Prologue
June 29, 2028
Fear. A feeling, yet still a concept. An emotion, but something real and otherworldly. It’s dark and frightening. It seeps its way into the minds of the innocent, breaking them, molding them, controlling them.
It was a quiet day at the park. We sat on the swings and talked, as friends do. The parents were over at the tables, minding their own business, while my group and I rocked back and forth on the swings. Someone would crack a joke, and we’d laugh and maybe add onto it. It was a comfortable and familiar feeling to just be around people you loved. Of course, though, I was the baby of us all. Only thirteen, and I was hanging out with sophomores and juniors. I wish I knew how to describe it, but it felt maturing.
The park on this particular day was empty, the sun was shining, and the whole scenery felt blissful. My best friend, Marshal, swung next to me. He wasn’t the most talkative in our group. All the talking was done by Michelle, so me and Marshal just sat and listened, occasionally laughing.
It felt perfect, too perfect to be true. I remember asking our other friend, Aria, about her midterms when vans began to pull up. We all turn our attention to these vans and the things coming out of them. They looked like highly sophisticated machines, like robots you’d see in futuristic movies. They fell into a line, standing still as if to watch us like prey, each holding some sort of firearm.
An officer of some sort cut through the line, his hands behind his back with his chest poked out with pride, “Put your hands up. Kids separate from parents and come towards us, and no one gets hurt.”
Fearfully, I look over to my mom and dad, looking into their eyes for their approval. I watch my dad’s Adam’s apple bob, and then he nods slowly. I turn with my hands above my head as I walk slowly towards the machines. Two robots open the door to a van, only allowing two of us into each vehicle. I climb into the back and stumble to sit down on the floor, swallowing just to ease my drying throat.
Someone steps into the van as well, sitting beside me, and grabs my hand.
“It’s going to be okay,” Marshal spoke, almost like he was trying to convince himself with his own words.
I licked my lips, about to respond when we heard a humming growing from outside.
“Fire!”
A dreadful, deafening blast fills the atmosphere, and I am completely frozen in place. Pure horror spreads throughout my body, but I have no time to process. In a matter of seconds, the vans begin to drive away, leaving Marshal and me to peer out of the back door windows. You can hear our breaths catch in our throats. It looked like a massacre. I couldn’t make out who was who, and the vehicle was driving away too fast.
I can’t help but feel nauseous as I sit back down.
My parents are dead. I thought to myself, but it didn’t feel real. Nothing felt real.
Hours later, we’re forcefully removed from the van and taken into a building of sorts. It was a madhouse. People were crying and screaming, being tackled to the floor, while younger kids were being led into another building. There were hardly any adults in sight, only people who were adults looked to be government officials.
The staff directed us into a line labeled ‘Registration’, separating me and Marshal into our different age groups.
“Next.”
My turn in line.
I looked up to the official. She looked cold and stern, emotionless even.
“Wrist, please.” She demanded.
Shakingly, I lent my hand to her. She gripped it tight, holding a gun of sorts to the side of my wrist.
“What is that?” I ask.
“It helps insert the chip.” She replied.
I struggle to pull my wrist back, “I’m sorry? Chip?”
“Yes, now, wrist please.” Her words were demanding and firm, but I kept my hand close to my chest. “C’mon, kid, don’t make me get mean.”
I should’ve handed her my arm, should’ve given in, but something in me told me this was wrong. That I should stand my ground. My body, my rules, right?
“Code 7.” She spoke into her walkie-talkie.
“What’s that mean?” Uncertainty and danger are clear in my tone.
I had no explanation, just violence. Machinery from behind held me over a table, pinning me down. I screamed and kicked, but it was useless compared to their heartless, cold, metal bodies. Their grip was firm, forcing my wrist out, but my body was tense.
I could not let them win.
But they were stronger and more defiant. They demanded my arm out, pulling some muscle at my side. I screamed… of what? Terror? Pain? Grief?
“No!” I cry.
I feel a soft hand on my back, a hand I remember, memorized.
“Cassidy, just breathe! Don’t make it worse for yourself!” Marshal speaks loud enough to pierce through my own screams.
They put the gun against my wrist again. Its long, needle-like head cuts through my skin. I try to fight. I try to wiggle away, but I can’t.
“It’s okay.” Marshal speaks softly, rubbing my back.
I want to desperately believe him, but doesn’t he see what’s happening? It’s not just a chip. It’s not just machines. It’s not just a massacre. It’s something violating and evil.
Then she pulls the trigger, shooting the chip into me.
It’s over.
The machines release me, and Marshal takes my hand like a father would as we move to the next line.
His grip on my hand is painfully strong. He’s angry. I can tell.
“Why did you fight?” He asked. His jaw shifted in a way that would keep from saying everything he wanted to.
I didn’t speak, but just stared into his cold, distant, and scared eyes.
“Do you realize what they’ll do to you?” He bent down ever so slightly to meet my eye level. “Do you?!”
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, refraining myself.
“The kid in front of me resisted this, and do you know what happened to him?” He whispered dangerously, “They killed him.”
“Maybe it was worth it then.” I say through gritted teeth.
He squeezes my hand impossibly harsher.
“You don’t get to say that. Not to me. We’re both going to hurt, you don’t get to say dying is worth it! Do you want to leave me?!” He yanks my arm, allowing that pulled muscle to burn.
I wince, tears stinging my eyes.
His haughty glare turns soft in an instant, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I try to say so that I can believe I am, but my voice cracks.
Marshal wastes no time wrapping me up in his arms, “I’m sorry.” He whispers, guilt trailing in his voice.
We moved through the rest of the lines, which were Registry, Currency, Education, and Liveability. After that, we’re escorted to our new living space. It’s a high-tech apartment in the lesser parts of this new big city. I look around my new room. It’s bare and lacking character, nothing like my old room. I had Elvis posters plastered on my walls, my Disney princess Barbie collection on my shelves, everything that made me me.
But who was I anymore? Who did I have to be? There were no more states, just regions that had digital borders so that you couldn’t leave, couldn’t travel. You became an adult at the age of sixteen. There was no free will. You can argue there never was, but now it’s different.
Lying in bed, my mind was blank. I felt small, and I had no control over anything. I pick my hand up and look at my wrist. It’s still red and a little sore.
Besides learning how to move on and live- because it’s what my mom and dad would have wanted- I’ll start school in a week. I’m scared and hopeless, and all around, I feel defenseless. So remember what I said about fear. Hold onto that idea, because in the end, you’ll see why it matters.
