Numbers

“564, step up to the mark.” 

My mind fights the order, but my body obeys. I step up to the mark, my hands tight at my side. I face forward, my entire body tense. A soldier stands in front of me. He speaks, but I do not look up at his face. I am stuck looking forward, eye level with his chest.

“Sit.” The soldier orders, pointing to a chair.

I turn and sit in the chair, finally able to see behind where I was. Twenty lines fill the warehouse, with at least 100 people in each. Numbers up to 2,000 are posted on people’s clothing, all wearing the same things. What the hell? I think to myself. 564? I question, realizing I have no recollection of a name from before.

I beg my mouth to move, to open just so I could ask a question. Who am I? Where am I? Questions flood my mind, wracking me with panic, even if it didn’t show on the outside. I felt like a coma patient, like my mind was awake, but my body was not. The questions were soon silenced with another order. For once, I was thankful that I was not able to think for myself.

They ordered me to sit still and straight. My body complied, straightening my posture. I couldn’t see what they were doing behind me, I could only hear the sound of the razor. My mind panicked for a moment, the questions coming back, wondering what they were doing. My question was answered a moment later when a lock of hair fell in front of my face and down to my lap.

Once upon a time I would be crying, begging for my hair to be spared. Now, it doesn’t compare to any of my other problems. Still, loss panged me as I felt the air reach my scalp. I felt affection towards the clumps of hair falling to the floor. That meant something? Right?

Hair holds memories after all, not that it mattered. They had already taken all of mine.

After what seemed like an eternity of sadness and racing thoughts, an order appeared in my mind. Stand up, turn to me. I stood up and faced the soldier once again. He was the one sending my orders, for now at least.

“Do you remember who you are?” He asked.

I answered in a robotic voice, any affliction I once had was gone. “I am number 564, sir.” No hesitation, as if it is the only thing in my mind.

The soldier nodded and handed me a duffel bag. A door behind him opened, revealing a singular road leading into a city. “Welcome to paradise, 564.”

He ushered me onto the road and into the crowd of people. The doors shut behind me, ensuring nobody could escape. The crowd was full of people just like me, just like the ones in the warehouse. They all wore the same blank expression, but that didn’t trick me. Their eyes darted around nervously, and I could see the tears welling in their eyes through my own.

My body walked on its own accord, bringing me closer to the city at the end of the road. The closer I got to the end, the more I could make out. Tall buildings towered into the sky and lit the streets below. No sun, moon, or stars were in the sky. The only light was from the buildings and the flickering street lamps.

The streets smelled of bleach and though the streets were filled with people the only sound was the rotting generator keeping the lights on. This whole world felt made, nothing seemed natural. Nothing seemed real.

My mind didn’t know where to go, but it seemed my body did. Without instruction, I walked past stores, restaurants, and businesses before stopping in front of a hidden door. I produced a key from my otherwise empty pockets and shoved it into the lock. A click sounded as I turned the piece of metal, and the door creaked open. I walked up the stairs and stopped once again, this time in front of a door with my number on it.

564, the door read. The key worked again, clicking in the lock and opening the door. My body pushed me inside, and turned to close the door behind me. As soon as the door shut, my body fell to the floor. The control they had on me did not play in this apartment. They could not control me forever, I suppose.

Day 472 began as every other day did. I woke up, naturally, with no need for an alarm. I got out of bed instantly, walking to my wardrobe and opening the wooden doors. The wooden box consisted of 3 outfits, one pair of pajamas, one pair of working scrubs, and one suit. I pull the suit out of the wardrobe and trade it out for the pajamas I had on. Everyone wore the same thing, I assumed they all had the same wardrobe as well.

I washed my face, brushed my teeth, made breakfast and sat down at the table by the window. The same routine finished and the same view faced me every day. The city was always the same, nothing deteriorated and nothing improved. It was all exact. Outside my window a man walked by, the same man that always walked by at this time. He wore the same suit and had the same messy, buzzed head.

1, 2, 3, and yep. I counted, expecting the same soldier who turned down my block every morning. He walked at the same pace with the same stride as he did every day. I took a sip of my coffee and a bite of my toast as I did every morning.

Part of me wondered if I was always like this. Before I was 564 who was I? Did I spend my morning looking out the window, watching the streets below? Did I have toast with butter and coffee with cream?

The thoughts vanished as quickly as they had appeared. That happened often. I was only so free in this apartment. Once I started thinking about my past I would shut down once again.

As I looked out the window once again, I noticed something new. The coffee dribbled down my chin as my jaw dropped with surprise. Behind the man in the suit and the soldier with the stride was a woman, with hair? She wore a mask over her face, but her eyes still burned bright, her determination shining through the locks of hair that fell over them. The woman jumped across the roofs of the skyscrapers, expertly navigating the city. She paused for a moment, looking down at the street, then up at my building and into my window. My heart seemed as though it had stopped beating. Our eyes met, and I begged my body to leave this place and chase after her, to ask her the questions that had been burning inside of me, but I knew as soon as I left this apartment, I would be nothing more than a robot once again.

As if on cue with my thoughts, the speakers set off in the streets. “Good morning, citizens of Trench!” a cheery robotic voice said. “The time is 8:30. Head to work now.”

