The Year 2290 - pt. 2

It's like someone wielded a knife against everything I thought I knew, every single thing I’ve been taught my whole life, and slashed it to pieces right before my eyes. Continually. Overwhelmed, my legs give up on me, and I fall onto the grass – while somewhere out there, I’m giving a smile and salute to a passing Admin.

“Brandon Saski,” Jones repeats. There’s no mistaking it now, no thinking I must’ve misheard.

He was just a child? But what about the assassination? He hasn’t done a thing.

“I always tell him that he needs to be careful when he speaks, but—”

“Are you attempting to defend a lawbreaker?”

The old woman freezes, her skin pale. Saying anything in favor of a deemed “criminal” has always been reason for suspicion. She looks at the puzzled child – Brandon – again, then back at Jones, but her fear prohibits her from speaking further.

Jones snaps her fingers, calling the golems to do their duty. They drag away Brandon, everyone jumping out of the way as if he’s a disease. Brandon looks afraid – because of course he does, he’s a kid. He reaches out to the old woman, but a golem grabs his hand instead, while proceeding to escort him off the premises.

“W-What are they going to do with him?”

Ezri, sitting with one leg over the other, crosses her arms. “Have you all the sudden forgotten how the system works?” She asks mockingly. “He broke the law, so he’ll get punished.”

“But- but he’s so young, they can’t put him to sleep—”

“What happened, blondie?” She smirks. “I thought the good ol’ IPU was right about everything?”

“Don’t screw with me!”

I follow the golems out the gate, Ezri treading behind. They can’t be doing this, it’d be insane. The golems contact the police internally, indicated by blinking eyes and the way they simply stand on the sidewalk, waiting. Soon enough, a nearby cop car drives up – and horrified, I watch as Brandon is shoved into the backseat.

Ezri hops in with him, pulling me inside as well. Unbeknownst to all except the two of us, four people sit in the car.

The policeman raises an eyebrow. “Reported for malicious intent? You?”

“I’m sorry,” Brandon says sheepishly, his innocent eyes sagging. “I didn’t mean to… Can I go now?”

“Afraid not, kid. Law’s the law,” he mumbles, then returns his focus to the task at hand – driving a little boy to a facility.

Reality sets in on me the longer the drive goes on. They said Brandon was a grown man, not some, what – 6-year-old? Is that what they called a freaking “murder attempt?” They lied – oh my gosh, they lied. To all of us. The country fell apart over a pathetic fabrication, and they didn’t care.

“I don’t want to see them put him to sleep, if that’s what you’re planning,” I mutter, tapping my foot anxiously.

“Oh? But he’s a criminal, doesn’t he deserve it?”

“Ezri. Stop it.”

She leans her head against the car seat. “I’m not ‘thrilled’ about it either, but this is something you have to witness. You need to know the truth.”

“I’ve seen it already. The IPU lied – there, I admitted it. Happy?”

Her eyes slowly move to pierce into mine. They narrow as she says, “Not quite. There’s more.”

Brandon tries to ask the cop questions – where he’s going and why, if he could have a snack, if he could call a “Miss Perry,” who I assume is the elderly lady – but he receives no responses. I know every answer, yet I’m unable to tell him. Even if I could, I don’t think I’d want to.

After an agonizingly long 40 minutes, the car finally arrives at the facility. It’s not the Corvid, yet the unsettling aura it possesses is identical, and the same barrier is used to trap their secrets inside. Might as well be the same place. Ezri and I pass through alongside Brandon, the only child in the whole building. Other inmates are sickened by his appearance, it’s written all over their faces.

But the specialists?

Nothing. They’re indifferent.

Brandon is put through the same process as me – ruthlessly questioned by a specialist and manipulated into self-incriminating himself. He even gets called “vile,” just like me, to which he reacts with shamefacedness, but the poor thing shouldn’t.

“Your case will be put on review,” the specialist says coldly. “You will be sent to your cell.”

