Quillan ~

The early evening silence of Rune was shattered by running footsteps. A man in a plain, tattered old suit dashed up the street, followed by a pair of men in crisp, green uniforms and gold helmets.

"You won't take me! Ravinia will never take me!" howled Pwargenn Turfila, sprinting over piles of garbage. "I'm never going back to the tarz! Or the Horizon Compound! Or...anywhere! I'm not living by Ravinia's rules any longer, you hear me? I'm not going to come quietly!"

In unison, the dados raised the golden rifles held at their sides.

Fum!

A pulse of energy shot past Pwargenn, missing him by inches. At once, he threw himself sideways, dodging the second blast.

It had been just as he had feared. The instant he stepped off the train, the dados had surrounded him. It seemed that they had been warned he would be coming. But they had not been warned about how recklessly frenzied their quarry would be.

Pwargenn had shoved past the dados before the train's doors had even stopped sliding open. He had leapt across the platforms on pure adrenaline, sprinted through the entrance hall, and dashed out onto the street. But it wasn't going to be that easy; two of the dados managed to track him down, and he ran for it, the dados hot on his heels.

It wouldn't be all that difficult to find a hiding place out here in Rune. Pwargenn knew that the Revivers had hidden from the Blok security forces for countless quads, living in the abandoned mall complex beneath the city. The hard part would be shaking off the pursuing dados long enough to hide himself.

Fum! Fum!

Pwargenn instantly dived to the ground and rolled, and the shots flew over his head, shattering a window in a store simply marked with the name FOOD. Springing to his feet, he charged off in a new direction, dashing down a hidden alley. He looked back over his shoulder, and saw to his dismay that the dados were still giving chase.

Fum!

One of the shots passed so low over his head that his hair stood on end. He knew he couldn't keep this up forever. Sooner or later, the dados would either catch up to him, or shoot him. He needed to find a hiding place, and quickly.

He turned into another alley, and saw a pair of dented, dusty trash cans. This could be his only chance. He pulled the lid off one of them, dived inside, and slammed the trash can shut.

Sitting inside the dark, cramped space, heart pounding, Pwargenn waited. Any moment, he expected to hear the sounds of the dados marching past the trash can...but he heard nothing. He sat there, confused. Could the dados have taken a wrong turn? It didn't seem likely. Pwargenn wanted to peek his head out and see if the dados were there, but if they were, his cover would instantly be blown. The seconds slowly became minutes, and Pwargenn still didn't hear any noise. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him, and he lifted the lid slightly.

A quick three-sixty showed Pwargenn that the dados were not in the alley. But were they gone? How could he be sure the dados weren't lying in wait around another corner? Slowly, cautiously, Pwargenn closed the lid again. He would wait even longer, just to make sure.

After what seemed like hours, Pwargenn finally got the courage to emerge from the trash can. He walked back the way he had come, and carefully peered around the corner of the building. What he saw made absolutely no sense.

The dados had not left. But Pwargenn immediately saw that he was in no danger. The pair of them lay motionless on the ground. Deactivated. Turned off. Dead.

Pwargenn didn't understand. Why had the dados suddenly shut down?

But a second later, Pwargenn saw something far more incredible and bizarre. The great screens mounted on the skyscrapers of Rune were winking to life. How could that be? It had been many quads since the tarz had been busy, after all; the screens were only used to inform the citizens of reassignment, and that had of course already happened a few hours ago. He fixed his gaze on the flickering monitors, waiting for something else to happen.

Soon, the image of a gruff, unshaven man was visible from all of the TVs. Pwargenn immediately dashed out of the alley into the main street, to get a better view. He wasn't the only one. Everywhere, people were stepping out of the ruined shops and gazing in wonder at the screens. Many young children, too young to have ever seen the screens in action, seemed terrified. Most of the adults seemed highly apprehensive, too.

"Greetings, citizens of Rune," boomed the man. "My name is Larba Towwan. As far as I know, I am the last reviver on Quillan."

The atmosphere on the streets changed at once, everyone seeming to breathe a sigh of relief. The people of Rune had feared that the broadcast was coming from the Conclave of Ravinia, or from Blok.

"I am speaking to you from an abandoned broadcast center on the outskirts of the city. My message is going out to the impoverished masses on the streets, and to the Conclave of Ravinia. There is enough power left for me to convey my message to you all, and I beg you will listen. For I am asking that we work together to change the course of our wrecked world.

