A Bright Tomorrow For The 22nd State

In the near future, humans are artificially mass-produced in factories, with zero genetic impurities. These perfect human beings are called Puritans. As the Puritan administration gains control of the

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Bright Future For The 22^nd State

 

 

 

 

 

A Novella By Jake Sampson

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Perfection is finally attained not when there is no longer anything to add but when there is no longer anything to take away, when a body has been stripped down to its nakedness.’

 

Antoine de Saint-Exupery (1900-1944) French aviator and writer

Prologue

 

 

‘Non quomodo Deus voluit.’

 

I write to you, whoever you might be, asking for your forgiveness, the mistakes of an entire generation will fall unto you. Know that our ignorance and pride were our undoing, as thirteen years ago Humanity plunged itself into a world of delusional ‘perfection’.

 

My name is Richard Callahan. My story starts, well, much like any other; I was born December 8^th 1991, in central Chicago, my mother passed away a few years later from a pulmonary embolism, my father raised my brother and I alone. His strict catholic methods were tough, and at the age of 12, I ran away from home. I ran for as long as my body would allow, through the city until I collapsed under a shelter, I remember the rain more than anything; I could hear it, talking to me. I spent three nights under that shelter, stealing scraps and begging for food. Until one day a policeman stopped and handed out twenty dollars. I looked up; the officer smiled and placed his hand on my shoulder. I was stunned by his kindness; he led me to his patrol car and drove me back to my father. As I returned home my father wept with joy, the first and last time I ever saw my father cry. Things were different from then on; my father smiled more, he appreciated every day as if it were his last. My brother and I would play in the back yard while he read passages of the bible in peace. Inspired by the kindness shown by that police officer I joined the Chicago police department. I graduated in August 2013, my Brother and father attended, I’ve never seen a man more proud than my father on that day.

 

I patrolled on the streets of Chicago for four years, and that’s when it happened. On January 2017, a revolutionary form of gene therapy became open to the world; scientists could artificially acquire the DNA of a fetus and remove all of the impurities; cancer, Huntington’s disease, asthma. Any faulty gene could be removed, but it didn’t stop there. Later that month the government announced the introduction of a completely ‘reformed’ human being, the first of the ‘Puritans’ was born. A completely artificial human being, devoid of any and all diseases and emotion. These ‘people’ were built from scratch, using genetic ‘markers’ and ‘guidelines’ to allow scientists to program and design the human body with excruciating detail. The media loved it, The Perfect Human, was the headline on every major news channel. Before long there were over a thousand Puritans in the United States alone. They had been assigned to work as agents in the CIA and FBI, before long every major civil servant was a Puritan. In February 2020, the Puritans began to replace police officers; entire precincts converted overnight, pockets of ‘imperfect’ precincts remained, for now. With the full integration of the Puritans now in effect, the entire economic class system split into two, one known as the ‘Puritan State’ and the other the ‘Imperfect district’ the lower west section of Chicago remained within the confines of the ‘Imperfect district’, this, my precinct.

 

 

 

‘Non quomodo Deus voluit.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part I

Memoires Of The Immaculate.

 

April 16^th 2030 Lower-West Chicago.

 

I woke up earlier than usual; the sound of traffic I guess. I had the tail end of a dream in my head, I could just remember the sound of voices, and they kept saying the same thing over and over, imperfect, imperfect. Perhaps it was the universe trying to tell me to quit, maybe I should; in six months our district will be converted into a Puritan State, completing the ‘purification’ of Chicago. The government offered us jobs as prison guards or if we seem unsuitable, retirement.  What kind of a choice is that?

 

I perform the usual ‘breakfast to go’ routine, scantily buttered toast and piping hot coffee in my flask. I’d grown sick of the taste of coffee long ago, the charred tongue left in its wake never appealed to me either, but I am a creature of habit. I headed down the usual flights of stairs, out of my adequate apartment building and across to my adequate car. As usual I checked my watch before setting off, eight-thirty exactly. It takes exactly thirty-five minutes to drive across town to the precinct, with only LEFM radio for company. I drive the same route every day, past the same buildings at the same speed, and yet, I never tire of it.

 

I pull up to the precinct at exactly nine-fifteen, same as always. There was the usual crowd of degenerates waiting to be processed; mostly addicts caught dealing or purse snatching. I walk, at pace, to my office, my name above the door, Detective Richard Callahan. I push open the door to reveal the cleanest office in the history of policing, aside from the usual coffee stains on the desk. Hanging my jacket on the door and casting my brief case on my desk I could now begin my day.

 

The majority of my detective work consisted of interviewing scumbag addicts or serial sex offenders. Quite frankly it was easy work, they always confessed, anything for a roof over their heads. Today was no exception; I had three files on my desk, which meant three desperate souls looking for a way out; even with capital punishment reinstated, seems they’d prefer lethal injection to a life on the streets.  I can’t say that I blame them; the decaying streets of the Imperfect Districts were ungodly. It was the ragged end of the human era, before long Puritans would outnumber us, and then, who knows what would happen. I flipped open the first file.

 

               Last Name: Crosby.

First Name: Edward

Title: Mr.

Age: 24

Occupation: Unemployed

Genetic class: Imperfect

Known Offences: Attempted suicide, assault of an officer of the law, attempted murder, vagrancy.

 

Another attempted suicide, how can we blame them? I grabbed my flask and placed the folder under my arm. It was time to meet Mr. Crosby. The long steel corridors of the precinct echoed the story of a hundred thousand men and women, fighting for justice and order, if only they could see the world now. I reached interview room 12, Crosby’s current home away from home.  As I entered the room the two officers on guard nodded and left to wait outside. I sat opposite Crosby and pertained to read his file. Edward Crosby was a thin malnourished man with dirty clothes and cold empty eyes, his yellow fingernails and bleached hair caught my eye.

 

“How are you, Edward?” I smiled.

 

Edward’s eyes could not meet mine. He scratched at his skin and stuttered out every sentence almost whispering.

 

“I-I’m n-not well.” Edward clutched his handcuffs. “I n-n-need help.”

 

“I realize that Edward, but we need to understand what’s been going on with you before we can decide how to help you.”

 

Edward nodded and placed his head into his hands.

 

“Now, Edward it says here, that you tried to kill yourself, why was that?”

 

Edward became more and more erratic as the interview went on.

 

“I-I just wanted to get away from it all, I-I can’t cope.”

 

“It’s ok Edward, we’re here to help.” I sipped my coffee. “Now Edward, it also says here that you tried to assault and kill an officer of the law, is that correct? Because if it is, Edward, then that is punishable by death.”

 

Edward smiled, almost laughing.

 

“H-He promised t-that you’d kill me i-if I did it. Y-You know; killed a Puritan.”

 

I was stopped in my tracks, double-checking what I had heard my mind began to race.

 

“It didn’t mention anything about you trying to kill a Puritan, Edward there are no Puritan’s in this district.”

 

“I-I went to the P-P-Puritan state in n-north Chicago. H-He showed me t-the way.”

 

My temper flared.

 

“Who showed you?”

 

“T-The Hunched Man.” Edward began to laugh. “H-He told me what to do, a-and in exchange you’d sentence me to d-death, and s-stop the pain.”

 

 

Edward’s cackling dismissed any credibility in his story, but I needed to be sure. How could he have gotten past the border? Who was the hunched man?

 

“Edward, listen to me very carefully. If this is true, then there is nothing I can do to help you. Wait here.” I stood up grabbed my flask and marched out of the interview room.

 

I needed to get a straight fix on what exactly happened. It said on the file that Officer Daniels brought Edward in; maybe he would have some answers. Chances are he would be at his desk filling out paperwork. I headed up the stairs to the second level; Daniels desk was just opposite the stairwell. As I reached the top of the stairs I could hear voices, cold calculative voices, they sounded lifeless and disturbing. I approached the office pen to see three white armored men, tall, at least seven to eight feet tall; their faces were strangely devoid of any recognizable features, and their shaved hair a pale white, their physique was something to marvel in broad muscular bodies. The central of the three was talking to Officer Daniels.

 

“Officer Daniels, this cannot go unnoted, we need to know exactly how this perpetrator infiltrated the boarder.” The cold logic behind the voice chilled me.

 

“We’ve searched the entire perimeter and there is no way he could have gotten in.”

 

The tall figure thought for a moment before responding.

 

“You understand of course, he attempted to eliminate a Puritan; Mr. Crosby was fortunate to escape with his life.”

 

Daniels placed his head into his hands.

 

“Ok I’ll send another team to patrol, but Crosby stays here”

 

“That is not possible, he committed a felony within the Puritan state, he is to be taken with us and processed. Unless you would like to be charged with obstruction of justice?”

 

Daniels chuckled for a moment, before pushing a heaped report towards the tall figure.

 

“Take him, won’t be long before you have this precinct anyway.”

 

The figure picked up the file and proceeded towards the stairwell.

 

“I’m glad that you pertain wisdom, Officer.” The figure and his accomplices walked quickly and without hesitation, making eye contact with me for a brief moment, before heading down the stairs.

 

I dashed around the corner and marched up to Daniels desk.

 

“They can’t take him, I’m not done with him.”

 

“Damn it Detective, don’t you think I know that?” Daniels ran his hands through his hair.

 

“Did he really try to kill a Puritan?”

 

“Yes, he stabbed one in the arm.” Daniels sighed. “Before screaming, ‘kill me, kill me’.”

 

“God damn it.” I sipped once more from my flask. “He mentioned something about the ‘Hunched Man’, do you know anything about that?”

 

“He mentioned it in the car when we caught him trying to get back into the district. I wouldn’t pay too much attention, he’s an addict.”

 

“An addict that managed to breach Puritan security. Doesn’t that call for a more thorough investigation?”

 

Daniels stood up, his temper splayed.

 

‘It’s a Puritan issue now; they’ve got Crosby, and any evidence we could collect. It’s a closed case.”

