Rising Tomorrow (Roc de Chere Book 1) by Mariana Morgan (essential reading txt) 📕

Watching Eloise grapple with her sanity made Gonzalez acutely aware of how insanely far his instincts had taken him. He felt some regret for what he had allowed to happen, but he was firmly pushing any personal emotions away. He would have plenty of time to mentally beat himself up for it later.

For now, focus! he ordered himself.

Believing that the end justified the means was dangerous, but with so many atrocities committed in the name of upholding the World Government’s and Afro-European Alliance’s philosophies and their twisted values, what was acceptable seemed to have changed with time. The changes weren’t necessarily for the better, but this wasn’t the time to ponder ethics and morality.

Before the 3D viewing, Gonzalez had browsed through the 2D images long enough to know what to expect. He had fervently hoped it would snap Eloise out of her Elite bubble. That it would shock her into genuinely wanting to help them. That it would motivate her to care, to feel something! He needed her to understand why what they were after was so important. He needed her to see Leeches as human beings with the same rights as the Elite.

I need her to extend the definition of ‘human being’ to encompass Leeches.

The end results were rather more violent than he had expected, but a short, sharp shock was a valid way to jerk someone awake, and he had used it often before. Though never on a civilian, now that he thought about it.

I wonder if I’m seeing myself as a self-entitled Elite asshole who can get away with anything, or whether I’m simply assuming that Ms Moretti, in her infinite weirdness, won’t have it in herself to complain. I would like to think that I simply don’t care about personal or professional consequences, that everything I’m doing is in the name of fighting the System, but I’m not deluded enough to deny that my own Elite heritage and the safety it offers are contributing to how… callous I have been with her.

‘Why?’ Eloise whispered, bringing Gonzalez’s attention back into the room. It was no longer the desperate wail. She sounded so defeated that he struggled to suppress a wince.

It wasn’t clear whether the Elite woman was asking why Gonzalez had done what he had or why someone would use her VRPs for abuse and violence. The first made more sense, given the personal nature of the experience, so it was probably the latter, given how rarely things ever made sense with Eloise Moretti.

Before Gonzalez could reply, Eloise lifted her head, her eyes haunted, and stared at him.

‘It’s not just this one VRP, is it? And it’s not just in VR…’ Her soft voice trailed off. It felt like part of her had died. The life she knew lay in ruins, and there was no hope. She might have been fifty-something years old, but in a way, only a few days ago she had been a child—naive and inexperienced. Now, it was all shattered.

That bloody bastard,Ingram thought, equally amused and impressed, has actually done it again. How on earth does he always get the best out of everyone? How does he know what to do? He acts like a monster, and the Elite woman snaps back to reality as if a button had been pushed. Freaking magic.

‘No,’ Gonzalez replied levelly. ‘It’s not just VR.’ He refrained from using any reassuring words or gestures, and Ingram followed suit. She sat quietly, unsure whether she should be in the room, trying not to breathe too loudly in case it disturbed whatever was going on.

‘Why… It doesn’t make any sense,’ Eloise whispered, staring into her tea again.

Inside, decades of conditioning were waging a war.

Leeches are second-tier citizens.

They brought that upon themselves. They deserve charity, maybe pity, but they are not equals. If they were equals, they would try harder to do something with their lives. They must be content living like parasites. They must be lazy. They clearly—

But at the same time, the total ignorance that… that instructor showed, having smashed someone’s head into a metal pole… He didn’t fear the consequences. He just did it; it looked so natural, so… casual. And the other man, the Leech, made a choice to be there. What could possibly force someone to choose that? What other, worse life was the Leech escaping from?

‘Why do they allow this?’ she whispered, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. ‘Leeches, I mean—why don’t they, I don’t know, rebel, or something?’

Despite the sympathy she had developed for the Elite woman, Ingram found herself bristling inside. Again.

‘And just how do you expect that to work?’ she said coldly before she could bite her tongue. ‘Would you like them to use their starving and sick children as cannon fodder? Or maybe I’m missing some magical way in which they can turn their hatred into food and resources so they can strike back?’

‘Sarge,’ Gonzalez warned Ingram quietly, but made no gesture to stop her.

Ingram took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a few heartbeats.

‘Of course they try,’ she continued after a moment, more calmly. ‘There are rebellions. There are freedom fighters who sacrifice what little they have to make a change. But it is a drop in the ocean. Whatever they do is squashed violently by the Elite, often with bloodshed. The Elite don’t really care if only the freedom fighters suffer—in fact, the more innocent families get caught up in retaliations, the better, as far as they’re concerned. It sets the Leeches against each other. A filthy, embarrassing little problem that sorts itself out while the Elite get to say, “I told you so, they’re useless, violent barbarians.”

‘Anything a Leech does is wrong. They stay quiet; they obviously must like the life they live. They fight for the right to have a dignified life; they are obviously terrorists. There are freedom fighters banding together to protect the lives of Leeches, but they have no resources. They can