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Rainbow Girl by Alys Part 1 The brakes screeched, and the faint acrid smell of ozone assaulted my senses, as the intercity train slowed down coming into Pen-y-bont station. The train came to a stop with a slight shudder. The automatic doors beeped their warning and then slid smoothly open. A few people, civilians and militia alighted and others came on to take their place. The carriage TV's , either side of the carriage, sounded a louder than usual attention grabbing whistle. A well-dressed male announcer wearing the New Hope armband, encouraged but not compulsory, came in view. "Good afternoon viewers, brothers and sisters. This is the 4pm news update on NH1, sponsored today by Blair's Laxatives. First the headlines, the debate on the government's emergency consolidation bill has just begun, the winner of this year's big Sister has been announced and the fine, warm weather is set to continue. Now we go live to our Westminster studio to follow the debate on the ......................" I tuned out and let the announcer's voice drift into the background. I snuggled up to Hywel's side my head resting on his shoulder. His left arm pulled me a little closer. I felt his strong chest pressing against my breasts. I discreetly stroked his leg. We had to be careful since the new Moral Behaviour act discouraged exuberant public displays of affection. "I love the weekend," said Hywel. "Yes me too," I replied. "I really miss my parents in the week. Webcams are no substitute for being there with them" "Yes," I agreed, "I wish I could see mine more often. It's the shame that the only school worth going to is so far away from home" ".... The Prime Minister, Mrs Cherie Blair, explained the need for the Consolidation Bill in the light of increased activity by the Mudiad terrorist group, she then went on to castigate all of the opposition parties for not having their leaders present...." "Why do you think there are no other wide-cric schools in Wales?," asked Hywel "I don't know," I replied, "but I am glad we don't have to be militia members in our school" "Yes me too, by the way my parents are thinking of trying to find me new lodgings, one where I can have friends to stay after 7pm and even have a girlfriend to visit," said Hywel smiling at me. "That would be lovely, but at least you can have visitors. Mrs Parry doesn't let us girls have any! And don't you mean that you are hoping to PERSUADE your parents to change your lodgings," I said with a laugh. Hywel laughed back. "You're right but one can hope." "...the leader of the opposition, Mr Gulliver, began his reply by wishing the deputy Prime Minister a speedy recovery and then......" All too soon the train was slowing for Caerdydd station and Hywel's destination. He stood to gather his school and overnight bags. "You must come and meet my parents soon, Enfys, they are dying to see you." "As soon as I can Hywel, it's not easy at home at the moment. It's hard to get away." We walked hand in hand to the carriage door. With a repeat performance of the previous stop the door opened. Hywel turned to give me a chaste kiss on my lips. "See you Sunday, cariad*," he whispered in my ear and then stepped off the train. We stood and waved for the few minutes before the train pulled away again. I stood there and watched until Hywel and Caerdydd station was out of sight. I fetched my shoulder bag from the luggage rack and let myself into the train toilet. I pressed the button on the base of the bag; a low hiss of air entering the partial vacuum was accompanied by the bag doubling in size as the cleverly disguised folds in the material moved apart. I opened the base of the bag and took everything that was in it out. I quickly stripped off my jewellery, my black school cardigan, my school tie, my white school blouse, my medium black skirt, my plain bra and panties, my gaffe and my shoes and tights. I put all these items, except my shoes, with my 'Enfys Jones' ID into the base of the bag and pressed the button again. A tiny, almost silent pump began extracting the air and reducing the size of the bag again. I wound the bandage around my chest to flatten my breasts and secured it, and then I dressed quickly in the regulation New Hope militia outfit, black t-shirt and jumper with NH insignia with black fitted trousers. I tied up my shoulder length hair and secured it under a militia cap, finally to complete the uniform, black socks and the same shoes as before. I was lucky that the shoes were standard for both genders. It would have been hard to fit them in the bag in the secret compartment. A final quick wipe of my face to remove all of my subtle make up and I was out in the corridor looking very much the young enthusiastic male party member, with my ID now saying "Llyr Rowlands". I still had a few minutes before we arrived at Casnewydd station. I took my 20 MPix camera and began surveying the surrounding countryside through the zoom viewfinder. We were approaching some derelict looking factory units when I noticed that there were a number of expensive and new looking cars parked in one of the factory courtyards. I zoomed the camera in and on an impulse began taking pictures in automatic mode. As we quickly came near I made out a number of men in posh coats dragging another man, who was hooded, towards a wooden pole. They quickly tied him up. They took his hood off and spoke to him. He shook his head in a weary way, his face looked battered. I thought his face looked very familiar but I couldn't recognise it. I continued to take photos at very brief intervals. To my shock, four of the captors stood back, took out guns and fired a large number of shots into their captive. He slumped, obviously dead. The next actions of the captors seemed odd. They went to the backs of their cars and in pairs carried 5 large objects, no doubt human, in what looked like black body bags. The bags were opened and then the bodies were arranged around the scene and guns were put into their hands. As I recorded this upsetting incident the sun suddenly flashed off my camera and I saw one of the killers turn round with a pair of binoculars. I ducked out of sight. I hoped that he had not seen me. At that moment the full impact of what I had just seen made me feel very nauseous and I had to run to the toilet to be sick. A few minutes later we reached Casnewydd station. I scanned the crowds for either of my parents, but there was no sign of them. "Well I suppose I will have to take a taxi," I said to myself. I walked along the platform, still in shock about the murder and as a result did not notice something unusual about the way out. There, at the station exits, there were burly New Hope adult militia stopping and searching every passenger. It looked like a full body search too and as I slowly walked towards them I noticed with horror the growing pile of cameras on the table nearby. * cariad = my love, my sweet, lover, girl/boyfriend Part 2 The press of the crowd was pushing me towards the exits. They were sure to find the camera and once they looked at the pictures on it my goose would be well and truly cooked. I began to panic and looked around for a way of avoiding discovery and my certain fate. I had heard many stories from my parents about people just disappearing. Salvation appeared. I took off my cap and let my shoulder length hair down and then dashed into the women's toilets. I locked myself into a cubicle and sat on the seat breathing a huge sigh of relief. I looked around to ensure that I wasn't in the view of any cameras. I then changed back to my girls' clothes and packed my boys' clothes back in the vacuum compartment in my bag. I adjusted my bra and noticed that it felt quite tight on my boobs. "Time for a larger size again, those damn hormones, I'll have to try and get a lower dose," I said to myself, slightly exasperated, as I finished dressing. As if