War’s

End
Chapter I: 2097

“Do you want to be happy?” read the message. “Do you wish for a
better life?” After that, space to write. It had no sender. There was
no information. It had shown up when Wilhelm had turned the
computer on, after the reset.
He had started working on the Ministry of Technology some
years ago. He had been lucky, getting a job in the government that
guaranteed him a life among the big buildings, above all the suffer-
ing. But he didn’t feel lucky. That year they had started working on
The Net, a wireless connection method they were perfecting. Most
technology had been lost during the Second Middle Age, and they
1
were getting it back little by little. They did important work on the
Ministry. It was useful. That’s what they were told.
But the real reason Wilhelm had taken it is because it let him be
on a small booth, in front of a computer, not interacting with any-
one. He could spend the entire day without getting up, without get-
ting distracted by anyone. Not even his thoughts. His job was to
process the information: he had access to every government cam-
era, every database, every report. Every computer was connected
as one. Every piece of data about The Net was sent to him and he
compiled it. Once a month, when they reached a new stage in the
project, they had to reset the system, turning everything back to its
initial state to continue testing The Net. But something was differ-
ent that September. When they reset the systems and Wilhelm
turned his computer back on, there was a message there.
“Do you want to be happy?”
Wil hesitated. His life had been routine until then; every work-
day ended on the same hour, he always arrived to his department
on the same hour, he always ate on the same hour. Alone. In his
empty apartment. Sometimes he approached the windows and
looked down, to those who lived below. Towards the lights of the
riots and the sounds of gunshot. The city was a graveyard that grew
like a weed upon itself, as more buildings were abandoned and fell
to ruin. The abandoned class crowded the streets, filling them until
it was almost impossible to make your way. The masses covered
every inch, occupying the buildings up to the roofs, not wasting any
space. Every day they protested against those who lived above, on
the great skyscrapers; those who never had to look down. Those
who were part of the system, of the monarchy. Wil wasn’t bothered
by this. He liked to go down, go for walks. The Hunters didn’t attack
him. The King had disposed a Hunter on each corner, always armed,

2
always ready to draw their guns. And they had chances to use them
every day. The Hunters took care of repressing those who broke the
law: causing riots or protesting against the king, causing revolts or
killing one another. The Hunters never stopped watching; but Wil
worked for the government and they knew him. He had free pas-
sage.
Wil didn’t think about all this. When he was up above on his flat,
looking to the lights of the riots, he was used to it. They had their
life and Wil had his. That was the way of things. They had short
fates, intense, violent. But his life would be long and quiet. Wil knew
it. Maybe he even envied them. Each day he cooked himself less and
bought more instant products, flavourless. Each day he left more
food on his plate. His appetite faded, and he kept going to bed earli-
er only to fall asleep later each time. Lying on his bed, he reached
out with his arm and tried to grasp something, but he never found
anything. There was never anyone by his side. All he could grab was
his sheets, which he gripped as strongly as he could.
And he lost his breath. He had less energy every day. He started
losing it when he arrived home and closed the door, laying on it.
The feeling lasted the entire day, even when he was outside. It was
a thought he couldn’t strip away. Pins and needles he couldn’t for-
get.
He still felt those needles when he read the message on his com-
puter. He didn’t need to ask himself the question. He clicked on the
space to write, and typed “yes.” He didn’t know who left that mes-
sage, but it was change. And change was better than nothing.
When he pressed Enter, the message gave way to another. “Unter
den Linden, Pariser Platz – 21:00”. An address. Wilhelm stared at the
screen for a few moments. There was no place to type, no way to
reply. All he could do was look. It had to be some ad. It had to be

3
some advertisement, and yet… for some reason… Wilhelm memo-
rized the address and the time. When he tried to click on the mes-
sage, it went away. Deleted. He could only stare at his computer’s
desktop, same as always. With the message out of the way, he could
now see the stream of data with the latest specs of The Net, so Wil
stopped wasting time and started working. He had much to do, lots
of data to add, and through this he could clear his mind. He stopped
thinking about anything.
He could leave work at eight. When he checked his phone he saw
many messages from Rald, asking if he wanted to hang out. Wil
sighed. He just wanted to be left alone. He left the building, to the
pouring rain. He drenched his clothes, but didn’t care. He didn’t
bring anything with him. He got in his car and started riding; he was
heading home, but he felt doubtful. The memory of the address on
his computer bothered him like a weight of several tons. Pariser
Park wasn’t far. It was about to be nine… he was about to be late. He
stepped on the accelerator and changed his course. There wouldn’t
be anyone on the street with that rain. At least there would be
peace, and he would avoid getting home.
The park looked grey and blue that night. He went around it a
couple of times, but he didn’t see anything. There wasn’t anyone.
Maybe he wasn’t meant to find someone, but an object. Not minding
the rain, he stepped out of the car and walked to the centre of the
park.
He was looking through the floor when a phone started ringing.
Wilhelm looked around, but he was alone. The sound came from a
booth; a public phone was ringing. Wil checked his phone: it was
nine o’clock. Slowly, hesitating, he approached the booth and an-
swered the phone.
“Yes?”

4
 “Do you want to be happy?” said a female voice on the other end.
“Yes,” answered Wil.
“Do you wish for a life without sadness? Without money problems?
Without injustice? Do you wish for things to be like they are meant to
be?”
“How do I go about getting this?” said Wil.
“It’s the king,” said the voice. “He has the key. Why hasn’t anyone
seen his face? Why doesn’t he let anyone see him? Do you get it?”
“I think… I’m not sure…”
“If the king was open to his people his people would be open to
him. The king and the people would be one. Injustice could come to an
end…”
“Stop,” halted Wil. He had heard similar thing before. It was
those from below, wanting a revolution like always. He didn’t have
time to lose in chats like that. If he was caught having that kind of
thought he could lose his job, or his freedom.
“Who’s the King? What’s his name?” the voice pressed on.
“Please, I… I’m not interested… I can’t. I can’t help you.”
“You work above it all. You work on the buildings from above,
among the computers. But not even you are happy. You work where
you have access to every bit of data. Who’s the king?”
“Stop! Please.”
“Check the Prometheus entry. That’s where the answers begin.”
“Please…”
“Check it—“ And Wil hung up. He was left alone in the rain. When
the voice faded away and Wil was left alone, he surprised himself
missing it. But he couldn’t focus on thoughts like that. He ran to his
car and went back home.
That night, in bed, Wil kept thinking about the voice. He went
through every word said in his head a dozen times. Had he really

5
been contacted by the revolutionary movement? Why had they
sought him? True, he worked for the government and had access to
the computers. Could he really find the king’s face there? He
thought about the call so many times that he felt he was arguing
with the voice, and the voice started convincing him. It was true…
the king never spoke with his people. Everything was done through
the Prime Minister. Maybe if he met the king everything would be
different. His life would be different. Maybe the means to change
that were on his reach. Maybe…
That night Wilhelm didn’t sleep with his arm reaching out, trying
to grasp something that wasn’t there. That night he had found it.