Year 18

-Chapter 36-

After such a display, the Leader's intentions in allowing us to stay as his guests rather than prisoners becomes all too clear. We aren't handcuffed as we're paraded into the Leader's mansion. Surrounded by Agents, we almost look protected rather than imprisoned. Almost.

Mrs. Porter, Andrew, everyone else is here too.

As we're ushered in, it's clear this event is being held in our honor.

Bile burns my throat.

"When we're there," Kane said on the way over, "we can't cause a scene."

I see now that our appearance alone has cause the room to erupt with whispers, people chattering amongst themselves as we enter, dressed up like everyone else, our bodies bruised and marked.

We're not here to socialize.

We're a spectacle.

As the evening progresses, it's clear what we are here for.

We're the salt being rubbed into the wound of every person who is suffering for their affiliation with the Year Movement. We are to be seen as the rebels coexisting amongst our greatest enemies, casting aside our ideals, partaking in a life we are thought to oppose.

It's meant to tarnish Kane's image more than anyone else's. Kane Porter isn't the leader you think him to be. Kane Porter finds commonalities with the Government, so can you. Kane Porter doesn't really care for you, after all, here he is with us, celebrating while your lives are being taken from you. Your homes, your families. You are losing everything.

It works for the Government from every angle.

No one speaks harshly. No one treats us like prisoners. If it weren't for the unmistakable history of it all, I could almost lose myself in the kindness of advisors and officials as they drum up hospitable questions and sentiments.

Videos are recorded as we mingle.

I wonder if those in the outer sectors are being forced to watch; to see exactly what the Leader wants them to see, despite the lack of accuracy in the context. Your pain doesn't matter. We're celebrating as your lives crumble. Look, Kane isn't doing anything to stop us.

I wish I could believe that everyone would understand; that they'd see through the obviously forced messaging. Still, I believed it. I felt I was so against the system that'd taken me from my family, and yet when I was faced with its opposite, I'd rejected it just as quickly. I'd taken Kane's ideals and dragged them underfoot. I know what it's like to actually fall into the trap of trusting the one you distrust the most.

"If I may have your attention," the Leader calls out. The cameras that had before been focused on capturing every movement, every interaction—they are all stopped, covers resuming their place over the lenses. "We have a demonstration for you all this evening. Please, make your way to the stage."

Anticipation mixed with too-fresh memories raise the hairs on my arms.

Andrew comes to stand next to Kane, followed by Andrea, Anya, and Mrs. Porter. We form a small group, standing shoulder to shoulder, waiting to see what awaits us.

"Kane," the Leader looks down at Kane, motioning for him to join him on the raised platform. "Help me demonstrate, will you?"

I grab Kane's arm, offering a silent statement of opposition.

His hand brushes mine, and despite the tightening in his jaw, he mounts the stairs, standing beside the Leader.

"Paul, you should really be the one to introduce this," the Leader beams with pride as Paul joins him on the stage, a metal case in hand.

My vision focuses on the box, wondering what sort of tech Paul has created. He has such a gift when it comes to technology; something that is largely foreign to the rest of us. Still, in my memories, all those awestruck moments are tainted with the knowledge that every advancement was for the advantage of the Government.

Paul sets the case on a podium before opening it wide for the room to see. It's impossible from this distance to make out the tiny device sitting inside its box, but I feel no shock when Paul takes it out to slip behind his ear. Kane flinches as Paul's face and body morph into mine. In this form, I'm wearing more casual clothes, but outside of apparel we're indifferentiable.

The Leader reaches into the case, putting on a UCP—though I wonder what Paul may be calling them these days, no longer mere prototypes at all. This time it's Kane that appears before us, sporting similar clothes to the UCP version of me.

"We know you're more than capable of tarnishing your own image," the Leader says in Kane's voice, condescending in how statement and tone. "Look at what you've done just this evening."

Videos and photographs from the night appear in a hologram in front of the UCP Kane. Videos of Kane dancing with me, talking with Government officials. Pictures of all of us as we mingled for no other reason than necessity. Of course, these pictures don't tell that much of the story.

The images vanish, and the UCP version of me sidles up beside Kane, holding his face between her hands.

"What's the matter?" my voice asks. "Can't tell me apart from her?"

Kane pulls away so forcefully that he falls, causing an uproar of laughter. Angry tears collect in the corners of my eyes, and as I look around I see a mixture of features. Those that suggest true humor are present, but more prevalent are those with fear mixed into their dented cheeks, crinkled eyes, and too-loud laughs.

I want to yell, to scream, but it wouldn't be wise. Instead, I stay silent.

"Your image," the Leader says, though it's Kane's voice we here as he kneels down in front of him, "is mine now."

A/N ~ Hey everyone! A new chapter, one of only a few left. It's so weird to think about concluding this book and the trilogy as a whole. I've been working on it since 2014, so almost 10 years now. I am forever thankful for all of you that have joined me in this journey. 

If you haven't already, please complete the Google Form in the comments. Thank you to everyone who already has! Your feedback will help me know what to post in the future :)

-Sarah