I breathe a tiny sigh of relief, careful to retain my composure as a camera swivels mechanically overhead. I press the number seven button and ride the elevator up to the seventh floor. When I exit, I find myself on the floor designated for the mating clinic.
I look around, recalling the pictures I have seen. This floor doesn't resemble a hospital but a sanitary smell permeates the air. It's more like a hotel, complete with lavish chairs lining the hallways and vending machines in the waiting area. Twisting corridors with doors leading into suites, branch from each other. A concierge behind a desk watches me with apathetic eyes, expecting to assist me. However, a digital sign on the opposite wall points me in the right direction with its neon green glow.
The concierge picks up a phone as I advance down one of the branching hallways. As I arrive outside the door of room 713, I prepare myself to fulfill the purpose of my visit to BioLife today. I'm about to swipe my ID card a third time when I realize that the door is already open just a crack.
I knock and call out, "Hello?" No response. I push the door all the way open and step cautiously inside. The suite is dark and uninviting. I'm tempted to go back downstairs but what do I tell one of the guards? I can't say that I was afraid to enter a dark room. Revealing something like that would land me in jail.
I step deeper into the suite to investigate. The silence forewarns something terrible but I don't heed the warning. I have to complete my job so I can get paid. I have to help take care of my family. I can't rely on the stupid government for handouts. I have to find Emerson. If he's not here, then I'll figure something else out.
But this doesn't make any sense to me. Why was the door to the suite already open? Emerson was expecting me, or rather Ava, but that doesn't explain the open door or why the lights are off. What is going on here?
A narrow hallway opens up into a large sitting room. The place is really dark. Thick, impenetrable black curtains block out the sunlight trying to penetrate the windows dead ahead. The floor is digital paneled, one of those fancy new ones that pulse with a different color whenever someone steps on a certain panel. Like that old game called Simon I've heard about, but nothing happens as I walk into the room.
I flip the light switch nearby. Dead. All electricity from the Grid has been silenced here.
The Grid is the source of Paradise's electricity. Located somewhere inside the Core, it is a gigantic electrical generator powered by a strange source of energy called the Catalyst. The government controls the Grid as they control all things in society. The power is working elsewhere inside of BioLife, which sets off my danger sense. A power outage on such a tiny scale as this is very uncommon.
All is quiet and still. Nothing appears to be out of place. A kitchen stands to my right and I smell an aroma of bacon. A portrait of the Supreme Chancellor, the head of our government, hangs from the wall behind me in an ornate frame. His face is blank and heavily lined. His eyes are sinister and follow me everywhere.
I spy all of the cameras inside the suite. They are deathly still, frozen in mid-swivel by the power outage.
That's when I notice a sticky substance coating the walls and floor. It glistens but it's so dark that I can't make out what it is. I'm scared to take a closer look.
My eyes follow the trail and my heart almost stops when I see the body sprawled across the floor behind the sofa. This man is Noah Emerson. I recognize him from the photos. Buzz cut gray hair, a tiny scar on his left cheek, and a cleft chin. He's laying spread eagle as though someone arranged him there, his eyes closed. A gold and purple lapel pin shaped like an eagle gleams from his chest, signifying his status as a government official. A pool of blood flows away from him, like a red river.
Instinctively, I leap backwards upon making this startling discovery, glad that the cameras aren't working to capture me breaking the law.
I fall back into the wall behind me and I feel something wet against my skin. I look down, after smelling a familiar coppery scent, and find my dress and my left arm coated with blood.
Without warning, a security alarm starts buzzing madly with a deafening shriek, drowning out my screamed reaction to all the blood. I have to get out of here but I realize that I can't move. That's about the time that the lights inside the suite decide to turn on.
Fear grips me in its unyielding grasp. The stupid wig I'm wearing is caught on the edge of the frame enclosing the Chancellor's portrait. I jerk my head forward to free myself, leaving behind a few blond strands in my wake. The wig is now lopsided. I straighten it while backtracking towards the exit, wondering how in the blazes I'm going to get out of this place without someone seeing me.
I can't go back downstairs like this. The guards will wonder about the blood and how will I be able to explain that? Plus, there are cameras everywhere inside this facility. I only studied the ones along the direct path leading up to Emerson's suite, so I know of only a few areas I need to avoid.
I step out into the hallway and start hurrying away from the concierge desk. I take only a grand total of three steps when another startling sight freezes me dead in my tracks. Armed guards rush into the hallway through a door at the opposite end, emerging from a stairwell. It's the same ones I saw hovering in the entrance lobby.
Heart hammering wildly, I dart back inside of the suite and lock the door. I only have a few seconds, which doesn't leave me much time to think of an escape plan. The guards are coming into Emerson's suite and I have to make sure I'm out of here before they do.
I rush back into the sitting room and leap over Emerson's dead body. Thinking fast and listening to the sound of thundering footsteps out in the corridor, I yank back the curtains in front of the window. Only it's not a window. It's a glass sliding door, which exits out onto a balcony overlooking the river and the downtown area.
