4

 Inside S16, Julia tossed and turned feverishly on the floor of her tiny concrete cell. She had recently begun to have nightmares of a very strange sort; the same one every night. She didn't usually have them, nor did she dream, either. Ever since she had been brought to the mysterious prison, though, they frequented her sleep like a plague.

“Wake up, Julia, wake up...” A soothing voice whispered into her ear, and a warm breeze swept over her downed body. Julia opened her eyes, surveying her surroundings.

She was in a meadow, enclosed by a ring of tall oak trees and centered by a small pond.

A giggle resounded from near the water, and Julia stood up to find out who it belonged to. As she walked, the grass beneath her bare feet flew up around her, moved by a tiny gust of wind. The scenery fell away in pieces, evolving into an beach landscape. Now, her feet sank into cold wet sand, and tall black cliffs rose up beside her. Off in the distance, she could see a tall graying lighthouse with a beacon that twirled like a sparkling ballerina on the stormy waters.

The laugh was heard again, and Julia picked up her pace, hoping to find its origin before it faded again. Slipping on the shore, she finally made it to the rocky path up to the lighthouse, and then to the structure itself. She pushed back the rotting wooden door and stepped inside.

It was dark and musty inside, and flies danced around her skittishly. Again, she heard the laughter, this time from the top of the lighthouse. Julia grabbed hold of the twisting iron handrail and scampered up the stairs, faltering on a few but eventually managing to reach the top floor where the beacon spun rhythmically.

“Come on Julia, closer!” a child's voice beckoned her.

“Who are you?” She called out at last, responding to the strange voice.

Another giggle. “Come on, Julia! Hurry up!”

She did as she was told, taking long strides to the beacon, watching the golden light as it went about its business, keeping sailors from crashing into their impending doom on the monstrous rock walls outside. As it spun around, it began to evolve. With every turn a shape materialized- a face- that of a young woman, not more than 20 years of age. Her hair was wispy and pale, and her eyes hollow. This image, too, changed into something else, into an animal. Julia stared harder trying to figure out what she would see next, until the proud face of a lioness looked back at her with the same hollow eyes.

Julia jumped back, grabbing hold of the rail that circled the top beacon room. Once again, the giggle sounded, and all she ever recalled after that was a word, almost intangible against the loud crashing waves outside. “You.”

Rajiv lifted his chestnut eyes to the Blue Army general pacing authoritatively in front of his Reform co-sufferers. Presently, his group had been forced onto hands and knees to do 400 pushups. The Army had informed them that if you stopped for more than a breath you would have to start over. If you fell to the ground you would have to start over. If you whined or spoke you would have to start over. If you disobeyed, they would electrocute you until your fingernails danced.

He moved his gaze to the row of heaving and sobbing Shifters lined up on either side of him. Empathy filled him watching them struggle, because Rajiv himself had a massive body builder physique, unlike these lanky or hefty individuals. He could do 600 pushups, lunges, and crunches before needing a break. That is what life on the streets of Terra Nova did to people; these prisoners seemed to have been more privileged than he- middle class most likely.

Somewhere in the middle of the row, a 300-something pound Pillsbury Dough Boy coughed and sat up. “I have asthma, sir, I can't keep going or I'll have an attack. I need my inhale, please-”

“Get back down, and no, you may not. My orders are to get you into shape or die trying, and whichever comes first. And from the looks of you...” A blue-camouflage-suit-clad Staff Sargent crossed his hairy arms around his chest and guffawed at the young man's heavyset body.

The chubby boy sniffled, holding back tears, and got back to the up-and-down torture, wheezing with every “UP!”.

At this point, Rajiv had had enough. It sickened him that they, who could most likely tear all of these hateful imps limb from limb in their animal form, were powerless because they were crippled by fear. Asthma kid was probably a bear-Shifter, but most likely too scared of the laser-guns all of the officers sported on their silly little leather holsters to actually shape shift and protect himself.

So, Rajiv locked his elbows and looked up. “Hey, funny guy, pick on someone your own size.” He flinched at his wording, hoping the boy he was defending didn't take this offensively.

“Ah, we have a hero amongst us gentlemen. Would you like to meet my little friend? He likes to tango...” The Sargent stopped in front of Rajiv and punched one of his Army buddies on the shoulder, thinking he'd made a great joke. “Get back to your pushups, you filth.” The man shoved Rajiv's face into the dirt with a muddy boot and turned to walk away.

Rajiv spit on the ground. “Bring it...” He snarled, leaning on one elbow and pulling his braided hair back. “Zap me, I dare you.” Gasps emerged from surprised Shifters, but no one broke from their tasks. Tensing his muscles, he prepared his body for the shock. It couldn't be anything like the pain he had when he'd first been transformed into a Shifter. The surging, excruciating pains. A whole week would go by where he could think about nothing except the fire coursing through his every cell, every muscle, every limb. This would be nothing compared to that.