A queer sci-fi story set in near-future Toronto, when corporations have gained control of the people.
As the dust began to settle, Violet took in her surroundings. It seemed she had tripped into a fracture in what had once been a restaurant patio. Just as she started to inventory her body’s condition, she felt something cold pressed to her forehead. Her eyes focused on the hard black metal barrel of the rifle being held by a masked person standing over her.
“Who are you?” the voice came out husky and intimidating from below the bandana. Violet, frozen in place, noticed a half-dozen or so other people on either side of her fallen body. Each one of them was gripping some form of weapon aimed directly at her.
“Well?” her captor demanded impatiently, tapping her head with the barrel as if to shake the words loose.
“Uh, I – I’m – my name is Violet,” she spoke too quickly, afraid to meet her end in this dusty hole in the ground, “I think somebody was trying to call me over here…” her voice trailed off as she looked around the space in search of something that could’ve made the golden flash she saw earlier.
Before she had a chance to finish, the person above her spoke. “You FPC?” They gestured at her chipped hand, the requisite FPC-branded technology implanted there since she was a young girl.
“I work at the Yonge-Dundas Plant as an Assembler.” Her voice shook. She had no idea what had possessed her to come over to this side of the street, into this fire squad-esque setting. She should be on her way to work right now…
The guns, knives, and pipes around her lowered slowly. She didn’t know what magical answer she’d provided, but she was glad for it. The person above her extended a hand in an almost-warm gesture, a stark contrast to the tone of the space mere seconds ago. She reached up with hesitation and was lifted easily to her feet.
The person whose gun had been glued between her brows brought a hand up, pulling the bandana down to reveal a strikingly handsome face, all smooth bronze skin with high cutting cheekbones and piercing onyx eyes. “Name’s Mercy,” her voice was slightly softer than before, Violet noticed, “and we’re the Defiance.” She swept a gloved hand around the room, bringing attention to what had grown to a crowd of nearly 20.
Violet’s mind was reeling with all that she’d witnessed in the short time she’d been awake. What was going on? What did Mercy mean by “the Defiance?” Where did these other people materialize from?
Mercy spoke, breaking through Violet’s jumbled thoughts. “I could tell you’re not really FPC because of how tired you sound. None of the big shots know what it’s like to be exhausted,” her voice dripped with contempt. A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.
Violet nodded, at a loss for words. Now that the immediate threat had passed, she noticed that they were in what used to be a parking garage. Various FPC-branded crates were tossed haphazardly about, other bits of garbage and rubble completing the abandoned scene. The hole she’d tripped into overhead let in a few scattered beams of light, largely covered with a tangle of overgrown bushes and vines – that explained why she hadn’t noticed it.
“RJ flagged you down,” Mercy nodded in the direction of a short person holding a strip of reflective yellow fabric, “because he noticed you could see the exploding bodies.” Violet’s stomach churned at the mention.
“You’re not on the drugs, are you?” Mercy looked at her as if observing a test subject.
“N-no – I haven’t had any this month,” Violet replied, itching at the thought. Her sensor buzzed, reminding her of her shift’s start in 15 minutes. “Shit, I have to be at the factory soon.”
Mercy looked down at Violet’s hand, the subtle light pulsing beneath her pale fawn skin. She nodded tersely. “I can boost you back up above ground,” she interlaced her fingers, creating a cradle for Violet’s foot.
Violet stepped up tentatively as Mercy lifted her weight towards the leafy canopy overhead. She gripped onto the stone’s edge, ready to hoist herself up – and was stopped by a hand around her ankle.
“Be careful,” Mercy spoke in a low tone, “the cameras can’t see back here, but make sure the coast is clear before you go back to the street. We’ll be in touch.”
She let go and Violet nodded with understanding, lifting her body up through the vines and crouching low behind the stone wall she’d seen used for cover earlier. She turned her gaze back to catch another glimpse of Mercy and the Defiance, but saw nothing more than a mess of greenery and the vague inklings of the dusty cavern below.
Keenly aware of how soon she needed to be at the plant, she peeked carefully above her stone cover. The streets looked just like they had before she had gone below ground – numbed-out people stepping unaware over blood and gore, piercing red eyes of FPC cameras nearly everywhere. She counted five units nearby, carefully waiting until all were pointed away before she emerged quickly from her hiding place, falling into step behind a band of people walking down the street.
She tried to assume the unaffected air that everyone around her carried, worried her shaking hands would give her away. She’d always known that most people were unfazed by catastrophe, desensitized by overexposure and pharmaceuticals, but to see it on this level was unsettling.
She marched along, feeling the cameras burning holes into the back of her head as her brain buzzed with all the new information she’d taken in over the past hour. Human bodies exploding… where were the things that emerged going? Who was the Defiance? Obviously some sort of enemy to the FPC, but how? Why?
Violet attempted to iron out the crease of worry from her brow as she stepped beneath the awning of the FPC Yonge-Dundas highrise. She waved her chipped hand at the sensor just as the clock struck 9.
She made it to her station just as the first jingle of the day came on, prompting a wave of pops across the floor as her coworkers opened their bottles of Attentrix, palming however many pills they needed and tossing them back in a common trance. She barely suppressed a shudder as she thought of the drug’s nightmarish side effects, feeling a sense of relief that she hadn’t been able to get her refill this month.
Her hands moved habitually, fitting components together with the glazed-over look of the distracted. At least her masked anxiety provided reasonable cover, her blank expression a close imitation of the zombie stares of her drug-numbed compatriots. She couldn’t stop thinking of the millions of people who were so dependent on the substance. Would they meet a gruesome demise, just like the others?
Riding an adrenaline high that only a near-death experience can provide, Violet powered her way through her shift. She may have even broken a personal record for number of units assembled, but if she did she couldn’t remember. All that mattered was that she’d made it through the grueling 16-hour shift, and she could finally go home and process what the hell had happened.
She followed the same coworkers out the front door as she did every day, walking the same street home, noticing the same aggressively bright FPC-sponsored billboards. It was all the same, every day. She’d never really stopped to notice it before, but it bothered her now. Everything was the same – save for one huge exception.
The streets were entirely clear of human remains. No erupted carcasses, no errant blood-stained clothing, not a single trace of what had happened that morning. If this had been last night, before this all happened, she would’ve likely written the gorefest off as a figment of her imagination – clearly if the sidewalks were clean, nothing could’ve happened, could it have?
The back of her neck prickled at some perceived danger, but she couldn’t tell whether the sensation was a response to a present threat or more of an indistinct knowing that something – everything – wasn’t right.
She finally made it home, swiping her hand hastily over the sensor and opening the door before she noticed a small strip of paper at the base of the entry steps. It was miniscule and crumpled, partially wedged in a crack between the corrugated steel siding and the wooden frame, easy enough to miss. Normally she wouldn’t have even noticed it, but with the bizarre happenings of today she was slightly more attuned to the unordinary. She used her toe to sweep the paper into the hut, closing the door behind her.
Violet reached for the scrap, smoothing it in her hand. 5AM. Same place. Alone, it read in charcoal-scribbled block letters. Her heartrate quickened at the thought of heeding the script’s instructions, a wave of trepidation washing over her.
She took a deep breath, folding the note into a small square and tucking it safely into her pocket. That could wait til the morning. For now, she needed to tend to her mother. Composing herself and fixing a smile on her face, she made her way towards the small den.
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