"Yes, she's in there." A voice speaks loudly out in the hallway. The concierge perhaps? He must have tipped off the guards when he picked up the phone. But why? Either Ava Suarez is in trouble with the authorities or someone knew about my intended delivery to Emerson today. Whatever the reason though, it has to be bad since a government official wound up dead. The penalty for killing an elected member of Parliament is death.
I'm panicking now, hyperventilating as I unlock and tug open the sliding door. Someone tries the door behind me but it's locked of course. I step out on the balcony and peer over the railing. It's a long way down to the river but it might be the only way.
"Open the door." A gruff male voice commands, with no anger or irritation inflected in his voice. It's flat, dull, and monotone—the typical voice of society.
Fat chance, I think as I stare down at the rippling water. Maybe I can survive the plunge but a sudden phobia of heights tells me that I'm up too high to make the jump. I search for an alternative route from the building but there's not one. The nearest balcony is too far away to make a leap. I'm trapped. I have to jump down or face the guards and attempt to explain why Emerson is dead.
Something heavy slams against the door and I jump. The door bangs open and I scramble up onto the balcony railing. The guards rush inside the suite, their guns leading the way. They approach me slowly, scanning the area. I steady myself so I don't fall to my death.
"Step down from the ledge," someone orders me calmly.
I disobey and so they open fire.
Electrically charged bullets zip through the air all around me. I jump, pushing away from the railing as much as I can. I fall, making fists with my hands and closing my eyes. I tighten my abs and exhale slowly through my nose to help cushion the plunge into the river. I was up seven stories and each floor of BioLife has a height of twelve or thirteen feet, which means about an eighty-foot drop.
I feel it when I hit the water, like a brick smashing a window. It's icy cold and the water slices at my exposed skin almost like daggers. I ignore the agonizing pain, grateful to be alive. I fight hard to reach the surface, trying not to drown. But then bullets tear through the water like scissors to paper, sending electri
cal pulses down towards me. If I don't move away quickly, drowning will be the least of my fear, as the water is now alive with currents that can surely electrocute me.
Holding my breath, I remain submerged, diving as far down into the murky depths as I can. Time to put those swim lessons to use if I hope to escape this nightmare.
Chapter Four
Liam
I watch quietly from the hallway as Sophia questions her inside her bedroom. She doesn't know that I'm here.
How dynamic she talks reveals to me that she stopped taking the Purge prior to today's dosage. Citizens who inhale the Purge regularly all talk in static voices with the same tone and nearly the same volume.
She's also difficult to read even after a measure of the Purge, but I detect a reluctance to answer Sophia's questions. She's a bit on the defensive too, as expected given her current situation. But I notice something else there as well, written on her face and suppressed in her voice. She's upset. Not because she's been caught but rather because she feels ashamed.
"Can you explain the coins and the comic books we found inside your home?" Sophia asks her, after a series of mandatory questions that validates a criminal's name, date of birth, and other personal information for the official record of the interrogation.
"What's there to explain?" Dr. Cato answers Sophia's question with a question. I refer to her as Dr. Cato because the Purge has stripped me of any connections to this woman being my mother.
"Explain why you possess those items when you know that they are illegal?" Sophia tries again.
"Isn't that obvious?" Dr. Cato skirts around answering Sophia's inquiry. There's a gleam in her eyes that I don't understand. Her eyes are brighter than I remember, piercingly blue and full of emotion. I realize then that the Purge has no effect on her anymore.
I remember the day I left this place to begin my training six years ago. She and my father saw me off, both with vacant expressions. I remember my mother's eyes. They were a dull blue, almost gray in color. There was no light there. She was still on the Purge then.
"So, you're admitting to being a member of SAFE?" Sophia asks calmly.
Dr. Cato nods. "I am," she responds with no remorse. In fact, she sounds proud to be a revolutionary. All of them do but I can never comprehend how someone could abandon the ideal system? Emotions are the bane of society. History and even mythological stories tells us this. Compassion, anger, jealousy, hatred—they are all catalysts for war and destruction. Love launched a thousand ships during the Trojan War. Arrogance brought about the Napoleonic Wars. Retribution sparked World War I. And sympathy caused the United States to enter the Vietnam Conflict.
Introducing the Purge was the best thing to happen to mankind. The island of Paradise has never experienced a full-scale war, only minor conflicts instigated by those no longer under the Purge's influence. After World War III, other nations began to subdue citizens with the drug. There hasn't been a war for over twenty years because there hasn't been a cause for one.
If the world governments can stamp out all forms of rebellion, then Earth will be the perfect place to live.
It begins here in Paradise though, ground zero for the Purge model. It's my quest to eradicate all traces of SAFE. Maybe the hidden revolutionaries will see that I mean business when I put my own mother behind bars.
