Hey everyone,

I’m back in the writing scene, this time with the first instalment of a planned Equilibrium trilogy. What is Equilibrium, some of you may ask. Well, it’s a fantastic dystopian movie directed by Kurt Wimmer. Check out Equilibrium on imdb, the Equilibrium cast, movie synopsis and more in wikipedia, and the fantastic Equilibrium Fan Site. Sadly, the film received only limited screening in 2002, which is why it’s not the mainstream blockbuster it could very well be. However, it has since evolved into a much-loved cult film on the internet. Go and get the DVD if you haven’t seen it, I’m sure you will absolutely love it. For those who are familiar with Libria comes Corrupting the Incorruptible, my take on one of Libria’s most enigmatic characters – Cleric Errol Partridge.


Title: Corrupting the Incorruptible

Written by: Jennifer, aka Miss Cicero

Overall rating: PG-13, for violence and mature themes. Individual chapters may be rated higher.

Disclaimer: Equilibrium, its plot, setting, characters, images and what-have-you are the property & courtesy of Dimension Films. I do not own anything of what Kurt Wimmer created; I merely borrowed his fascinating world for harmless fun and entertainment. Please don’t sue. All original characters, names, the idea and plot for this particular (unofficial) prequel, however, are the product of my own creativity, so please ask me first if you would like to use any of it.

A big thank you to my friend and beta Libby over at EQ Fans, who “invented” the term and job description of “the Administrator”, as well as the "College of Administration". Thank you for letting me borrow these ideas of yours.

Summary: Nobody is completely immune to doubt…

Set four years before the movie, Corrupting the Incorruptible sheds some light on the past of Cleric Errol Partridge and how he became the man we get to know only so briefly in the movie.

A devastating bomb attack shakes Libria to its core, triggering a series of life-changing and unstoppable events. Who is who in the subsequent cat-and-mouse game? Whose secrets will be safe, and whose mistakes will lead to someone's death? And why would a Cleric turn his back on everything he's been taught and become one of those he used to hunt?

Main Characters & Cast:
* Grace Partridge - Emilie de Ravin
Cleric Errol Partridge - Sean Bean
Cleric John Preston - Christian Bale
Mary O’Brien - Emily Watson
Viviana Preston - Maria Pia Calzone
Vice Council Gabriel DuPont - Angus Macfadyen
Jurgen Kampf – William Fichtner
* Julian Dawes – Aaron Stanford
Robbie Preston – Matthew Harbour
Lisa Preston – Emily Siewert
* Helen Partridge – Cate Blanchett
Father – Sean Pertwee

* = original characters
* = italics = original first/last name

This story is dedicated to Licia, who was one of the reasons the EQ bug bit me, and Jewelz, because I know she loves the movie.

Part One


1

It was early morning in Libria.

The sun hadn’t risen yet when the vast city-state gradually began to come alive again to face yet another day. As lamps were switched on in countless households all across the endless metropolis, the nightly blackness of the extensive conurbation slowly turned into a sparkling ocean of lights.

Double-checking her briefcase to make sure she had everything she needed for the day, Grace Partridge exited her bedroom and made her way downstairs to the dining area for a quick breakfast. She was late; her alarm had gone off on time, but she’d been so tired that she hadn’t woken up right away. Brushing some lint off her black coat as she walked past the bathroom, she briefly checked her appearance in the mirror to make sure her blonde locks were safely contained in the strict bun worn by all working women who had long hair. Satisfied, she moved on.

A quick cup of coffee and a slice of toast later, she left the kitchen and proceeded to the living-room, where her mother was getting ready to leave the house. Approaching the dining table where her father was sat reading the paper, she pulled a file and a pen out of her briefcase.

“Could you please sign this?”

Looking up from his morning issue of Emancipia, Errol Partridge gave his daughter a questioning glance. “What’s that?”

“My political theories assignment,” Grace replied as she slid the plain white cardboard folder across the table so the Cleric could reach it. “It’s a lawful requirement of the College that underage students notify their guardian or parent of their progress.”

“I see.”

Putting the newspaper aside, Partridge took and opened the file, speed-reading through the first paragraphs of the essay for a couple of moments before he turned his attention to the professor’s comments sheet at the back.

‘This is a satisfactory piece of work from Grace, who has previously struggled with logic-related topics,’ it said. ‘While she still needs to improve the significance and accuracy of her arguments, it is obvious how much time and effort she has put into this project, and I am pleased about that.

“You have improved,” he stated matter-of-factly as he added his signature at the bottom. “But you still need to work harder. This is not enough.”

“I know. I will.” Grace nodded her head as she reclaimed the folder and pen, and put them back in her briefcase. Looking at her watch, she subsequently spun around on her heel. It was high time to go. “Are you coming, Helen?”

Her mother merely nodded laconically as she gathered her belongings.

“Goodbye Errol.”

There was no emotion whatsoever in Helen Partridge’s voice as she spoke the words. It was simply a pro forma farewell, and her husband’s reply was equally flat. Then the door fell shut behind the two women as they headed for the elevator, leaving the apartment block shortly after.


2

The multitude of commuters stood and waited patiently behind the yellow lines of platform one as the seven o’clock train from Outer Libria to the City entered the station. Once it had come to a halt and when the doors slid open, hundreds of Librians simultaneously boarded the vehicle. It was morning rush hour; there was not a single working citizen left who wasn’t on the move at this time of the day.

Grace struggled to keep her eyes open as she stepped over the gap and got on the train. Spotting the two women in their Administrator uniforms, two lower-class khaki coats immediately vacated their seats. Sitting down next to her mother, Grace gingerly chewed on the inside of her cheek to force an impending yawn back down her throat. She was so tired that she momentarily wondered how she was supposed to muster up enough energy to get through the long day that lay ahead.

Her first semester at the College of Administration had started only a month ago, and even though most of the classes she had attended so far were still considered part of ‘orientation’, the workload that she was going to have to put up with for the next four years was already very real. She couldn’t remember the last night she’d slept for more than four consecutive hours, but she had no troubles at all reciting the full list of books she’d read, the string of assignments given, and those that were still to come.

‘Deal with it,’ she rigorously lectured herself just a moment later. ‘You are very fortunate to be given the opportunity to attend the College.’

Only graduates of the College of Administration were to become Administrators, the crucial assistants to Libria’s Clerics, and only a handful of exceptionally capable women had ever been admitted. She knew that the Department for Education and Employment chose certain people for specific careers for a reason. If she were considered inadequate, she wouldn’t be there. It was the first of many challenges, and only the very best students would succeed at meeting the high standards of the Tetragrammaton.

