‹ Prequel: Chasing Imagination
Sequel: Martyr's Run ›
Hurricane Heart
Three Strikes
Hurricane
When we got to the hotel room, it seemed that Arjan had put our long hours of silence to good use.
‘Hurricane,’ he murmured about half an hour later, after I had changed into something more comfortable and brushed through my hair and lay down on the clean, crisp bed sheets.
‘Yeah?’ I said casually.
He looked awkward, like he was about to ask me something personal and didn’t know how to phrase it.
‘Would you possibly be able to tell me something? You know, as I saved you last night, I was just wondering if you could give me something in return.’
I didn’t know what to say. Without him, I might be on that unknown list of names facing the Operation sometime in the near future, but what could I tell him that wouldn’t change things?
‘You can ask,’ I said hesitantly, ‘but I might not agree.’
‘Ok,’ he looked disappointed, as though I’d already declined his request. ‘I was just wondering...what’s your name?’
‘What’s my name?’ I murmured, narrowing my eyes and focusing them on him intently.
Names were dangerous. Names meant identities, and identities meant tracking. I couldn’t give away that sort of personal information. I was proud of keeping so much of myself and my past secret from him for this long, and that couldn’t change now. I could tell him things about the Dreamers, at least to some extent, but personal information was too risky. As for things about him and why he was wanted...well, until the Master enlightened me on that, I was as much in the dark as he was.
‘I can’t tell you that,’ I admitted, and he looked dejected. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t reveal anything personal to you; not for a long time; not until all this is over. It’s not just my decision; it was an order from the Master long ago.’
‘Oh,’ he said, although he looked happy that I’d at least given him an explanation. I owed him that much.
‘What about something else then?’ he asked. ‘What about something about the Dreamers? I mean, could you tell me what they were talking about on the radio earlier—what’s Demobilisation, and why did it upset you so much?’
I hesitated for a moment, opening my mouth slightly. This was the point where I made the decision. Did I trust him? Was he one of us yet?
I took a deep breath. ‘That, I can tell you.
‘The Operation is every Dreamer’s biggest fear. To be honest, it’s only a matter of time before the government start performing it on every one of us that they catch. They know their current sentences aren’t doing enough. Right now, the first time a Dreamer is caught, they are put through six months of rehabilitation in one of the Institutions, and are reviewed at the end of the time. If the dream inside them isn’t already dead enough, they’re put through another three months, but otherwise they’re released. The second time they are caught, it’s an Institution sentence anywhere between six months and, well, pretty much forever, depending on the scale of their crimes—and believe me, you don’t want to end up in those Dreamer Institutions. They’re not nice places. And the third time you’re caught, it’s the Operation. The third time you’re caught, the dream is dead.’
‘Three strikes and you’re out,’ Arjan whispered.
‘Exactly,’ I agreed. ‘But the biggest worry is what happens when the government finally realise that their punishments aren’t doing enough to halt our growth. What happens when they decide, which I’m sure they will one day, that any Dreamer caught is immediately sentenced to the Operation?’
‘They can’t, can they?’
‘They will if they have to,’ I murmured ominously.
‘How many times have you been caught?’ Arjan asked.
‘Just the once; I was let out about a year ago,’ I explained, growing cold at the memory. ‘It was horrible in there; I won’t lie to you. And then there was another time, before I became a Dreamer, but that was just an ordinary prison—well, more like an asylum to be specific, but still nowhere near as bad as one of the Institutions. I think that, if they cannot physically prove that you are one of the Dreamers, it doesn’t count as one of your chances. So, if I’m correct, I have one chance left, and after that, it’s the Operation.’
There was a silence. The very word sent chills down my spine, and Arjan watched me intently. Only now did I realise that we were sitting inches away from each other, gazing into the other’s eyes. Why was I telling him all this? Why had I answered the question about my own life?
‘What does the Operation do, though?’ he asked. He clearly hadn’t been expecting me to tell him as much as I had done, but I still hadn’t really answered his original question.
I took a deep breath, realising that, just like with imagination, suppressing the truth did not make the truth go away. Whether I spoke about the Operation or not, it was still there, and it was still going on across the world.
‘The Demobilising Operation is done to remove a select part of a person’s brain,’ I began.
‘What?’ Arjan asked, his reaction unprecedented. ‘They can’t do that!’
‘Oh but they can,’ I whispered darkly, laughing in a slightly sadistic way. ‘And they do. They remove the part of the brain that creates imagination.’
