“Binoculars!”

The command, cut off the soldier's fumbling attempt to hand me the equipment. Three hundred? Three hundred and eighty-seven individuals, with a probable error margin of plus or minus five. My gaze swept over the desolate expanse, a backdrop as unappealing as it was irrelevant to the influx of refugees. “Open the gates,” I instructed via the comm-device. The barrier, a crude yet necessary tool for controlling the flow, was required after they had damaged the perimeter in their haste.

Established protocols for optimal throughput were now in effect. Troops would conduct initial assessments, prioritizing threat identification and categorizing vulnerabilities. Medical triage would sort the injured according to resource allocation algorithms. Temporary shelters, though hastily assembled, were structurally sound and would serve as holding units. To mitigate the spread of disease within this growing population, quarantine would precede their integration into the main tent city.

Ascaria's pacifist stance proved unexpectedly advantageous. The absence of landmines and other antipersonnel ordnance along the border eliminated a host of chaotic variables that would have dramatically increased the casualty count.

I disengaged from the observation point and proceeded to my designated shelter. A subtle discomfort registered, but it was within acceptable parameters. The internal sutures were dissolving on schedule. The external ligatures, however, posed a slightly elevated risk of contamination.

Inside the shelter, I removed my outer garment. No active bleeding. The internal wounds were no longer a concern. However, the external wounds required continuous monitoring to ensure they healed as projected.

Within the confines of my tent, I engaged in a conference with various ministers, addressing the logistical nightmare of the refugee crisis. Ascaria’s geographical location had made us the first point of impact. After seven days of negotiation, a multilateral agreement was reached. We would provide initial triage and temporary housing. But once a predetermined economic threshold was reached, the refugees would be transferred to other signatory nations. Fortunately, the combined financial contributions from charities and the Foreign Ministry were currently sufficient to maintain stability. My projections indicated that in approximately one month, a portion of the refugees would be eligible to apply for citizenship.

I was in the middle of consuming a caffeinated beverage when that vermin, Minister Shaw, breached my tent without authorization. His anxiety-induced state was clearly deteriorating. My previous suggestion for him to use cannabis to calm his nerves had been ignored.

“Shaw,” I stated, the single syllable expressing my displeasure with the intrusion.

“L-Levi…” His voice was high-pitched and trembling. “We must act on the currency devaluation. The monetary reforms make us vulnerable to the strain of the refugees. Another economic downturn is… imminent.”

“Obviously. That is precisely why I am in negotiations to limit further refugee intake. Now, vacate my workspace. Contact Commander Rexton. We must revise the tent city expansion parameters based on the new projections.”

The agitated vermin fled my tent with predictable haste. Ugh. Instant coffee. A crude imitation of a proper beverage that assaulted my senses. It was my only permitted indulgence in this environment due to the illogical restrictions on refined carbohydrates. I was still hungry.

Commander Rexton then entered, a lit cigarette in his mouth. Nicotine. Its acquisition was currently infeasible for me, and its synergistic effects with my caloric deficit were statistically unfavorable. He began outlining the tent city layout on a makeshift work surface of cardboard.

“Levi,” he said, his voice low and loud. “My teams are building the shelters as we speak, but there is a significant variable: instances of resource reallocation by the refugee population are increasing. What are your orders on using armed guards?”

Resource reallocation. An expected consequence of scarcity.

“What is the nature of the misappropriated resources?”

“Primarily food and blankets,” he replied.

“Negative,” I stated. “The deployment of armed personnel among civilians is statistically detrimental to maintaining order and will cause unnecessary resistance. We will establish central nutrient distribution centers within the tent cities. This will address the scarcity and likely reduce the incentive for unauthorized reallocation. Theft will be handled through retrieval of the items and non-violent conflict resolution. A detention facility is economically and logistically unfeasible.”

“Understood. A detention facility would be a counterproductive and unsustainable strain on our men. I will implement your plan for a central food supply. It is a proven method for maintaining calm.”

Gods.