Looking over at Helen, Grace straightened up. One day she, too, wanted to be Head of Administration. However, the only way to get there was to be better than the rest. Just like her husband, Helen Partridge had worked harder than anyone else to earn her primary position in Libria’s hierarchy. Despite the fact that her father had been a member of the Second Concilliary of the Tetragrammaton, she hadn’t automatically been considered suitable to handle responsibility. Outstanding efficiency and always being two steps ahead of the competition had gotten her there eventually. The constant pressure of always having to prove herself to her superiors and colleagues in a nearly all-male elite had left the petite female with frequent grey strands in her blonde hair at only thirty-seven years of age. She had made it, but the amount of time and the effort she’d had to put in were a constant reminder for Grace that being born into a prestigious family was not even nearly enough.

“I will be home late today,” she told Helen as the train advanced towards the grand tunnel that led to Central Station. “I need to go to Freedom Reading Room to do research on my religious studies paper, and I won’t have time to do that until after my scheduled evening session at the Hall of Exertion.”

“Do you have sufficient identification on you?”

“Of course.”

During her first week at College, Grace had been stopped and nearly arrested by a sweeper team on her way home from the library after nightfall. Due to increased Resistance activity, a curfew had been enforced that forbade Librians to be outside after dark unless they were authorised otherwise. She’d been aware of that, but it was only when half a dozen guns were pointed at her head that she’d realised she’d left her Inner City All Access pass at home on her desk. Lucky for her, the captain knew her father and had recognised her, and her status as first class citizen and offspring of Libria’s highest ranking Cleric had saved her then. But it had been an entirely unnecessary incident, and she wasn’t going to let that happen again. Minor slip-ups like this were enough to jeopardise her career.

“Same time as – “

She was about to ask her mother whether they would meet for lunch, as usual, when a sudden deafening noise abruptly cut her off, and only a split second later a forceful blast wave catapulted her out of her seat. With the back of her head harshly colliding with the metal wall of the train, she barely felt anything when she slumped face down to the floor. Groaning inwardly, her eyes fluttered shut as she slipped out of consciousness.


3

The rebels did not have a chance.

It was just after sunrise when a convoy of vans pulled up on the square in front of a run-down warehouse and two elite sweeper teams kicked in the main entrance door. With their guns cocked and loaded, the soldiers spread out swiftly inside the building, raiding the empty storage rooms on the ground floor within seconds before moving on to the first storey. By the time the tired, caught-off-guard group of sense offenders were awake enough to stagger onto their feet, they were cornered. Staccato gunfire put a quick, merciless end to their existence before the men had even reached for their weapons.

Outside, a small white car pulled up just as the first rays of the morning sun reached the Nethers. Looking around briefly as they got out, two Clerics emerged from the vehicle. The older one was dressed in the black coat that unmistakably identified a Grammaton Cleric First Class. His younger partner wore a grey uniform. Together they approached the sweeper captain, who was waiting for them at the door.

“Offenders exterminated,” the superintendent reported tonelessly as he saluted. “Illegal items located on the second floor. Evidentiary team’s ready.”

Partridge nodded simply before stepping inside. The sound of his heavy footsteps echoed throughout the empty building as he slowly made his way down the main corridor. Knocking on the walls ever so often to check for hollow spots, he stopped whenever he passed a doorway to take a look at the respective room on the other side. Preston was close behind him, also automatically scanning his surroundings for possible hideouts.

“Nothing down here,” the older Cleric concluded when they got to the staircase.

Nodding his head in agreement, Preston followed him up to the second storey. They came to a halt in the doorway of the first room on their right-hand side, which was crammed with EC-10 rated material of all kinds. There was an extensive shelf that struggled to hold nearly twice as many books as it had been designed to. Boxes of what Partridge identified as “children’s toys” were piled up in the corner, just behind half a dozen containers of apparently random photographs. Candles, crayons, colourful masks, miniature statues and other clutter littered the floor, and a stack of framed paintings was put up against the wall opposite the southward facing window.

Partridge stopped for a moment, staring down at the one on top. It showed a skinny, sexless figure on a pier set against a flaming red sky, its face distorted as it appeared to be screaming in terror. Not even knowing why, he frowned softly for the briefest moment, then turned around to face Preston.

“Get the evidentiary team in here to collect those items,” he told his partner, who went to do as he’d just been told, before he himself proceeded to the adjacent room. There the bodies of the dead offenders were piled up in the corner, in a puddle of blood.

Slowly walking towards them to take a closer look, Partridge realised that they were all very young; two boys who had barely finished their teenage years, a woman perhaps in her mid-twenties, and three other men of about thirty years of age. All of them could have had a bright future in Libria, but instead they had turned against their own salvation, had turned against Father. It just made no sense to him at all.

Finding the remaining rooms empty except for a provisional living room with furniture made up of wooden boxes, and several old mattresses on the floor in an attempt to create some kind of bedroom, he returned downstairs, meeting Preston at the door just when he was about to send an additional team of chemists in.

“What’s going on?” Partridge demanded.

“I found it quite strange that the entire ground floor apparently hadn’t been used, so I double-checked the downstairs storage rooms,” Preston explained. “There are traces of some kind of … powder that I’m curious about.”

He beckoned his partner to follow him, leading him back into the room at the end of the corridor. Squatting down close to the dirty, shattered window, he ran his gloved palm a few inches along the ground, then held it up so Partridge could see it. Most of the particles that had come to stick on the black leather were just ordinary dust and dirt, but there were a few white crystalline ones in-between that didn’t quite seem to belong.

“Good work,” Partridge acknowledged as he got back up. He knew very well that his young apprentice was very intuitive. It wasn’t the first time that his instincts had led him to discover something that even an experienced Cleric such as himself might have overlooked because it’d slip through the patterns they’d been taught. His mind just did not work that way. “Perhaps that will explain why there are only six offenders.”

“Six?” Preston was surprised. “Intelligence estimated there’d be at least two dozen barricaded in this building.”

“They also assumed they’d be fully armed,” the older Cleric replied. “But there are only six of them, and all they have is a few old Kalashnikovs.”

Shaking his head, Preston followed his mentor back outside. “This is odd. Intelligence is never that severely mistaken.”

“I know.”

Heading back to the car, Partridge pulled out a metal folder of paperwork to be done immediately on location. Flipping it open, he found a pen and began to run through the forms, his mind still working hard trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.


“What if we’re too late?” Preston suddenly said.

Partridge looked up. “I beg your pardon?”

“What if intelligence was right, but the sweeper teams did not get here in time?” the young Cleric wondered. “Or maybe they were somehow warned. Part of the group may have gotten away.”

Nodding slowly, his partner paused the paperwork for a moment. “That is possible. Unlikely, but possible.”