"Quillan is dead. You who roam the streets of Rune and scavenge whatever you can just to survive know this fact well. I know that many of you in the Conclave of Ravinia suspect this as well. Blok and Ravinia have dismantled our society in the name of their own interests. Yet you in the Conclave are not to blame. You were dragged along just as much as your poor brothers outside your walls. You were told that you were the elite. The chosen. That you would be the future of your world. Yet you were shepherded into gilded cages and hidden away from the outside world. And though you are supposedly the governing body of Quillan, still you take care to stay out of Blok's way!"

The people on the street stood in stunned silence. They had never heard the Ravinians talked about in this manner. Always, they had considered the Ravinians to be the oppressors, but if Larba was to be believed, they were little better off than people like themselves.

"Yet it doesn't have to be this way." continued Larba passionately. "Blok thought they had killed the will of the people to resist when they destroyed Mr. Pop. Yet, though the revival's plans were crushed and most of their number wiped out, we have no less power than we did before. Perhaps more so, because a few hours ago, the dados shut down. Every single one of them. I don't know why this happened, but I do know one thing. It gives us exactly the opportunity we need. With the vision of a better future and the vast resources the Ravinians command, we can at last disband the Blok corporation and create a new Quillan!"

Something unbelievable happened. The people on the streets cheered. They screamed themselves hoarse, and beat their fists in the air. Pwargenn had never seen anything like it. Soon, he was swept up in the positive energy, stamping his feet and cheering.

"Those who are ready to take back their lives, meet at the southern wall of the Conclave of Ravinia. It is at last time for our world to heal."

The last time that Pwargenn had seen anything like this massive gathering was many quads ago, when the games were still in operation. But the frenzied energy of this vast crowd was different. The people of this crowd weren't gathered here in desperate attempts to win something from Blok. They were here to seize control of their world once more.

The group gathering outside the Conclave of Ravinia was indeed enormous. And it wasn't only the poverty-stricken out on the street. The Ravinians themselves were swarming out of the conclave; they were ready to reunite with their lost brethren from the outside and work for the good of Quillan.

A makeshift raised platform had been constructed in the center of the spectacular crowd. Standing in the center was the reviver, Larba Towwan. Pwargenn could not see him properly, as he stood near the edge of the mass of people. But he could picture him, looking out over the thousands and thousands of faces before him.

"It is time." called out Larba, as the crowd fell silent. "The Trustees know we are gathered here. They know it is the end. We shall march to the Blok building, and show them that neither they nor any part of the Blok Corporation fits into the new future we will create for ourselves!"

The ground trembled beneath the force of the screams and yells and cheers of the crowd. As one, the thousands of people began to march down the street, leaving the Conclave of Ravinia, heading for the Blok building, all the while continuing to roar and scream. Pwargenn thought the energy was almost tangible.

It was amazing, Pwargenn reflected, to think that this same time yesterday, Blok had been as mighty as they had ever been, but suddenly their management was completely powerless. Certainly the loss of the dados had been a powerful factor, but the real catalyst was the will of the people. Blok's existence depended on its menial workers. Once they rose up, the tables were instantly turned.

Pwargenn realized something else. This global demonstration of defiance and revolution completely turned the Ravinian philosophy on its head. The leaders of Ravinia on Quillan preached that humanity was weak, that people always go with the flow and do what is comfortable and easy, rather than working for the good of all. The ultimate goal of Ravinia, they stated, was to breed this weakness out of people by crushing those who did not contribute in a manner that the elite saw fit. But here, Ravinians and non-Ravinians alike were gathering with the self-same goal of instituting positive change. Everyone, from those that Ravinia praised as enlightened to those that Ravinia condemned as flawed, were throwing away their crumbling society, prepared to begin a process that they knew would be painful and arduous, but would benefit all of Quillan.

In short, the Ravinian definition of "strong" and "weak" was completely wrong.

Several minutes later, the group arrived at the front of the Blok building. The screams grew louder. Everyone stamped and shouted and demanded that the Trustees present themselves at the front of the building.

Before long, the nine Trustees emerged, looking terrified. They had spent their entire lives controlling the world, passing judgement with unchecked authority. They had run Blok, and Blok had run everything. Now, however, their grip on power had completely dissolved. Millions of people were staring at them with the utmost hatred in their eyes.

Absolute silence fell. The Trustees stared at the sea of people before them, and they glared right back at the Trustees. "We're not living by your rules anymore!" shouted a voice.

