This Fractured Nation Book 1

Chapter One

Mt. Rainier looms large on the horizon, a snow-capped sentinel on watch. Tendrils of the burgeoning Mt. Rainier Metropolis, encompassing the cities of Seattle, Tacoma, and Yakima, inch up the mountain's base in places. New residential sub-divisions, high-tech science labs, and powerful observatories have been popping up all around the mountain and extending out to the neighboring cities, creating a vast, sprawling metropolis. The new mag-lev railway track intricately threads its way up the mountain before burrowing into a tunnel set to guide it through to the other side. From this distance, it resembles a long strand of hair, the tunnel its follicle. The high-speed rail, operational only for a few years, has already transformed the region dramatically. Yakima, previously a full day's journey from Seattle, is now merely an hour away, the same as Tacoma. The two port cities funnel goods into Yakima for distribution across the northern half of the Pacific Republic and First Nations. These ports are rivaled only by the grand Port of Los Angeles, serving the country's southern half.

Central Station in Yakima perfectly embodies the cutting-edge nature of the railway while accentuating the rich indigenous culture that permeates the Pacific Republic and First Nations. At one end of the station's cavernous entry hall stands an imposing totem. A large bear rears on its hind legs, cradling a model of the atomic symbol and bearing a majestic eagle on its shoulders, its wings spread wide. This totem also encases the station's Tesla Spirit Engine receiver, which supplies electrical power to the Tesla Induction Motor that powers the station's generator.

A large crowd huddles in front of a screen occupying half the wall space between the two sets of ornate doors, serving as the station's main entrance. Normally used to inform passengers about train schedules, the screen flickers, and the list of departure and arrival times is replaced by a well-dressed man sitting at a desk. He straightens a small pile of papers, aligning them on the desk into a neat stack. Placing them carefully flat on the desk, the man graces the camera with a warm smile.

"Good morning Mt. Rainier!" He glances down at the stack of papers, "Big news from Los Angeles: Japanese business leaders visited the southern port for inspections under the new Japan-PRFN trade agreement. Leaders from both sides have given the new ports a glowing endorsement!"

The crowd watches with a mix of pride and joy as the screen showcases the Japanese and PRFN delegations cutting through the large red ribbon stretched across the doors of the L.A. Port Authority's brand-new main building.

A young woman in courier’s clothing, bike shorts, and an orange t-shirt, her long dark hair woven into a practical braid, stands with her electric bike resting against her hip. She observes the screen with piercing blue eyes before redirecting her bike away and heading toward the elevator leading to the train platform. Glancing at her watch, she quickens her pace, dashing towards the elevator just as a man enters and presses the button. Just in the nick of time, she wedges the front tire of her bike into the closing gap, prompting the door to reopen and permit her entry into the compact elevator car, despite the groan of the man inside.

"Sorry, thank you!" she shrugs, propping her bike up on its back tire, the front tire leaning against the elevator's thick glass walls.

The descent to the platform isn't as rapid as the trains, and the young woman watches as one of them decelerates into the station. "Damn it, Skennen," she quietly chastises herself for nearly missing the train. "Can't afford to be late again."

The elevator comes to a gentle rest, and Skennen sprints to the train, boarding just as the doors glide shut. She adjusts her bike to face the door, then stands while the train smoothly accelerates through a tunnel and out into the countryside. Yakima recedes into the distance within minutes. The landscape blurs and Mt. Rainier grows larger as the train forges ahead. After twenty minutes, the train begins its ascent up the mountain and plunges into the tunnel, slowing to a stop at Mt. Rainier station. This central hub, nestled deep within the mountain, serves as the interchange for the high-speed rail system, enabling passengers to switch trains to various destinations throughout the Mt. Rainier Metropolis.

Quickly exiting the Yakima train, Skennen heads to the Seattle platform. She boards a waiting train, which, after a brief pause, embarks on the thirty-minute journey to Seattle. Erupting from the tunnel with the Emerald City in the distance, the train winds down the mountain's northern face and threads its way through the suburbs bridging Seattle, Tacoma, and Mt. Rainier. Buildings showcasing modern materials melded with indigenous architectural styles are commonplace in PRFN towns and cities. Residences mirror traditional indigenous designs but come equipped with state-of-the-art modern amenities. Skyscrapers often feature ornate totems that double as receivers for the energy signal from the Tesla Spirit Engine at the Mt. Rainier facility.