 

The cold hand of the Puritan had began to surface, with only six months remaining until the merger, it was getting harder and harder to find reasons to carry on. Every other case we get is carted off to Puritan investigators, who analyze all logical possibilities and then execute the ‘imperfect’ responsible. Any excuse to put one of us down. Half of the detectives in this precinct had already taken to drinking or headed out west to the Slum State. Damn, What could possess a man enough to force him out into the Slum State, a mass of derelict cities and ramshackle slums, stretching from Oregon to L.A to Houston, making it the largest and most dangerous of the three states of America. On the other hand a man could escape from the ever-closing hand of the ‘perfect’; they would never venture out into the wastes. Still it seemed even Daniels had enough of the day-to-day routine; Catch a criminal, hold him in a cell for a couple of hours and wait for the white armored angels to arrive and cart him off to the other side of the border. It was the slow demise of the organic; soon every police officer in here would be made redundant overnight, without so much as a grumble. In nine years the Puritan state had grown out from Washington and spread almost halfway across the continent. I remember the day the first batch of Puritans emerged from that laboratory in D.C., I remember the parades, I even remember President Larsson’s speech about ‘keeping humanity in the loop’, some promise. A year after ‘Institution Day’ President Larsson and the White House staff handed control of the state to the Puritan council; this is where the fire started. 

 

I headed back down to my dingy musky office and placed my head in my hands. Unmotivated, surrounded by equally uninspired police officers, all playing delivery boy for the Puritans. I couldn’t just let my livelihood go like this. Forced retirement in Minnesota, or guard duty, which would you pick?

 

I sat and watched the clock hands drift for longer than any sane person would, all the while filling out ‘transition’ forms for prisoners being shipped over to the Puritan state.

 

“Bullshit.” I whispered to my self.

 

At long last the day draws to a close. I sip the remainder of my cold coffee and slump over to my thick brown jacket. Closing time was bar time. There are many places that degraded after the genetic segregation: schools, hospitals, grocery stores and worse of all, bars. Luckily for me I knew how to handle myself, and at a confident six-foot, I wasn’t much of a victim.

 

I could hear the music from down the street, heavy drums, and that distinct smell of piss soaked carpet. Yes, I felt more human here than anywhere else in all Chicago. I entered my usual spot, couldn’t tell you what it was called; the sign rusted away long before I graced that fine establishment. I walked in to find the same cluster of drunks, in the same corner drinking the same old s**t, day in, day out. The bar tender rarely spoke, except for the odd ‘thanks’ and ‘that’ll be three dollars’. And so I paid my three dollars and sat with my whisky on the same stool as the night before. I sat there for a good two hours before drinking my whisky down in one; I couldn’t shake the Crosby incident from the forefront of my mind, and amalgamated with, as per usual, the ever-looming Puritan merger that would render all of us obsolete. Three double whiskeys later, I decided it was time for me to wander back to my utilitarian hovel and try to sleep.

 

The streets changed face at night, all manner of addicts and prostitutes emerge, each more helpless than the next. I managed to deter most would-be muggers with my height and physique. And yet I could feel them staring at me, analyzing me, seeing which pocket I kept my wallet in. It drove a biting sensation up my spine, when a blood-chilling scream emanated from behind me. I turned for a second to check it wasn’t someone charging for me. Instead what I saw changed me completely. Three hooded men had pinned one of the venomous prostitutes down and began searching her for money.

 

“Where’s the money!” One of the men screamed, brandishing a knife.

 

“I don’t have any, Ryker looks after it for us.”

 

“Bullshit! Where is it? We don’t have time for your s**t!”

 

One of the other men struck the woman with a metal bar forcing her head to collide with the concrete floor. Blood poured from the wound in her head.

 

“F**k this! Take her behind the dumpster man.”

 

The three men carried her off into the adjacent alleyway. All the while I remained still, -in part- allowing it to happen. My mind had solidified; if I saved her what good would it do? Everyone down here is looking for away out, if I had arrested the three men, three more would take their place tomorrow. We were trying to wash the streets when it’s constantly raining blood.  We really were obsolete. The woman’s faint screams eventually ceased, a cold and sickening feeling erupted in my stomach. I had embraced the inevitable.

 

 

I woke with a start. The pattering of the rain on the windows affirmed my return to the real world, my head still spinning with images; the tail ends of another vivid dream. I can never remember every detail; only shattered fragments seem to stick. I remember blinding lights, and cold metal floors. I’m trapped in some square cell trying to get out, and then, the door opens, and I wake up. A shadowy depression lingers as I shake the remnants of the dream from my mind. I clamber to my feet, I stare across to the clock to see the hand just pass one p.m.

 

“S**t, I’m late”

 

I scrambled to my closet and threw on one of many sets of identical clothing, fighting through the usual hangover to leave for work. In the back of my mind I wondered, why I felt it necessary to rush; the worst they could do is fire me a few months earlier than planned. I left the apartment a good four hours later than expected; a situation like this would usually call for panicking and a prepared apology for the Chief. But instead I felt an overwhelming abundance of calm and a complete lack of direction. Fifteen officers and three detectives had walked out of the precinct since the Puritan merger announcement, and I too had finally succumbed to the ever-pressing notion that they just don’t give a f**k. I sat in my car motionless, forced to breaking point by a routine imposed by the ‘powers that be’. I needed a release, a chance to escape; the rules and regulations of the Puritan state have stifled me for long enough. I had questions that I wanted answering, I wasn’t about to endure my forced retirement with out tying up every loose end I could think of; I started with the Edward Crosby incident.

 

A smile drew out across my face, the first time I had smiled in years, I started the engine and drove. I needed a decent lead to follow, seeing as Mr. Crosby himself had probably been executed and processed into some form of recyclable material. I needed to follow up on the ‘Hunched man’ that he mentioned. If this 'Hunched man' had managed to sneak Edward over the border chances are he would have some answers. But where to start?

 

I drove for just under an hour when my P.D.A alerted me to a message. I reached into my jacket pocket and read the message allowed.

 

Message Received �" Chief Corbin Goodwill, Chicago Police Dept.

 

“Detective Callahan, this is Chief Goodwill, I’ve just been informed that you have not reported for duty today, nor have you reported a reason for your absence. Failure to report for duty tomorrow will result in disciplinary action. I trust I will speak with you tomorrow. End message.”

 

Goodwin’s lack of charisma never ceased to amaze me. After dismissing the Chiefs futile threat, I proceeded into the deprived slum that had manifested in downtown Chicago. Over the past few months there had been increased reports of a criminal gang organizing and implementing raids on addict hideouts. The Chicago police department had a thick file on this gang, secured from an anonymous source. I had spotted a few references to a man named ‘Ryker’ within the file, and having heard that poor forsaken prostitute claim that Ryker had ‘managed’ her money, I began my search for information there.

 

 

I didn’t sleep for three days, instead I remained slumped in my car waiting and watching the rat-like residents of the slums. I parked under one of the many shattered street lamps that littered the streets, the back seats of my car filled with discarded coffee cups and food packaging. I had watched the slums for days, studied the routines. I had even tailed a drug runner to some kind of underground drug den, just south of where I was parked. I felt a sense of accomplishment as I noted the den’s location on my torn map, for a moment, and then the dampening realization that my G21 Glock wouldn’t be enough to hold off an entire gang if discussions went sour. I had no choice; I needed to make some kind of progress.

 

And then as if on cue a rusted car pulled up just across the street, it ground to a halt for a moment, before three dark figures emerged from the vehicle. The shortest of the three scanned the street and locked into eye contact with me. He stared for a moment, his small beady eyes squinting off into the darkness. The two taller men indicated to the squinting rat, motioning towards the den I had inspected earlier. The shorter man disregarded me and headed off towards the rundown apartment building.

 

I waited for the men to disappear into the darkness. I gulped the remainder of my coffee and quickly emerged from my car. My heart pounding, I pulled the ice-cold pistol from my side and moved towards the building. I tried to make sense of all I had seen over the past few days; the prostitute killing, the drug runners, Edward Crosby, none of it added up but there was an inconclusive connection that had led me to this godforsaken pit. I steadied my mind and crouched behind a disused car; the entrance to the den was in plain sight. I must have been desperate, walking into one of the largest drug dens in Chicago, with both my badge and firearm. I couldn’t risk it, I removed the badge and held it in my hand and smiled, all fragments of ‘honor’ and ‘duty’ that the badge had represented died with the appointment of the Puritan state. As the badge slipped through my hands, I could feel the years of constraint and frustration slip from my shoulders. I had stepped into a whole new world. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I stood up, stuffing the pistol into my back pocket.

 

A gang of ramshackle thugs guarded the entrance of the den, as I approached one of the thug leapt into action and headed straight for me.

 

“What the hell are you doing man?” Within seconds I was surrounded. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous at night?”

 

The gang joked and teased until I placed my hands in the air and smiled.

 

“I’m looking to score, are you the ones to help me out or not?”

 

The gang fell silent; they changed behavior almost instantly and began to search me.

 

“He’s got a Glock.”

 

“Put it with the rest.” Another grunted. “Now, follow us.”

 

With a sharp push from behind I was led into the bowels of the den. The smell of damp rotten wood forced me back into the barrel of the thug’s shotgun.

 

“Keep moving!”

 

I had made some reckless mistakes in my career, but walking into a drug den at gunpoint had to be the stupidest. This fact became all too apparent, as I ventured into the heart of the dilapidated building. The piles of debris and waste littering every corner, the carpet squelching with every step and the smell of burning chemicals painted a vivid and gruesome story. As I embraced the horror of the den I was shoved violently into a large room, the lights were dim and the darkness was scattered with shadowy figures that watched my every move, I began to map out my surroundings, counting possible exit routs; all of which were covered with countless figures in the dark.

 

“You want to buy drugs from me?” a loud voice emerged from the shadows.

 

I looked frantically for the source until the small figure from the disused car emerged from the shadows. His face was contorted, his eyes squinting, calculating, no doubt, how much of a threat I was.

 

“Yeah, I heard you’re the one to see.” I held a calm front, but the sweat forming on my brow said otherwise.

 

The small man took a step forward and chuckled to himself before signaling two armed figures to take aim.

 

“Why are you here?” The squinted dwarf stepped forward.

 

A nervous laugh escaped as I scrambled to gain control of the situation.

 

“I’m here to buy some Ice”

 

“Bullshit, you’re no addict. And if you’re looking to take up a new found hobby? You sure as hell picked a bad time to do so.”

 

More shadowy thugs joined the potential firing squad, forcing the smile to drop from my face.

 

“I’m going to ask you a question, to which I already know the answer. Are you prepared to answer correctly?” A grin stretched across the drug lord’s face.

 

“Ask your damn question.” Check mate.

 

“Are you not, an officer of the law?” He began to pace. “And, therefore, are you not here to bust us and our entire operation single handedly?”

 

I paused for a moment, scanning the growing horde of thugs that enveloped the space around me. I swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from my brow, there was no clean way out of this place.

