by Josiah Upton
Time passes during my first night without incident, though the constant noise from the Hybrids begins to grate on me. Just when I think I can’t take anymore, the droning is broken by an officer getting on the speakers. Ezra is instructed to report to the yellow line, for “laundry duty”. A task, one of the benefits of the Brains Club Robert mentioned. The thought of my all-but-certain membership agitates me, fearing the interruption of my seclusion. Despite the other perks of being in the Club – namely the food – I consider the possibility of declining membership. That is, if membership isn’t mandatory.
Some time later, another officer speaks up, announcing that it is “bath night”. The collective stench that comes off Hybrids too simple or apathetic to use the toilets properly makes me grateful for a cleansing. But when I learn how this is achieved, I decide living with the smell would be more preferable. All containees are required to strip down, and from nozzles on the Common ceiling a violent spray of chemicals and scalding hot water rains down, with enough force to knock me off my feet.
I never thought I’d miss the small shower in the corner of Gibbs’s basement.
Once we’re all given clean uniforms that match our collar numbers, we’re strapped into charging docks along the walls to power up our collar batteries. The process is tedious and slow, taking hours. Any containees getting restless gets a quick zap, and a goading reprimand from the officers. And even though I’m perfectly motionless, I still feel little stings squeeze my neck. I’m not sure if my collar is faulty, or if Caesar is giving me low level shocks as a way of targeting me outside of Robert’s detection.
At some point, Ezra returns, and joins the charging. He still doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look my way. Let’s keep this going.
After that comes meal time, and by now those pork lungs that I didn’t even finish seem like a lifetime away. I give in, and join the desperate hoards at the meat pipes. This time the other containees aren’t keeping their distance. They shove and shout, giving me violent looks as they hold onto their hose with an intense grip. Apparently quenching their Hunger is more important than testing Caesar’s wrath.
It takes some patience and vigilance, but I finally get my hands on a hose. The goop tastes utterly disgusting. It’s as if someone took fresh beef, chicken and fish, let them rot in a shoe for a month, and then smashed it all to a pulp with the very same shoe. But through the revolting flavor and consistency – and the knowledge of how this “food” is made – I can’t deny my Prisoner is somewhat quieted.
At the end of the day, it’s lights out. There are no windows or clocks, so I can only assume it’s night outside. Narrow walls rise from slots in the ground, made of four panels that rotate to make beds once the structure is erected. A certain hierarchy exists among the containees, seemingly determined by both brute strength and years spent in containment. The Hybrids near the top have their beds guaranteed every night, while the ones near the bottom are fought over. I soon realize there aren't enough for every Hybrid to get one, and many end up on the floor, including myself.
Being in a crowded room of sleeping Hybrids isn't pleasant. They make lots of noise, grunting and moaning all night. I lie awake on the hard floor, and thoughts I had ignored all day come to my mind. Thoughts of life in Pueblo, or wondering who and where my parents are, and whatever happened to Gibbs. But mostly I think of Genny, and imagining a life with her in it.
She never will be.
For the first time here, I get the tiny, whisper of a notion that I don’t want to be alone.
Chapter 11
Zaul
Somehow I fall asleep during the night, but am abruptly woken by Caesar’s loud entrance of lights and noise. He stalks into the Common, with all the energy and purpose in the world. He recites the rules Krecker gave me the day before, except each one is followed by a random containee getting a shock, to illustrate what happens if the rule is broken. Afterwards, he shocks another containee, just for his own amusement. It’s no wonder everyone fears and hates him.
Surprisingly, I’m not among the ones he shocks indiscriminately, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten about Containee 1822. No, his eyes are continuously locked on me, filled to the brim with malicious intent. Perhaps his father cautioned against any undue punishment towards me, so he is vigilantly watching me, waiting for the slightest of infractions to legitimately punish me for. This man is obsessed.
