End of Act 1

Thank you to everyone who has continued to follow Fractured in the past months. With over 1,000 hits from both the USA and Russia in only six months, the site has gathered far more traffic than I had expected in so short a time. I know this site doesn't have the flashy visuals and production quality of YouTube or Deviantart fictions, but I hope it has at least entertained those of you reading this message. Please continue to check in and spread the word to keep the Faction growing. Between now and the start of Act 2, there will not be regular, bi-weekly posts. Instead, I will be posting Appendix 1: Timeline of 2014-February 26, 2024. Thank you again for your support in numbers, and please return with friends and feedback!

Act 2 begins on August 1, 2012 with Sharon's desperate fight for Hawaii, the emergence of Thomas' religious extremist movement, John and Jeremy's escape through Canada, and the rise of two new leaders in the Faction; the empathetic Black Mask, and the sadistically ambitious Richard Campbell.

Revolution is a dangerous tool. It is a concept that inspires atrocity and heroism, something that stimulates the animal desire to protect what is yours and destroy what is not. Some seek power, others seek safety, and some want only to sit back and watch until they hear the cue to step on stage. For some, conflict is a game of both luck and skill, and for others it is a nightmare explained away as a third-world irregularity in this modern, civilized era.

Chapter 5-15: Queen's Gambit - The Gift of Anonymity

Paul- United Human Faction- Day 50

            The mask on the bottom of the safe was nearly identical to Julian’s, with the notable exception of its color. It was nearly pitch black, a dark, empty shell waiting for an occupant. Where Julian had succumbed to his mask’s influence, this mask would succumb to Paul’s.

            The mask was not perfect, though. It was scarred on its left cheek by the Faction insignia, and scratched on the chin, where Karen had forced it into the safe.

            Paul turned the mask around, intending to put it on immediately, but noticed white writing just above the eyes. “Appearances are everything,” it read. Karen had always said that, and even Julian had begun quoting the phrase. Paul lowered the mask, not sure if he was ready to take such an unfamiliar form, but as he looked at the ground through its eyes, he felt a wave of calm come over him. He was ready to accept his fate. Karen had died because of the corruption among her friends. They had lost the way, and it was his job to spread her word one last time.

            Paul rolled up his sleeves, revealing the cuts running up his wrist. He had hidden them since Karen’s death, fearing others would make assumptions regarding their origins. The image of Karen’s taxi detonating was stuck in his mind. He could see the flaming debris flying toward his arm. He could feel the metal slice and burn every inch of skin on his left torso. But none of it hurt. He felt no regret, no sorrow, no self-pity. His heart pumped quicker and his blood grew warm with the certainty of the righteous. She would not die in vain as long as he had his new identity.

            Paul covered his face with the mask and took in a deep breath of air. He was calm. He was focused. If appearances were everything, Paul was the jackal, waiting in the lonely shadows for his time. He would be the cold, calculating villain, but he would not abandon his morality. Anonymity had given Julian the chance to abandon his ethics and empathy, but Paul would use his mask for another reason. He would not become an animal, and he would not become a machine.

Chapter 5-14: Queen's Gambit - Misplaced Allegiances

Julian- United Human Faction- Night 49

            Julian watched as two SUVs parked in front of the Memorial Tower. These intruders didn’t mind being noticed; in fact it seemed they wanted to be noticed, maybe in the hope that someone would know exactly who took the leader of the Faction. As the soldiers exited their vehicles, the image came to Julian's mind of a bank heist from the old black-and-white films Sharon had loved before the war. These intruders would think they were the cops, making a sting on the criminals they had spent so long finding.

            Julian’s thoughts were interrupted by the crash of the door behind him. He quickly placed the mask over his face and raised his head.

            “I found you,” said Jeremy.

            The leader of the revolution, clad in thick clothing that matched his stark black hair, turned to face the intruders. He adjusted the mask’s elastic strap, then lowered his arms to his sides.

            “Do I meet your expectations?” he asked the Senator.

            “I recognize your voice. There really aren’t that many Julians Sacramento, you know,” Jeremy replied.

            John was speechless. Jeremy had never revealed any guesses about the Masked Man's identity. Before he could organize his thoughts, a pair of men grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him out of the room. Jeremy looked back calmly, recognizing the burly soldiers.

            “Major! It’s a pleasure to see you again. I knew you weren't sent to save me. In fact, your men probably think I'm a traitor, seeing how far you've followed me. You should work on your getaway plan better next time though. There’s more security here than there is in the Capitol.”

