A week after the application had been accepted; I set off for my new home in a rusty white van that stank of sweat. I wrinkled up my nose and stared at the worker opposite me, who glared back, but there was something else in his eye. Was it fear? Did he know something that I did not know? I was growing more and more nervous. The silence was unnerving, yet it told me something that words couldn’t.
Eventually the van came to a screeching halt, and we were ordered out. We were shown around the work camp and then taken to the tattoo studio where they checked for previous artwork and tattooed our work numbers onto our right arms. I was number 11012, the 11012th prisoner to be caged at this place. I told myself to be rational, but somehow knew that it was going to be hard.
As we went to see The One for his speech, I knew life was going to get a lot harder. There were guards, well, there needed to be or there would have been trouble. The discipline guards were wearing the same military dress as those who took Rei away from me: desert storm camouflage with a red band and black gloves, all of them were. The One talked at us for hours, it seemed, before giving us our work times. They were atrocious: 3am-11am, 12pm-9pm.
But the thing that worried me was not the work; it was the guards. They had a look about them, a look that threatened and terrified, a look that held all the spectators in silence. The man next to me said that they had brought him in early and beasted him all week, showing me the scars, cuts and bruises on his left arm. One of the guards shushed us with a scowl and a gesture.
I decided against making a gesture back at him, instead choosing to stay and listen. Once the speech was over, we returned to our bunks and slept, although it did not last long. The next day, the gong sounded and we clambered out of our beds and into our work clothes. 132 was in Camp 5, I was in Camp 2.
After the short walk to the camp, we were given shovels and ordered to dig a 6- foot-deep hole, 60 by 80 feet. Not long passed before I was feeling the strain of digging and others seemed to be feeling it too, but the guards did not seem to care, chatting with each other as if there was nobody else in the world.
By the end of the day, my hands were blistered and I was developing calluses on the palms of each hand. My shirt was soaked with sweat and my hands were red with blood from the digging. By the end of the day, we had finished a tenth of the work. I knew that life from then on would not be easy; not that it ever had.
Work continued like this for weeks. I continued getting stronger and stronger and after a while they moved me to Camp 5 with my friend. Work was certainly harder there. The guards were stricter; the lifting was heavier. But here at least I had someone. There I had had no one.
It grew hotter and hotter as the year progressed, forcing us to work our hardest for the guards. 132 and I were getting closer still, which was useful as I could not have lasted without him. Nevertheless, I was growing tired, as were many of our fellow workers. We were losing sleep and that was not all... we also lost a worker to the guards.
We held a meeting in private and swore to avenge his death, whether or not we knew him. People are not just numbers, they are human beings with feelings and emotions, and we vowed to remember this, even some of The Named coming forward to join us in our battles. The Named were the upper class, considered better than others by The One, it was like some sort of neo-Nazism.
After deciding on a date and time, we decided who would get the weapons and where would be the best place to meet. Din, in particular, seemed very keen to get it done and we agreed to do it on a Sunday, for the element of surprise to be in our favour. That, however, was not the case.
* * *
As we approached, Blackthorne Manor came into view. On the horizon, I could see a stampede of guards nearing us. The loudspeaker crackled on, The One’s voice booming out: “We knew you were coming. One of The Named, with a little persuasion, told us your plans.”
Din reddened, clutching his gun ever tighter. His eyes focused on anything but the accusing glares directed at him.
“It was all a lie! Just a bloody lie! You never cared, did you?” 132 vented, but was instantly looking down the barrel of an AK-52. Two thousand guns pointed at Din, one move from him and his life would be over. Defeated, he lowered the gun. He would have to work with us.
For once in my life, I prayed. I prayed that there would be no God to punish us for the crimes we were about to commit. This was it. We were nearly there. Rei’s last words echoed in my head: “The fighting is not over. We shall not give up.” He was right. The battle was indeed not over.
I fired one shot upwards with my Arctic Vulture. “Oorah!!” we chanted, punching the air. We charged. All hell broke loose as seas of gold and blue clashed, guns and daggers drawn.
I made sure 132 stuck by my side. I had already lost one brother to them; I did not want to lose another. Shots fired all around us, one grazing my cheek as it narrowly missed killing me. We returned fire, as bodies were tangled up in a heap of death and bloodshed, stragglers being picked out by the government’s elite snipers.
I could hear nothing but the bangs of the guns going off and the metallic clinks of their slugs falling to the floor, their purpose served. The tang of blood was all I could taste as 132 and I fought our way past lifeless bodies to the front ranks, firing round after round in the direction of the Manor.
Shots were still coming our way; we dodged them as if we were walking on hot coals and returned fire, scoring crucial shots to the cold hearts of many Ahtuc guards. As we came closer, their accuracy improved, and one bullet embedded itself into my leg, but we pressed on, determined to battle to the death.
How true that was. An AK-52 bullet was wildly fired in our general direction, and 132 was ripped away from me as he dived in its path, saving Din from death. The bullet penetrated his lungs and I could only watch as he gasped for oxygen, coughing up blood as he choked on the air, pupils dilating in fear. I rushed over to him, the world standing still as I held him dying in my arms. He had sacrificed his life for his betrayer.
Guards were closing in on us, but I did not care, I had nothing left anyway. I rolled up 132’s right sleeve, expecting to see his work number but instead saw something even more meaningful – a dove, with the words: “Pacis est eternus” or “Peace is eternal.”
