The illumination of the street lights shone with a dull despondence. The moon served as a mirror of this glow, reflecting the agony upon the people in its sinister glory. Footsteps echoed, but the sound of each breath was stifled by the dense air. Shadows darkened the sidewalk as the familiar neighbor called Eclipse appeared. The Eclipse knew nothing of happiness, nor did She know anything of pain. She only knew of enhancing whatever the emotions had in store for the people. The result of this was usually the magnification of something called fear. Fear walked the streets every hour, searching for its next unaffected victim. There weren’t many Unaffected these days. Most had chosen a side, though the options weren’t the best. The Unaffected were lucky, but not-so-lucky. They were always on the run for unreachable escape.

Drowsiness was common. No one seemed immune to the fatigue that visited at random intervals. Heads were hung low and feet were dragged, not only from tiredness, but from hopelessness. These were the symptoms-fear, fatigue, loss of hope. If you had these, than you probably knew who I was. I was the derelict. I was the outcast. I was the only one who didn’t possess these three dreadful symptoms. I was immortal, but my right to immortality was not everlasting.

The Chaos Administration had the symptoms, though they successfully buried them away inside them. A stifling pile of dirt and mud kept it deep inside the grave. The CA represented the chaos they supported, though ironically; their society was one of the most organized ever managed. Then there was the antithesis. Then there was the emotional prison of life. Then there was the Army of The Lord. They were just the same, but just the opposite. They focused on order and devotion, but their administration was disorganized and lacked a leader, excluding their god.

Besides these two foundations, there were no sources of religion left from the past. Christianity had ceased, Judaism had disappeared, and Islam had evaporated. The reasons for this were not clear because they were not passed on, nor were they recorded. Not much about past theology was in the intelligence of those during this time. Even if there was record, no one would care to read it. Wisdom was no longer an important trait. When you turned eighteen, you made the decision. Wisdom was no longer an option. When you received the sheet, it all became clear. You either decided to dedicate your life to overly-fervent faith or idiotic carelessness. Needless to say, they never got my results.

Now I’m wanted. Recruiters will be after me for a few months, but then they’ll realize my dedication to being an Unaffected. When my inevitable rebellion becomes clear to them, I will become wanted in a different fashion. That’s why I’m here.

“Name please,” spoke a tall, dark-haired, smoky looking young man. His eyes, which were occasionally blocked by pieces of black hair that accidentally curtained his gaze, were icy blue and inquisitive.

“U-976,” I replied softly. He looked puzzled for a moment, but then understood my oblivious nature.

“No, I mean your real name.”

My throat tensed up and I took a deep breath as I was about to speak the name that had been forced away from me since I was only a child.

“Lucy.”

“Ah, now that’s a name,” he responded smiling. Having said the name, I felt that a part of me had been released from the invisible chains that were holding me down for so many years. I was free to be, well, me.

“How many are in your party?”

“Just me.” He looked up, his eyes displaying concern, but then retreated back to looking at the survey.

“Is Unaffected in your family?”

“I’m the first one.” He only raised his eyes this time, keeping his head in the inclined position. He seemed to feel guilty for making me feel strange.

“You’re a rare case. We are pleased to have you here at Golgotha.” He walked around to the front of the desk he had been leaning over and shook my hand.

“Here is your key. You’ll be staying in room 511 on the fifth floor. My office is on the first floor if you need anything.”

I nodded silently and took the key instinctively. Then, proceeding to the nearest elevator, I studied the posters and photos plastered on the walls. Most of them were protest signs from the 2010s. I passed a room that seemed to be filled of only filing cabinets with files scattered all about the floor. So many folders and papers lay on the ground that it was difficult to see the cold marble. I continued toward the elevator and stepped in lightly. I stood in the deserted contraption and moved to push the floor number. Before my finger reached the button, however, I noticed a strange quality about it. Each button not only had a number, but a category. Their stretched out, rectangular shape made them seem out of place. Leaning closer, I read the miniscule writing. 1-Lobby. 2-Cafeteria. 3-Communications. 4-Awareness. 5-Staterooms.

There was one addition, though its contents were erased. After a pause of hesitation, my finger pressed the button gently, and I took a step back to observe. It rose to two, then three, then four, then stop. A gentleman who looked of middle-age came into my company, his shady figure stepping close to the buttons. He reached to press but then withdrew, seeing the button lit up, and stood with his eyes staring at the opposite side. Not being a victim of his glare, comfort still refused to remain with me. I quickly scurried out of the doors once they opened to my floor. My curiosity was weak compared to my fear, so I didn’t dare look back. I glanced at the room numbers.

507, 509, 511.

I stopped and inserted the card key into the slot. It beeped genially and clicked. My visit was simple and limited. My suitcases were already placed neatly on my twin-sized bed, and I didn’t conjure up any reason for my lingering. I departed.