I didn't have enough to think about. After reapplying my subtle makeup I went through the door back onto the main platform. I needed someone to sit and assess my prospects of leaving the railway station without being arrested. The cafe looked a good option to consider my options so I went in and sat down with a large cappuchino. Suddenly the romantic afternoon film on the Cafe large TV screen was interrupted with a scrolling banner headline... *NEWSFLASH*****NEW HOPE DEPUTY LEADER FOUND DEAD****NEWSFLASH*** A very smart, young woman announcer, dressed all in black, appeared. "This an urgent newsflash from New Hope 1, Tuesday November 5th. This is Fiona Watkins. Downing Street has just announced that Gordon Brown, deputy leader of New Hope, has been found dead, apparently murdered. The police aided by New Hope militia are conducting a vigorous search for those responsible for this crime against the whole British people. Already the finger has been pointed at the Mudiad terror group. Over to our spokesperson on terrorism........." A picture of Gordon Brown, the murdered deputy leader was flashed on the screen. I sat there transfixed. As I stared at the familiar features of the man, who had once been Prime Minister and then had left the Labour Party to set up New Hope with the Blairs, I recognised the assassination victim of less than an hour ago. As I slowly sipped the last of my coffee the whole conundrum struck me, if the militia knew about my camera taking pictures of the crime then they must have committed it themselves and therefore forces within New Hope must have killed their own deputy leader. Why? I noticed that the numbers of New Hope militia. along with ordinary police on the station platforms had increased. I needed to get out of there quickly. But what to do with the camera and pictures? I came to a quick decision and, out of sight of anyone walking past, took my camera out and quickly uploaded the pictures to a secure photo website. I uploaded a message to my MySpace blog. A short sentence - "Visiting relatives today" - which meant that if three of my online friends didn't hear from me in 48 hours they were to access all my secure sites and distribute anything they might find there. I took the memory card out of the camera and hard reset it to remove all details of my life from it. I then briefly reinserted the memory card and copied 3 of the pictures I had took onto it, making the one of Gordon Brown being murdered as the desktop. I removed the memory card again and concealing it in the lining of my bra. A commuter train from Caerdydd pulled in and a lot of people alighted. I got up and joined the crowd making its way for the exits. I looked around for a suitable victim of my planned misdirection. I noticed a middle aged, rather obese with a florid complexion, party member striding through the slowly moving congregation of people. He obviously felt he was an important person as he pushed past people without bothering to apologise as he made his way forward. He brushed past me, looking ahead, giving me the opportunity that I needed. I let myself follow the flow to the exit, unbuttoning the top of my blouse to expose my cleavage. Better cover as many bases as possible I thought to myself. Ahead of me, Mr Self-Important had reached the checkpoint. "Hello militiaman I need to get to an important party meeting in a few minutes please be as quick as possible. I don't know why you have to stop me, don't you know who I am?," he announced loudly in a superior tone. "I'm really sorry, senior brother Thompson, but my orders are to search everyone, without exception. I will be as quick as I can," the young militiaman replied timidly. The militiaman patted Mr Self-Important quickly starting with his shoulders. He continued down the coat quickly and then stopped after having tapped the pockets. "Could you empty out your pocket please, sir" "What do mean militiaman, I have nothing in my pocket that would be of interest to you. I will have a word with your superior. I am already late for a meeting because of your inefficiency here" "Please, empty out your pocket sir," insisted the militiaman. This altercation had attracted the attention of some of the more senior police and militiamen who were supervising the searches. "Sir, I must insist that you empty your pocket as militiaman Davies has asked," came the authoritative voice of a senior police inspector. Mr Self-Important's arrogant attitude had created the perfect atmosphere of suspicion so that when he took out the planted camera, he had quite an audience. "What's this?," blustered Mr Self-Important, as he looked at the contents of his hand, "I've never seen this before" The senior police inspector took the camera and with a slight hesitation locating the switch, turned it on. He stared at the desktop picture for a few seconds and then after showing it to two senior militia members he nodded at a squad of burly looking policemen. The squad grabbed the still protesting Mr Self-Important. "Take your hands off me!," shouted the arrested fool, continuing to worsen his situation. He struggled against the hold of the arresting policemen. His resistance was brief as some hard punches and blows on his body rendered him semi-unconscious. Immediately the searching was suspended and I went through the exit with the rest of the relieved travellers. I looked out at the taxi rank. I had to get word to my parents about these developments. They were in grave danger. Once the police checked the camera and its serial number and checked the movements of Mr Self- Important they would know my identity, as the camera owner. They would realise that their arrested man could not have been responsible. I had to warn them even if it risked exposing my identity as Enfys. I opened the door of the first available taxi. "Where to Miss," asked the driver. "Langstone village, Manor Road, please," I replied. The Sikh taxi driver nodded his head and eased his taxi out into the busy, afternoon, city traffic. "Do you have a text screen I could use, please?," I asked. "Yes no problem, although it's ?2 a message," said the driver apologetically. That was 10 times the usual price! But beggars can't be choosers I thought. I wrote my Mother a message that she would understand. "Wearing a yellow ribbon," I typed and sent. She would know the reference to prison and know she had to get out fast. Fifteen minutes later we pulled into the street where my parents' house was. Ahead there was a huge commotion, the taxi driver pulled over to the side. "Are you sure this is the right place love?," he asked, indicating the police cars and militia vehicles that were piling into the house's drive at that moment. "No, I think I may a mistake sorry, can you take me back to Casnewydd, please" The taxi turned slowly and was about to head back onto the main road when a police car suddenly swerved in front of us, blocking our exit. A tall, aggressive looking man in a police uniform, without any numbers or identification usually indicating the feared SPG*, walked quickly up to the taxi. "Hey Singh what are you doing here and what is this young lady doing here, this is a restricted area!" *SPG - Special Patrol Group - police group implicated in a number of murders and assaults Part 3 The huge, tooled up special group policeman looked in through the window of the car. What could I say? What possible explanation could I have for being in this cul-de-sac other than to be visiting someone, and I didn't know anyone apart from my parents here. I searched my mind for a possible way out of certain arrest. "Um..," I mumbled, looking up at the piercing eyes of my potential arresting officer of the law. "Well Singh, can you tell me why you are in this restricted area?," the cop asked the driver of my taxi. I prepared myself to be taken out of the taxi and detained. My salvation was unexpected. "I'm really sorry officer," said the