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Tale of the American Chapter II

When I finally regained consciousness, I discovered (with a throbbing headache no less) that I was in a jail cell, no windows around and the opening covered by a thick sheet of glass. Confused and unsure of what could’ve possibly brought me here, I slowly got to my feet, realizing that my normal street clothes had been replaced with a blue jumpsuit, with letters “PC-113” written on the left chest. Heading toward the glass, I noticed quickly that I was not the only prisoner in this facility, other fellas slowly getting up to their feet. While I could tell that all of them were wearing similar jumpsuits, the window tint made it difficult to see their features accurately. Similarly perplexed as I was, our questions about this place were quickly answered as a voiced announced itself over the intercom.

“Greetings, soldiers of the revolution, and welcome to Post Corps Prison. You have all been brought here under the charge of fighting under the banner of the revolutionary terrorist groups. While the war is indeed over, our organization has felt that you individuals present a substantial threat toward the well being of society. Therefore, we have felt it necessary to coax you away and “rehabilitate,” you into become more productive members of society. Should we feel satisfied by your progress, you will be able to leave with benefits guaranteed,” However, should you prove unwilling to cooperate, PC prison will be forced to exert proportional punishment befitting the crime. Good luck!,”

It did not take a genius to understand what that announcement meant, the generic nonsense that most likely was taken from the TWO prison camps. So, because of my involvement with the revolutionaries was what got me here eh? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though part of me still was due to the events that landed me here. Sliding down the wall into a sitting position I pondered what kind of “rehabilitation methods,” they had in store for us. My eyes moving upward toward the small camera pointed at me.

I was finally able to get a taste of what they had in store for us revolutionaries, as two guards grabbed me and took me from my cell, a blindfold placed over my head. After traveling what seemed like minutes I taken into a small and bland cubicle, the only furniture being a chair with straps all over. The guards strapping me down, I was forced to watch a myriad of videos, a lot of them strange and oddly hypnotizing. It was mentally exhausting to watch, time seeming to slow down with each new clip, the black and white lines mockingly dancing in my mind. When what seemed to be hours, the faceless guards returned and released me, placing the blindfold on my head. Taken forcibly, I was moved to an office room, the lamp blinding me as they removed my blindfold. When my eyes adjusted, I discovered that I was facing a hooded man, with a set of files on the table.

“Mr. John Halen, age 25, served under the Boston Reds revolutionary group for three years. Rank: Sergeant, speciality: rifleman.”

Not sure how to reply, I simply answered “Yes,”

The hooded man looked up from the file, then closed it and looked at me.

“Mr. Halen, given your current background, it would be a shame for you to remain in this facility. If you are willing, we would be more than happy to provide a substantial income on the condition that you join our organization.”

I found that hard to believe, “So all I need to do is sign up and I’ll walk free? Seems a bit odd to be asking that given the situation,”

The hooded man chuckled, “Yes, it does seem that way. Of course you would need to prove your loyalty to our organization, but compared to that you would be given excellent treatment once you’ve signed on,”

“What would I need to do?”

“Basically, you would need to eliminate one of the other revolutionaries, preferably one of the more resistant individuals”

A feeling of anger and disgust, lurched from my gut. Bad enough to sign onto these creeps, but to basically assassinate one of my fellow fighters. I knew my answer would result in punishment, but I knew that that would be preferable to selling my self-respect.

“Thank you, but I would prefer not to,” I stated, making sure to keep a measure of calm in my tone. The hooded man sighed, put his folders together, and beckoned the guards to take me away.

“You will join us, Mr. Halen,” he said, as the guards put the blindfold over me, “It will take some time, but you surely will.

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Till next time!!