"What causes a doctor, whose medical research has advanced even the Purge, to join the people seeking to destroy our government?" Sophia isn't curious. She asks the question because government officials working from their sanctum inside the Core seek a way to bring the misguided back under the influence of the Purge. Sociologists and psychologists study interrogation recordings to figure out weaknesses in those who express feelings. They've recently discovered something called willpower that plays a pivotal role in the separation from societal norms. The rebels have a very high strength of will, brought about by life experiences that impact them negatively. Those experiences harden their resolve so that once they are off the Purge, they're adamant about ever relying on the drug again. That's why it's difficult for the Purge to affect people who have not inhaled the gas for a long time. If the government can soften the willpower of these individuals, then our job of destroying the revolution will become a lot easier.
"My awakening," Dr. Cato responds simply.
"Awakening?" Sophia echoes.
Dr. Cato nods. She sits in a chair brought up from downstairs, her hands bound by handcuffs. She leans forward, her dark hair matting to her forehead by sweat.
"It's what we call it when a person realizes that our government is not as precious as it seems," she clarifies.
"But there's no need to realize something like that," Sophia tells her. "The system is flawless."
Dr. Cato shakes her head. "The system is not flawless. Corruption is still as present in our government as it was elsewhere before the Purge was even invented. Why do you think that the Purge is administered in the first place?"
"I don't think about it," Sophia states. "I just do what I'm told."
"Of course. You're just a a worthless tool like I used to be, going about your daily life with your eyes blind to what's happening all around you. The government administers the Purge so that they can keep us under control. Their intentions may be noble—preventing wars, decreasing crime rates, saving lives—but their methods are unjust. It is our basic right as human beings to have free will but the government has taken that from us. And for what reason—to create a perfect world?" She scoffs. "A perfect world is an illusion. Perfection is impossible."
"It can be possible," Sophia continues to adopt the same impassive voice throughout the entire conversation. "The Purge can make it happen if everyone will submit to its influence."
Dr. Cato scoffs again. "The Purge will never completely work as long as people willing to fight it exists. Take a look at Paradise, for example. This island was created to be that perfect society that everyone wants and Paradise is far from perfect. The Purge doesn't work on everyone. I have done the research to prove that some people are immune to its effects. You can't have a perfect society if everyone doesn't conform." She sits back in her seat again and stares at Sophia with those bright blue eyes of hers. "The best thing the government can do is give up on its pursuit of an earthly Heaven and allow people to regain their autonomy. If they don't, then SAFE will fight for what we naturally deserve."
"You are not in a position to make threats, Dr. Cato," Sophia informs her.
"That is not a threat, it's a promise," Dr. Cato corrects her coldly.
The arrival of a couple of cops from downstairs turns my attention away from the interrogation.
"Agent Cato," one of them calls softly.
I look over at them. One is heavyset with a thick beard the color of paprika. His partner is a tall, waifish woman with layered brown hair and eyes that appear too large for her head.
"Yes?" I say, the interrogation nothing but background noise now.
"We have received digivid from the informant," the female officer tells me. "You can view it after the interrogation."
"I'll view it now," I tell her. Sophia can handle questioning Dr. Cato alone.
The male officer nods and I follow the two of them back downstairs. The cops have connected the digivid player to the digital screen. The screen displays a frozen image of a place that I assume is a bar.
The female cop picks up a remote control from the couch and presses the play button. "This is from three days ago," she says quietly. "Around three in the afternoon."
I watch the vid quietly, my arms folded across my chest. My holstered pistol bangs against the side of my thigh as I shift to a wide-legged stance.
It's a recording of a brightly lit bar, packed with patrons with blank facades. Since alcohol is banned, everyone sips water or juice.
The camera's eye slices through the crowd, moving towards a more secluded area of the bar. In contrast, this area is dimly lit with only a few clients. Most of these patrons head for the nearby hall
way leading to the restrooms. A couple occupies one of the tables. The man appears to be a shady character, his face mostly hidden in the shadows dancing all around him. He wears a wide-brimmed hat on his head and sits across from a woman, who I recognize at once as Dr. Cato. The two of them converse with one another but I can't hear a word either one of them says.
"Does this vid not have audio?" I ask anyone willing to answer.
"No, sir," a random cop replies respectfully.
The action on the vid moves along in silence. The camera shakes a bit as the informant settles into a booth. I focus on Dr. Cato's face and it would astound a person off the Purge how she doesn't try to hide her emotions. Periodically, a brief smile and a flicker of hope perhaps, plays upon her gentle features.
She speaks with the shadow man some more and if I could hear their words, the interrogation would benefit greatly from it. Nonetheless, this is more physical evidence pinned against her. Talking to an illusive man is not a crime, but frowning, shifting her eyes restlessly, showing concern, and smiling are all punishable by the full extent of the law.
Then, a swift movement catches my eye. I watch as Dr. Cato produces something from inside of her overcoat. I squint my eyes and I glimpse the object in Dr. Cato's hands before she hastily forces it upon the man in the shadows. It's an envelope locked by a digital cipher. Somehow Dr. Cato got her mitts on something of high value and more than likely classified. Because of her occupation, it's easy for her to gain access to a few confidential documents and files. If she leaked classified information to SAFE, then she might as well gun down a politician. The penalty for aiding and abetting the rebels with government secured information is growing more and more severe as of late.
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