Heavy 653
Shepard 72 steadily slapping his open palm with the Discipline Prod was the vestigial limb of the autocratic state. No one in line shoved or pushed, or even took a step outside the lines anymore. They all walked in lockstep forward one after the other into whatever mandated event or arena showed up in the center of their vision. Step. Stop. Step Stop. Left. Step. Stop.
“They can’t see my dreams,” a voice whispered behind her, a soft hiss stopping her from raising head in alarm. She couldn’t remember the last time anything was said in line. What she could recall in vivid detail made her shoulders shake. The faint memory of the spreading pain from one, quick slap with the Discipline Prod. She remembered how their pain didn’t decrease as they accrued. There was no numbing of the body or mind. The Center had made sure that the lessons taught to the denizens of this new world after the Darkness were remembered for as long or as short as their usefulness lasted. For all their pain, the insidious prods left no lasting damage to the body. Just the memory. A memory that kept her hands plastered to her sides and never clenched into fists again.
“They can’t see what I don’t show them,” the voice behind her whispered again, “no, they only see what we see.”
“Quiet,” she snapped quietly, eying the distance between them and the Shepard. Shepard 72 was called Ralph before the Darkness. The Center changed his name made him a peg to be slotted. Before him, 72 was a woman she’d never seen before. Her new name was Heavy 653. A peg meant for labor or during the most boring times, simply weight to even a load.
Shepard 72 passed twice more before the voice spoke again, “you see. They see. I see they see.”
“Just shut up,” she wanted to scream, but quietly push the words from between clenched teeth.
They neared the emptiness of the warehouse entrance. The methodical sounds of fabrication rang from inside, each hammer swing in beat.
“They look through my own eyes,” he cackled softly with wet inhalations, “they see what I see, but not when I dream.”
The work site entrance loomed before her with the lunatic’s words rolling in her head. Her divided attention caused her to short the next step, stopping too early. The horror of the prod refocused her. She snuck a quick glance up to judge the correct distance. Center’s words flashed before her hovering in the space between her and the next worker.
HEAVY 653: STEP LIVELY
She closed her eyes and stepped through the entrance. The words hung in the swirling darkness of pinched shut lids. It was ten steps to the storage lockers. A left and another two to her gear.
HEAVY 653: OPEN YOUR EYES
She opened the locker after fumbling with the clasp, her eyes aching from clenching. Her hands closed on each piece of gear and attached it to her belt. She turned and stepped in beat once again. Words flashed in the pitch black of closed eyes.
HEAVY 653: CALL SHEPARD
She continued forward. There was an old fire exit approximately fifty feet straight ahead.
HEAVY 653: ANNOUNCE PRESENCE ALOUD
She ran into the door at forty-two steps, smashing her nose. The bar pushed in easily. The rush of smokeless air filled her lungs. The alley on this side ran the length of the entire facility. Her right hand touched the bricks, and she began to run.
The off-tempo slaps of Shepard 72’s boots sounded in the distance. Silenced as the door clicked shut.