Echoes of the Unknown

Echoes of the Unknown

I was an expert in invisibility. Some people feared the shadows; I was the shadows. I wore them like tailored coats nailed into my DNA. I hated attention and enjoyed it when people forgot me. I didn’t choose to be that way. I was made to be that way– but I wasn’t always that way. In fact, I never was that way, but I was, and I never wanted to be that way, but I did. It’s funny how one thing can be true, yet false, yet true altogether.

I, Johnny, once wanted to be a kid– or at least, I thought I wanted to be a kid. But really, all I wanted was a life- an actual life- to be normal- to maybe play on a trampoline like a normal seven-year-old, or ride a bike like an average ten-year-old, or maybe even dare to work a part-time summer job at a fast food restaurant like a typical fourteen-year-old, but sometimes life isn’t fair. Things happen, and sometimes we just have to embrace them– or at least pretend to. You don’t choose the house you’re born into– the family you’re raised in– but what if, hypothetically, you could?

What if your family didn’t obliterate every dream of yours? What if your family allowed you to be you– the real you? Welcome to the Chasima family– the product of two shadows– where each chooses his fate and none survives his choice.

It wasn’t supposed to happen– I wasn’t supposed to die. I mean, sixteen isn’t the typical age to die. Right?

I, Johnny Chasima, wasn’t the adventurous type. As the only child of an ex-senator, I was deeply acquainted with politics. When my father was fired without severance or pay after his twenty-one years of service to the Dorwegien government, I thought countries should be run by humans. At least, they should be…

It was only supposed to be a signature. Everyone, including me, knew that man should have control over his own handiwork.

“In 500 meters, turn right.” The automated voice from the dashboard of my Kalveria SUV was smooth, lazy, and entirely worth the luxury. My father, Donald Chasima, fought bitterly against his grandfather, Sir Lewis, signing away 750 million dorris from our family’s trust to a wonky, struggling tech company. But within a few months, that gamble became the source of a 320 billion dorris empire. Our initially affluent empire was now worth more than half of Dorweg’s entire GDP. The Chasima bot had integrated itself into almost every aspect of Earth- from GPS systems to customer service to food processing and so much more. It was the ultimate heirloom. Then the glitch happened.

Sir Lewis was never one to read the fine print of a contract. He just skimmed through the parts he deemed important– just like he skimmed past us shadows, heard the sales pitches, and gave James Daldwin, his Chief Operating Officer and personal assistant, his signet ring to stamp on the dotted line, and that’s how we Chasimas got much of our fortune. No one has any record of Sir Lewis’ family before him. He was an only child who mysteriously rose to the throne, and his parents simply dwindled into the unknown– like shadows in the night. I guess that makes us Chasimas products of two shadows. Now, if the late Sir Lewis had the chance to go back in time and change a thing or two, he would have read the fine print of the contract. He thought he was signing away 750 million dorris for quick profit, but really, he was signing away his destiny, and I knew it. I knew from the moment that wonky tech founder set foot in the Chasima Palace that there was something off about him, and I’m never wrong. But I’m a shadow, and shadows have nothing to say. Back then, I still believed history was made by kings. I learned too late that it was written by people who signed contracts.

It’s sickening what some people would do for more money. When the glitch occurred, my great-grandfather didn’t want to waste an extra fifteen million dorris– the amount of money we spent on a typical shopping spree– fixing it. So he left it, shunning the harm the Chasima bot’s glitch was inflicting on mankind. When the bot first committed manslaughter, we simply raised the security of our estates. We Chasimas were too proud to admit defeat, and we couldn’t exactly arrest a bot for committing a crime. We had power from Sir Lewis’ throne, but the bot brought money– and quickly. Admitting defeat would diminish our royal influence and stop most of our money from flowing into our accounts, and we simply couldn’t let that happen.

So we forced the family of the bot’s first victim to sign an NDA in exchange for twenty-five million dorris– more than the amount of money we thought it would take to fix the glitch. When the bot infiltrated James Daldwin’s state car through its GPS, flipping it off a bridge and into the Dorrin Ocean, Sir Lewis simply forced another NDA, signed another multimillion dorris check, and raised the security of our estates. That marked the birth of the Great Slaughter. The Chasima bot was the predator, and man was its prey.

“You have ten seconds to write your signature, or you’ll never see daylight again”. I almost wish I’d never snuck up on my father to surprise him in his office. The sight of my father’s guards holding a sobbing woman at gunpoint was unbearable to watch. I wanted to do something, but I couldn’t. I wanted to scream– to talk– to say something– to maybe even remind my father that the grieving woman has a name– a family– a life. But I don’t– because royal shadows don’t speak. The woman’s pen touches the beginning of the signature line. Then she hesitates, overcome with tears. I hear two quiet but unmistakable clicks. The woman never comes out of that office, and my father walks past me like nothing ever happened. So I do the same.

Despite being stripped of his highly coveted position as Dorwegia's senator, Donald Chasima, to the terror of many Dorwegians, still held significant power through his royal blood, and he sure did know how to take advantage of it. I was the heir to my grandmother’s finance company, but, being my legal guardian, Donald remained as its CEO for over fifteen years before selling it to a Kordonian billionaire so I could have nothing to inherit as he accepted his royal duties and became Dorwegia’s senator. I knew he would use the information I gave him for nothing good, but fifteen year old me naively helped him determine the long-term financial impacts of giving out the checks, and according to my calculations, within twenty-three years of us giving them out, our fortune would dwindle to almost nothing, and we would have little dominance over Dorweg. So, he, with the approval of Sir Lewis, stopped the checks from being sent to grieving families and bound Dorweg’s people with threats of death, should they dare hint at how their loved ones died or fail to use the Chasima bot. It was, therefore, no surprise when Donald met with Daniel Hermes, founder of the tech company that invented the Chasima bot, in the Chasima tower.