            One of the vehicles parked outside exploded, shaking the lower floors of the tower. The Major and his partner moved away from John’s unconscious body and threw the Senator to the ground.

            “You should have chosen me over Thomas, Julian. I know how to get people's feathers ruffled even when I’m behind bars,” Jeremy said before he felt the barrel of the soldier’s gun against his neck.

            “You would have betrayed us quicker than he did, Senator. You're too dedicated to the America you grew up with to accept our goals. You're too attached to a world where the upper class dictates the opinions of the lower. We're going to change that. The unification begins here, then spreads to Canada, then China, Russia, Europe. We are the enemy who will unite the world,” Julian replied, chuckling after he finished. "You wouldn't be able to play political games on a united Earth."

            John groaned and started to pull himself off the floor, catching the attention of the Major. The special operative pointed his weapon toward the doorway where his foe was rising.

            “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Julian, drawing a weapon of his own.

            Julian’s pistol was different from the others in the room. It was small and unassuming, fitting neatly in Julian’s palm. It was not intended to be a tool of murder. It was made to hold only one bullet, and a name was to be scratched in the round’s side.

            “Don’t you move!” yelled the Major, turning again a he misinterpreted the purpose of Julian’s weapon.

            The Masked Man raised the instrument to his temple and placed his finger on the trigger.

            “I’m useless to you dead, so why don’t you let me and my friend here have a little talk.”

            The Major stepped forward in obvious disagreement. Julian drew back the hammer quickly enough to emphasize its distinctive click. The Major finally understood the situation and lowered his sidearm.

            “I remember when your employer ran against me. He was an imbecile, but you got him a seat in Congress. It offended me, but was admirable on your part,” Jeremy said, standing again.

            “I never trusted you after that race. You played dirty, even at your best.”

            “A degree in psychology does that to someone like me. You, though… you played the voters like chess pieces. It was disgusting how blindly they followed your words, even when they came from your candidate's mouth. That was your problem, wasn’t it? You could never speak for yourself. You always needed someone else to say the words for you. A mask, whether human or...”

            “You’ll regret saying that!” Julian screamed, pointing his weapon at the Senator.

            “Don’t forget whose name is on the side of that bullet,” Jeremy whispered.

            The Major jumped at his distracted target, but not before John came to his senses. The veteran grabbed his sworn enemy by the waist and threw him into the sheet of glass overlooking the building's entrance. Julian fired his weapon at the soldier behind Jeremy, killing him instantly, then turned to the brutal fistfight on the window.

            The Major’s cheeks were white with terror as the John struck again and again, his face cold and indifferent. It seemed as though the veteran’s soul had been taken out, and nothing had been put in its place. John struck the Major again and again, shaking the glass each time. Jeremy watched from a distance, biding his time. One final strike shattered the window, and the Major fell to his death.

            John stood at the precipice, panting. Jeremy reached out and shook his friend’s shoulder. John collapsed to the ground, sobbing. The white mask fell to the ground.

            Jeremy turned to Julian expectantly. The founder of the revolution thought for a moment, then reached for his pocket. In his hand was a second round, perfectly fitted for his weapon. On its side was inscribed the name “ Julian,” written in what Jeremy could tell was an artist’s calligraphy.

            “Two men died in this room,” Jeremy whispered. "That fact that we're still here tells me that we're on the same side now."

           Julian turned and walked out the door, not stopping until he reached the elevator.

           "You know what you have to do," he yelled to John.

Chapter 5-13: Queen's Gambit - The Price of Victory

Sharon- United Human Faction- Night 49

            Sharon and her troops moved as cautiously as they could, staying to the brush on the side of the road. They never lit their flashlights or strayed into the street. If they were seen by the Chinese, they would be killed instantly. Sharon needed more support, if only Anning would provide it.

            Suddenly, a floodlight on the roof of the prison camp directed itself toward them. Yells became audible from the guard manning the light. A steady stream of panicked Chinese rang from the base.

            “Go loud! Open fire!” Sharon yelled, pulling her rifle's bipod onto a nearby rock.

            She took aim and fired at the man, but shifted her arm at the last moment. The glass of the light shattered and the whole side of the facility seemed to go dark for a moment. The man’s yelling stopped suddenly. Her hands shook as she loaded another round. Sharon took aim, and again missed her shot. She felt almost as though she was incapable of hitting the man in her scope. Another soldier took his own shot killing Sharon's target himself, then beckoned for her to move forward, so she obliged.

