Cycle 12,045
K-7 awoke. The pod displayed his designation in white glyphs, as it had for 12,045 cycles. Yesterday’s name — L-22 — was already scrubbed during the nightly purge. He did not wonder about L-22. Wondering was a symptom of mental illness.
The pod’s walls exhaled mist as he dressed in his uniform, its fabric indistinguishable from the air. His reflection in the steel door was a smudge: a human-shaped void with black eyes. You are no one, recited the Directive through hidden speakers. No one is safe.
At 07:00, K-7 joined the procession to the Ministry of Rotation. The corridor stretched endlessly, its walls embedded with shifting numerals — every citizen’s current designation, updated in real time. A drone flitted past, its lens scanning K-7’s implant. Compliance confirmed, chimed a voice in his skull.
In the Cleansing Chamber, he knelt. A needle pierced his neck, injecting the Cleanser. The chemical tasted like static.
“Who are you?” asked the wall.
“K-7.”
“Who were you?”
“No one.”
“Who will you be?”
“Whoever is needed.”
The wall approved.
The Sustainment Hall fed 8 million citizens identical nutrient bricks. K-7 sat at Table 9, Section D, beside R-5 and T-9. Their faces were irrelevant; the Directive had long ago phased out facial recognition. Identifiers were unnecessary.
“The Recyclatorium’s efficiency quota increased by 2% today,” said R-5. Her voice was a flatline.
“Understood,” said K-7.
They ate. The bricks had no flavor, only texture: granular, then viscous, then gone.
A man at Table 12 choked. Enforcers descended, their black exosuits swallowing the light.
“Designation F-8,” droned an Enforcer. “You have deviated.”
F-8’s choking turned to gurgles as they dragged him away. No one turned. Turning was deviation.
K-7 spent his shift incinerating debris in Incinerator 9. The machines devoured uniforms, documents, photographs — anything that might imply a before. The Directive permitted no history, only cycle logs.
At 14:00, a scrap of paper survived the flames. K-7 glimpsed a handwritten word: ADAM. The implant flared, searing his optic nerve. Report deviation.
He fed the scrap to the fire.
Compliance confirmed.
At dusk, citizens lined up for neural audits. K-7 stood motionless as a drone scanned his implant.
“Cycle 12,045,” intoned the drone. “No irregularities detected.”
A scream echoed from Audit Chamber 3. A woman thrashed as Enforcers clamped a neural vice to her skull.
“Designation Q-4,” blared the drone. “Retroactive deviation detected. Cycle 12,012: Unauthorized ocular movement.”
Q-4’s head jerked. A wet click. Her body went limp.
“Purged,” said the drone.
K-7 returned to his pod.
The pod’s walls hummed as the purge began. K-7 lay rigid, his implant vibrating. Today’s memories dissolved: The choked man (F-8), the burning scrap (ADAM), and Q-4’s spasms.
All reduced to data, then void.
You are no one, whispered the walls. No one is tired.
Cycle 12,046
The chime. M-1 awoke.
He dressed. He ate. He incinerated.
At the Recyclatorium, M-1 fed a uniform to the flames. The name K-7 stitched on its collar meant nothing. Names never did.
Cycle 12,047
N-4 awoke.
In the Sustainment Hall, he sat beside R-5 and T-9. Their uniforms were identical. Their voices were identical.
“The Recyclatorium’s efficiency quota increased by 2% today,” said R-5.
“Understood,” said N-4.
Cycle 12,048
O-8 awoke.
At the Cleansing Chamber, the wall asked:
“Who are you?”
“O-8.”
“Who were you?”
“No one.”
“Who will you be?”
“Whoever is needed.”
Cycle 12,049 → Cycle 12,050 → Cycle 12,051
Designations rotated.
Pod walls hummed.
Scraps burned.
Screams ended.
The grey continued.
Cycle 23,811
X-3 awoke.
He worked the Incinerator. He ate the bricks. He passed the Audit.
That night, as the purge dissolved X-3’s memories, a flicker surfaced — an ancient, forbidden word. ADAM.
The implant electrocuted the synapse.
X-3 did not scream. He had no voice to scream with.
Cycle 35,902
Q-7 became an Enforcer.
He purged a deviant in Audit Chamber 6, her exosuit humming. The deviant’s designation was K-7. Or M-1. Or X-3.
It did not matter.
Cycle ∞
The chime.
_____ awoke.
The sleep pod’s ceiling pulsed: YOUR DESIGNATION IS _____. OBEY. FORGET.
The citizen dressed.
The citizen ate.
The citizen burned.
ADAM.