Calendar of False Names

Memories echoed around him, their stop and start jitters a calming lullaby he had come to enjoy. He scratched at his knee, the pages of the magazine falling as he released them from his grip.

“…another side piece on your…”

“…we have to let you go…”

“…no one really wants me…”

The system continued its review, the sound of sped-up voices mixing with the pieces of intelligible speech as memories were searched, scraped, and passed by. The current participant lay on the stone slab on the other side of the viewing window. It wasn’t actually a “slab,” nor was it made of “stone,” but someone had given it the nickname years ago, and it had stuck. You’d be hard pressed to find an operator who didn’t refer to the uncomfortable table they all had to experience by its nickname.

A moan sounded through the observation room, and he let out a chuckle. While the system was designed to erase bad memories, it had a hard time distinguishing the strong emotions without slowing down the feed. That left him to hear a mix of the good and the bad, the lust and the fear, the happy and the sad.

He didn’t really mind it, though. The work was monotonous, sure, but he was paid a decent wage and, as long as he submitted willingly to the Janus Protocol every January, he was given free room and board. The operators were the only ones required to submit to the Protocol, some propaganda about leading the way and showing that there was nothing to fear. Of course, he didn’t exactly believe that. He was pretty sure the Collective just wanted the best employees they could get.

Flipping the page of the magazine, he wondered what memories they had taken from him this year. Had he gotten into any fights? Perhaps a spat with a fellow operator had resulted in an uncomfortable work environment. Maybe he had gotten into something illegal…

“Eli!”

Jumping out of his chair, heart thudding in his chest, he spun to the monitors that showed flashing images of the man’s memories. They played in their steady stream, the blur too much for his eyes to discern more than vague shapes. He glanced at the man on the slab. He lay still, probably asleep as the machine did its yearly duty.

Slowly, he lowered himself back in his office chair, ignoring the crunch of paper as he rolled over the discarded magazine. His hands hovered over the dials in front of him, and he was surprised to find that he was shaking.

This is absurd… he thought, but it didn’t stop him from gently taking the dial in hand and rewinding the feed.

Images flashed by in reverse, the skipping pattern of the machine’s analysis blurring before him. It took him a few tries, moving back and forth in the feed until he found what he was looking for. Flipping a switch, he put the system in override and slowed it down as the memory played before him.

A woman, brunette hair brushing her shoulders stood before him — before the man on the table. She was beautiful, but unfamiliar. She turned, walking down a path in a park he didn’t recognize. Yet, his breath caught in his throat, his hands sweating as he watched her walk away.

The man jogged forward, walking a few steps behind and to the left of the woman. He reached out a hand and tapped her on the right shoulder, a simple trick that should have had her turning the wrong direction, but it seemed she knew his playful nature and spun to face him instead. She laughed playfully as she said, “Eli! Stop it!”

There.

He paused the feed and stared at the woman.

She was a stranger. He was sure he’d never met her before, yet…

She had said his name.

More than that, he had felt her say his name.

Scrambling, he reached for the clipboard that listed the participant’s information. Prying the metal clasp up, he pulled the paper down until he could clearly see the man’s name: John.

John. Not Eli.

He stood again, almost tripping over the chair, sending it rolling across the concrete floor and into the wall on the other side of the cramped room.

This couldn’t be happening.

Who was this woman? And why wouldn’t his heart slow down?

He placed a hand over his chest as if he could hold the organ tighter to control the spasms that wracked his body. Could he be having a heart attack? Was this the feeling of death come to claim him?

The door opened behind him, and his supervisor poked her head in. “Eli? You okay? I’m getting reports that the purge is paused.”

He turned to face the younger woman. She had excelled in the program, quickly rising to a leadership position. Eli had envied her — at first. But they all had their purpose in society, and his was as an operator. His memories had been altered to support his role year after year, and they hadn’t let him down yet.

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he met Jane’s worried gaze. “You don’t look so good. Do you need me to take over?”

Eli nodded quickly. He couldn’t speak — his vocal cords twisted together in his throat, locking him in silence.

“Why don’t you go down to medical? I can have Trist walk you there—“

Eli quickly shook his head. He didn’t need help; he needed to get this under control. Whatever this was.

He made his way to medical quickly, where he was subsequently cleared of any serious conditions and given some medicine to reduce his anxiety.

Anxiety.

The word was foreign to him. The feeling strange in his body. He had never had a reason to be anxious before. He had a good life, a good job, good memories…

Yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Who was she, and why did she say his name?