Did the neural pathways of military command necessitate explicit articulation of the illogicality of lethal force against a civilian population seeking refuge? Apparently. I registered a flicker of satisfaction that the decentralized and often chaotic "police forces" were not involved in this operation. Their unpredictable behavior would introduce unacceptable variables.

Food was now a priority. I exited the tent and proceeded towards the food preparation area for command personnel. "Instant noodles," spicy variant – negative. "Mushroom soup," high umami concentration – negative "Bean and red meat stew" – negative, the fibrous texture of tissue consistently triggered an emetic response. "Rice porridge"

Raphael had, during my period of physical incapacitation, prepared a similar nutrient slurry with heated water. Its bland, uniform texture was… acceptable. I would consume that.

What was he doing right now? Sobbing with the refugees, I presumed. Pulla always had an overabundance of readily available tears for displays of human suffering.

I prepared the bland nutrient paste. A spoonful. The first caloric intake in three days. Painkillers were notably less effective on an empty stomach, a tedious physiological constraint that had resulted in… significant discomfort.

I took a cigarette from a nearby soldier. Ugh. Low tar. Just like Raphael’s illogical preference. If one is to smoke, one should achieve the intended effect. I lit it nonetheless and began to walk to the observation point.

Intercepted. The Minister of Health. An older alumnus, I recalled, one with an almost pathological adherence to ethical frameworks. Great. Her interest in my "well-being" and the clinical trial data from my pharmaceutical concerns was… pronounced. Gods. Who has the time for this? A subsequent, and brief, meeting could be scheduled, if absolutely unavoidable.

My order to Raphael to stay away from the border was a calculated measure to prevent him from interfering with our operational efficiency. His emotional outbursts in response to the refugees’ distress would have been a major impediment. His presence would also inevitably lead to a disagreement—what he calls an “argument”—about my methods, which he labels “immoral.”

However, his absence did register as a… deficit. His presence provided a familiar and stimulating sensory input. The probability of his distress over the refugees was high, as was the probability of a fight over my “morality.” It was a paradoxical situation.

My actions here are a simple exercise in damage control and resource management. The goal is to provide maximum aid while ensuring Ascaria’s economic stability.

Intelligence reports indicate the conflict in Cyrusia originated from fundamentalist divisions within their dominant religious structure. Their core beliefs center around a deity of conflict, rendering internal warfare a statistically probable outcome. This inherent predisposition towards violence likely explains Raphael's marked aversion to political ideologies; his formative experiences exposed him to the destructive potential of extreme belief systems.

While processing the border through the binoculars, a military personnel made physical contact with my person. A minor endorphin release. A temporary modulation of the prevailing sensory monotony.

It was night. Various ministers and myself were congregated within my shelter, processing data pertaining to resource allocation from charitable and governmental sources. These vermin advocate for a simplistic, and ultimately detrimental, dispersal of aid and subsequent relocation to the capital. And they designate my methodology as "immoral."

The irony is… predictable.

Their proposed solution: the complete abandonment of the displaced population in this location. The sheer illogicality of it is… baffling. Have these vermin failed to extrapolate the inevitable consequences of such negligence? The protracted exposure to the depths of human degradation is… accelerating my desire to introduce their skull to the soles of my polished shoes. Nicotine acquisition is now a priority. Specifically, cigarettes utilizing orange cellulose acetate filter tips. A shared preference for this specific aesthetic detail with Raphael would have been… a statistically improbable, yet not unwelcome, coincidence.

The cabinet's collective intellect consistently failed to meet even minimally acceptable parameters. My communication strategy involved a fabricated threat of relocating the entire cabinet to the active combat zone within Cyrusia. A patently illogical proposition, given my lack of jurisdictional authority and logistical capacity to execute such a maneuver. Their cognitive processing, however, proved… insufficient to discern the deception.

Idiots.

Nevertheless, the desired outcome was achieved; they now possess a rudimentary understanding of the projected duration of our presence here.