‘But—‘ he began. I knew what he was going to say.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know what you were about to say; that everything in life takes a little bit of imagination. To decide what time to get out of bed; to decide what to eat for breakfast; to decide whether to wear your hair up or down; to even form a decent sentence. It all takes imagination. And that’s what makes the Operation even sicker.
‘Once that part of one’s brain is removed, the person becomes little more than a zombie. They can scarcely think for themselves. They have memories, and they have instinct, and they have senses, but they cannot make any decisions alone; not even the simple, mundane ones. The person is as good as the living dead. Their life is totally wasted. In my opinion, it’s ten—no, a thousand times worse than the death penalty. And then, if all that isn’t bad enough, the government gets the poor Operation victims to work for them—working in factories, packing lorries, mining. They destroy your life, and then use it for their own good.’
Arjan was lost for words.
‘But...but...’ he stammered. ‘That’s...’ he couldn’t think of a word despicable enough to describe what he was feeling, and neither could I, though I’d tried for years. Instead he clenched his fists so tightly I could see him shaking as his nails dug into his flesh and his jaw set rigid and firm.
‘...Monstrous,’ he finished. ‘Sick...disgusting...fucking, fucking inhuman.’
‘I know,’ I whispered, feeling the tears prick my eyes. For once, I didn’t wipe them away. I wasn't going to try and hide; not from the monstrous, brutal horrors of the Operation. We all had to face up to it.
We sat in silence until I could bear it no more, and I walked to the window, staring out into the night at the city lights sprawling out into the distance.
‘Are you afraid?’
Arjan’s voice was clear and cold in the hushed room. He was far from getting over the darkest secret known to mankind.
‘Of course I’m afraid,’ I said, surprised in myself that I admitted it so freely. However, despite my aversion to emotion and my motto of ‘leaving everything behind,’ the Operation was the one thing we were all permitted, me included, to be openly scared about.
‘I’d rather die,’ I continued. ‘I’d rather die a hundred times over for what I believe in than become...that. A zombie; a vegetable; a dead person walking. It’s too sick for words to describe.’
If Arjan did not know what a zombie was, which was likely, he clearly felt it an inappropriate time to ask. Besides, he’d probably learnt about them in Pre-Revolution Mythology Classes (some of the most prejudiced classes taught in schools, going through religions in detail, explaining how they were all lies, and also going into things like older myths and legends, destiny, fate, the afterlife, and some of the most common fantasy creatures and stories—vampires, werewolves, witches, magic, talking animals...zombies.)
‘But you have one chance left?’ Arjan asked, as though he was concerned for me.
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘And after that...if I ever serve that time in the Institution, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll have to be more careful. But one thing’s for sure: if I’m caught, I’ll gladly kill myself rather than go through with it. I’ll take everyone I can down, and then I’ll kill myself. No fear; nothing.’
‘Aren’t you afraid of death?’ Arjan whispered. This was not a conversation I wanted to be having. It was far too personal for my liking.
‘Not compared to the Operation,’ I said. ‘There must be a life after death; I’m sure of it.’
I looked round to see him watching me wide-eyed. ‘You think so?’
I didn’t want to elaborate. I’d already told him far too much.
‘Maybe.’
Arjan
Despite having little sleep last night, I could not sleep tonight either. I lay in bed, hands behind my head as I looked up at the dark ceiling, too many thoughts churning in my mind. I was afraid, almost, that if I went to sleep I’d have nightmares about the Operation; it was something so sick, but so undeniably true that I couldn’t bear it. This was not a story I could get away from or a dream I could wake up out of, but it was true, and it was happening, and it would happen again.
Any thoughts I still had that we still lived in a fair, rational civilisation were gone. The government weren’t saving us; they were monsters, killing with no good reason—killing Dreamers, killing people who fought for freedom, killing anyone who dared to believe in something more than this shit that we lived in. They were creating zombies out of anyone who dared to be different, and it was the most disgusting thing I had ever heard. It was no wonder that Hurricane looked so upset when she was listening to the radio. I couldn’t bear it. I almost wished she hadn’t told me, but being ignorant wouldn’t change anything.
I was like a Dreamer now, even if I hadn’t been officially inaugurated. Whether I liked Hurricane or not, her life was one that I would choose over this lie I had been unwillingly living since the day I was born. I had heard of the Operation before, disguised by the name ‘Demobilisation,’ but I never knew what it was, and I’d never thought to find out—asking questions was no longer part of human nature. That was yet more proof of the ignorance we were all bound by.