The panic didn’t leave him. Even with the sedation of the medication — or perhaps because of it — he struggled to focus on his work. It had been days since he had slept, the dark circles under his eyes betraying his struggle to his coworkers. The way they looked at him left him feeling sick, a slick black tendril curling around his heart and squeezing the life from him.

He was sure this had never happened to him before.

But that was a lie, and he knew it. There was no way he could know if this was a common reoccurrence for him. If he had run into this issue in the past, it would have been erased by the machine.

Was this who he truly was? A paranoid, anxious wreck who couldn’t function without having his emotions erased year after year?

No.

If that were the case, they wouldn’t let him be an operator. They had to keep up appearances to support the Protocol. They wouldn’t risk the celebration of the year for one lousy operator.

No, this had to be new.

He jumped, slamming his knee into the console in front of him as a knock sounded at the door to the observation room. Cursing, he rubbed at the pain shooting through his leg as he turned to find June watching him, eyebrows raised in confusion — or was it concern?

“Eli. How are you doing? I’ve had some reports…” She trailed off, leaving space for him to respond. He knew it was a tactic to get him to admit what was going on without exposing those who had reported him, but it didn’t stop him from stepping directly into the trap.

“I’m not sure, June. I’ve… been having these feelings that don’t belong to me.” He looked at the floor as he spoke, unable to meet the woman’s gaze as he admitted to the gnawing sensations that threatened to swallow him whole.

The sound of the plastic wheels rolling across the concrete echoed through the small room as June rolled the second chair into place before him. His eyes remained fixed, her white loafers now firmly in his view. He wondered how she kept them so clean. It had to be nearly impossible to get stains out of the bright fabric…

“Eli.” Her voice was soft, breaking him from his thoughts and bringing tears to his eyes.

Why am I crying?! He thought, swallowing the thick lump in his throat in an attempt to hold back the tears.

“I think what you are experiencing is a residual effect of the Protocol. Sometimes even when the memories are erased, the feelings can persist. But there’s nothing to worry about. They are just a shadow of what happened to you, and they will fade with time.”

He let out a small chuckle. A shadow. If this were a shadow, how bad was the core? No wonder they had cut out the memory. He couldn’t function with something so traumatic affecting his day to day. Nodding slowly, Eli finally raised his head and met Jane’s eyes. “Of course. It must have been bad this year. I’m glad they took it out, Jane. I can’t imagine what it must have been like before Janus rolled around.”

Jane smiled at him, the relief clear on her face. She was proud of him and his progress, but as she stood, patted his shoulder, and left the small room, Eli felt himself sink back into the void that continued to grow within him.

If this were residual, then why was it getting larger?

And why couldn’t he get the image of her out of his head?

The shadow didn’t fade.

If anything, it got darker, stronger, all-consuming in its path to destroy Eli. At least, those were the thoughts running through his head as he stared at the ceiling he couldn’t see in the dark that surrounded him.

He had lost track of time, his days blurring together as he fought the insomnia that plagued him. They had given him more medication to help him sleep, but it had only increased his anxiety, forcing him to choose between exhaustion and panic during his day.

Exhaustion was easier to handle.

Of course, that choice was easier to make in the light of day when he wasn’t screaming internally for his mind to shut up so he could get some rest. Groaning, he rolled over and pushed his face into the standard-issue pillow beneath him. It was hard, unforgiving; the firm filling pushing into his eyes until spots appeared in his vision.

At least the image of her disappeared behind the distortion.

Kicking his feet, he let the emotions overwhelm him long enough to release the pressure on his mind, before throwing off the oppressive blankets and getting out of bed. He moved through the dorm as quietly as he could, sliding his slippers on before making his way to the door and out into the hall.

It was brighter here, the light from the street lamps filtering through the windows almost too much for his adjusting pupils. He paused, listening for other night owls on a midnight walk. His mood was dark, and he didn’t want to run into anyone tonight.

Taking off down the hall, he wandered through the facility aimlessly, trying to make sense of his feelings — the doom, the fear, the… love. He had spent hours speculating what the woman meant to him, trying to parse out the emotions that flooded him when he remembered the sound of his name on her lips.

It was a tangle, a mess of the pit in his stomach combined with a racing heart and a heat he couldn’t explain. He had come to the conclusion that the woman meant something to him, something more than just a friend or a sister.

He wondered what could have happened that resulted in her deletion. The machine was calibrated very carefully, only deleting memories that would be traumatic to the participant. It was rare that an entire person would be deleted from someone’s mind — a last-ditch effort to reset a person’s life after a tragic event.

