Whir. Prick. Click. Lights on

September 13

When I was young I asked my mother what the injection was for. I still remember the unblinking, ecstatic stare, ever-present on her face. She explained that it was a single daily injection that prevents illness while regulating mood. ‘No more contagion or sadness,’ she said, sniffing mucus back into her system.. She smiled at me like there was an invisible man behind her holding the corners of her mouth with his thumbs. Perspiration covered her forehead in a thin layer, even then in the dead of winter. She was gone within a year, and I’ve concealed my difference ever since in a community of people sustained on artificial pleasures.

That was sort of my first clue that something was off – my entire family seemed not to notice, like they’d lost any memory of her. Jittering at the wake, faces warped, like circus clowns you’d read about from the old world. I felt like I was going insane - I don’t know about NAS’ efficacy in preventing illness but I can sure as fuck tell you my mood wasn’t very regulated. I don’t think I’ve been taught the words to describe the shit I’ve been going through. My only memento lies in a locket she left for me, the image of her exaggerated smile ever close to my heart. Today, I buried that image in the ground. I’m finally gonna let her rest. Because, today, I found out that I’m not the only one. So I ‘borrowed’ some supplies from work and I’m chronicling my adventures here.

Mostly to remember that I’m sane if this Nostrum thing doesn’t work out.

September 15

They were on the news again yesterday. A pale bald man excitably reading the teleprompter in monotone. Mitch had left, Garrett was fucking with the door to his bedroom, so I turned the volume up.

“Access has been restricted to the Genetic Rehabilitation Settlement due to an outbreak of disobedient behaviour in the southernmost district of the Habitat.”

His eyes are covered in this horrible exhilaration, but glazed over, like he hadn’t blinked in weeks. His smile was wide, but his teeth gritted. I hear they get a stronger dose in Central Habitat.

“A friendly reminder to the residential districts that extremist groups, including Nostrum, exist to cause the downfall of this Habitat. If you are found to be sympathizing with or housing Nostrum members, you will be taken for re-education. Members of Nostrum can be identified by metallic indents on their right wrist.”

This puzzled me. Mitch told me one day that Nostrum members don’t take their NAS, “and that’s why they’re so fucked up,” he said, with a mouthful of half-rotten meat, the meal perched on yellowed, broken ceramic.

I wonder if there’s any truth to it. Mitch is not somebody I would describe as psychologically sound.

According to the faint lines on the digital clock above my bedroom door, it’s 5:58, so I’ll explain how the procedure works. In two minutes the ceiling light will illuminate the room in dull red. Just bright enough to stir you and allow the NAS machine to be visible, but not so bright you can see the state of your room. The machine is beside the door, in a small pocket on the right. You put your hand inside and it’s restrained by the inner mechanism. There’s a ‘whirring’ noise, and a pinprick sensation on your inner wrist. The machine releases your hand with a slight click, bathing the room in pale blue light as the door recedes into the walls. I’d rather put red-hot metal through my eyes than look into that light, so you can’t stay in your bedroom for long.

Speak of the devil.

Whirr. Prick. Click. Lights on.

September 16

Just south from the residential districts is the Genetic Rehabilitation Settlement, an area for people that supposedly have an “historical genetic predisposition” to criminal activity. The main residential area is separated from the GRS by an unkempt wooden overpass, a river, and a heavy Authority Division presence. I need to collect water, but I’ll have to go upstream for it. The water near the GRS is a murky green-brown colour, much like the tap water, but just upstream it’s clearer, safer, and nobody visits. The latter is the main reason I’m here, because something bad happened this morning.

I was woken up by the sound of glass shattering in the house’s common area. I could hear a voice speaking quickly in a hushed tone. Then, a giggle erupts, and slowly titillates itself into a thick and raspy howl of maniacal laughter. I’m not sure how long I’ve been sleeping, so I check the digital clock over the door. It reads 4:06AM.

It took me a while to realise which of my roommates was out there. The screams would echo in the miniscule bubo-shaped structure we were allocated to, and warp into something I’d never heard before. Something fucking bloodcurdling.

It got pretty quiet around 5:50. I listened with my ear pressed against the door. I couldn’t hear anything, save for a faint dripping. It was slow at first, but consistent, and then finally, the red light came on in my ceiling. Instantly I threw my arm haphazardly into the NAS machine.

Whirr. Prick. Click. Lights on.

The doors sweep open and the first thing I noticed is that almost every belonging, item and piece of furniture from both the common area and Garrett’s standardized room had been broken and neatly stacked, leaning against the wall of the concrete hut. The second thing I noticed was a recurring click coming from Garrett’s room.