taxi driver, "I took a wrong turn, the young lady wanted Manor Villas not Manor Road" "Ah I see," said the policeman stepping back, "that's the next on the left. Be careful about when you turn next time, some policemen and militiamen can be a little too quick to shoot, especially when they see someone who looks like a terrorist," said Mr Huge Ego, staring pointedly at the taxi driver's turban. Mr Singh reversed the taxi to manoeuvre past the police car and then drove past it and back up to the main road. Once we were out of sight of the police I slumped back in the seat in relief feeling exhausted by the tension and stress. "Thank you so much for that Mr Singh" I said quietly. "It's no problem, Miss, if he didn't want to respect me than why should I help him?" "I'll have to take a little detour to get back to Casnewydd, in case they notice me coming back," continued the driver. "That's OK, can you drop me back at the station?" I asked. We went a little further on the road to Casgwent and then turned up past the Gwesty Celtaidd hotel to reach the back streets of Casnewydd. "You look too young to be in trouble with the police," said Mr Singh after we reached the centre of Casnewydd and the traffic slowed to a crawl. "I didn't think I'd be in trouble with the police Mr Singh," I responded He laughed, "Mr Singh sounds so formal, my first name is Amarjit" "Mine is Enfys," I said in reply "That's a nice name, is it Welsh?" "Yes" "What does it mean?" "It's the Welsh word for Rainbow. What does your name mean?," I asked "It means 'forever victorious' but I think my parents must have made a mistake" "Why?" "Because I do the lottery every week and never win!," he said, laughing I laughed along with him and it was such a pleasant sound after the stress of the day. I looked carefully at Amarjit. He looked about forty, he was a little overweight, which I guessed was an occupational hazard of being a taxi driver, having to sit for such long periods. He had an attractive round face with hair that was beginning to go grey at the edges. He wore a large wedding ring. "There were a lot of police there for a raid, it must have been something big. I suppose it must be that Mudiad terror lot again. They seem to do so much killing and destruction. Poor Gordon Brown, is no- one safe?," continued the driver. "That wasn't Mudiad," I said interrupting his monologue. "How do you know, they said on the tele that it was" "Mudiad isn't a violent group, they are a group for networking information" "No, it says in the newspapers and tele all the time, it must be them, how do you know anyway?" "I can't tell you more it might put you in danger, just keep this thought in mind, very soon the government will blame a teenage boy for being involved in the murder. It wasn't him, he was a witness not the killer. We reached the station. Mr Singh only wanted to charge me for the journey to Langstone village but I insisted on paying for the whole trip and added a substantial tip, as an expression of my relief. He gave me his card and told me to contact him if I ever wanted a taxi again. I bade him farewell and made my way into the station onto the westbound platform. I was in a quandary about what to do next . At least I knew my parents had fled before the raid. The garage door had been open and the car gone. I hoped that they would have made it to the first safe house. My attention was attracted by an announcement on the platform megascreen. A older man dressed in funeral black with New Hope insignia appeared on the screen "This is channel New Hope 1, and this is Jonathan Fox, we have an important announcement. Our Welsh correspondent, Einir Williams, has just been granted access to the scene of the murder earlier on today of Gordon Brown, the deputy leader, we are going over to her now..Einir what can you tell us.." Tne megascreen showed a very attractive young woman in a black skirt and jacket standing outside the disused factory that was too familiar to me. "Jonathan I am here at a derelict factory on an industrial estate just outside Casnewydd. The murder of Gordon Brown took place less then two hours ago, according to the authorities. They have released some pictures of the murder scene that are very shocking..back to you in the studio to show the pictures that have been released by New Hope militia Welsh section." The picture on the screen brought the studio announcer back and a new graphic appeared to the side of him on the screen. "Murder scene pictures" "Thank you Einir we will return to you soon....I have to warn you viewers that the pictures we are about to show you are very graphic and show dead bodies, please look away if you think you will be affected by them" A series of pictures, similar to the ones I had taken earlier from the train, but from much closer and a different angle appeared. The dead deputy leader slumped on the pole and the other bodies with guns in their hands. The close ups revealed something that I hadn't noticed before in my pictures from further away. All of the supposed murderers were wearing the familiar dragon 'Mudiad' logo on their clothes, either as scarves or as badges. Their faces looked strangely familiar. "The startling news from these pictures are that the murderers of the Right Honourable Gordon Brown were in fact the missing leaders of the opposition Conservative, Labour, Liberal Democrat, SNP and Plaid Cymru parties. All are clearly shown to be members of the Mudiad terrorist group. We go over to our political correspondent, Alex Smith, outside Parliament now..Alex what has been the government reaction to this incredible development?...." The train to the west arrived and I jumped on, not completely sure where I was heading but glad to get away from the danger of being too close to the scene of the crime. I found a seat and sat back in it, feeling safe, although I wasn't safe. I noticed that the special broadcast was continuing, I closed my eyes and I listened to it droning on. "...police and militia are in the process of detaining all leading members of the opposition parties. The controversial Consolidation Act, that will enable Mrs Blair to rule by decree, is now expected to be passed on the hour by parliament. The police have just released this picture obtained by electronic intelligence gathering of a young man who is suspected of being the ringleader of the assassination of Mr Brown. this person is armed and extremely dangerous and should not be approached under any circumstances" I looked up at the picture, it was me! Part 4 I stared at myself on the large screen in the train carriage. The image was quite blurry, obviously having been taken from my ID photo. It had also been modified by the authorities to make me look sinister and like a terrorist by including small, but visible, references to Mudiad. A dragon logo badge had been attached to the shirt upper pocket and a dragon logo scarf was now worn about the throat. To me the alterations to the image were obvious, after all they weren't on the original in the secret compartment in my bag, but I doubted that many viewers would notice any photo modification. The TV announcer was sounding almost hysterical in his denouncements of me. "...this young terrorist, who is known by the alias 'Lucky Llyr' , because he has evaded capture so often, is said to also be the mastermind of the incidents at Brighton, at ..........." The dark suited middle aged announcer then proceeded to list five incidents that I supposedly organised. Looking at the dates and time mentioned I reflected on how clever I must have been to do all this 'terrorism' while in Geography, History, Mathematics, French and English lessons at school. The whole thing was laughable. I stared further at the image and noticed that all New Hope militia insignia had been airbrushed from the clothes. "He looks a nasty bit of work, don't you think, love?" asked a plump, middle aged woman sat next to