Shadow Play

"Why are they wasting our time?" hissed the man on his left, attracting his attention.

"Shh, honey, they're watching us," whispered the woman standing next to him. She clutched at his arm, dangling bracelets clinking at her wrist.

"No, actually, I'm rather interested in hearing it," John said, studying the man's stiffly pressed shirt.

He might seem uptight, but that was probably just from the stress of being pulled out here from whatever he had been trying to do beforehand. Maybe the two of them had been taking an evening walk in the park, or perhaps they had been heading to their children's daycare?

Whatever it was, the pull of the rally was too strong for them to resist. They had been called, and that was that. The loose ends would be cleaned up later - the needs of the Party always came first.

The man's face shadowed as he pulled back, tilting his hat forward. "Have you been living under a rock? It was all over the newsplasts the last few weeks! The great resistance leader, a thorn in the Party's side for the last ten years, was captured and sent for re-education!"

He straightened his back, pushing out his rotund belly. "This world has become far too dangerous for loose lips. I don't know you, sir. Keep your words to yourself, and I'll take care of mine."

John gave him a critical look, but stopped himself with a short nod, filing away this information for later. There was no purpose in pushing the man further - the telltale signs of fear were all over the wrinkled creases of the man's face.

Folding his arms, he moved his attention to the stage, where movement was beginning to happen in the rear. A fat man in a business suit pranced out onto the stage, stopping in front of a comically thin microphone.

He was wearing a polished, blue mask that hid his face from the audience, glowing purple eyes burning from within recessed eye sockets. Raising his arms, he gestured towards the audience, as if giving them a wide hug.

"Welcome, everyone!" he cried, dragging out each liquid syllable. "You might wonder why you've all been called here tonight at such short notice, but there's no need for resentment! Indeed, I assure you that it's absolutely critical to the wellbeing of this district! The Party decrees it, and therefore it must be so!"

"It is so," mumbled the crowd, the words being drawn from their lips unbidden.

The noise floor was getting higher in the arena, whispering words licking at John's ears. He could feel a sense of patriotism welling up within him, a zeal he couldn't quite explain. He didn't need to explain it - he must only feel what the Party was describing, and obey their dictates, no matter how banal!

His vision blurred, and suddenly there was a small crowd gathered behind the speaker, their faces fixed in giddy grins at being up on stage. "I am pleased to announce the local district winners of the voucher charity donation drive!" the man's voice crooned. "They sacrificed their luxury goods for others, becoming champions of selflessness!"

The crowd held its breath, waiting to be told what to do. Premature applause was not allowed. They had to wait to be told what to think.

"What are you waiting for?" cried out the fat man. "Give them a round of applause! A random selection of citizens from district fifty two won't be going hungry because of them!"

Everyone in the crowd began to clap vociferously, including John. What a triumph! Hunger was always the enemy!

A sharp, piercing thought bored into his skull. Wasn't the point of the Party to keep the food supply stable in the first place? Why did there need to be this kind of charity?

As this disillusionment set in, he scanned around the arena, noting a few subtle pockets where the clapping was not as fanatic. Among them, a red haired young man stood out, a frayed red scarf strung about his neck.

John studied the unenthusiastic souls further. These citizens might get lucky, as it would be hard to pinpoint them due to the bright lights coming off the arena.

If they kept up this behavior, however, it would be inevitable that they'd be pulled in for questioning. He found himself automatically categorizing their clothing and features before the clapping died down.

He wasn't entirely certain why he did this, except for an ill defined feeling that it was always a good idea to have friends. Why he might consider these people to be kindred spirits, he really had no idea.

As the clapping dissipated, the winners were unceremoniously led off the stage by Party Enforcers, their royal purple uniforms swaying as the eyes in their mask holes glowed a matching, subtle color.

The fat man clapped his hands above his head. "Now, for the main event you've all been waiting for!" he declared. "Your local representative, Donnie Dark!"

A dizzying array of spotlights swung around towards the rear of the stage, highlighting the svelte body of a man dressed in a pinstripe yellow suit. He bounced on his heels, one hand in the air as he trotted towards the crowd, a larger than life laugh escaping his lips.