He’d propped his door open with unscrewed metal chair legs while we slept. He sat on top of his trash mountain, one leg swung over the television zenith, the other hanging loose. His left arm was covered in a layer of blood, such that I couldn’t see where it originated. His radial bone jutted out from his elbow, but he kept a firm grip on a fissure in the concrete despite this.

He was facing toward the concrete, his head perched neatly in a large crack in the wall. I could see a mess of tubes and wires behind his head. I felt my feet submerge into something wet – thick, lukewarm. I looked down, expecting the worst. Among the oxidated pigments there were sporadic violet stains.

Garrett’s face was bruised around the edges from pushing into the concrete, but I didn’t see blood coming from it. I don’t know how, but he knew I was there.

His head snapped around too far to ogle me, on an almost unnatural angle, before correcting itself slightly. His breathing was heavy. Laboured. Like he’d just found an oasis in the desert and was coming up for water.

I could see his injuries more clearly. One of his eyes was swollen shut, the other distended, the pupil mydriatic. It was like he was analysing me, to see if I could provide the sustenance required to escape the last vestiges of his humanity. He took a deep breath, then blew vigorously out of his broken nose. Clots flew everywhere, but his expression was still. Apart from the inky stains around his mouth and chin, he was paler than I’d ever seen anyone.

His right arm had been crushed as he forced it through the wall. Skin and viscera had not made it through as his muscles and bones had. From what I could see, he had managed to split open a tube in the wall. A small flow of NAS ran over his arm and down the wall, dripping over Garrett and down the broken furniture.

As I stared quietly at the scene before me, my other roommate, Mitch, walks past. With a genuine, hearty grin on his face, he says “See you later, fellas! I’m off for the day,” and the door slammed shut behind him.

Click. Click. Click. Click. I don’t know how long he stared at me, but that click is branded into my eardrums, like the mechanical heartbeat of the chemical that murdered Garrett.

I’m writing from the river now and I don’t know what to do. Step one was removing this little journal from the house before Garrett’s re-educators can find it.

.

I know the only people that can help me now are Nostrum.

September 18

A lot has happened.

I saw the Authority Division swarming my house well before I got there. They stopped me before I could get close, and redirected me to the Habitat Accommodation Authority for a ‘temporary relocation.’

As it turns out, I was ‘temporarily relocated’ to the GRS. I didn’t think things could get much worse. I saw three corpses on my way in, the result of some terrible respiratory condition almost everyone here suffers from.

My new roommates had me on edge at first. I’d never seen people act how they do. They meander about the GRS slowly, tiredly – never smiling, eyes glazed over. I’d been trying to stay out of their way, until I realized what was going on.

I saw the metallic indents. I knew they were Nostrum. They explained that the indents were a release valve for a tank that lies under their skin to capture their daily injections. They hadn’t heard of anyone being immune before, but they hurriedly took me to their leader, an older man. From the sounds of it, they’re more excited than I am – they’ve got big plans for me.

As it turns out, the GRS was a blessing in disguise. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel – soon, I can rest my body and mind. I can finally grieve for what I’ve lost.

I stepped out of that building and was greeted instantly with the scent of ammonia and the sensation of my bare feet numbing as they sunk directly into the cold mud. A thick haze obscured anything more than fifty steps away, and all I felt was hope, and the cold metal of the old locket pressed against my collarbone. It terrified me, knowing that the concentrated form of the poison lies inches from my heart, liquid NAS littered with nitroglycerin. I’ve kept it in my pocket – out of sight, et cetera. It will all be worth it when we show Habitat that this is no way to live.

November 29th

I don’t understand why those deranged Nostrum criminals ever wanted Habitat to go away. Every night I sink into my mattress and wake up happier than the day before. Work is easier and more rewarding than it’s ever been – I even think the rations have gotten bigger!

I was informed at the hospital that Nostrum never made it across the river. As it turns out, they didn’t believe me at all! The bomb went off the second I stepped into the ration centre – 1:45 on the dot.

I wish I’d never met those filthy dissidents. It’s because of them I don’t have my legs. And all that time spent in reeducation – I’m just so ashamed I ever felt that way. I’m a better person than that. I’m a better citizen than that. And, as it turns out, hundreds of Nostrum members were killed trying to storm the bridge. Good riddance, if you ask me!

My time in hospital taught me that I was never immune – I was just plagued with disobedient thought patterns. They told me that I accidentally received a macrodose of NAS from the locket-bomb, which is Habitat’s recommended treatment for NAS immunity! I’ve decided to keep this journal as a record of how far I’ve come – how much better things have gotten since my medicine began working. Today’s my first day back in Habitat. A fresh start.

Now, I’m all healthy and I know that it’s organisations like Nostrum that elicit anti-Habitat sentiment in good citizens. I’m just happy that I’m finally happy!

Ah- 6:00. I’d better go!

Whir. Prick. Click. Lights on.