"It isn't our fault." said one of the Trustees. "None of this is our fault. We simply followed our corporate strategy!"

"You WROTE the corporate strategy of Blok!" yelled another voice.

"All we ever did was provide a service!" shouted another Trustee. "You all chose to use it! It's that simple!"

"The only service you ever provided was for yourselves." barked Larba. "Destroying every competing enterprise, forcing us to live in the urban centers, shipping people to the tarz...everything you did was about lining your pockets at our expense! And it's been going on for quite long enough!"

The crowd erupted in a deafening cacophony of screams and insults. The Trustees had had enough. All nine of them jumped down the steps of the Blok headquarters and sprinted away down a side street.

"GET THEM!" the crowd bellowed, and tore off after the fleeing figures. However, the crowd could not run full-pelt, for fear of trampling people in front of them. The Trustees were far less numerous...and none of them cared whether they trampled each other. Concerned only with themselves, the Trustees shoved and pushed each other, trying to get away faster. And it was working; the leaders of Blok were getting away.

The people at the front of the crowd broke into full-out sprints. Pwargenn was among them, and soon made it to the front of the group. "Come on!" urged those behind him. "Catch them! Catch them!"

Slowly, Pwargenn was gaining on the Trustees. But they were still far ahead, and they were dashing towards the airport. Pwargenn didn't understand what the Trustees were thinking of; if the dados had been deactivated, there would be no pilots to help them escape. But the Trustees didn't seem to care.

Soon, the Trustees were hurtling up the steps of the airport building, and had disappeared inside. Pwargenn and a handful of other people burst through the doors and tore off through terminal in the direction of the fleeing directors of Blok. Most of the planes in Rune International Airport, as well as most of the planes all over Quillan, hadn't been flown in several quads. The only exceptions were the sleek, golden corporate jets used by the senior management of Blok. The Trustees were tearing down the long hall, towards the door that led to the private terminal of the corporate jets.

"NO YOU DON'T!" bellowed Pwargenn. He was closer than ever, but the Trustees were already at the door. One of them was frantically swiping an activation card, and the door was sliding open. And now the Trustees were through the door, which was sliding shut again.

Pwargenn was mere feet from the door when it sealed itself once more with a metallic clang. He beat his fists hopelessly against the door, but it did not give.

Other people were now catching up to Pwargenn. Several of them slammed and kicked the door with all their might, but failed to create so much as a scratch.

Fum! Fum! Fum!

One man in the crowd had produced a golden dado gun, and was shooting energy charges at the door. However, the blasts were no more effective than any of the other attempts. People began to grab whatever large objects weren't nailed into place, using them as makeshift battering rams, but the door did not give way.

All of a sudden, there came a muffled roar from outside, and the shouting, frenzied crowd stopped in their tracks, turning slowly as one to face the glass windowpanes that looked out onto one of the runways. A small, golden aircraft tore across the tarmac, weaving and wobbling as it shot by.

"The Trustees are escaping!" a woman screamed with rage.

Fum! Fum!

The man with the dado gun fired desperately at the window in the direction the aircraft, shattering several panes of glass, but the wildly swerving plane was moving far too fast to hit. Small showers of sparks erupted whenever one of the wings scraped the asphalt of the runway. The people in the terminal could only watch helplessly as the Trustees' corporate jet shakily rose off the ground, soared into the gray blanket of clouds, and vanished.

"They'll crash." said a heavyset, mustached man confidently. "The Trustees don't know anything about flying a jet. They've always had dados in the cockpit."

"It doesn't matter if they crash or not." said Pwargenn. "Wherever they go, they can't run from their problems. They will rule Quillan no longer. Blok is finished."

"Well said!" exclaimed Larba, clapping Pwargenn on the shoulder. "The first step of the Revival has been completed. But tearing down the old regime was the easy part, I'm afraid; it'll be far harder to build a new one."

About a week after the Trustees had been toppled from power, Larba announced that there was to be a meeting in the vast, underground complex of malls beneath the city of Rune. Once, these malls had housed the myriad shopping enterprises of Quillan, offering protection from the bitter cold of the Rune winters. When Blok rose to power, the entrances to the malls were boarded up, and the citizens of Rune were banned from entering the complex. Eventually, the place was forgotten and abandoned, save for the Revivers, who hid in the malls while they attempted to formulate plans to restore Quillan to its former glory.

