonders if he’s still in that tree. She almost laughs at the thought.

They walk to the Engineering building, with the cousins chatting pleasantly while Selina herself remains silent. They talk about debates, a topic Selina doesn't much care for, then teachers, something she cares a bit more about. Then they talk about homework and lessons, which Selina was trying her best to ignore up until now. At that, she completely ejects from the conversation and resumes her own thoughts.

Someone is being murdered right now, by the government's dogs. By Millian.

She sighs heavily, looks around at the University. She feels like the world is spoiled for her. For what were all her efforts to muster the courage to skip school, to basically delay her future, to lie to and use her sister for information, to jeopardize the Police's missions, to risk her own safety and well-being, plus the security of her family--

All of that. What was it all for? They were only small acts of good in a sea of cruelty. A country of cruelty, if you may. What did they amount to?

What do I amount to? Selina's eyes follow a leaf as it sails down from a tree until it touches the ground. Her gaze locks on the hard dry earth. She’s tired. Of not being able to talk to her friends and family. Of having to shut them out. They wouldn’t appreciate it. Wouldn’t understand. “Where are you, Don?” she mutters.

"Andoque!" Jared snaps his fingers loudly, bringing Selina back to earth. "You okay?"

"Where’s who?" Jophiel asks, suspicious.

"I'm up for it. Whatever you just said!" she blurts abruptly. They said something, right?

"Great! No speeches, or adjudicators, or whatever. Just informal, alright?" Jared smiles.

What...?

"Motion: Assuming technology existed wherein individuals with great probabilities of committing crime could be pinpointed, this house believes the government should use it. Affirm or oppose?" he recited, looking all hyped.

Ah. So Selina accidentally signed herself up for an informal debate. Right.

"Sort of both, I guess?" she replies thoughtfully to get it over with. "Because if the government could find these criminals, that would prevent disasters. But since the criminals technically didn't commit the crime yet, and the future isn't set in stone, the government should just put them under surveillance, and not hold them liable until caught in the act."

"What if they can't afford to catch them in the act? Example, let's say hijacking a plane. It would already cause a lot of paranoia and chaos if you waited for the criminal to do anything punishable," Jophiel points out. Selina rolls her eyes. Really, who has time for hypothetical arguments?

Jared nods at his cousin. He points a finger at Selina. "Also," he starts in a serious tone, "to give the opposition a fighting chance, let's revise it. Use the extremes. The government should use it to penalize the criminal before the act. Not just surveillance."

Selina huffs. "You're making it needlessly complicated," she mutters, amused.

She ponders for a moment, though she already has an opinion. She wants it to come out eloquently because she knows Jophiel is gonna shoot her down as soon as he can, so she wants to at least make it hard for him.

"That technology is largely subject to abuse and corruption," she begins. "You'd be living in a world where people just got jailed without visible reason, because the crime was yet to happen, but was prevented. Don't you think the people concerned would feel unjustified?"

Double negative, Selina cringes. She continues.

"Don't you think they'd feel cheated? Do you seriously think their families would just let you, without protest, just take their father away because he was apparently planning a bank heist--"

"You are forgetting to even-if, Selina," Jophiel, self-dubbed debate master, rudely cuts in. "Besides, I think the lives of the people in question are more important than any revolt or petty grudges they would harbor against the government. They can rant all they want, but their lives were spared because the government took action. Let me give you an example. What if I said a bomb was to go off here in exactly one hour--"

Jared jumps, suddenly all fidgety. It's because of me, Selina remembers. When she threatened to bomb Laudo, Magwayen, and Kaptan, she didn't exactly consider the repercussions. That's probably why she's classified under 'terrorist' now. Because a bomb just had to go off in Laudo, didn't it? Leaving thirteen people dead, while I stood useless in the sidelines--

"--And I could tell you exactly where that bomb is, wouldn't you want me to?" Jophiel asks. Honestly, Selina forgot he was talking. He takes one of those dramatic pauses, and Selina is so ready to make it the death of him. Right before he inhales to continue, she interrupts.

"People aren't bombs. They could be on the edge of exploding, yet choose not to. They can change their minds. Basing their choices off of mathematical probability will prove to be inaccurate. And even if it were accurate--"

"Are you willing to take that chance?" Jophiel interrupts her interruption. Insufferable. "That small, improbable chance the crime will not be committed? This technology could have prevented the terrorist attack three years ago, or the hijacking of the Surly Planes, or the serial killings of Pascoal the Feared. Would you sacrifice billions of innocent people, just to see whether or not one would change his mind? And if he doesn't. Well." He makes this gesture of implicit disaster.

Selina is full on glaring at Jophiel's face while he returns a sort of sophisticated look of triumph. By now, Jared is only looking back and forth between them, as if this was the Wimbledon finals.

It's Selina's turn. "You're robbing people of freedom in exchange for absolute security. Think of slaves, or of prisoners. Assume that there are no threats at all in the jail, and no one ever gets hurt. Would that make the prisoners prefer to stay inside? No! Because they lack freedom. Executing anyone who gets out of line is basically limiting the people's freedom. 'You can't say bad things about the government', or 'you can't even argue with anyone'. If you do just one thing that heightens the probability of you committing crimes, say goodbye to your life! The people are not privy to this system, so that’s how it looks to them! You are not allowed to make one mistake, or you're off to prison. This borders on paranoia--"

"Paranoia? But wouldn't the people feel safer? Disasters are being prevented before they can occur. The girl in the news yesterday? She would never have gotten raped. The Layan beheadings? They never would have happened. Wouldn't--"

"Let me give you an example of paranoia stemming from the government's line of 'justified' actions. The extrajudicial killings."

