Fratricide

2: Awake

Daniel sat up and rubbed his hair, it was getting longer and he hadn't bothered asking for anything to cut it with. His scalp was sore from tugging on the knots caused by his restless sleeping. He ran his fingers through his hair a few more times in an afterthought attempt to appear decent. Still, although he was unkempt he wasn't filthy. The shower and the soap still ran.

He got up, tired and slow. He glanced at the time, 9:28. For some reason a.m. and p.m. were not a concern to whoever had placed him in his box. He walked to the counter and stretched as he waited for 9:30 to roll by. He started doing sit-ups to kill time when the clock struck the half hour and his meal dropped down the chute. It sat there steaming in its clear packaging with perforated holes for ventilation. Daniel finished his set and then turned over to do push-ups.

Half an hour later Daniel was still sitting on the floor, breathless and chewing the artificial scrambled eggs. The package was ripped open next to him, there were never utensils. He supposed they were too dangerous. He got the feeling he was important enough to keep alive if he was given access to all the files he could ever want on the prints who were sent to him. His cell was pretty spendy with the full-wall computer and the carefully maintained entrance and exit points. He'd already made a list: the food chute and water lines were the entrances, plumbing and laundry the exits. Nothing big enough for him to fit through.

He thought how ironic it was that he felt more imprisoned than he had at any other time in his entire life but had access to files he would have done anything for outside. He had suspected an increase in crime among prints, he had been watching and listening closely for events that appeared covered up. Congress was actively suppressing any news of the deaths. Daniel knew it could last only so long before victim families became too many to control.

Daniel reached over lazily and stuck his hand in the eggs he brought over and shoved the handful in his mouth. "With food like this, I guess suicide isn't out of the question," he thought.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes with his palms, he tried every day to remember how he arrived in the cell. He could only remember walking. He was leaving campus after a lecture, looking forward to seeing his two kids. Isaac and Song. He missed them desperately. His wife - she was harder to remember. Her face and beauty he remembered. Her kindness. The name simply wasn't there and he was ashamed for it.

He must have been taken while he was walking through the park. He was crossing the bridge and - black. He awoke here on the ground on the other side of the wall, facing the computer. A video played. He was given his mandate to interview the arrested prints. Apparently, he was only one of many interviewing the offenders, there was a whole task force dedicated to them. It didn't matter anyway, he wasn't allowed to talk to any of them. For all he knew he was the only print, the only one who had served alongside the men and also had a background in criminology and psychology to bring to the table. All of his conversations were recorded of course. The recordings were also sent to the judge handling the case of every man he interviewed. Daniel was given 150 days to build "significant evidence" that prints were either sustainable or not.

He didn't want to think of what the implications of "not" meant. Daniel wasn't overly concerned with coming to that conclusion, the print army was too vast and embedded to eliminate at a moment's notice. It could be supplanted sure, by the next 15 years if a replacement template was found.

Daniel heard the timer counting down again. He had a few minutes before the next offender arrived. He stood to grab the chair in front of the counter then stopped himself. He let go and walked to the other side in front of the screen. He kneeled on the floor and cleared his mind. A minute went by. Two. He opened his eyes and sat down with his legs crossed.

The screen went opaque.

The man was in a straight jacket. Daniel could see that the chair he was sitting in was bolted to the floor. There were marks on the man's head. Angry red welts that had broken and bled were what was left of a savage assault against a concrete floor or wall. Whether the man had simply attempted to commit suicide or had a psychotic break he couldn't tell. Wild eyes and profuse perspiration at least indicated he was alert, lucid or not.