#col22interview

“I’m just pulling up your file, can you remind me where you were before joining us at Colony 22?”

[Isha stands carefully in the doorway, regarding the person behind the desk before deciding whether or not she would be comfortable sitting down. They were brisk and efficient: cold. Not necessarily a bad thing, but she was already on her guard. There was a great deal of chaos in the air since the NWRF arrived and she had heard their ‘Mandate’. It made her sick.]

I was in the penitentiary. [It is a precise answer, giving away no more than had been asked. There’s no sense in lying as this person will see the truth on their screen in a moment, but she also has no intention of elaborating. She’s been here since near enough day one. She had waited.

Now, she sat. It was not an act of submission to this person’s interview; rather, it was an assertion. When Isha sits it is perfectly tidy, straight backed and hands folded, and she regards the newcomer with an unwavering gaze. It says, unblinking: you don’t scare me.]

“Do you or did you have much involvement with Infected persons?”

[It’s a foolish question. Which makes sense, Isha supposes, coming from foolish people. They branded their ignorance right into their Mandate, and she could only imagine that they were asking this now because they wanted to test the compliance of those within the Colony. They would see who could be broken, who would be cowed and ashamed of their love of the Infected.

It wouldn’t be Isha. She knew when to comply, because pride was a poison she hadn’t the stomach for, and she knew that trees that bent to the battering wind would not snap.]

Yes. [No more, no less. Isha is infected, and Ada is infected, and again they can read that in her file if they wish it. She’s never had much time for anyone else -- or, to be precise, she’s never had much patience for anyone else. Time, she has in surplus. Patience, on the other hand, is a virtue that Isha carefully maintains. For the things that matter -- slow, prowling things like a panther in midnight gloom -- she will wait endlessly. A social life is not one of those things. She is comfortable with her books, and with her one dependable friend.]

“As I’m sure you can appreciate, we strive to offer a welcoming environment to all of our residents. It’s our hope that we can rebuild a co-operative society, which means we discourage our residents from getting involved in any… upsetting political discourse. Do we understand each other? Do you have any concerns?”

[How manipulative. They’re playing at being friends, but it’s a poor play-pretend, like a child pouring from an empty teapot for an audience of glassy eyed teddy bears. The performance is for the interviewer’s sake, not Isha’s. They just want her to be that glassy eyed teddy bear.]

You ask me if we understand each other. It seems very peculiar to me that you would say that, because it suggests you know there is subtext in your words. If you will ask me if I understand the subtext, then why would you not simply tell me what you mean in the first place? [She asks this lightly, without a hint of aggression. She may as well be commenting upon the weather. Without waiting for an answer (because she already knows what it would be), she continues:] I don’t find political discourse upsetting. 

[If they want to play silly games with words, then Isha can join in.]

“How do you feel you’ve been adjusting to life these last few years? Is there anything we can provide for you in the way of additional support?”

[It’s a very bad game of play pretend. They are so concerned about offering support and creating a welcoming environment, which would have been lovely at the start of all of this. As it is, Colony 22 has existed in peace for years. The only thing that threatened it, was these people turning up and instating rules that were neither wanted nor needed.

The only way they could offer ‘additional support’ would be by hopping back on the ship they’d arrived on and leaving. Even better, they could get on the ship and scuttle it, and then the Atlantic could have them and they’d not be a problem for anybody.]

No, thank you. I have adjusted very well. [Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.]

“The people here seem to really value the health and stability of the community. The NWRF wants to protect that. In what way do you see yourself fitting in and contributing?”

[Isha has had years of experience when it comes to pretending people don’t make her sick to her stomach. Nobody has ever accused her of being warm, it’s true, but few would guess just how deeply she hates. It’s thanks to these years of experience that she keeps a straight face now, blinking with the placidity of milk.

They wish to protect nothing. They wish to oppress the Infected, and they only wish the Infected would let themselves be walked on.