Partridge was concerned about the large quantity of weapons that wasn’t there. Considering the facts they had – not even half of the expected offenders, and a mysterious white powder in one of the storage rooms – he couldn’t help but thinking that something had gone terribly wrong.

The question was just what, where, and when.


4

When she woke up again, Grace couldn’t tell for how long she’d been unconscious, or that she’d passed out in the first place. But the moment she opened her eyes, she instantly wished she hadn’t regained consciousness all that quickly.

Thick black smoke was everywhere, causing her vision to blur as tears flooded her eyes and started to run down her face in an attempt of her body to ease the horrible sting. Then she drew her first breath, only to break into a coughing fit that seemed to break her chest.

She did not move at first. Too delirious to grasp the actual situation, she closed her eyes again, wanting to convince herself that whatever had happened, whatever was going on couldn’t be real. This was Libria. There was no violence, no assaults, no suffering! But then her air supply was suddenly cut off when a boot crashed into her stomach as someone tripped over her, literally kicking her into action.

Her eyes fluttered open again with some difficulty. Wiping the tears and dirt away with the back of her hand, her vision cleared just enough to give her a vague impression of the destruction that was all around. Her body failed to obey her at first when she tried to roll over and sit up, but willpower eventually triumphed over her shaky arms and she popped herself up on her elbows.

It took her a while to realise that the train was gone. Not that it had miraculously disappeared. Instead, it had been completely torn apart. What was left of the first three or so compartments was spread out along the tracks in bits and pieces of different sizes, as though a giant had crushed the vehicle by stepping on it, and afterwards kicked it around until it fell apart. Some of the larger remains were burning furiously. The rear compartments were mostly still intact, but the powerful blast had thrown them off the tracks, crashing them into the pillars of powerlines and parked trains nearby.

Staggering to her feet, Grace took off her black coat and held it in front of her nose and mouth to filter the poisoned air. Still coughing and rubbing her eyes as she walked away from the burning train wreck, she tried to figure out where she was. It seemed impossible to tell at first because the surrounding area was a complete mess, devastated by the explosion. Then she spotted the opening of the grand tunnel in the near distance and realised they had to be just outside Central Station.

‘What in Father’s name happened?’

Gradually, her mind shook off its temporary state of inertia, and her senses slowly began functioning again. It was only then that she fully registered other survivors stumbling about as helplessly and confused as herself. The sudden onslaught of images, smells and sounds was brutal, and she struggled to keep her balance as dizziness took a hold of her. Groans and shrieks of pain echoed in her ear, and the sickening smell of burned flesh penetrated her respiratory system. Gasping for breath in-between coughs, she ventured on, trying to get away from the disaster zone.

However, Grace had only taken a few steps when she stopped in her tracks. She hadn’t boarded the train by herself. Someone was missing.

‘Helen.‘

Turning around, she soldiered back to where she’d regained consciousness, trying to find her mother. She’d been through enough fire alarm drills to know that smoke inhalation, not burn injuries, was the true danger and cause of death in most fire-related incidents. What if Helen was unconscious and unable to head for a safer spot? It would be considered her fault if the Head of Administration had survived the attack itself, but died of carbon monoxide intake afterwards.

“Helen, can you hear me?” she yelled as she looked around, but her words had barely left her mouth when they faded into the same unidentifiable noise as everything else.

“Helen! Answer me if you can hear me!”

But there was no answer, and in the chaos that surrounded her, wanting to find anything specific at all seemed like madness. Still, Grace searched the wreck for what felt like forever, turning over bodies of both injured and dead passengers, but Helen Partridge was nowhere to be seen. Finally, she gave up.

Slumping to the ground, she leaned back against the cabin of a semi-intact compartment further away. It had taken her body a while to process the impact of the attack, but when the shock eventually began to taper off, pain quickly took its place. The bloody scratches and deep cuts all over her body were burning cruelly, her heartbeat resounded in her pounding head, and the agony she felt when she put even the slightest pressure on her rib cage was torture. Groaning, whimpering and crying silently, she shifted her weight until the pain became somewhat bearable, then her eyes fluttered shut.

Not long after, she passed out again from exhaustion.


5

“When did all this happen?”

“The first bomb detonated at 7:11am, just as the train approached Central Station. There were two subsequent explosions at 7:13am and 7:14am, when the wreck had already come to a halt. We assume the station was the real target, but the train was three minutes delayed because of a defect signal.”

“How many citizens are affected?”

“We don’t know yet, Sir. The Railway Control Tower immediately contacted nearby sweeper teams; they’re clearing the area now. Backup is on the way. I have also requested all available medical staff to be sent in. I assumed that would be the right thing to do.”

“Of course. I will contact the monastery and send all available Clerics to secure the area. Do you think it is necessary we shut the City down for the day?”

“Unquestionably.”

“Fine. Keep me updated on everything.”

DuPont waited until the Head of Intelligence had left his office before he picked up the phone. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he dialled the shortcut number to the Head of Clergy, briefing him about the situation. Once he’d passed on his orders, he pressed the conference call button, then dialled again.

It was time for a Council meeting.


6

They had almost reached the dead zone between Libria and the Nethers when the beeping alarm of the radio broke the silence that had travelled with them, momentarily startling Partridge and Preston. Reaching over from the front-passenger seat, the older Cleric pressed the receiver button

“Clerics, the City will be closed down shortly due to terrorist activity,” a man’s voice announced. “If you need to return to the CBD at all, do so as quickly as you can. You only have one hour.”

“What happened?” Partridge asked.

“Three bombs exploded on the seven o’clock train this morning. We do not yet have a definite number of casualties, but the Council and Intelligence have ordered to shut down the inner city as soon as possible to ensure maximum safety for all citizens. Over.”

As he switched the radio back to standby, Partridge looked over at Preston, frowning ever so softly.

“What’s the matter?” His younger partner gave him a brief questioning glance before focusing on the road again

“Helen and Grace took that train,” Partridge replied. For a split second, there seemed to be something about the sound of his own voice that he didn’t quite like, but it passed so soon that he forgot about it almost immediately. “I wonder if they’re stranded somewhere.”

“Can you contact them somehow?”

“Possibly. I’ll try and message them.”

Getting his communicator out of his pocket, Partridge opened his contact list and selected the appropriate two recipients.

WHERE ARE YOU?

Then he pressed ‘send’.

They had just passed the security checks at the southern gate when the small apparatus beeped, signalling an incoming message. It was from Grace.

MEET ME AT EQUILIBRIUM.


7


“Gentlemen, I must say that this attack is very convenient.”

DuPont smiled diabolically as he looked at his eleven fellow council members. There was no doubt that the bombing had caused extensive damage and devastation, had shaken Libria to its core. But at the very same time, the assault had stabilised the internal house of cards in an instant.

