Grey

Grey.

Colour? What does it mean? What purpose does it serve? Very few people were doing okay. Only the sociopath and his liaison were levelheaded. Everyone else, the youthful especially, had some type of mental illness. If not, a health issue brought about by high stress levels.

Pinpointing the cause of all this was easy. Trying to get rid of it was what was putting everyone through hell. It didn’t help that he was a genius. In the hands of a murderous, soulless, draconian, greedy, merciless, heartless Makavelian, genius could only result in disaster. Now imagining having such a person as a leader. Genius is probably a stretch. He was just a soulless dealer.

“Aaaarrgghhh! Why must you scribble with so much force? Can’t a girl just enjoy this bleak view for a second?”

He frowns at her. “We’re not even human. Or tactile. How is it that you still display the human tendency of irritation?”

Not once did he look up from his journal. Gen only paused momentarily to respond. Even so, his focus was squarely on writing. The sound of his pen scribbling against paper was the only thing that gave the landscape some character. Otherwise, everything had a desaturation to it. Desaturation in color, character, joy… in life. Even the tree he was leaning against barely felt alive. It was dry and husky. The wind (if it could be called that) wailed. Literally. It sounded like a bereaved mother singing a soulful dirge for her departed young one.

Not that any of this affected either him or Z. They were immune. They had a job to do. There was no time to wallow around in depression.

“Gen,” Z begins. She props herself up on her elbows. “You are a perfect archetype of a human male. I would’ve said man, but I’m not trying to get us canceled. You act cool and aloof, but it’s so easy to tell that you’re disturbed. You act as if emotion is a disease and refrain from expressing it, even though you know it’s unhealthy. All you want to focus on is ‘the job’. You keep trying to define it, categorize it and break it down as if this were an engineering problem.

Have you ever considered that these emotions are part of the job? Sure, we don’t necessarily own nor inspire these emotions. But we feel them nonetheless. Why do you think that is?”

The impartiality in her voice made him uneasy. When she was highly emotional and gung ho due to the atrocities committed by the sycophant government, it gave him a sense of urgency. It inspired him to work harder. Maybe being exposed to it so much with no escape had made her numb. That worried him.

“It’s part of the job. A test. Not so much the purpose. If we can overcome the overwhelming nature of these emotions, we can serve much more effectively. What makes these emotions we feel so different from the tests we face as we progress?” he responds.

“Dude… Like you said, we aren’t even human. You sound just like one of them. The types that humans call philosophers. Since when do we even have tests? When have we ever had tests? What even are we? All we know is that we aren’t human. We just spawned here, wherever this is and… And here we are. Nothing makes sense. Why would I try to employ rationality under these circumstances?”

Gen takes a moment before responding. “Do you think that finding a purpose for existence is also a human trait?”

Z plops back down onto the grey sand. A dull ‘tiff!’ sounds from the impact. “Who knows? Possibly. I am yet to read a philosophy book written by an orangutan.”

Gen chuckles. Z shoots up and frowns at him.

“Did you just laugh?” she asks.

“Um… Yes?” Gen replies.

A slow beaming smiles cuts across her face. Her eyes become glossy.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh,” she says. Tears well up in her eyes. With a shaky voice she continues, “I like your laugh.”

Z’s palms become wet as she wipes the rivulets of tears from her cheeks. She was simultaneously sobbing and laughing and Gen wasn’t sure what to make of it. At least he understood the relief she was experiencing. They were born from rage and resolve. Almost immediately, it was turned into fear, heartbreak and sorrow. Loud pangs of despair followed, coming in waves. Over time, it started giving way to indifference. One human can only feel so much, yet they felt the pain of a whole generation. It became even more, with even the older generations now joining in. No wonder it was overwhelming for Z to experience a simple laugh.

They had hardly experienced any positivity since coming into existence. All they had known to do, up until that point, was fight and keep their resolve strong despite the circumstances. Gen smiles. A warm, genuine, joyful one.

“I have to admit, this Hueco Mundo-ass looking place does seep at whatever little positivity that exists within. I’m sure dementors would love this place,” Gen says.

Z frowns at him. Then she guffaws. “Oh my goodness! You are such a nerd!”

“How dare you,” Gen says sarcastically. “I am cultured. Verily so. It is beyond me how you think being ‘normal’ is a better alternative. I would rather read the Orangutan’s philosophy book.”

“Kwenda uko!”

Gen takes a slap to the arm. “Do you know what the philosophy book by the orangutan would be called?”

“What?”

“Orange is the new black,” Z beams.

Gen buries his face in his hands.

“Kwenda ukooo! That was a good one. And you know it,” Z yells at him.

Gen shakes his head in disbelief. His shoulders bounce as he chuckles at the stupidity of the joke.

“KUMEKUCHAAAAA!!!”

Superpowers would be something to ogle at in usual moments. Like teleporting from one spot to another and wondering ‘HOW THE F DID I DO THAT?’. Neither Z nor Gen had noticed what happened. All they were aware of was that there was someone there other than them. A strange person. Or thing. One moment, they were enjoying the comfort of laughs and telling each other dumb jokes. The next, someone in a cardboard mask was shouting at them. The next, they were about a dozen steps away, staring in shock at the character standing where they had been seated.

“Don’t do that, guys!” The character whines. “I have been waiting for a long time to finally meet you.”

Mouths agape and eyes bulging was the reply.

“Gen and Z!” suddenly the person was right in front of them. They trip backwards, Gen loses his balance and topples over. They hadn’t seen the person move towards them. They had just appeared. “Why are you standing so far away? I thought you wanted me here.”

For some reason, this person was very loud. The abruptness of it all is what threw Gen and Z off the most.

“Who are you?” Z asks.

“Huh?” the person replies.

“Who are you?” Z shouts.

“Geez! You don’t have to be so loud,” the person whines. Gen frowns at the irony.

The person’s robes billow as they spin around in a bizarre dance. They stop dramatically and strike an awkward pose.

“My name is Uki!”

Gen and Z glance at each other. How did this one have a name already?