Failed State (F.E.A.R. Academy #1)
Every Day is Monday
EVERY DAY IS MONDAY
SYDNEY
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter as I slog through the streets of Tempest Seven. “Just because they locked us up like animals doesn’t mean we have to live like them.”
Pausing in my walk to the education center, I look around myself in abject disgust. The inhabitants of this end of Tempest Seven aren’t the bottom of the proverbial barrel, but outside of the ‘lockdown losers’, people stuck here never seem to get out of the cycle of poverty and despair. I don’t think it means we have to throw garbage everywhere and give the drones nice shots to prove to the humans that we’re as unworthy as the leaders of this stupid country say we are.
What would it hurt to tidy up, even if we don’t have much?
Honestly, I believe it’s only a third rooted in laziness. I think the other parts are exhaustion and hopelessness. Since the First Infected Being Sweep of 2020, supernaturals all over this country were tracked, catalogued, reassigned, and declared property of the government. By the time they ran the second through fourth sweeps, the population of some supernatural species dropped by fifty percent. The rules on how to track us down and receive your bounty were infuriatingly vague, which gave the most violent psychopaths in the world a free license to kill, maim, rape, and disappear anyone caught on the ‘Non-Human Watchlist’.
I was a baby when my mother left, but my father taught me everything I needed to know about being a shifter. Unfortunately, he was one of the people who ended up on that list and was killed in the Second Infected Being Sweep of 2020. That sweep was brutal, and since I was a ‘half-breed’ orphan, I was placed in the orphanage in Tempest Seven. From the moment every child and teen arrived, they were forced to attend the Federal Enrichment Assimilation the temptation to gain things your family or group needs is too high. A random person would dime me out for a week’s supply of crackers and I can’t blame them. Food and drink are rationed, our clothes are drab and provided, and the world is dimmer since the Sweeps. They force us to stay small so they’re in control, and we have to live with it because of the fucking Markers.
My hand flies to the back of my neck, grunting in irritation as I scratch at the tattoo that covers the skin where the implant is located. These were the second step on the path to the current tyranny of our ‘benevolent’ government. That spray tanned fuck won the election because the humans here were that goddamn stupid, and then the virus hit. COVID brought America to its knees and like all good con artists, President Taterman used the distraction to funnel money into secret programs under DARPA.
Men who stare at goats my skinny ass.
They released a widely contested study that blamed the virus on the ‘infected’. Unfortunately, they defined that as beings living in our country that had paranormal capabilities. The rest of the world laughed at the senile old fuck until the media hype was so huge that the various species around the world convened a leadership meeting. With so many cameras and videos everywhere, it was only a matter of time until a random human caught one of us doing something and bam! A viral TikTok would expose all of us whether we were ready or not. The vote was close, but the supernatural community decided to come out of hiding to protest their innocence.
‘The Unveiling’ was the most watched TV event in decades, and the consensus was our leaders had done the right thing. At least, until the next study was released. This one made Taterman damn near salivate as he screamed into the TV cameras about the ‘unclean’ liars and thieves who have been hiding in plain sight, taking our jobs, and stealing the lives humans should have. It quickly devolved into a mass panic and our kind were left scrambling.
We’d told them who and where we were, like a bunch of fools.
Thus, the evil assholes at the top started their mission to protect the humans from us and reclaim their country. Supernaturals in other nations were fine, but the atmosphere here became dangerous within the blink of an eye. Taterman stacked his own deck in the courts and the legislature by fear-mongering, especially since the world was still reeling from a pandemic. Eventually, he was able to get the support he needed for the first Sweep.
Secret Supernatural Enforcement Agents used databases, social media, DNA websites, immigration records, and everything they could to gather the biggest dragnet of personal information ever assembled. Civil rights advocates and other world leaders were vocally opposed to such violations, but nothing could stop the juggernaut of hatred. Once they identified every supe in the nation—to the best of their ability—that’s when they stripped our citizenship, robbed us blind, and re-assigned every single one to the sectors they’d been building in secret.
Let’s be honest—they’re supe prison camps.
But the humans felt safe once more because while we were all being shuffled all over like cattle, the rest of the scientific community worldwide started to get COVID under control. Taterman crowed about the United States’ involvement, taking credit for slowing the spread by locking up the infected beings. No one but his nutty followers believed him, but at that point, it didn’t matter.
So when they came to implant the Markers, no one spoke up.
We all have them, and depending on what you are and how powerful you are, they are different. But resting above the spot where they cut us open to shove in the controller, there’s a matching tattoo of the logo that is now on the flag of the Federated Human States of America… but that came much, much later.
