A grainy voice echoed throughout the cold living room. Several propaganda photographs flashed up on the screen before the young adult and his mother; pictures of the war, people being butchered in the street by mancers; artist's rendering, most of them, as well as some reconstructions. Never any primary sources.
"Three hundred years ago, Planet Earth was immersed in a civil war between those who could manipulate the elements, and those who were living in fear of their tyranny. Every nation was on the brink of collapse as Geomancers, Aeromancers, Pyromancers and Hydromancers brought Governments to their knees through their unfair, dirty tactics. For too long people were held against their will to live a regime of slavery and torment. Advances in modern technology soon levelled the playing field, and the Mancers were eventually exterminated and a new, shining future was created. Advances in genetics have now allowed us to isolate and eradicate Mancer threats even before birth. So, citizens of Great Britain. Rest assured that your Government keeps you safe. And now, for our annual recording of the last Avatar's public execution."
Will didn't stay to watch. He could never make it past the part where the "avatar" is executed. Merely 5 years old this girl, a pyromancer, cut down for the whole world to see. It was sick. It was a witch hunt. They never even had solid proof that they were the avatar. They never do. "Catch 'em young. Kill 'em young. Protect the world!" is the slogan they might as well have forced down the throats of the populace. Most people thought it was wrong, and were too afraid to contest them. Then there were those who truly believed in the cause.
The worst part; being forced to watch it every year, every year without fail. It always left a bitter taste in his mouth.
But maybe that was just because he was a Mancer. A Mancer who hadn't been caught yet. His earliest memories were being taught to hide his talent in public, but to practice it in private. His parents always said "they do horrible things to you when you're caught. Unspeakable things." That was always incentive enough to keep it hidden. The prospect of death or worse kept the urges inside their cage. Will skulked upstairs into his room, his head hanging low and sullen. Even though it was compulsory by law to watch this, Will never did. He never made it further through the broadcast than this.
He sat on his bed and felt the soft quilt between his fingers. That always made him feel better. His mother always made sure to put clean sheets on the bed on this particular day too. Sometimes it softened the blow and made him feel safe. Most of the time it didn't. It was just habit for her now, he guessed. The youth checked his mobile phone – one unread message. From Catherine; "Meet me at the usual place in an hour. Received half an hour ago."
The gunshot sound from the TV downstairs signalled to Will that it was safe to go outside. After the execution, the showings were not compulsory, though most watched them anyway. He ran his hand through his hair; this had become a common habit for him now, something he'd developed in his early teens. He had never really analysed why, he just got on with it. He pulled a grey beanie hat over his overgrowing mop and threw on a grey trench coat. He laced his red converse sneakers up and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" asked his mother as he turned the key in the door.
"Just to see Catherine. I'll be back before midnight." Will responded as he twisted open the lock on the top of the door and unbolted the one by the handle. "Don't wait up, I'll let myself in."
"I hate it when you say that."
Will didn't respond, just walked on out into the night. He and Cathy met on this night every year. They both hated the annual screening, and always met afterwards to give each other some human company. Or inhuman company, as the governments would have them believe. Will buried his head in the collar of his trench coat as he walked through the deserted streets. No one really came out on this night, so it was easy to be recognised if you weren't properly covert. Sometimes the occasional frantic neighbour would recognise and tell the police, but as long as they weren't caught in the act of Mancing, nobody could ever prove anything. Even so, Will stayed vigilant.
Will's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he drew it out swiftly. The winter air was bitter on his hands, and he wished he'd worn gloves now as he opened up the message. 'Been held up. I'll be about an hour late. Fucking parents.' He sighed and pushed it back into his pocket, carrying on walking. "Maybe I'll get something to drink on the way there" he said to himself, hoping for some vodka at the corner shop. He patted his pockets down to check for his wallet; found it in the front pocket of his trench.
He walked into the shop and pulled off his hat, carefully shaking his hair back into place. Most places ran a "no face no service" policy these days. It was mostly in case people who bought volatile subjects decided to make a few bombs and go kill a few people – they could be traced back. The Government was too busy stopping 'Avatars' to prevent things like that happening. Will presented his citizen card and paid for the vodka, then made his way through the rest of the city.
Despite his talents, he always felt unsafe at night. It wasn't exactly like he could do anything if someone came at him with a gun, or a knife. There was CCTV everywhere and if he was caught mancing he'd be finished. So would his family, and probably Cathy too.
Will reached the abandoned block of flats and entered through an abandoned, smashed in window. There weren't any functioning lights, so he pulled out a lighter and flicked the clip. The small flame offered some insight. Then again, this was just another habit, he and Cathy had been coming here since they were both 12, and they knew the structure like the back of their hand. He began to ascend the stairs to the top floor; there were about 8 floors. It wasn't necessarily high, but it was quiet and all the security cameras had been deactivated in this area. The flat block was very damp and musty – it had been abandoned for a while. A few years ago a group of underground Mancers were found hiding here. The Government relentlessly purged everyone in the building, and since then nobody had been allowed to live there.
There were still signs of forced entry ; the smashed windows, the doors off their frames and replaced with steel shutters, glass on the floor. The only thing the two friends had done was put a stuffed toy rabbit onto the reception desk that they had found on the floor when they first found the place. They cleaned the bloodstains off it too. It only felt respectful, to whoever it used to belong to. To start with they used to talk about how old the child was who used to play with it, how old they would be now. And whether they were purged as a Mancer, or 'guilty for hiding renegades'. That was usually the popular one.
Once he reached the top, he unscrewed the cap from the bottle of vodka. He pressed the lip of the bottle against his mouth and tipped his neck backwards and forwards quickly. A quick slip of the liquid ran down his throat, burning and causing him to wince. Straight vodka was never nice, but it would dull the pain of the execution video for now. Will sat on the ledge of the stone block of flats watching the streets; dully lit by the fading street lights. They went off after 6pm in the winter; that made things easier for criminals, but apparently the Government needed to save money. Naturally, none of the army funding had been cut in three hundred years. Quite the opposite; more and more money was constantly being pumped in at the cost of the everyday person. It made most people sick, but again they were too terrified to speak out. A poor life was better than no life, apparently.
Two hours passed on the roof, and it had begun to snow. No word from Cathy, nothing. His phone hadn't sounded; he had even checked it religiously despite knowing that he would hear an incoming message. Will became worried. Cathy was never late. And when she was, she always messaged beforehand. Something wasn't right. Will stood at the edge of roof and rubbed his hands together. In the distance he could make out small flashes of light. He winced his eyes and noticed they were drawing closer, down an alley coming up to the block. The closer it got, the brighter it was. It was only when a soldier flew out from the alleyway on his back, perpetuated by a jet of fire that he knew what was happening.
There was a pyromancer fighting off an army abduction.
Will's heart sank as he saw Cathy emerge from the alley, her back to the flats, punching balls of fire wildly in front of her.
