Opus Veda

Kasia necked an energy drink and dived into a club. Her match was bad - less attractive than his photos as they often were. He clung from behind and panted away, inexperienced and exposed as one who rarely matched. He tried pushing Kasia towards intimate acts. Irritated, she pressed him against the wall and finished him with her hand, knowing he'd lose interest and leave. Her date ended as expected: without orgasm, finding one on her own in the toilet.

The tube got stuck at Westminster - a station she wouldn't be allowed out of - as rain breached drains and gushed through the tunnels. Ads switched to streamers reacting to the weather, wearing sponsor clothes. Kasia vacantly pinged emojis at those she liked. One slipped up politically, mocking how the season only harmed poorer homes. Kasia joined the millions unfollowing this doomed influencer, who disconnected in ruins.

Boxed into a carriage, she thought about changing her employment status. It itched - the chance for a spike of attention. But she couldn't have anyone at home finding out yet. Not until she collected herself.

The uncertain future hit her. Angst swelled up in waves. What could she do? All paths demanded she spend: buy a match at a club; buy a dirtier match at a better club; buy an e-book, '10 steps to achieve something you need to want'; become rich, become influential, become happy. There were pills on sale too - new pills, illegal pills, pills with organic matter, pills with influencer endorsement. And cosmetics real and digital: virtual items and porn avatars; collectible vinyl figures of celebrities, characters, and mash-ups of both. The growing content she had to watch, on a growing list of subscription-streaming platforms.

It was all on Kasia to fix. A private problem no one else had obligation to help with. Happy was a state she had to find on her own. Unless she had money to spend, she'd neither have it, nor deserve it.

The train jerked into action. Kasia messaged Sermon, asking about Luca but hoping for a longer chat to mention her problems. Sermon merely replied 'no word yet' with a concerned emoji. She didn't know what to put back.

Did she want to talk to him? He would only mutter clichéd advice and change topics. Imany would patronise and lecture. Eva wouldn't understand, and Kasia refused to become her own mother - dumping her problems on her child. Leah could work, but it was too soon to try.

She made it to Kendi Estate. Imany was on the first floor walkway, watching rain fall.

"Guess your laundry empire's done now win'ahs coomin'?"

"You said the same thing last year," Imany toked her vape, "it's the floods I'm worried about. Apparently gonna be the highest on record, like the last few times."

Kasia surveyed the ground floor. A thin blanket of water flowed over the plaza. Ground floor residents rushed to sandbag their homes, as higher floor fortunates milled on walkways, mindlessly watching.

"Look at that bellend look," Imany tutted. Across the estate, Jason leant off a barrier to bark orders at people below him.

"What is he doing?" Kasia laughed under her breath, "he isn't even on ground floor."

"He's been throwin' his weight around less since our taxi ride. Still hasn't said what happened," Imany blew steam into the square and checked Kasia up and down, "what you doin' 'ere anyway? Finished work early?"

"No work today. I went to find Eva's birthday present."

Imany sniffed the air, "during or after your hookup?"

Kasia flipped her middle finger and continued home.

Music blared from the TV. Eva ripped her headset off.

"Kurva macz mama you scared the shit out of me!"

"I'm sorry!" Kasia shook her umbrella in the sink and frowned at the TV, "why've you got it on so loud?"

"I dunno, just wanted to shut the rain out..." Eva hid her headset away, "why you here, I thought you had work?"

"It closed 'cause of the weather. They shoulda let us work from home like a normal company hey?"

"Yea well knock next time! I coulda been watching porn or something, can you imagine being walked in on?"

"Sadly I can," Kasia started preparing tea, "who'd be your go to then? Gonna save up for an avatar?"

"I'd go for that captain fella you met, the dark revolution guy!"

Eva prattled on about her day, unaware of her blunder as Kasia made tea in a sulk. Kasia set down styrene cups of wonton soup and gave Eva the dried dim sum. Eva plopped them in and watched them expand.

"Are you excited for your birthday Evie!?" Kasia sat with her and laid out plastic spoons, "it's nearly here!"

"As long as you get me that rabbit we saw in Mayfair, sure."

"We can't have a pet Evie... you know they're a bad idea in a place like this they're so expensive!"

"You seem pretty flush at the minute…" Eva slouched in her seat and pouted at her phone.

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"I work hard for us to have that money."

"It's your money though ain't it. Enough of it gets shagged away in some club."

"Child!" Kasia slapped Eva's hand before she could withdraw it, "people need to meet and unwind sometimes, okay? One day you will as well."

Eva blew her tongue between two fingers. She switched to Polish, playing the guilt card.

"You need to unwind a lot, it seems to me. I keep waiting so we can watch our shows together, then I fall asleep. When I wake you are there under me."

Kasia shrunk. She went to take Eva's hand but checked herself and patted it.

"You are right my daughter. I am sorry for being unavailable. I promise, it is to make your birthday amazing."

Eva wagged an accusing finger at the timetable on the fridge, "you have work on my birthday! What is the point in money if we cannot enjoy it?"

Kasia was desperate to confess the truth. There was no work: she was going to buy a rabbit and come home early with it. Saying anything would ruin the surprise. They only had to wait a few days. She rested her chin on her hands.

"I am here now. What shall we do together?"

"No not now you dick!" Eva stuffed her dim sum down and folded her arms, "I'm still mad at'cha."