Perhaps she had died?

No, why would she be in John’s memories if she were dead? Not only that, how was the memory coded to Eli’s name and not John’s?

These questions had circled his mind in an endless loop for days, and there was no end in sight. He wanted answers, but he was also terrified to find out. Did he really want to know what was so horrible in his past? The entire purpose of the Janus Protocol was to protect them from terrible events and allow them to live their best lives. He had agreed to this time and time again.

He had agreed to her erasure.

So why was he so invested in figuring out who she was?

Stopping, he looked around him to get his bearings. He had been wandering the halls aimlessly night after night, his thoughts so distracting he usually ended up lost in the facility’s maze.

This time though, he knew exactly where he was.

The door in front of him had a simple label — a sign that deterred unauthorized personnel from entering. It was all that stood between the Collective employees and the machine, the need for locks unnecessary when the punishment for violation was complete erasure.

When you could erase anything that was found within your employee’s minds, there was no need for alternative repercussions.

Eli knew he shouldn’t do it, knew that he didn’t want his entire life erased in the blink of an eye, but he couldn’t stop his hand as it grasped the chrome handle, pushing it down with surprising ease.

No alarms sounded.

No boots ran to stop him.

The silence was deafening.

He slipped through the door and let it close behind him with a soft click. Taking one step into the dark room triggered the automatic lights to flicker to life, and he found himself surrounded by rows and rows of server racks, all neatly labeled and organized. He ran his fingers over the labels: Anders… Baker… Calloway… D’Aubern…

Names.

He puzzled over their meaning. The machine didn’t store information — only sorted and deleted memories as the participant waited patiently.

But here he stood, surrounded by evidence to the contrary.

With renewed vigor, he walked down the aisle, glancing at the labels as he passed by: Erwin… Finche… Grey…

Finally, he found the section for the letter M and searched through the alphabetical labels quickly.

There.

Mackey.

He pulled open the door of the rack and slid the slim box that contained his last name toward him. The top of the box contained a digital display, the icons listed implying that it was a touchscreen device. Hesitating for just a moment, he unplugged the cable from the back of the box and took a seat on the floor nearby.

His heart pounded as he stared at the device. He knew without a doubt that he would find answers contained within, but a war raged in his mind. His submission to the Protocol was done for the year, meaning that whatever he found within would remain with him for the next year of his life.

Was he willing to lose his peace of mind?

Laughter erupted from him at the thought, a manic sound that echoed around the large room. He had no peace of mind anymore. She was there. She was always there. He needed to know who she was before he went insane.

He picked up the box and leaned back against the rack behind him, propping the tablet up against his legs. Scrolling quickly, he found the folder that contained his files and opened it.

Expecting to find files containing his removed memories, he was shocked to find more folders instead.

Anomalies

Emotional

Flagged

Knowledge Bank

Milestones

Moral Compliance

Skills

Transferred

He opened the first folder — Anomalies — and found it empty. Well, that was a good sign at least. Flipping back to the main menu, he opened emotional and stared in shock.

The list was long, full of negative emotions in more detail than he thought possible, but he found it contained positive emotions mixed amongst those that should have been removed. Shaking, he scrolled through the list until a folder jumped out at him: Love.

He opened it quickly, racing his own mind before it could stop him. If you had asked Eli yesterday, he would have told you he had never experienced the feeling of love, but his eyes could not deceive him now.

Listed in order of date and time, hundreds of files stared back at him. Videos of moments in his life that had been categorized as love. Heart pounding in his ears, he opened a random file.

“Daddy! Up! Up!” A young boy reached for him, his cheeks rosy in the cold autumn air.

He heard his own laughter echo through the speakers as his arms reached out and picked up the boy. “You know you have two perfectly good legs, Jonas.” He said, brushing a lock of hair out of the boy’s face.

The boy just smiled at him before wrapping his tiny arms around Eli’s neck and hugging him tight.

The memory ended.

Eli stared at the blank screen, his mouth agape.

He had a son? He backed out of the viewer and looked at the year of the file. Three years ago. The boy must be… seven or eight years old now.

Eli scrolled through more videos, watching pieces of a past he didn’t know existed. A past that couldn’t exist. He was an operator. He lived in the facility. He dedicated his life to the Collective.

He couldn’t marry. He couldn’t have kids. It was impossible. Yet here he sat, watching a life he couldn’t remember flash before his eyes in moments of love he didn’t understand.

Eventually, he pulled himself out of the emotions and back to the main menu. Looking through the folders again, he paused over the icon labeled “Transferred”.