And then, there Brandon is – in a cell, examined like a lab rat. Cruelty. Dad has just come home, I run up to him and eagerly ask him about work. How was his day of taking care of the greatest country of the world, I wonder. Did Dad know about this too? That the infamous Saski Incident was just because of a boy with a poor grasp of social skills? Do I want to know?

“Come on, we have to go to the Headquarters now,” Ezri says, waving her hand.

“And leave him alone?” I guess us staying here is pointless – we can’t do anything, and he can’t even see us. But it still doesn’t feel right to just- go, knowing what’s going to happen to him.

“He’s already alone, blondie,” Ezri says. “We have to go now, or else we won’t be there in time.”

The walk from here to the Headquarters is a lengthy one, but I don’t mind it. Whatever Ezri is wanting to show me at HQ, I doubt it’s anything pleasant. People walk here and there around us, going about their business in total ignorance. I was like that too, not long ago.

“Is ignorance really bliss?” I ask aloud, though it’s directed to myself and not Ezri.

“Don’t know. But once you know the truth, there’s no going back.”

“Why did you want me to know it? What am I to your cause? Just tell me already.”

“Guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you now,” she stops walking. I stand with anticipation – this is what I’ve been waiting for. Ezri stares at me intensely. “You know your dream of becoming president?”

“Yes?”

“Well, it never happens.”

…

I hate her so much.

“That’s all?”

“No. You don’t become president, but you are a leader. An important one, who’d be a very helpful addition to the Liberation… If you were to be on our side.”

Her words take some time to register, but once it finally clicks, I say, “So, your plan was to show me the ‘dark side’ of the IPU, in hopes of getting me to join you in the future?”

“Correct.”

The sun setting, we now stand outside of Headquarters, and we aren’t the only ones. The old woman from the orphanage, Miss Perry, is amongst other workers I remember seeing. Held back by golems, they scream at the top of their lungs, pleading for Brandon with absolute distress. Don’t know what sparked such bravery, especially compared to their frightened behavior, but it did a good job.

“I’ve been an honorable citizen my whole life!” Miss Perry croaks. “But this is too far, he’s a little boy!”

“Please, we can attest he’d never hurt a soul!” Another yells.

They obviously attract the notice of passersby, even managing to form an audience. Never heard anything about this, and why would I? This would never be approved for the press. Right now, I’m bossing around the droid that used to be my nanny, totally oblivious – not only to the protest, but to the fact my “inferior” droid secretly had the ability to rule over me.

The Admins indoors aren’t very receptive, to say the least. “The Administrator has ordered you to cease. If you refuse, there will be consequences,” the golems say.

Miss Perry, full of fire despite looking so small and frail, stomps her foot and glares at a golem dead in the eye. “You listen here, we’ll leave for now, but you better bet we’ll be back! Until Brandon is released!”

And so they march off, still shouting and chanting about Brandon. They’re playing a dangerous game by publicly opposing a decision made by the IPU, putting them in a negative light. Even now, repulsion is an involuntary reaction from me – it’ll probably be a while before it goes away, or with how ingrained it is into my whole being, maybe it never will.

Ezri turns around, walking back the way we came.

“Already? We just—”

“Brandon’s sentence is going to begin soon.”

“That’s impossible, it’s the same day.”

“Blondie, how does the IPU usually deal with someone freaking out? Throwing a tantrum?”

They’d be seen as unstable, a threat to the public. Such a person would be kept in a facility, and if the facility doesn’t work, the next step is to be put to sleep. In Brandon’s case, they have an excuse to get the process done as soon as possible, review or not.

“But, that’s how kids are,” my eyes drop to the ground, as the last bit of myself struggles to hold onto a small sliver of hope in my country. “Wouldn’t they understand that?”

Ezri scoffs. “This is why I’m going to reveal everything to you, so that there’ll be no more back-and-forth. Honestly, it’s pathetic. Open your eyes.”

We keep walking, back to the facility. I don’t want to see it, but as always, Ezri gets the final word.