Finally, after what could have been forever, I fell asleep, and did not wake up until Hurricane was nudging me out of bed.
When we got to the hotel room, it seemed that Arjan had put our long hours of silence to good use.
‘Hurricane,’ he murmured about half an hour later, after I had changed into something more comfortable and brushed through my hair and lay down on the clean, crisp bed sheets.
‘Yeah?’ I said casually.
He looked awkward, like he was about to ask me something personal and didn’t know how to phrase it.
‘Would you possibly be able to tell me something? You know, as I saved you last night, I was just wondering if you could give me something in return.’
I didn’t know what to say. Without him, I might be on that unknown list of names facing the Operation sometime in the near future, but what could I tell him that wouldn’t change things?
‘You can ask,’ I said hesitantly, ‘but I might not agree.’
‘Ok,’ he looked disappointed, as though I’d already declined his request. ‘I was just wondering...what’s your name?’
‘What’s my name?’ I murmured, narrowing my eyes and focusing them on him intently.
Names were dangerous. Names meant identities, and identities meant tracking. I couldn’t give away that sort of personal information. I was proud of keeping so much of myself and my past secret from him for this long, and that couldn’t change now. I could tell him things about the Dreamers, at least to some extent, but personal information was too risky. As for things about him and why he was wanted...well, until the Master enlightened me on that, I was as much in the dark as he was.
‘I can’t tell you that,’ I admitted, and he looked dejected. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t reveal anything personal to you; not for a long time; not until all this is over. It’s not just my decision; it was an order from the Master long ago.’
‘Oh,’ he said, although he looked happy that I’d at least given him an explanation. I owed him that much.
‘What about something else then?’ he asked. ‘What about something about the Dreamers? I mean, could you tell me what they were talking about on the radio earlier—what’s Demobilisation, and why did it upset you so much?’
I hesitated for a moment, opening my mouth slightly. This was the point where I made the decision. Did I trust him? Was he one of us yet?
I took a deep breath. ‘That, I can tell you.
‘The Operation is every Dreamer’s biggest fear. To be honest, it’s only a matter of time before the government start performing it on every one of us that they catch. They know their current sentences aren’t doing enough. Right now, the first time a Dreamer is caught, they are put through six months of rehabilitation in one of the Institutions, and are reviewed at the end of the time. If the dream inside them isn’t already dead enough, they’re put through another three months, but otherwise they’re released. The second time they are caught, it’s an Institution sentence anywhere between six months and, well, pretty much forever, depending on the scale of their crimes—and believe me, you don’t want to end up in those Dreamer Institutions. They’re not nice places. And the third time you’re caught, it’s the Operation. The third time you’re caught, the dream is dead.’
‘Three strikes and you’re out,’ Arjan whispered.
‘Exactly,’ I agreed. ‘But the biggest worry is what happens when the government finally realise that their punishments aren’t doing enough to halt our growth. What happens when they decide, which I’m sure they will one day, that any Dreamer caught is immediately sentenced to the Operation?’
‘They can’t, can they?’
‘They will if they have to,’ I murmured ominously.
‘How many times have you been caught?’ Arjan asked.
‘Just the once; I was let out about a year ago,’ I explained, growing cold at the memory. ‘It was horrible in there; I won’t lie to you. And then there was another time, before I became a Dreamer, but that was just an ordinary prison—well, more like an asylum to be specific, but still nowhere near as bad as one of the Institutions. I think that, if they cannot physically prove that you are one of the Dreamers, it doesn’t count as one of your chances. So, if I’m correct, I have one chance left, and after that, it’s the Operation.’
There was a silence. The very word sent chills down my spine, and Arjan watched me intently. Only now did I realise that we were sitting inches away from each other, gazing into the other’s eyes. Why was I telling him all this? Why had I answered the question about my own life?
‘What does the Operation do, though?’ he asked. He clearly hadn’t been expecting me to tell him as much as I had done, but I still hadn’t really answered his original question.
I took a deep breath, realising that, just like with imagination, suppressing the truth did not make the truth go away. Whether I spoke about the Operation or not, it was still there, and it was still going on across the world.
‘The Demobilising Operation is done to remove a select part of a person’s brain,’ I began.
‘What?’ Arjan asked, his reaction unprecedented. ‘They can’t do that!’
‘Oh but they can,’ I whispered darkly, laughing in a slightly sadistic way. ‘And they do. They remove the part of the brain that creates imagination.’
