I - SIX HUNDRED EIGHTY TWO

The fluorescent lights overhead cast everything in the same flat, unforgiving white. Dr. Aris adjusted her glasses, but it did nothing to hide the exhaustion etched around her eyes. On the monitor beside her, a wide variety of colored lines pulsed back and forth against the tar black background.

There is a click on the intercom within the room, and her raspy voice comes on, "Subject Six-eighty-two, respond."

I could hear her just fine, but I said nothing, I knew exactly what was hiding behind that one sided mirror. An animal. A filthy, disgusting animal, who thinks walking on two legs is enough to be considered "civil."

Fuck that.

Fuck this.

"I...know...you're...in there," The voice continued. The words are separated by static bursts of a failing speaker.

"Unshackle me." I finally respond, I tug against the metal table trying to loosen the restraints, these straps are digging into my wrists. I pull harder, the leather biting into my flesh.

"I won't do that." She says. "Repeat your identification numbers and we can proceed.”

“Go fuck yourself.” I snarl, twisting in the chair.

A long silence hangs in the air, then the hum of the intercom clicks off, and my muscles begin to spasm out of control.

It started in my legs, a violent tremor that crawled up my thighs, seizing my back and making me lurch forwards. I bite my lip and try not to scream, but the pain is ridiculously intense. A thick saliva bubbles in my throat, and I can feel my eyes rolling back in my head. I try to gasp for air but I can't.

Then without warning, it stops.

I was left panting, my vision blurry as I slump back into the chair. I taste blood in my mouth where I bit through my lip.

“That was a level three behavioral shock.” The doctor’s voice returns, sounding tired, bored even. “Doesn’t feel so good now, does it? Cooperate with me and you will be fine, but disobey and I will shock you until you come to your senses. Again.” She says.

I say nothing, just glare at the mirror, at the hidden cameras, at that bitch. I can feel a cold rage burning in my chest, a promise of what I’ll do when I get out of here. I will kill her. Slowly. I will make her beg.

“Repeat your identification numbers. I will not ask again.” She says.

"Six... eight... two." I manage to grind out, the words taste like blood and make me feel vile. The restraints loosen with a mechanical whir. I sit up, rubbing my raw wrists, my gaze never leaving the one-way mirror. My heart is still pounding, but I force myself to appear calm, collected.

"Good. Now walk to the wall, face it, and place your hands on the surface. We're going to run a baseline test on your reflexes."

I stand slowly, my legs trembling slightly from the aftermath of the shock. A thin red line appears on the wall from a light hidden in a roofing panel, tracing a horizontal path across the plaster.

"Step forward and touch the line when it turns green."

The line turns green. I stare at it for a long moment, the rage inside me still simmering. Then I take a deliberate step forward and slap my palm against the wall, a little harder than necessary. The sharp crack of flesh on plaster echoes in the room.

A soft chime sounds.

"Turn around."

I turn. My jaw is tight. I'm done playing her game.

“Why am I here?” I ask, my voice is low.

She ignores me. "Next test. Pain tolerance. The floor panels in front of you will begin to heat. Stay standing for as long as you can."

The floor begins to glow a faint orange. I don't move, just clench my fists as the heat starts to creep up the soles of my shitty slippers. The material begins to smoke and curl, and soon, I can feel the intense heat directly against my skin. It's a searing, all-consuming agony. I grit my teeth, my breath catching in my throat, my mind screaming at me to move, to jump away, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing me in pain.

If she wants me off this floor she will need to come in here and peel me off of it herself. My vision starts to tunnel, the edges of my sight blurring and darkening. The smell of burning fabric and my own cooked flesh fills the room, a sickeningly sweet and acrid scent.

Finally, my legs give out, and I collapse onto the searing floor. A strangled scream tears from my throat as my hands and knees make contact with the heated panels. The pain is beyond anything I've ever experienced.

The heat cuts off instantly.

I scramble off the hot tiles and onto another that is far cooler, my chest heaving, my body slick with sweat. I hug my knees to my chest, my hands raw and blistered.

"Unacceptable," Dr. Aris's voice cuts through the haze of pain. "Return to the chair."

I don't move. I just sit there, shaking, trying to regain control of my body and mind. I let myself down.

"I said, return to the chair."

With a supreme effort of will, I push myself to my feet. Every step is agony, but I force myself to walk back to the chair and sit down, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

"Place your hands back on the restraints." The mechanical whirring returns.