me, suddenly bringing me back to the reality of my immediate surroundings. "I guess he does," I responded in a non committed way. "These Mudiad should all be shot" announced an elderly man in an old fashioned suit "Yes," said another elderly gentlemen with a grey moustache "and these young louts on the street should be given national service" "At least that nice Mrs Blair is trying to do something about them with all this militia and cadet thing in schools," responded the plump middle aged woman. The three continued their conversation on the same theme for a while. I tuned them out and took out my hairbrush. I brushed out my hair and arranged some of it to fall over the side of my face to obscure it, a little. After seeing myself on the TV, even in male guise, I was acutely aware that my disguise was not fool-proof and someone who compared two pictures of me as a boy and as a girl would be able to see beyond the superficial difference such things such as eyes, nose, cheeks and mouth that corresponded. Although at least there was something else I could do as a girl to improve my chances. I took out my little compact make-up kit and proceeded to alter my facial appearance as much as possible. Some time later I was happy with the results that appeared in my little mirror. "Meeting someone?" asked the plump woman. "Yes, my boyfriend" I lied. "Lucky him, you look lovely, my dear" "Thank you" "Where are you going?" she asked. "Swansea. How about you?" "Bridgend, to see my nephew and my daughter" Mrs Plump then proceeded to tell me about her daughter, her son-in-law and their two year old child, how she was proud that her son-in-law had now joined the militia after being unemployed for three years. I inserted a few appreciative comments to keep her talking as I tried to think about my options now that I had been elevated to numero uno on the state's most wanted list. I noticed Mr Moustache was starring at my face. In case he was beginning to see a resemblance to my male face, that he had just seen on the TV, I diverted his attention by removing my cardigan and unbuttoning the top of my blouse. "It's quite warm in here" I said to Mrs Plump to excuse my disrobing. "Yes" she agreed and continued with her life story in one train journey. I continued to listen in apparent appreciation. I noticed that Mr Moustache had moved his gaze back up to my face. I was beginning to feel unnerved and fearing exposure I tried another tactic. I dropped my cardigan, apparently accidentally, I then bent over to pick it up ensuring that my cleavage was directly in his line of sight. I then picked up my bag and reached up slowly to put it on the rack almost immediately above his head so that my breasts were briefly only a few inches away from his face. I noticed his eyes almost bulging out of his sockets and then when I sat down again his gaze no longer moved away from them. I decided that on balance that I would rather be ogled, however unpleasant that was, than be exposed, arrested and who knew what else. The train began to slow down for Caerdydd station. Mr Moustache began to collect his things with the obvious intention of alighting. The train speakers crackled into life. "Bothers and sisters, ladies and gentlemen, this New Hope Western Railways is now approaching Caerdydd station will all passengers who are departing our train service here please.............." There was a pause and the sound of a conversation in the background, too indistinct to make out. "..I must apologise but I have just been informed that this train will terminate here, due to circumstances beyond the control of New Hope Western Railways. I repeat that this train will terminate here. All passengers for services further West will be transported on coaches generously provided by New Hope militia. Please take all.................." I felt a pool of nausea in my stomach and bile in the back of my throat. What did this all mean? I gathered my bag, put my cardigan back on, before going out into the chill November evening. I followed the other passengers onto the platform. I stood looking at the scene in front of me. Devil or the deep blue sea? The heavily policed exits to the street or the coaches crewed by militia. Part 5 The queue of passengers slowly made its way along the station corridor leading from the platforms to the main exit. After a few seconds thought I had decided to take my chances with the search at the checkpoint rather than sit on a coach to Swansea near to some fired up members of New Hope Militia. Even if they were too stupid to work out a link between my present female identity and their new male terrorist b?te noire, the prospect of over an hour in a confined space with a bunch of arrogant, and probably drunk, blokes was not appealing in the least. There were plenty of stories of young women being assaulted and even raped by inebriated 'Soldiers for the Third Way', as they sometimes called themselves. As the pressed up mass of people mingled and merged I made sure to keep myself behind tall people whenever I noticed an observation camera that could get a view of my face. No point in giving them too much information about my whereabouts, I thought, if it could be avoided. The tedium of the wait was interrupted by the return of an hysterical announcer on the station TV's replacing the coverage of the international bog-snorkeling championship. "This is a special broadcast, we apologise for interrupting your programme of bog-snorkeling. The House of Commons has just passed, unanimously, the Consolidation Act. Our leader, the Right Honourable Mrs Cherie Bliar will be addressing her people in a short while. Earlier on she thanked the acting leaders of all the opposition parties for their maturity in supporting the government in the fight against terrorism. We now return you to our exciting bog snorkeling final" I finally reached the station concourse, some ten metres away from the line of temporary search desks that had been set up. I noticed that the process seemed fairly routine and seemed mostly to be only low level intelligence gathering. The sort of activity that an increasingly coercive state was obsessed with doing. Even if the mountain of information about the movement of people was never completely analysed, the actual process of collecting it disrupted peoples' lives and made them aware of the who was in control. Another quarter hour or so of boredom and then at last I could escape into early evening Caerdydd and a fast food restaurant or cafe. I was looking forward to having a meal somewhere as I hadn't eaten since lunchtime. My thoughts of filling my empty stomach were interrupted by the flash of red light in front of me. I looked up to see a young man, at the head of the queue I was in, getting up from his seat in front of a piece of equipment with a camera and a small light. It was a retina scan machine! My prospects of some rest and refreshment in the immediate future receded alarmingly. Unless the local detention centre was now run by Starbucks. A retina scan would confirm my identity documents but if they had set the information gathering to cross check against those now categorised as enemies of the state, which was highly likely, then I would soon be getting used to the delights of prison catering, and other unwelcome experiences if they decided to detain me with men. I tried to keep the feelings of absolute terror from affecting how I moved, while I looked around for even the slimmest chance of escaping my fate. Suddenly a way out was arrived from a surprising source. "We apologise for interrupting bog snorkeling again but Mrs Bliar has just issued her first decrees using her new powers under the consolidation act. Firstly tonight's traditional Guy Fawkes night celebrations will be renamed New Hope night, all pubs in the UK will be ordered to provide free drinks for members of New Hope Militia." There was a huge cheer from the militia