This is a narrative, so it's written in first person and the reader has no idea who the main character is. It was done this way on purpose, so just deal with it.
Synopsis:
A mutated gene, resulting from a recessive allele triggered in random second generation coordinators is all that separate the Scindogen Coordinators from their Unigen Coordinator kin. With no where else to turn, young Scindogen seek safety and are given instead an ultimatum; fight or die where they stand. These young people, thrust into a cycle of events they have yet to comprehend, may bring about revolution- or universal holocaust.
It should be dawn. However that is relative, as there is no longer day nor night. Simply one long twilight where our effluvium of reality is burned away like mist before the rising sun.
There I go again with references to time. Sometimes I can't help but revert to the old ways of thinking. The way I thought before everything was taken. The phantom pains of an embrace that I can no longer remember haunt my ever wakeful sleep. Sometimes it is the faint brush of a cat's whiskers against my arm. Or a warm furry body curling up at the foot of my bed that I cannot displace- because it isn't there. I wish it could be so, but I, along with many others, have been sentenced to this hell from birth.
Alone in my cot I think such things. If they knew of my thoughts, I would be court marshaled and sentenced to a clandestine death. That is the penalty for such treason. But these thoughts come unbidden. And I cannot dispel them, no matter how hard I try.
Alone in my cot I stare at the steel ceiling. I'm in a steel cage- like an animal. Caged like an animal, though they say that it is for my own protection. But they're killing me. Keeping my memories caged in steel till I choke on my own past or accept the future that is offered
Not everyone is in a steel room like me. No, it is only those of us who have not surrendered. Every day there are fewer in the solitary confinement rooms. They've been moved to the barracks, with the good soldiers.
I don't know how long I've been here. My distinctions between present and past have been muddied, and I feel drowsy and disoriented more with each moment between sleep and wakefulness. The food is drugged, I bet. Or perhaps the very air itself is poisoned. Or more likely yet, it's my own emotions slowly killing me. They want to break down our barriers and take control. They want to rape our minds and leave us dead on the inside.
Every 60 minutes, every 3600 seconds, someone comes by and looks through the small window in the steel door. First I hear the footsteps, telling me to close my eyes and feign an obedient sleep.Then the metal flap is lifted; it still needs to be oiled. I can't say if it is the same pair of eyes peering at me through that small window, but I can always feel their heavy gaze fall on me as I lay prostrate. In the beginning, I trembled beneath the thin blanket, afraid of what would come to be should they find me awake. Now my fear is checked and only my mind quails in fear.
As mankind delved into sciences better left to nature and all her wisdom, a flaw was created. There is a recessive trait in all first generation coordinators. However as second generation coordinators were born, it was found that this recessive trait was triggered by a special RNA code and mutated into a dominant allele.
Like a game of chance, this gene, while it may have become dominant, remained inactivated in many. However some of us were born with the activated gene. We are known as the Scindogen. And this is our story.