"N—"

"Put. Your. Hands. On. The. Restraints."

I comply. The cool leather was a brief, welcome relief against my burned skin. The straps tighten again, and I'm once again pulled back into the position of submission.

"You're weaker than you were last week during your initial evaluation, Six-eighty-two. Your pain tolerance is decreasing. This is a concerning trend." Her voice is devoid of any real emotion. "Can you tell me why?"

"Fuck off."

"Do you want another shock?"

"..."

"This is exactly why your performance is declining." A soft sigh from the speaker. "Your defiance is counterproductive. I am trying to help you reach your full potential."

"Help me?" I laugh. "You torture me. You cage me. You call me a number. How is that helping!?"

"It helps your numbers look more impressive. I never said it helps you specifically." The speaker clicks off.

Silence.

"Why the fuck am I here!?" I scream to the empty room, my raw throat protesting.

I was met with only the hum of the lights. I slumped in the chair, the leather creaking in tandem with me. The adrenaline faded, leaving only the throbbing, all-consuming pain in my hands and feet.

I open my eyes to the buzzing of the doors locks opening, I watch as the heavy metal door swings inward, a rather frail looking creature steps into the room, flanked by two guards, who don't step foot into the room.

"You have ten minutes," one of them says through their helmet.

The frail thing, an animal, or... Taijekan, looks to be a male, gray Felis with yellow eyes and dark tabby stripes everywhere. He wore a fine looking two piece and was carrying a satchel on his side. He had no tail, but his ears were pierced, two small black rings on each ear.

He walks towards me slowly, taking in every detail of my current state. He stops a few feet from the chair, a look of mild concern on his face.

"I apologize that I could not come sooner." He says, his voice is higher pitched, but it has a nice quality to it. "Are you... alright?" He asks.

I stare at him. He's the first person who's asked me that in... I don't know how long. And he sounds like he actually means it. His yellow eyes scan my burns, and I see a flicker of something in them. Pity? Disgust?

"I'm just peachy." I say. "Just another Tuesday in paradise."

He offers a small, tired smile. "I understand. My name is Kaius. I'm your assigned Hospice Advocate from Etril's Ministry of Social Cohesion."

"Advocate? What, are you my lawyer?"

"Of a sort. I'm here to ensure your... wellbeing is being considered, within the confines of the program." He glances at the mirror, then back at me.

I let out a short, sharp laugh. "You call what that bitch did to me 'considering my wellbeing'? She tried to cook me!"

"I saw the report," Kaius says quietly. "I'd imagine you were supposed to move before any severe injury were to occur, but under the law, they are free to do anything except kill you without direct consent from the High Court."

"She can't do shit to me. I have rights!"

"Oh no she absolutely can, High court has given everyone in the Supercolony the right to treat you as less than a citizen, because you are not." His tone is flat, like he's reading from a legal brief. "Your citizenship was revoked some days ago, I was supposed to be there and... well help you with that, but I was out of the province at the time, my sincere apologies."

I say nothing.

"You have quite the loud mouth from what I've read," he continues "I know your history with us, and I can't say that I am pleased with it. You have a very... colorful track record, Six-eighty-two."

"My name is—"

"Six-eighty-two." He cuts me off. "Here, that is all you get. In the eyes of the law, it's the only one you have left. You need to learn it. You are an asset. Property. Nothing more."

Property? Property!? I thrashed against the restraints. "I am a person! I have a name!"

Kaius doesn't flinch. He just stands there, watching me with those unnerving yellow eyes. "Shouting will do you no good. There is nothing that I can do to give you your name back." He rests his satchel onto the table and unbuckles it, "What I can do though, is keep the high court from euthanizing you. You want to live, don't you?" He reaches into the satchel and pulls out a thin tablet.

"I... " I start, the word catching in my throat. I swallow hard. "Yes."

"Then you will listen to me," he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I know just how much you hate me, how much you hate every single person in this world that has fur or scales on their backs, but I need you to listen to me, and I need you to listen to me good. You can do that right?" He raises a hairless eyebrow at me. The piercings on it glint under the light.

I nod. My jaw clenched so tight it aches.

"Good," He says. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips. He taps the tablet a few times, and a document appears on the screen. "Tell me what your experience during your time in societal rehabilitation was like." He says. "Tell me why you were on and off the program for six years, for an offense that warrants only six months service." He scrolls a little on the screen and then turns it towards me so I can see the words.