in the station concourse. I sidled up to a middle aged member, guarding one of the side gates. "Excuse me sir," I said with my most endearing smile, flutter of eyes and slightly bowed head, "can you let me through to the toilet, woman's problems you know," I continued as I discreetly showed him the sanitary pad I had taken out of my bag. He looked a little uncertain. I pressed the issue. "The second decree of our gracious leader is as follows..." "Please sir, I'll be back before anyone realises, I really need to change something now" "OK, but be quick," he said before being distracted by the rest of the announcement. "...and the leading members of these now illegal political parties will be assisted in presenting themselves to appropriate retraining centres by our efficient New Hope militia. The third of our leader's decisions are...." I missed the rest of whatever the glorious Bliar thought about compulsory bog snorkeling or whatever by slipping quickly into the loo, and then in a few seconds out of the other door that lead onto the bus station. I jumped onto a bus that was leaving, paid the standard fare, and slumped into a seat in relief at my close escape. Within a minute the bus was out of sight of the train station, I got off at the first stop, in case the guard who had let me go had realised my escape and issued a warning over the radio. I took bearings of where I was and began walking out of the city centre in the direction of where my only hope of refuge for the night. As darkness deepened the traditional Guy Fawkes night fireworks began lighting up the sky with multi-coloured flashes. As I walked as quickly as possible, I reflected on the irony that just over four hundred years after the initial gunpowder plot we were seeing the aim of the conspirators realised. They had intended to blow up parliament to install a Catholic absolute monarch and now New Hope had basically abolished parliament, killed opposition leaders and installed a Catholic almost monarch. Maybe that was the next part of the plan, Queen Cherie I? I walked around a corner and came across a pub where drunken members of New Hope militia were spilling out into the pavement. "New Hope, New Hope, we're the future, we're New Hope...," they chanted "Hey sexy!," one of them shouted over to me, "come and join us, we're having fun" "New Hope! New Crap!, more like!," I shouted out, and then discretion overcame valour and I ran round some side streets and hid in the complete darkness of an unlit lane, pressing myself against a wall, trying not to breathe too much. I heard some stumbling steps after me, they stopped about fifty metres away. "Where did she go Jack?," asked the voice of my erstwhile 'friend'. "Can't see her mate," replied her companion, "probably gone to ground in one of the houses here. Come on let's have some more drinks" "New Hope, New Hope...," chanted the two as they stumbled back to their booze. I realised that I had been holding my breath, I let it out and slowly, carefully, as quietly as possible I made my way in a direction opposite to that of the pub. The smoke from numerous Guy Fawkes night bonfires spread across the sky. it began to rain. Soon my cardigan and the rest of my clothes were damp. As I slowly trudged towards my destination my spirits fell and feeling tried, wet and depressed I almost stumbled onto a small gang of New Hope militia marching up the street, blocking all the traffic, carrying flares and chanting similar stupid, non-rhyming, slogans as the earlier group. I was more careful from then on, which meant that my journey took longer. By the time I reached Parc Y Rhath, I was completely soaked. It was as the sound of the New Hope anthem was blaring from all channels on the TV's in peoples' houses that I knocked, apprehensively on the solid oak door of number 35. The door was opened, and a small, middle aged woman in a casual dress looked out. "Yes? What is it?" she asked looking with disdain at my sorry attire. "I'm Enfys, I'm a friend of Hywel's, please can you help me, I've got nowhere else to go" Part 6 "What do you mean, you have nowhere to go, young lady?," asked Mrs Thomas, Hywel's mother, continuing to look at me very coldly, "I'm not in the habit of taking in any strange girl who turns up late at night claiming to know my son" I felt the water dripping from my soaked hair down my neck and face onto my sodden clothes which in turn were creating a puddle on the porch, underneath me. The shock of Hywel's mother's antagonism was the last straw of a day of fear, shock and flight. The tears began to stream down my face. I turned away and prepared to go and find some shelter from the elements. "I'm sorry to trouble you Mrs Thomas," I said in resignation, "can you tell Hywel that Enfys called, please" "Who is it, Mum?," I heard a familiar voice call out from inside the house. "Some girl who says she knows you, she's just leaving," she replied,"said her name was Enfys" "What!," called out Hywel and there was a commotion as the door was opened fully. "Enfys! Wait!," shouted Hywel as I was just about to open the garden gate of the house and get back on the pavement. I turned and saw Hywel bounding down the garden path. He looked at me. "You are in a state. What happened? Come in and dry off. Have you eaten?" he asked. I shook my head. "You must come in" I followed him in, past the still disapproving Mrs Thomas. "You're soaking," he observed, "dry your hair a bit with this and then you must put some dry clothes on. I might have an old rugby shirt and some shorts that might be only a size or so too big for you." I took the towel gratefully and attempted to dry my hair and and face. Hywel emerged from his room with some clothes and showed me to the bathroom and put the shower on for me. The feel of warm water on my chilled body was ecstasy and as I washed myself I began to feel more like a human being again. After some quarter of an hour of luxuriating I was brought back to the reality of my other need, food, by a knock on the bathroom door. "Food's ready, Enfys, if you can get dressed and come now before it gets cold" I dried quickly, dressed in Hywel's old red rugby jersey and shorts and wrapped a towel around my hair help it dry a bit more. I picked up all of my wet clothes but had a dilemma about what to do with my gaff, I wondered how could I dry it without the occupants of the house being aware of it. On an impulse I tucked it at the back of the radiator, out of sight. As I entered the dining room the Thomas family, Mr and Mrs and Hywel, were putting away their fifteen minute scrabble set, taking the cloth off the TV and turning the sound back on just as the closing credits of Leader Cherie's address to the nation were fading away. Ever since the Entertainment Act was passed last year, viewing the speeches of the Prime Minister had been compulsory and this was monitored due to every TV being fitted, initially at the behest of the advertising agencies to count viewers, by a real-time monitor that relayed details of the channel being watched by every household. However since many people found these endless exhortations boring a recent phenomenon was the playing of specially shortened versions of board games while the picture was concealed and the sound muted. As far as the state was concerned everyone was watching these broadcasts while there had been a surprising boom in the sales of board games. "Sponsored by Hasbro, tonight," commented Mr Thomas, a slightly overweight, balding man of medium height in his late forties. "Doesn't the government realise how much they are helping promote the sales of scrabble and the other games?" asked Hywel. "I doubt it," I remarked from the doorway, "since they probably believe their own propaganda" The three turned to look at me. "Oh there are you are Enfys....mmm that rugby kit looks better on you than it ever looked on me," said Hywel with a broad grin. I blushed at