faceless Fear

He pulled his hood further over his face, knowing full well it was a meaningless action. The beady blue eyes peering out from under it were a giveaway, yes, but his slender form would be enough for them to tell that he was a “Self-Expressing Individual.” SEIs, they called them. It always made him laugh. Just a fancy way to say “rebel.”

Officially, any organized resistance to the conformist government did not exist—the Party of Union and Acceptance would never accept that their actions had in fact not created a more perfect union. Unofficially, the resistance was steadily growing day by day. When the suits had first been forced out, he had been one of the brave few to resist. But with each successful mission, each confirmed kill, more joined their fledgling ranks.

He kept to the shadows of the alley, waiting for what little remained of the city’s once-vibrant nightlife to quiet before making his way to the target. The risk of joining the suited populace wandering the streets, enjoying their ethic-less food and drinks, was far too great. The white suits added heft to the body much greater than ordinary clothes; the helmets made the sight of an uncovered head a sure sign of a rebel. Sure, he could’ve donned one of the suits to make the mission simpler, but he held the rebellion’s core belief close to him. In the early days, he had been one of the strongest voices in deciding that their message was best sent in two forms: action and appearance. Even if they wore the suits with the intent of carrying out their acts of espionage, they were still compromising the very thing they were fighting to protect—their faces, their voices, their entire sense of self.

His left hand rested on the weapon on his belt, tucked underneath his cloak. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it this time, but he didn’t trust hope. Not anymore. Not while he watched the nameless, faceless, iron-clad white robots pass by his hiding place in the alley. Had they any identity left? Or was it really all stripped from them?

A wisp of hair fell in front of his eyes as he adjusted his position. His other hand reached up and gently tucked it back under the safety of his hood. He almost pitied the suited masses—a sharp pain pierced his heart at the thought of never being able to look upon the face of his partner or future child—but he still couldn’t quite bring himself to feel anything other than hatred for the people hidden away under the suits. There had been a choice—and they knew it. Perhaps not an easy one, but a choice nonetheless.

The streets quieted down just past midnight. He shook his head ever so slightly and smiled at the memories of his youth flooding back to him. Midnight had so often been the beginning of his adventures, not the end. Times out with his boys, getting into whatever trouble they weren’t always sure they could get out of. The smile faded. Bastards, all of them. Suited, treacherous bastards.

He loosened his cloak ever so slightly to give the illusion of a larger form, although sure to keep his face covered as much as he could. Not that there was likely to be anyone out on the street with him. While no official curfew existed, most avoided the streets during the late hours of the night—that’s when the patrols came out. But the patrols never caused him much trouble. He knew the darkest corners of the city like a bat knew its cave. With a deep breath, he stepped out into the street and rain, hand still firmly on his weapon.

The dim street was almost as lifeless as the husks of humanity that had been on it. Shops advertised the most generic of products, restaurants offered the most tasteless of food. Every building was as white as the suited populace that passed by; the only semblance of color coming from blue streetlights. But even the lights did little to combat the oppressive darkness of the street, consumed by the shadows of skyscrapers and the night. He kept his eyes firmly on the road itself, not wanting to even look at the shells of what had once been. When he turned left down the next street, he knew his once-favorite tavern was on the corner. Only now, it sold ghosts of what it used to. Where was the joy in variety if everything was the same?

His glasses mapped his route, not that he really needed the help. This target was by far the easiest of them all to spot—it was hard to miss the capitol. Though breaking in would be considerably more challenging, so he was thankful that wasn’t his assignment. Yet. All he needed tonight was to hack the front gate’s security post and secure the schematics for the interior. The only plans the rebels had were from before the revolution, and while they could theoretically use them, it was safer to secure the new layout before attempting anything too serious.

He stopped on the edge of a boulevard opposite the capitol. His glasses zoomed in on the guard post down the street, revealing just two officers on duty: one inside and one pacing the block in front. A quick scan of the surrounding city showed it to be devoid of any traffic. Just two guards. He could handle two guards. He allowed himself a little smile. There had been a lot more up in City #36; two guards in a capitol security post shouldn’t be a problem.