"It's good to see you, everyone!" he boomed, sweat flowing over the plastic sheen of his face. "It's been a hot minute since I've visited you, and I wanted to make sure that everyone is still my adoring fan. You might not have voted for me, but the Party has put me in charge of your welfare, which means that I always have your best interests at heart!"

He wrapped a ring encrusted hand around the microphone, cupping it like a baby's head. "I have some unfortunate news to give you first, however," he said sympathetically. "Don't worry, none of this is your fault, but I'm afraid that, due to a routine adjustment, our stores of sugar are lower than expected."

A vague groan of discontent ran around the arena, and John picked out a few more dissidents. "Don't worry, however, to make up for this shortfall, we've doubled the supply of artificial sweetener. Cookies for everyone!"

Cheers wiped away the groans, the bad news pushed away by the Party line.

Never mind the fact that doubling artificial sweeteners would only make up a third of the shortfall. Because the Party had said that this was a good thing, it was. Their grip on the crowd was absolute.

The music was thumping now, anesthetizing everyone's brains. John found himself losing track as the blandishments flew fast and thick.

Minutes or hours passed - he really had no basis for comparison. There were no clocks in the arena, on purpose, and Donnie's voice was as slippery as a warm cucumber, wholesome and nice to listen to.

It could have been worse, he supposed. The Party didn't seem to be feeling vindictive today, or they could have forced them to listen to a similar announcement being made by someone possessing a voice like a steel rasp.

As more time passed, the Party representative sped up, his works licking at John's ears as the spotlights began to dim. Not even Donnie was immune to the strict scheduling rules of the Party, and John could sense that he was struggling to finish before he was pulled off stage.

A wide smile broached Donnie's lips as his words shuddered to a stop. "Now you know the Truth," he said, the word pronounced carefully, as if he was dancing around the hard edges. "Hold my words in your heart until the next time we meet again. The Party survives."

"The Party survives," muttered the audience in response, eyes searching as the lighting turned off.

With everything cast in shadow, the entire production appeared rather hollow. Beyond the glitz and glamor, there was no substance to the Party beyond what it was capable of instilling in their hearts.

He shrugged internally. This was how it always was. No reason to get uptight about it. Now, where was that bathroom? He had better hurry up, or he'd get caught in the rush, and then it would take forever to get home to his wife. She knows best.

He could already imagine what she might say to him if that happened, though she would probably be understanding about the coffee given that she had likely been glued to the tablevid for the last hour. Probably.

Speeding up, he crossed around behind the rear of the bleachers, holding his coat tightly around him so that it wouldn't get in anyone else's way. Muttering to himself, he followed after a small group, slowing down as he turned the corner into the tiled restroom.

Yes, a stall was available in the corner! No waiting required.

Clicking it shut, he sighed and did his business. He'd have to walk back to the grocery store to retrieve his briefcase before he could leave. Hopefully by then the lockdown would be over and he'd be able to get his car out of the parking lot.

Putting himself back together, he exited the stall, heading towards the sink. After wetting his hands, he looked up and frowned. "What do you want?" he asked sharply, spotting the red haired young man from the audience earlier, his scarf dangling down his chest.

A look of disgust was on the man's face as he raised his hands. "Dirty Party Puppet!" he shouted, grabbing John's head and bashing it into the edge of the sink.

Pow! A sharp crack of pain blasted through John's forehead, and he saw stars. What the shit?

Stunned, he was unable to react as the man kicked him in the back of the knee, forcing him to catch himself on the faucet handle before his head slammed into the mirror.

By the time he had regained control over himself, the mysterious man was gone, a murmuring crowd of men gathering about him.

"You look a mess, citizen," said an older man, a look of sympathy on his face.

He proffered a handful of paper towels. "Are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?"

John pressed the towels against his forehead, mopping up blood. Ow, he could feel a painful lump underneath.

Lifting it experimentally to see how bad it was, he scowled. Scalp wounds tended to bleed profusely, and therefore tended to look more dangerous than they actually were, but the man hadn't held back. There were sharp lines marked on his forehead, as though his skin had been cut open with a razor blade.