It had been a complete shock surprise for all of them when Father had unexpectedly died of a stroke earlier that month. His doctors had failed to explain why a healthy, middle-aged man could just drop dead without any warning, but retrospectively, that was hardly relevant. The fact of the matter was that Libria had been leaderless for three weeks. Emergency precautions such as realistic holograms for public appearances and pre-recorded television messages had been installed years ago, of course, but they were more of a short-term fix rather than a long-term solution. Ernest Goodman, as the council members had known him, had not planned to retire for a long time.

His sudden death had left the elite in a power vacuum that threatened the integrity of the entire system should the resistance somehow catch wind of the event. It seemed impossible to imagine Libria without Father’s guidance. He had created the great society the way it was; he had based his citizens’ faith in the system mainly on him as a person. Libria’s citizens were sedated, but nobody was truly immune to doubt. When a strong leader was taken away, nothing was the same, not even under a suitable heir. Napoleon, Alexander, Stalin, Hitler… their works and visions had crumbled all too quickly after they were gone. Without its shepherd, the herd was in jeopardy, and DuPont knew that.

“We needed a reason to justify Father’s late reclusiveness. Gentlemen, here it is. On a silver tray, if I may say so.”

Acts of sabotage against Prozium factories and agricultural production units were nothing new, but never before had the aggression been targeted at Librian citizens. Nobody would doubt that now the threat of assassination was just too great to allow Father the same exposure as before. It would make perfect sense for him to appoint a deputy who’d act in accordance to his wishes. The council had already decided that Father’s favourite son would carry on his paternal tradition.

“I want a video message from Father ready within twenty-four hours,” DuPont commanded. With the computer programmes that currently existed, it would be challenging, but possible, to produce totally new material. “He will express his concern about the situation, his faith in his citizens, his regret about having to retreat behind the walls of the Tetragrammaton… and he will announce my ascension to Vice-Council on Libria Day.”

To be continued...

EEK!! EQ fic!! *dances around* YAAAAYYYY!!! Thank you for letting me know this is here :-D

And I will read it. I will. Very soon. But as for now, I just got back from a wedding and I'm exhaustified, so...yea...-But I will read it, and comment again. I just wanted to let you know that I will, haha.

Yea, I'm tired. Ttfn!! *is excited about this fic which will undoubtedly be fab* :)

ps. AWWW! Thanks for the dedication *feels loved* And it's totally true *loves EQ* Mwah ha...

Haha yay you're here. *is now curious about the verdict* :D

:eek: Ooooooo... innnnterreeesssting :D!

I love how you've taken us back before the movie! You've got me poking around the plot, looking for connections and clue as to how this leads to that which, being the EQ nerd I am, I absolutely love! Nice twist, adding a wife and daughter for Partridge. I guess it makes sense that he would have one and/or the other, given the lack of variety in the set up of Libria, hehe...

And Preston's there! *huggles* Mmmmm...

*is very proud of you* So far you've already captured the coldness of relationship, the deviousness of DuPont (which was really always an oddly cheeky name for them to have given him, if you ask me, hehe), Preston's "potential" and the plottings of the Council (via DuPont, of course). Mwah haha! I love it.

I'm crazy excited to see where this goes (and when Mary shows up! Ack, I heart Emily Watson!). :D Yay! Well done!

ps. You're bit of writing has even inspired me to start a new fic, you trixy thingy you *laughs* Oh dear, oh dear... hehe....Ttfn!

yay, the first reply! *dances excitedly*

hehe, I'm doing that on purpose actually. I love weaving in little clues and homages to the movie, it's so much fun! it's a good thing to have a transcript of the movie *pats trusty EQ folder*

haha yup he is. I have to warn you, though, there won't be too much Preston in this one. Focus is on good old Errol <3 But I've got the second and third part of the trilogy (read: two more fics coming) planned out already, so paaaaatience ;)

veeery soon. just for a moment, but she'll be there.

*laughs* woot, I love to inspire people. go for it!

*jumps for joy* I never thought I'd see an EQ fic on EWAC, and here it is, yay! And hehehe *laughs evilly* I'm glad I'm responsible for yet another one of your stories. :D

I love what I read earlier (chapters 1-3 I believe) and I'm excited to read the rest of this! I'm supposed to be studying, but I think I can take a break to read and reply to this, heh. :noangel:

Well, I must say I am very pleased to see you are posting another story. While I am not familiar with the film it is based off, I still found this start to be very interesting. I might have to research this movie some. If you have a brief synopsis of the film, I'd appreciate reading it.

Seems like an interesting, futuristic place with strong rules and laws. As always, your abilities with descriptions and setting are wonderful things to read. I feel like I am actually there with the characters, feeling and living all their moments.

I already find Grace to be a very interesting character. I want to hear more about her school and the place she has earned there. It is good that she and her mother managed to get ahead despite the stricter pressures for women.

That description was particularly good. You captured the fear and horror of a moment like that perfectly. Great job!

Could you tell me a bit more about the Clerics?

oooh, completely forgot I sent you the first few a while ago. hehe, never mind. I re-read the whole thing the other day, and I was like, "hmm, can't believe I wrote that." lol

the reason I'm not posting chapters as quick as with the Phantom fic is that I'll start travelling again soon, and I'd rather have an update every 3 or 4 weeks than nothing for months, so I'm writing ahead and stocking things, haha.

hehe *grins at Ambrosia* we'll turn you into a full on sense offender (see explanation below) in no time ;) Glad you gave it a go without knowing the movie.

A brief synopsis of Equilibrium? pheww... lol. Okay, here we go, as for the background:

After a fictional Third World War, the remaining world leaders conclude that human emotion had lead to too much suffering, and that it needs to be abolished in order to prevent a fourth World War which would mark the end of mankind. So a drug has been introduced, Prozium, which suppresses emotion. Books, movies, music, and all other things that could elicit emotion are strictly forbidden (labelled EC-10 for emotional content). In addition, the Clerics, a special unit, seek out and destroy remaining EC-10 items, and persecute people who refuse to take Prozium (so-called "sense offenders").

The plot of the movie itself has many twists, so it might be better if you rent and just watch it. Alternatively, you can read a detailed synopsis on wikipedia

Okay, so this is awesome. I just had to say that first to get it out of the way. :bow:

I seriously felt like I was watching the movie for this story in my head as I was reading it (Equilibrium prequel, perhaps? heh), because your description is so darn fantastic! Especially when you described the attack on the subway, gosh, you put us right in there with Grace. Good sense description, I think Han would applaud you.

