*flashback* required journal of Raven Elena Winter February 24th. Dear journal; I am writing to tell you about how happy I am that F.E.A.R. officials have sent raids into the desert. My only hope is that the strong arm of F.E.A.R captures these rebels before their sins taint the pleasurable world F.E.A.R. has created. If the time comes I vow to give my life to protect the just, and moral lords in the upper echelons of F.E.A.R. along with our illustrious matriarch and the beloved mogul for I am not of the same divine blood and therefore I am inferior in every way.
-Raven Elena Winter

I have long since learned to pencil out the same bland message day after day at school without complaining. In fact, I have learned to keep all complaints to myself, wearing the mask of dull obedience to this monarchy which tries to destroy all signs of creativity and individuality. I write some false praise for a recent display of power, and give the same vow that, every day I write it, I try to tell myself that there is hope. that maybe I have a choice whether or not to die for F.E.A.R. But I don’t.
The punishments for any sign of disobedience are cruel, and even that is an understatement. At the age of six years old, being of course much more naive than I am now, I wondered why everyone in F.E.A.R. seemed so sad, so I drew a picture in the margin of my required journal hoping to make one of the matriarch’s apprentices smile when they checked through each journal entry for signs of disobedience. I can’t remember most of what happened but what I do remember is awful. Working tirelessly in the desert heat with little food or water, sleeping on the frozen ground of the desert nights, trying not to freeze to death. I was only in the labor camp for a week before both of my parents took my place and I was shoved in a community home. I’m nearly fifteen now and it’s doubtful either of them have survived this long. My heart cramps for their loss but I know it's better if they're dead.
The other punishment is that you simply disappear. I don’t know where the shadow men take civilians that are dragged away from homes and businesses;, those who leave never come back. An involuntary shudder runs through my body despite the dry heat; Even in this gigantic air-conditioned box, the desert sun is still powerful.
Our nameless instructor turns on the television for the morning transmissions. At exactly 7:45 am the mogul, who is the matriarch’s second in command, pops up on the screen. He is an unappealing dark-haired man clothed in a long black cloak and a collared white shirt. The mogul could be immaculate but his overly shiny black hair paired with his pasty complexion and yellowed teeth would make him seem filthy. In case his imposing profile wasn’t enough to capture all of the attention; he is announced by the only music allowed in F.E.A.R, a violin. His strange scratchy voice is made even more so by the ancient speakers. He stares into the camera with red-rimmed eyes and begins to speak.
“We expect a battle for humanity is about to begin. Within each uprising, a vague sense of safety will ignite in you an unseen shadowy sliver of doubt towards those who protect and defend you. But let the thought slip away and remain calm. Stay close to F.E.A.R. only we can protect.”
The transmission ends with the same violin and my classroom sits in silence for a minute. What can he mean by a battle for humanity? The rebels may have evaded capture so far but I don’t think that F.E.A.R. will tolerate them for very much longer. The angrier and more afraid they become the harder they will try to find and destroy these deviants.
We are taught basic math and english skills in school but our education is not a priority for F.E.A.R. It’s better for them that the working class not be armed with too much knowledge. As a result, our time in class is mostly divided up between History of F.E.A.R. and Religious Studies. F.E.A.R. is only an acronym ‘For Every and All Religion.’ Except that there is only one religion. The Matriarch is said to be the son of God, sent down from heaven to control the masses and bring people to lead simple, holy lives. According to our classes, he is heir to the earth, ruling in god’s place over all humanity.
His warning stays with me as I traipse mindlessly through the class’ routine. Part of me can’t help but hope that the rebels do succeed. I crave a change, a choice, but what if that is just mere selfishness? What if everything F.E.A.R. says is right and I am not supposed to be thinking for myself? If what they say is true then the cruelty of life here is to punish us for our sins.
I internally sigh. That’s a load of bullshit, I know that I’m only telling myself these things out of frustration that I can’t do anything about it. I still want answers though; I don’t know why the leaders would be doing this to us but despite everything I’ve seen I don’t believe that anyone could be completely evil without a good reason.
School ends at 3:00 and we do not have church on Fridays so we are instructed to go straight home unless we are specifically given another order by a shadow man or another government employee. When I step out the doors I am instantly surrounded by a sea of gray, everyone is issued three pairs of gray pants, three short sleeve gray shirts and one gray hoodie per year along with their respective undergarments and gray sneakers. Everyone has the same black hair and brown eyes; Some have these traits naturally but most have to change one or both aspects of themselves. I am issued a pair of brown contact lenses every three months to hide my green irises.
There are no other civilians in sight when I walk down one of the last roads left before I reach before I leave my house. There is only a lone shadow man, patrolling the block. Glancing down the alley to my left, I do a double take. There is a black clothed figure creeping along the wall obviously trying to keep inside the shadows. They don’t realise that the shadow man is turning towards them. When they do notice they freeze. There is no way to escape without drawing attention and the masked figure will see them any second,but I can save them. I don’t even think about it. I pretend to trip over my own feet, slamming my body into the ground a little harder than necessary. I cry out in pain and the noise is enough to attract the attention of the shadow man who marches towards me and yanks me off the ground, shoving me in the direction of my house. When I glance back, the rebel has gone.
I’ve never been more relieved to make it inside the drab community home and collapse onto my bed. I risk three minutes of rest before I stand and shut the door, The house's other occupants will be home in less than ten minutes and I am supposed to be studying the bible. a convenient rule that forces us to return home immediately and stops us from causing any trouble. The four adults who were assigned to this house don’t care enough to check on me so I feel like it’s safe to pry up my loose floorboard, underneath there is a small alcove where I hide the things that are most important to me.
My mother worked for the government and was sometimes able to smuggle home confiscated items. Most of them were textbooks or classical literature but my favorite by far was an old handwritten book bound in black leather entitled “The Legion of the Black, Story of the Wild Ones.” Underneath, there is a strange symbol painted in white, a star with little circles around it.
She used to sneak over to my room after the lights were shut off, tuck me in and then with a flashlight in her hand she would launch into a gripping tale of five young warriors: Mystic, Mourner, Prophet, Deviant and Destroyer who were prophecy bound to rise against the cruel rulers of F.E.A.R. and lead the Legion of the Black to victory, and to a new world order. Over the years I’ve tried not to hope and have done my best to assimilate into the faceless crowd of civilians who believe all of the propaganda that the Matriarch feeds them. But I do not agree. I hope that the rebels succeed and bring the Matriarch and the Mogul, and even their mindless army of shadow men to justice. *End of flashback*

