Awakening: The ALPHA Generation

My eyes flutter open to the soft sound of footsteps outside my room. A thin trail of light slips through the crack under my door. I rub my eyes and glance at the clock. Four a.m. I crawl out of bed and retrieve a sweatshirt from one of the piles of clothes scattered across my floor.

I creak open my door and peek my head out, squinting against the light. Darren darts from one side of the room to the other, throwing food and supplies into an army pack. His hair and clothes are disheveled, making him look like a young schoolboy who got up too late.

I clear my throat, and he looks up.

“Nat,” he rasps. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. What are you doing?”

He glances at his watch. Only now do I notice that he’s dressed in his Redeemer uniform.

“Darren, is something wrong?”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “There’s a small riot in Recoll. They need more men, and I guess they figured this would be a perfect chance to break in the new recruits.” He turns in a full circle, surveying the room. “Where did I put my Clikbook…?”

I take the device from its usual resting spot and toss it to him. “You’re obviously in no shape to be fighting.”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, waving away my worry. “I’m sorry to leave so suddenly, though.”

“Nah, it's alright.” I give him a loose smile. “When will you be back?”

“Probably sometime tonight. You can survive without me for that long, right?”

I scoff. “Of course.”

He checks his watch, and sighs. “I’ve got to go. Don’t burn the apartment down."

"No promises."

He gives me a smile and closes the door, leaving me in silence. The quiet is maddening, and I instantly feel the emptiness. The silence is too much of a reminder of the hours I spent in here years back, not daring to leave Dad alone with himself.

To distract myself, I plunk onto the sofa and stream the latest Cliks. Thousands of new posts have been added since last night, including a good amount of reports and opinions on the assassination attempt. I sigh. We should have posted the same day it happened; the story is so diluted now, it’s hardly worth the effort.

Still, we haven’t Cliked in a few weeks, and this is the best chance. Maybe our ‘face to face with the killer’ ploy will make us stand out.

There’s plenty of time before I need to get ready, so I decide to get a head start on the post. The words come in a rush, telling the story of the man in the coat, the secret assassin. My post is definitely an exaggeration, but years of Cliking have taught me that the public wants fear and excitement.

I finish the post with a single line; ‘As we’ve said so many times, I say again; may the Redeemers reign forever.’

Perfect.

I toss my Clikbook aside and go get dressed. The required uniform for training sessions is plain; the solid white pants, shirt and jacket have always made me look more like a snowman than a recruit. When I’m done, I glance at myself in the mirror and nod in satisfaction. The Redeemer insignia stands out on the right shoulder of my jacket, a clear reminder of what’s to come.

When I step outside, I’m greeted by the crisp morning air. The town is slowly waking up; lights twinkle in windows, illuminating silhouettes shuffling through their homes, and a few cars crawl down the street.

Several people accompany me on the sidewalk, probably heading to work. I subconsciously look them over, finding Flaws and perfections in their stances, faces, and what little information I can scrape together about their personalities. A year of training has already taken its toll in me; I find myself examining people around me, separating them into categories.

The fresh sunshine warms my face as I cross the street, making my way towards my destination; the Redeemer Centre. The building is basically a tiny version of a Hub, with the same frame and design. No Cleansings take place behind those walls, though. Just business and training. After a year of building my skills, I know the place inside and out.

The Centre is massively different from the sleepy town it resides in. The hum of activity hits me the instant I walk through the front doors. The sound of heels clicking against the tiled floors scatters across the lobby, and the entire building glimmers under the morning sun that shines through the glass roof.

My footsteps seem too clumsy and wide in comparison to the Redeemers who practically glide across the tiled floor, moving from room to room. My eyes follow them through the glass doors that line the walls. Some hold stone-faced Redeemers conducting serious meetings. Others are brim with technology, beeping and clicking. Computers and network systems cram together, sometimes even reaching the ceiling.

There are only a few minutes left until I’ll be officially considered late. I quicken my pace.

There’s already a good amount of people lined up in the main area of the training wing when I get there. The main training director, Samson Hall – a stern, hard faced man with gray eyes and even grayer hair – strides up to me.

“Natalie Spearse?”

I nod.

He glances at his watch and purses his lips. “You just made it.” He motions for me to take my place among the other trainees. “Welcome to Marking Day.”

The Redeemer sitting behind the machine smiles at me as I take a seat across from her. Her eyes are a dark stormy gray, and I find a strange calmness in them. It eases my nerves a little bit. Her white uniform has a cross etched on the right shoulder, the sign that I so often saw on my mother’s jacket when she returned from a day at work. Medical Squadron.