There is a moment of silence, where her friends, both of them, look afraid.

"Everyday, around ten people get killed," Selina resumes. "Suspected drug dealers. Suspected drug addicts. People are starting to get scared because they don't know if these accusations are true or not. In addition, these killings are getting more and more rampant, involving civilians, innocent people, the people the government was supposedly trying to protect. Would you want for yourself a country with fear as its foundation? Has any country ever before thrived as a whole in this way?"

Jophiel opens his mouth, then closes it a few times, trying to find something to say. He comes up with nothing.

"The government's purpose is to protect the Carigtans," Selina states, taking in their mixed expressions of dread and pensive consideration. "Are they not Carigtans as well?"

"Red herring."

Selina spins around to look at Jophiel's snotty bearing.

"Technically, our debate is about whether or not we would allow the government to use advanced technology to determine the criminals before they commit the crime, and Extrajudicial Killings are a complete different matter, because the computation of probability is not perfect, like the motion implied it to be," he reasons. "If you have no further arguments, Selina, then I have to say you defended your stand poorly, and your arguments were weak. That is to say, my side wins this debate."

Jophiel straightens, trying to look like the superior intellect, or whatever the hell. Selina stares at him coldly. He falters, stepping back and glancing away. She concedes. She shrugs with a small smile forced on her lips, "I never really was one for debates."

He returns the smile. "Don't despair, Andoque," he pats her on the back, then slings an arm around her shoulders. "You were excellent. But I can't help it if I'm superb.”

"The only 'super' you are is supercilious," she pats him on the back soundly.

Jared coughs. "Ehem. Yeah, well..." He looks between the two, uncertain. "Um, I think class is starting?"

*

The day is a blur for Selina, for she has spent most of her time in her head. She's been concocting several alternate timelines where she could have saved Juan, and several even more improbable timelines where she could have saved the world. But that is impossible. These social problems have stayed since time in memorial, and time-travel is probably a lesson above her tuition fee.

Questions and under-developed answers fill her head until it overflows. Had the bombing really been her fault? Was it she that failed Juan? Can she offer her condolences to his family? Where is Don?

Home is finally in sight, indigo skies and the subtle glint of early stars standing behind it. She missed dinner again. When she walks in, there is no sign of cognizance, save for the light coming from the room opposite hers. Selina closes her eyes and puts her bag down. She turns the knob as slowly as physics could allow.

In Rhoda's room, only the desk lamp is lit, leaving the rest of the room in dense shadow. The walls of her room are covered in numerous posters of criminals yet to be captured. The ones already caught have been taken down. Her table is a mess of folders and documents.

"How was your day?” Rhoda asks from her chair by her desk. Her voice is quiet and her figure still. A few stray hairs escape from her ponytail, and she's still in her uniform.

"It wasn’t so bad. How was yours?”

Rhoda chuckles drily. “Can’t you tell?”

There used to be a time they could talk all night until the sun rose. Unguarded, sincere, and trusting. But right now, Selina doesn’t remember those times. “Why do you have to do it?” The question is incomplete, but Rhoda hears the rest.

Rhoda's head moves to rest on her left hand, and Selina can see her whole body rise and fall when she sighs. "Those people are criminals. It’s my job to deal with them."

"Your job is to serve justice. Do you think you did that?" Selina asks slowly. Before her, Rhoda seems to age more than her years. Selina is almost sorry she asked. Almost. “The people you shoot could be victims too. Sometimes, crime isn’t a choice. Those people are just trying to survive. To purge a country of crime, you cut the head of the snake--”

“We aren’t the military. To attack a crime boss outright isn’t in our jurisdiction.”

“And that stops you?”

Rhoda pivots around to face her, frustration apparent in her visage. “Look, Selina, I’ll handle this, alright? You just focus on your studies. Try to come home earlier, okay?” The part of her face that isn’t lost in darkness tries a smile. Despite being only two years apart, Selina feels so young in her presence.

Selina nods, unable to meet her older sister’s eyes. The house is again consumed by silence. Selina dithers on leaving the room when an idea crosses her mind. “So… who’s the crime boss you mentioned. Is he really behind everything?” she asks.

“We think so. Not so sure about everything, but there is a helluvalot.” Rhoda yawns out the last word. “His wanted poster is the one on the door,” she gestures.

Selina closes the door to get a better view. There is exactly one poster, although the man looks too young. The name printed on it is the native Carigtan term for dragon, and the reward money is surprisingly high. She wonders how hard it would be to find him alone.

She examines the face as best she can in such a dimly lit setting. Something about him looks familiar. The leather jacket makes him look awfully stereotypical. Dyed hair and earrings? He practically screams gangster. He's even smirking in the picture, the dastard. Though his style is commendable--

This is not the first time in a week that she's seen a smirking boy with bright blue hair.

Her voice dies completely in her throat as she puts the name to the face.