The train enters a tunnel on the outskirts of Seattle proper. Within minutes, it decelerates, halting at the Seattle Port Authority. Skennen carries her bike on her shoulder as she ascends an escalator into the grand train station's lobby. At the center stands a newly erected tribute: statues of some of humanity's greatest minds.

Leonardo Da Vinci and Sir Isaac Newton sit on a bench, with Albert Einstein and Nikola Tesla standing on either side. The configuration suggests a lively discourse about the nature of reality and humankind's role in it.

Encircling this homage to science stand four larger statues, honoring the first council. Chief Joseph, Black Kettle, Lone Horn, his son Spotted Elk, John G. Downey, and Leland Stanford. These visionaries and revolutionary thinkers laid the foundations for the Pacific Republic and First Nations. Without their decisive actions, this proud nation might not exist. Instead, the land would have been divided between the Union and the Confederacy, perpetuating the subjugation of indigenous peoples. These courageous men led the forces that defined and defended the PRFN's borders against several Confederate incursions.

Skennen dashes past the monument, narrowly sidestepping a woman pushing a baby stroller, and swiftly ascends the stairs with her bike still hoisted on her shoulder. Reaching the top, she mounts her bike and sets off. Seattle, truly the Emerald City, glimmers with etched green glass globes that adorn lampposts and serve as over half of the city's windows. The city's verdant charm is further enhanced by the abundant trees and parks scattered throughout. A greening protocol enacted by the previous council imported trees from around the world, transforming the city's parks into arboreal showcases, each with its own magnificent centerpiece.

Skennen hops off the curb as she exits the station and plunges into traffic, skillfully navigating between cars on her electric bicycle. Like the vehicles around her, her bike uses a Nikola Tesla induction motor and runs nearly silently. This turns what could be a cacophonous city street into a surprisingly quiet thoroughfare.

She leaves the road and cuts through a park to save time. Although the early morning finds the park mostly deserted, Skennen narrowly avoids a collision with a jogger and her dog. The jogger yells something irate at Skennen, but she doesn’t hear it, she’s moving too fast. She bursts out of the park, darts across the road, and skids sideways into a garage at the base of a tall building.

According to the sign above the garage, Green City Couriers is the top package delivery service in the Mt. Rainier Metro. Several couriers loitering in the garage, waiting for their assignments, turn to stare at Skennen's dramatic arrival.

"Skeni! What’d I tell you about flying in here like that!? You’re gonna end up hurting someone!” A tall, middle-aged Asian woman, standing behind the counter, admonishes.

"Sorry, Ayumi!" Skennen laughs it off as she approaches the counter. "What's up? Why's everyone just standing around?"

"Slow morning," Ayumi laments, shaking her head. "Lucky you, though — your route has a few deliveries." She hands Skennen an itinerary and a sack, pointing to the end of the counter where three parcels sit waiting.

Skennen moves down the counter to the parcels and packs them carefully into the sack while the other couriers watch with envy. Skennen was the first courier Ayumi hired, therefore she always has the best route, even when late, and always has dibs on special or priority deliveries.

Ready to begin her day, Skennen slings her sack over her shoulder and leaves the garage quietly and swiftly. Steering her bike onto the road, she falls into her default mode. She’s in the zone as she expertly zips past cars, weaving through traffic.

Her first delivery is nearby at the Paramount Theatre, where she's delivering posters for new plays and musicals. The manager, a bear of a man always pleased to see Skennen, typically offers her free tickets for herself and her mother. He's busy maintaining the small ticket booth when he spots her with the tube of posters. His excitement is palpable as he taps the microphone, causing feedback through the speaker.

"Skeni, so good to see you!" He exclaims, his larger-than-life voice diminished by the small speaker in the box office's glass. "How's your sweet mother?" Leaving the box office, he engulfs Skennen in a bear hug.

"Agh! I can't breathe, Tahoma!" Skennen gasps, laughing. Once Tahoma puts her down, she continues, a broad smile across her face. "My mother's doing great. She should be home today.”

“What’s it been, three weeks now?” Tahoma inquires as he sets his friend back down.

“Somethin’ like that, yeah. You know how it is with her stupid job, she’s always gone.” She says quietly.

"You put in a good word for me yet?" Tahoma jokes. "A good word from her daughter would go a long way!"

Skennen appraises the large man. He is kind and intelligent. He would be good to her mother.

"I always do, Tahoma." Skennen replies with a smile, handing him the tube of new posters and a delivery slip for his signature.

