by Kate Bulpitt
‘The truth is, for many years we have seen a steep decline in decent behaviour and respect, and an increase in rudeness, harassment, and mindless, thoughtless violence. It has become so common and so widespread as to be often considered unremarkable. This is wholly unacceptable.’ He looked around him. ‘There are those who believe that they can ignore the rules that all good, honest people abide by; that there will be no consequences to their actions. Yobs who have been getting away with creating fear and anarchy. These people show utter disregard for others, and seek to hurt, to damage and to destroy. They destroy communities, and in too many cases, leave broken hearts and shattered lives. These people,’ he stared directly into one camera, locked eyes with the world, ‘are bruises on society.’
He again paused, then shook his head defiantly. ‘Well, no more. When we asked for your faith in us, for your votes, we promised you that there would be an end to this behaviour. We warned those who sought disharmony and violence that there would be harsh penalties to pay. Perhaps too many years of ineffective solutions to an escalating problem belittled our stance, implied it to be an idle threat. It was not. As drastic as it may have seemed, the Repeal’s curbing of much-abused technologies, including the Portal, and PortAble devices, has certainly made a difference to anti-social behaviour, to the way we all engage with one another – we’ve seen that. But it hasn’t changed enough. We have considered many options. Harsher sentences. The discipline of national service. The deterrent of capital punishment. Even the extreme methods of chastisement employed in other cultures, which we rightly dismiss as too cruel. And then we created a more innovative solution. One that, finding you engaged in a criminal or anti-social act, quite literally makes its mark on you. That brands you as visibly bruised as our communities have been by your actions, and illustrates for all to see that you show no respect, that you seek to damage our society.’
Eve stared at the screen. Theo Fletcher seemed enraptured by his own words, becoming almost evangelical. He continued. ‘This system will be one that provides constant observation and near-immediate results, and will exist alongside the traditional criminal justice system. Physically, this branding causes no ill effects, and will be reversible – but only given irrefutably improved behaviour.’
At this point the flashbulb frenzy seemed to increase, and the prime minister’s speech was interrupted by an unsynchronised chorus of gasps, squeaks and a yelp. Unaffected, he continued: ‘Whereas until now decent, law-abiding citizens have felt unsafe on the streets of this country’s towns and cities, now it is those who seek malice who shall know no safety. We will find them and shame them, please be certain of that. As this young man can attest.’
The cameras widened to reveal the cause of the increasing flashes: beside Theo Fletcher stood a lad who was an eerie greyish-lavender hue. The colour change was mild but distinct, and made all the more pronounced beside the healthy freshness of the prime minister’s complexion, and by the lad’s own unfortunate attire: white sports shorts and a vest top in a garish shade of neon green. From these garments poked purple limbs – such strange, unnatural flesh – which looked mind-bogglingly bizarre.
To a stunned crowd, Theo Fletcher announced that this was Lee. He was, apparently, devilishly anti-social and unfit to be prowling the streets.
There was a wolf whistle from the one of the reporters.
In response, with a flash of rat-in-a-corner fury, Lee spat, ‘I’ll have you! What d’you think you’re looking at?’
‘You,’ an anonymous voice retorted. ‘You look ridiculous!’
In the corner of the screen, Eve noticed a woman reach into her pocket, presumably seeking that phantom limb, the PortAble phone, with which to snatch a snapshot. The hand appeared again, empty, her face registering neither recollection nor disappointment. Despite the time that had passed, people still forgot.
‘Now, now, everyone.’ The prime minister raised a hand, requesting calm. He turned to Lee. ‘You would admit to being an ardent trouble-maker, would you not?’
Lee nodded nervously; he looked desperate to appear tough, but was clearly shaken and stirred and entirely unprepared for the situation in which he found himself. It also seemed that what might have once been cheeks reddening in embarrassment, or anger, today gave the illusion of Lee becoming an even deeper shade of damson, right before their eyes.
‘You upset your family and neighbours, as well as complete strangers, in the town in which you live, with aggressive, often threatening behaviour, and after a violent outburst a few days ago in which you attacked an innocent man, almost killing him–’ Theo looked solemnly towards the cameras before turning back to Lee – ‘you subsequently found yourself… like this?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Just like that, overnight?’
Lee nodded again, his complexion becoming even paler, the purple a little more pronounced, as the blood drained from his face.
‘And how did that make you feel?’
Lee was obviously loath to say it, and appeared to be attempting to muster some bravado when the prime minister prompted him.
‘Lee?’
‘Scared. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I thought I was dying.’
‘Do you think you deserve this?’
Lee swayed uncertainly for a moment.
The prime minister took a piece of paper from his pocket and held it out for Lee to see. ‘Well, do you?’
Lee looked down at his mauve hands before responding with a reluctantly mumbled, ‘S’pose.’
The prime minister showed the piece of paper to the cameras – a photo showing a beaten, swollen, bandaged man’s face. ‘And did this man, who is still in intensive care – did he deserve this?’
Lee, now shaking, looked at his shoes. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Look at him,’ a journalist shouted. ‘He’s shaking! Would your victims shake, Lee? Would they beg you to leave them alone?’