"That's probably a good idea," John mumbled. "I might need stitches. Call the police, too, that guy is a menace. He needs to be taken off the streets before he injures someone else!"

The man's hands jerked towards his coat pocket, but a curl of distaste popped onto his lower lip before he could complete the action. "You should call the police yourself," muttered the old man. "We don't have a good description of your assailant."

The other men shook their heads, a dark murmur running through the crowd. Ah, he should have expected as much. Nobody wanted to have the finger put on them if any of this didn't work out for any reason.

John scowled. "You know what? I'll do it myself!"

He brushed past the unhelpful crowd, stumbling towards the door. The pain in his forehead was still throbbing, but at least it didn't appear to be bleeding as much.

He fumbled in his pocket, grabbing at his phone. Tapping the front, he selected emergency services, propping it against his ear as he scanned the area outside the bathroom, looking for the young man. Red hair, red hair, anywhere?

There, at the edge of the parking lot, hiding underneath the rear of the bleachers. He halted, worried for a moment that he had been spotted, but it rather seemed the other way around. The man was trying to make himself inconspicuous, squeezing behind a pillar.

Well, he couldn't escape that fiery red hair! John purposefully turned away and sidled behind an empty concessions stand, lifting the phone to his ear as he tapped the call button.

The speaker crackled. "Please state the nature of your emergency," came a stentorian voice.

"I've been attacked at the rally," he choked out. "It was a man, close to six feet tall with red hair, wearing a red scarf. I can see him under the bleachers, and I'm worried he's going to attack someone else!"

"Very well," replied the voice in clipped tones. "Stay on the line in case we have trouble locating your position. We'll send help."

"Okay," he sighed, peering out from behind the stand. "He's still there. He might be looking for an opportunity to sneak out with another group."

"Impossible," replied the gruff voice. "The local area will be sealed off until the assailant is located. Stand by."

Flashing lights caught John's eye, a sense of relief flooding him as he spotted a set of military vehicles blocking off the end of the parking lot. A set of troopers were disembarking, followed by an odd duo of a fat and skinny man.

The red haired man didn't seem satisfied with waiting around to be caught, however. He had gotten up on his tippy toes, grabbing at one of the metal cross beams to pull himself up.

John's heart lurched in his chest, and he stopped trying to hide, approaching the stands as he craned his neck upwards to watch the increasingly sketchy climb.

A group of citizens pulled back, giving the spectacle some room as they hushed, a sound of dismay running through the parking lot.

"Calm down citizens," ordered a loud voice. "We have arrived to take this situation in hand. Everything will be okay."

John wasn't certain how they could say that, as the young man was already several body lengths into the air, beyond their ability to catch him. They could always shoot him, of course, but then he might fall off the side.

A hand touched his shoulder. "Are you the one who called this in, citizen?" asked a calm voice.

John jumped, turning to take in the new arrival. A burst of relief washed over his back. The man looked official, dressed in a sharply creased, pinstriped suit with a Party pin secured on top of his chest. This was a far cry better than being dressed like a faceless trooper.

It was probably calculated to keep the public's mental anxiety down, and he had to admit that it was certainly working on him.

"Yes, sir," he replied in a neutral voice, putting his phone away. "That's the man who attacked me in the restroom."

"Did you do anything to provoke his aggression?" asked the man, folding his arms together.

"No, by all accounts, it was unprovoked," sighed John, dabbing at his forehead. "He accused me of being a puppet for the Party right before he smashed my head into the sink."

The man gave him a perfunctory nod. "Very well. We'll make sure to get to the bottom of this."

He turned to the fat man next to him. "Bring him down for questioning. We cannot allow someone so dangerous to escape."

John shuddered as the fat man took a step forward, giving him a good look at his face. There was something wrong with his eyes.

They were larger than life, googly, with a glistening sheen that followed thick spirals around the periphery. As he watched, he got the sense that the spirals were spinning around central cores, sucking his gaze in towards the centers like some sort of cartoon villain.