It has been a long time since she felt anger like this. The Colony has always been frustrating, limiting if in a less precise way than the penitentiary, but she has never felt like anyone wishes her to be a second class citizen before. Now, she is being asked to accept her new role with grace and submissive shame; not only that, but she is being asked to fit in neatly to their narrative. Isha won’t do it.]

‘Contributing to society’ is a very strange concept. Did you know that the reason we think that Neadnderthals were hunched over is because the first Neanderthal skeleton we found had arthritis? His body was preserved because he had been buried with care and love. He could not ‘contribute’ because of his arthritis, but even so he was respected. Value is inherent to human life, not a privilege we must earn. As you can see on my file, I have not caused problems. I have been very quiet here, I don’t hurt anyone. If I am doing no harm, I don’t believe it is so vital that I ‘fit in’ in the way you suggest.

[She had never been concerned about fitting in, and she was even less so inclined now. She rarely liked to make waves, particularly not before she understood a situation fully, but she also wanted to make it crystal clear to this person that she would not be their nice little puppet. She would not smile while they judged her. She would not mindlessly obey rules just because they said so.]

“Do you have any existing connections of significance here at Colony 22? Would you mind telling me a little about these relationships?”

[This is a leading question. They know already, Isha is sure, about Ada. All sorts of things are written in these files, and an old friendship between two ex-cons would certainly be a point of interest. Isha didn’t like to think of herself as an ex-con and resented just how defined she was by that now, but it was inescapable. What she couldn’t work out, was precisely why they wanted to know about Isha’s relationship with Ada. Her immediate thought was to see how much of a threat they were likely to be, and if she was to tell the truth?

These ‘Reformists’ should be very worried. There was nothing Isha wouldn’t do to defend Ada, and she knew Ada was as angry as she was about this change in power. It was more clearly written in Ada, who had always been the fire to Isha’s ice, but they shared the same rage.]

I really do appreciate your patience with me. Once we have this entrance interview hammered out, though, I feel it will save us a lot of time in the future. [[ Quinn smiles: warm and genuinely appreciative of the time he’s harangued this poor person. When Quinn wanted a volunteer to help hash out some of the more administrative side of things, he can’t imagine they thought it’d be a repetitive script-writing exercise fine tuning even the pauses in what was once a simply getting-to-know-you exercise. ]] I’ll make sure to get some extra credits sent your way. For the trouble. Are you ready to begin?

“I’m just pulling up your file, can you remind me where you were before joining us at Colony 22?”

Yes! Yes, make sure everyone says that exactly. It sets the tone, makes things a little off kilter. May help us spot anyone who wants to lie about their whereabouts beforehand. Gaps in the Echo definitely open us up to less trustworthy sorts taking advantage. [[ Quinn nods, enthusiastic. After a moment he stops, laughs quietly as he stops himself getting too lost in his thoughts. ]] Right, I should answer, shouldn’t I? Give you some practice.

I was in a Colony back in the states where I was chosen to spearhead the reformist movement here at twenty two. Thanks to your... vibrant infected community, a stronger reformist presence was sorely needed.

“Do you or did you have much involvement with Infected persons?”

Unfortunately. [[ He deadpans. ]] No, I don’t. [[ Quinn answers simply. Expectantly. When they seem ready to move on: Quinn holds up a finger to stop the interviewer. ]]

I know you’re aware of my story—and my obvious alliance—but I would suggest you ask more questions if someone were to make light of this question. Understood?  [[ Quinn waits for a response before he sits back, nods and gestures for them to continue. This next question took some fine tuning.  ]]

“As I’m sure you can appreciate, we strive to offer a welcoming environment  to all of our residents. It’s our hope that we can rebuild a co-operative society, which means we discourage our residents from  getting involved in any… upsetting political discourse. Do we understand  each other? Do you have any concerns?”

[[ It’s a bit on the nose. Better for it, he thinks. Setting firm boundaries and expectations from the moment they step into the colony walls is better than springing it on people later. Quinn nods, hums in agreement with the phrasing. ]] This question I would like you to focus not only what they say but what they don’t. Their... reactions more than anything. I’m sure many aren’t aware of the good we are actually doing and this could flag up any concerns on our end. [[ After a beat he continues. ]] Do you think anyone will air any ‘concerns’? Can’t imagine they will...