After the first feeding the male members of the Brains Club leave for their meeting. While they are gone, I sit at an empty table and Hybrid-watch, observing the behaviors and interactions of my own kind. I start to notice that these containees aren’t as mindless and selfish as I thought, and the altercations that arise between them aren’t entirely arbitrary. Many of the fights are recurrent between specific containees, led up to over several minutes of angry stares and brief shouts across the expanse. As if culminating from long-standing feuds that existed before I even arrived.
There’s also more neutral or positive relation than I had first noticed. Many of the Hybrids are split up into groups, or what I imagine “gangs” in human prisons to be. The largest one – about twenty-strong – hovers around Containee 1509, a loud, obnoxious Hybrid with a hand missing all fingers but its thumb. Whenever he talks, his group listens. And when he makes a joke, they all laugh. My Hybrid-watching comes to an end when he notices me spectating, and sneers. His group follows his gaze, and they sneer too. On top of the impression Caesar made for me when I first arrived, that’s too much attention. I arise from the table and disappear into the crowd.
After second feeding the Brains members return, and all containees are carefully herded into the large Rec Room for Recreation Hour. The containment officer in charge announces it is “Game Day”, and we particpate in a strange exercise called Duck Duck Goose. The more verbal containees discuss what they would do if they caught a live duck or goose, while the other half end up screaming and fighting each other, determined to win the “prize”, which is just three dead rat corpses an officer found outside the Facility. It seems like more of a sick joke than a reward.
One good thing about this is Caesar’s absence. Perhaps he took a lunch break, or went home, or accidentally fell into the kitchen Juicer. Whatever the reason, I’m just glad to be rid of him for a brief moment.
But the bad thing is his threatening aura over the containees has diminished, to the point that Ezra hisses my name.
“Zaul!”
I groan, turning to face the source of my nuisance. Ezra sits at a table flimsy enough to break if a Hybrid pushed down on it. Walt and Rich are with him, moving pieces around a colorful square. More games. He checks to ensure Caesar is in fact not here, before waving me over. “We got an extra spot. Come play.”
I check the authority along the room’s perimeter as well. With Caesar gone, the officers are more relaxed. Not even paying attention. I reluctantly join my inevitable future, and sit with the Brains Club.
“What is this?” I ask, looking down at the tabletop. Among the forgotten objects on the ancient shelves in Gibbs’s basement were board games. Without the desire or another person to play them with, they were disregarded. But the colorful characters on the board look familiar.
“It’s Confection Connection,” Ezra answers. The name tickles some fleeting, fragmented memory buried within 4 years of Hybrid solitude. “You’re a human, travelling through pipes in a candy factory, picking up the lost teeth of the other players. Whoever has the most at the end wins.” He pushes a small, person-shaped token toward me. It’s blue. “But you gotta watch out for the Killer Kavities. They make you lose your chompers. Here, I’ll go first.”
I survey the board, and watch Ezra play. It doesn’t take long to figure it out. “It’s completely random,” I say. “There’s no skill involved.”
“Yeah, but it’s really fun,” Walt chirps, blue veins stretching back as he smiles wide. He takes a turn, and collects two plastic teeth. He chuckles, and slaps hands with Rich. “Double C rules!”<
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“But I have a better idea for a game,” Rich says, his face becoming serious. “It’s pretty much the same, except instead of candy, ice cream and other sweet shit, it’s hearts and brains and toes. I call it Meat Treat.”
They laugh, and slap hands again. This is the first time I’ve interacted with either of the brothers. Ezra realizes this too. “Walt, Rich, this is the new guy, Zaul.”
Training kicks in. I extend my hand for a shake. I hope they don’t slap it. Walt ignores me, while a look of concern comes over Rich’s face. “The new guy... you mean the one Caesar says we’re not supposed to be around??”
This gets Walt’s attention. He scans my face and uniform number, then stands up, the table starting to buckle under his hands. “I ain’t getting a Shock ‘n’ Lock just to be friendly. Beat it, new guy.”
“Relax,” Ezra says. “Krecker says that’s not the case anymore. We won’t get in trouble for getting seen with Zaul. Remember?”
