Sir, There's Talk of a Revolution

Stripped of Humanity

The Assist stood, as always, facing the Captain on his deck. The sky hung over their heads like a thick and heavy blue-black blanket. There were no stars in sight. The wind would come and go, the slight whistle of the cool air would occasionally breeze past them. The light patters of the rain weren't heavy enough to be a concern as they conversed. The Assist's feet ached so much they were numb, finding it difficult to stand straight. Her chest felt heavy, dropping and pushing against her stomach which in turn felt as if it was about to explode. It did not falter her loyalty to the Captain, however, who she was ready to obey at any cost. She was his Assist and he, her Captain.

The Captain, grunting and huffing as he spoke, had never inquired about the events down below. Not once had he asked about the reactions of the members, who had told, who had not. Even when the resistance mounted, the Assist struggled to fully brief the Captain as he refused to listen to anything she had to report. He preferred to snap orders and orders and more orders. The Assist could not understand how he seemed so confident in his demands, but, she was his Assist. He was her Captain. He knew best.

The truth was, the Assist watched as her responsibilities diminished. Each time she had went to the Captain's deck, he had given her less and less to do. Each time, he would order for the Assigner, the Supply or the Fixer to do something that would usually be delegated to her role. She began to worry. There was only one reason you would trust someone less with important responsibilities. She did not want to be seen as less capable, she wanted to reiterate that she was in deed right for the job. That she was fit to be Assist. That she was there, ready, to do what was required of her. She wanted him to know that.

"Captain, Sir, I want you to understand that I am willing to do what is necessary to find the traitor. You can trust me," she would rush before being dismissed.

When the Captain ordered for the Assigner to be in charge of something, to do or say anything, she would immediately object.

"Sir, with all due respect, responsibilities such as that are incredibly important, they require respect and authority and status. Sir, I believe that that should be delegated to me. Captain, I can do it."

Often, it simply did not make sense. When one task overlapped another, when one on either side of the ship at the same time, when its nature was too much for many to stomach. Yet, she wanted it. When the Captain hesitated, she insisted. Though initially he refused, he eventually allowed the Assistant to assume all responsibilities he would have otherwise given to others. In fact, after a period of time, he was enthusiastic, more than willing, to give the Assist what she wanted so much. With each new task, she felt bits of herself break away. It felt like every fibre within her body gradually turning grey, dull and unremarkable.

She felt dull and unremarkable.

Still, with each new task, she felt secure. So safe in her position, the Assistant was, that she could not see what was right in front of her. With each new task, she believed that the Captain was on her side, that he trusted her more than any other, that he needed her. The Captain depended on her. It was a nice feeling, being useful. To know that that you were relied on in times of trouble, when no one was safe from the suspecting Captain. She felt good, just good.

So, when the Assist jumped down the hatch and into the main room, watching all those beneath her - she did what her Captain wanted her to do. When the Captain said no mercy, there was no mercy. Not even when they screamed, and shouted, and pleaded. When they begged for their lives, for their reputations, she kept her word. She did what she had to do to survive, she would rather that than be on the other side. When she stripped the members of their humanity, leaving them with nothing but the image of their more than likely imminent deaths, she would stare deeply into their eyes, and they stared right back. The swirl of fear, the panic, the anxiety, the little glint of hope and determination. What they saw in hers worried her. It was the walls of her room, and only the walls of her room, that knew. Knew of the fear, and the panic, and the anxiety within her, the real her. Outside of that room, she was the Assist.

As she stared into their souls, she couldn't stop the Captain's warnings running through her mind.

"My younger self would shoot my own foot for what I am about to do. You say I can trust ya, that you're committed to your role. Okay. Alright. But be warned, kid, it will not be easy. You will regret it, you will regret every part of it."

As the Assist flipped through hidden boxes, folded papers, small necklaces, discovering secret photos, it went through her mind. You will regret this. As she ripped them, burned them, threw them into the seas. Babies, children, wives, husbands, mothers, fathers.

"You'll want to stop, stop all of it. I won't allow any of that, there's no going back."

The Assist passed through the rooms, the distant echoes of screams flooding her ears, tracing the different trails of blood that scattered the floors and walls. It was the corner of her eye that spotted a tiny pile of something she could not quite recognise. It wasn't until she stepped closer that she knew instantly what it was. Another ear piercing screech rang in the air. There's no going back. She stood still. It didn't bother her. She wouldn't let it bother her.

Another. Then another. Another cry. She had never ran out as fast as she had.

"But ya asked for it, ya wanted it. Ya want this? You can have it. Don't mess it up, kid. It'll be on you."

Don't mess it up. The ruthless grip on the members of the ship, the hard-hearted pushing for the truth, the unsparing punishment. All of it, above and beyond, for the success of the hunt. The Assist would constantly remind herself that they were there, the answers and the guilty. They had to be, because she was responsible for it all. She couldn't mess up. Don't mess up. She wouldn't mess up. She was going to find them.

She was going to find them.