He blinked, refocusing on the man's plastic lips, but that only made him seem creepier. John shivered, backing away. There was something off about this fellow that made him want to flee.

The smaller man didn't seem to notice his distrust, walking up to the edge of the stands as he lifted a megaphone. "Please stop trying to climb away, or we will use force," he announced.

The young man didn't seem to care, continuing his surefooted movements. The Party Enforcer waited a long moment until it was obvious that he wasn't going to get compliance, then he stepped back and gestured at the other troopers.

They rushed forward, spreading out in a triangle. A net stretched out between them, some kind of white, thin polymer. John watched with curiosity as the Party Enforcer lifted the loudspeaker again. "This is your final warning. Come down from there or I will bring you down," he roared.

He set the loudspeaker on the ground, reaching inside his coat pocket. Retrieving a couple of thin rods, he screwed them together onto a pistol grip. Squaring up with the climbing man, he settled into a shooting stance, waiting a long moment to confirm his aim.

The crowd hushed as a soft thomp sounded, and the young man cried out, his hands sliding off a vertical support. There must have been some kind of paralytic on the projectile, as he seemed unable to hold on, his body twisting backwards in midair as his hands clutched spasmodically at nothing.

His spinning body appeared to fall in slow motion, the crowd gasping as everyone waited with bated breath. John set his shoulders, suddenly worried that he was about to be witnessing a goddamn catastrophe. If this young man splattered his brains across the asphalt, he'd never forgive himself!

Fortunately, his limp body dropped neatly into the provided net, his limbs getting entangled by the twisting fibers as he was brought gently to a stop. The troopers crowded around him, blocking his body from the crowd as the fat man with the bizarre eyes ambled in.

Setting a hand on one of the trooper's shoulders, the man pushed him aside, inserting his googly eyes through the resultant gap. "Look at me closely," he said in a low voice that seemed to cut through the murmurs of the crowd. "Stop struggling. Let yourself fly free as you stare deeper into my eyes."

A groaning moan came from somewhere inside, but John couldn't get a clear view. The smaller man calmly unscrewed his pistol and put some of the pieces away, but John gulped as he spotted another attachment that the man retrieved from his pocket.

Attaching the needle-sharp tip to the end of his gun, the Enforcer lifted it up for a quick inspection. Noticing John's glare, he gave him a wink. "Don't worry, we have him well in hand, citizen. Thank you for your cooperation."

He turned into the bigger man, shoving him aside with his shoulder to make a gap. This opened a window wide enough for John to see the young man's face, his lips fixed in a grimace.

His body was rigid, a look of atavistic terror on his face as the long needle at the tip of the gun was inserted into his forehead. As it slid in, confusion replaced fear, followed quickly by a dumb expression as his eyes went blank.

John shuddered, turning away. He hadn't needed to see that. Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn't called this in.

A sudden, cold sweat broke out on his back, along with the sense that he shouldn't be here. It was far past time for him to leave, to get home and rejoin the loving arms of his wife. She knows best.

He took a step away from the Enforcers, slowing to a halt when he noticed the group of masked individuals arrayed in front of him. "Citizen," said the one in the lead, purple eyes glowing deep within his mask. "Please, come with us. We have some questions for you."

John shook his head, swallowing as his throat suddenly went dry. "Why?" he asked, frozen to the spot. "I've done nothing wrong."

The masked Enforcers fanned out around him. "Of course not," said the lead member with a silky voice. "The Party doesn't require malfeasance for questioning, only obedience. Unquestioning obedience."

John jumped as sharp needles poked into his arms and back. He cried out as a multitude of strong arms held onto him, jabbing, jabbing, jabbing as he was pumped full of the paralytic.

His eyes glazed as the world around him blurred, leaving behind only the malevolent purple glow of the sea of masks watching him with knowing patience.

Soon, those faded away, too, leaving nothing behind but lingering words that hissed into his brain.

***

The nightmare began again.

A hand reached towards his face, sharp tipped nails sinking into his eyes. There was more discomfort than pain this time, his throat gurgling as something clicked free.