"I still haven't forgotten the one man we weren't able to save. I haven't forgotten number 27." A bit of context: In Ignite Me, Juliette goes into the compound with Kenji and Adam during a battle and they see some soldiers rounding up people to execute. 27 people, to be exact. The trio eventually rescues the civilians from the soldiers, but not before they've shot one man. Number 27.
Ever since I read that line, I've wanted to write number 27's story. And I've also really wanted to write about life in the compounds since we know so little about them.
Being as this is in the compounds, it's all pretty much OCs. So if that's not your cup of tea, feel free to just not read this.
Disclaimer: I am not Tahereh Mafi and therefore Shatter Me is not mine.
I knew I was dead the minute I saw my good-for-nothing brother walking down the street. He was supposed to be at work at the textile factory by now. Leave it to him to join the idiots of this Sector who think skipping work will change anything. Though, in a way, they ARE right. Death is certainly a change from the norm, though not by much here in the compounds. Maybe after living so close to death day after day, he's decided he doesn't care. But that doesn't mean it's his decision to make.
He doesn't see me until I'm just a few paces away. He turns to me with a big stupid grin on his face
"Hey, brother! Fancy seeing—" I cut him off mid-greeting with a swift punch in the face. "Ow! What the hell, J?"
"I could say the same thing to you. Why the hell aren't you at the factory?" I ask.
"You know why."
Shaking my head, I turn to leave. It was a mistake to go over to him. But before I can walk away, I feel his hand on my arm. Reluctantly, I turn back to face him
"J, come on. Things are changing, can't you feel it? The Reestablishment can't stand forever and now these rebel attacks are changing things here. Things are gonna be better now. I just need to be a part of it, you know? Be part of the change and all that." My blank stare is obviously not what my older brother was expecting because he asks me, "What's wrong, J?"
For a long moment, I don't answer. The silence hangs between us, heavy. After what seems like hours, I speak.
"Don't call me J." I spit, "That's what my brother used to call me. But I don't have a brother anymore. Because now, in my eyes, you're just a dead man walking. And it's great that you feel all this hope and shit. It's real great for you. I just hope you still feel it when Clarissa and the kids are shot right in front of your face and I hope you still feel it when they take the time to tell you that I'm next, right before they kill you too. Because otherwise all that hope isn't worth shit." I turned and walked away from my brother—for what would likely be the last time—and headed to work. And after work? I'd head home to my family for what would likely be the last time. Unless.
Unless the rumours were true.
Unless Warner really did spare the soldier-thief's family.
Unless hope wasn't so crazy after all.