"You've been sat indoors all day. What you need is… a little English monsoon!" Kasia grabbed the umbrella and shook it at Eva, who screeched and giggled as water sprinkled their flat.

* * *

War fermented. From Leeds the revolution probed east. Secretary-General Sung led the republican defence in person, as improvised rockets whizzed and thumped into the fields around him.

The follow up was equally unconvincing - little more than the rattling of distant machine guns and a few forgettable casualties.

Sung recognised a feint attack. He sped half his brigade to Stoke, south of revolution territory, where he expected the real attack. If they broke through there, Birmingham would follow. Its population would be a significant Red recruiting ground.

The reports he started hearing confirmed it. Mobs were springing up in the midlands and spreading across the nation. Crowds donned red hoodies as an excuse to riot, destroy cars, loot businesses, and burn homes. Police and MoD dug in for a hard week; society's elites bunkered behind gated communes and private security. The few republicans with heavier hearts - the President amongst them - watched with powerless shame as civilians turned inwards and destroyed themselves.

But the revolution didn't move south as Sung had assumed. They struck north, and the first major losses piled.

In Blackpool the revolution's third division struck overnight. They muffled their first targets and pulled them into the alleys, gutting them over gorged drains. The police mobilised too late. Infiltrators had rigged their cars, tripping explosives if anyone approached. Gurkha's on the street picked officers off at leisure. Each carried an underslung scrambler-dart. Drones trying to rise through the rain were speared by these shrieking missiles. Their inert bulks thundered into the town below.

Third Division's leader, Marshal Bhandari, approached the councillor's villa. Compared to his heroic colleagues Bhandari was eerily unassuming, wearing the same commando kit as his men, casual in his camo bucket hat, red warpaint over his face.

He stared his target down, stroking the gate's iron bars, as soldiers fused it open.

It crashed away. He advanced rifle-forward through flying sparks. The councillor watched her petrified reflection in the pool, her back to him. Bhandari gunned down her security in quick bursts and closed the distance. As she turned, he swiped her neck with his bayonet, toppling her into the pool with arcing ribbons of red. From inside the villa her family screamed. He ordered them dealt with.

Another squad found Blackpool's MP and dragged him from a nightclub. When the Gurkhas saw the age of his match, they dragged him back in. They stretched his limbs in an 'X', and with curved kukris tore his genitalia away as if peeling a label off. A phone recorded; the MP's fate trended; a billion viewers laughed.

One target remained. Third Division surrounded the pier where a Chinese frigate moored. The ship's commander departed for Liverpool without fighting. He didn't want Nepalese spectres clambering onboard, where he and his crew couldn't get away.

Blackpool surrendered. Red loyalists were installed to lift England's worst ghost town from the tomb England buried it in. And now Revolution Britannia had access to the sea. If they found the right ally, supplies had a way in. Early victory depended on it.

The rioting mobs swelled in numbers, confidence, and power. Carnage spread.

President Søreni could hide it no longer.

He declared civil war.

Marshal Ferdinand was not cheering. Second Division had a regiment in London - a fragile foothold the Met could attack now their stalemate was over. He had tasked Captain Varma with holding the palace, tying up Westminster when Ferdinand attacked with the vanguard. But right now, Ferdinand had learnt, Varma was attacking a hospital.

It was unthinkable, it left Kensington unguarded, and it was happening behind Ferdinand's back.

* * *

"Get off me!" Sermon kicked at the security guards. Rain sheared into them. The smug receptionist stopped at the door, keeping dry, smiling as she had during Sermon's last visit. The hospital forecourt was empty, dark, and drowned.

"I did warn you what would happen if you were difficult sir!" the receptionist yelled through the torrent, "you brought this on yourself!"

"Where is he!? I have a right to see him! I have a right to be 'ere! Luca!"

Security pinned him against wet concrete and laughed together.

"Could have picked a better day mate, we're gettin' soaked out 'ere."

Sermon wriggled and tried to face them.

"Fellas look. I swear I just wanna visit someone, she won't let me-"

"Yea yea we hear it every day... Folks blag their way inside, then once they're in they play the sob story for some free 'ealthcare."

"I don't need healthcare I just wanna see a patient he's literally there!"

"Yup that's one of the more common ones. Luca was it? Is Luca slang for PrEP? Or are you after some food?"

"Yea sorry boss," the other guard prodded Sermon's cheek, "don't get watermelon on the NHS."

Sermon stopped wriggling, "don't get medication neither you fuckin' kinder egg."

"What did you call me!?"

"That's enough!" the receptionist stepped outside, squinted at the rain, and stepped back, "if you cause any more trouble sir you will be detained!"

A loud bang. Security flung back. Sermon saw the receptionist's stare - the same shocked eyes he'd seen in Luca.

Another bang. And a third. The receptionist tumbled. The guards slumped down the doors.

Sermon raised his hands and turned.

Varma held his pistol aloft. Its barrel smoked in the rain. Water clattered against his silver helmet. Under it's brim Sermon could see only a scowl of disgust.

Pierce appeared from the shadows, pumping a giant shotgun. Another revolutionary stepped out, and more, until the entire regiment stood in rank.

Trumpets blared. The Union Flag unfurled. The regiment levelled its weapons, raised the battle cry, and surged forward.