Espresso Love (A Dystopian Japan Novel) #Wattys2014

Cosmo Clock 21

They had come up silently, unannounced, without any sign of movement, like they hadn't needed to walk at all. I hadn't heard footsteps or breathing, nor any voices. No doubt, Shizuka should have noticed before I did, but she hadn't. We are not in line for the ferris wheel either, and have been standing several meters away from the entrance. Reasonably speaking, there should be no need for anyone to be directly behind us.

Being aware is an intriguing experience that first begins as a small breeze at the base of my neck - a minute whisper and a gentle, even pressure, like if a child is to push against my back with all of his might. It may be compared to a bacteria sample, or a virus in its beginning stages. Small and harmless, easily controllable. A tickling sensation, almost pleasurable, until it swells up and amplifies, suddenly and viciously, into its whole, true menacing form, so that it sends involuntary spasms up my spine and flicks on switches as it plows through, to release chemical stimuli, leaving them resounding in my system. Sensory plethora bridges the internal to the external, the abstract and the physical. And just like that, the world around caves in.

My head is on fire. My muscles clench and sweat in anticipation, ready to launch my body forward, ready to bolt. My legs, my arms, my core muscles, already twisting and compressing for fight or flight. My hair stands on end as if there were hands reaching out for me. Complete hijacking that I have no command over. Get out, get out, get out, say my nerves. Stop, drop, roll. A sixth sense, maybe.

Instinct tells me that we have made a mistake. We have not been watching our surroundings. We have not been diligent. That something is wrong or is going wrong. Like toxic fumes, unseen, but undoubtedly there.

I expect to turn to see black suits. It's the only logical conclusion. Perhaps even a good sizeable amount of them, six feet tall, so all I could see would be their chests and black neckties. But before I can turn, it's as if I have received a package from the man behind me in reply.

I visualize everything happening within my mind. So powerful and quick are the images that they overwhelm me in a semblance of physical force and sear into my eyeballs, a surge of his raw intention - though likely only psychic manipulation. I can suddenly see it laid bare before me. Data implanted and installed into my mind - if I had a computer for a brain. They seize us by the shoulders and elbows - spindly skeletal hands but with iron grips - steer us towards black unmarked cars, glossy tinted windows, likely bullet-proof should anyone give chase, though no one bothers to look. We don't resist. They blindfold and gag us inside, tie up our hands, roughly, while one in the front drives. I am acutely concerned for Shizuka and the way they treat her, that something within me wrenches tight. But I don't make a sound. We had been waiting for this inevitable consequence. We end up in an underground facility in the mountains, kilometres away from the city core, locked behind five foot thick metal doors. No one will know we're there. Not that anyone really knew us in the first place. Our blindfolds will remain as our only visual landscape as they fit us with headphones. We cannot speak. They don't touch us. No, it won't be the lack of food, or water, the lack of light and sight, the lack of physical mobility that breaks us down either, but it would be the headphones, in which, we will hear voices, day in and day out, for six months -

"Mi Hyun?" I come face to face with familiar flat features.

The first thing I notice is her clothing. She is wearing a black blazer suit, black tie, white dress shirt, black pants ironed smartly, black dress shoes polished to perfection. Dressed to impress. She is holding a large paper shopping bag. UNIQLO is printed on it. Red square and white letters. It's empty. Then, I see her hair tied up into a bun, business-like, professional and proper. She stands rigid, back straight and shoulders back, chest out. Though her breasts are undeveloped like a boy, the puffy taut trim of her blazer gives them some form.