 

Suddenly the squinted man burst into laughter. He motioned the horde to lower their weapons.

 

“Hell, I don’t care if you’re the Puritan chairman himself. You want to buy from me? Go ahead.” The chuckling stopped and a sinister frown appeared on his face. “But know this, you’re in my house, and your life is in my hands, so try to stay on my more virtuous side.”

 

A sigh of relief, I calmed myself once again and forced another smile.

 

“I also hear you deal in information?”  My suspicions grew; is he the hunched man? Have I struck an ounce of luck?

 

“Information? Now that, is only useful to two kinds of people; a man with a grudge or a cop. which demographic do you fit into?”

 

Whoever this drug lord was, he must have been, once, an educated man. I decided to try my hand besting his own game.

 

“I recently resigned from the Chicago police department, I was a detective and I’m looking for ‘the Hunched man’. Now seeing as you fit the description, I’m guessing you’re the guy who sent Edward Crosby to his death?

 

The atmosphere in the room suddenly turned sour, the, now, juddering drug lord motioned once more to his thugs.

 

“What did you say?” His face a pulsating red. “What did you f*****g say?”

 

“You’re the Hunched man, you must be.”

 

“Don’t you dare call me that.” The shrunken man spat with fury. “Some f*****g detective you are. Dwayne, put one in his leg”

 

Before I could turn to react, a scorching pain in my left thigh sent me cascading to the ground. As I fell I could see a tall figure with a silenced pistol gripped in his hand.

 

“You came here looking for that deformed son of a b***h? And then had the f*****g balls to tell me I ‘fit your description’?”

 

My leg singed with insufferable agony. I rolled onto my back and forced the words through my screams of pain.

 

“I want to know how Edward Crosby got across the border, that’s all.” I clutched my leg and tried to focus on the squinted man.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have the slightest clue who Edward f*****g Crosby is, nor do I give a s**t. Now you’ve got twelve seconds to tell me who you think I am, if you guess correctly? I’ll let you leave with your single wound. Guess incorrectly? And you’ll have to give me a name to mark on my wall over here.”

 

The Shrunken man’s finger pointed to a large poorly lit wall with countless names carved into the metal. No doubt a list of the many who have missed payments or pissed off the wrong guy. In this case I had pissed off the wrong guy.

 

“Time’s up!” The drug lord crouched over me. “Well, care to take another guess?”

 

I had only one name in my head.

 

“R-Ryker?” My leg continued to bleed uncontrollably.

 

The Shrunken man rose up and smiled.

 

“Say it again, for all of my loyal subjects to hear?”

 

“Ryker!” I screamed in agony.

 

“Don’t you forget it.” Ryker smiled and perched on a disused table. “It seems there are quite a few people looking for our little deformed friend huh?”

 

“How does he get over the border?” I dragged my self in to an upright position.

 

“I don’t know, but I do know that a lot of addicts go to see him, and never come back.” Ryker lit a cigarette. “Tell me this, why would an ex-detective give two s***s about the Hunched man?”

 

“In less than six months the Puritan state merger will engulf all of Chicago, including my precinct. The Puritans have been carting off witnesses and perpetrators for months, I wanted to get to the bottom of it before I was sent off to one of the forced retirement districts.”

 

Ryker stubbed his cigarette out. His face contorted with consideration.

 

“That’s a rumor spread by you pigs, to keep us in line and force us into the wastes.”

 

“No, it isn’t they’re going to purge this entire city.”

 

Ryker stood up and headed off into the darkness.

 

“I don’t have time for your bullshit, but I am a man of my word, well, sort of. Shoot him and dump him on the streets. “

 

The tall dark pistol-wielding figure stood over me, placing his boot onto my chest. I closed my eyes expecting the worst. Before another searing pain in my shoulder forced me to squeal in agony. After a minute the pain clouded and my eyes went dark.

 

 

 

Part II

Portrait Of The Sleep Deprived

 

 

I often wondered what it would feel like to be in love; in fact I have no memory of any love interest in my life. The closest thing to a childhood girlfriend I ever had was my next-door neighbor Cynthia; she would see me sat on the curb, on my own and talk to me. Her caring green eyes used to make me forget the outside world; she would tell me stories of far of places and show me pictures of her family, we were the closest of friends until her father died and she move to Washington with her mother, before the Puritan administration. I remember watching her car drive off into the distance. I was truly alone after that; my brother and father became more and more distant as I grew older.

 

I can see her now, walking towards me, she’s all grown up. She holds her hand out to me, but I can’t touch it, I don’t know why but I can’t. I call out to her but she can’t hear me. I try to move but I’m stuck caught on something that will not let go. As I make one final push to grab her hand I awake with a start.

 

 

My eyes sting at first as I try to open them; a sheer white light forces me to jolt my wounded shoulder causing me to yelp. As my eyes de-sensitized, I made out a whitewashed hospital room. The beeping of the heart monitor and the hustle of the ward assured that I was safe. I found it hard to believe that Ryker’s men would have driven me halfway across the city to the hospital. I began to search desperately for any sign of my rescuer, but there was nothing. Seconds later a nurse hotfooted into the room.

 

“Good morning Mr. Callahan.” She checked the chart before administering an injection. “You’ve been asleep for an awful long time”

 

My throat was dry and made it almost impossible to speak.

 

“How did I get here?”

 

The nurse smiled.

 

“Your friend brought you in; I’m sorry he didn’t leave a name.”

 

I sat up right.

 

“Can you describe him?

 

“Sure, he was short and walked on a cane? Wore a surgical mask?” The nurse smiled and walked out of the room.

 

“Surgical mask?”

 

My mind raced; had Ryker brought me himself? Of course not, Ryker didn’t use a cane, nor would he risk walking into a government building. My mind raced with possibilities, until, one possibility crossed my mind, ‘it could have been.’ The Hunched man.

 

“Nurse!” I pressed the call button erratically. “Nurse!”

 

After a brief pause, an elderly white-coated doctor entered.

 

“It’s alright Mr. Callahan, calm down, I’m Doctor Simmonds. How can I help?” The doctor perched on the edge of the bed.

 

“The man who brought me here, did you see him?’ I began to panic.

 

The doctor smiled and flipped through his clipboard.

 

“Listen here Mr. Callahan, The man who dropped you off, saved your life, I understand that. If you’d like to thank him, you’ll have to wait and see if he visits you. Otherwise just assume he was a Good Samaritan.

 

“No, I need to see him. It’s a police matter.” The heart monitor increased as I spoke.

 

“You’ve undergone a great deal of physical and mental trauma. You need your rest, try to forget about it for now. I’ll see if we can’t find any CCTV footage of him, ok?”

 

After a long deep breath I nodded and sunk back down into my bed.

 

“Now the real reason I’m here, I’ve noticed that we have no medical history for you on file. Don’t worry; it’s not unusual given the current deterioration of the hospital and the city around it. But I need to know if you’ve suffered any allergies in the past, or have any genetic disorders in your family’s history?”

 

I froze, I could not remember ever visiting a hospital before now, nor could I remember my Father ever telling me about a disorder within the family. Chunks of my memory had disappeared.

 

“Uh, I’m having trouble remembering, but I don’t think so Doctor.”

 

Doctor Simmonds’ smile dropped and he checked his clipboard once more.

 

“Hmm, it would appear that you’ve suffered a great deal of stress, perhaps it’s causing some of the amnesia you’re experiencing. I’ll schedule some tests to be done, ok?”

 

I clasped at my aching leg.

 

“Yes Doctor, thank you.”

 

As I sat trying to piece my memories back together, I couldn’t help but think of Cynthia. I hadn’t thought about her in years, why now?

 

Another sleepless night, laced with flashing images of my childhood. Both my leg and shoulder were still in a cast; I was bound to this hospital ward until further notice, with nothing to do except stew in my own festering paranoia. The extent of my social interaction included answering some of Doctor Simmonds questions as he attempted to generate a new medical history, and thanking the nurses as they administered painkillers. The insomnia and painkillers began to take its toll, the world around me gradually melted into a fluid transition of light and sounds. It was then that I realized the reason for Cynthia’s resurgence, I was in love. To fall in love with a memory would bring me nothing but eternal anguish, but there was no denying the emotions that I felt. It became apparent I had a knack for forcing my self into impossible situations, and if my encounter with Ryker was anything to go by, then I truly was destined for misery.

 

A knock at the door stirred me from my delirium. Stood by the door was a shadowed figure, I could barely make an outline before a voice spoke.

 

“Richard?” a calm feminine voice emerged. “Richard is that you?”

 

With little more than a splutter as my response, the figure moved forward and stepped into focus. A tall burgundy haired female stepped forward, her hair just brushing her shoulders, and her eyes? Her eyes were an encapsulating green.

 

“Richard Callahan?” Her soft voice reflected her sheepish demeanor. “It’s me, Cynthia. Do you remember me?”

 

I began to panic, this couldn’t be real, and she couldn’t have found me. The medication and sleep loss must have driven me to madness.

 

“You’re not real, are you?” My voice quivered.

 

Cynthia sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at the floor for a moment before looking back into my eyes.

 

“It’s me Richard, I over heard a nurse mention your name; I asked what room you were in and thought I’d stop by. You know, catch up?”

 

I sat up and stared without fault at, what must be, some kind of hallucination.

 

“You can’t be here, you moved to Washington D.C?”

 

“I moved back to Chicago after the administration, I found work as a anti-addiction councilor. What do you do for a living Richard?”

 

My eyes began to water, Could Cynthia have found me?

 

“I am…I was a detective for the Chicago Police Department.”

 

“Oh, I see.”

 

“You can’t be real, you can’t be.”  My attempts to move were futile.

 

“Richard, calm down!” Cynthia rose to her feet.

 

“You’re not here, you can’t be.” I reached over to the call button. “I’m losing it.”

 

I began to push the button frantically; my chest grew tight with anxiety.

 

“If this is your way of telling me to leave, then I’ll leave.” Cynthia’s voice cracked as she burst into tears. “I can’t bear to see you like this Richard.”

 

As Cynthia left, I began to weep; my mind had played a cruel hoax. Moments later the on call nurse burst into the room, panting as she did so.

 

“What’s the problem, Mr. Callahan?”

 

“I’m starting to hallucinate, I-I can’t focus on anything.” I had broken down.

 

The nurse rolled her eyes and walked towards the bed.

 

“It’s ok Mr. Callahan, it’s more than likely a reaction to your medication. I’ll give you a sedative to help you sleep, how does that sound?