Larba and a group of newly-enlisted Revivers, including Pwargenn, guided the citizens of Rune to the sealed-off entrances, forced entry, and organized everybody. Almost none of those present had ever seen the underground malls, and they took in their surroundings in absolute amazement, staring at the various stores advertising countless products and limitless services, crumbling and dilapidated but still bearing the evidence of their former glory. Most of the shelves were stripped bare, though a few still held some dusty electronics or yellowed books.

A raised platform had been erected in front of a store that was completely obscured by a steel shutter. The crowd gathered around it, and a few minutes later, Larba stepped onto the platform.

"People of Rune," said Larba, gazing over the mass of wide-eyed faces, "as you all know, the Blok Corporation and the Conclave of Ravinia are no more. And yet, the damage they have wrought still remains. Currently, our society is in turmoil. We need direction. We need a guiding voice to show us the way, to help us in our quest to take back what we lost. And this guiding voice lies in the old store directly behind me." He gestured to the store blocked off by the steel shutter. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...Mr. Pop!"

There was complete silence. Nobody seemed to be breathing. People looked around in utter bewilderment, convinced that they must not have heard correctly.

"Mr. Pop?" said Pwargenn incredulously, stepping onto the platform. Larba had not informed him that this was to be the reason for the gathering. "Surely that's impossible. The archives of Mr. Pop were destroyed by the Blok security force over a hundred quads ago."

"Yes." agreed Larba. "It was what the senior management of Blok feared above all else. The knowledge of the past. They didn't want us to know that our world was ever anything other than what Blok had turned it into. When they discovered the existence of a library containing an extensive collection of knowledge about the history of Quillan, they had it destroyed. It crushed the plans of the Revival...or so they thought."

The crowd was more confused than ever, and yet they hung on every word Larba spoke.

"Did you really think that the Revivers were foolhardy enough to put all their eggs in one basket? To place everything Blok wanted destroyed in a single spot? That we didn't realize that it was inevitable that one day, Blok would uncover the archives of Mr. Pop, no matter what security precautions we took?"

"Do you mean to tell us that there was more than one Mr. Pop?" gasped Pwargenn.

"No, there was only one archive like that on Quillan. However, we didn't put everything we had inside the library of Mr. Pop. We entrusted some of it to the senior Revivers...had them hide their portion in fireproof containers all over the world."

"I was a Reviver before Mr. Pop was destroyed." said an old man skeptically. "I was pretty close to Tylee Magna, too. She was the leader of the Revivers, and I learned a lot about their security measures from her. She never said anything about creating separate records of the archives."

"That's because it wasn't Tylee's decision. In fact, it was done in stark violation of her orders. She was afraid that any detailed records of Mr. Pop would make it easier for Blok security to track down the warehouse. But a small number of Revivers knew differently. We understood that the alternative was far riskier. We knew that Mr. Pop had to be cataloged to guarantee the safety of the knowledge it contained.

"We were very methodical about ensuring the records would never be lost. If a Reviver was tracked down and captured by the security forces, we sent another to smuggle that Reviver's box to safety. In case one box could not be retrieved, we had multiple boxes with the same contents in the possession of other Revivers. Though the destruction of the main archive was a terrible blow to the Revival, we anticipated it and prepared for it. Mr. Pop lives on."

With these words, Larba pulled a switch on the side of the platform, and with a grinding creak, the shutters slowly slid open...to reveal that the store behind was filled from ceiling to floor with so many stacks of boxes that there seemed to be no empty space at all. Larba stepped back, lifted down a box, opened it, and pulled out a stack of paper.

"Every single one of these boxes contains hundreds upon hundreds of pages, each with a photograph of something from the library of Mr. Pop and a detailed caption. Even though we may have lost the artifacts themselves, the information of our history will not be forgotten. And these aren't the only boxes...before the other Revivers were hunted down, many hid their boxes in secret locations...there are similar stashes like this all over the world.

"Now, at long last, it is time to share this forgotten history with you. We will use it to guide the Revival...to guide the future of Quillan."

The underground mall shook with cheers. The history of Quillan was not lost after all!

High above the underground mall complex, a ray of dazzling sunlight penetrated the cloudy haze, illuminating the gray remains of the city of Rune. Sunlight wasn't common in this part of the country; this break in the clouds was a rare occurrence indeed, an unusual weather phenomenon. Yet perhaps it was fitting that it should happen on this day...the day that marked the rebirth of a dead world.