Right. Next question, please.

“How do you  feel you’ve been adjusting to life these last few years? Is there anything we can provide for you in the way of additional support?”

[[ A broad and potentially triggering question for many. If Quinn had to answer this, he knows he may become combative at worst, flippant at best. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to answer this. He can sort himself out. ]] You may need to reiterate this for some of the more skittish members of our community.

We cannot let those who need any sort of medical or therapeutic attention slip through the cracks. Next.

“The  people here seem to really value the health and stability of the community. The NWRF wants to protect that. In what way do you see yourself fitting in and contributing?”

[[ Again setting expectations; a subtle way of implying that they will not tolerate people trying to ruin the status quo. He’s iffy on whether they should include ‘seem’, it may make them look hesitant or unsure of the atmosphere here. Then again, that could backfire. Given the time sunken into this one particular task, Quinn will let that one small point slip.

He nods. The interviewer waits, expecting Quinn to have more to say. Poor thing, having Quinn talk their ear off for hours definitely has them expecting something. He could emphasise—again—the importance of checking credentials or careers of those with patchy Echo data. That could be overkill. ]] No notes.

“Do you have any  existing connections of significance here at Colony 22? Would you mind  telling me a little about these relationships?”

[[ A very straight forward question. There are no more notes from Quinn, much to the interviewer’s relief. So, he simply answers: ]] No, not yet.

“I’m just pulling up your file, can you remind me where you were before joining us at Colony 22?”

[Kip slides a little further down in his seat, arms folded and face sullen. He’d not exactly been having the time of his life at Colony 4, but at least he’d been comfortable there -- now he’s resentful because the life he’d been starting to build there has been uprooted, and he seems to have arrived alongside a bunch of fucking fascists.] 

Oh good, are we making bland small talk while Echo boots up? I feel like you could’ve gone for some more compelling questions though. You can find out the answer yourself in a second. Why don’t you ask something more interesting, like my favourite colour, or food or something? It’s pink, and fries with mayo, if you’re interested. Oh, it’s loaded now? Cool.

“Do you or did you have much involvement with Infected persons?”

[Uh, obviously? You have to really try to not have any Infected people in your life. What, is he meant to be grabbing everyone’s wrists immediately on meeting them and checking their status to make sure he doesn’t get too close? Why the fuck would he do that? They’re saying Infected like it’s a dirty word.]

No, I wake up every morning and induce a full out-of-body experience to get some distance between me and my Infected body. [The ‘???’ is audible in his voice; Kip looks at the interviewer like they’re stupid.] 

“As I’m sure you can appreciate, we strive to offer a welcoming environment to all of our residents. It’s our hope that we can rebuild a co-operative society, which means we discourage our residents from getting involved in any… upsetting political discourse. Do we understand each other? Do you have any concerns?”

[Please, he thinks, talk more like the main villain from a young adult novel. Just because it’s the apocalypse, that doesn’t mean you have to lean into stereotypes. Jesus. Kip rolls his eyes, head tilted back with a ‘humph’. He doesn’t appreciate the thought police telling him he can’t talk politics, on principal if nothing else. It’s not like Kip is hugely politically motivated, but he doesn’t like being told what to do, and he’s always sort of thrived on conflict.] 

Concerns? Yeah. Several. Every word out of your mouth so far is a red flag. I’m not really into abuse dynamics so if you could actually just point me to the door, I’ll see myself back out into the Wastes.

[He’s not really worried about being an ass, because what are they going to do? They already stuck a tracker in his neck and told him nobody was allowed to leave. They already put him on the highest security class, and beyond that they’ll just chuck him in isolation. Given what a burden he finds being around people since his Infection developed, they’d really be doing him a favour with that one.]

“How do you feel you’ve been adjusting to life these last few years? Is there anything we can provide for you in the way of additional support?”