 

After a long exhale, the nurse pulled a small syringe from her pocket and pushed gently into my arm.

 

“There we go, Mr. Callahan. You get a good nights sleep and I’ll have Dr. Simmonds talk to you tomorrow.”

 

Almost instantly my body went numb, and a tingling sensation forced my eyes shut; for the first time in six days I slept.

 

 

Light peering through the blinds of the musky hospital room flickered across my face, gently awakening me from my well-deserved slumber. I gently shifted my self into an up right position and scanned the room for any potential sign of Cynthia, luckily for the sake of my mental wellbeing there wasn’t. I felt content for the first time in days.

 

“They’re going to section you.” A dramaturgical voice emerged from nowhere.

 

The shock forced me to knock my shoulder wound on the bed railing, I yelped in both astonishment and pain.

 

“They’ve determined that you’re a ‘paranoid schizophrenic with delusional tendencies’. And in about twenty minutes, they’re going to sedate you and transfer you to a Puritan cell where you’ll be, most likely, put down.”

 

I turned frantically to search for the source, until a shortened man stepped forth from the shadowed corner. His face covered with a surgical mask.

 

“W-Who the f**k are you?” I panicked and tried to feel for the call button.

 

“I’ve removed that call button for your own benefit Mr. Callahan.” The desiccated man sat against the radiator and smiled.

 

“How do you know my name?” I froze in fear.

 

“Come now, it doesn’t take a genius to realize that your name is clearly marked on the chart at the end of your bed. But the manner in which I learnt your name is irrelevant, you’ve got less than sixteen minutes now.”

 

“You’re the hunched man?” My eyes widened.

 

“Of course I am, you’ve been unnaturally interested in me as of late, have you not?” The Hunched Man stared with out falter.

 

“Y-Yes, you’ve been smuggling people across the Puritan border.”

 

“That, my friend, is the tip of the iceberg. Now, I am in need of your services, and therefore I will be preventing Dr. Simmonds from taking you away.”

 

As he spoke I examined the Hunched man’s, somewhat, gruesome complexion; standing at no more than five foot four, and shouldering a hideous growth, the Hunched man had more than deserved his name.

 

“Why would I help you?”

 

“My dear boy, I’ve already answered that. Let me put it another way, if you don’t help me? I’ll leave you here to be exterminated like a sick dog.”

 

“Why would they commit me after one episode?” I questioned.

 

“Because, they found something in your blood.” The Hunched Man’s smile widened.

 

“How do you know that?” I Sat forward and met his gaze. “What did they find?”

 

“Twelve minutes, Mr. Callahan, though I’m assuming I can call you Richard?”

 

I nodded and sat in deep contemplation; was this another hallucination?

 

“Richard? Can you fathom the haste that this situation requires?”

I shuffled to the edge of the bed and dangled my feet. There was still an intravenous in my arm; I clasped it nervously.

 

“I’d hurry up and remove that if I were you, no doubt they’ve been sedating you via intravenous.”

 

With a sharp tug the needle slid from under my skin. I turned off and removed the heart monitor and stood, stretching my neglected muscles. I felt a mass of blood rush to my legs and head.

 

“How do we get out of here?” I gestured to my hospital gown.

 

The Hunched man stood and walked over to the door.

 

“Associates of mine should be preparing to create a distraction in about three minutes, when they do we shall simply walk out of the proverbial back door.” The Hunched Man’s smug grin shone through the mask.

 

“What kind of associates?”

 

“Oh, you know, the loyal ‘don’t ask too many questions’ kind.” The Hunched Man checked his watch. “Ok, one minute.”

 

We stood in near silence as we waited for our chance, all the while I ran through the various outcomes in my mind, none of which were positive.

 

“What’s your real name?” My abysmal attempt at small talk.

 

“Richard, this is neither the time or place. But, I promise you, once this is over I will tell you everything.”

 

The Hunched Man smiled, before loud gunshots rang out from the corridor.

 

“Everyone, down on the floor!” a voice bellowed, “Now, hand us all the meds you got.”

 

The Hunched man motioned for me to follow and walked out into the corridor, as I turned to establish what was going on. I saw three rag-hooded thugs wielding sub-machine guns. The attention of all three men was entirely focused on Dr. Simmonds who was lying on the floor with a gunshot wound to the chest. As the medical staff remained distracted, the Hunched Man and I made our way out through the fire escape. The ladders proved difficult for the hunched man to negotiate but we eventually made it to the ground floor.

 

“I present to you, Richard, your freedom, due, in no small part, to yours truly.” The Hunched man’s smug smile had returned. “Shall we move on?”

 

“Wait just a minute, did you tell those men to kill Dr. Simmonds?”

 

“The time for questions Mr. Callahan is later. Now is the time to retreat to a safe facility.”

 

“Answer me!” My patience had worn thin.

 

The Hunched Man stopped mid step, his notorious smug smile had dissipated and had been replaced with a malicious frown.

 

“Did I, or did I not, just save you from almost certain death?”

 

I swallowed my pride and retreated.

 

“You did.”

 

“Then it seems to me, that you owe me a debt of gratitude.” The Hunched Man leant forward with menacing intent. “Gratitude, Mr. Callahan.”

 

“Where can we go?” I felt somewhat ashamed.

 

“There should be a car on its way.”

 

We waited for a moment before a rusted-black car pulled around the corner and screeched to a halt.

 

“Let’s go Richard, you’ll get your answers.”

 

 

The jerking of the car woke me. I opened my eyes to see wide-open snowy plains and a cheery Hunched Man sitting next to me. The rolling plains seemed to stretch for miles and miles. No sign of civilization or the looming Puritan wall.

 

“Where are we?” I yawned whilst rubbing my eyes.

 

The Hunched man turned with a smile.

 

“I’m glad you asked Richard.” He swiveled round and prepared himself. “We are rapidly approaching Lake Superior north of what was left of Milwaukee. Why? You might ask, well, I am a highly sort after specimen, and seeing as both Ryker and the Puritan administration want me dead on a platter, hiding in either state would be tantamount to suicide. So, I decided to move my operations north, to the abandoned territories, as to create a sort of, ‘wild goose chase’ in Chicago.”

 

I tried, with difficulty, to keep up with him.

 

“Operations? What kind of operations?” I prepared for another lengthy monologue.

 

“Now now Richard, that is exactly the right question to ask. But in order for you to fully comprehend the situation, I need to tell you a little about my self, a luxury not bestowed to most.”

 

“I’ll do my best to keep up.”

 

The Hunched Man chuckled before settling into his story.

 

“Let me start by asking you a question Richard, what do you know about the Puritan reproduction cycle?”

 

“They’re genetically grown in a lab, somewhere in Washington D.C”

 

“They are indeed, and like any other manufactured item, do you think that there may have been prototypes?

 

I paused for a moment, sensing a verbal trap.

 

“The first Puritan was unveiled in D.C back in twenty-seventeen”

 

“Ah, ha! You see, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you Richard, but they lied to you, to all of you. The first ‘official’ lab dedicated to the research and development of what you know as the Puritan, was established in Michigan, in twenty-fourteen.”

 

“Bullshit! Why would they lie about that?”

 

“For a very good reason.” The Hunched map took a swig from a flask. “Originally designed as a method of curing cancer, the G.E.O.P or genetically engineered organics program, was nothing more then a collection of fourteen ‘farmed’ fetus. These fourteen lab grown organisms were one hundred percent artificial, using chemically engineered cells to form a humanoid life form with all genetic impurities removed.”

 

As preposterous as it sounded, I found it hard to doubt him.

 

“How do you know all of this?”

 

The Hunched man laughed heartily.

 

“One question at a time Mr. Callahan. As I was saying, once the fourteen organisms had reached what would typically be ‘birthing’ size, the team were presented with a choice; terminate and start again or attempt to ‘birth’ the organisms, of course it would have been highly immoral to birth the creatures, especially as the Christian Church had gained such an overwhelming presence in the U.S, the phrase ‘playing god’ was more than commonplace ”

 

“How did they cover the birthing up from the government?”

 

“Who do you think requisitioned the experiment? Who do you think was in charge? Who ultimately had the final say in the birthing?”

 

The Hunched man’s smug sense of satisfaction emanated from ear to ear.

 

“I don’t understand; if the government were behind it all, surely…”

 

“Mr. Callahan, please, what I have just told you is merely the tip of the iceberg. We’ll have plenty of time to deliberate on it more when we arrive.”

 

“If you say so.”  I sat, swirling in my own thoughts, endless possibilities and vicarious morals that had broken all of my mental barriers; setting all manner of dangerous assumptions loose.

 

The Hunched man turned to look out side the window. I decided to take my mind off of the unwelcome information that had been revealed to me, and began to think about the fair-haired girl that had stalked my dreams, for the past few weeks. Seeing Cynthia grown up, hallucinated or not, only confirmed my feelings for her.  She had developed into an astounding figure, yet her eyes were all too familiar, her eyes were doorways into my childhood, I’d never forget them for along as I lived.

 

We drove for another hour or so before the Hunched Man sprung back into action.

 

“Ah! We’re here.” He clutched his cane and prepared to disembark.

 

I peered out of the grimy window to see an old rust-ridden derelict structure emerging out of the almost pristine tundra landscape that surrounded it. The car jolted and ground to a halt just outside. After a brief moment, the driver and passenger both departed and immediately assisted the Hunched man with his own dismount.

 

“I can do it my self!” The Hunched man barked viciously. “Get away!”

 

The two ragged men retreated politely as I exited the car and made my way round to the trio. The taller of the two exhibited a shaven head covered in a series of red sores that had manifested, no doubt, from a strong addiction to methamphetamines. His ragged clothes and slumped posture indicated he was still a frequent user. The Hunched man straightened him self, as best he could, and turned to face me

 

“Richard, meet some of your new colleagues, your ‘partners in crime’, quite literally so; Ernie Samuels.” He motioned to the taller addict. “And, Mr. Fredrik Dansk.”

 

Fredrik Dansk, the shorter of the two, stood at no more than five foot eight inches, his darting eyes and chewed lips and patchy blond hair suggested that he too had a strong addiction to meth. The two nodded toward me, their focus still primarily on the Hunched man.

 

“You’ll see the others once we get inside.” He motioned us towards the tarnished door.