Democracy dies in the dark, the old slogan said… and here lies her rotted corpse.
“Hey, Syd. It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, huh?”
My brooding gets interrupted by the arrival of Thad, my friend since we got placed here four years ago. He’s a bear shifter and the size of a small SUV, but it doesn’t bother me. I survived the sector version of high school partially because we stuck together. My brains and his bulk were a good match and it kept us from getting cornered by the gangs and cliques.
Okay, fine, it kept me from getting cornered. Obviously, Thad held his own without me.
“That sentiment hasn’t been applicable for half a decade, man.” I toss my braid over my shoulder and wait for him to catch up. It’s our second week at the F.E.A.R. Academy’s college level program and being late is more than frowned upon. I have to give us extra time every morning because Thad lumbers out of bed like his animal—slow and grumpy. “We gotta get moving.”
The dark haired shifter looks at me, scratching the piratical scruff he’s usually sporting. “You’re ridiculously concerned about rules for someone with such a rebel spirit.”
“Rebels die, Thad. I’m very aware of that.” Turning on my heel, I head toward the huge building at the end of the main drag with a heavy heart. Losing Dad was hard and I’ll never forgive him for assuming humans are anything but ignorant beasts that barely rise above their simian relatives.
We continue walking in silence until we reach the steps. The line is stretched down them as the guards run the wand over each student to check for weapons. After that, we put our bags on the conveyor belt for the magical detection while the security mages in government issued loyalty collars scan us for anything the wands wouldn’t catch. It’s not quick, but it keeps fights in the schools non-lethal most of the time.
That’s the official reason, but the real purpose is to allow the staff to abuse students if they step out of line. The Markers not only brand and track us, but they siphon energy and power in small bits to keep us all weak enough to be controlled. Weapons would even the score and the humans who run these stupid ass brainwashing cults would be at risk.
“Look who’s last at the trough again.” The wry voice of the only demon in Tempest Seven gets my attention. Huck Monroe saunters up, tilting his worn black cowboy hat back as he smirks at me. “Y’all are just cruisin’ for a bruisin’. I swear, you don’t have the sense that the Devil gave a goose.”
My eyes narrow at him briefly, then I turn forward and shuffle along as the line moves. “You don’t have to hang out with us, Huck. In fact, it’d be great if you fucked off and stayed there.”
Thad laughs, bumping his shoulder against the annoying fear demon’s and I sigh. Huck was sent here during the First Sweep, like us, and he’s been a Southern bramble in my side ever since. It’s my bad luck that Thad enjoys his folksy charm and it means he sticks to us like glue during school hours.
“Sometimes you’re meaner than a wet panther shifter, Sydney Jolie. I should take you at your word and mosey off, but I like your boy.”
Huck’s pitch black eyes are hidden by his Ray-Bans, but I know they’re sparkling with amusement. He finds my dislike funny, and I don’t get why. But then, I don’t get a fucking thing about men, especially supes, nor do I want to. Life in our sector is hard enough without having to consider birth control or babies or even finding privacy. I’ll save that for the day when I get the fuck out of here.
“I heard they’re bringing in a new group of students today.” Thad changes the subject quickly, knowing I’ll continue to needle Huck and vice versa until one of us loses their temper. “The rumors say the shipment has vamps, losers, and traitors. I’m worried this sector is turning into a dumping ground for psychos.”
It wouldn’t surprise me if the humans started segregating the camps by species, value, or even criminality. Even after they corralled us into the sectors, the leaders have continued to exert their influence and power over us. The Markers were first, then the lockdowns for the ones they deemed dangerous, and now they’re shuffling people weekly at random . I’ve often wondered if all of this is covering up something like what went on in the 1940s among the humans, but I haven’t seen any proof.
Our media is monitored and curated, so unless you know someone with a highly illegal device, you have no idea what’s happening outside of the FHSA.
“Next! Keep it moving, you little shits,” the yell from the front of the line brings me back to reality again.
“Wicker is the fucking worst,” Thad mumbles as we ascend the steps to stand behind the person being inspected. “Watch his hands, Syd.”
“I’m aware.” Despite thinking we’re the scum of the earth, some of the human staff and enforcement in the sectors are fucking creeps. Some supes are willing to trade sex for perks, but that doesn’t stop the predators from being creeps to those who don’t. “I’ll let you go first so Bishop gets me.”
“Got it,” he says as he muscles in front of me. “Huck, stay behind her.”
“Why, I’d be delighted, Thaddeus.”
I guess he’s useful sometimes, but he’d better not let it go to his head.