Unorthodox Resonance

Ⅰ

The Academy Bell

I trudged through the iron gates of Dominican Academy, the grim facade towering over me like a prison guard. This place wasn't meant to nurture young minds - it existed to churn out obedient workers for the New Order's machine.

"Clark! Eyes forward, shoulders back," Father's voice barked from behind. I straightened my posture, knowing his discipline rod wasn't far away.

Ever since the Orthodox Revolution swept away the corrupt old regimes, the New Order promised reform and rebirth. Instead, they shaped a society as rigid as the marching formations we practiced daily at the Academy.

My classmates streamed by in their crisp uniforms, faces blank under peaked caps. We called ourselves the "Numbered Ones" - the elite youth conditioned to operate the levers of this brave new world. I was 127-8492, a leading prospect according to my instructors.

The morning bell clanged through the courtyard. I snapped to attention with the others, our boots cracking in unison.

"Listen and obey," I muttered the watchwords under my breath as the Commandant stomped onto the podium.

"Numbered Ones!" His voice scraped like gravel. "The sanctity of our victory remains under siege from the rabble of the old ways. Unorthodox ideas breed chaos and sin..."

His spittle-flecked diatribe washed over me - the same fanatical dogma drummed into us daily. I allowed my mind to wander, daydreaming of the day I'd finally graduate and enter the ranks of the Civic Peacekeepers. I'd stride those streets in my black uniform and armor, the long nightstick at my side enforcing the righteous new order.

"...and that is why the Feminine Deviants remain quarantined to control their wicked impulses!"

Female education was strictly forbidden now, along with all the other pollutants of past indulgences. My youngest sister, Miriam, became a cautionary tale for me after being caught teaching herself to read as a child. Father's disciplinary measures left marks I tried not to dwell on.

I snapped from my reverie as the Commandant dismissed us to first lecture. Time to shine for my ascendancy review.

Afternoon studies dragged into evening security drills. I moved through riot protocols with cold precision, relishing the chance to bash the padded instructors with practiced baton strikes. This intensity earned me a sidelong look of approval from Father, a rare occurrence.

"Exemplary work, 127-8492," the drill instructor wheezed, sweat glazing his pockmarked face. "The New Order requires more acolytes with your zeal."

I stifled my pride, reminding myself such emotional displays were a weakness. We were the Numbered Ones, created to be the State's tireless, unthinking instruments.

Lost in those thoughts, I nearly missed the retreat bell signaling our return to parental custody. I hurried to meet Father at the designated rallying point, cursing myself for that minor infraction.

But he wasn't alone - another figure loomed beside him in the gloaming.