They had to mean transferred to the system, right?

But John…

Almost as if controlled by someone else, he opened the folder and found more folders labeled with other names. On autopilot, he scrolled down until he found John’s name and pulled up the contents inside.

He had found her.

Her name was Emily.

And she was his wife.

His breath quickened as he played the memories in quick succession. There, on the hard concrete floor, he relived years of a life that was torn from him.

Torn from him and given to someone else.

The Collective wasn’t erasing bad memories. It was reallocating lives. Manipulating people and relationships to make the most optimal humans.

And he was designated as sub-optimal.

His family was torn from him and given to someone who could do better. Rage filled him, and he slammed the tablet down on the floor, covering his face with his hands as he curled into himself for protection.

How could he be so stupid? How could he not see what was happening right in front of his eyes?! How could he have let them take what he cared about most?! He let the tears fall freely, mourning a life he couldn’t remember.

Mourning a loss he couldn’t feel.

The controls were simple — too simple. He flew through the menus as if he had practiced his entire life, and found the controls he was looking for.

The memories were stored, which meant they could be restored. He had come to the conclusion quickly and found the main terminal in the maze of servers.

Unlocked.

Unprotected.

Laughing, he scrolled through the options in the mainframe, moving quickly. He could give everyone their lives back. He could restore order where there was chaos. He would fix this, and then he would face the Collective.

But something caught his eye, and he paused. A simple icon with a simple label: Personnel. He could expose them all.

Opening the folder, he began to scan names — both familiar and unfamiliar. He saw government officials mixed with Collective directors. Even the janitorial staff were listed in the fray. He searched for an org chart, something he could download to his device and release once the memories were restored.

There.

He opened the chart, moving quickly up the ladder to the directors of the program, and ultimately, the creator of the machine.

Silence.

A wash of cold overwhelmed him, and he felt his knees buckle.

There — in plain text made of hundreds of pixels — was the creator’s name: Eli Mackey.

No.

NO!

He navigated the directory with uncanny speed, flying back to his files and the folder that contained his flagged memories. As the scene played before him, he sank to his knees.

“You can’t do this to people!” His voice echoed around the chamber. “I built this system to help, not to reassign value!”

“Eli, we are helping. We are giving people a stable purpose.”

“No. I won’t help you. I will shut it down before I let you tamper with people’s lives.”

Grunts came from the speakers above his head, and he knew he was losing the battle on screen, but he couldn’t bring himself to watch.

“I’m sorry, Eli. Truly, I am, but we can’t let you interfere with the Collective. You will be wiped, your family reassigned.”

“No! You can’t do this! You can’t take them from me!” The pain in his voice was palpable, and Eli felt a stab in his chest.

“Don’t worry, they will be taken care of by a high official. That I can promise you.”

“Please… please don’t do this, Wes… We… we grew up together…”

“And it hurts me as much as it hurts you. I’m sorry, friend. Take him away.”

The scream that came from him cut off abruptly as the memory ended, the screen returning to a list of forgotten pieces of his past.

He had created the machine.

He had started the Protocol.

He was Janus.

The room was quiet. Cold. Unfeeling.

Eli was as well.

He moved by memory now, hooking the wires to his head in a pattern that he had designed. He wondered how many times he had come to this conclusion — how many times he had reset himself to protect the world.

It hadn’t been an easy decision, but as he kneeled on that concrete floor he had realized that releasing the memories would cause more harm than good. The feelings that stirred within him caused an ache so deep he thought he would shatter into a million pieces. He couldn’t bring himself to cause that kind of pain to others.

No, restoring the memories wouldn’t erase what the Collective had implanted. People would be confused. Overwhelmed. Experience a pain that they had no coping mechanisms for. He had wanted to make the world a better place, had wanted to protect people from their own misery, but he had orchestrated a device to control humanity, and he couldn’t live with that knowledge.

He lay on the slab, the cold of the metal seeping through his thin nightclothes and into his skin. Raising the tablet before him, he realized just how familiar the system was to him. After all, it was the one child he still had.

Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, and the screen blurred before him.

He knew he was about to lose them all over again.

But he also knew there was no other choice.

He gently tapped the screen and initiated the purge. Closing his eyes, he took a deep shuddering breath, and let the machine do its job.

The next morning, Eli reported to work with a smile on his face. The bags under his eyes were gone — the anxiety medication thrown in the trash. He laughed with June as they walked down the halls he called home.

He was grateful for his job, his friends, and the Protocol that let him be his very best.

Everything was perfect.

His life was perfect.