In a nightmare world ravaged by misery, the Imperium offers utopia to a select few. When Arya and Everett are recruited into this elite society, they choose to leave their homes against their families' wishes.
Naive and young, Arya and Everett are...
The words 'memory reconstruction' echo inside my mind as I observe the beds and monitors once again. I reach out for Everett's arm in a cold vice-like grip, watching the other recruits slowly occupying the beds, their faces creased with trepidation.
I don't realize that Everett and I are the only ones left standing until the official plunges the rectangular tip of his weapon into my back. Startled, I let out a pained cry and jump away from the weapon.
"Stop! We're going!" Everett yells as he spins around to face the hostile official. In a much softer voice, he says to me, "Come on, Arya, it'll be okay."
Everett and I slowly head towards a pair of adjacent beds, moving faster to lie down when the official makes a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat. I extend my hand towards the gap between our beds. Everett's warm fingers entwine with mine as my mind races to comprehend my surroundings. I sit up when I hear the official's gruff voice and find him murmuring indecipherably into one of the devices hanging from his belt. Frustrated, I lean back against the narrow bed, struggling to get comfortable on the unfamiliar soft surface.
"What are they going to do to us?" I whisper to Everett, my voice quivering despite my attempts to regain composure.
Everett doesn't get a chance to respond because he's interrupted by the arrival of a group of ten men and women. Each person takes a position next to one of the beds, starting from the left end of the room. Lying on the very last bed, I have to crane my neck to get a clearer view of the strangers. The mere sight of their impassive faces and form-fitting white suits sends a shudder through my body.
Sounds of beeping machines and quiet chatter fill the sterile room. My fingers tighten around Everett's as I watch the recruits falling asleep within seconds of being connected to some kind of equipment. Running my thumb along Everett's wrist, I realize that his pulse is pounding heavily, too.
"Whatever happens . . . we're here together," I say, infusing confidence into my words in the hopes of comforting him.
Everett turns to me, looking more grim than I'd ever seen him before. "What if we don't remember that? What if we don't—"
He stops himself from finishing that sentence. What if we don't remember each other?
This can't be the life we were promised, I think furiously, recalling the content, smiling faces in the visuals shown in the auditorium. How can I ever be happy after forgetting the people I love?
I'm jolted from my troubled thoughts when two women step into the space next to my bed. An instant before one of them wordlessly forces Everett's hand out of my grasp, he leans forward and presses his lips to my knuckles. My heart lurches painfully once we're separated.
I watch in stunned silence as one of the women presses a rectangular object on my right forearm, causing a short, sharp sting. When she pulls the device away, I see 'F930' branded onto my skin. Craning my neck, I manage to decipher the code on Everett's arm: 'M929'.
Don't forget him, don't forget him, I keep chanting to myself as several wires are connected to my body, sticky square-shaped patches pressed to my temples.
"M929 ready for final decontamination," the woman attending to Everett says, just as the one facing me adds, "F930 also ready for final decontamination."
Almost immediately, my eyelids start to grow heavier, my body slumping with sudden and intense tiredness. The very last thing I see is Everett's eyes — shockingly blue under these glaring lights — silently staring into mine.
And then there's nothing left but darkness.
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