My body tensed, succumbing to the control. I grabbed my coffee cup and plate with toast I never finished and brought it to the kitchen. I placed it in the sink and left for work. My mind was usually blank on these walks; any question I used to have was now worn through in my brain. Not this walk, though. Many things about this day were different from the other 471 today, I thought of the woman I saw. The woman who kept her hair and wore what she wanted and climbed the skyscrapers as if they were trees.

I woke up in the middle of the night on my 500th day. I had never woken in my sleep before. I went to bed at 9:00 every night and routinely woke up at 6:00 the following day. I didn’t wake up naturally, though. I woke up to a figure hovering over the side of my bed, looking down at me. I raced to sit up, turning the lamp on my bedside table to better see the figure.

As the lamp illuminated the room, it also illuminated the figure. It was the woman I had seen 28 days ago. This time, she was not off in the distance, hopping from building to building. She was in my bedroom, beside my bed, looking at me. Is this a dream?

She removed the mask from her face, revealing a strong chin and plump lips. I had never seen them before, my memories were certain of it, but part of me felt they were familiar.

“Aurelia,” she whispered. The woman leaned forward and felt the spikes of hair I had left. “They cut your hair, ” she smiled, “it suits you.”

“Do I know you?” I asked, furrowing my brows.

I watched as her smile quickly faded, and she pulled away from me. “I knew you wouldn’t remember, yet it still hurts somehow.” I didn’t know what to say, so I opted to stay silent. She paced the room, “Look, this isn’t easy to say, but you’re in a simulation.”

She looked at me to see my reaction, but my face remained blank. “I know,” I answered.

“You know?” She asked. I nodded, “Then why are you still here?”

“I don’t have a choice,” I found myself answering, then I stopped. “Why am I even telling you this? Who are you?” I demanded.

“I am Xochitl, your wife.”

Wife? Wife.

“Who am I?”

“You are Aurelia, my wife.”

Part of me knew she was telling the truth. I’m not sure why I trusted her so easily; maybe it was because she was my wife. That word was so foreign, yet it felt so right. People here didn’t have wives. They didn’t have any relationships. They had no life outside of their work.

“How do I know you are telling the truth?” I asked, just to be sure.

“Because they might have taken your memories, but they have not taken your heart.” She placed her hand on my chest, searching for the beating of my heart. Is it even still there? I wondered. Did I still have a heart, or had it turned to metal in my time spent as a robot?

“I saw you 28 days ago.” I blurted out.

She nodded, “I have been looking for you. I saw you then as well. I spent each of those days finding a way out for us. Now that I have, I need you to come with me.” Xochitl grabbed my hand and pulled me out of bed.

“But what about their controls?”

“We need to cut out your chip.” Xochitl produced a knife from her pocket.

I jumped back, “What chip?”

Xochitl grabbed my arm and gently pulled it towards her. “The chip in your arm, sending controls to your head. That is why you cannot leave this apartment, no?”

I nodded, “If I leave, I’m automatically controlled. I can’t get out.” Panic seized me. I wanted out of here. I wanted it more than anything.

“You can. We just have to cut your chip out. They can’t control you without it.” Xochitl explained. She brought the knife to my arm, “May I?” She asked. I hesitantly nodded, bracing myself for the pain.

She brought the sharp side of the knife to my arm and cut a slit down my bicep. I seethed, sucking in my breath but staying as still as possible. She whispered an apology before plunging her fingers into the cut. I stifled a scream, biting on my hand as hard as I could, nearly drawing blood. She fumbled around underneath my skin until her fingers finally found purchase. She found the chip and yanked it out, her fingers covered in crimson.

Though the chip was covered in blood, the electric blue of the metal could be seen through the red. I gasped once I saw it. A piece of metal, though small, had been living inside of me for 500 days without my knowledge. Xochitl threw the chip on the floor and smashed it under her boot.

My life flashed before me at that moment. Once the chip broke, so did their control over me. I fell to the ground, my memories overwhelming my brain. I had spent 500 days never thinking, never remembering, and now, with it all coming back at once, it was too much.

Xochitl dropped to my side. She placed each of her hands on my head, holding it still. “Calm down, Aurelia.” She said, trying to soothe me. I could barely hear her over my thoughts. My memories were like a waterfall, and my mind was like the oasis it pooled into.

I remembered things I never would have before. I remembered my birth, the look on my mother’s face when she held me for the first time. I remember my years of going to school, the friends I made and lost. Worst of all, I remembered the invasion.

We lived in a big city, Xochitl and I. There had been threats of an attack within our government, but anyone who believed it was deemed a lunatic. Then, one night, soldiers came parading through the streets, raiding homes and looking for anyone within. They took every person in the city captive. Very few were able to escape.

Then, another image flashed in my head. Xochitl watched me from behind the house as I got dragged away with the soldiers. I didn’t beg her to save me or come after me. I only said one thing. “run,” I repeated multiple times, screaming it until my throat was sore.

Then, the flashback ended. I was back in my room, no, 564’s room. Xochitl was beside me. I looked up at her, finally recognizing and remembering her. My arms flew around her neck, embracing her and pulling her close. Tears fled down my cheeks and landed on her shoulder, soaking into her jacket.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for.

She soothed me, running her hand through my hair. “Shh,” she shushed my sobs. You have nothing to be sorry about. But we have to get out of here.” She looked at the watch on her arm. “They’ll be closing the door within an hour.”

“Who? What door?”

Xochitl shook her head, “No time to explain. You will see it all soon.”