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...
Consciousness returns to me slowly as I blink my eyes open, my vision floating in an out of focus. I'm lying on my side on a familiar bed, facing a wall of screens. The collage of images and numbers on it are too bright; I flinch and look away.
My gaze sweeps the room and lands on Everett in the far end, who is pacing around with his back to me. Suddenly, a terrifying memory of the Foreman advancing towards Everett seizes me.
"W-what happened?" I gasp hoarsely, forcing myself up on my elbows. "What did he do to you?!"
Everett looks up at the sound of my voice and rushes over. He perches himself on the edge of my bed, leaning forward to lay his warm hand on my cheek. He says in a soft whisper, "Hey, I'm okay. How are you feeling?"
Physically, Everett appears unhurt, but there's a veil of darkness clouding his azure eyes that makes me wonder if he's concealing something from me.
"I'm . . . I'm fine," I say in response. I prop myself up into a sitting position on the bed with his help.
As I'm straightening my suit, I finally notice that the bleeding cut on my hand has already been reduced to a smooth scar across three of my fingers. I quickly realize that although I feel utterly drained of energy, there is no pain anymore.
Everett follows my gaze and says, with a look of wonderment, "I saw the Foreman heal your wound with this bright tube. It only took a few seconds! But he said you need plenty of rest to fully recover."
"Whoa." I exhale deeply, staring at the thin strips of raised skin in awe.
My memory instantly flashes back to the welts that ripped my mother's tender hands as she worked in the mills. Wounds that could have healed in mere seconds if only she'd had the privilege of being a citizen of the Imperium.
Everett pulls my attention back to him when he caresses my newly formed scar with the tip of his index finger. His gentle, tentative touch causes goosebumps to erupt all along my arms, making me very aware of where my skin meets his.
As I look closely at his face, the lines of worry and preoccupation on his forehead, I'm reminded of the wall of black boxes in the room where the Foreman found us. Everett had seen something — something that clearly distressed him — just before we were caught . . .
"What did you see?" I clear my throat. "Just before the Foreman found us in that room. You said something about records . . . ?"
"Oh, that. I saw records with pictures of you and me, our birth dates, when we recruited, the day our chips started malfunctioning."
"And? What else?"
Everett swallows hard before speaking again.
"Well, I'm not sure. There was—"
At that moment, the heavy white door is thrown open, and the Foreman walks in. I find myself scowling, not just out of disdain for the tall, authoritative man in the spotless blue suit but also from the frustration that Everett was interrupted so abruptly.
"Good, you're awake," the Foreman says in his thin, monotonous voice.
Swinging my legs off the narrow bed's edge, I move to sit next to Everett. We watch in silence as the Foreman turns slightly towards the bright screens and makes a series of swiping gestures with one hand.
"I'm sure you have many questions for me," he says, giving Everett a brief, meaningful stare. "But now is not the time. I have urgent matters to tend to, so, I will quickly examine your performance reports. You may leave afterwards."
I turn and arch my eyebrows at Everett questioningly, but he's staring straight ahead with an inscrutable expression.
"Let's see," the Foreman says, squaring his already stiff shoulders. "M929 and F930."
The screen shifts obediently to reveal two boxes of multi-colored bars — one labeled 'M929' and the other 'F930' — spanning the entire length of the massive screens. Some bars are taller than the others and there is one empty slot in both boxes.
"Lower productivity than the citizens, poor sleep patterns, very high levels of stress, as expected," he says, speaking mostly to himself. He mumbles a few other words that I can't catch before turning to face us. ". . . And neither of you is engaged in sexual activity."
I reel back as though I've been slapped.
"You can tell all this from . . . that?" Everett points at the screen, looking just as flustered as I feel.
"Of course. Your Chips may be malfunctioning, but we can still access your vitals," the Foreman says. He points to the empty slots on our boxes. "Your sexual activity, or lack thereof in this case, is indicated by these bars."
Outraged by the Foreman's casual violation, I narrow my eyes at him and cross my arms. He seems to enjoy my mortification as he takes a step closer to me and says, with a rare show of emotion in the form of a sickening smile, "If it's a pregnancy you're concerned about, let me inform you that your daily nutrition will take care of that. The same applies to the menstrual cycle."
"Wait. What?" It suddenly dawns on me that I haven't seen even one pregnant woman or child in the Imperium. I'd also lost track of my cycle ever since I woke up with my memories intact. "I won't get pregnant here?"
"You can't," the Foreman corrects me. "As I said, your daily nutrition will ensure that."
I want to ask more questions: why, how, and what else has the Imperium done to my body? But the Foreman indicates no desire to answer me. He turns his attention to the screens.
Back home, when Everett and I were together in the burnt house, we never went beyond a certain point — as sorely tempting as it may have been — because we didn't want to bear the risk.
But now, I realize with a jolt, a pregnancy is not even a possibility here. Even if I want it to be.
"Before I let you go," the Foreman speaks up suddenly, reminding me of his presence, "heed your first and final warning: you are not permitted to lurk around places where you don't belong. I can assure you that if you trespass again, I will not be so forgiving."
He gestures at the door and says, "Report to your pods immediately. You are required to resume your work in the garden as per usual tomorrow. You may now leave."
Without waiting for a response, the Foreman returns his attention to the displays on the wall. Shaking my head in a failed attempt to quell my spiraling thoughts, I silently comply as Everett hooks his arm around my waist and leads me out of the room.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Hey guys, thanks so much for reading this chapter. I hope you're staying safe.
Side note: Arya, Everett and all the other people living outside the Imperium don't have access to birth control. This is why Arya can't understand when the Foreman tries to explain it to her. In fact, outside the Imperium, they don't have access to any kind of medication.
Please let me know how you're doing in the comments and share your thoughts about this story as well. Take care. ♡