Back on her bike, Skennen leaves the Paramount and heads towards her next stop: Ab-Original Technology Solutions. This small tech firm specializes in blending indigenous methodologies with modern technology and materials. They are pioneering a new wave of homes that echo traditional tribal designs while integrating state-of-the-art appliances and materials. Upon arriving, Skennen parks her bike off to the side and enters through the lobby's modern, sliding green glass double doors. The lobby itself is striking. A large, modern-style Great Eagle totem occupies the center, its chrome finish reflecting light in all directions, casting a silvery glow. This totem also doubles as a receiver to power the entire building.

"Hello," the receptionist greets Skennen, her face brightening into a warm smile. "Welcome to Ab-Original Technology Solutions, how can I assist you today?"

"I have a special delivery for Dr. Williams," Skennen shows the woman her delivery slip, reciprocating the receptionist's smile.

"He's on the third floor. There’s an intake office where you can leave it." Skennen proceeds to the elevator and ascends to the third floor. The intake office is the first room she encounters. Inside, a diminutive man in a lab coat is frantically sorting through a box on the counter.

"Where is it?" He looks up, noticing Skennen. "Ah, hello! There you are! The courier, I assume?"

"Yes," Skennen affirms. "Package for Dr. Williams."

"Great! That’s me!" The man exclaims. "My intake assistant called out today and I’ve turned the place upside down looking for..."

Dr. Williams casts an impatient glance at the package Skennen is holding. She places it on the counter and he tears it open like a child on Christmas morning.

"Yes! This is it!" He exclaims with evident excitement, laughing as he continues, "I thought it was supposed to arrive yesterday. I guess I got my days mixed up."

"No worries! It happens to the best of us," Skennen assures him, offering a comforting smile. "Just sign here, and I'll be on my way." With the slip signed, Skennen retreats to the elevator and exits through the building's double green glass doors. She mounts her bike and continues her journey.

The last delivery on her route takes her to the periphery of Seattle city limits, to a nondescript black building featuring a solitary green door. There's a buzzer with a speaker; Skennen pushes the button and after a moment, a deep voice resonates from the speaker.

"State your purpose," the voice demands, tone flat.

"Special delivery for..." Skennen begins, trailing off. "There's no name listed."

"Just leave it there," the voice instructs.

"Okay, but someone needs to sign for it," Skennen insists, her tone exuding a sense of official duty.

"Leave the package. Slide the slip under the door," a different, female voice instructs. "I will sign for it."

Skennen follows the instructions. After a moment, the slip—signed with a large 'X'—emerges from beneath the door. She picks it up, shrugging.

"Signed is signed," she murmurs to herself, sighing. "Back to the office."

Mounting her bike again, Skennen starts the lengthy journey back to the office, contemplating potential lunch stops. Seattle's diverse culinary landscape ranges from Indigenous Cuisine and seafood with a Mediterranean touch to various types of Asian fusion—all accompanied by the Nations' finest coffee. Best of all, with PRFN Tribal Citizen Food Vouchers, every meal is complimentary. Skennen's favorite spot is a little sushi shop a few blocks from the office. She parks her electric bike to the left of the jade doors, intricately carved and clear as glass, and enters the cozy establishment.

"Skeni!" exclaims the diminutive Japanese man behind the counter which is made of glass and lit perfectly to display a colorful variety of fish and pre-made sushi. His hands busy, and a bright smile on his face, he asks, "The usual?"

"Make it a double," Skennen replies with a nod and a smile. "Going to take some home to Mom."

"Where’s she been? Tell her we miss her around here," says the sushi chef as he finishes and wraps up the rolls, places them in a brown paper bag, and hands the package to Skennen with practiced fluidity.

"I will," Skennen nods, gingerly placing the bag in her backpack and handing him two vouchers. "She seems quite popular today." Exchanging polite bows with the sushi chef, Skennen exits the shop and resumes her journey back to the office on her bike.

Skidding back into the garage with a grin, she finds it eerily quiet. Ayumi is the only one there, looking at a clipboard with a frown on her face. Normally at this hour, the office would be buzzing with activity — phones ringing off the hook, couriers queuing for their afternoon routes. But today, it's silent, and Ayumi seems far from pleased. In the eerie stillness of the office, Skennen breaks the silence.

"What gives, Ayumi?" Her words hang heavy in the thick, quiet air, each syllable echoing off the vacant desks. "Never seen this place so dead." She smirks and tilts her head, putting a hand next to her ear. “Hear that? That was a pin drop?”