“Five billion dorris”. Donald slams a check plated in gold on Chasima Automated Inc.’s CEO’s desk. “Donald, you know I don’t want your money, but are you sure you want me to hack your own father’s robotic toothbrush and grandfather’s automated golden spoon in exchange for power?” asks an intrigued Daniel Hermes. “And what exactly do you expect a spoon and a toothbrush to accomplish other than cutting out your sixty-three year old father’s teeth and damaging your grandfather’s royal cereal?” Daniel stifles a laugh as Donald’s face reddens. “Don’t test me, Daniel. I don’t want you to temporarily damage my ancestors. I want them obliterated- removed- extinct. I want you to kill my father and grandfather so I can rule on Dorweg’s throne.” Donald slides the golden check closer to Daniel Hermes. “And you have up till tonight”.

“My grandfather never wanted influence. He was a man with a golden heart. He was content with horse-racing and farming on his little countryside home. He turned down countless top-tier opportunities in his lifetime because he didn’t care about money. He just wanted to do good. He donated every single dorris of his royal income to local charities and orphanages. He even gave his royal title of Chief Prince to his son, my father, Donald Chasima. He planted the seed in me for music and taught me to love literature. He was my only real friend when everyone else thought I was stuck up. I miss him a lot, and I know life will never be the same without him, but I trust that he’s in a better place and is looking down at me, proud of his grandson.” I rushed off the platform in tears. I wished that I didn’t have to attend my grandfather’s funeral. I could handle Sir Lewis ’-I never really knew my great-grandfather, but my grandfather was my only buddy- the only person I confided in and could run to when life got hard. And there- in the front row of his own father’s funeral- was Donald Chasima- laughing, talking, and slapping hands with old friends from his Yale- a university that once existed when the United States once existed. I wondered how he could sit through his dad’s funeral without caring or shedding a tear.

Sir Lewis Chasima once told Charles Newman– his former Chief Operating Officer before the late James Daldwin- “Search a man’s office and you’ll find out who he truly is.” Five weeks later, Charles Newman mysteriously vanished from Dorweg.

So I checked my father’s office and saw a returned five billion dorris check from Daniel Hermes. Could the check have anything to do with the king and his son dying on the same day? I had no clue.

“Oh, Johnny. You can be so naive sometimes that it amuses me. It was supposed to be a simple hack. One thing led to another, which led to another, and here we are.” My father seemed to search my eyes, and I searched his. All I saw was a hardened criminal with no sign of remorse.

No one notices the shadows around them when they say stuff. It wasn’t long before he told me, his only child, of the atrocities he had committed in exchange for power. Shadows are supposed to be harmless and silent. We shadows were created to be ignored. Sometimes, being underestimated is our greatest weapon.

Sickened by the truth, I took the Chasima jet I had been gifted for my fifteenth birthday to see Daniel Hermes. From that point on, I only wanted one thing– revenge– revenge for my grandfather, who wanted nothing to do with the Chasima royalty– revenge for my great-grandfather who was easily mislead– revenge for the weeping woman helt between two guards at gunpoint– revenge for the millions of lives Daniel Hermes had taken; and he only way for me to get revenge was to see the body of the founder of the Chasima bot lying flat on his office’s floor.

But there was a thing or two I didn’t know. If I had, I would have never boarded that flight or allowed James Daldwin to use my great-grandfather’s signature to sign the contract. The funny thing about dying is that all the warnings suddenly become obvious. Daniel Hermes never wanted money. In fact, he publicly disposed of his 10% cut from creating the Chasima bot. All he wanted was power– the thrill of knowing he could control Earth’s fate. The Chasima bot gave him both power and knowledge. Its glitch was never a glitch. It was a predetermined experiment he had initiated through the power of his own brain. The bot had enabled him to read minds, see the future, and determine potential threats. The Chasima royalty were puppets in his power. He knew, from the moment I was gifted the jet, that I would attempt to use it to pay him a revengeful visit. I thought that if my father was too powerful to be harmed, I could at least harm the tech startup's founder to repay him for partnering in the deaths of my grandfather and great-grandfather. But Daniel, being a genius, had been waiting for me for days before King Lewis and his son died. I don’t know what made me do it. Maybe it was because of the deaths of millions of innocent people or my impulsive ego, but the moment I, Johnny Chasima, stepped off the jet, I stared Death in his face and charged at him.

What then happened to Dorweg and the rest of the Chasima family? No one knows. They faded away with time. They were, after all, the product of two shadows.

But I’m no David and Death is no Goliath. I was simply another chess piece on Daniel Hermes’ board.

Now all I see is nothing. I do nothing these days but lie still and daydream. I’ve heard of life after death, but if this is life, then life sucks. I wish they’d placed me in a glass box in a movie theater and left my eyes open. At least then I’d see something and feel emotions. But all I do is wait- wait for something to happen- wait for me to do something good and go to heaven, or bad and go to the unknown. Which will I choose from six feet below Earth’s surface? I have no sweet clue. But I guess I have forever to decide.