The Onaria Chronicles: Midnight

“Agent Midnight,” the Norwegian Justice Defence Minister, Frida Amundsen, called out. “At attention and comply.”

“You have my attention; I will comply,” Midnight responded. 

“There have been reports of an insurgence in Skarsvag. I want you to wipe it out. You know what to do.” 

Midnight nodded. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d dealt with a rebel insurgency – Earth was united under one country, one flag: formally known as the United World Government of Earth (United World or UW for short), this world government did not tolerate insurrection, as it disrupted the peace. 

“Oh, and Agent,” Minister Amundsen finished, “we hear that they speak Norwegian. At ease.” 

Midnight nodded once again, and Minister Amundsen left Midnight’s quarters, which were dull, the walls grey and his bed a faded white. He lived in Norway, so the rebels spoke Norwegian, the old tongue of the Norwegians. Since English was the only legal language on Earth, these Norwegians thought that speaking their own language meant they were freer. They were wrong. Midnight knew that the citizens of the United World were already free enough. Any restrictions put upon them were there for their own good. These Resistance fighters, however, were ruthless and cruel. They had to be put down before they harmed somebody. And so, Midnight got his blue United World Superior Security Force armour on, arming himself with his laser-rifle, and heading outside of his quarters. The Tromso Security Centre was bustling with movement as Social Justice Officers filed reports and began to head off to investigate a crime scene. Midnight headed down a long, bright hallway to the vehicle dock, where he got in an SUV and began his journey to Skarsvag. It was a nine-hour journey, so Midnight was able to get rest in before he arrived. The vehicle was self-driving, so he didn’t have to worry about being awake at the wheel. The vehicle alerted him when he was getting close to Skarsvag, so he had time to awaken and be ready for his mission. It was odd that a Resistance cell would be in a small town such as Skarsvag – usually they were holed up in the bigger cities. But, no matter – Midnight knew he could get rid of them easily. He could see the town now – it was small, with large hills towering over the little houses of the old village. The Barents Sea was a beautifully clean blue, which was unusual, since most of Earth’s waters were now polluted. The village was beautiful, Midnight couldn’t deny it. He parked at North Star Lodge, getting out of his vehicle to investigate. He walked along Skutnes Road, heading northeast along the bridge that led to the other side of the village. He was halfway across the bridge when he felt something hit his head. It wasn’t anything huge, probably just a pebble. Nevertheless, he turned to investigate. Sure enough, there stood a Resistance fighter, defiantly glaring at Midnight with deep brown eyes. 

“Du tilhører ikke her,” the rebel spoke, tossing her long, blonde hair. 

“You’re wrong,” Midnight argued, knowing what they said – he’d been trained to understand Norwegian. “I do belong here. You’re the one who doesn’t belong, rebel.” 

“Nå!” she shouted, catching Midnight off guard. 

Before he could do anything, Midnight’s feet were swept from underneath him and a small electromagnetic pulse bomb was set off right next to him, disrupting the electronics in his armour and weaponry. Dizzy from the blast, Midnight was easily overwhelmed. He was completely helpless against the traitors. For the first time in his life, since he was twelve, he had lost a fight. What made these rebels so much smarter than the others? 

“Deaktivere ham,” the woman with the brown eyes and blonde hair commanded the others. 

Following her order – which was to disable Midnight – the other rebel traitors knocked Midnight unconscious. When Midnight awoke, he didn’t know where he was. It was dark, which was unusual, and he was trapped on a concrete chair by metal chains. 

“You can hear me, no?” a voice came from all directions. It was deep and garbled. 

“Your Resistance will not-”

Midnight was interrupted. “The Resistance against the World Government may lose one fight, but we will win the war. The tyranny of your oppressive United World will eventually come to an end, one way or another.” 

Midnight made no comment, so the voice continued. 

“You are one of the United World’s super-soldiers. Designation ‘Midnight’. You are cybernetically and genetically modified – enhanced. You may be wondering why you are unable to see in the dark: we’ve disabled your enhancements. At least, your cybernetic ones. Your genetic modifications are of no concern to us. You were created to comply. And you will comply.” 

With that, light flooded the small room in which Midnight was being kept. A door opened, and the brown-eyed, blonde-haired woman stepped in, closing the door behind her. The walls of the room were black, the floor black, and the ceiling black. Only a bright fixture in the ceiling kept the room illuminated. 

“Go ahead,” Midnight growled through gritted teeth, “torture me. See what good it’ll do.”

“No,” the woman objected firmly. “We already know that you’re pain tolerant and resistant to persuasion by torture. We have other ways to make you give us the information we need.” 

“I highly doubt that,” Midnight retorted. “I was trained from birth to fight you terrorists. Your ideals sow disorder, war, chaos, and hatred.” 

“Maybe they do,” the woman sighed. “Maybe they don’t. But your ideals choke the freedoms that all of humankind have rights to.” 

Before Midnight could make another comment, the woman began her persuasion. 

“Agent Midnight,” she called, triggering panic in Midnight as he realised what she was doing. “At attention and comply.” 

Midnight tried to resist, struggling against the training he’d received since infancy. 

“Agent Midnight,” the woman repeated, this time more commanding. “At attention and comply.” 

“You have my attention,” Midnight burst out, the phrase taking over his mind. “I will comply.” 

“Mission report: Reine.”

His first mission. 

“Year twenty-one eighty-one,” Midnight reported. “Tuesday, the twentieth of March. Terrorists making a supply run. Leader killed. Supply run failed. Mission objective accomplished.” 

