Chapter 1:
Jane
I sit up straight, the pale light filtering through my government-issued gray blinds. I blink away the remnants of sleep and spring out of bed, acutely aware that I am allowed only a minute of idle time. I swiftly don my practical cotton uniform, fastening my sturdy boots, and exit my sleeping quarters toward the cibus praetorium. Joining the orderly procession of Janes from my sector, we march toward the morning meal. The sound of unflavored, soggy oats being slopped into bowls and the clatter of spoons fills the air, making my stomach growl with a mixture of anticipation and resignation. The routine is as comforting as it is stifling, a constant reminder of the uniformity that governs every aspect of our lives.
As we sit at identical metal tables, I glance around at the sea of identically plain faces, each Jane performing the same mechanical motions. The air is thick with the silence of compliance, broken only by the occasional commands from the loudspeakers. Conversations are limited to sanctioned topics, such as the weather and schedules, ensuring that no personal opinions or preferences disrupt the meticulously kept order. The monotonous rhythm of the cibus praetorium is disrupted only by the dull clatter of metal utensils against bowls. The air is thick with the silence of compliance, each Jane and John mechanically consuming their unflavored, soggy oats. The only sounds are those of enforced routine, until a single voice, hesitant at first, begins to rise above the din. "This is unbearable," whispers Jane700432, her voice barely louder than a murmur. "How can they expect us to eat this every day?" Her words hang in the air, shocking in their audacity. For a moment, it seems as if time itself has paused. Heads remain bowed, but eyes flicker towards the source of the disruption, their expressions a mix of fear and fascination.
The silence is shattered by the sharp clack of boots on concrete as an enforcer from the Obstetrics strides towards Jane700432. His face is a mask of impassive authority, his presence a reminder of the ever-watchful eyes that govern their lives. "Jane700432, stand," he commands, his voice cold and unyielding. Jane700432 rises slowly, her hands trembling. The room feels smaller, the air thicker with tension. The other Janes and Johns keep their eyes fixed on their bowls, terrified that even a glance might implicate them in her act of rebellion. "Repeat what you said," the enforcer demands. Her voice falters, but she manages to say, "The food... it's unbearable." Without hesitation, the enforcer's hand moves swiftly, delivering a brutal backhand across her face. Jane700432 staggers, a gasp escaping her lips as she struggles to stay on her feet. "Deviation will not be tolerated," he declares, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Your insolence disrupts the harmony of Omnibus Diem. You will be taken for reconditioning." The words send a chill through the room, the implications clear to everyone present. Reconditioning is a fate worse than death, a process designed to strip away even the slightest hint of individuality or dissent, most people never return from this experience. Two more enforcers appear, their grip unyielding as they drag Jane700432 away. Her protests are muffled, her fate sealed by her momentary lapse in judgment.
As silence settles once more over the cibus praetorium, the remaining Janes and Johns resume their meals with renewed vigor, each bite a reminder of the consequences of deviation. The lesson is clear: in Omnibus Diem, individuality is a death sentence, and compliance is the only path to survival.
After the meal, we merge seamlessly with the Johns for our morning physical training, everyone acting as though a woman hadn’t just been dragged away before our eyes for simply disliking the food. As we run our laps, a particular John stands out to me. He's taller than the others, and there's an indescribable quality that draws my gaze. Our eyes meet, and an unexpected warmth spreads across my cheeks. The sensation disrupts my focus, causing me to stumble slightly out of formation. The instructor's head snaps in my direction, and I quicken my pace to regain my place in line, my cheeks still flushed with the unfamiliar feeling. Throughout the rest of our physical training, I can't shake the thought of that John or the unfamiliar desire to speak with him. I struggle to suppress these feelings, fully aware that such deviations are deadly in Omnibus Diem. Once physical training concludes, I march alongside the other Janes and Johns to our designated workstations, where we are put to work, manufacturing odd looking objects, their use no one knows.
Despite my efforts to focus on the tasks at hand, I find myself scanning the room for the John who caught my eye earlier. When our eyes meet again, he winks. A rush of warmth floods my cheeks, the unfamiliar sensation returning with a vengeance. What is he doing? What was that? And why does it make me feel this way, like there’s a flock of birds flying around in my stomach? Sick—that must be the right word for this feeling. I quickly look away, hoping that our supervisors don’t notice my lack of attention. Trying not to think about the one John I just can’t shake from my mind, I focus intently on my work, my hands moving swiftly and accurately over the gray fabrics.
After several hours of monotonous labor, the signal for our midday meal and second round of physical training echoes through the facility. We fall into line, our feet striking the concrete ground in a rhythmic, almost melodic, march that has been drilled into us since childhood. Moving with practiced subtlety, I maneuver until I'm walking alongside the unusually captivating John. With a trembling hand, I brush his fingers ever so slightly, hoping to catch his attention. He turns to look down at me, his eyes widening in surprise. The unexpected movement causes him to stumble, his feet tangling beneath him as he crashes to the ground. The crowd continues to march, their steps unwavering, each person meticulously avoiding him as if he were an obstacle in their path. My heart races, a surge of panic flooding through me. I want to help him up, to reach out and pull him to his feet before the enforcers notice. But it's too late. The sharp whistle of the enforcers cuts through the air, and they descend upon him with brutal efficiency. "John500123, you have disrupted the order," one of the enforcers barks, his voice cold and unyielding. They haul him to his feet, their grips unrelenting as they drag him away. His eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment, a mixture of fear and resignation in his gaze. I stand frozen, my mind racing with the implications of what just happened. The enforcers' presence is a stark reminder of the consequences of deviation. As they disappear from sight, the crowd resumes its march, the incident already fading into the background of our regimented lives.
The rest of the day, all I can think about is John500123, and what I did, it was my fault he had broken order. I can’t help but feel guilty, the pit in my stomach making it difficult to swallow down the bland protein slob that we call dinner.
Standing in front of the mirror, I meticulously brush my hair, ensuring each strand falls perfectly into place before trimming it to the regulated length. I brush my teeth with mechanical precision, the minty paste a rare taste in our otherwise flavorless existence. Finally, I slip into the standard-issue nightwear, take my nightly vitamins, and crawl into bed, the stiff sheets providing little comfort. As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my mind drifts. The monotonous hum of the city outside lulls me, yet a nagging question refuses to be silenced. Will I ever experience anything else in my life? This world of uniformity and control feels suffocating, the possibility of something more both terrifying and tantalizing. As I think about the Jane from this morning and John500123, I can’t help but feel something new inside. The whisper of rebellion within me is a dangerous spark, but for now, I must keep it buried deep, hidden beneath layers of compliance. I close my eyes, surrendering to sleep, my dreams the only place where my thoughts are truly free.
