A/N By the way, this is a mix of both book and film.
Chapter 1
She stepped out of the building, the wind blowing her hair into her face as she looked over the courtyard. She then gave an irritable sigh and shoved the unwanted hair out of her face as she moved across, her arms heavy with the burden of the many books that she carried. She heard a voice call her name and turned around, to find her best friend running towards her, brandishing a newspaper. The girl quickly caught up with her and shoved the newspaper under her nose.
"Have you seen the news, Char? Have you seen it?"
"Now I have." Charlotte took the newspaper from her friend and sat down at a bench to read it, just as the bell for lunch rang. People rushed out of the classrooms and ran towards the door that led into the cafeteria, completely ignoring Charlotte and her best friend, Josephine Marot. Charlotte's eyes quickly scanned the newspaper and she smiled at the picture on the front. They couldn't hide it then. Even the great BTN couldn't hide a big announcement like that, and it was on national television as well. She had seen it, and, weeks later, they were still blasting it on the newspapers of Britten. She tucked the paper under her arm, and made her way to the door. She would study the paper later.
She sat on her bed, scissors in one hand and the newspaper spread out in front of her like a great map. She looked at the picture, and with one finger, traced the delicate marks of the face upon the thin paper. She wondered at how such a strong man may let such a thing happen. She was of course thinking about Adam Sutler, the High Chancellor or whatever he was called now. She took the scissors to the paper, and slowly snipped the paper, cutting out the article in question. She snipped away delicately, as though not to rip the paper. It was vitally important that she didn't do this, because she didn't want to rip anything in her little shrine. All around her head grinning masks glared down at her. Drawings of men with knives and conical hats grinned down at the girl, sending her little whispered messages of hope and freedom in a world where people were oppressed. Here, the girl was safe from all of the troubles of the world, and all of the things that had happened to bring such a world down. What had happened since the war? Had America really gone, and with it bad American accents, film and beef jerky? These were questions that adults should think about, not 14 year old school with physics exam homework to do and a maths paper late. But Charlotte thought about them, and wondered at how such a thing could ever have happened to this world. They were slowly killing themselves, and they were doing nothing to stop it. For 14 years she had lived in terror of thinking that any day Japan would drop the bomb and blow Britten into of the sky. But they didn't, and now America was gone. She had lived in world of fear, and she still did. But now, in London, someone was fighting back. A man in a Guy Fawkes mask, who had blown up the Old Bailey and had said that he did. And now he had given Britten a year in which to redeem itself. She would be there in London when Parliament was blown up, and she would cheer along with the rest as the stone and glass gave a sky a new look. She would be there.
She finished cutting out the clipping, and smiled down the man in the picture. She quickly got some blue-tack out of her draw and tacked dup the clipping on her wall, sitting back and admiring it for a second. Then she realised that she had homework to do and quickly pulled out her files, opening them at the right page, got out a pencil and started to write the answers to the questions. She hoped that someone would get her out of this. She didn't mind the work, in fact it was really easy, but she just wasn't in the mood for working. She just wanted to talk with someone.
"Hello!" Two voices sounded off in the still air of the dormitory. God had obviously heard her prayer. Charlotte looked up and smiled as the heads of her best friends, Jo and Zanthe Catesby popped round the door. She quickly moved all of her books off of her bed and they sat down, amidst the glare of all of the clippings.
"How are you?" asked the cheery voice of Zanthe, or Zany as she was known.
"Fine. Why do you ask?" Charlotte got up from the bed and moved to her bookshelf, putting her books away, and keeping an ear out as they talked behind her back. She had always had a keen sense of hearing, sharpened from ears of eavesdropping at the door whilst her parents talked.
"Oh, nothing. Just that you seemed a bit down today." Jo supplied in a tone that made Charlotte turn around and stare at her.
"Jo, it the 2nd of December. Of course I will be a bit down." Charlotte said it more sharply than she intended it to sound, but it still made her sad.