[This is so skeevy. Kip feels his skin starting to crawl; it’s a nice question, but the context and tone of the interviewer makes him feel like this is some sort of test.] 

I mean, yeah, it’s been pretty tough, you know? I’d not even finished puberty when the world ended. Didn’t even finish figuring out who I am. You got porn here? You wouldn’t believe how long it’s been since I watched porn. I’m thinking like, dom daddy - little boy vibes if you’ve got that kind of stuff but at this point I’m not picky.

[Annoyingly, the interviewer barely reacts beyond a faint thinning of their lips. Kip wants a reaction; he’d rather they slapped him in the face rather than continuing to stare at him with that level, bland inquisitiveness.]

“The people here seem to really value the health and stability of the community. The NWRF wants to protect that. In what way do you see yourself fitting in and contributing?”

Actually, I’d like to pull an Uno reverse on that one, and ask how you see yourselves contributing to my life since you -- and by you I mean ‘the powers that be’, whatever you’re calling yourself now --  sent me here. I'm not really concerned about ‘fitting in’. I’m more concerned with why you think shipping me off to this miserable little island is going to suddenly make a saint out of me.

[If they actually read his file instead of just having it in front of them like it’s some sort of power move, they’d see Kip never fit in. They’d see how he got expelled from school, and how he got fired from his internship, and how he got removed from Colony 4. It seems really fucking unfair, actually, that they’re going to sit here and ask how he fits in when it is so painfully clear that Kip’s never known how to do that.]

“Do you have any existing connections of significance here at Colony 22? Would you mind telling me a little about these relationships?”

[At this point Kip is beginning to shut down. This whole interview has been invasive and embarrassing, and he’s really not interested in getting into this with them. What do they want him to say? Yeah, I was at 4 with Corbin and we used to hook up, you want the gory details? You wanna know who was on top? You wanna know how I felt about it?]

“I’m just pulling up your file, can you remind me where you were before joining us at Colony 22?”

I was in America; DC, in fact. Or, near enough. I was there from pretty much the day the asteroids fell until… [there’s a pause as Percy thinks, hesitates. She was there until she had to get out. Until the memories and grief and guilt overtook her and she would’ve run out into the wastes had the NWRF not shown up.] Until I got the opportunity to come here. And every day I’m grateful I did.

“Do you or did you have much involvement with Infected persons?”

I work in the testing labs, so yes, I have daily involvement with them, if that’s what you mean. [She does believe, though, that they’re implying something else. Perhaps not--perhaps she’s just grown wary of what people mean. That can happen when you spend so long worrying about saying the wrong things. Involvement with Infected persons. She thinks about her brother. About watching him every day forget she was there for him, that she was his advocate, that she truly cared about him. She thinks about nights she spends with JR, talking, holding each other, kissing him and always hoping it will go further.] I think it’s hard to find a single person without some sort of involvement with Infected people.

“As I’m sure you can appreciate, we strive to offer a welcoming environment to all of our residents. It’s our hope that we can rebuild a co-operative society, which means we discourage our residents from getting involved in any… upsetting political discourse. Do we understand each other? Do you have any concerns?”

[Percy wants to scoff, roll her eyes. But she doesn’t; she can’t. How hypocritical that would be when she’s part of the problem. Part of the reason there’s “upsetting political discourse.” Though that’s not what they mean. They’re talking about the rebels. They’re talking about radicals who want to change everything the NWRF has done.] I want nothing more than a cooperative society. I hope every day that we can go back to that. [She says. She has plenty of concerns. Plenty of reasons why she thinks what they’re after is an unobtainable goal with the current trajectory. But she doesn’t make that known. Just like all the concerns she always has, just like her thoughts on everything that’s been going on lately, she swallows in down, and just keeps her friendly, placid smile.] We absolutely understand each other, and I don’t have any concerns that come to mind. Can we move on to the next question, please?

“How do you feel you’ve been adjusting to life these last few years? Is there anything we can provide for you in the way of additional support?”