Lee glanced at the prime minister, waiting to be rescued.
‘Go ahead,’ said Theo. ‘You can answer.’
‘Yeah,’ Lee murmured.
‘Speak up!’ said the reporter.
‘Yes,’ Lee hissed.
‘But did you stop?’
Lee shook his head, then, already anticipating the shout of ‘louder’, snapped, ‘No.’
‘If you hadn’t attacked him,’ said the prime minister, sadly, ‘you wouldn’t be here now. Purple.’
‘Did it hurt, Lee, when you got, er…’ The reporter searched for an appropriate word for the transformation. ‘Purpled?’
‘No. I don’t know,’ said Lee, before he was silenced by a glance from Theo Fletcher.
The prime minister turned back to the cameras. ‘There will, of course, be some who say this infringes upon civil rights. To them I say: what about the rights of the good citizens of this country?’ He again held up the photo. ‘What about this man’s rights? What of those who live their lives quietly, kindly, respectfully, responsibly? Who share care and concern for others and community spirit? Those who are valued members of society and seek only to create honourable lives for themselves, their families and neighbours, to love them and look after them? When those people are hurt, or worse, without provocation, for protecting their loved ones or their property, for helping others in need, trying to defuse a situation, or simply for standing up for public decency – where are those people’s civil rights? To the troublemakers I say, if you attack the civil rights of those people, the honourable people, then you forfeit your own.
‘I can assure you that the good citizens of this country have nothing to fear from this. I want you to be able to walk the streets without worry, and to feel safe in your own homes. I want you to live without harassment and violence around you in your daily lives. For those who challenge this safety’ – a final pause – ‘there will be nowhere to hide.’
The prime minister gazed intently at the crowd of journalists before him, waiting for their questions to begin.
‘Prime
minister, when were you going to inform people about this?’
‘We were due to make a detailed announcement shortly, to present the facts before there was a chance for anyone to become unduly distressed. It was never our intention for the initiative to be presented in this way. As I’ve said, those responsible for the unauthorised disclosure will be held to account.’
‘How many purple people are there?’
‘There are ninety-seven affected individuals, to be exact. We’ve been monitoring them closely in a secure facility, though some will begin to be rehabilitated. Of course, now the scheme has become public, it will be used as an official part of our crime control methods, and numbers will increase.’
‘How long have you been planning this scheme?’
‘Obviously there have been many considerations, not to mention extensive scientific testing, so this has been something that we’ve spent a significant amount of time preparing.’
‘Doesn’t this have to be approved by law?’
‘Given Clause Twelve of the 1989 Civil Disobedience Act, we are well within the law to instigate these emergency measures. However, we have drafted a “Purple Paper” which will be discussed in due course. After seeing the effectiveness of these measures, we have the utmost confidence it will be passed as a new more specific Act.’
‘So the rest of your party supports the scheme?’
Theo Fletcher gave a satisfied smile. ‘Absolutely, one hundred per cent. I think this initiative shows that we’re not afraid to take drastic and decisive action for the benefit of this country. And I think this will begin to make people consider their actions more carefully.’
‘Prime minister, isn’t this convicting people before they’ve been given a fair trial?’
‘Not at all. This alteration is put into effect while perpetrators are committing a criminal or anti-social act.’
‘Prime minister, how exactly does this change occur? And when – during arrest?’
The prime minister smiled ever so slightly. ‘No, there is no arrest. The act is witnessed and acted upon—’
‘By who, the police?’
‘By officers who monitor situations and act accordingly.’
‘But you still haven’t said how—’
‘Or when!’
‘And what offences will be punishable this way? Will you be releasing guidelines?’
The prime minister smoothed his tie again. ‘At this time, I’m afraid for security purposes we have to keep operational aspects of the initiative guarded. We will be distributing essential information through leaflets to households, which will include a helpline number for those who have questions.’
‘So what are people expected to do if they find they’ve turned purple?’ The reporter tittered slightly at the ridiculousness of his own question.
‘They should report to their nearest police station to be registered.’
‘They have to turn themselves in?!’ the questioner laughed incredulously. ‘Does this system rely on that?’
‘Not quite. They’re hardly going to move about unnoticed, now are they?’
‘They could just stay at home!’
The prime minister nodded. ‘Indeed they could. Which would be a great help to us all, given that they’re not safe on the streets.’
There was a brief moment of dumbfounded silence before the questions continued.
‘If they turn themselves in, what happens next – they go to prison?’
‘Their case will be considered, and they’ll appear before a judge, who will determine the minimum timescale before they are “re-turned”, and whether they also require a custodial sentence.’
‘So they’ll probably just remain at liberty causing trouble.’ This reporter turned to the others around him, and with an indignant laugh, added, ‘But we’ll know to give them a wide berth.’
‘Not at all. There will be a strict curfew between seven pm and seven am. And no more than one “turned” individual will be allowed in any public place at any one time.’
‘They can’t go round in groups then?’
‘Certainly not,’ said the prime minister.
‘Whose idea was this, and do you expect it to be more successful than the failed privatisation of the police force?’
