The Code
Written from Three Word Wednesday – deviate identify saturate
Ismail was a cop, from a long line of cops, he had The Code and he followed it rigorously – find those who deviate, identify them and their acquaintances – then saturate their brains with correcting fluid. It was for their own and everybody else’s good. It had been this way for a full two decades before he was born.
He was a good cop and he loved feeling he was helping make the world a safer place but sometimes the worm of doubt would start. Would whisper in his ear and sometimes it got so bad – like today when he found the library and had to take the little old lady into custody. He’d looked at the books, they didn’t seem bad but his supervisor said they were full of ideas and those were what needed to be stopped. They had all felt wretched as the woman struggled, clawing with soft nails at their armour. As soon as the brain bullet hit her she went quiet and glassy eyed and drifted into the sleep, she should have awoken fine.
She hadn’t though and he was now laying her out in the morgue and wondering if there was any family to trace, they would be looking into that anyway as they would need to be neutralised as well. She had simply been too old and too frail.
Ismail sighed and turned so his supervisor wouldn’t see the tear that dropped onto the soft wrinkled cheek.
He would be sent back to the site, he felt the itch, the itch he always felt when on a book destroying mission. He wanted to read those words, wanted to see what was so dangerous that they had to rough up little old ladies that were more ancient than his own grandmother. One day he knew they would be using the bullets on him, one day the correcting fluid would flow through his synapses and he would feel better – his guilt would be gone. If he was strong enough he would do it himself, he knew his commander had, he’d seen the scare. He said it hurt very little.
But Ismail was a coward and he knew it. Shuddering he climbed upon the transport and glided noiselessly towards the old ladies treasure once more.
The place was tidy and neat, not a den of evil. There were hundreds of devices and each one was loaded with books! Each one was neatly labeled, ‘classics, history, science, childrens’. He stopped looking at the tags after a while, his team mates were getting impatient.
They put the devices one at a time on a destruction pad. Shards clattered around the place, marring the neatness the granny had left behind. Ismail kept the refrain in his head, ‘words are wrong, words foster descent, words make wars.’
His team mates laughed about the lace and faded niceness of the place, he shouted at them. She had been a subversive but she was still a person and she should not have been dead. He at least was doing this to save people. They shrugged and continued their work in a resentful silence.
A slick of a nose behind him made him stop, they hadn’t checked for concealments, he felt the tingle of eyes on him and ducked as the dart whizzed by. His team mates were not so lucky, their bodies making dull thumps as they hit the floor.
Ismail was trained for such events and evaded them for a full two minutes but there were eight of them. He felt the hysterical laugh as a cold dart punctured his skin. His mind seemed to soak out of his head and he flopped into a dream.
He awoke by degrees, pain spiking through his bound arms and trussed feet. His breathing became erratic as he panicked over the dusty cloth wodded into his mouth.
‘He’s awake,’ snarled a voice.
‘Good, it is time to ask some questions,’ said a second voice.
‘And then revenge Nana?’ that was a pinched voice, young and afraid.
The rope attaching his legs to his hands was loosed and he was helped to hope along to a chair. He was steeling himself for torture but instead they removed the rag and forced his head back, he tried to clamp his teeth down but they were prepared. The truth brew was thick and sweet, it glooped down his throat making him gag.
They asked pointless questions, about how many cops there were and where the correcting fluid was sourced. Many of their questions he could not answer and that made him so woefully sad. Then he slept, and the books he’d destroyed tumbled in front of him and glassy eyes stared accusing, it was an old dream.
He awoke naturally, his bonds cut, food and pain killers sat ready for him. Gulping the water he thought too late that it might be poisoned then he thought of the third voice and ate all the faster. They came for him just as he finished dressing in the clean cloths that had been left supplied. They were standard issue but clean and felt cool to his skin, he had a fever, he was sure it was fear.
They led him out to stand by his team mates, one of them was slumped the other blubbing, snot oozing from a nostril. He looked around with quiet curiosity, they were dead, he knew that much but this was amazing, if he did not know better he would think this was a trail. His granddad had told him about them just before he had been corrected.
He looked to the right and saw a middle aged woman in a dirty fuzzed wig, they made eye contact and his resolve broke, ‘please!’ he croaked, ‘I know you will kill us but please! I want to hear what the words say! Why are they so dangerous?’ A hush filled the room, she nodded and large hand grabbed him from behind.
She lifted a little wooden hammer and struck a platform, ‘take him to the core for education.’ He struggled but they were too strong for him. He heard the wail and sharp snicks as his team mates collapsed. He went stiff with the realisation that they were dead and bit his tongue to keep himself focused. It was a pointless gesture as the needle pricked his skin.
‘Do not fret,’ said a soft voice, ‘you are going to hear the words, a life time of words.’ And he tumbled into the darkness.
Posted: Friday, May 16th, 2014 @ 10:02 am
Categories: Flash Fiction.
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