"Oh, right. Sorry." Jo ducked her head in shame. Second of the twelfth. The day they day that the men came with the guns and black bags and took her parents away to God only knows where. It was hurtful to know that on this day, she had lost her only link to true happiness because of the governments rule. It stung.
"It's Science now. Are you going to come?" asked Zanthe.
"In a minute. I just want some time to think."
"O.K then." Jo and Zanthe left the room and Charlotte sat down heavily on the bed. She took out her letter to her uncle and read it again, before slowly screwing it up. She couldn't write to him again. She had written too many times, and he still wasn't going to come. He had an important case to work on, and he obviously didn't want to neglect that. Even so, he could have taken the time to come down here. But no, he didn't want to. And so she was stuck here. Cut off from the outside world with only newspaper clippings to keep her amused. It was a slightly dull life, she had to admit. With her GCSE's coming up and coursework to keep her happy, it never ceased to amaze her that she had the guts to even take out a little piece of paper, and write down a letter for help. She would wait, for him to come, and then she would make him pay. It would help her to be strong, but there was only a certain amount of time before a person could be driven completely mad by boredom. Maybe that would be what she would be famous for. Being the first person to be driven mad by doing nothing. She was already depressed, how much longer would it take for her to go mad? Oh she would wait. It couldn't be long.
She took her books down from the locker in her room and ran down the stairs, nearly knocking into a teacher as she ran to the science block. Even the teacher knew that she had a reason to be late on this day. They weren't stupid. Mind you, it was their job not to be stupid, but still you had to grant them that they had a little bit of sympathy for this grieving girl. She made a quick detour to the toilets. She pulled out a little bottle of water that she always carried around with her. Charlotte tilted her head back and sprayed the water into her eyes. It only took a few seconds for her eyes to become red and puffy, so it looked like she had been crying recently. It was a trick that she had often used to fake lateness to a lesson, and it usually worked. But she had a felling that today was no ordinary day that it was going to be a day that would change her life. She had often had the slightly physic abilities. She had dreamt of her parent's arrest, but they didn't believe her when she told them. And when she was younger she had dreamt of a terrible war, that would change the world forever.
She hurried to the science block, and as she burst through the door, she gabbled "I'm so sorry sir, I was upstairs cry-." She never got to finish her sentence. Standing in the middle of the room, guns pointing to her chest were five men, dressed in black. In the middle of this throng stood a tall, slightly balding man, with his little pistol aimed at her head. She swallowed, and looked behind these men. Her class and the teacher were grouped at the back of the classroom wide eyes terrified.
"Good day, Miss Finch." said the tall man smoothly. Charlotte gulped, and moved slowly back to the door. "Oh, I wouldn't try that, if I were you." he said, as she moved. She stopped, and dropped her books onto the ground.
"I've heard that you have taken quite a fancy to what has been happening in London recently." he continued in that horribly smooth voice. She glanced at her friends behind the men. They looked at her with eyes full of tears. She looked down and sniffed. "Oh yes, your charming little friends have told me quite a bit about your little room upstairs. All of those newspaper clippings. Your room looks like a printing office, so I'm told."
She didn't say anything, only looked at the ground, her heart pounding like a drum. Her friends had betrayed her, sold her out. But she didn't hate them. They were afraid. They had to do something, and so they told him.
"Are you going to kill me?" she asked in a pathetically small voice.
"Kill you? Lord no!" the tall man laughed. He stood there laughing for some time, before wiping his eyes and looking at her. "No, we're not going to kill you. Not yet anyway." he added nastily. "No we're going to have some fun with you. Now, let us review the facts." He courteously waved to a chair, and two of the Fingermen grabbed her arms and moved her towards it. They plonked her down and stood by her side.