the compliment. Mrs Thomas took my clothes, grudgingly, and put them in the dryer. I had hoped that she would wash them but at least dry, if dirty, clothes would be better than wet ones in the morning. I sat down for some reviving homemade vegetable soup and chunks of homemade bread. As I ate slowly I gave the family a highly edited version of my 'adventures' after Hywel left me on the train. I left out all reference to the murders and to my other identity. Some half an hour later I had just finished logging onto my fifth proxy server and was waiting for the connection to be made to my encrypted web-mail account. Hywel sat next to me, gently caressing my neck as I checked to see if there were any messages from my parents. There were none. "I'm sorry about what happened to your parents and all the problems you had getting here," said Hywel as he kissed my cheek, "but I'm glad you're here" "I'm glad too, Hywel, you really are my refuge in the storm" I slid my back into him and put his hands around my middle as I turned to kiss him, gently. Our lips met and we turned our heads to fully engage in our kiss. I pulled his head down to me as his free hand moved up from my tummy to my left breast, squeezing me gently. As we caressed and kissed I felt something becoming stiff and pressing into my back, I felt my nipples swelling and something small lower down of mine began to unfortunately stiffen too. Our voyage of mutual discovery was halted by the sound of Mrs Thomas's, slightly acidic voice. "Enfys your bed is ready now! You two are taking an awful long time, what are you doing?!" We broke off, Hywel wiped the lipstick of his face and we made our way a little sheepishly downstairs. Some minutes later everyone bade me goodnight as I made myself comfortable on the sofa-bed. The Thomas's house only had two bedrooms, as many recently built houses in the cities did. The need for larger houses had declined as family sizes had reduced. Builders favoured such construction as they could put more on a building plot and thus make more money. The aroma of fresh coffee next to me and a hand giving me a gentle shake aroused me the next morning. I had slept for a long time, after the strain of the previous day, and Hywel's Mother had eventually insisted on him getting me up so that they could use the lounge. "This is New Hope 2 bringing you the Jerry and Julie show, Wake Up Britain!" I lay back half watching the inane morning TV programme, while Hywel helped his Mother prepare breakfast. "Today we are honoured by a visit to our studio by none other than the Prime Minister, the Right Honourable Cherie Bliar, Gracious leader of New Hope. Welcome to the programme." "Thankyou" "Firstly can we be sure of the proper form of addressing you, after the momentous events in Parliament yesterday, is it Prime Minister, Mrs Bliar or Leader?" "Just call me Leader." "Well Leader it is now just over two years since New Hope was formed following the fall of the discredited Cameron Tory government, you have achieved so much since then, setting up a national movement, winning an election and this year the triumph of New Hope athletes and other sportspeople at the London Olympics. What else is there to achieve?" "Well, Julie, if I can call you that......." At this stage the welcome distraction of cooked breakfast took me away from more of the specious, anodyne comments. I helped Mrs Thomas with the clearing up and washing up afterwards. While I was doing this I noticed that she seemed to be staring at me as if trying to see something through my clothes. I felt a little uneasy. I was finishing drying the dishes when I heard her send Mr Thomas and Hywel to the shop to fetch some inconsequential items, my unease increased. "Enfys can you come here please," came her voice from the lounge. I walked into the lounge and over to the dining table where she was sitting with my dry clothes in front of her. "Here are your dry clothes, you can change into them now, and give me those of Hywel" I picked up my clothes thanking her for her kindness in drying them. I was just turning to go to the bathroom when she continued. "You might need this too, I found it behind the bathroom radiator. Unluckily for your little subterfuge, a towel fell off the radiator and knocked it on the floor," she said holding up my gaff! "I believe it's a gaff. It took me a while to find out what it was. It was only when I described it to Google voice answers that I eventually found a link to clothing of individuals who want to change sex" "You're not a girl are you?" she asked staring directly into my eyes. I lowered my head and shook my head timidly "Before I throw you out of my house and ban my son from seeing you again, please tell me why you were fooling him!" Part 7 "I want to know and I want to know now!" demanded Mrs Thomas, thumping the table to emphasise her determination. I sat with my head on my arms on the table quietly sobbing. In less than 24 hours my whole world had collapsed and all because I had happened to be pointing my camera in the wrong direction at the wrong time. "This is pathetic," came the hard voice of Mrs Thomas, sitting opposite me at the table,"do you think a few manufactured tears is going to let you get away without telling the truth." I raised my head to look at her, with the tears still streaming down my face. "I'm sorry, I really can't tell you anything, it will put you in danger," I said quietly as I rubbed the tears from my face in the sleeve of Hywel's rugby shirt. "That is just so much rubbish! I don't believe you and don't think I won't tell Sion that his so called 'girlfriend' is really a boy," she said angrily. "Please Mrs Thomas, don't.., even having that information about me will put him in danger. Listen, I'll leave now, and you'll never see me again and I'll break off with your son. Please let me do that and promise me you will not tell Hywel what you know" "Are you kidding! You will explain everything to me now or when Hywel and his Father come back from the shops I will expose your deceit to them. I know my husband will be disgusted at your subterfuge and I imagine Hywel will be even angrier" I considered what to do. If I told her who I really was, would she call the police straight away, or even worse hand me over to the militia. I thought about making a run for it, but discarded that idea immediately since all my ID was in my bag in the lounge and I would be in an even worse situation being on the streets without any form of identification. Last year's 'Personal Enhancement Act' had made carrying of identity cards compulsory, punishable with a minimum penalty of six months in prison. I decided to try and stall while looking for an opportunity to escape. "OK, I will tell you what you want to know, but first, please can I go and put on my own clothes? I feel uncomfortable wearing Hywel's jersey and shorts" She considered her response and after a few seconds pause replied, "Yes, you may, but you'll change in the lounge where I can watch you." I walked into the lounge and turned my back on her. I took off the rugby shorts and with the jersey long enough to hang down over my backside I managed to put on my gaff and then my panties with enough concealment without feeling embarassment. I turned back to her and ostentasiously took off the rugby top displaying my well developed breasts. She was staring at me doing this but when I exposed my female looking upper body she just shrugged her shoulders as if to say. 