 

Samuels and Dansk both escorted the Hunched man and my self through into a large, poorly lit, warehouse. The metal supports and a large proportion of the ceiling had rusted, almost, beyond recognition. The pools of light that seeped through caught tiny swarms of dust that fluttered in the gentle breeze. As we entered three other ramshackle looking minions emerged from a large collection of metal crates that sat in the center of the warehouse. The hunched man turned and held out his arms emphatically.

 

“Bienvenue à notre masion, Mr. Callahan. This is my sanctuary, and a damn good distance from any Puritan patrols, you will be safe here mon frère.” The Hunched man gestured to the three, as of yet, unknown followers. “These are the remainder of my devotees; I would like to introduce you to Mr. Christophe Hartley.”

 

Christophe was a lumbering African-American man around six foot-seven; his large defensive arms and disgruntled expression forced me to take a step back. His shaven head also covered in a series of meth-related sores.

 

“Christophe here, killed five Puritans in a raid in downtown D.C back in twenty-twenty. He fled to a little shanty town in southern Chicago, and I plucked him from the ashes of squalor and into the light.” The Hunched man let out a hearty chuckle; all the while Christophe’s eyes remained intently focused on me.

 

“Next, I’d like you to meet Phillip Werner, our little snitch on the streets of Chicago.”

 

Werner’s appearance can only be likened to that of a balding sewer rat; his small beady eyes and repugnant clothing contorted my face into that of a grimace. His sweaty swollen hand rose for a brief wave. From what I could tell Phillip Werner was a heavy heroin addict, his pothole eyes, swollen red hands and gaunt face were all telltale signs.

 

“There isn’t a great deal I can tell you about Phillip, he’s a quiet sort. With not much of a history to speak of, or at least, it’s not worth your time.” The Hunched man beckoned over to the final figure. “This fine looking specimen is Daniel Crosby. I believe you have had the pleasure of meeting his younger brother, Edward?”

 

Anger boiled up within the very core of my being, I felt the sharp mocking eyes of the Hunched man peer into my soul and pick at all right buttons and switches, I held my ground and turned to greet Daniel.

 

“I was tasked with interviewing your brother, I’m sorry.” My heart fell heavy. “I’m sure he was a good man.”

 

I held my hand out for Daniel to shake; he stared for a moment.

 

“My brothers did what they needed to, Edward was no exception.” Daniel’s cold and demeaning character flowed with every mechanical word that emerged from his mouth.

 

“I don’t understand.” I turned to quiz the Hunched man.

 

The Hunched man raised his hand and stepped toward me.

 

“Daniel, despite his chosen circle of friends, is not an addict; when I found him, he had been working as a laborer in downtown Chicago. His brothers had all succumbed to addiction in one form or another-“

 

“They died the day that needle first pierced their skin.” Daniel interrupted.

 

“Quite so, Daniel. After much discussion Daniel and I decided to give his brothers a profound purpose; we used them to gather information on the other side of the border.” The Hunched man proudly exclaimed.

 

“How? They must have been caught and carted off to the Puritan state.” I folded my arms skeptically.

 

The Hunched man chuckled.

 

“Yes, normally, that would be the end of the story. However, I had, over the years, managed to acquire a series of fiber-optic cameras, no larger than a pinhead, from, shall we say, failed undercover narcotic agents.”

 

I had heard of a series of narcotic agents attempting to infiltrate the drug ring in downtown Chicago. Twenty-seven agents were either M.I.A or killed and displayed outside the precinct, the chief had put it down to snitches within the precinct, and had Internal affairs sweep every staff member, including myself.

 

“You killed all those agents?”

 

“No, of course not. By this point I had only Christophe and Daniel under my employ. We had swept the bodies for the devices and yes, maybe Christophe had to kill one or two agents, but that was all.” The Hunched man smiled.

 

“So what did you find out?”

 

“Ah ha! A very astute question, Mr. Callahan. After Daniel’s youngest brother, Simon, was escorted over the border, via lake superior and Michigan, his camera picked up a series of factories that we assume produce the Puritans. Minutes later he headed south towards Chicago; searching for any sign of weakness within the border.”

 

“But you’ve already infiltrated the border.”

 

“The route allows for one person only, if more attempted to infiltrate the Puritans would notice, and my plan would be thwarted.” The Hunched man’s smile seemed to have reached a new level of arrogance. 

 

“Your plan?”

 

The Hunched man waved his finger and tutted disapprovingly.

 

“Patience Richard. As I was saying, moments after spotting the central production facility for this sector, he was caught and carted off to a Puritan detention facility. God rest his soul.”

 

I had never pictured the Hunched man to be religious, if anybody had a reason to disbelieve in an all knowing god it would be him, yet it seemed to in its own funny way, make sense. The Hunched man’s total motivation could be that he believes the Puritans are playing god, or maybe he believes that they are abominations and need to be ‘cleansed’ or maybe all of the above.

 

“A successful reconnaissance mission then, at the expense of Simon’s life?” My arms remained in the defensive-folded position.

 

“Simon was a waster, just like Eric and Edward. They served a useful and prosperous purpose before they died, they couldn’t have asked for better.” Daniel broke his silence once more.

 

“Quite. You see Richard; these men would have only perished like every other addict in downtown Chicago, and we presented them with an opportunity to make a difference.” The Hunched man mediated Daniels antagonistic answer.

 

“I understand. I just don’t like the idea of sacrificing people against their will.”

 

“Against their will? My dear boy, they gave themselves willingly in order to, both, end their suffering and provide a purpose; to achieve penance for their sins.” The Hunched man smiled and continued with his story. “As Daniel mentioned, the next oldest brother Eric was sent in to fully examine the central production facility, what he saw was truly magnificent; the Puritan birthing center for the entire merger operation. Eric found the army that the Puritans plan to use against the remainder of the Imperfect state.”

 

Involuntarily, my expression dropped; the entirety of the Puritan’s ‘eggs’, quite literally, in one basket.

 

“We plan, Mr. Callahan, to stop the merger outright, and from the source.” The Hunched man’s smile dropped and a tear manifested in the corner of his eye.

 

Suddenly the atmosphere in the room changed to a much more serious, almost militaristic timbre. I was in awe; for the first time in months I felt a glimmer of hope for the human race, and yet as I returned to earth, I noted the quantity and quality of the potential ‘comrades’ that stood before me, and my hope dissipated.

 

“Four addicts, a laborer and the Hunched man, is going to stop an entire army?” I dropped my arms in despair.

 

“Yes.” The Hunched man did not display his proud smug smile; instead he turned, emotionally, to his followers. “Yes we will.”

 

The Hunched man turned back to face me.

 

“And you.”

 

The pieces fell into place.

 

“You want me to help you over the border?” I felt curiously flattered.

 

“This is where Edward came into the fold.” The Hunched man turned to Daniel and smiled. “Edward was different; his addiction was not to drugs per say, but escapism, to a life not his own.”

 

“He was begging to be killed, he told me you had promised him execution.”

 

“I promised him the ultimate escape, the only true way out. He was supposed to investigate the Chicago border thoroughly. We were never to know that he would assault a Puritan, manage to sneak back across the border and into Chicago. His fiber-optic camera remained streaming when he was arrested by the Chicago police department, and that’s when I saw you.”

 

“You were watching the whole time?” My voice was low and harsh.

 

Christophe and Werner retreated to the large metal crates and resumed their previous tasks.

 

“What I saw, was a man in a rut; a position of great dismay. You hated the system almost as much as you hated the addicts who defied it. But more than that, I saw an inert instinct unlike any other I had witnessed before; you’re tenacious. But I was not entirely convinced, not, that is, until you wandered fool heartedly into Ryker’s drug fortress looking for me.”

 

I felt faintly nauseous, the fact I had been surveillanced by a group of addicts was a heavy and undesired notion.

 

“How did you know?”

 

“Werner infiltrated Ryker’s den long before you had waltzed in.” The Hunched man sat on one of the smaller wooden crates. “I sacrificed two good men to free you from that hospital, Oliver and Cameron were loyal until the end, and before you ask, they were shot on sight by your law abiding conglomerates.”

 

“What makes you think I’m worth it?”

 

“Because, I choose to. The reason you are here and not �"god knows where- is because I choose to believe you’re the man we all desperately need.” The Hunched man smiled. “I can’t, however, include you into my operation until I know that you are willing to commit entirely.”

 

“What do you intend to do?”

 

“I intend to make one last defiant strike against the inevitable. I intend to sabotage and disrupt one last time.”

 

This man, this, marred man had evoked hope in the hopeless, provided purpose to the purposeless, of which I now considered myself. To this man, the Hunched man, I owed my life, and yet my desire to join came from an entirely different source. To this day I do not know if I pitied him, empathized with him or simply hated the Puritans enough to side with anyone apposing them. After a brief pause I agreed, a purpose, rebellious or not, was a purpose nonetheless, and I now felt a soothing sympathy for every begotten soul that begged the Hunched man for meaning. For I was one of them.

 

 

 

 

Part III

To Be Optimistic Before The Preordained Comes To Pass

 

 

I saw her again, this time we were driving through the streets of Chicago, she was holding the hand of a child, I couldn’t see her face, but the child was small with mousy hair and a striped top. I wondered if perhaps I had been sleeping well enough, or perhaps the excessive cigarette smoking had caused a lack of oxygen to my brain and I was in the midst of suffocation. Either would have sufficed, if only I had an answer; the endless not knowing and speculation had been driving me insane. My dreams were filled with images of Cynthia, she was calling out to me, begging; any cardboard-cutout psychiatrist would have prescribed me with a dose of ‘Shut the f**k up, grow up and get out’ even I knew the dreams meant nothing, a result of my mind not wanting to accept Cynthia’s appearance in the hospital. I had thought extensively about that day, her long flowing hair, her eyes; she was beautiful. And yet I could not accept that she had been there, I know I hallucinated, I know the sheer volume of sedatives I had been given would have forced any man into an episode. And then I heard an echo of the Hunched man’s voice, ‘they found something in your blood’. What could they have found? What possible reason would they have for committing me?

 

As my mind wandered aimlessly, I was being driven back to the Hunched man’s outpost near Lake Superior. We had spent a good three days, watching the Puritan checkpoint and learnt that no more than twelve officers guard the gate, at any one time. ‘Rudimentary procedures like this’ The Hunched Man often said ‘Will make or break this operation.’ We believed him wholeheartedly. I sat in the passenger side, with Christophe driving and Fredrik in the back.

 

“Are they going to be much of a problem?” I smiled and attempted to break various layers of ice that surrounded Christophe. “The Guards, I mean.”

 

“No.” Christophe barely acknowledged my question.