            There were far fewer guards inside the facility than she had expected. Many had fled toward Lahaina, where they would be able to evacuate the island, and others were preoccupied with the Faction troops on the mountain. Sharon walked ahead of her wary soldiers. She moved in a trancelike state, following the fresh blood and bullet holes sattered in lines across the walls as she followed the sound of footsteps at the end of the hall.

            Five prisoners ran out from past the corridor, all of them wounded. Sharon ran past as her men tended to the traumatized civilians. She chased the sound of sobbing from beyond her sight. As she rounded the corner, a Chinese soldier raised his weapon to his hostage’s head. He yelled out, tears streaming from his eyes as he attempted to negotiate for his own life. Sharon heard only the cry of a foreign tongue from a man prepared to commit a murder. She wanted justice.

            “Put down your weapon,” she said, drawing her own sidearm.

            She took a step forward, and the guard touched his weapon to the back of the prisoner’s head.

            “Please, don’t let him kill me!” cried the hostage.

            Sharon took another step forward, yelling, “Let him go, and I’ll let you live.”

            The guard did not hear her words; he only saw her actions. Desperate, he executed the prisoner. Sharon waited for the body to hit the ground. The man was dead. He needed to be avenged.

            Sharon looked the shaking guard in the eye. There was no hesitation in her motions. There was no instability in her hands.

            She brought justice by the fire, and dirtied her hands for the first time. She felt nothing, with two dead at her feet.

Chapter 5-12: Queen's Gambit - Corrupted Ideals

Paul- United Human Faction- Night 49

            Julian’s writings changed when he wrote as the Masked Man. The kind, innocent individual Paul had befriended so long ago disappeared behind the white glare. His writing became more brutal and precise the more he used the mask. Their original intent in creating the IUH was to prevent bloodshed in the wake of increasingly negative circumstances, but Julian had begun to talk about a Plan, something with sacrifice for the greater good.

            He and Sharon wanted to turn the experiment into a revolution. They wanted to destroy, so that others could rebuild. That was the purpose of his mask. He was the heartless, faceless villain. His weekly updates became colder and colder. The transcripts in the safe became less focused on ideals. They were filled with statistics.

            Karen had never wanted the Faction to grow to the scale Thomas and Julian built it up to. She had always seen it as a something that would catch a person’s eye. It was an advertisement for an idea. She used the example of the peacock’s feathers. the animal wasn't as big as its feathers advertised, and that's how it should be. The idea of the bird was greater than the bird itself. She even had a feather tattooed on her back.

            The feather emblem of the Faction, as corrupted as its appearance had become, was initially the same feather Karen had worn on her skin. The feather was not important, the Faction was important. She was important.

            Paul reached to the bottom of the box and felt something soft on his fingertips. He finally looked into the box and saw a peacock feather lying on a black form. He tossed the real feather aside, and saw the angular imprint of the Faction Feather on the cheek of a mask.

Chapter 5-11: Queen's Gambit - Death of a Hero

Julian- United Human Faction- Night 49

            Richard sat silently, listening to the nearing crashes of breaking doors. Julian watched the man intently from behind his mask. He was pathetic. A dog would be praised for such calm loyalty, but there was no dignity in the same actions of a man. A man with so powerful a name shouldn’t bow so easily.

            “Get up,” Julian hissed.

            Richard complied.

            “Now sit again,” the masked man yelled from the elevated stage.

            Richard hesitantly returned to his original position.

            “Now roll over.”

            Richard stared up with a mixture of bewilderment and offense painted on his face.

            “So you do have your limits,” Julian said.

            “I’m not a plaything,” Richard said, standing by his own accord.

            “No. You’re a leader. Prove that to me,” the Masked Man said.

            Richard stood tall.

            “I’ve already proven myself.”

            “Do it again. Maybe you’ll wear the mask when you do.”

            Richard left the room and made his way down the fire escape. His fate was clear. The mask did not belong in the hands of a pathetic college student and his disturbed little group of friends. Richard had always worshiped the image of the mask. It was the only thing he had ever worshiped, and now he knew why. He was destined to take the mask from the tiny man who stood in the room behind, but only when the time was right.

            Julian hoped with all his heart that he would be able to take the mask off for the last time. One night was all he could take.