We’re separated by a computer-sized machine with a hollow center. Two thin straps sit on the smooth surface inside the machine.

The room’s white walls and floor shine against the lights above. Stations identical to mine stand every few feet, all with a Redeemer and a student seated across from each other.

The woman glances down at the pile of papers on her side of the desk. “Natalie Spearse?”

"Yes ma'am."

"Welcome. It’s time to receive your mark.”

I won’t walk out on this. I won’t chicken out. The thoughts repeat in my mind, taking form as they strengthen. This is what I want to do with my life.

“I’m going to ask you to show me your right wrist.”

My palms are clammy. Hoping she doesn’t notice, I bite my lip and let her take my wrist. Her hands are gentle as she wipes my skin with an anti-bacterial wipe.

“There’s no need to be nervous.” Her smile is warm. “It only takes a moment.”

So she did notice my sweaty palms. My cheeks flush. “Um…thank you.”

I look around at the other stations, where several other initiates are receiving their marks. Some of them are calm and reserved, while the others don’t try to hide their discomfort. The shrill whine of the machines at work sends a shiver down my spine.

“Will it hurt much?” I ask.

“Only a little bit,” she answers as she begins prepping the machine. “The needle is so thin that you barely feel a thing.”

A sliver of my anxiety falls, but quickly comes rushing back when I see her inserting a newly sterilized needle into its proper place. I focus on breathing and calming my heart. I'm going to do this. For the Redeemers.

“All prepped,” the woman says, snapping me out of thought. When I see her expectant eyes and realize it’s time, my heartbeat instantly resumes its unbearable pulsing. “Please place your hand in the slot, palm up.”

My heart slams against my ribs as I follow her instructions. She tightly secures the straps around my arm and wrist. I take in a breath and remind myself to stay calm.

My only chance to back out is slowly ticking away. I try to chase away the doubt in my mind by picturing next year’s Renewal Ceremony; the view from the initiation stage. The pride on Darren’s face as I walk up to shake the governor’s hand, the pleasure of finally speaking the oath and sealing my fate as a Redeemer. This is what I want.

Isn’t it?

“Does…” My voice squeaks. I clear my throat to hide the falter. “Does the machine do it, or do you guide it?”

“The machine. I’m here to keep you calm and ensure it does its job.”

I stare at the bulky piece of tech and mumble, “Okay.”

"If you're ready, it's time to start."

"Okay," I say again, unable to think of anything else.

I wince as the machine hisses, extending the needle towards my bare wrist. The urge to free myself tugs at my mind, to pull my wrist away and keep it safe.

I don’t want this. I don’t want-

Calm down.

I take in a deep, relaxing breath, and let the tension leave my body. This is all I’ve ever wanted. It’s a dream come true.

As my wits return, I realize that the hissing is hardly noticeable, and that the sharp sting of the needle isn’t half as bad as I imagined. I watch as it slowly creeps up and down my skin, injecting black ink that will soon take shape. It's almost hypnotizing.

“So, Natalie, do you have any family?”

I glance up at the woman and nod. “A brother. He was initiated yesterday.”

“Congratulations! Your parents must be proud.”

I automatically feel my voice harden. “I’m sure they would be.”

“Oh.” Her voice grows soft as she realizes what I mean, and she suddenly finds great interest in shuffling her papers around her desk. “I’m…very sorry for your loss.”

I shrug, and the machine’s straps tug at my wrist.

“Please remain still,” the woman tells me.

“Sorry.” I focus on keeping my fingers from wiggling as the marking takes shape. “I didn’t lose them. They left on purpose.”

“I’m very sorry.”

There’s a long moment of silence, until she checks the machine.

"Just a few more minutes, Miss Spearse.”

The Redeemer’s imprint is already taking shape, black lines cutting across my skin. I try to keep my breaths steady and ignore the sharp poking and scratching of the needle.

“There we are,” the woman says as the machine stops humming. The needle slips back into its place, and she undoes the restraints. “Just let me clean it.”

When she’s done, I pull my wrist away and examine my new marking. Thick, even black lines flash against reddened skin, crossing over each other to form the Redeemer coat of arms. I tenderly run my finger over the ink, half expecting to feel some sort of texture. But it’s the same as before; smooth and soft. A smile creeps up my face.

“Satisfied?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s…” I try to think of the right word to describe the swirl of emotions. “It’s an honor.”

“I’m glad. Welcome to your second year of training, Miss Spearse. Now, if you just enter there –“ She motions to a doorway across the room. “- you’ll have the chance to choose your Squadron.”

“Thank you,” I say, getting up. I go to the adjacent room to choose my Squadron.

The deed has been done. There’s no going back now.

The Redeemers own me now.