“Then why were you avoiding me in the Common yesterday?” I ask, my curiosity making it blurt out. The pathetic notion that I’m actually lonely and in need of friends creeps into my brain, but I shrug it off. “It doesn’t matter. You’re right to fear Caesar, and you should just forget I’m here.”
I start to leave, but Ezra stops me. “What’d you do to him?”
I open my mouth the speak, but nothing comes out.
“C’mon, man,” he says. “Caesar came right in and laid down the law on you. And it was your first day, so it couldn’t have been for something you done in here. It’s clear you’re not fresh Hybrid, so the only answer is you ran into him on the outside.” He reclines back in his seat, crossing his arms. “It doesn’t take a high IQ to figure that out.”
“Yeah,” Rich says, also crossing his arms. “I totally figured that out, too. So what’s your story, Zool?”
“Zaul,” I growl. “And I don’t have to explain myself to you, or anyone”
“You do if you want to be in the Brains Club,” Ezra retorts, then furrows his brows. “Well, in the Club outside of meetings, that is. I don’t have any say who officially gets in, and Caesar isn’t in attendance during those, anyway. But in the Common, and anywhere else Captain Ortega is, we need to know what you’ve done before we put our gray asses on the line for you.”
Yes, that earlier notion was wrong. I definitely don’t want friends.
“I don’t want to be in your stupid Club,” I say, pausing to search for an insult. One I learned in school comes to mind. “Assface!”
And in a flash of Rage, I slam my fists down on the table. It cracks in half, colored cards and little humanoid tokens flying in the air. I’m done with games, done with the Brains, and done with making friends. I won’t find any in here. But when I turn around to leave, I immediately regret what I’ve done. Caesar has just stepped into the Rec Room, and instantly notices the wreckage. His lips stretch into a tight grin.
“Number 1822!” he shouts. “Destruction of government property, disturbing containment operations, overly-aggressive behavior… and refusal to take medicine for your overly-aggressive behavior. You’re getting a Shock ‘n’ Lock for all of them.”
“Only one of those is a rule he actually knows about!” Ezra speaks. I really wish he wouldn’t. “And you can’t prove he hasn’t taken his Mortetine, anyway!”
“Shut it, 1759,” Caesar barks. “Or I’ll make sure you lose your privileges.”
He says the word “privileges” with a discernable sneer. I can only imagine the disdain he has for the special treatment members of the Brains Club get. At this, Ezra sits down, and averts his gaze.
My attention is brought back to Caesar with a small shock. My heart pumps with hatred when our eyes meet. “Get over here, 1822. Now. Before you get another Shock ‘n’ Lock for disobeying officer orders.”
Defeated, I slowly cross the Rec floor toward Caesar. The room is eerily silent, and all eyes are on me, even Muck’s. Being made an example will be all I’m known for in here. I make for the door, where I expect Caesar plans to escort me to the Lock, but another small buzz stops my route, and he points to the first of the three mysterious doors on the wall. He opens it, and uses his gun to wave me into the lightless room.
Krecker approaches. “Need any help, Boss?”
“No,” Caesar says. “I got this. But whatever you hear, don’t open this door.”
The barrel of his pistol insists that I enter. Once we’re inside, and the door is closed, I can’t see anything. All I can sense is the scent of his flesh and the beating of my heart. Is this it? Is this the end? I felt this same panic in the blackness of the room where he kept his grandfather’s war mementos. I survived that… but he also didn’t know I was a Hybrid at the time, either.
After a moment of unbearable waiting, the lights in the room switch on. When my eyes adjust, the sight that fills them is utterly peculiar: broken things. All kinds of things. Shelves, dinner plates, furniture, toys. Anything you could possibly think of, with only one thing in common. Destroyed.
“What is this room?” I ask.
“Speak again, and your filthy brains will join that heap of garbage,” Caesar says. “Turn around. Slowly.”