"No deliveries," Ayumi replies, a note of defeat tainting her usually cheerful tone. "Not since you left. You’re free to go"

Skennen rubs the back of her neck, uncertainty pulling her eyebrows together. "Maybe it's the war" she speculates. "Heard about the missing scientist? People are probably scared we’ll be drawn into it."

Ayumi nods, her face a picture of concern. "Another one last night, so they say. Confederates, some reckon. Scary times." She manages a weary smile. "Take care, huh? Your mom's coming home today, right?"

Joy brightens Skennen's eyes. "Yes! Got her favorite sushi too. Strange how the absence never gets easier. I always miss her the same." With a final wave, she exits, leaving Ayumi in a somber stillness as the garage door closes.

* * * * *

Speeding through traffic with a huge smile on her face she weaves a daring path on her way to the train station, narrowly missing a food cart parked off the curb. She shouts an apology, not looking back. Skennen reaches the station and runs past the memorial statues and down to the platform where a train waits to take off. Her trip back to Yakima is seamless and soon she is taking a leisurely ride through the city’s wide avenues and out into the suburbs on the west side of town.

Skennen’s neighborhood is a mix of traditional indigenous homes, those styled as such but with modern materials, and modern-style homes. Skennen and her mother lived at the end of a street, it wasn’t a cul-de-sac, but just a dead end, their little traditional longhouse was the last house on the right. Skennen parks her bike next to the house and approaches the front door.

Her homecoming is a gut punch. The house looks like it's been torn apart by a storm, furniture broken and askew, shards of smashed dishes littering the floor. Crime in the PRFN is extremely uncommon so Skennen is shocked until she hears a faint moaning. Her mother, bloody and barely conscious, is sprawled on the floor beside two lifeless men in white suits. A finely engraved chrome pistol with a pearl-adorned grip lies next to one of the dead men.

“Mom!?” She rushes to her mother's side, tears streaming down her face. Her mother, face battered beyond recognition, gurgles, pointing her chin behind Skennen.

Skennen whirls around, her eyes landing on a man standing in the doorway of her mother's bedroom, his pristine white suit unmarred by any sign of conflict. He flexes his gloved hands.

“Well now, wraith’s kin? You her daughter?” He muses in a thick southern drawl.

“Wraith!?” Skennen is confused and angry. “Who the hell are you???” “Who knew wraiths lived normal lives? Learn somethin’ new every day.” He shakes his head, shrugging. “Doesn’t matter, I can’t let you leave. Where’s the dossier?“

Skennen’s reply is a futile lunge for the discarded filigreed pistol on the floor. She scoops it up clumsily, pointing it at him, the barrel shaking wildly. She pulls the trigger and it clicks instead of firing.

“Stupid girl, that won’t fire for you.” He chuckles, a sinister grin splitting his face.

Skennen throws the gun at the man, who dodges it expertly and leaps at her. Skennen barely has time to react but manages to block the man’s knife hand away as it swings toward her face. The man follows the knife with an open hand strike to Skennen’s chest, sending her stumbling back and over the couch. She groans and rolls to her stomach, her hands landing on an overturned standing lamp. She grabs it and pushes herself up swinging it at the approaching man, hitting him square in the face with the lightbulb gashing open his face.

“Hussy!” The man growls through clenched teeth as Skennen takes a few steps back. He wipes blood from his cheek, marring his white sleeve with crimson. “I would say I’m going to enjoy killing you, but that is a given fact.”

He charges towards Skennen, easily tossing aside the lamp as she tries to swing it again. The man grabs her by the throat and shoulder, lifting her from the ground, and throws her, smashing her through the wall in an explosion of drywall and torn wallpaper, where she lands with a crash in the kitchen. The man laughs leisurely and whistles.

“That looks like it hurt.” He says, almost sounding sympathetic. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, it’ll all be over soon.”

Skennen desperately gathers her senses and fights through the pain, looking around her. She finds two sharp shards of broken plates. She quietly readies herself as the man slowly and casually walks around to the door to the kitchen. As soon as he is in the doorway, Skennen strikes, catching the man off guard and stabbing one of the pieces deep into his side.

She stumbles back after landing her blow, giving the man enough time to recover and kick Skennen back through the hole in the wall she had left. This time the man bursts through it, following Skennen and attempting to stomp down on her face. She rolls to the side just as the man’s expensive designer shoe smashes into the ground next to her. Skennen attempts to scramble away, but the man reaches down and grabs her by the ankle turning her over, but the spry young girl is able to react quickly and kicks the man in the face repeatedly until he is forced to back away.