 

“Come on Christophe, cut the guy some slack, he’s new.” Fredrik’s wide twitching smile defused the atmosphere.

 

“We’re devising a distraction, the number of guards is irrelevant, we just need to know their protocols.” Christophe’s stern expression loosened.

 

“I see.” I returned to staring out into the vastness of the open plains.

 

“You’ll have to excuse Christophe, he’s been through some tough times man.” Fredrik’s nervous eyes began scanning frantically. “He was there when it happened, thousands of Puritans raiding houses, purging.”

 

“I heard that there were riots, but the Puritan’s only responded, the didn’t instigate anything.”

 

“You should know by now, you’ve been spoon-fed bullshit by the administration.” Christophe’s voice was surprisingly calm “Everything they’ve ever told you is a lie, designed to keep you, and your officer buddies in check. You’ve been keeping addicts like us busy just long enough for them to prepare another purge.”

 

Another silence.

 

“What really happened in D.C?”

 

Christophe’s face dropped.

 

“They declared war.” He maintained his iron gaze on the road ahead. “They began to purge D.C of all imperfects; women, children, elderly. They raided buildings and neighborhoods and within hours D.C went dark.”

 

“Why didn’t the media catch on, there must have been hundreds of thousands of phone calls warning someone outside of D.C?”

 

“The Puritans claim that it was ‘faulty’ satellites that caused a nationwide cell blackout.”

 

“Don’t believe that for a second.” Fredrik smiled.

 

“What about people fleeing from the city?”

 

“Those that could had no idea what had started the purging. As far as they could tell, it was a citywide riot.”

 

The pieces fell, as expected, into place. I could finally comprehend the agony that I had seen in all of the Hunched Man’s men. A lifetime of genetic segregation and liquidation, a cover-up that lulled us all into working for the Puritans, making it easy for them to sweep us up and throw us away. We had already lost; it was, as the Hunched Man had said, a case of making one last defiant stand. Once we had arrived back at the outpost, we would begin final preparations for our assault inside the Puritan state. A wave of palpable adrenaline rushed over me; the thrill of taking the fight back to the oppressors. And yet, there was another emotion hidden within the adrenal rush; I was scared. I couldn’t place my trepidation at the time, although I knew that the likelihood of anyone surviving such a mission was slim to none. I imagined, just for a moment, that I was a soldier on the frontline of a great battle, fighting for freedom. I imagined the men around me were my comrades, all clinging on to the dwindling idea of victory, all with wives and children waiting for them to come home safely. And still I had nobody waiting for me, no matter how hard I tried to imagine a family, I could not. Not even my undying tormentor Cynthia could fill the void.

 

“Hey, you don’t look so good.” Fredrik’s voice peered from behind. “You on something man?”

 

“No, it’s fine. I-I Just haven’t slept right.”

 

Fredrick was right; I was definitely on something. Whether it was the crushing hallucinations of a forgotten memory or the overwhelming realization that our government had been completely overrun from the inside by products, I’ll never know. I think that is what sickened me most, the idea that the material had absorbed and removed all of the little imperfections that made humanity, well, humanity. It’s only now that I realize all of the criminals I had detested for their character flaws and selfish nature, were what made mankind the crookedly imperfect race that it is. And together; The Hunched man and his companions stood united, bonded by their imperfections against the plastic world that sought to pave over them. I was proud to stand amongst them.

 

It was at that precise moment that, as if on cue, a large white vehicle collided into the side of our car, sending us somersaulting in midair. The pain was nonexistent; the shock of the impact rendered me into an almost dreamlike state. I believe you could call it an ‘out of body experience’. The sound of the car returning to earth shattered the unquestionable silence and through me back into my, now bloodied and bruised vessel. We remained upside down. The shredded corpse of Fredrik hung in my peripherals, Christophe’s screams of anguish alerted me to his condition; though bleeding and considerably shaken Christophe looked relatively sufficient.

 

“F-F*****g Puritans!” Christophe bellowed. “Not like this, not like this. I’m taking you with me you sons of b*****s.”

 

With that Christophe began to sever his seatbelt and climb out of the window. From where I hung I could only see Christophe’s bloodied feet and several pairs of white boots that paced towards him. I flailed around trying to find a way out of the steel wreck.

 

“Christophe, Run!” My tired lungs hollered.

 

After a moment I was able to writhe my way out of the car and onto the cold tarmac. Where I saw a small squad of tall white-armored Puritans. Their eyes were empty and malicious, they raised their rifles to Christophe who continued to limp towards them.

 

“I-If you’re so seamless, then tell me, what would god make of this?” Christophe smiled.

 

One Puritan stepped forward and met Christophe’s gaze.

 

“God? God is a concept created by the impure to justify their impurity.” His voice bore no sentiment.

 

“You can’t take that away from me plastic man. God’s in my heart, deep within my soul. Something the  ‘impure’ are born with. What are you born with?”

 

“Purpose, a future. Something an impure is born without.”

 

The Puritan raised his rifle to Christophe’s head and fired a single shot, sending Christophe cascading to the ground in a bloodied lifeless mess.

 

“No!” I bawled.

 

Before the squad had a chance to advance on me, I began to sprint off into the heavily wooded area just ahead of where the accident had occurred. The cracking of gunshots whizzed past me, narrowly missing my feet. I ran until my lungs bled, for miles and miles, until the sound of shooting and the revving of engines had stopped. My entire body pulsed with exhaustion. I stumbled for a while before collapsing against a tree trunk, unable to control my panting.

 

“Richard?” a calm and familiar voice echoed. “What are you doing?”

 

I panicked and searched for the source, scanning in all directions until finally a slender female form emerged from the brush. Cynthia had returned.

 

“I-I’m tired. I can’t go on.” I wheezed.

 

Cynthia gracefully walked over and sat next to me.

 

“You know why they’re hunting you, don’t you?” Her voice was uncomfortably ethereal.

 

“They want to kill me, f-for working with The Hunched man.”

 

“It’s your blood Richard. They know what’s in your blood, and so do you.”

 

I began to weep.

 

“You’re not real, you moved to D.C.” I began to breakdown. “There’s no way that you could be here.”

 

Cynthia held out her hand and placed it on mine.

 

“You’re living a lie Richard, you know why they wanted to take you away at the hospital, before the Hunched man took you, don’t you?”

 

“No! F**k you, you’re not real.”

 

“You know the truth, you just refuse to see it.” Cynthia smiled and placed her hands either side of my face. “You’re not who you think you are.”

 

“W-Who am I?” Tears now streamed down my face.

 

Cynthia’s eyes drew me in, our lips centimeters away, when the sound of voices emerged in the distance. As I looked, I saw the flickering to torches in the distance. I turned back to meet Cynthia’s gaze but she had vanished. Another tortuous apparition. Anger washed over me, a foundationless anger that, with no bounds, forced me onto my feet. I stared into the darkness, only the flickering’s of flashlights broke the black curtain that shrouded the woods. I walked towards them, slowly at first but gained speed as I did so. I felt a wave of mental exhaustion, at least if I was captured and executed the torment would end. I drew closer, and closer still until finally the voices became clear. A familiar husky voice.

 

“If they processed Callahan then they would have already stormed the outpost. They’re waiting for us to find him and bring him back.” The Hunched man barked.

 

“Then why are we doing exactly what they want us to?’ Phillip Werner queried.

 

“Because, we need him.”

 

“Why? Why the hell do we need a dead-beat cop?” Werner began to raise his voice.

 

“The answer to that question, my dear Phillip, is far too complicated for your drug addled mind to comprehend. I’d also like to remind you why you’re here; I saved you from certain death, do you remember?”

 

“Yes sir, I’m sorry sir.”

 

I waited in the bushes, the ever-virulent eavesdropper, who for some reason was indispensible to the Hunched man’s cause. I edged closer in order to grant a view of the search party. As I did so, three shadows emerged, The Hunched man, Werner and Daniel were patrolling the wooded path. Both Werner and Daniel Wielded small automatic rifles.

 

“Let’s get back to the truck and search in the morning.” Daniel muttered.

 

“No we must act tonight, before the Puritan’s get wind of our plan.”

 

“Someone’s already ratted us out!” Werner cried. “How’d they know Richard would be in the car at that time?”

 

“All the more reason to hurry, don’t you think?” The Hunched man smiled.

 

Daniel stopped in his track and checked a small device in his pocket, Both Werner and The Hunched man stopped as well.

 

“What are you waiting for? Let’s make haste.” The Hunched man frowned. “Daniel, what are you doing?”

 

Without saying a word Daniel turned to face them and raised his rifle. Phillip Werner screamed as a volley of gunfire tore open his chest. The cascades of blood spattered The Hunched man and struck him to the ground.

 

“Daniel, no stop! You fool!” The Hunched man Begged.

 

Daniel, with tears down his face walked towards the Hunched man. His hands shaking with divergence.

 

“I’m Sorry, I-I’m so sorry.” Daniel began to weep uncontrollably. “They have Edward, he’s alive! They told me to spy on you and in exchange they’d return my brother to me.”

 

“He’s dead Daniel! They’re lying to you, like they’ve lied to all of us.” The Hunched man quaked with fear. “D-Did they ask you to kill me?”

 

Daniel nodded, clouded by tears and unfathomable grief.

 

“You know they’ve killed him, you know it deep down. They’re just going to kill you too! P-Please I’m begging you let me finish what we started!”

 

“It’s too late, they’ll give back my little brother. We’ll live in the retirement camps.” Daniel cocked the gun. “Don’t be afraid, you’ll be at peace.”

 

“Afraid? Afraid of what? Death? You don’t know fear, you can’t take from me what they haven’t already destroyed, and all I ever had was an opportunity to send them one last defiant message. That’s all I had to live for, that’s all I’d ever bee remembered for! So go ahead, shoot me!”

 

Daniel hesitated for a second.

 

“Shoot me!” The Hunched man thundered.

 

“I’m sorry.” Daniel whispered

 

“Do it!”

 

And with one final defiant cry the Hunched man was killed, at the hands of one of his trusted, a man with nothing to lose. Just like the Hunched man himself. An unexpected sense of grief compelled me to stand. A man whom I knew nothing about and had no reason to trust, but likened me self to all the same, believed until his dying breath that he needed to fulfill this one last act. Daniel had collapsed onto his knees and wept, a sad illusion had been presented to him, Edward was dead, and soon Daniel would be too, at the hands of the Puritans. As he wept I moved silently behind him, I was unsure how I would do it, but I knew it needed to be done. I approached slowly and surefootedly, until I was just close enough. I had forgotten my strength, as Daniel struggled for oxygen my arm tensed clutching around his neck more and more until the jolting had stopped. The last few moments caught up with me in one large cluster of emotion, I had killed an armed robber in the line of duty, but I had never killed with my own hands before, and in such a manner.