[Truly a loaded question. Something she doesn’t know if she wants to answer. She knows she has to, but... How would they look at her and think of her if she were to say anything that was true. How has she been adjusting? She’s spent almost every day since the asteroids fell in denial about one thing or another. Percy spent her every day before he died in denial about how bad her brother was, how bad her presence in his life was every single day. She told herself that no, it was good, it would be better for him to have a familiar face. But that only ever made things worse. After she died, she lived in denial that he was gone, she told herself that she did everything she could to help him, that she couldn’t have done anything to prevent it, but that was wrong too. She could’ve stepped away, she could’ve let someone else care for him. Instead, she stayed, drove him even further into his Delusion, made him feel even more trapped.

And every day since joining the NWRF she’s told herself that all they’re doing is trying to help people, that she’s not part of a problem. And every day that she continues that, like a broken, distorted record playing over and over in her head, she feels more and more guilty.] I think I’m adjusting as well as I can be, [she replies with a smile. And when it comes to support... unless they had something that could make her sleep better at night (both physically and morally)...] No, I’m doing just fine.

“The people here seem to really value the health and stability of the community. The NWRF wants to protect that. In what way do you see yourself fitting in and contributing?”

I work with them, the NWRF [Percy says plainly. As they say they want to protect the health and stability of the Colony, she feels something sink inside her like a cement block in her lower intestine. She knows they value the physical health of everyone here. But the mental and emotional health? The stability of the community? Every passing day she finds it harder and harder to wear her rose colored glasses. And every time she chooses to put them on she makes herself sick with guilt. Part of her wished it was really as easy as taking on and off a pair of glasses, seeing the morality of everything going on. She wishes it was black and white. It would be so much easier instead of feeling this way. Feeling trapped in a grey area that grew darker and darker the further she stepped into it. The more she convinced herself that she wasn’t in the wrong, that she wasn’t fueling a toxic fire.] But other than the work that they have me do, I’m a nurse. Specifically a rehabilitation nurse; all those people who come in physically and mentally changed from the wastes, I do my best to help them get back on their feet--literally and metaphorically. That’s how I best contribute. [And she wishes that was it.]

“Do you have any existing connections of significance here at Colony 22? Would you mind telling me a little about these relationships?”

[What relationships did she have here? A working relationship with Dante? A sense of the potential of a friendship with Cambie? The..... whatever it was that she had with JR? things she didn’t have before she came here. She knew no one here and that was how she wanted it. And even after months of being here, she still barely had those deep connections. Either because she was too afraid to show anyone that real side of her, or because everyone thought she was pretending to be nice. That she was just another NWRF puppet convincing herself every day that she wasn’t a problem. And she was just that. And she hated that. But maybe its for the best that she doesn’t really have any friends. Maybe it’s for the best that she’s happy she has anyone who’s willing to be around her, even if its just a few select people in a few select ways.] No, not particularly. Nothing that... stands out. [and nothing she wants to discuss with interviewer.] The thing that brought me here was my job, and in my time here I’ve... preferred that that be my main focus.  

Josephine shifted nervously in her seat. Her hands wrung themselves in her lap, rubbing the skin bright red. It had been so long since she’d been inside. Since she’d seen another human face. It felt like a dream-- or a nightmare. She couldn’t tell which. The interviewer sat down across from her and smiled.

“How are you doing Ms. Parker?”

Jo bit back the correction. Mrs. It didn’t seem like a good idea, not when she had no idea what these people wanted or where Rosalind was. Whether she’d see her again. Instead she smiled back briefly. “Fine. Much cleaner.” She’d scrubbed herself raw in the shower, washing away the dirt of the wasteland. Now she could feel every inch of the new clean clothes against her skin and she wanted to rip them off, wrap herself back up in her sweater and a blanket.

The interviewer tapped at a pad, oblivious to Jo’s poorly-hidden discomfort. “I’m just pulling up your file, can you remind me where you were before joining us at Colony 22?”