'so what if you've got breasts, you're still a boy' I quickly put on the rest of my clothes, then got out my small makeup bag and spent the next ten minutes giving myself a more sophisticated look. After a short while I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Mrs Thomas had moved over to the oven to take out some fresh bread. I got up quickly and walked silently in my stockinged feet, carrying my shoes, to the front door. I reached my way out without any sound and gripped the door handle in relief at being about to escape. I turned the doorhandle. Nothing happened. The door was locked. "Do you think I'm stupid, Enfys or whatever your name really is!" shouted Mrs Thomas, "now come here and try and persuade me not to expose you to the world" I walked slowly back into the kitchen, and sat at the table, opposite my accuser. "And don't think that you can overpower me to get the key to the door I have protection here" she said referring to the cricket bat she held in one hand. "Are you really sure you want to take the risks that I mentioned before," I warned, trying to stall for time. Mrs Thomas took out her pda/phone and pressed a few buttons on it. "I'm going to count to five and if you haven't started to give me some sort of explanation then I'm phoning my husband, I just need to press one button to do that....5......4......3......2..." "My parents are in Mudiad!" I blurted out before she could press the button to make her phone call, "and after yesterday I suppose I am too" "You, a terrorist," she sneered, "I don't believe you" "It's not a terrorist movement, it's a network to spread opposition to the way our freedoms are being taken away" "A likely story," she continued in obvious disbelief, "you'd better give me a more believeable explanation than that otherwise I might feel calling the police to be the best option" The morning sports programme on the box suddenly disappeared to the sound of a news announcement. "This is New Hope One, we must take you straight over to our outside broadcast unit in North London.....Jennifer are you there?" "Yes, Paul, and behind me you can see a scene of feverish activities by the police and the militia, there in Hornsey Lane Estate a small group of Mudiad terrorists are holding hostages, thousands of people have been evacuated and ....." Mrs Thomas closed the door to the lounge, cutting off the sound of hysterical news readers, and turned to look at me. "Well? I'm still waiting," she said. I decided to take a risk and preceeded to tell her about the murders yesterday and also that my parents had told me that they were in Mudiad but that it wasn't a terrorist organisation and was in fact a supporter of non-violence in political activity. I didn't tell her about the camera and the photos on my memory card. If she knew and was interrogated she would have to reveal that. I felt that the fewer the number of people who knew about it the better. She listened and, when I had finished, looked at me intently for a few minutes. "They said that it was some boy called Llyr who was responsible for the murders, there's something about you that reminds me of the picture they showed." she said. She picked up her pda/phone, she made a few finger flicks to bring up a photo of my alter ego from the goverment wanted terrorists site. She looked at the picture on the screen and then stared at me intently. She repeated this a few times. The silence was unnerving. "There is a definite resememblance," she said, " with the your hair tied up and some flatening here". She pressed my breasts down quite painfully. "It's you!" There was a knock at the door. Mrs Thomas picked up the key and went to the door. I heard the sound of the door being unlocked and opened. "Come in gentlemen. I have someone here you might like to meet," she said to whoever was at the door. Mrs Thomas walked back into the room followed by two middle aged men in New Hope Militia uniform! Part 8 ? I stared at Mrs Thomas and the two New Hope Militiamen standing in the doorway of the kitchen. I slumped back down into my seat at the kitchen table, my head on my arms on the table. All my hopes, all my dreams, all thoughts of a good future life had vanished with my imminent arrest and almost certain torture. "You were going to turn me in whatever I said," I said bitterly, "I hope you're proud of yourself" There was silence for a few moments and then an unexpected response. "No, Enfys, you're wrong," replied Mrs Thomas in a surprisingly soft tone, "and don't worry you're not in danger" I looked up at her and saw that she was smiling at me. "What do you mean?" I asked in surprise at the change in her attitude to me. "We are all Mudiad" "What!" I exclaimed. "All of us, Daryl, Hywel, myself ,and let me introduce Illtud and Alun here, are all members of a local cell of Mudiad" "But why the aggressive questioning, why all the nastiness?" I asked. "I had to be careful, you could easily have been a spy for the authorities, these are desperate times for the opposition" "Don't worry," said Illtud, the taller of the two 'militiamen', "you are safe with us." "But are we safe with her? I wonder" asked Mrs Thomas. "What do you mean?" asked Alun. "She has another identity, very different from this one." said Mrs Thomas. "What is that?" asked Illtud. "Her other identity is on the front page of all the newspapers, and is the main item of news on all the channels" Alun and Illtud looked puzzled. They stared at me and then exchanged glances. "You mean she is Llyr?" asked Alun. "Yes, I am" I interjected. "But Haf, she's a girl!" stated Illtud, looking at my breasts. "That is a point of discussion," replied Mrs Thomas,"and it's better that we keep the link between Enfys and Llyr among ourselves at the moment." "She needs to have a talk with Hywel about who she really is........... if she knows herself," she said quizzically. We all sat down and had a cup of tea while I gave a brief summary of events over the last two days. While I was in the middle of doing that, Hywel and Daryl (Mr Thomas) returned, which meant that I had to start filling them in on the details of what I had seen on the train. The adults then explained to me how the structure of Mudiad worked, something my parents had never done to avoid giving me information that could potentially be tortured out of me. They were in a small 'cell' in the North of Caerdydd. They assumed that there were other cells in other parts of Caerdydd and all other cities in the UK. However each cell only communicated with local cells via encrypted web mail messages sent from untraceable pda/phones. Information then cascaded through the network whenever necessary without any group knowing the identity of any other. A while later Hywel sat next to me on the sofa in the lounge with his arm around my shoulders while the adults discussed the latest political developments. I felt exhausted by the earlier mental trauma and was enjoying the comfort of Hywel's presence. Suddenly the music video programme that we had been half watching disappeared from the screen. A young female TV announcer wearing New Hope insignia on her smart pink outfit appeared. "This is New Hope One with the latest news from the siege in North London. It has just been announced that the seige is over and two Mudiad criminals, a middle aged man and a middle aged woman have been arrested" The view of the announcer was replaced by one of two people with hoods over their heads being very roughly pushed and kicked from the smoking debris of what once had been a block of flats. The announcer continued over the live video. "These two terrorists are thought to be linked with the murder of our esteemed and loved former leaders of the opposition parties. The Ministry of Joy has issued a statement thanking the 121 brave citizens who fell in this latest battle against terrorism. The Ministry of Peace has expressed its satisfaction in the effectiveness of our armed forces' latest cluster bomb weapon....." The TV was turned off abruptly. "You bastards!" shouted Mrs Thomas, " the real murderers are those who drop cluster bombs on civilian houses not that poor couple on their way to be tortured" "How do they get away with it?" I asked. "Because they control all the information and there is no alternative source that can undermine their lies," replied Daryl. "Maybe there is," I added. Everyone looked