 

After a moment or two the device in Daniel’s pocket vibrated. I removed the device from Daniels cooling corpse to see a message displayed on the screen:

 

Have you completed the task we assigned you?

 

Once completed return to the outpost for phase two.

 

 

More anger, unbearable, obstinate anger that consumed my thoughts. I began to type back to the Puritan officer who had organized this butchery:

 

All targets eliminated, Richard Callahan has also been dispatched.

 

Will Report to outpost when available

 

I intended with every fiber of my being to finish the task that The Hunched Man had set out to complete end what he started. Either way that the plan concluded I had decided that I would not live to see the complete absorption of the U.S. I intended to live on in whatever awaited me after death had its way, for whatever awaited it would be undoubtedly human, imperfect in all the right ways. This was my task.

 

Moments later, a pair of vivid lights emanated from further down the path. The roar of a truck widened my eyes in panic. No doubt the cold calculative hand of the Puritan would have lingered near. Paralyzed by the bright beams of the vehicle’s headlights, I remained still while the vehicle ground to a halt. As my eyes adjusted to the light I was able to make out a rusted white pickup truck with a large metallic military crate stored in the back. The door swung open rapidly and a tearful Ernie Samuels clambered out.

 

“Did-did you do this?” Ernie’s face contorted with grief.

 

“Daniel had been spying for the Puritans” I held my hand out in protest. “I’m sorry.”

 

Ernie placed his head into his hands and bawled in anguish.

 

“We need to finish what The Hunched man started, can you do that for me Ernie?”

 

“They’re dead, they’re all f*****g dead.” Ernie squared up and pointed toward me. “This wouldn’t of happened if The Hunched man hadn’t wasted all that time looking for you!”

 

“What are you talking about? I was looking for him.”

 

“No! No! No! The operation was supposed to happen months ago, but then Edward was sent to you, as soon as The Hunched man saw you on that camera, he flipped, changing the whole plan.”

 

“Why me? God damn it, why me?”

 

Ernie wiped tears from his face.

 

“He said he knew you, he said he knew all about you, and that he never thought he’d see you again.”

 

A cold sharp spike ran down my back.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” I began to hyperventilate. “That’s bullshit!”

 

“He said something about a manifest, back at the outpost, you’re in that.” Ernie stared into the dirt.

 

My mind was alight, pillars of understanding collapsed, the fabric of my very mind unraveling, I needed to see that manifest. I walked toward Ernie and held out my hand.

 

“Give me the keys, now.”

 

Ernie stared blankly at me.

“They’ll find you, Richard, they always do.” Ernie handed the keys and stood in front of the truck.

 

“You can’t stay here! Come on.” I beckoned. “Let’s go!”

 

Ernie stared blankly once more.

 

“Where are you going? You can’t hide from them.” Ernie chuckled lightly. “Hell, you can run, but they always find what they want.”

 

“I’m not running, I’m getting to that outpost and then I’m going straight into the Puritan state to finish this.”

 

Ernie chuckled emphatically.

 

“No, I think I’ll stay here. Always did want to die under the stars.” Ernie picked up Daniel’s machine gun and sat by a nearby tree. “You go ahead.”

 

“Very well Ernie.”

 

I turned to enter the truck before Ernie spoke his last.

 

“Non quomodo Deus voluit.” Ernie chortled. “The Hunched man used to say it.”

 

“What does it mean?” I stopped without turning.

 

“Not as god intended.”

 

I started the truck and reversed back on to the main road. I felt cold and strangely impassive, not knowing for certain if Ernie had killed himself, or if he simply waited for mortality to claim him. I drove wrathfully towards the outpost, using only fragmented memories of near by landmarks to navigate. Tears in my eyes and fear in my heart I drove heedlessly through the wooded valley, until the lumbering outpost came into view, a brief calming sensation washed over before I noticed a distinct white Puritan patrol vehicle was parked just outside of the complex. One of the officers had just noticed me when I pushed the accelerator hard against the floor of the truck. A volley of gunfire punctured holes in the windshield as I sped uncontrollably toward the officer. An ear-shattering thud followed by the flailing corpse of the Puritan caused me to smash my foot onto the breaks. The truck slid for a meter or so before coming to a halt. I paused for a moment and scanned the truck for some kind of weapon; to my great frustration there was little more than a lead pipe in the back. Any rational minded person would have decided against walking into an obvious trap with nothing but a rusted lead pipe to defend himself, but I needed to see that file, or die trying.

 

The ground crunched under my feet as I tread cautiously toward the door of the outpost. My knuckles white against the pipe, my heart pounding drowning out the rest of the world around me. I placed my hand on the door handle and pushed violently taking cover by the doorframe. Silence. I peered inside to see sheer darkness, and crept in slowly and scanned for the nearest light switch. As expected a shot rang out through the large warehouse narrowly missing my foot.

 

“No, No stop! What are you doing?” A clear English accent echoed, one I had not heard before. “It’s not Hank. Hold your fire.”

 

With a blinding flash the warehouse lights were switched on.  After a moment of utter blindness I was able to make out three Puritan officers and a well-suited man with thinning hair and crescent rimmed glasses. He stared empathetically.

 

“Lower your weapons. “ He stepped forward and motioned to a small table in the middle of the warehouse. “Have a seat Richard.”

 

“Who the hell are you?” My teeth ground with anger.

 

“I’m a dear old friend Richard, please have a seat?’

 

“Do I have a choice?”

 

“Richard, you always have a choice.”

 

Reluctantly I sat on one of the metal chairs, upon which the well-suited man gracefully removed his jacket and placed it over the chair. He fumbled with some of the papers on the table and then proceeded to stare at me quizzically.

 

“Just how much do you know?”

 

I chuckled satirically.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“I’m surprised Richard, that you don’t remember me, my name is Doctor Joseph Heade. I was one of the twelve that helped initiate the Puritan program. I oversaw all of the test phases.” Heade smiled with a self-righteous grin.

 

“They haven’t sent you to a retirement camp yet?” I teased.

 

“No, quite the contrary I have a lovely house in D.C. but we’re not here to discuss that. I have to be honest Richard; this is not how we had planned things to happen. Hank has tripped us up at every turn, except for one unexpected advantage, you.”

 

“Hank?”

 

“I see, no doubt he’s been using his ‘street name’. The hunched man, was known as Hank long before any of this happened. Hank was not a deformed child. He was a marvel of medical science; his brain activity levels were beyond anything else in recorded history.”

 

The sinking feeling had returned, bile filled my brain; it had become impossible to track the lies amongst the truth.

 

“He was a Puritan?”

 

“In a manner of speaking, yes. He was part of the first generation of genetically assembled beings. He was number seven of fourteen.”

 

“The first experiments?”

“Most of them died days after we birthed them, all of them were deformed physically. But number seven was different; he began to repeat words that he had heard from the staff.”

 

“But the Hunched- I mean Hank looked older than you.”

 

“An unfortunate side effect. But we decided to manage it, control it, and now today we can grow a fully formed Puritan in days.”

 

I placed my head into my hands.

 

“Why are you telling me all of this? How do you know who I am?”

 

“Richard there’s a lot you need to know before we conclude this meeting.”

 

“You tell me right now or so help me god, I’ll bring this pipe to your f*****g skull!” I seethed with anger. “What the f**k is going on?”

 

“Hank’s operation into the Puritan state was nothing more than a vengeance plot; he hated me and the Puritan’s for what he was. He felt, false.”

 

“He was right. I watched him die, I watched Daniel Crosby kill him for his brother’s return. You lied to him.”

 

Heade smiled awkwardly, before shuffling through more papers, he held up a green file.

 

“Hank escaped the laboratories one night and grabbed the entire production manifest. This file could undo everything we’ve tried to achieve.”

 

“Good, Hank said there was something about me in there, what did he mean?”

 

“In order for you to understand the answer to that question we need to explain to you the process, okay?”

 

I nodded grudgingly.

 

“Hank escaped midway through, what we called, ‘Generation Two’; our second attempt at the Puritan program. There were over two hundred subjects, and I remember every single one. The Generation Two strain was physically successful, but mentally unreliable. After a painful test period we discovered that the problem was human emotion; the subjects refused to believe that they were artificial, and their mind refused to accept the lack of memory that your typical adult would have.”

 

“So they all went mad?”

 

“For the most part, yes. But the real problem was the brain’s attempt to…fill in the spaces in the subject’s mind. Simply put, they began to create their own memories, utter fantasy and often resulted in a mental breakdown of irreparable proportions.”

 

“Was it worth it?” I folded my arms in disapproval.

 

“You tell me Richard? The Generation three strain you see behind me is more perfect than we could possibly have hoped for.”

 

“What happened to the generation two subjects?”

 

Heade motioned to the Puritan officers, who ensued to aim their weapons candidly towards me.

 

“Well, in truth we aren’t sure. There was simply too many to execute, so we decided to run an additional test.”

 

“Sir, Daniel Crosby is dead.” One of the officers held his hand to his headset.

 

“I know.” Heade smiled. “As I was saying, we introduced the more stable subjects into the real world, using their own falsified memories to place them in whatever scenario they believed there were in.”

 

“No. That. What the f**k does that have to do with me?” I began to squirm in my chair, my hands clenched to the arms of the chair.

 

“I think you already know Richard.” Heade’s smile dropped. “Let me ask you a question, what was your fathers name?”

 

A head splitting agony ran through my skull, the room around me blurred.

 

“I-I don’t know.”

 

“And your brother, or even your mother for that matter?” Heade leaned forward. “Have you ever been to the hospital for an illness? Or a genetic disorder?”

 

Nausea is an underrated sensation, my entire stomach felt as though it was going to fall out of my mouth.

 

“I-I don’t remember.”

 

Heade leapt from his chair and held out his arms enthusiastically.

 

“You were assembled in twenty-seventeen, and introduced straight into the Chicago police department. Obviously we couldn’t alert you or anyone close to you of your situation otherwise it might have triggered a severe breakdown. Would you like to know the positive thing about it all? You did fantastically, far better than we could ever have guessed.”