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I jolt out of my sleep. It’s been months since I dreamt of the years I lived in F.E.A.R. The day I left was the day they found my books. It was get out or die really, I hid behind a trash bin when I saw that there were shadow men in my front yard, then two of them walked out carrying most of my books and shouting furiously into their radios. The regulations didn’t matter anymore as far as I was concerned so as I crept away from my house towards the doors of the city I stole what I would need from various homes. A blanket, a bag, an aluminum water bottle and a knife. I had to stow away in a hearse for clearance through the doors.
I’ve been in the desert for three years now, evading the shadow man patrols. I have to get moving before the sun rises completely in the sky or I will never make it to a stream before I run out of water. By now I have dyed my once gray clothes black using juice from the berries that grow in clusters around most of the streams and I turned a strip of my blanket into a belt to hold my knife at the ready, which has saved my life a few times.
Allowing myself only one gulp of water to soothe my dry throat I climb out of the sandy ditch I slept in and set out for one of the ruined old towns which always have streams running through them. I reach it just before noon, a few minutes after I finished off the last of my water. Hunger is more of an issue now so I keep an eye out for berry bushes and other edible plants as I walk along the bank of the shallow stream.
It’s almost to the hottest part of the day when I see them. On instinct I duck behind a cluster of rocks but the black clad figures didn’t notice me. Peering carefully round the tallest of the rocks it’s clear why. Three of the shadow men seem to be attacking a fourth. I frown, the shadow men are supposed to be like robots, genetically modified to carry out F.E.A.R.’s orders, they do not have enough independent thoughts to fight against each other. I shield my eyes against the glare of the sun and realize that one of the dark figures could not be a shadow man. He is tall but he is not as tall as the shadows who stand at roughly eight feet. The man is also much thinner and faster. His movements are a blur as he blocks and lunges and while he looks no older than I am he fights like an experienced warrior.
Despite his apparent skill, I don’t think he will win, there are too many of them and they are so powerful… Of course all of this goes through my mind in an instant; Then he spins around to block an attack from a shadow man’s staff and I see the back of his leather jacket, or more accurately what is written on the back of his jacket. In large, white letters, clearly painted, is the word ‘Prophet’ accompanied by the same strange symbol that is likewise embossed on the black leather cover of my old story book.
I feel, rather than force myself to hide behind the rocks again, pressing my back against the scorching granite. I am reeling. I thought that they were a children’s story, a myth. Nothing more than an uplifting tale written by some civilian who wanted an escape from the tyranny of F.E.A.R. My mother and I would have been the only ones who could have read that story other than the author right? It was locked in a government facility. Unless the legion of the black is an old story that was simply transcribed into a book. A sudden thought jolts me out of my short inactivity.
If there is any remote chance that the man out there really is the Prophet and is the leader of a rebellion against F.E.A.R. then my life is insignificant compared to his. I have to help him, at any cost.
Swallowing the anxiety that rises in my throat I shove myself from behind the rocks, simultaneously pulling my knife from my belt. As I charge at them I hear a war cry claw it’s way out of my mouth; I’m not much of a fighter, but maybe I can distract them long enough for the Prophet escape. Two of the shadows turn towards me while the other remains locked in combat with the man. I grit my teeth, my resolve is complete.