"You were born in 2006, in a small hospital just outside Edinburgh," he started, "Your father was Douglas Michel Finch and your mother was Serena Jane Finch, nee Bower-Green. You moved down to London to stay with your uncle in 2010, where your younger brother Patrick was born. But he died soon after he was born, because of the virus that was in the Three Waters plant. You were dangerously ill, and when you recovered you were moved to North Yorkshire. But not before you parents made friends with another family, the Hammonds. They had meetings to discuss the overthrow of the government. You used to play with their little girl, Evey. But when you moved you saw no more of them. You went to a primary school up in Thirsk and did extremely well, skipping a year. You were then submitted to a boarding school when you were 8 because your parents were moving around to much. They wouldn't tell you why. In 2018 men came to your parents place and took them away. You hid in the water closet. When the men had gone you ran all of the way to this place, where you have been since then. You have cut off all communications of the outside world, and you have become depressed. You see a physiatrist once a week. You write often to your uncle, Eric Finch, to come and take you back to London. He has never replied to your letters, because he has never got them." At this her reached inside his coat and pulled out a thick wedge of letters, waving them in her face as she cried.
"Take her." The men grabbed her arms and dragged her out of the classroom. Dimly she heard the fire-alarm go off. They took her to a room, which she hadn't seen before.
"Take off your clothes." said a voice behind the black metal mask.
"What!" she said, clutching to the itchy jumper as though it were a life support.
"Take them off, or we will take them off for you." She slowly removed her clothing, folding it neatly as placing it on the white, sterile floor. At last she stood in just her underwear. "All of it."
"You must be joking." she said coldly. The men looked at each other, then strode foreword and forcibly ripped them off whilst she shrieked. Very soon she stood naked in front of then, face burning in shame.
"Get into this." A man shoved a bag to her. She cautiously took it and looked in. She put her hand in and took out an orange, sleeveless tunic, dirty and mud streaked. She didn't want to put it and, but decided that it was clothing, however filthy, and it would cover everything. She put it on.
Suddenly the men lurched foreword and took her forcibly by the hair. She screamed, but they had tied a white blindfold around her eyes, obscuring her vision. She was terrified.
"Move it, lassie." said one of the men, pushing hard into her back. She stumbled foreword, her hands blindly searching for a handhold. They grabbed her hair, and yanked it around a corner, scraping her in the process. She cried out, but a quick punch in the mouth put paid to that. So on and on she went, blind as a bat, with only her hands and the men to guide her.
Presently she heard voices, form a direction to her right. She knew they were going there, and so she moved to the left, trying to get away. The men grabbed her arm, and pulled her in the direction of the voices. She tumbled, but was prevented from falling by the hand on her arm. They opened a door, and suddenly the voices were so much louder. She moved towards the voices, and they sat her down on a chair. They tied her hands behind her back, and tied her feet so that they also couldn't move. Suddenly the voices stopped.
"Good day, people of Queen Victoria's school!" said the voice. She moved her head towards the sound. "I am Peter Creedy, head of the Finger at London. As you know, this girl that is sitting in front of you is a traitor, a girl who is an enemy of the state. Today, we give you special permission to see what happens to people who don't to as they are told to do."
The blindfold was gone. She opened her eyes slowly; afraid to see what she knew was there.
Packed into the Great Hall was the whole school. From the people in reception, to the seniors. 16 year-olds mingled with the 5 year-olds. But they all had one thing in common. They all wore identical faces of horror and disgust. They saw her, or rather, what she had been reduced to, and they didn't like it at all. It was terrible. She felt the tears slowly leak their way out of her eyes.
"Mr Phillips, if you please." said Mr Creedy. The man behind her suddenly grabbed her hair, yanking it back. She cried out, but suddenly a noise stopped her. The sound of buzzing. 'Oh, God, no. They don't need to do this!' she thought, as the feel of electric on her skull intensified and the razor made it way slowly up her head, shaving off her long brown hair. She was crying now, and she didn't bother to hide it. There were people crying in the 'audience' as well. But the people in black were laughing at her. She was scared, and she was sick of it. But she couldn't help it. She wanted to be brave, but it had crumbled away in an instant.
It seemed like an eternity, but it must have only been a few minutes. The razor stopped, and then Mr Creedy was speaking again. She didn't listen. She didn't want to. They took her away, form the crowd who was yelling. They put the blindfold on and put her in a van. They drove her away from all that she had. But she was numb. She was dying inside. She would never be the same again.