Reality was a stronger jolt than the shocks that would later drive him Home, and fear cut through him just as sharply. He was trapped in that thing with wheels, his legs hidden somewhere inside it, and he couldn’t remove his mask to ask her to help him.

  He thrashed about, his hands stuck to the handles, half his body encased in that metal cup. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her gaze. He just looked at her, longing for … there wasn’t a word his brain could find.

  “Denz, it is you, isn’t it?” she said again, approaching him slowly.

  He stopped thrashing and kept his eyes tethered to hers.

  The full moon reflected off the tears on her cheeks. He felt his own begin to fall as he nodded – the only way he could respond.

  Kneeling down beside him, Chimma stroked away the tears on his cheek, touching his mask. The electric shock that leapt through his face must have jolted her, as well, for she pulled quickly back.

  “Oh, my! Oh, Denzin, what happened? Do you want me to try to help you?”

  All he could do was nod. Behind his thoughts, he kept hearing the voice of the medic, the voice of his Trainer, the voice that constantly filled his hearing, telling him that he was so grateful, but he fought them back, and nodded even more fervently.

  Chimma pushed his hood back, and then walked around behind him. He felt her touching the back of his head for a moment, and then the electric current that sealed his mouth disappeared. He spat the mouthpiece out. It landed on his chest, caught by the necklace that held it there.

  He stretched his lips for a moment, then licked them.

  Remember this: you do not want to speak.

  But he did. Denzin wanted to speak with everything that was inside him. If only he could remember how!

  “Are you alright, Denzin?” Chimma asked him.

  “Yes, because I am so grateful to my Pendraken and my City,” he replied before he could stop himself. He tried to speak again, but he couldn’t.

  “What do you mean, Denzin? What are you grateful for?”

  “I am grateful for my wonderful pod that helps me alive, and for my wonderful mask that helps me breathe, and my braces that keep me safe, and …”

  “But Denzin, what happened to you?”

  Finally, the right question. For some reason, he could only remember how to speak when he was answering a direct question. And he was determined to make full use of this one.

  He poured out what he remembered – he knew he didn’t remember everything and most of what he was telling her was what he’d heard repeated again and again in his earpiece, but he just kept talking. The story poured out like the diarrhoea he’d had after Mam’s fish stew had gone rancid one hot Sunner’s evening. Chimma listened, with plenty of gasps but unable to get a word in.

  He even told her exactly how he had gotten there that night, step by step, just because he could convince himself it was part of the answer to her question.

  By the time he’d finished, he spouted, “Oh, that’s so much better. I can speak again! I couldn’t before, except to answer a question. Oh Chimma, it’s so good to see you! I can’t believe it! I have no idea how long I’ve been rolling around in this piece rubbish. It’s called a pod. I can’t get out of it. They tell me I don’t have legs anymore, and I’d die if I wasn’t in a pod. But I can feel my legs inside. I don’t think the others can, though, or they’re just brainwashed into believing they can’t. My hands – they’re stuck on handles underneath this stupid poncho somewhere. I can’t move them. They say their paralysed, but I’m not sure. Can you see how to take them off?”

  “You really haven’t talked for a long time, have you?” she laughed. But then her face turned dark as the sky. “I’ve been so worried about you! You came into the Caff every day, and then you didn’t turn up again.”

  She pulled the poncho aside as she spoke, running her fingers around the handles the braces locked his hands to. Then she found the latch, and with her help, he slid his hands off.

  But the braces were so heavy that his hands just hit the ground beneath him.

  “Any chance you could lift my hands and put them on top of the pod? They weigh a tonne! I haven’t used my arms for anything for as long as I can remember. No,” he said, shaking his head, “that’s not exactly true. I’ve been told to believe I can’t remember, and part of me can’t. But part of me can.” Now he understood why their food needed such long straws. “I’m sure I saw one of our Helpers open someone’s hand once. See if you can figure it out.”

  After a moment, her finger touched a spot on the inside of his wrist, and his hand unfroze.

  “I can move my hand again!” he exclaimed, although it was still far too heavy to lift. “I probably used to be able to lift this much weight, but I haven’t for such a long time. Chimma, tell me,” he urged, closing his fingers around hers, “when is it? I was taken two nights before the Zam. When is it now?”

  “It’s the end of August, Denz. The twenty-ninth of August.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “I’ve lost over two months of my life in this stupid thing!” Denzin cried. “They keep us as slaves, cleaning the sewers and the alleys and the streets. They brainwash us – something in the air, I think. When they take the mask off to feed us, I can think a bit more clearly and fight it. But as soon as it’s on again, I’m back in their world, believing everything I’m told. They tell us things, and we want to obey them with everything inside us. We believe what they tell us, and think we’re honoured to do the work we do out of gratitude. We’re supposed to be incredibly grateful for our pods, for the braces that hold our hands, for our masks that help us breathe. For the honour of serving our Pendraken and Our City. We are so grateful for those who help us serve our Pendraken and our City. I am so incredibly grateful for this pod that gives me life, for without it I would die. I am so grateful for the braces that…”

  “Denzin! Stop it!”

  He shook his head again, and his thoughts became his own once more.

  “Thanks,” he murmured, taking another breath of the night air. “See what I mean? We hear this again and again through earpieces in our masks, the whole the time we’re awake. We sleep all day – drugged, I think – and then work all night, sundown to sunup, with maybe an hour at most either end to eat and move about on our own. But we’re taught that we don’t want to talk …,” Denzin had to fight to continue, giving his head another shake, “and just remembering that, everything in me just wanted to clamp my mouth shut, the message is drilled into us so strongly. Except when we’re eating – drinking, really – the mask is on, and we’re breathing whatever it is that makes us crazy.”