I also loved how you captured the cut and dry 'Mr. Spock' type approach that everyone takes in Libria. The attacks occur precisely at such and such a time, everyone is slave to their schedule and their work, and no emotion comes out. The funny thing is that when someone says they're pleased, they usually sound pleased, but with this I just imagined it being said without any emotion because they couldn't think of another word to say. Words have feeling even. But this world you've brought back from EQ is cold, calculated, and unfeeling. *shivers* Nice job. And Grace calling her parents by their names? Ouch. That's sad. I think they did that in the movie, but still, I could never call my parents by their first names. Total removal of any bonds there. I loved that. Oh! And how Grace looked in the mirror and didn't think 'oh, I look good today', but was satisfied that her hair was in place.

What else what else...ooh, the slow changes in Partridge! Very good there! I love that you had the Scream painting have a cameo, and how he maybe kind of sort of felt something for a second there. This paragraph really got me:

Not 'my wife and daughter took that train, I hope they're ok'. But AHA! *points* There's worry in his voice! Embrace the emotions, Boromir Partridge!

And lastly, ooh, DuPont is eeevil. Naming all scary dictators as leaders he wants to be like? Meep. And is it just me, or does DuPont seem a little like Chancellor Palpatine rising to power? Hmmm...apparently everyone else in the story has never seen Star Wars. Sigh. Then they would have seen it coming... :lol:

I can't wait to see what you do next! *is on the edge of her seat with anticipation* I already know your writing is awesome, so I know I can expect great things from you. :)

roflmao I think Star Wars has a biiiiiiig EC-10 stamp on it, dear ;)

Haha, I know, which is why they don't see it coming. Poor Librians, lol.

Hehe, I thought I'd share this because it has to do with EQ, and I found it amusing:

From moviebodycounts.com:
(*number dead)
Entire Film: 236*
Cleric John Preston (Christian Bale): 118

Preston's Breakdown (by ClericMike)
Pitch Black Justice - 22
Partridge gets a tracheotomy - 1
Puppy Shootout - 13
Sector 7 Beat Down - 8
Not Without Incident - 9
Hallway Deliverance - 53
DuPont's Office slice-n-dice - 8
Brandt's Ownage - 1
DuPont gets capped - 1
Preston's Hegemony - 2

*rofl* So bad. Apparently Preston's #1 for individual character's body counts... hmmm... Hehehehe, oh dear...

LOL I know. the only reason people are inclined to forget that is because it's Christian Bale. he even makes American Psycho likeable lol.

I know it's been forever, but finally here's an update! Hope you enjoy :) Thanks to Licia for the awesome Mary name tag!

Part Two

8

In a secret room beneath the halls and corridors of Freedom Reading Room, a group of men were gathered around a table for a meeting. All eyes were on a dark-haired adolescent who was sat in the corner by the window, trying his best to hold the hostile stares that were being sent his way. The tension was so tangible that one could quite possibly have cut it with a knife, and if it weren’t for the man next to him, the troubled youth would have to handle matters far worse than a dozen deathly gazes.

“Julian has made a grave mistake,” Jurgen admitted sternly as he looked around at those present. “But what’s done cannot be undone. Blame is superfluous.”

“His stupid vendetta has ruined everything!” an elderly man cried as he got up, slamming his fist down on the table. “We were so close! We might have gotten into negotiations with Father himself!”

“I know that, David.”

Deliberately keeping his voice down, Jurgen, too, rose from his seat, and for a few moments the two fought a silent battle of supremacy, trying to stare one another down. Exchanging grim looks of determination for what felt like forever, but in fact was only a few seconds, it seemed as though the hostility was going to boil over any second. However, challenging their leader was something even someone as passionate as David Shepherd would find daunting, and thus he eventually backed out. Grinding his teeth, he reluctantly sat back down. Mumbling something that sounded like ‘pity the Clerics didn’t get him’ into his beard, he fell silent when Jurgen narrowed his eyes at him.

“If you think that I will condone my brother’s actions, you’re mistaken,” he then continued firmly. For the time being, nobody else seemed to feel the need to spontaneously voice his disapproval regarding his decision to cease all resistance activity until further notice.

“There is no doubt that our first, last, and possibly only chance for a peaceful revolution has been spoiled,” he acknowledged with a faint hint of regret in his voice. “But if we let that cause enmity among us, we will never get a second opportunity of any kind to free Libria. It’s live together or die alone. So unless anyone has any constructive ideas, this meeting is now over.”

Discontent was evident on his comrades’ faces, but while some muttered words of disagreement under their breath, nobody else spoke out. Once everyone except the two brothers had left the room, Julian collapsed in his chair, letting out a heavy sigh as he covered his face with his hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered shakily.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Jurgen replied coldly. “The only reason I’m not turning you in myself is that I cannot risk you spilling your secrets in clinical interrogation. You know too damn much.”

With that, he turned around and exited the room, leaving his younger brother to his own devices.

He hated to even think along the same irrational lines of ‘justice’ and 'vengeance' as Julian because he knew that it was madness. But as much as he despised what the boy and his comrades had done, deep down he did understand where it had all come from. Desolation, heartache, frustration and terror… when leading a double life in Libria, it was extremely hard at times not to lose it. And yet he never had. He had struggled to stay in control of himself many times, and he’d been to the very brink of failure. But in the end, somehow his painstaking stoicism had always prevailed. Being the one in charge, he could not allow himself to impulsively take anyone’s side in an emotional matter… not even his own.

Others sometimes considered him callous, but he depended on the gruelling self-restraint of his emotions. Not only did he need it to keep himself sane. More importantly, it was essential to disregard everything but pure fact in order make the right decisions for those under his wing. It did not matter what, or how, he felt. Many years had come and gone since he had chosen to ignore his own wishes in order to safeguard the lives of others. Jurgen knew that there was only a fine line between rationality and heartlessness, and while he had never fully crossed that line, he’d probably put a toe across it a few times. But without restraint, without control, emotion was chaos, and chaos was of a too destructive nature to ever be controlled. Julian knew that, too. Unfortunately, there was a huge discrepancy between knowing and believing – which was why he and his small radical splinter group had carried out the fatal attack.

Despite what he’d just told his men – that there was going to be another way to achieve their goal, and that flying under the radar until matters would have smoothed out was not their general new strategy - Jurgen didn’t exactly know what to do next. The fact that this had never been the case before did not help either.

‘Maybe they just deserve a better leader,’ he thought to himself as he impetuously kicked a small rock, hurling it almost to the end of the corridor he was following.

Right at that moment, the future looked even gloomier than usual.