I do as I’m told. When I face him, he isn’t wearing his usual maniacal, hateful smirk. There’s a look of concern on him. Panic, even. Sweat beads roll down his face. “I spoke with some of the Collars from HQ last night. They told an interesting story, about some snot-nosed kid and an Ugger in disguise taking on a different Ugger in disguise.” His lips stiffen, and he shakes his head. “Hybrids dressing up like teachers, undead freaks pretending to be students. The whole world has gone to hell.”
He tightens the grip on his pistol, taking steps closer. “And that Ugger bitch that was on the bus, the one that got wasted on Highway 50. You were there. Two unregistereds trying to pass as human, only a month apart, and you’re there with both of them. That can’t be a coincidence. What kind of operation were you in on? Was Gibbs in charge of it all, or was there somebody above him?”
I stare back, confounded. “What?”
“Don’t lie to me, Zaul!” Caesar screams. “Gibbs had dealed pills with me way before you came along. I thought he was trying to make a profit, selling to junkies, but obviously he wasn’t. So what was that crippled Ugger chew toy involved in? An underground unregistered Hybrid network? Is that Harris kid a part of it? Who else know about our deals?!”
“No!” I snap. “I mean, I don’t know! And no one!”
“So Gibbs was solo? Then who hired him to keep you?” He inches the gun closer to my face. “And what do they know about our deals?”
“It was my parents,” I answer. “But I can’t tell you what they know. I have no idea their names, where they are, or what they even look like.” A small wave of sadness swirls inside me. “I’ve never seen or heard from them in the four years since I turned Hybrid.”
“Four years?” he questions. A broken clock lays next to his foot. He kicks it across the room, sprinkling glass shards on me. “I knew him for six, about as long as Brad Jensen was on the APA’s radar. He threatened to turn Gibbs in, so the old man had you and Harris off him. That’s what happened, didn’t it?!? Answer me!”
I grit my teeth. I’m so wired, so Rage-filled that I wish I could turn around and further destroy the fragmented relics in this room. “He told me a story, about how he and his wife hid an unregistered, the one that gave him his scars. His wife took their child and left. Not long after, he took me on. There was no conspiracy, no grand operation. Just a disfigured man trying to make some money, and now he’s locked up. You don’t have to worry about him anymore. Or me.”
“And what about Gordy?” Caesar asks. “And your little girlfriend?”
“They know nothing,” I lie. In reality, I told them all about my transactions with Caesar. But I would rather take a bullet from his gun right now than have them in his sights. Fortunately, I don’t believe either of them are foolish enough to go against
him. They know just how psychotic he can be.
“You better be telling the truth,” he says, backing toward the door. “Because if anyone finds out about my former business ventures, your life will be hell. You think you’ve already got it bad? You haven’t seen anything yet.”
He stops at the door, and punches in my numbers on his belt remote.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “I told you, no one else knows! Your secrets are safe!”
“You’re still getting your shocks for breaking the rules, Containee,” he answers. On either side of the door are two panels, labeled Noise and Lights. The dials on them appear both simple and sturdy enough for Hybrid operation. What is this room? Caesar cranks the knob under Noise, and loud music begins to play. He turns the Lights dial, and the bulb on the ceiling begins to strobe. His wicked smile finally returns.
And then the shocks come. Caesar lists off my infractions with each one.
“Destruction of government property… disturbing containment operations… overly-aggressive behavior... failure to take medication… lying to Caesar Ortega… pretending to be a human… BEING A WORTHLESS, EVIL PIECE OF ANIMAL SHIT…”
At this he lets the shock run, drops his remote and points his pistol at my face.
Do it, I think. End this. End me.
But I never see his ultimate intentions play out, because the door swings open, and Robert Ortega stands in its opening. Saved yet again.
“Caesar!” the elderly man barks. He hobbles in, turns off the music and steadies the lights. Lastly, he holds up a tablet in his hand, and ceases the voltage flowing from my neck, overriding Caesar’s remote. “Just what the hell is going on in here?”
Caesar lowers his pistol, but doesn’t turn to face his father. “Containee 1822 was caught breaking several rules. I brought him in here to administer correction, and he tried to attack. I had to defend myself. Just check the surveillance.”