“Very good,” the woman was satisfied with her results. “Mission report: Alta.”

“Year twenty-one eighty-nine. Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of November. Terrorists committing depredations upon military facilities. Depredations halted and terrorists killed. Mission objective accomplished.” 

“Very good. Mission report: Skarsvag.”

“Year twenty-one ninety. Saturday, the eleventh of September. Terrorist insurgence. Captured. Mission objective failed.” 

“Current date.”

“Unknown. Implants compromised.” 

“At ease.” 

Midnight gasped as if he’d been suffocating. How had this rebel learned of the keywords used for the United World’s super-soldiers? He felt so suddenly exhausted, as if the woman’s words had sucked the energy from his body. 

“Doesn’t it make you uneasy that the government can control you with a few simple words?” the woman inquired. 

“Anything the government does is for the good of the people,” Midnight answered in a tired, monotone voice. 

“I’m sure they taught you to say that,” the woman sighed, shaking her head. “Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be free?” 

Midnight felt as if he had no control over what he was saying. “All are free under the United World Government of Earth.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” the woman seemed disappointed. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Midnight watched her go, and once she was gone, he tried to break free from his cold prison. The lights shut off suddenly, startling him a bit. He wasn’t used to not being able to see in the dark. Midnight struggled against his metal chains, unable to break free from them. His hands were too big to fit through the metal cuffs, and he found out quite quickly that getting up would not help him – his feet were chained down, too. No matter what he did, Midnight could not be free of his chains. But he didn’t give up, struggling for hours. 

How could I let myself be captured? Midnight berated himself. I’m such a fool! I should have known that these terrorists had set a trap. Skarsvag is too small a town to set up an insurgence!

Midnight grew tired after struggling for a long while. He kept trying, but his body eventually gave in to sleep. He was jolted awake by the lights in his prison turning on, immediately followed by the woman from the day before entering again. She asked the same questions as she had the day before, but didn’t use the government keywords or ask for any mission reports. Midnight gave her the same answers, and this went on for several days – Midnight had lost count. Giving this woman the same answers was beginning to grate on Midnight, but he couldn’t stop himself. He felt desperate. Helpless. Controlled. Maybe the government wasn’t all it seemed…? No. It held control of Midnight to protect the people and better the world. But…what if the woman was right? What if the government was oppressive, and just controlling Midnight to keep the people in line? 

What am I thinking? Midnight reprimanded himself silently. Of course they need to keep the people in line! They’re subordinate. Weak. They can’t help themselves. The government must help them. And when they think they can do things without permission of the government, it’s my duty to make sure they’re helped back into lawfully obedient conformity.

On what seemed like the hundredth day, the woman came in as usual, but something about her was different. 

“Your hair’s shorter,” Midnight remarked. 

“Nice of you to notice,” the woman thanked. “I only had it cut about an inch. You like it?”

Midnight was caught off-guard by this cordial, friendly speech. Nobody had ever spoken to him in such a way. He wasn’t sure how to answer. 

“Just answer honestly,” the woman pressed, her eyes holding curiosity and intrigue in them. 

“I-I don’t think I like it,” Midnight admitted, the words strange on his tongue. “I…liked it better when you had long hair.”

The words almost physically hurt to get out. But once they were out, Midnight felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As if he’d said something of his own choosing for the first time in his life. 

“It’ll grow back,” the woman reassured Midnight. “I cut it to keep it healthy. Now…on to my duties.”

“Wait,” Midnight stopped her, his breath catching on the word, as if something was stopping him. But he pressed on: “I don’t want to answer those questions. I don’t want to say the same thing I’ve said for so long. But I don’t have a choice.” 

“I know,” the woman’s voice wasn’t cold, but she was trying to mask her obvious pity for Midnight. “It’s good that you’ve come to realise this. If it helps you, you can know my name. It’s Vanja. My name is Vanja.” 

Vanja.

Midnight liked that name. But he couldn’t seem to muster the strength to say it aloud. 

“You haven’t been trained all your life,” Vanja told Midnight. “You’ve been made to believe that. You had a life before. That’s all we know. We don’t know how old you were when you were taken, or where you’re from.” 

Midnight didn’t know if he believed her or not. Every memory he had was of either being trained or of being on a mission. But he didn’t question Vanja, simply processing what she’d said. After that conversation, Vanja went on with asking the questions she asked every day. To ad nauseam this went on – day after day. Midnight tried as hard as he could to resist giving the same answers every time, but to no avail. He was at a loss. No matter what he did, he could not control his own speech. He knew it was for the betterment of the World Government, but it was wearing on him. 

“You are in two cells,” a voice spoke, unlike any that he’d heard in this Resistance outlet. “One you see. The other you feel.” 

“What?” Midnight was befuddled. Was it Resistance protocol to speak in riddles from time to time? 

The voice was gone. But there was a strange illumination in his dim confinement – it was purple, and it outlined a shape. The shape of a bird. A black bird. A raven! 

What’s a raven doing in here?

The raven looked straight at Midnight with one eye, and Midnight’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the vibrant purple that made the colour of this corvid’s iris. Suddenly, the raven vanished in a purple flash, leaving no trace behind. 

What was that…?

Maybe Midnight was imagining things. Maybe it was just part of the Resistance’s plan. But something about the raven was odd. Almost…familiar. What could it be? Midnight had never even seen a raven before – they had gone extinct before he was born. And how did a raven even get into Midnight’s chamber? And out? It made no sense. He’d have to ask Vanja when she came in again. For now, Midnight had only himself. 

Himself and his thoughts…

And his programming.