9

“… and thereby the so-called Resistance has clearly proved that human emotion is the origin of violence, hatred and suffering. Libria, we must stand united against this malice, and - ”

Releasing an inward sigh, Grace impulsively reached for the remote controls and turned off the telescreen in the adjacent living-room. She’d patiently put up with Father’s latest broadcast for a good twenty minutes when something inside her head suddenly snapped. Afterwards, she froze for a moment, wondering what on earth had just gotten into her.

She failed to explain the strange irritability that seemed to have gripped her ever since the bomb attack. Every once in a while, that exact same petulance that had just caused her to turn off the television set would strike her like lightning. Naturally, those unpleasant sensations would not bother her for a very long time. Within seconds, Prozium would dissolve the disconcerting disruption of her peace of mind into a soothing nothingness, and yet… she could not help thinking that she shouldn’t be experiencing any of it in the first place.

‘Must be the headaches,’ she thought to herself as she gingerly massaged her temples.

The blow to her head that she had received when she was catapulted against the hard metal wall of the train had resulted in a light concussion. It wasn’t serious enough to keep her in the infirmary, but the effects were still quite bothersome. Not only did the physical pain come and go as it pleased, never succumbing to the painkillers she took. It also appeared as though her brain had ceased to function properly for the time being.

Shaking her head, Grace finally put her pen down and shut the books on the table in front of her. For the past two hours, she’d been trying to read, structure and annotate a two-page essay of a former Council member, but it was just useless. By the time she got to the full stop, she’d entirely forgotten the content of the previous sentence.

The fact that she wasn’t able to keep up the standard of her work troubled her. What if she fell behind? Her professors knew that she had been injured in the recent assault, but she was very aware that this did not mean she could count on anyone’s understanding. The problem was hers to take care of. There had to be a more effective way of dealing with the circumstances, or she would have to face the consequences.

When she heard a key being turned in the lock, she shrugged off all those thoughts that had just been spinning around in her head, and rose to greet her father. Over the past few days, he’d been on numerous extensive raids with Preston that had prevented him from ever coming home before ten or eleven o’clock at night. Just like the nights before, he looked exhausted as he put his guns on the commode in the hallway, and took off his gloves and bloodstained coat.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

The Cleric simply nodded, and so Grace turned around and headed for the kitchen. Before the attack, her mother had taken care of the household, but since Helen had been identified and officially declared dead forty-eight hours ago, this was now up to her. It was at this moment that the home economics lessons from middle school came in quite handy, because other than that she had no idea of how to handle domestic tasks and errands.

Opening the overhead cupboard to get a dish, Grace sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. If there was one thing that was worse than breaking several ribs, it was contusing them. The physician had told her the injury would take weeks to heal, and it would be very unpleasant.

Mentally counting to three as she lowered her arm again, she breathed through the pain in her rib cage, waiting until it had returned to a somewhat normal level before putting a larger portion of food on the plate and returning to the dining table.

“How’d it go?” she asked as she passed it to her father, along with some cutlery.

The latest information from the papers was that a van had been found in a deserted garage near the Outer Libria train station. There, Intelligence had found walkie-talkies used by railway staff, annotated maps, timetables and classified security information about the train network. Furthermore, a previous robbery of explosives from a weaponry factory had been linked to the attack, as well as a major seizure of EC-10 rated material on the morning of the assault because the homemade bombs used in the attack had contained the same chemicals that had been found in that warehouse. CCTV recordings and fingerprints had completed the puzzle, and once the list of suspects had been drawn up, the hunt was on.

“We almost captured two offenders who were directly involved in the bombing today,” Partridge replied as he ate. “However, they blew up their apartment block when we were about to go in.”

“To avoid the Council’s fair justice?”

“Presumably.”

“Did clinical interrogation of the other suspects produce any valuable information?”

“No.”

“So this is it? No arrests? No… nothing?” Grace wasn’t pleased.

“You seem to take a great interest in this investigation,” Partridge wondered aloud in a way that left it to her interpretation whether it was a question or a statement, his cold emerald eyes meeting hers for a moment.

“Uhm…”

It was true; she had asked quite a few questions recently, and she’d started reading the newspaper thoroughly on a regular basis instead of merely speed-reading through the front page. She wasn’t sure why her father’s remark seemed like an accusation to her now, because it probably was none.

“It’s just that I was there, so I … well, I suppose I want to make sure it’s all going as planned. Even if that only goes as far as being as well informed as I can be.”

The answer seemed satisfactory, because Partridge returned his attention to his meal and did not say anything else. Grace sat at the table for a while and waited without actually doing anything in particular, until eventually her eyelids became just too heavy.

“I’ve washed your other uniform and put it away in your wardrobe,” she said as she got up and collected the dirty garments from where he’d left them. “I’ll go to bed now. If I don’t see you in the morning… guess then I’ll see you when I see you.”

Partridge nodded ever so slightly without looking up.

“Good night, Errol.”


10

It was exactly noon on Libria Day when the Vice-Council designate emerged from the Palace of Justice and came to a halt before the wide steps of its main entrance. Below him on the vast expanse of Freedom Plaza, the carefully selected crowd of spectators rose in perfect unison to greet him.

DuPont allowed himself the briefest and subtlest smile of satisfaction as his gaze drifted over the dead straight rows of black, blue, grey and khaki. As the ocean of citizens sat back down, he continued his short walk towards the lectern in the centre, where the Head of Clergy was already waiting for him.

“Librians,” the leader of the monastery announced, “you are assembled here today to witness the ascension of Council Member Gabriel DuPont, as it is Father’s will in these difficult times. We proceed with the oath of office.”

Stepping up on the lectern, DuPont raised his right hand and dutifully repeated after the clergyman.

“In the name of Father, I solemnly swear that I will defend our great society against all enemies, foreign and domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to His will and to all that has made us great. I take this oath not as a leader but as a humble servant, a devout messenger between all of you and the man who has given us freedom, peace and unity.”

The crowd broke into a reticent applause that lasted precisely ten seconds. Afterwards, DuPont took a moment to breathe before delivering his speech. Watching the special units of sweepers as they patrolled the multitude of onlookers, he knew that he had made the right decision. Father’s late lenient tendencies could have brought Libria to the brink of failure, and he couldn’t have let that happen. Occasionally, one had to do a little evil to do a greater good.

“Librians,” he began, his voice calm, but commanding. “I am not pleased to be here today. I am not pleased to be given this position, to accept the responsibility of this office.”

He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in before he continued.

