One In The Box
by Lenexa Davidson
1
I was sleeping when they took me. I thought somebody else was watching the tunnel entrance, but apparently not. I heard no shots. I heard no movement. Just a quick shove, causing me to reflexively pull up my rifle. And then I was here. In this box. I have a slit that lets light in when it is day. There are two cans in the box with me. One has water in it--the other is for my own piss and shit. I haven't had to piss or shit since I've been in here. Maybe they'll let me out tomorrow, and I can go home. I didn't have to be a soldier. I was just doing what I needed to do to get my name on the list of good citizens when I die.
minus 423
"Thank you for coming in today, Sterry Jack Shannon Willis. So nice for kids to come in without being dragged from their houses by armed guards."
"Does that happen a lot?" I asked. I thought everyone went for Mandatory Service willingly. The Mandatory Service Act of 2021 was very clear. Every citizen must submit to Mandatory Service a month after their 15th birthday. I didn't know anyone could refuse.
"Of course not, just a joke."
I didn't know if I should laugh. I was standing naked in front of five women and two men. They weren't naked. I didn't feel like laughing.
"Your aptitude test says you are relatively intelligent--should we call you Sterry?"
"Yeah. Sterry."
"Popular name these days."
"My mom really liked the Revergondells, I guess." The Revergondells. Crappiest noise I've ever heard, but mom had a hard on for the lead singer, Sterry Jamisson Boyle. Before my time.
"Great band. Great band."
I knew more than one of those people sitting behind the table and looking at my naked body was talking to me, but I couldn't look in their eyes. I was naked. I hadn't been naked in front of anyone else since school. It wasn't fun to be naked in school, but we had to do it then, too.
"Sure." I didn't want to piss these people off. They could hack my life up good if I pissed them off.
"So, have you thought about your choices?"
They told us all about our choices during our last year of school. School ended a few months ago, but I still remembered. Soldier for two years or factory worker for eight. Soldiers had a 50% chance of survival. Factory workers had a 75% chance of not getting fatal cancer--but eight years? For me, it was an easy choice.
"Soldier. I wanna fight."
"She's five-five, 105 pounds. Tunnel division is my recommendation."
"Can you lose five pounds?"
"Yes," I said. Most of the time I was around 95 anyway. I'd fattened up since about a month before my birthday. After I was done with school, I was on an endless bender. I'd only been sober five days before coming in for Mandatory Service.
"Have you ever had sex?"
"Since school?"
"Ever."
"Just in Sex Ed." I didn't understand the question. Everyone had sex in Sex Ed. That was the class. That was what they told us to do.
"I'm sorry. Sex outside of class?"
"No sir. I masterbate three times a day when I can."
"Good girl." It wasn't illegal to have sex, but the government recommended against it. Strongly. Emotional ties before submitting to Mandatory Service was not allowed. Neither was having a child. I wanted to be a good citizen. I wanted to have a good life and have my name written on the list of good citizens when I died.
"Her hips should be fine. Tunnel division recommendation accepted." The others voiced their acceptance of the recommendation. And suddenly I was a soldier.
7
"Benicio ghamma rhone." The guy always said that when he took my old cans and replaced them each day. I was given geletin expanders and mineral suppliments. I hadn't eaten real food since I started my official duty in the tunnel--it'd been a few months. I couldn't remember what food felt like in my mouth. Sometimes I put my fingers in my mouth and sucked on them after I ate my pills. Just to get the saliva working. I hadn't masterbated since I'd been put in the box. They cut my right arm off, and I've never used my left hand. I didn't feel like a human anymore--or what I thought a human felt like before I was a soldier. I tried to remember being younger, but all I could remember was the dark and wetness of the tunnels I was trained and then stationed in--and the dark and dryness of the box. That was all. Dark and wet. Dark and dry.
minus 213
I was a pretty good in the Tunnel division. My excess weight and hair fell away as I learned how to negotiate the tunnels. Sliding through the small passages, originally made for dogs and other animals before all of the animals turned against us. I'd never seen any animal larger than a rat in my life.
