“I can customize it?” I’m beginning to notice I’m enjoying this process a little too much.
What’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t be acting this excited in regards to creating a weapon for death.
“Of course. It’s your weapon, Max, we’ll make it however you like.”
She pulls up a design menu. I spend the next ten minutes selecting the metal and color of the blade, as well as some intricate markings I want embedded. I choose a light-colored steel. The exterior sides of the blade are to be etched with smaller versions of the weapon. The handle is in the shape of an elephant, with ivory for the grip. The Matron seems pleased with my design and sends it to be created.
My stomach sinks at the thought of what I’ve just done.
This isn’t right. None of this is.
“Next, you will need to select your shield.” We step to the other side of the room where the nine monitors now display various types of shields. “Shield selection can be tricky. They don’t defend against all weapons. Each one is a great defender, but only towards one type of weapon. So, you’ll want to choose carefully.”
I wander from screen to screen, each displaying a different type of shield, and what weapon they’re able to protect me from. Apparently the weapons the other positions use are arrows, a Deer Horn knife (which I have no idea about), and explosives. Unfortunately the monitors don’t tell me which position has which weapon. This is a much harder decision to make, and the longer I take the more impatient Matron Kaniz gets. I finally settle on a shield style called “Ancile”. It’s elongated with what looks like two half-moons taken out of the sides.
“Perfect. Just wait here one moment.” She steps out of the room through a door against the side wall. She returns several minutes later, holds the door open, and gestures for me to enter the next room.
The walls are sterile white, spotless, and teeming with instruments. In the center of the bright room is a lounge raised waist-high with a surgical table next to it. A man in a blue gown, hands covered in gloves, and a mask over his face, signals for me to have a seat. My heart races, my palms sweat, and I try to back out of the room, but the door I stepped through is now closed and locked. Matron Kaniz stands next to me, grabs my arm tightly, and plunges a syringe into my neck. I collapse instantly, though I’m still conscious. Nurses I didn’t see earlier, pick me up, carry me to the lounge, and strap me down. My arms are extended outward, away from my body, onto extensions that are pulled out from the chair. My wrists are secured, palms up, as machines are rolled from hidden cabinets up to my position. The doctor examines my hands, noticing the scars.
“How did you get these?” he asks, his tone alarming.
“I…I don’t know.” I barely get out before they place a breathing device over my face.
“Breathe deeply,” one of the nurses says.
I can’t breathe, and it shows. My body tightens as I begin to panic. I’m injected again. The lights grow dim, my breathing slows, and the world is gone.
I don’t need to open my eyes to know I’m no longer in the sterile room. Too many voices bouncing around the walls. A soft blanket covers me, but I toss it off when I see where I’m at. I’m on the bottom of a three-tiered bunk bed. The room I’m in is filled with beds, except for two corners at opposite ends. Those look to be bathrooms from what I can tell, as the doors swing back and forth with people running in and out of them. I set my feet onto the floor, noticing my whole body is shaking. I take my hands, placing them onto my knees to keep them still, and that’s when I see it. Covering my left wrist is a black wristband, the size of a shirt cuff, with a digital display all around the device. It shows my position, the word “Looper”, and my points, which read 1,000. The display changes to my name, scrolling across the screen, changing colors as it moves. I try to slide it off, but it’s imbedded in my skin. Shock sets in, my imagination flooding with what has been done to me.
“Don’t look so freaked out,” a young woman says, standing in the doorway out to the main hallway. “We all have one.” She raises her left arm, showing me an identical band on her wrist. She enters, grabs something from one of the beds, and sits down next to me. “I’m Addie,” she says, holding out her hand to me.
I shake it, but I’m still too stunned to speak.
“It’s ok, Max, we’ve all been through it. The Progression Room is torture. I actually think the Matrons enjoy it when we’re in there.” She smiles slightly. “So, let’s see what you’ve got.” She takes my arm, taps on the screen, and pulls up a menu, which displays my personalized weapon and shield. “Not bad for a beginner.” She stands, takes the item from her hand, and pulls back her shoulder length light blonde hair with purple streaks behind her head, tying it up. “Come on, it’s almost dinnertime.”
She takes my hand, pulls me to my feet, and we exit into the chaos. Laughter, screams of joy, and lively conversation penetrate my ears long before we get to the source. A couple of young men and women run past, chasing each other. Gone are the crazy hair and outlandish clothes. Everyone is dressed in either tank tops, or short-sleeved shirts along with jeans, leggings, or sweatpants. There are a couple of people with extremely short