Sleep in this tent was impossible. The constant noise—cries of distress, footsteps, and other sounds—created a sensory overload. I could not use earplugs because I needed to be vigilant for new arrivals. Annoying.

The duration since I had last felt Raphael’s touch, specifically his skin against mine, was a significant interval. His habit of pressing his hand over my ears before bed was a statistically effective method of blocking external noise. A replication of this action would be… nice.

The transition to daylight hours was marked by the arrival of humanitarian aid emissaries. Their presence was largely performative, a public relations exercise designed to maximize positive media exposure. I conducted a guided tour of the tent city infrastructure, detailed the operational procedures and resource allocation strategies, and reiterated Ascaria's commitment to refugee assistance. The emissaries subsequently pledged a substantial donation of prefabricated shelters. Good enough. Furthermore, they agreed to provide financial resources under the guise of charitable contributions, while retaining their organizational branding. An efficient arrangement. This will result in a statistically significant reduction in my workload.

Once the performative display of altruism concluded with the departure of the emissaries, I called Raphael. "How are you, dear?"

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"I just woke up, Levi… I am fine, just dirty, I suppose. How about you?"

His empathy likely prevented him from seeking the comfort of our home while the crisis continued. My predictable Pulla.

"Is that so? Prioritize your well-being, dear. Regarding my own state: I have drank coffee on five separate occasions within the last week. This should provide sufficient context regarding my current level of 'wellness'."

"What? You drank coffee? Is the situation that adverse at the borders, Levi?"

His query focused on the refugee situation. A statistically probable outcome, given his empathic tendencies. A direct inquiry regarding my own state would have been… better.

“The situation is… suboptimal, but trending towards stabilization, dear. Global aid has arrived, and other nations have formalized refugee intake protocols. Our current parameters involve initial triage and relocation to temporary housing.”

"That's... that's good to hear, Levi. I was so worried about how long you could keep going like this. Are you holding up okay? You sound exhausted."

His vocalizations carried the familiar warmth and underlying concern. Ah. My predictable Pulla. He remains oblivious to the precise nature of my current deprivations, specifically the absence of his morning hot chocolate.

“Finding food is challenging. The provisions do not include chocolate beverage mixes, a minor but persistent inconvenience. The duration of my deployment here remains indeterminate, dearest.”

"So, no hot chocolate. Got it. I'll make sure there's a whole cupboard full when you finally get back. Just... focus on getting back safe, Levi."

Raphael's lack of societal norm adherence regarding my sweet tooth a statistically anomalous, yet appreciated, deviation.

"Do not worry my dear, tell me about your day."

I needed the auditory input of his warm voice, a brief respite from the incessant demands on my attention.

"My days are… hard, Levi. I was helping with translations, but a while ago… I saw an amputation happening in the triage area… It affected me a lot…"

What?

They performed such a procedure within the visual range of unauthorized personnel? Had those medical professionals abandoned all semblance of professional conduct? And to perpetrate such an act within a facility operating under the auspices of my charitable foundation? The illogicality of it ignited a flicker of… something akin to fury.

"My dear Pulla, you should not have witnessed that. If you are experiencing distress, return to the home for a while, then you can go back to the charity," I stated, my tone firm but controlled.

"No, no. I am staying here, Levi. But I am staying away from the triage area. I am sticking to the shelter area."

"Ah, I am glad to hear that, Pulla," I conceded. A surge of displaced individuals then breached the perimeter. The comms crackled with urgent instructions. "I need to go dear, take care."

…

Tent cities are now fully established, with aid personnel efficiently managing the nascent infrastructure. Health and safety protocols for the displaced population have been implemented, resulting in a predictable decline in the influx of new arrivals at the border. My physical state was within acceptable parameters, despite my hunger, fatigue, and pain. The probability of infection remains low, given my adherence to a policy of minimal physical interaction with the refugee population.