at me. "What do you mean?," asked Hywel. I told them about the pictures that I had taken of the murders. There was stunned silence for a few minutes. "That means," said Hywel, the quickest to see the possibilities, "that we have some irrefutable evidence that the basis of their actions over the last 48 hours is a complete lie, that'll undermine the standing of the government in the European Senate" "And it might even delay the latest tranche of standby loans from the European bank," said Alun. "Can we see the pictures?" asked Illtud. I reached into my bra and pulled out the memory card. Illtud took it and inserted it into his pda/phone. He brought the pictures up and flicked through a couple then he stopped and magnified one of the people who had done the shooting. "Oh my....look at this Alun, you might find this interesting." Alun and looked at the picture and his eyes bulged with surprise. "It can't be" he said. "What is it?" I asked. "Look" said Illtud showing the enlarged face to me. I stared at the face of a well groomed man in their late fifties. There was something about it that niggled my memory about him, but there was nothing. "Who is it?" I asked. "You will be pleased to know that the person dispensing summary execution here is none other than David Johnson, the Chief Secretary of the anti-terrorist branch in the Ministry of Joy" announced Illtud. We all stared at the murderer. Illtud then looked at the rest of the pictures and he and Alun identified all of the assailants as senior officials in the Ministry of Joy. The adults began to discuss ways if releasing the information, assessing the pros and cons of various methods. Two hours later Hywel and myself were walking walking away from the main shopping streets of Caerdydd. We had decided to go into the city centre, firstly to be together, and also because I needed some clean clothes to wear. I also needed time to consider how to tell him about my true gender status. We entered a the huge city park next to the river and followed the path back to the area where he lived. We held hands as we walked, carrying bags of our various purchases, through the leafy, autumn scene. "Hywel, I have to tell you something," I said in a quiet voice, after a short while. "What is that?" he asked. "Well you know earlier..........." I began to explain but then the sight that came into view as we turned a corner stopped us in our tracks. There was a huge poster of the Bliar family, nearly the size of a house. Cherie sat at a desk in a sumptuous wood panelled room, surrounded by her children. Behind her stood her husband, the former Prime Minister now President of the EU. Enormous red writing projected the familiar message, 'New Hope for Britain...New Hope for You'. Underneath the main part of the poster was the entreaty 'Call our confidential 'shop a wrong un' line if you have information about a terrorist, an unemployed man or woman, someone who is acting or looking suspicious or anyone who is a member of the following proscribed organisations (Boy Scouts, Girl Guides, Labour Party........)' the list went on for another five lines. "That's new, I don't remember seeing it last week. What a horrible poster," said Hywel. "Yes," I agreed, "it's a pity we can't do something about it. Wait I've got an idea" I commented. "What do you mean?" asked Hywel. "Let me show you," I replied," help me up this tree and pass me the bag with the stuff from the arts shop" In a few seconds I was sitting on a thick branch that came quite close to the main slogan on the poster. I took out the can of black spray paint that I had bought from the city centre arts shop for a school project. Within a few more seconds the slogan had been somewhat altered. I jumped down and dragged Hywel and our shopping to the cover of a small copse where we could admire my handiwork. "Much better," chuckled Hywel, looking at the black lines through both occurrences of 'Hope' and their replacement with the word 'Crap' neatly sprayed above in each case. "But what was the RG for?" asked Hywel, indicating the two letters I had sprayed next to the amendments. "Think of my name" I replied. "Enfys...R....Enfys...is it Rainbow? What about the G?" "Yep, Rainbow Girl. What do you think?" I asked "Isn't that a bit of a giveaway?" quizzed Hywel. "Only if they can make the connection between RG and Rainbow Girl. Come on let's go before one of the militia comes and they decide to close the park off" We quickly walked away and caught a bus back to Hywel's house. We were buzzing after our little act of rebellion. With broad smiles we walked through the door and into the lounge. The adults were all sitting looking intently at the TV. Mrs Thomas looked up at me and there was an expression of extreme sadness on her face. I looked at two bruised and battered middle aged people staring out from the screen and slowly reading from an autocue. "....son we urge you to come home, you will get a fair trial and will be executed painlessly....no don't do ......." There was a scream of pain as the picture switched to that of a man in full military uniform. "These two criminal parents will be given the fate they deserve unless their mass murdering terrorist son gives himself up within 24 hours...." It was Mum and Dad! Part 9 ? I sat back on the sofa in utter shock. What was I to do? My parents would be executed in twenty four hours unless I gave myself up. Maybe they would be killed whatever I did and what would my fate be? I would be tortured no doubt using something akin to the 'water-boarding political remediation method' as the militia so pleasantly renamed something that even the Spanish Inquisition used to call 'Torture with Water'. "Those poor parents and their son," said Hywel looking at the TV. "What do you want to eat Enfys?" he asked turning to look at me. I didn't respond, I just sat there staring at the TV screen, which by now had replaced the images of my battered and bruised Mum and Dad with one of the usual evening staple diet of reality TV programmes. "Welcome back to Big Sister and today in the two hundredth day of series twleve we have found out that......................" "What's wrong Enfys?" asked Hywel, " why didn't you answer my question?" I sat motionless, what could I say, anything I that I gave as an explanation would lose me Hywel's friendship on top of the terrible dilemma I was in. "Mum do you have any idea what's wrong with Enfys, so suddenly?" said Hywel turning to Mrs Thomas. "Yes I know what has happened, Enfys has something she needs to tell you and your Father, but you're not going to like it," replied Hywel's Mother. "Enfys, my dear, let us help you," she said, turning to look at me," but first Hywel and Mr Thomas need to know what is going on" Hywel sat down next to me and took my hand. "Please Enfys tell me what has happened to upset you," he pleaded. I looked at Mrs Thomas, she nodded her assent to me telling Hywel. I looked him in the face and then looked away, fearful of his response. "It's my parents" I said simply. "What do you mean, your parents?" asked Hywel. "The couple who will be executed in twenty four hours. They're my parents" "I see, so Llyr, the boy they're looking for, is your brother? He is very brave taking on the state, although I don't like his methods, killing innocent civilians is never justified, even if they are not the target," Hywel stated. "No he doesn't do that. He is not a terrorist, the state is trying to pretend that he is one. But he's not my brother," I said turning to look at Hywel again, he looked very confused after my last statement. "What do you mean? You said these are your parents but you say that Llyr is not your brother, that doesn't make sense" "I'm sorry there is no easy way to say this Hywel," I said as I placed his hand on the sofa, stood up and looked at him," I am Llyr" "What?! That's impossible!" said Hywel in complete astonishment. "Don't be silly young