Scanning the boulevard one final time, he stepped out of the alley and darted across the road, staying low and sticking to what little shadows he could. Just before the pacing guard turned to face his direction, he dropped to the ground, in position on the sidewalk. His cloak quickly shifted to match the sterile concrete’s color—it wasn’t foolproof tech, but it worked well enough in the dark.

Face pressed against the pavement, he counted the guard’s steps. Forty-two, forty-three, forty-four—

He sprung up, drew his weapon, and held it to the back of the guard’s helmet just as it turned around. “You’re going to tell your fellow robot you need to come inside,” he seethed, making his northern accent abundantly clear to the suited man “Then you’re going to let me in. And I’ll let you live.” He hadn’t yet decided if that last part was a lie.

“SEI filth,” the guard replied, its voice the same, even robotic tone as the rest.

“Shush now,” he whispered, urging the guard forward. “Move.”

The guard obeyed, demonstrating that it at least still had a little human instinct left. It walked up to the post, where the other sat inside.

He pressed the gun harder against its helmet. “Open.”

The officer inside glanced up at its approaching comrade. “Seven-four-six, what do you want?” it asked.

“SEI is—”

He pulled the trigger as quickly as his fingers would let him. The guard collapsed immediately, a hole steaming in the back of its helmet. As soon as he had a shot, he killed the guard inside as well. It hadn’t time to trigger the alarm, but he knew that would only buy him a few seconds. The guards not checking in would be taken just the same as an alarm being raised.

The door slid open with a blast to the keypad, and he quickly threw the other guard off its chair, sending it crumpling to the floor. The console was thankfully still unlocked—he had killed the officer in time. He used one hand to bring up the schematics and the other to pull the transmitter out of his pocket. They always transmitted data; a secure transmission was much safer than relying on a courier to make it back alive every time.

The file was pathetically easy to find; he plugged the transmitter into the console, and it got to work. All he had to do now was wait. Transfer and transmission would take sixty-eight seconds. Seventy-three if he allowed the self-destruct to kick in. The nearby patrols would be alerted by now. The closest would make it in thirty seconds. He drew his second pistol. Holding out was his only option.

The first patrol arrived after thirty-two seconds. They were behind schedule. Under that white shell, they were still just human. He smirked and blasted all four before they even had a chance to spot him. Their last robotic breaths were always unsettlingly satisfying to hear. Human or not, they were still a horrifying enemy.

More were on their way. From both sides of the street. He took down what he could, but the swarm was growing fierce. He ducked down into the security post and cooled his weapons, readying for another round of shooting. The transmitter beeped—schematics were sent. Five more seconds. The transmitter popped and turned into a smokey pile of useless, untraceable parts. Mission was a success.

He wasn’t sure how many patrols were out there now, but it sounded like the entire army had been dispatched to kill him. A shaky breath escaped his lungs. He knew what was to come.

Rising from his hiding place, he unleashed a torrent of shots upon the patrols, with nearly every one landing dead center of their faceless helmets. He felt something catch his shoulder; his weapon dropped to the floor. The other kept shooting. Another shot landed on his gut. He dropped his other weapon. Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out his final trick, launching it out at the crowd of white, mechanical soldiers. The blast consumed dozens of them just as one last shot caught him in the chest.

He smiled as he fell back into the floor. The smile was not for his death, but rather for what he knew they would see when they came upon his body. Those in the suits hardly knew their own faces anymore, let alone another’s. He didn’t want them to see just another victim—he wanted them to see him, in all his imperfect glory, smiling at the fact he was free from their tyrannical grasp.

Would it matter? Would his face mean anything to them? He hoped it would. Even if it meant something to only one, he would have done his job. Even as his last, shaky breath came and went, he clung to the smile. He breathed his last as the soldiers reached him; two looked down at his face while another checked the console.

“Action… and appearance,” he whispered as the last bit of life left his eyes. They had no idea what was coming.

About the Author

Ryan is a sophomore Creative Writing major and aspiring novelist. When not working on his current novel project, he enjoys writing flash fiction and short stories that are either deadly serious or utterly bizarre—there’s no in-between.