"OW! Damn it, Michael!"
On the ground rubbing her chin, a young lady no later than her mid-twenties looked up at Michael.
She was short, wearing a standard CEC maintenance uniform that hung loosely on her frame. Her hair was blonde and tied back in a ponytail with a few loose strands falling forward. She had light blue eyes, a pale complexion, and a narrow face with a small nose and thin lips. Faint dark circles sat beneath her eyes.
With the exception of her now swelling chin and tearfully angry glare, and the terrifying hallucinations that came prior, Michael might've said in that moment that she was beautiful.
"Sorry," Michael swallowed before offering her a hand.
She swatted it away and staggered to her feet.
"Fucking asshole. Why'd you hit me?"
"I... thought you were someone else."
Rubbing her jaw hinges and making little "O" motions with her mouth, she continued to glare at him.
"Sorry, again. I really didn't mean to," Michael said while wiping away sweat coating his forehead, not that it mattered with his entire uniform drenched already. He then paused, blinked, and tilted his head at her. "How do you know my name?"
"I've been assigned to Unit 17 as of today," she grumbled, spitting out some blood on the floor between them.
Michael flinched and stared at the blood.
Without warning, she stepped forward while his eyes were fixed on it and socked him back square in the face in return. White stars speckled Michael's vision as he stumbled back, holding his nose as it spouted blood.
"We're even."
His eyes watered and he held his nose, his other hand held out as he nodded.
"Yep. Yep."
Placing her hands on her hips, she eyed him up and down before speaking with a tone that held a no-nonsense edge.
"My name's Evelyn. Eve for short. I HOPE we can get along."
When his eyes cleared enough for him to see, he looked at her uniform to see a small Unitology insignia emblazoned into the left side where, on some uniforms, a name tag would normally be.
It was a twisting, double-helix spire encircled that represented the unification of all life, or Convergence. Because of the darker-brown color of her jacket, it had a slight silver lining to it.
My nose isn't broken I don't think, Michael thought with a few ginger touches. Fuck that hurt.
"Bryan sent you?" he asked skeptically and breathy.
"No," she replied curtly. "Bryan's been swapped with Unit 13's supervisor. Otto Meyers is Unit 17's new supervisor as of now."
"A promotion?"
"You could say that. Depends on perspective."
Grimacing, he looked at her insignia again. "Is he a Marker head too?"
"Uh-huh," she gave a wide, empty smile while looking him dead in the eye. "I don't suggest you keep using that term though if you want to stay in his good graces."
Michael scoffed. "How would you know?"
"I was reassigned from the same unit with him," she answered, her expression twisting with displeasure. "They said this unit had an incident and needed replacements. Was it because of you?"
"More or less. Two co-workers who were having a tough time performing didn't like how well I was doing, so they took it out on me. They snuck some Class 3 drugs into my rations."
"So you punched me because you're still fucking whacked out on drugs," she snapped angrily, the welt on her chin growing by the second. "Fucking great!"
"No! I thought you were one of th—"
"Don't give me that bullshit. Look at yourself. You're definitely on some shit."
Pacing side to side, she grumbled under her breath with an expression that read like she was trying to work out her situation before pointing at him angrily. "You punch me again and I'll do more than even it out. You got that?"
Michael had nothing to say. He could feel how messed up he looked.
He nodded silently.
Sucking in air sharply through her nose, she asked in a lower tone, "How many jobs left?"
Pulling up a hologram from his RIG, Michael double-checked due to the new leadership assignment.
"Two. Same goes for you it looks like."
"That's nice. I can at least go to the hospital before my next shift."
She pulled up her hologram from her wrist too before groaning loudly.
"Fuck. It's with you."
------
"See you next shift."
"Fuck off."
Making a 'Yep' face, Michael made his way to Union Square. He checked his nose using the camera in his wrist. It was very red but not broken. His sweats and shaking was finally gone but it left him feeling exhausted. The entire time for the last hour, Eve kept a safe distance away from him too and never let him get behind her for any reason.
He felt guilty but there wasn't anything he could do until things settled between them. But a part of him didn't care because she was a member of Unitology. She was probably one of the many that would off herself or directly contribute to the chaos in fanatical zeal.
Making his way into the wide opening, it had multiple levels surrounding it for shopping and relaxation. Lounges for food, Casey's for snacks, "Hot Food," "Coffee," and many other little stores.
In the middle on the bottom floor, much like a courtyard in the middle of an academy with an LED projection of a bright, sunny sky above, people gathered. Someone was already there in the middle of a speech.
"My children, remember," a man shouted, his voice carrying effortlessly across the square. "Remember this day when the blind and faithless struck down our founder."
Man, I really don't want to— that's the guy from the comics that suicided with dozens of others!
Standing on a platform, 1st Class Engineer Dean St. John Abbot held his arms high in front of the crowd. Like many folk who've aged poorly over the years in space or on a colony with high levels of radiation exposure, Dean Abbot was bald and in his sixties. His attire reflected his dual authority with the bulk of a CEC uniform layered beneath ceremonial Unitology robes, the twisting convergence emblem curling down the edges.
"March 15th, 2215, our founder and savior, Michael Altman, was killed. Murdered by those who feared unity. By a government that sought to fracture us, to keep humanity divided, alone… incomplete."
Didn't he give this kind of speech in the month of the outbreak? Why now? Or is this just part of a regular spiel?
"They believed that by silencing him, they could silence the truth," Abbott said, his eyes sweeping the crowd. "But truth does not die. Faith does not fade. It waits. It endures."
A gentle smile touched his lips.
"And now, my children, I believe our waiting draws to an end. For over two centuries we have prayed for a sign, any sign, that we might be made whole once more. One mind. One soul. One flesh. And I believe that sign is close."
"Altman be praised," Abbott said reverently.
"Altman be praised," the crowd echoed, their voices rising together with eerie unity as applause followed. Abbott lowered his arms, smiling warmly before he stepped down from the platform and the crowd began to disperse.
Michael watched them go with a knot settling in his stomach.
It's disturbing to know they're praising the very thing that's going to kill them.
Horribly.