“Nowhere, really.” Technically Brighton, but did it count when no one lived there anymore? “I travelled a lot. I’m a historian, you see, so I was trying to chronicle...well, everything.”

The interviewer nodded, tapped something out. “Do you or did you have much involvement with Infected persons?”

“Some. I interviewed a couple Infected people, and I once camped with a group of telepaths. They seemed like nice people.” That felt important to say. Jo knew what the NWRF thought of Infected, and although trouble was the last thing she wanted to cause, she couldn’t pretend she was one of them. Rosalind, though...admitting she’d met a few Infected was one thing, and admitting she’d been married to one was another thing entirely. Possibly something incredibly dangerous. “I don’t know anyone who’s Infected, though.”

“As I’m sure you can appreciate, we strive to offer a welcoming environment to all of our residents. It’s our hope that we can rebuild a co-operative society, which means we discourage our residents from getting involved in any… upsetting political discourse. Do we understand each other? Do you have any concerns?”

And there it was. Jo knew all about subtext, and this was hardly subtle. The interviewer’s smile remained shiny and bright, but the threat was there underneath. Jo swallowed. Her hands twisted in each other, heat rising between her palms from the friction. Her skin crawled from the clothes and the force of the interviewer’s smile. “Yes. I understand. Don’t worry, I don’t want any trouble. I’m a historian, remember? My whole job is to remain neutral.” It’s a poor joke and Jo can’t even summon the energy to smile, but hopefully it gets her message across. It if does, the interviewer gives no indication except for the incessant tap-tap-tapping on the screen. The interviewer doesn’t even bother to look up again for the next question.

“How do you feel you’ve been adjusting to life these last few years? Is there anything we can provide for you in the way of additional support?”

“I think I’ve been adjusting alright. I mean, it hasn’t been easy, but I’ve been getting by. Especially, writing people’s stories, it’s given me a sort of purpose. Kept me going, even when there doesn’t seem to be much point.” Here Jo does brighten, an idea striking through here. “Actually, if you have access to a library or anything like that, that would be really helpful. I’ve got quite a lot of notes to refine, and having access to older works would be really helpful. And besides, I’ve seen more than my fair share of ruined books-- it’d be great to start building up a proper collection. Something to preserve for future generations.”

Jo has no idea if her request will be honored, or if it’s just too trivial to be placed on the Colony’s list, but the interviewer nods and adds another note. “The people here seem to really value the health and stability of the community. The NWRF wants to protect that. In what way do you see yourself fitting in and contributing?”

“Well, I don’t really have a lot of practical skills.” That was an understatement. Jo couldn’t treat wounds or build things. She wasn’t any kind of scientist or fighter. All she had were her books. “I know a lot about history and literature. Actually, I did see a few kids when I was coming in-- maybe I could teach them? I was really close to getting my teaching license before....you know. So I could do that. Or...I guess I’m an alright cook?” Her domestic skills left something to be desired, but she wasn’t totally incompetent. And she was perfectly happy with scrubbing floors all day if it meant she didn’t have any high expectations on her.

“Alright.” The interviewer finally looked up at Jo, scrutinizing her to the point of an insect under a microscope. “Do you have any existing connections of significance here at Colony 22? Would you mind telling me a little about these relationships?”

[[ Alois sinks into the offered seat with a bone-tiredness that belies how uncomfortable the chair actually is. They let him shower, at least, but he’s realizing that might only have been so they could ensure the brand now stinging at the inside of his wrist would set properly. He’d taken his time anyway, partially because he wanted to, partially to annoy them because they seemed like they were in a hurry, and partially because walking from Brussels to Dunkirk had gathered him more grime than he ever thought possible.

Sitting here now, though, across the table from a woman with a tight, severe bun and an impassive expression, Alois wonders if he ought to have preferred sleeping on the ground to letting himself be shuttled here. It already feels like an interrogation. He does his best to ignore distractions —the strong, healthy thrumming of her heart; conversations in the hall a room removed; a high, electric buzz coming from her Echo pad —as they begin. ]]