5-10: Queen's Gambit - The Last Straw

Paul- United Human Faction- Night 49

            There was an obvious shift in the mood of their site after Thomas started making himself useful. The color palette brightened significantly, and, more noticeably, the name changed. They were no longer a society of thinkers searching for a way out of the dark future; they were a Faction in a war of wills. Thomas used his “contacts” and “affiliates” to spread the word, and many ex-military militias enlisted immediately.

            “The Inalienable Atheist” was what Thomas called himself. There were tens of posts in the box labeled with the hideously pompous name. It was the only thing Paul had every truly despised about the man. It was not a matter of ideology; Paul was agnostic, after all. Instead, Paul hated the feeling that Thomas believed his ideas were the only ones worth investigating. Everyone else was a tool for use in Thomas' mind. At the bottom of the pile of the blogger’s artifacts was another note written on an index card. On it was written “I knew there was something wrong with that man.”

            The next four folders were lists of organizations the Faction had dismantled after Thomas’ activity. Most of the names were recognizable. There were businesses, crime families, and even one or two South American governments. There were outliers, though. Paul didn’t recognize the names of several groups at first, but they fit into a pattern. Thomas had been tearing apart religious organizations, including the one Carlos had been a part of in Ecuador. Another index card followed the files. Only one name was visible.

            “The House of Lost Shepherds”

            Thomas had been using pain. He was no different from Richard, and never had been. Paul had always trusted the man, but he knew Julian had invested a degree of hatred into his publicist. Now Paul knew why he had despised Thomas’ moniker.

            Karen had known all along.

            The last document in Thomas’ file was a photograph. It showed a car burning in the middle of the desert. In the corner was written: “Love, Tommy.”

            Paul’s scars burned with the memory of what had happened because of Karen’s intuition. She had figured Thomas out, and paid for it with her life. Sharon had been right all along. For anything to change, everyone needed to get their hands dirty. Paul was finally ready to take his share of the dirt.

Chapter 5-9: Queen's Gambit - Beachhead

Sharon- United Human Faction- Night 49

            Sharon’s sailboat beached itself on the shore of Maui in a stunning impact. The dark bow of the vessel was opened, letting in a flood of light and sound. The men scrambled out, one reaching down to help Sharon escape into the brush. Gunshots and explosions plastered the sky in a horrific light show on the side of the volcano, but Sharon’s eyes were drawn to sustained light at the end of the road. The shape of a large building was broken up by wire and the silhouettes of her enemies.

            Half of her team joined the other landing parties, rushing into the action and trying to secure the high ground. The others looked to their leader, waiting for instructions. She walked back to the boat and pulled out the Ham radio and a large rifle. Looking through the scope, she could identify exactly why the structure seemed so out of place. It was one of the island's Chinese prison camps. Soldiers stood their ground, even when the Faction took up positions above them. They had been told to protect the location at all costs.

            “This is Beachhead 1 Actual to Admiral Anning, respond immediately!” she yelled as soon as she could find the frequency.

            The hail was met with silence. Sharon had to assume the worst. She changed frequencies and attempted to contact her second Admiral. Her aging friend replied, even in the heat of battle.

            “Admiral, I need to report the position of a prison camp,” she cried desperately. “Someone give me a map,” she added to her troops.

            After reporting the location, she looked through the scope of her rifle. In the distance, she could still only see the dark shapes of the soldiers moving about the building. The scene was chaotic, but when she recognized the outer courtyard, a disturbing picture began to form. She could see two lines, one of which was obviously made up of Chinese soldiers. They were moving prisoners from one side of the facility to the other, but one of the prisoners had other plans. A small shadow burst from the line and was followed by a blast of light. The face of one of the Chinese men became visible, cold and unfeeling from Sharon’s perspective. Left in the dark was the crumpled figure he had struck down.

            Sharon dropped her weapon and reached again for the radio.

            “This is a priority one message to all troops on the western side of Maui. Abandon combat operations and move to attack the prison camps.”

            “Negative,” said Admiral Anning, finally replying to Sharon’s hail minutes earlier. “All troops keep to your planned objectives.”

            Sharon yelled out in rage and threw the radio into the road. Her words to Paul echoed in her mind.

            “Nothing changes when you sit back. For anything to happen, we all need to get our hands dirty.”

            Sharon faced her men. They would do what they believed was right, and they would get their hands dirty.