“Who are you?” Skennen asks through ragged breaths as she struggles to stand. “Why are you doing this?”

The man just smiles and renews his attack with a ferocious spinning kick that sends Skennen reeling back over the couch in the other direction. She lands next to her mother. The older woman, still clinging to life, weakly pushes a small black combat knife toward her daughter. Skennen grabs the knife in a reverse grip and crouches behind the couch, ready and waiting.

No longer smiling, the man stalks over and throws the couch out of the way. Before he can react, Skennen darts out, jamming her mother’s knife under the man’s chin towards the back of his head. The man’s eyes widen in shock and he lets out a wet gasp. His hands flail for a moment, his dying brains attempt to relay the command for his hands to remove the knife before collapsing to the floor silent and dead.

Battered and breathless, Skennen sinks to the floor beside her mother. As her mother's life ebbs away, she passes on cryptic instructions, her voice barely a whisper. "Outside... under the front porch... open the box... take everything... Find Gideon James... Los Angeles. He'll know what to do."

"No, Mom," Skennen murmurs, her voice a thin thread of sound in the stillness. "What is all this!? You’re a wraith!? Please, don’t die. Mom! No, no... Mom!" Her pleas meet the silence of her mother's last breath, her hand falling lifelessly away from Skennen's.

A tsunami of sorrow sweeps over Skennen. With her mother's life extinguished, she collapses onto her back, her body aching, her heart torn. Her cries of despair ricochet off the walls of the empty house, a mournful elegy to the end of an era, and the terrifying dawn of the unknown.

* * * * *

Skennen jerks awake with a start, wincing as her body protests in throbbing pain. Several hours have evaporated and the moon shines bright through the window. Her mother's dying instructions reverberate in her mind like an incessant echo: Under the porch, open the box, take everything. Grief-stricken, she casts a prolonged, unbroken look at her mother's lifeless form before rising to her feet, hastily brushing away the tears welling up in her eyes. Her body aches as if she had been caught in a whirlwind, every inch of her feeling like a tender bruise. Trying to shake off the chilling image of the three deceased men in white suits, the notorious Southern Gentlemen, she had heard of them before, but never thought she would see one in the flesh, let alone fight and kill one. Skennen takes one last sweeping look at the debris-strewn house that was once her sanctuary. Nothing remains to be salvaged.

Slowly, she ventures outside, every step sending jolts of pain through her body. Skennen stumbles down the front porch steps and kneels down. She squints into the dark recess under the deck. Amid the dirt and spiderwebs, she notices a patch of recently disturbed earth. Overcome by urgency, she starts digging fervently with her bare hands, unearthing a sizable box after several strenuous minutes. It contains an assortment of objects: a compact handgun snug in a shoulder holster, an enigmatic black suit, a train ticket to Los Angeles, and a dossier marked "Project Ironclad". Stunned, Skennen gazes at the contents of the box, her mind buzzing with questions. Shaking off her initial shock, she gathers the items and slowly trudges back into the ruins of her home.

Once back inside, she rights the overturned couch and sinks down onto it, the dossier with the mysterious project name demanding her attention. She can't resist the urge to pry into it.

What greets her within its pages sends a chill down her spine: a monstrous project, its goal to mold Confederate slaves into relentless fighters. The details, however, are swimming in a sea of complex terms and convoluted explanations. Words like "pain receptors," "adrenaline production," and "radio frequency identification devices" blur together in a confusing mess. Despite the foggy terminology, it's clear enough that the methods used are nothing short of cruel, the results nothing less than disastrous. The procedure, whatever it entails, has claimed many lives, and the people subjected to it are referred to as nothing more than "test subjects."

A clandestine facility in Mississippi appears frequently in the documentation, presumably where these horrific experiments take place. It's mentioned that a new group of individuals, sourced from Louisiana, is soon to be introduced to the same grim fate. The unsettling records hint at previous 'subjects' showing 'promise', yet ending in nothing more than another tragic loss.

The complexity and horror of the content is overwhelming, but the gravity of the situation is all too apparent. Skennen shuts the folder and tucks it into her courier bag with a grim sense of determination. She covers her mother's body with a sheet and wiping the tears from her now solemn face, she swings open the door. She hesitates before she stalks outside, grabs her bike, and takes off toward the train station.