Neuralink

• Chelsea Lucas, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2021

Each grey, lifeless looking face watched on as the officers, whose steps, were as crisp as their starched, slate-coloured robes, marched in a perfectly lined chain. Each robe, with a small pocket about the chest, had a small, blue word, which read ‘Neuralink’ which was enclosed by a green triangle. Each one of them, a metal rod in their hand, bulldozed the innocent people who happened to be passing by, out of their paths. Each one of them observed as each person took a cautious step forward to await their scan, waiting for the unlikely possibility of a traitor. My breath, heavy and jagged was about the only sound my ears could muster among the cacophony of loud exchanges and heavy footsteps.
“Don’t be nervous,” 90346 whispered into my ear, “we haven’t had a traitor in years, and also, you did pass last time.”
Her soft voice, smooth like silk and sweet as honey just couldn’t reassure me. I just had a bad feeling; I couldn’t even grasp why.
“Things haven’t been normal lately, I haven’t been seeing what I’ve normally been seeing, it’s almost like I don’t have-”
She cut me off before I could finish.
“You’ll be fine, you worry too much,”
she gently placed her hand on my shoulder and stepped forward, awaiting her scan. The scanner screeched as she stepped through, she was safe. I pulled my shoulder-length hair into the regulated hairstyle, a small ponytail which was to sit in the exact middle of behind the head. Each strand of hair woven with auburn lights refused to cooperate, dangling over my sapphire-coloured eyes. Never mind, my hair should be the least of my worries at the moment.
The officers slowly became less attentive after the tedious process of scanning. The monotonous signals which sounded as each person stepped through repeated for what seemed like hours. Soon, the distance between the scanner grew smaller and smaller until, it was only barricaded by a single body. The scanner, made of a tarnished sheet of steel, was stretched to the roof, and a small screen was attached to the top. The screen displayed the crowd, each face enclosed by a coloured square and topped with their identification number. I took a single step forward, I held my breath, there was no sound. I locked eyes with an officer as he looked upon the crowd. His eyes, deep and hostile widened as he heard the silence that passed my entry.
“Traitor!” He hissed, as each other officer gazed into my eyes, with a malicious smirk that stretched from cheek to cheek. I touched the small scar on which sat above my eyebrow. I have the chip, I’m not a traitor!