“And the reason why I’m not pleased is that unfortunately my promotion is the necessary consequence of an act of unspeakable brutality. We have been attacked. Father himself has been attacked. But Librians, we will not yield. Let us remember that hatred and the crimes committed in its name can only prevail if the righteous do nothing about it. If we stand united, we will defeat our mortal enemies. By outlawing emotion, we secure peace for everyone. I am standing here today with a promise. I promise that those who sabotage our great society will know no mercy. …”

When he finished his speech, the spectators applauded once more. DuPont stepped down from the lectern, waiting for his special unit of sweepers to clear and secure the path down Federation Avenue to the Tetragrammaton Headquarters. Once his squadron of newly promoted Clerics were assembled to follow him, he began to march through the crowd, towards his destination.

In the name of the Father… that’s what they all thought.


11

“Here’s your uniform, John.”

Allowing herself the briefest glimpse of her husband’s muscular torso as he was busy shaving, Viviana Preston put the neatly folded pile of his new black garments on the small commode next to the shower cabin. Knowing it was utterly silly to expect even a meaningless ‘thank you’ in return, she still felt just a little hurt when Preston showed no reaction whatsoever, as though she wasn’t even there. It wasn’t like he had to say or do anything; she knew he’d heard her. And yet…

She was playing a dangerous game, and she knew it. Day by day, she was gambling with her life. Sometimes Viviana couldn’t quite understand how she had gotten away with it for the past three years. How could John not know? He had to know. She had no doubt that, intuitive as he was, the subconscious part of his mind had started picking up the signals long ago… because she constantly made small mistakes. Like looking at him fondly. All he needed was a push in the right direction, a big enough slip up to open his eyes. It was his unconditional faith in the system that kept saving her from the furnaces, and there wasn’t a day when she wasn’t extremely aware of the sword of Damocles that was pending right above her head.

Mentally and physically drained, and thus susceptible to doubt and curiosity, she had first ceased her dose temporarily during her pregnancy with Robbie. Terrified of the consequences, she’d gone back to the sedated life of a good Librian citizen after giving birth. Four years later, however, it had happened all over again when Lisa had grown under her heart. The first time around, she’d somehow managed to ignore the bothersome questions that had come out of nowhere – what purpose would her children have besides serving Libria? Why live solely to continue a communal existence? Should life not be more than merely a straight line from cradle to grave?

At first she had dismissed them as irrelevant confusion related to an unfamiliar situation. But when it had happened all over again, the doubt just wouldn’t vanish. The second time around, she had battled through the petrifying uncertainty to an exhilarating reality one could only find beyond Prozium.

She had never regretted her decision to cease her dose, not once. The initial days had been the hardest, and even after all these years she still wasn’t sure how she’d gotten through them without being discovered. She’d felt as though her mind was drowning, unable to grasp how anyone was supposed to handle the volatile and powerful nature of feelings so manifold that countless dictionaries were filled with their definitions. One thing that she’d quickly learned about emotions was that they were instinctual. They were always there, sleeping in the depth of the human soul, yet always ready to awake and strike with troublesome suddenness. Anything and everything could trigger them, and intercepting and channelling the symptoms of perturbation before they became apparent to an outsider took constant concentration.

Yet as gruelling as it was to master the continuous masquerade, she found it was worth every second. She’d been surprised to find that it was small things, not huge miracles, that brought her the most joy. The deep blue of the sky, a fiery sunrise and the warmth of the first golden rays of morning light, a tiny bird stubbornly singing a happy song as it sat on a power line, the first snow of winter, the nightly diamond-sprinkled firmament… there were so many seemingly irrelevant things to live for. She’d conserved them all in her mind, keeping them in a little imaginary treasure chest that she could open and look through whenever life became unbearable.

And then, of course, there were her children. Viviana loved to think that, subconsciously, they somehow loved her. It wasn’t until the age of one that they started taking their own intervals, so even though they would not consciously remember it later on, who could be sure they would not carry a faint residue of love in their hearts?

But most importantly, it was the love for her husband that got her through the day. How such a strong feeling had developed from an emotional void was beyond her understanding. Whenever she tried to come up with just one good reason why she loved him so much, Viviana failed miserably. His demeanour was as cold as a Librian winter, and she knew that the sole purpose of their marriage was to secure the continuity of the great society.

‘So why do I love him?’

She had spent many sleepless nights trying to solve the mystery. From a rational point of view, it was utterly inexplicable. It had taken her a long while to realise that understanding her heart required the complete exclusion of the mind. Because eventually, it all came down to a wishful ‘what if’.

‘What if there was no Prozium?’

Whenever she was alone, Viviana would wonder what John would be like if he was feeling. She knew that there was a good, honest man inside him, and she longed to see his true personality, unrestrained. Would he still be the same efficient perfectionist? Or would he be less controlling? Would he be gentle and openly affectionate, or would he rather conceal his softer side? Would he be a good father? What would he look like with a genuine smile on his face?

She didn’t love him for who he was, because there was nothing about him that could inspire such a strong bond. Instead, she loved him for the man that he could possibly be.

Exiting the bathroom, she returned to the kitchen, where Robbie was just about to finish his breakfast cereal. Viviana couldn’t help thinking that there was something unsettling about the way he looked in his black Acolyte uniform. When his frosty eyes searched hers, she deliberately avoided them. If anyone was an even greater threat to her than her husband, it was her razor blade-minded, eight-year-old son.

“Lisa hasn’t had her morning interval yet,” he reminded her sternly.

“Thank you. I was just about to take care of that.”

The mere thought of sedating her three-year-old daughter made her sick, but Viviana knew she did not have a choice. Entering her bedroom, she was entirely functioning on autopilot as she inserted the morning capsule into Lisa’s PIU. Once the girl had finished buttoning up her dress, she dutifully approached her mother and did not even blink as she injected the amber liquid into her neck. Leaving her to put her shoes on, Viviana returned to the kitchen to pack her children’s lunch boxes – a welcome excuse to get away from what she had just done. She knew that if she thought about it too much, it would drive her crazy. At times, ignorance could indeed be bliss.

‘If only there was someone I could talk to,’ she thought.

She had no desire whatsoever to get involved with the resistance; she felt that there was too much at stake. Throwing her own life away was one thing, but she feared for John and her children. If she were found guilty of sense offence, what would happen to them? As much as she wished for a free Libria, she could not bear the thought of bringing harm upon her beloved ones.

What she wanted was a friend, a like-minded soul who actually knew and understood what the word ‘friendship’ implied. But how to find one? Occasionally, when her eyes met someone else’s in a passing glance, she would sense that the person was possibly off the dose. However, she had never approached any of those brief acquaintances. She just couldn’t risk being mistaken.

“Make sure you drop Robbie off at the monastery on time.”

Preston’s voice startled her momentarily, but he had his back turned on her as he checked his firearms.

“I will.”