‘The privatisation came into effect long before this government, as you know.’ Theo Fletcher smiled. ‘I expect this to be hugely successful. I think the people of this country can feel assured that this scheme is going to be a remarkable force for good.’
‘But whose idea—’
‘When will they—’
‘And just how—’
The prime minister raised a hand to quieten the crowd. ‘That will be all for now. Thank you for your time.’
*
Eve stared at the screen for a minute before turning to the others. ‘Is this really happening?’ she asked, gobsmacked.
‘Wow,’ Saffron whistled slowly.
Joe looked up from his computer. ‘All the news pages are crashing.’
For once, Adio appeared speechless. ‘Unbelievable,’ he uttered, finally.
On the television even the newsreader, usually a typically unflappable beacon of calm, looked baffled.
‘You can’t imagine they’re actually allowed to do this,’ said Eve. ‘Surely there are treaties and UN regulations against it.’
‘He doesn’t sound so interested in human or civil rights though, does he?’ Adio was shaking his head in disbelief.
‘But didn’t he say it wasn’t actually harmful?’ Saffron chipped in. ‘Maybe that’s some sort of get-out clause. If you’re not curbing someone’s freedom and you’re not causing them any harm. Hell, I’m not agreeing with it, but they had to have checked out the legal stuff. Otherwise they’d all be thrown in jail themselves. Or sent to the Tower, or whatever you kids do.’
‘But you can’t go around dyeing people,’ Eve grimaced. ‘They’re not Easter eggs.’ She picked distractedly at a biscuit. ‘I’m amazed that it’s actually physically possible. How on earth did they come up with it?’ Perplexed, she added, ‘Though actually, I do remember our science teacher at school telling us about a man who drank so much carrot juice that he turned orange. All those years of science lessons, and I think that’s the only thing I remember.’
‘It’s crazy, for sure,’ said Joe. ‘But are they gonna make this look purple, too?’ Forehead wrinkled in curiosity, he held up a brown arm. ‘Seems unlikely. Which sounds like a rare plan for street crime to me.’
‘You’re right,’ said Eve.
‘Well, we need this,’ Saffron said, as she unscrewed the lid on the vodka. She cocked her head to one side, and after a moment added, ‘I know I really shouldn’t say this – it’s a very serious situation and all – but there’s something kinda “Whoa, tiger!” about him, you know? I preferred him with the moustache, but still. I like to imagine underneath that sharp, debonair thing he’s all silk sheets and fur rugs, that he’ll tussle with the bad guy before pouring you a martini.’
Eve laughed. ‘You,’ she said, ‘are what my gran would have called a caution.’
‘There’s something I wouldn’t have guessed,’ said Adio. ‘Our own cocktail shaker-shaking, Judy Garland-belting Saffron hankering after a well-oiled spy type—’
‘Like the Milk Tray guy,’ said Eve, thinking of the fuzzy old chocolate advertisement that had recently resurfaced, featuring a suave fellow who’ll do whatever it takes to deliver the sweets his lady loves, and picturing Theo Fletcher skiing down a mountain (since the Repeal, nostalgic aspirations being used to flog confectionery, in addition to most other things you could care to mention, had become quite the phenomenon; looking backwards apparently made for brisk business).
‘Hell, yes,’ said Saffron, ‘I love that smooth, posh thing.’
‘You know, he’s actually not that posh,’ said Adio. ‘He’s from Wigan.’
Adio wandered over to the window and pulled out a cigarette packet. He appeared deep in thought.<
br />
‘He’s not giving much away about how they’re doing it, is he?’ said Eve. ‘Kept dodging the questions…’
‘I noticed that,’ said Adio. ‘It does seem weird – or, weirder than it is already. But then, I suppose he’s hardly going to let all the cats out of the bag, especially when he’s been caught on the hop.’
‘Also,’ said Eve, ‘it was odd how Lee said he didn’t know if it had hurt, when he was changed. How could he not know?’
‘And Fletcher pretty quickly pulled the plug on him saying anything about that…’
Eve looked at her notes. ‘Theo said, “You found yourself like this, overnight.”’
They exchanged a glance. Adio didn’t say anything, but stood by the window, slowly taking it all in. Eve turned to her computer screen, again looking at the shot of the purple men. What on earth happened to you, she wondered. What did you do, and how did you become like this? Beneath the news story, comments were being posted so quickly that they disappeared from view before they could be read, hidden beneath an ongoing avalanche of amazement and vitriol. Eve’s eye caught some recurring words: serves them right… bastards… madness. This sent her head spinning more dizzily than any hangover.
*
During the press conference they’d switched the office phones to answer-machine, and now Eve began to retrieve the messages. There was one from a journalist in the UK for whom she did some occasional freelance correspondent work, asking if Eve would gather some local opinions on the Purple developments, a similar request from a friend in India, and then a message from Eve’s mum, sounding upset: ‘Love, it’s me. Can you call me as soon as you get this. It’s your dad, he’s – well, just call me.’
Her mother reeled off an unfamiliar number, which Eve dialled.
‘ICU.’