As a Tunnel Division Specialist, I was supposed to deliver messages and protect the integrety of the tunnels. Being a TDS was much safer than being on the Front Line or in the dreaded Infiltration Division. ID had a failure rate of 95%. TDS success rates were standing pat near 70%. The Front Line had success rates of nearly 35%. General Division, the largest division of Mandatory Service Recruits, was right at the 50% survival rate quoted to families and loved ones. All other divisions were considered Top Secret. No regular citizen knew there were MSR's in any division other than General.
My rifle was implanted in my right arm. As a TDS, I had to be able to negotiate very small areas and a seperate rifle would take up too much room. My arm was also implanted with a resevoir of CDS--Confusion/Delusion Serum. Once activated by a short series of finger taps, my rifle fired shots of CDS wherever my right hand was pointing. Firing more than five shots would begin to deplete my body strength. TDS's were not supposed to be exposed to extended combat of any kind. I knew I would make it through my tour without getting caught. I was a good TDS. My name would be added to the list of good citizens when I died.
minus 93
I ran into the enemy today. They are ugly crappers. I fired twelve shots and couldn't move for three hours. But I killed them--well, they dropped their weapons and began tearing their skin away until they killed themselves. I had to lie in pools of blood while my body regained strength.
"Fifteen shots and you'd have been dead, Sterry." My commander was not happy I almost died. She likes me, I think.
"I didn't need fifteen, I only needed twelve."
"You only needed seven according to the information we received from your recording unit. Recouperation time kills. Remember that."
"I'll remember." I got three days of solitary time. No tunnels for three days. I'm looking forward to being with myself for a while.
177
They gave me a new right arm today. It doesn't have a rifle, but it's a pretty good arm and hand. A little bit bigger than my left side, but not that much. I was out of the box for five hours while they attatched it. I was blindfolded most of the time, but I could feel the light all around me. I know they'll let me out soon. Prisoners of War are valuable commodities. I am valuable. I will be home soon. I can't wait to try out my new arm when I get home.
453
It seems like I've been home for a year. I love this place. I've gotten used to the dark and dryness. I never thought I'd live in a dark and dry place, but then again, I never thought I'd be such a good TDS either. I've got medals and commendations for my work as a TDS. I'll be honored when I die. I'll be added to the list of good citizens.
"Benicio Ghamma Rhone?"
"Yes?"
"Are you ready to return?"
"Yes. I'm a good TDS."
They put my rifle back on today. They said I can fire up to twenty shots before total depletion now. Technology has progressed quite a bit since I've been home.
"You are a very good TDS. Your new assignment will come tomorrow."
"I'm looking forward to being a TDS again."
454
Being back in the tunnels was almost like being at home. My eyes have adapted to the dark, and I can see much better than I used to. When I was a TDS before. I'm a much better TDS than I was before. My right arm is stronger, my rifle is stronger, my eyes are stronger. I will be on the list of good citizens when I die.
I make it back to my old post before the enemy shows up. They don't seem to recognize I am not one of them. It must be the new arm.
"Sterry? Is that really you?" A woman, leading three other naked and greased women, speaks in my direction. I am confused. My rifle clicks on automatically in the presence of the enemy.
"Sterry?"
I show this woman my new arm. My new rifle. It begins to shoot. I realize after five shots I can't stop it. The woman begins to tear herself apart before she can fire back, but her cohorts have begun firing at me. I point my rifle in their direction. Fifteen shots are gone, and I've got one more of the enemy to kill. My left arm and hand are out of control. It is tearing at my right arm--right where it has been attached to my shoulder. I begin to bite at my left hand. My right arm comes off, my left fingers fall one by one. I am confused. I can't get at my chest. I can't get a grip. I must tear my chest open, but I have no fingers to tear anymore. Only a bloody stump where my left hand used to be is beating against my chest, trying to gain entry. I must tear my chest open or I'll never get on the list of good citizens when I die.
I must get my chest open.
I must be added to the list of good citizens when I die.
I must stop my heart before it is too late.
I must be added to the list of good citizens when I die.
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