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Chapter twenty-seven

Andrew

“S ir, you might want to come take a look at this,” one of the new interns says with a great deal of hesitation.

I pry my eyes away from the list of things that need maintenance in the Unfortunate sector. The interns are looking over security footage of our sector, checking for any faulty cameras or slip-ups in our system. Two of them gaze at one computer screen, completely disregarding the other filled with the view of the New Foundation’s Academy.

I slide my chair from behind my desk, using my legs to push me over to the pair training under me. I see the image of my house from another person's porch camera. On my porch resides two figures: my daughter and the figure of a person holding her up by her neck against the building. I jolt forward at the footage.

“Your neighbor's camera picked this up late last night. Whoever is holding her broke your camera before she stepped outside,” One of the interns says, scrolling their thumb along the mouse as the video fast forwards. I watch my daughter's figure flail, doing her best to shove the person away. Her face is red from lack of oxygen. Even from here, I can see the Unfortunate mugging getup that common thieves from their sector often wear. I take over the mouse, scrolling faster, waiting for her to escape the hold. Seconds later, another figure approaches, grabbing and shoving what I can only assume is a man away from my girl. She drops to her knees, clutching her throat, unable to take a full breath.

“Was that one of our people that saved her?” I question, watching the pair exchange a look.

“We thought for a moment it was, but they're wearing the same mask as the one that held her down,” the intern says, grabbing back the mouse to scroll ahead.

I stare wide-eyed at the visual of the masked savior clinging to my daughter, her legs wrapping around their torso as they remain inches apart.

Seconds later, his hood is down, and his mask comes loose. He watches her with those familiar blue eyes that I'd know anywhere, focused only on her.

I cannot look away from the screen. I tighten my grasp on the desk once Fallan’s hands grasp her tighter.

She looks far from disgusted.

In fact, she looks enthralled.

“We did an image search on him,'' one of the interns begins, pulling up Fallan’s profile on the screen. “He's an Unfortunate,” they say disgustingly. “She failed to report any of this. The cameras in your area cut out moments after the Unfortunate leaves her behind.”

“This is coming into us live,” another intern says, cutting off the first, pulling up a video from downtown New Haven. I now see both of my children conversing with an Unfortunate. My daughter turns to meet our surveillance camera, all of us flinching as the brick she hurls destroys the feed, and the screen goes dark. Her green eyes are the last thing I see, before nothing at all.

“Sir, maybe we should consider bringing your daughter in to get her chip evaluated. It says here on her scorecard she’s already had to be visited by Officials on two separate occasions, one of those trips resulting in her chip use. In just a day, she has managed to violate some of our most significant rules, and even worse, she seems to be having relations with an Unfortunate, which is a high-level violation, even for her-”

“How many people have seen these videos?” I question, stopping them mid-sentence. I rub my wrist with my left hand, feeling my coarse skin beneath the material of my shirt.

“So far, just us, but you must know we can’t keep it between us, sir,” the younger of the two interns says.

“And the status of the boy who saved her?” I question, ignoring their worries.

“He’s Cleansed. He passed his expulsion test with flying colors. Your wife is the one who administered the test,” they say, only growing my suspicions. Even if he was Joshua’s son, Katiana would have caught his mark. She always does.

There's no way he could be Tainted. No one would allow themselves to receive a lashing like he had, all to keep a memory meant to be taken to protect him.

“Says here one of his parents passed away during the Thinning Act you and Adam carried out a few years ago,” one continues.

Is that why he has gotten close to her? Does he remember something? Could he tell it was me under the mask that day?

“We had no choice,” I hiss, reflecting on the bodies buried that day. “We were running out of resources.”

I turn away from the pair, glancing at my desk, moving closer to one of my many drawers. With a quick input of my code on one of the locked drawers, I watch it slide open, revealing the cold, metal Re-Regulation Device meant only for emergencies. I take into account how many people linger near my office. Most people are at lunch. Others are entirely focused on their screens.

“We have to do what needs to be done. One of you close the blinds while we get this material together to send off. Lock the door as well. I don’t need any unexpected visitors,” I say, switching on the device. The two work diligently to follow my requests.

They don’t question my orders or pay any attention to the device. There is a certain simplicity to the way the chips work. It is relieving to know that a simple line of command input into such a small device can wash away anyone’s memories. Years or minutes of someone's life are gone in seconds.

But that isn't the case for my daughter, or the Unfortunate that she can’t seem to shake. No matter how often we’ve been here, it's always the same result. Two souls locked into an eternity of never understanding the bigger picture.

The device blinks green, pairing with the interns’ chips. A green light flashes behind the pair's ears as they finish their tasks. I watch them exchange a look before looking at me as I begin putting in the command. They raise their hands to their ears, wincing from the heat the chip is giving off.

“Sir, is your chip updating as well?” one questions, blatantly unaware of what I’m doing as I press in the commands.

Forget Footage of Forest Blackburn and Fallan Markswood.

Forget seeing me delete video footage.

Hitting the massive green key on the screen, the code begins to run. Both interns slump to their knees, their eyes rolling in the back of their heads in a haunting movement. I have two minutes to get on the computer, wiping both cameras clean of activity from the past two days. With a click, I shut off the camera in my office, adding it to the list of recordings about to become untraceable. With quick fingers, I work along their keyboards, converting all of their files of the footage into nothing as I ignore every label warning me that I am about to delete the footage forever.

I let my eyes linger on the visual of Fallan and Forest a few moments longer, finding pain in how they look at one another, completely unaware of what we stole from them.

Or maybe that’s not entirely the case, and one of them is, in fact, aware that we are in this situation to begin with.

Glancing back at the timer, I conserve the last thirty seconds, wiping the three recordings clean from both devices and the system. Clicking the camera back on, I see the intern's eyes blink open, recovering their vision as the haze of the chip’s control slowly begins to wear away. I sit behind my desk, closing the drawer with a thud, pretending to scan one of the many files on my desk. They rise to their feet, looking around the room while their altered memories finally settle.

“Sir? Were we in the middle of something?” one questions, making it that much easier to put down my file.

“You two were just reviewing footage. I asked you to close the blinds to remove the gleam on your screens, and you both just stood there. Is there a particular reason you’re stuck there like statues?” I question, feeding into their confusion.

“I suppose not,” they say, both of them holding their heads, wincing from the pain.

They return to their seats, not giving any of the files a second thought as they pick up where they think they left off. I rack my brain with the visual of Fallan, only growing more suspicious of why he would get near Forest knowing what we forced into his code.

Has his hate for me grown so immense that he’s pushed past the memory block, or did he always remember what happened?

They spent hours on the operating table, their chips fortified with countless lines of code meant to keep them away from one another for years. How do two people with passed Expulsion tests and a formulated need to hate each other end up like this, inches apart in stolen moments of the night?

I run my finger over the rough skin beneath the cuff on my wrist once more, feeling the mark that lingers there.

“Please, let me be wrong,” I whisper, forcing myself to my feet.

I reach for my jacket, shoving my ID into my coat pocket. Both interns turn to look at me.

“Where are you off to, sir?” they question, pausing their finger's rapid movements on the keyboard.

“Home, to speak to my daughter about some… family matters. Before either of you goes on lunch, I need one of you to debrief Adam and Xavier about a job. I want them to join me for first thing tomorrow in the Unfortunate sector,” I begin, lowering my hat, my hand unlocking my office door.

“There’s something that requires our immediate attention.”