‘But—‘ he began. I knew what he was going to say.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I know what you were about to say; that everything in life takes a little bit of imagination. To decide what time to get out of bed; to decide what to eat for breakfast; to decide whether to wear your hair up or down; to even form a decent sentence. It all takes imagination. And that’s what makes the Operation even sicker.
‘Once that part of one’s brain is removed, the person becomes little more than a zombie. They can scarcely think for themselves. They have memories, and they have instinct, and they have senses, but they cannot make any decisions alone; not even the simple, mundane ones. The person is as good as the living dead. Their life is totally wasted. In my opinion, it’s ten—no, a thousand times worse than the death penalty. And then, if all that isn’t bad enough, the government gets the poor Operation victims to work for them—working in factories, packing lorries, mining. They destroy your life, and then use it for their own good.’
Arjan was lost for words.
‘But...but...’ he stammered. ‘That’s...’ he couldn’t think of a word despicable enough to describe what he was feeling, and neither could I, though I’d tried for years. Instead he clenched his fists so tightly I could see him shaking as his nails dug into his flesh and his jaw set rigid and firm.
‘...Monstrous,’ he finished. ‘Sick...disgusting...fucking, fucking inhuman.’
‘I know,’ I whispered, feeling the tears prick my eyes. For once, I didn’t wipe them away. I wasn't going to try and hide; not from the monstrous, brutal horrors of the Operation. We all had to face up to it.
We sat in silence until I could bear it no more, and I walked to the window, staring out into the night at the city lights sprawling out into the distance.
‘Are you afraid?’
Arjan’s voice was clear and cold in the hushed room. He was far from getting over the darkest secret known to mankind.
‘Of course I’m afraid,’ I said, surprised in myself that I admitted it so freely. However, despite my aversion to emotion and my motto of ‘leaving everything behind,’ the Operation was the one thing we were all permitted, me included, to be openly scared about.
‘I’d rather die,’ I continued. ‘I’d rather die a hundred times over for what I believe in than become...that. A zombie; a vegetable; a dead person walking. It’s too sick for words to describe.’
If Arjan did not know what a zombie was, which was likely, he clearly felt it an inappropriate time to ask. Besides, he’d probably learnt about them in Pre-Revolution Mythology Classes (some of the most prejudiced classes taught in schools, going through religions in detail, explaining how they were all lies, and also going into things like older myths and legends, destiny, fate, the afterlife, and some of the most common fantasy creatures and stories—vampires, werewolves, witches, magic, talking animals...zombies.)
‘But you have one chance left?’ Arjan asked, as though he was concerned for me.
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘And after that...if I ever serve that time in the Institution, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll have to be more careful. But one thing’s for sure: if I’m caught, I’ll gladly kill myself rather than go through with it. I’ll take everyone I can down, and then I’ll kill myself. No fear; nothing.’
‘Aren’t you afraid of death?’ Arjan whispered. This was not a conversation I wanted to be having. It was far too personal for my liking.
‘Not compared to the Operation,’ I said. ‘There must be a life after death; I’m sure of it.’
I looked round to see him watching me wide-eyed. ‘You think so?’
I didn’t want to elaborate. I’d already told him far too much.
‘Maybe.’
Arjan
Despite having little sleep last night, I could not sleep tonight either. I lay in bed, hands behind my head as I looked up at the dark ceiling, too many thoughts churning in my mind. I was afraid, almost, that if I went to sleep I’d have nightmares about the Operation; it was something so sick, but so undeniably true that I couldn’t bear it. This was not a story I could get away from or a dream I could wake up out of, but it was true, and it was happening, and it would happen again.
Any thoughts I still had that we still lived in a fair, rational civilisation were gone. The government weren’t saving us; they were monsters, killing with no good reason—killing Dreamers, killing people who fought for freedom, killing anyone who dared to believe in something more than this shit that we lived in. They were creating zombies out of anyone who dared to be different, and it was the most disgusting thing I had ever heard. It was no wonder that Hurricane looked so upset when she was listening to the radio. I couldn’t bear it. I almost wished she hadn’t told me, but being ignorant wouldn’t change anything.
I was like a Dreamer now, even if I hadn’t been officially inaugurated. Whether I liked Hurricane or not, her life was one that I would choose over this lie I had been unwillingly living since the day I was born. I had heard of the Operation before, disguised by the name ‘Demobilisation,’ but I never knew what it was, and I’d never thought to find out—asking questions was no longer part of human nature. That was yet more proof of the ignorance we were all bound by.
Finally, after what could have been forever, I fell asleep, and did not wake up until Hurricane was nudging me out of bed.