 

“You…you knew all along? Y-You were watching me?” I struggled to maintain a clear image of Heade.

 

“No no no, Richard, give us some regard, we entrusted you to look after yourself. We valued you as a human being where no one else could.”

 

“My family, my home, Cynthia, all lies?” My chest grew heavy and my breathing tight.

 

My mind had collapsed, nay, my entire world had collapsed around me; pieces of the sky had crushed the warehouse and left me standing amidst the rubble of my false past. I had descended into nonexistence; what am I?

 

“Richard, are you still with us?”

 

The warehouse came into focus.

 

“Yes, I just…it all seemed so real.”

 

“And to you it really was, everything was running according to plan, until Hank sent Edward over the border. As I’m sure you’re aware, Hank has been causing us trouble since he escaped. I’ll be honest with you, we slipped up; Hank had access to the sewer system that leads directly into the Puritan state, and we can’t find out where he’d been accessing it. Did he show you where?”

 

I hung my head in dejection. Hank had, indeed, shown me the entrance tunnel. I struggled to push the words out of my mouth, my head now blistered with agony.

 

“What am I?”

 

Heade frowned and sat back in his chair.

 

“You’re a medical marvel, you and Hank were our most successful products.” Heade removed his glasses and smiled unnaturally. “Where is the access tunnel?”

 

“Exactly, a product. An item, an object, perishable and expendable, why the hell should I help you?”

 

“Because Hank is dead, the operation is over. We simply want to know, for security reasons, where the tunnel is.”

 

“All I have to do is get that crate on the other side of the border and detonate it, it’d be close enough to destroy every subject in your central processing facility.”

 

“I don’t think you’d want to detonate it, you don’t know what it’s like on the other side of that wall do you?” Heade gurgled.

 

“I don’t care what’s over there, I’ll finish what we started.”

 

Heade’s temper flared.

 

“Richard, don’t you get the irony here? You’re one of them! A Puritan, a perfect human, save only for your fractured mind. Your emotions have prevented you from being all you can be. We can fix that if you show us where the tunnel is.”

                           

“My emotions are the only thing that make me remotely human.”

 

Heade snapped, in a fit of rage he through the table over, scattering the papers to the wind. The Puritan officers remained calm and aimed their weapons accordingly.

 

“Human! Human! You’re a product Mr. Callahan; you’re as false as this jacket. You’ll never be human! Nor would you want to be.” Saliva fumed from Heade’s mouth. “You have no idea how soul crushing it is to be human; I wake everyday knowing that I have cancer! That soon I will die, like a diseased dog on my knees. I’ll never have the chance to be perfect, I pray you feel my pain Richard!”

 

Heade paced in anger before beckoning one of the Puritan officers over. The officer handed Heade his rifle and retreated to the side.

 

“As imperfect as you feel, you’re human. You’re perfectly imperfect, unlike me Dr. Heade. Non quomodo Deus voluit.” A singular tear rolled down my cheek. “Emotion is all I have now, you have memories, good ones and bad.”

 

“Wait, what did you say? Non quomodo Deus voluit, what does that mean?” Heade panted.

 

I smiled for a moment knowing that The Hunched man would have been proud.

 

“It means, not as God intended.”

 

Heade aimed the rifle.

 

“Where’s the access tunnel?”

 

“Death? You’re threatening me with death? What makes you think I’m afraid of that now?”

 

“Nothing, I’m threatening you with pain.”

 

A loud crack followed by a searing pain in my chest produced a vile scream. Heade’s rifle smoked. I clasped at the wound, blood seeping through my fingers. Heade crouched down toward me and smiled.

 

“You’re human enough to feel that, I hope.” Heade returned the rifle. “Last chance?”

 

“I-I c-can t-take it.”

 

Heade drew his foot and kicked me off of the chair and onto the cold unforgiving warehouse floor. I writhed in pain before he returned. I rolled on to my front and tried to crawl back to the chair, my hands scratching at the floor.

 

“Do you know what I’m going to do?” Heade ground his teeth. “I’m going to leave you here, to die alone. You see, you can’t threaten what we’ve created. Our utopia will be beyond individual comprehension, once our kind dies out, the Puritan’s will lead a new progressive cycle in humanities wake, as a unified people devoid of race coluor or creed and emotion. They’re perfect and I assure you Richard, as god truly intended.”

 

I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. The puritan ideal had come from men who despised imperfection, even in themselves. They created a system where by products would replace humanity. I needed to get to the border, I needed to finish what we started, to make one last statement against the dehumanization of humanity.

 

“I’ll make it to the border, I’ll make my stand.” My bloodied gums splattered the ground.

 

“Let me show you. Let me show you why you will never be able to finish Hank’s genocide.” Heade motioned once again to the Puritan officers. “Pick him up and put him in the truck, bring the military crate as well.”

 

I began to snicker uncontrollably.

 

“You’re going to take me straight there? You are imperfect.” I snorted.

 

Without saying a word Heade picked his jacket up and marched over to the door. The three Puritan officers grabbed me securely by the arms and heaved me toward the door. My eyes grew heavy from blood loss and soon all I could hear was the sound of my shoes dragging across the concrete floor. I had delved deep into my own mind, my eyes now firmly closed, I didn’t know if I was still alive.

 

 

 

Part IV

A Bright Tomorrow For the 22^nd State

 

 

I dreamed of a cloudless sky. Grass between my fingers and warm sunlight upon my face. The wind was cool and the sound of the trees rustling in the breeze only increased my satisfaction. A hand landed firmly into mine, it was slight and gentle. I opened my eyes to see laying on the ground next to me a young girl, no older than five, smiling at me. Her eyes glistened as the memory of their owner flooded back.

 

“Cynthia?” My eyes drowned in joy.

 

The child smiled and pointed off behind me. I rolled over to see who or what she was pointing at. And to my utter enchantment I saw Cynthia, her hair glistening in the wind and her smile coasting on the sunlight. She looked into my eyes and walked gracefully towards me.

 

“You knew all along Richard, you knew the moment they found something in your blood didn’t you?”

 

Words could not form in my mouth. Instead I stared, nodding.

 

“But here, you are as human as you want to be. Here we have a daughter.” Cynthia beamed at the young girl.

 

Streams of tears cascaded down, I was in a place only I could have created, and I had valued myself as human, for by god, I am as human as my emotions allow. I was happy, wholly and completely happy for the first time in all of my existence. The calls of the real world manifested as black clouds in the sky above me.

 

“Daddy, don’t go!” the young girl begged.

 

I placed my hands on to hers.

 

“I’ve got to, I’ve got to finish this. I’ll be with you both soon.” I sobbed, looking towards the blackening sky. “I’ll be back soon, just you see.”

 

The sky shattered and the ground beneath me dropped. As I fell, two white arms caught me; I looked up to see two Puritan officers dragging me towards the border. The sky a grey shadow blocking the once great rays of light. Heade marched just ahead.

 

“Open the gates!” The Puritan officer shouted down his headset.

 

And they did, the large metal gates opened slowly. The bright light from the Puritan state was extraordinary, the vast white city was far larger and more wonderful then I could ever conceive. The towering sky scrapers holding millions upon millions of Puritans. As we drew closer, I began to see people. What appeared to be ordinary people, thousands of them flocked to welcome us. All dressed in elegant white robes, their smiles calm and serine. It was then I realized, these people, these women and children were, all of them, products of Dr. Heade and his program. Though they were commodities of a human organization they were, in every conceivable way, perfect. Their society stood tall and proud out of the ashes of the once poisoned earth. The distant billboards advertised peace and wellbeing with the phrase ‘A Bright Tomorrow For The 22^nd State’

 

 

 

“Hank envied the purity that these people possess. Richard, that device in the crate would have killed over half of the population of this district. Do you see now? You would never be able to finish his ‘one final defiant stand’ because you have something that Hank could never dream to acquire; empathy.”

 

I propped my head against my shoulder, my skin pale and lifeless.

 

“H-Hank wanted only to sanctify the i-imperfection that made humanity what it is.”

 

“And what was humanity Richard? Warmongering? Selfish? Divided by something as simple as nationality? Was that worth saving Richard?”

 

“It was worth fighting for.”

 

“You’re not one of them! They’re a dying species. They’re the past.” Heade motioned to the growing crowd of Puritan civilians. “They are perfect.”

 

I struggled to stand, my leg now completely limp.

 

“I see that now, but what of the legacy humanity has left behind? How shall they be remembered?”

 

“Remembered? After the Puritan’s gain total control, they shall become humanity; our legacy continues through them.”

 

I limped forward towards the city, my body weak. Such beauty, such immeasurable beauty, that no one could ever describe it to you accurately. There was nothing I could do or want to do to stop this magnificent civilization. I turned around to face Heade.

 

“What good am I?”

 

Heade walked forward pistol drawn.

 

“You were a remarkable side effect, Richard. But your place in this world is no longer valid; you’ve had your time, and so have I. The world belongs to them now.” Heade’s eyes began to water. “I’m sorry Richard.”

 

I held my hand up.

 

“Wait, j-just…” I wiped the blood from my hands. “Are you religious Dr. Heade?”

 

“Look around you Richard, this you see before you is my Eden, these people? My creation, I believe in one being creating a civilization, a purpose, and a duty. I am not god, but a product of his, and I am continuing the cycle, until the day that creation is no longer necessary. Why?”

 

I fell to my knees.

 

“Because Doctor, a wise man once said, reality is what it is, not what you want it to be, and if God does exist, he will weep for you. Humanity was exactly as God intended it to be.” I utilized the last ounces of my energy to force a smile. “Hank, The Hunched man was right to envy them.”

 

Heade stepped forward with no remorse and no emotion, placed the pistol to my head and paused.

 

“Then, Richard, I ask you to beg his forgiveness for me.”

 

Heade pulled the trigger and released me from my perfectly imperfect prison.

 

The lights had returned, the sky faded into view, and I was home. Cynthia’s warm embrace for eternity, and the love of a child would accompany me until time itself shattered and the boundaries of reality and fantasy are opened once and for all.

 

And so I write to you, those who would follow the messages left by those who fought perfection, who stood in the face of the inevitable and made a stand. To the families that now reside in the retirement camps, and those poor souls forced into the wastes I pray that you’ll take comfort in the notion that no matter how terrible things may seem, you are all equally imperfect, equally human and in it together until the bitter end. And my life, though fantasy, was something I will never regret, as the world slowly changes into the perfectly perfect world that God did not intend.

 

‘Non quomodo Deus voluit.’