However, this established pattern was disrupted. A juvenile human, having breached the perimeter of the tent city, approached the command encampment. Specifically, my shelter. Her visual focus was directed towards the interior of the tent, specifically the collection of origami created during periods of boredom. The lotus form elicited a response from her. The origami lotus I gifted to Raphael held specific significance. Its replication for another individual was… illogical. The intent was singularity.

She extended it towards me, a silent query. The probability of her requesting ownership was high. The transfer of this specific paper configuration to another human remained… undesirable. However, a hypothetical scenario involving Raphael's observation of this interaction yielded a statistically significant probability of his expressing disapproval at a refusal to bestow a gift upon a displaced child. Therefore, I nodded. The juvenile then engaged in a physical embrace of my lower limb. Great. I would now have to decontaminate my clothes and change my bandages.

...

A significant error has been committed. The bestowal of the lotus origami upon the juvenile refugee has triggered an unintended consequence. Multiple additional juvenile refugees are now converging upon my designated shelter, exhibiting gestural and verbal requests for origami. My designated shelter is now perceived as a source of recreational items. Gods!

I am now compelled to engage in verbal communication with numerous juvenile refugees, a task for which they showed little aptitude. The sheer volume of these interactions prompted an observation from Minister Shaw, that inefficient vermin, regarding my supposed capacity for empathy. His verbalization, "I did not know you possessed compassion," was… inaccurate.

The current situation, wherein my designated shelter is no longer a sanctuary and my character is subject to erroneous interpretation, represents an illogical and frankly insulting misrepresentation of my neurocognitive divergence.

Following a period of two months dedicated to the cessation of a 12-year opioid dependency, previously suppressed memories of my personal history resurfaced. Prior to my failed attempt at suicide, I divested myself of all monetary assets. The entirety of my mountainous terrain holdings and art acquisitions were transferred to the ownership of Raphael. The subsequent state of financial destitution and chemical sobriety induced an unexpected sensation of… liberation.

This newfound liberation facilitated a more direct and uninhibited mode of verbal communication with Raphael. While my candid articulation of observations occasionally elicits a negative physical response from him, I assess that he ultimately values the veracity. This represents the most sustained period of transparent self-disclosure, particularly regarding my neurodivergence.

A state that is now being actively invalidated and effectively erased. This perceived erasure, this illogical misrepresentation of my being, generates a significant increase in annoyance and a disconcerting sensation of… isolation.

…

The second week at the border followed the anticipated trajectory: displaced individuals arriving at the entry points, processing according to established protocols, and subsequent relocation to designated zones. Predictable. However, the juvenile refugee contingent was becoming... problematic.

Their repeated unauthorized entries into my shelter and persistent demands for origami replication constituted an escalating inefficiency. Irritating.

A deterrent strategy was required. The parameters: subtlety, and gentleness.

A transactional agreement was established. In exchange for their candy, I would provide instruction in origami methodology during designated off-duty intervals. Any unauthorized entry into my personal shelter would result in the immediate and permanent termination of this exchange. The juvenile cohort agreed. The candy might offset the current starvation. The instruction in origami might provide a structured outlet for their otherwise undirected energy. A mutually beneficial arrangement.

A translator facilitated the origami instructions. The designated temporal parameter was one hour. Several children failed to provide the agreed-upon sugar compensation. Irrelevant. The primary objective was the cessation of unauthorized tent entry.

Following three instructional sessions, the incursions ceased. However, a secondary, unforeseen consequence manifested: adult refugees expressed interest in origami construction, a predictable outcome given the environmental constraints of the tent city and the resultant sensory deprivation. A monumental oversight on my part. Compounding this inefficiency, ministers and my staff began to exhibit perceptions of me as possessing "benevolent" characteristics.

Disgusting.

Simplistic neurotypical interpretations.

However… a potential strategic advantage became apparent. This misperception of altruism could be leveraged to solicit increased donations under the guise of the "Saint of Ascaria" persona. I gathered the adult refugees. We distributed paper, yarn, beads, and various other crafting materials. The products of their labor would be offered for sale, with all proceeds directly benefiting the refugee population. Furthermore, this initiative would provide a constructive outlet for adult refugees, potentially fostering a sense of autonomy and purpose. A strategically sound maneuver.