  He needed to breathe, but he didn't dare stop talking in case he couldn't remember how to speak again. “There is this stupid little rim, only a finger high, that stops us from going anywhere we’re not supposed to go. You know that little ridge at the Boundary? All it takes is something that tiny to block my way. And I sleep in this thing – I just roll up to my Bed, but it’s not a bed. It’s like a desk, just low enough that I can rest my head on it. It has a cushion. We each have our own, with our names on. There, I’m not Denzin, I’m Dee Ee En Zero Zero Three. It’s the only name I can ever remember being called when I’m breathing that stuff! Can you believe they can make me forget my own yassing name?!”

  As he was talking, Chimma took his hand in hers, exploring the brace that held it. She touched the spot along the wrist again, and his fingers closed into the small circle the size of the handle and the cup. When she touched it a second time, he could open his hand again.

  “I can’t figure out how to take it off,” she admitted. She held it up higher, to let the moonlight shine on it. “It’s really not that heavy. Maybe your muscles are just weak from not using them. You’ve been clamped to these handles the whole time?”

  “Except when they unlatch one hand and rest it on the pod for a few minutes. Always my right hand. A Helper puts a cup in it, takes my mask off, and puts the straw in my mouth. But as soon as I’m finished, my mask is back on and my hand is put back on that yassing handle. Can you see how to get me out of this pod? We can work on the braces later.”

  Chimma spent a long time running her fingers over the pod, talking and listening as she did, but she could find no switch or lever or anything to open it. There was a little spot at the back that she thought looked like the thumb pad at the Checkpoint, but it didn’t seem to do anything. The moon flitted in and out of the clouds, giving sporadic light, but even that revealed nothing else.

  A jolt of electricity raced through him

  “Oh, no!” Denzin whimpered. “I need to go. We get a shock about half hour before we need to be Home. Otherwise, the battery and the oxygen run out. It gets stronger and comes quicker the closer to our Curfew – sunup. If I don’t get back, I’ll be stuck here. And I don’t know if it will open up if the battery doesn’t work. Can you meet me here in this alley tomorrow?”

  “Where do they keep you? Where do you go?”

  “Strange, that. I couldn’t tell you. I have no words to describe it except Home. Somehow, I just always know where to go. When I try to picture the way in my head, it’s like looking at a blank piece of paper. Will you be here tomorrow? Please?” Denzin was begging! He was begging his friend!

  “Of course. I’ll be here.”

  “You have to put my hand back on the handle and lift the latch. That’s right. And I hate it, but I need the mask back on. Shove it into my mouth, but make sure it’s over my nose as well, and…” his mouth clamped shut and his voice was trapped again. He tried to relax and wait for the air to return, with as little success as ever until his lungs were once more filled with whatever it was that both kept him alive and kept him compliant.

  “Oh, Denzin, I’m so sorry!” Chimma cried, stroking the tears from his cheek again. “I’ll be here tomorrow, and every night. I’ll watch for you. I’ll try to figure out how to help you! I promise!”

  Another electric shock, a bit stronger than the last, raced through him. He turned and began to drive slowly down the road … at just the right speed. He didn’t know where he was or where he was going. He just knew he was headed Home.

  His emotion drew deep drafts of air into his lungs. It was such an honour to serve the Pendrakon and the City that so wonderfully cared for him by providing his pod, his braces and the mask that kept him alive. He was heading Home, where he was safe, to the Helpers he loved and respected.

  ~~~

  The following night, DEN003 wasn’t allowed to serve his Pendrakon, nor his City. His Helpers were concerned for his safety, he was told. Something had gone wrong with his oxygen – he hadn’t used as much as he should have. It was too dangerous, and they didn’t dare let him out until they had checked everything v bcarefully. He was so grateful that they cared so much about him to keep him safe.

  Therefore, after DEN003 had been fed, a Helper took his right hand and touched that special place that only he knew – DEN003 had no clue where it was, nor did he want to know – and closed his fingers around an upright pole in the middle of the Arena. All he could do was watch, tears streaming down his face, as the rest of the Greyman went out to serve their Pendrakon and their City.

  DEN003 was so proud of them, and so sad that he wasn’t able to serve with them. He tried to follow, loyal to the Pendrakon with everything inside of him, but with his hand locked around that pole, he had no choice but to wait there for their return. When the last Greyman had gone, the rim rose up again. The Helpers stepped over it – what a shame they didn’t have wonderful pods like he had – and they turned out the light.

  They left him there, his hand locked around the pole, in the darkness. Alone.

  But the voice in his earpiece reminded him of how grateful he was. He was at peace. All was well. DEN003 spent the night trying to drive in a straight line as he was commanded to, his arm locked to the pole forcing him in a circle, all the while thinking lovely thoughts about his Helpers and his life now.

  Until he had heard the Voice again, arousing him from his stupor.

  ‘I am with you. Never forget that I am with you. Keep fighting it. You are strong. I am with you.”

  The bright light startled him, hurting his eyes. His hand was released and placed back on his handle, sending that wonderful sensation through his body again. Then, like all the good Greymen, DEN003 drove himself back to his Bed. The rim went up. He was fed, and he fell asleep, falling face forward onto the cushion before him.

  DEN003 was grateful for the pod that kept him alive. So very grateful.

  At least, until he could be freed.