2400 AD
4

Simulation.

Experimentation.

People robbed of their roots, sexual preferences and personalities.

The mark.

Callum noticed the sparsely furnished room had no windows. A bed, bedside table, and basin with one tap, and a single wooden chair. He climbed off the bed, went in search of the door and was confused when he couldn’t replace one. He returned to the bed, stared at the ceiling, and wondered what was worse, locked up like a common criminal like this, or being experimented on.

Who was Gideon?

Where did he fit?

Simulation.

Experimentation.

It sounded like a Hitlerian horror. He’d read about the atrocities of the Germans during the Second World War two-hundred-and-sixty years earlier and how they experimented on people and sent Jews and homosexuals to concentration camps. He’d read all about the 4th Great War from 2250 to 2265 when they sent prisoners to Mars to help terraform the planet.

The door opened. Gideon stepped in. Callum stared at him unforgivingly.

“How are you feeling?” Gideon asked.

Callum remained silent.

“You look much better than two days ago.”

Two days!

“Are you going to say something, or should I leave?”

“I’ve been out for two days? Jesus! hWat did you give me? I’m trying to wrap my head around all of this. You said something about a simulation. You mentioned experimentation.”

“I think you’re well enough to experience first-hand what I mean." Gideon pressed the bracelet on his wrist and a panel opened in the wall to reveal a closet filled with clothes.

“And this?” Callum asked, stepping into the closet.

“Where you’re going you’ll need protection. Here, try this.” He reached for a helmet and handed it to Callum. “It’s self-adjusting. The shorter your hair, the better it fits.”

The helmet resembled the sleek head of an ant, with a blue face and a black back. The sort of thing a person would expect to replace on a group of science fiction warriors. The mouth section consisted of a large, solid, intricate piece that almost resembled a muzzle, signifying strength and silence.

On the outer sections of both of the eyepieces, two tiny green lights suggested life signs beneath the helmet’s imposing exterior.

“Try it on.”

Callum held the helmet in his hands and turned it over. “It doesn’t look like a good fit.”

Gideon laughed. “It’s self-adjusting. The moment it replaces a perfect fit the panels in the front pull away to reveal the visor. Put it on.”

Callum placed the helmet over his head and the panels immediately locked into each other.

“Laser and projectile proof,” Gideon said, testing the movement of the helmet. “How does it feel?”

“Comfortable.”

“It fits onto the body armor.” Gideon pointed at a light blue-grey body suit encased in a glass cabinet.

“Does everyone here get one of these?” Callum asked, staring in awe at the suit.

“Mostly our military and gauntlet teams.” Gideon pressed a button at the back of the glass cabinet and it slid open. From the back, the suit seemed to have been dissected in half and left open. Callum stepped carefully into it and suddenly it engulfed his entire body. Each interlocking piece clicked into place.

With an air of reverence, he explained the suit’s capabilities. “The suit is computerized,” Gideon said. "It’s a marvel of technology. Beyond monitoring your vital signs, temperature, and weight, it possesses a wide array of advanced functions. It has a biometric interface that continuously scans your health, environmental sensors for hazardous conditions, and even a stealth mode for invisibility. When activated, it enhances your physical abilities and can project a personal energy shield for defense. It’s equipped with infiltration tools, an AR display, and healing nanobots. Plus, it can self-regenerate over time. But remember,” he added with a hint of caution, “if you’re fatally wounded, even this suit can’t save you.”

“Jesus.”

“The computer listens to your voice and carries out your commands, the visor shows the results.”

“Is there anything this suit can’t do?”

“It can’t fly.”

“It can’t fly.”

Gideon picked up the infant bird that had just fallen out of its nest. He cradled it in the palm of his hand and handed it to his father.

His father’s height had always fascinated Gideon. It seemed he towered ten stories above him. His voice rumbled like an earthquake. When he spoke, everyone listened. But, he was gentle with Gideon. Never raised his voice. Never raised a hand.

“Father?”

“Yes, son.”

“I want to be a soldier one day. I want to fight.”

His father placed the bird in the nest and looked down at Gideon.

“It’s not that simple, son.” He patted the grass next to him. “Come sit here.”

Gideon sat beside him and started to pluck the grass.

“One hundred and fifty years ago there was a war. Millions of people lost their lives fighting for survival.”

“Why?”

“Greed. Interference. The United States of America was nuked by North Korea.”

“Nuked? What’s that?”

“Well, it’s a long story, but in short the North Koreans sent bombs to blow up the country.”

“Why?”

“Power. They wanted all the power.”

“What does that have to do with me wanting to fight?”

“Soldiers have power. Many use this power to do bad things, son.”

“I’ll be a good soldier.”

“You’ll have to follow orders, son. Whether they’re good or bad, you have to follow them.”

“Why?”

“That’s just the way it is.”

“I won’t follow bad orders, Father.”

“If you disobey an order they will hurt you.”

“But not if I’m stronger...”

A shout from the house broke their conversation.

“Dinner’s ready!”

Gideon’s father called back. “We’re on our way, Lillian! Come on, son – aren’t you hungry?”