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Click here to check out the first part of this series, The Utopian.

The Cure for Life by Nathan Knaack

At first I thought it was another one of those parades they stage from time to time, where common citizens shuffle through our facility to examine the condition of the prisoners. It had something to do with maintaining civil rights, someone once said. The easiest way to tell was when the shackles were taken off, as if anyone herded past our cells wasn’t going to see the raw skin of our wrists and piece together what had really been going on all that time. I guess that’s what happens when you grow up in a place where the government is everywhere and everything; you start to trust it more than your own eyes.

Anyway, it was just like that the day the patrol android stepped into my cell and prompted me to raise my arms to have the restraints removed. Closing my eyes almost reflexively, I waited for the requisite blast of disinfectant-laced water to fire down out of the ceiling; there was always a ‘bath’ before citizens came through. After a few quiet moments, I looked up to see the robot gone, but the door remained open, letting in more light than my cell had seen since the day I was thrown in there. The pit of my stomach deepened as I rose to my feet, almost as if I was unaware of what I was doing; while my mind processed the situation, my body was already doing what it thought was necessary.

Just as my first step into the hallway resounded with a ceramic smack of bare feet on tile, a deep voice erupted from my left, while the heavy click of a HM-22 Warrior assault rifle, loaded with the expanded 7.62mm ultra clip, made its unmistakable presence known to my right. It had been two years since I heard one, but the recognition never fades. I found myself the victim of a sudden and distracting headache.

“One more step forward and you’re dead,” the voice began, freezing me in place instantly, “and if you’re not ready to make a deal, just take one step backwards and we’ll shut the door and forget about the whole thing.”

Again, my body responded before my brain, “I’m ready.” Somewhere between those words, my body had decided to soak my palms with sweat as well.

Commonwealth Prime, Concept

Without turning my head, I could hear the man’s footsteps as he walked into my field of vision. I immediately noticed: No fatigues. No brass. No steel. It was just a middle-aged man, a bit on the heavy side, with a military-issue mustache and retinal replacements; the RR’s shimmered slightly when the light caught his eyes at certain angles. His plain clothes were so new that they still had fold marks in many places. In the reflection of the shiny civilian guest pass pinned to his unremarkable lapel, I caught a glimpse of Commonwealth heavy combat body armor and blast helmet behind me. “Who are-“ I began, but he cut me off abruptly.

“CPSD 39 Finster.” The bluntness of his answer convinced me that he really was who he claimed to be, second in command of the Commonwealth Prime Security Department and one of the highest ranking officials in the government. “Any more questions?”

“I think that’s all I need to know about you.” Relaxing a bit, I slid my hands into the pockets of my jumpsuit and attempted some veiled passive aggressiveness. “Let’s hear about this deal already.” My casual conversation must have set him off.

“Remain imprisoned until your inevitable execution for crimes against the state,” he began nonchalantly, smiling as my posture stiffened noticeably, “or volunteer for duty in our experimental technology department.” He reached up to adjust something on his shirt that apparently wasn’t there, because his hand returned to his side without actually doing anything. It was probably something on his regular uniform that bothered him from time to time.

“That’s not much of a choice now, is it?” It was difficult to conceal my excitement at getting out of that hellhole, no matter where I ended up.

“That’s my favorite kind of deal, Inmate 7 Vanik.” He nodded over my shoulder to his companion, who lowered his weapon and took a step back from us. “They’ll come for you in the morning. Try not to make any noise as you leave though; I’d rather the other prisoners not get any ideas about you getting pardoned.”