Confessions

“I’m okay, honestly. Go and eat dinner, you guys are probably hungry,” says Jasper.

Since yesterday, Jasper has been locked up in a storage closet – now a temporary “holding cell” – for trying to shoot Ezri. I expected them to rough him up a little bit, but he’s remained perfectly uninjured. Obviously can’t say the same about myself, my clothes covering the bruises. It aches every time I move, and Ezri won’t even let me have another one of those Re:Pills. Said they have to be “preserved,” but I just think she gets a twisted pleasure from seeing me struggle.

“Are you sure? It’s all dark and lonely in here,” says Shiloh.

He shrugs. “Yeah, but it gives me time to think at least.”

“There’s something different about you,” I note, referencing his oddly calm demeanor. It was first apparent to me while we were in the ruins of the Capital, how he was able to be so composed despite all those corpses. A welcome change? Sure, but extremely uncharacteristic.

“For real! You’d usually be crying right now, what happened?”

Jasper bristles with embarrassment. “Maybe, but— Okay, don’t get upset, but do you remember what Ezri said during her speech? About ‘conflict at the doorstep?’”

That cringey, overdramatic monologue? Yes, I unfortunately remember. After all, it was shortly before she blew all those people to bits. Pretty hard to forget about. Already not liking where this is leading, I shift my position and cross my arms, waiting for Jasper to go on.

“It kinda resonated with me. Back at the hospital, I felt so ashamed… I was falling apart, and there was nothing I could do about it, except lay there and just— be helpless.”

“Jasper, you weren’t the only one who had effects from the Convention. What happened to you was perfectly normal,” I assert.

He sighs, resting his head against the wall as he sits on the floor. “I’m not saying the Convention wasn’t traumatic, of course it was. But Calla, even the IPU couldn’t handle it, and it's their job to protect us… I didn’t want to be like them, not anymore…”

There’s a subtle grin on Shiloh’s face as she sneaks me a look that says, “I told you so.” It feels like I’m in an insane asylum, both of my friends randomly adopting the ideologies of anarchists. But before assuming the worst, I must remember this is only because they’ve gotten confused – deluded, even. Still not ideal, but forgivable, nonetheless.

“That was the only reason, huh? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I remember mentioning something about you and a certain somebody,” Shiloh says in a manner full of impish delight.

His cheeks turn pink, and soon enough, he’s back to the Jasper I know. “N-No, there was nothing else! Be quiet!”

After Shiloh does some more teasing, we both become unable to ignore our appetites any longer. Shiloh’s stomach growls so loud the sound of it bounces off the walls. Dinner’s outside the mess hall tonight, all because the Liberation wanted to get around the fire for the sake of “camaraderie.” A bond that’d sicken me to be part of, and I’ll make sure that’s obvious.

An orange light shines from the dancing flames that crackle rhythmically, while embers spark. It would’ve been charming, if it wasn’t the most scrapped together campfire I’ve ever had the displeasure of laying eyes on. No wood anywhere in the Boundary, so they gathered some papers, some fuel from the ship that’s now been rendered useless, and a lighter – resulting in this sad display.

The food, if you can even call it that? Even sadder. Just some weird, mushy substance that resembles mashed potatoes drowned in spoiled gravy – except it doesn’t feel like potatoes, definitely doesn’t taste like potatoes either. The worst part is nobody tells me what it is, I wonder if they even know.

“You really thinkin’ it’s gonna be as bad as Ezri says?”

“Course I do, you know Ezri ain’t the exaggerating type.”

“All I know is that we’re one step closer to victory, folks! Those swine in the IPU have it coming!”

“Not swine, devils!”

The soldiers chat boisterously amongst themselves, each word from their mouths an assault on my ears and a stab at my heart – or maybe, that’s just from the bruises. These idiots don’t have a clue. I munch on my food, my jaw moving stiffly as my annoyance increases.

“I say we take out the president first if we get that far, before he becomes a thorn in our side— Ouch!”

His big noggin is met with my meal can, the rest of its contents spilling all over his suit. Shiloh gasps, and realizing I’ve broken the law against violence yet again, I curse myself for my needless lack of self-control. See, you hit somebody once in all your life, and all of a sudden you can’t help yourself anymore. The IPU’s right.

But it’s too late to reverse anything. I march over to the man who dared to mention my father, a burly-looking guy with ginger hair. “You’ve got a lot of nerve spouting that nonsense.”

“Uh-oh, you made her upset, Rob!” Another soldier sneers.

My head whips to his direction – not just his, to everyone’s. Unlike Ace and Petra, the rest of the Liberation aren’t constantly wearing their helmets. I study their faces closely, trying to see if I imagine them twelve years younger, would I recognize any of them?

Given the chance, I’d report them all in less than a beat.

“You’re all sick, ungrateful animals,” I mutter. “Why are you even doing this? What’s the IPU done to deserve such rebellion?”

Some laugh, others scorn. The air overflows with disdain.

“I saw my best friend die in a car accident, and those unsympathetic bastards saw my grief as dangerous. I was in a facility for months, almost put to sleep!”

Well, if your grief was so extreme it became a threat to others, then yeah, that’s what happens.

“They put me, my whole family, even my neighbors, under surveillance just because they didn’t like what they saw in my MME, even though I passed.”

Then obviously, it was disturbing enough to warrant concern, but not enough to earn you under 75 points. You just got lucky.

“Heck, my daughter was late to her first MME. They interrogated her over it for a year and suspended her from school! A 13-year-old!”

Everyone knows to be on time for an MME. Why be late if she wasn’t trying to hide something?

“My droid dropped a kitchen knife, I picked it up, and the droid reported me. Less than an hour later, a golem broke into my house and dragged me off.”

Is a knife not classified as a weapon? There’s your answer.

“To me, it just sounds like you all refuse to take accountability.”

“Oh, please!”

“Ezri needs to give you another beating!”

They erupt into a commotion of rebukes and insults. Shiloh tries to calm them down, insisting I “just need time to get used to,” but they aren’t having it. When I actually suspect their words may turn into actions, especially after what Ezri did to me essentially gave them permission to do the same, I slip away from the campfire and into the village of tents towards the rear of the ship, leaving them in their wrath.

Not everyone can sleep in the Spearhead, with a good portion of it being a wreck. Ezri gave me no choice but to be inside, and for once, it’s something I don’t mind. Soft snores are heard from around as I walk further into the area, with one tent set as my destination. I didn’t see Ezri at dinner, in the ship, or anywhere else in the camp. That leaves here as the last possibility – and it couldn’t be more perfect.

Slowly pulling back the cloth, there she is – Ezri lying down, fast asleep. Her hair stands out in the darkness, left loose and unguarded. I sneak closer, careful not to make even the slightest noise. Even the smallest strand is all that’s needed for the task force. I’ll put it in a bag, keep it in my pocket or something, until we’re finally out of here.

Holding my breath, I inch my hand to her hair, ready to pluck just a single piece. The distance between myself and victory only gets shorter, and when my fingertips touch the silky tresses, it’s like the biggest weight in the world has been lifted from me.

But at once, that weight comes crashing back down, as Ezri clasps my wrist. A low rumble of a chuckle escapes from her.

“What do you think you’re doing, blondie?”