When the first shadow man is within arms reach I slash at his stomach with my blade. It barely scratches the dense material of his cloak. Groaning in frustration I duck under his grasping arms and aim a punch for his throat. He blocks it easily grabbing my arm and twisting it painfully behind my back. I scream and the other shadow is soon pinning my other arm; Together they lift my struggling form off the ground and I kick at the air, wildly trying to escape.
I see the shadow man that the Prophet was fighting is sprawled out on the ground. Unconscious or dead I can’t bring myself to care. He is running towards me, obviously attempting an attack on the shadows holding me captive.
“What are you doing?” I screech. “Get out of here!” He hesitates, I can see it in his bright blue eyes and the way he stands. “Go!” I insist and he gives a little half nod, almost like a salute, and takes off sprinting. He’s impossibly fast and in a few seconds he’s out of sight.
A hysterical crow of laughter escapes me. At least one of my last acts was in rebellion of F.E.A.R. The two shadow men throw me to the ground. Puffs of dust rise up around me but I don’t try to escape. It’s not like I would get very far. They force me into gray pants and a gray shirt, produced as though by sorcery from underneath their massive cloaks. They also hold my eyes open, sliding the brown contacts over my eyes. They are forcing me into the mask that I vowed I would never wear again. It doesn’t really matter; I am already dead.
My impending death doesn’t mean I won’t put up a fight. I will go kicking and screaming for as long as I can. Which probably won’t be an extended period of time. I guess my captors realize that I don’t intend to come quietly because soon my hands are tied behind my back and there is a piece of silvery tape over my mouth. I’m forced to walk in the opposite direction as the Prophet ran. The two shadow men start to leave without their companion, but soon he wakes up and hastens to follow them.
We walk for an eternity in the relentless heat. My water bottle and food are in my bag, which was confiscated by the shadow that the Prophet knocked out. The cruel sun has stolen all of the water from my body and I am already weak from hunger and exhaustion when they finally reach a place to camp for the night. We are at the edge of one of the ruined towns, long since abandoned by whomever lived there. There is a tall rusted water tower with four legs supporting it. The legs are built like ladders, two steel beams with rungs connecting them. It’s this that they prop my half-conscious body against. They proceed to tie a length of rope around my neck, threading it through the bars so if I don’t stand up I’ll asphyxiate. They tie another around my ankles and leave me there; Walking a little ways off to start a campfire where none of the warmth will reach me.
Freezing is the least of my worries now. I’ve been walking all day in the desert heat without any water. Already my lips are cracked and my vision is blurred. coupled with exhaustion I will not last through the night because I will black out and suffocate.
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Every minute has been a fight to stay conscious. The only thing to indicate how long I’ve been here is the stiffness in my joints and the ever growing strength of my thirst. Every hour or so a shadow comes over to check on the ropes. Twice, one of them punched me in the stomach with his gauntleted fist, leaving me winded and bruised. This time as I watch him approach I notice the black spots in my vision. No, please no. Another hour, another minute even. I can’t give him the satisfaction of watching me die. Despite my silent pleading the black dots grow bigger, swimming lazily in front of my eyes. My knees give way and I can not force oxygen into my lungs. I must be hallucinating too, because I see a silver dagger spin through the air and bury itself silently in the shadow man’s throat. My vision is completely blacked out when I feel the ropes that secure me to the tower fall away and I collapse onto the cracked ground. I hear muffled swearing and a strong hand tilts my head up off the ground. Something is pressed to my lips and then, amazingly, icy water starts to run down my throat. But despite my shock I’m too far gone and soon my world becomes nothing more, and nothing less, than numb darkness.

Notes

First chapter, Please tell me what you think. :)

Song of the day: 'Chemical Kids and Mechanical Brides' -Pierce the veil