FILE FOR DETAINEE ID: 682
---
NAME: [EXPUNGED]
SPECIES: Mënskan.
SEX: Male.
AGE: 29.

BACKGROUND
---
Born in Halycon City, Virelia Province. No living family. Convicted of aggravated assault on a Taijekan official, multiple assault charges against Taijekan citizens, once with a deadly weapon. Has spent six (6) years in and out of the rehabilitation program. Has repeatedly failed to reintegrate during probation. Has shown no signs of remorse for acts comitted. Has been violent with staff and other clients. Has refused to participate in therapy.

VERDICT
---
DETAINEE ID 682 is considered a high-risk, non-reformable individual. Detained in the Etrilian Institute for Social Correction for future evaluation.
---

He looks up from the tablet, his yellow eyes locking with mine. "Does that about sum it up?"

I say nothing. My gaze drifts to the mirror, to the hidden cameras. I know Dr. Aris is watching, listening.

"Why did you refuse to participate, Six-eighty-two?" Kaius asks. "They gave you everything you could have possibly ever asked for. Why would you throw that all away?"

"Because it was a cage."

"It was a place to heal." He counters.

"It was a place to forget." I shot back. "A place to learn how to be a good little pet. To sit, to stay, to roll over and beg for scraps from your masters. I was supposed to be grateful for the privilege of being tolerated. The food was shit, the 'education' was propaganda that "Oh nothing is ever fucking wrong!" And the 'comfort' was a leash you put around my neck to make me forget I was in a cage!"

"Hm. Is that what you told the review board?" He asks, tapping a claw on the tablet.

"I told them nothing."

"Right. You just... sat there in silence for half an hour."

"It seemed more polite than what I wanted to say."

He sighs. "This defiance, this... pride that you have. Why? Why bother with it? It's going to get you killed. They see a broken tool that can't be fixed, not some joe 'schmoe who thinks he's better than everyone else. And when a tool can't be fixed, you throw it away."

"I am not a tool."

"You weren't. So please, tell me why you chose this path? This... pain." He gestures around the room. "Here, you will be studied and poked and prodded and fiddled with day in and day out to figure out what to do with you, High Court isn't seeing much value in keeping you around." He says as he walks around the room slowly. "You are a waste of resources, a waste of space. An embarrassment to the rehabilitation program as a whole."

"You are too weak to be sent to Don Oblos, you'd collapse from heat exhaustion in minutes." He circles the chair. "You are too violent for the fields of Treytan, you'd be put down in a week for hurting another. So that leaves this. Asset Liquidation. They will put you to sleep, and incinerate what's left. And no one will even remember your designation number."

He stops behind me, leaning close to my ear. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. "Unless... you give me something. Anything. A reason to keep you alive. A sign that there is something in that head of yours worth saving."

"What do you want to hear?" I ask. "That I'm sorry? That I've seen the error of my ways? That I'm ready to kneel and lick the boots of your kind?"

"I want to hear the truth." He says. "Why did you assault that official? What happened that day? The official in question has refused to press charges, and no one else would speak on the matter. Tell me your side of the story."

My mind flashes back to that day, to the rain-slicked streets of Halycon, to the scent of wet pavement and cheap ale. To his smug face, his condescending tone, the way he looked at me like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe. To the look of pure, unadulterated shock on his face when my fist connected with his jaw.

"He deserved it."

"That is not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."

"You see?" Kaius sighs, stepping back from the chair. "This is what I mean. This... stubbornness. This pride. It's a disease, and it's eating you alive."

He taps the tablet again, the screen flashing with new text. "The official you assaulted, Councilman Varrick, was a proponent of the Taijekan Integration Act. He was one of the few who wanted to legally break the divide of the north and south to allow the Taijekan people to move as they wanted. To be able to even possibly travel outside of Etril—"

"The same Integration Act that would let your diseased cousins from Crownpeak wander the streets where I live? The same one that wants to force us to live next to ticking time bombs? To trust that the furrier-than-thou neighbor next door won't just decide one day to foam at the mouth and rip a child's throat out because the wind blew the wrong way?"

"Ferocks is a controlled illness. The quarantines in Crownpeak are effective. The chances of an outbreak outside the province are less than zero point zero one percent." Kaius's voice is a monotone recitation of facts.