Ah, this story about me teaching origami?

Raphael's physiological response would likely involve an accelerated cardiac rhythm, triggered by his erroneous perception of my "moral compass." A persistent delusion. When will he finally comprehend the fundamental absence of such a construct within my cognitive framework? I had assumed that our most recent logical disagreement regarding the suicide of the Queen had provided sufficient data. My subsequent actions, manipulations, acts of sabotage, and utilization of blackmail were not motivated by malevolence, but by a fundamental state of indifference to established social hierarchies and their preservation. He had, I believed, finally processed the information that the dissolution of the monarchy was not solely predicated on the subjective experience of "fun." While the activity was indeed pleasurable – statistically ranking as a highly stimulating experience – it was not the sole determinant. My primary motivation was the attainment of existence outside the prison of the societal construct known as nobility. A desire shared by a significant number of noblewomen.

Raphael's persistent labeling of our actions as "dirty," "bad," and "wrong" generates a distinct sensation of… injustice. He was not subjected to marital arrangements from the age of five. He did not perform ritualistic prostrations before the aesthetically and genetically compromised monarch swines, while simultaneously contemplating the ballistic termination of their existence on a daily basis.

My inherent state is one of indifference; conventionally designated "bad" actions elicit no intrinsic negative response. However, my allies – those numerous women who severed ties with their paternal, fraternal, and marital affiliations – their motivations and sacrifices are beyond his purview of judgment. Yet, he persisted in this judgmental stance. This engendered a sensation of… anger, a visceral response to perceived injustice. Subsequently, his interactions with Lady Isolde and his exposure to detailed accounts of abuse led to a verbal expression of regret for his prior pronouncements. However, I possess a high degree of certainty that his simplistic, binary moral framework will endure. I can only hope that it does not.

Hm…

Perhaps I should suggest Raphael engage with certain philosophical texts. Exposure to diverse ethical frameworks might facilitate his understanding that existence transcends a simplistic binary of "good" and "bad." Life, in its essence, is a sequence of… choices, each with its own set of consequences and implications, devoid of inherent moral valence.

The remainder of my time at the border became less stimulating.

Boring. Boring. Boring.

The established protocols for refugee management were functioning as designed. Agreements with global humanitarian organizations and other nations were in effect. Tent cities were established and populated. The transfer of displaced individuals away from the capital was proceeding according to projected timelines. Furthermore, the legislative framework for immigration, which I had previously ensured was adequately funded, would streamline the citizenship application process for a subset of the refugee population. My operational objectives for this deployment had been met.

I miss Raphael. I wished we talked and texted more. I hope he is well. My predictable Pulla likely neglected his own well-being in his characteristic empathetic immersion in the suffering of others.

...

Returning to the capital in the company of the ministers was a necessary, if tedious, final step. My subsequent visit to the Academia was driven by a singular, overdue objective: the removal of the surgical sutures. Finally. Their continued presence had been a source of minor but persistent physical awareness for an unacceptable duration of two weeks.

I hoped Raphael was present. The lack of an immediate response to the door signal was momentarily concerning, yet the faint but unmistakable trace of his scent was present within the domicile. He was here.

I proceeded to the master bedroom. He was in a state of repose, his hair still damp from a recent shower. My Pulla. He appeared physically depleted. Retrieving a towel from the adjacent lavatory, I drew it through the strands of his hair. He remained undisturbed. I settled beside him on the sleeping surface.

Ah.

I was finally able to rest on my preferred position. My arm sought the familiar contours of his torso, settling around his rib cage. The feel of his bone structure beneath my fingertips… was comforting. His natural scent, was pleasing. Today, however, it was subtly overlaid with the sweet note of vanilla – my preferred shower gel.

A previous desire for the breezes at the border to convey his unique scent now registered as a distinct memory.