Until a week ago, John would take his son to the monastery with him in the car before picking up his partner for the A&R. Over the years, it had become an unwritten rule that it was compulsory for the subordinate Cleric to attend the briefing in person, whereas senior Clerics had the option of receiving the relevant information in text format on their communicators. Now that he had been promoted to First Class because of outstanding efficiency in the bombing investigation, her husband would be home even less.

As she watched him leave, Viviana wasn’t sure whether she should be happy or sad about that.


12

The lines at the Equilibrium centre in sector 7 were exactly the same as every morning - whoever had decided to drop in before work and collect his intervals for the week was in for a rather long wait.

Taking one step forward as the patient queue slowly progressed towards the row of counters at the back of the extensive room, Grace tried to ignore the throbbing pain that originated near the nape of her neck where she’d been struck. She’d woken up with a numbing headache earlier this morning, feeling anything but capable of going to College. For a moment or two, she’d been just so tempted not to get up… but staying home was out of the question. She simply couldn’t afford it. Thus her breakfast had consisted of a cocktail of painkillers and strong coffee, and she kept telling herself that even a seemingly endless day would eventually end.

When a woman’s angry, high-pitched shriek, followed by the sound of glass shattering, suddenly broke the silence, Grace turned her head to see what was going on. It took her a moment to scan the room and determine the origin of the noise, but then she spotted an elderly female khaki coat at one of the counters two rows down. The woman had raised both her hands into the air, looking as though she was going to tear her hair out, and she was screaming on top of her lungs for no apparent reason. Before her on the floor lay the smashed remains of her intervals.

Within seconds, four armed sweepers who had been standing guard at the side had cornered the offender. The old lady appeared terrified at first when she realised what she had done. But when they came to seize her, she unexpectedly turned fierce. Kicking and spitting and lashing out at her captors as the soldiers forced her to the ground and rigorously pulled her wrists behind her back to put handcuffs on her, she struggled like a madwoman to free herself.

“I’m not doing anything wrong!” she screeched, bursting into tears as she was being dragged away. “You’re dead! You’re all dead! Can’t you see? Only the dead feel nothing at all! I’m not doing anything wrong! I’m alive. I breathe. I feel. What’s the matter with you people? Wake up! I’m not doing anything wrong!”

As the echo faded out, a cleaner quickly removed the spilled Prozium, and only a minute after the incident, it seemed as though nothing had ever happened.

Shaking her head slowly, Grace stepped forward again when the citizen in front of her had been serviced. Thinking that the woman’s actions had been completely absurd – accepting certain death in the furnaces just for a brief moment of absolutely irrelevant protest - she looked up, and unexpectedly found herself face to face with a pair of intense blue eyes that belonged to the interval distributor on the other side of the counter.



Strangely bewildered, she found it impossible to hold the gaze for longer than a few seconds. There was something about those eyes that was rather unsettling.

‘Why would anyone want to cease their dose in the first place? Why compromise Libria’s achievement? It is such a selfish thing to do. Doesn’t she realise that her unreasonable behaviour affects the entire community?’

Understanding the actions of a sense offender was one of the most difficult, if not the most difficult skills to be acquired. The science of behaviour was one of the most important books on her reading list. While it was unlikely that an Administrator would ever have to actually identify or interrogate a potential sense offender, it was crucial to fully understand every clerical procedure in order to achieve maximum efficiency as a team. From the subtlest differences in posture and body language to the distorted patterns of thought and deed, the amount of information to be remembered, combined and applied for each specific case was close to endless. And yet it seemed never enough, because on too many occasions, no logical explanation would suffice.

‘Maybe she just wasn’t quite right in the head.’

What motivation could there have been for the old woman to have a public outburst? Wouldn’t it have been smarter to just keep pretending and die peacefully in her sleep whenever the time would have come? Why become a sense offender and take so many risks for absolutely nothing? The consequences of her antics were clear. In a way, she had become the victim of her own crime. It just made no sense to her at all.

“Excuse me?” A somewhat distant sounding voice gained her attention just then.

“I… I beg your pardon?” Grace muttered when she realised she’d been spoken to while she’d gotten lost in thought. It wasn’t the first time within the last few days that she’d caught herself slipping into a momentary kind of trance, in which her auditory senses would shut down completely.

‘What in Father’s name is wrong with you?’

“Your medicard.”

“Oh… yes, of course.”

Fiddling with her wallet for a moment, she pulled out a swipe card and slid it across the desk. The distributor took it and scanned the bar code, and within a second Grace’s health record and prescribed dose appeared on a computer screen.

“One moment please.”

Grace nodded as the blue-eyed female turned away and disappeared into the storage rooms in order to obtain the required set of intervals. Folding her arms, she stared at the floor as she waited.

You’re dead! You’re all dead! Can’t you see? Only the dead feel nothing at all!

But had they not sacrificed the ability to feel in order to survive? Had it not been the abysmal lows of human emotion that had brought death to billions of innocents? Before the War, had people not believed in a book called the Bible, in which it was written that it was necessary to rid oneself of a harmful habit? That losing a fraction of what one considered vital was far better than losing everything that mattered? Did Librian laws not ask for the exact same?

“Excuse me?”

Blinking, Grace looked back up when she was caught out yet again. The distributor had returned with a small metal box that contained her customised fourteen capsules. Placing it on the counter, she beckoned her to come a little closer.

Taking two further steps, she gave the woman a questioning look.

“Here are your intervals,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by the glass that separated them.

“Thank you.” Her reply was flat as she reached out for the small container.

“Mark my words, kid,” the distributor unexpectedly added under her breath, so quietly that only Grace could hear her. “If you don’t wanna take ‘em, don’t make such a big deal out of it, yeah?”

‘What?’

Grace wasn’t sure she’d heard her correctly, and she frowned as their eyes met again briefly. Searching for some kind of proof that her ears hadn’t deceived her, she suddenly faced closed doors. It seemed as though the two blue windows had just been slammed shut. Those previously intense eyes were now just as ordinary as everyone else’s.

“Next.”

Stepping aside, she clutched her set of intervals as she left the Equilibrium centre with a strange lingering aftertaste of what had just happened. Repeating the remark over and over again in her head, turning and examining the words as thoroughly as she would an unknown object, Grace wondered what to think of it.

‘Should I report her? I suppose I could. But what exactly would I report? The distributor has not explicitly committed a sense crime… has she? I’m not even sure she was really addressing me. Could she not simply have been commenting on how absurd it is to deliberately disclose one’s forbidden affiliation? Because if that is the case, I would have to report myself because I thought along the exact same lines. But I’m not an offender, so if I think it, there’s nothing wrong about expressing it… is there?’

Confused, she eventually pushed the matter aside, and instead chose to focus on the things she needed to get done on this day – one of them being not running late for class. Hurrying down the street, the incident had soon slipped her mind… for the time being.

To be continued...