"Tell that to the families in the '35 Virelia incident," I shot back. "Tell that to the many villages burned to the ground when one of your 'controlled' beasts broke a quarantine line. Tell that to the mother who had to identify her son, the kid who had to identify his own brother, by his dental records because there wasn't enough of him left to bury in a box!"

Silence.

The hum of the lights seems to grow louder, filling the void. I can see a flicker of something in Kaius’s yellow eyes. He's not used to being challenged, not like this. He's used to cowering, to pleading, to broken spirits.

"The Virelia incident was an unforseen tragedy." He finally says. "But that was over a century ago. We have advanced. We have containment procedures. We have treatments."

"Treatments," I scoff. "You mean the ones that turn you into a drooling vegetable? The ones that strip away everything that makes you who you are, just so you can live out your days as a mindless shell? I'd rather take my chances with the disease."

"Ferocks is not a death sentence anymore."

"It's a life sentence of fear!" I shout. "It's the knowledge that the person walking next to you could, at any moment, become a monster. That their 'civilized' nature is just a thin veneer over a feral beast waiting to be unleashed. I've seen what it does. Oh I have seen what it fucking does. It's who you are and all you will ever be!"

Kaius just stands there, thinking in silence.

"You are a product of your history. You are shaped by the stories told to you." He says. "You see a monster where I see a person. You see a cage where I see a sanctuary." He pauses, "You are not fighting for your freedom. You are fighting to remain a prisoner of your own prejudice. And in doing so, you have condemned yourself to this fate." He gestures to the room. "This is not the High Court's doing. This is yours."

"I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees."

"A noble sentiment. But a stupid one." He taps on the tablet again. "The official you assaulted, Councilman Varrick, is not a monster. He's a father. He has two daughters. One of them is a writer. The other is a musician. They live in a quiet little house in the suburbs. They go to school, they have friends, they have dreams. They are not a threat to you."

He turns the tablet towards me again. On the screen is a picture of a Taijekan family, smiling for a camera. A father, a mother, two little girls. "Do these look like monsters to you Six-eighty-two?"

...

"He was trying to bridge the gap. To build a world where you and I could walk down the same street without looking over our shoulders. A world where a daughter could have a Mënskan friend over for dinner without the parents worrying about a mob forming outside their house. A world where a musician could play for a mixed audience without fear of being attacked." He looks at me, his yellow eyes pleading. "And you became the very monster you claim to fear."

"I am not a monster."

"You are." Kaius counters. "You see a rabid beast and you want to lock it in a cage. I see a man with a broken mind, who thinks what's wrong is right and won't dare do a double take."

He puts the tablet back in his satchel. "Your ten minutes are up. The guards will be in shortly to escort you back to your cell. Think about what I've said, Six-eighty-two. Think about the world you're choosing to live in. And the one you're destroying. If you want to keep being a petty stain on the canvas of history, then forget I ever existed." He says as he walks towards the door. He stops at the threshold, turning back to face me one last time. "But if you want to live, if you want to see a better world... then give me something. A reason. A memory. A sliver of truth. Anything. The next time I see you, you better channel the strength of your ancestors to give me a story, or you'll be one of them." He steps out, and the heavy metal door slides shut behind him, the locks clicking into place with a final, deafening thud. I am alone again.

I'm left with the buzzing of the lights, the throbbing in my hands, and the echo of his words in my head. You are the very monster you claim to fear.

The door to my cell opens with a grinding screech of metal on metal, and two guards step inside. Their armor is polished to a high gloss, the light glinting off the polished black plates.

They don't say a word, just grab me by the arms, unshackle the restraints, and pull me to my feet. I bite back a cry of pain as my burned soles press against the cold, concrete floor.

They lead me down a long, sterile white corridor. We pass other cells, but I can't see inside. I can only hear the sounds, the muffled cries, the occasional, insane laughter. It's a symphony of broken souls, and I am just another instrument in the orchestra. They shove me back into my cell, and the door slams shut, the locks engaging with a loud, metallic clang.

The cell is a small, concrete box. There's a dense foam bunk bolted to the side of the wall, a metal toilet in the corner, a desk and chair in the other corner, and a small window that had been blocked by concrete who knows how long ago. There's no comfort here. Just four walls and a door.

I close my eyes and sink to the floor, but all I can see is the picture on Kaius’s tablet. The smiling family. The father. The mother. The two little girls. He's a father. He has two daughters.

...

Fuck him.