RealisticFantasy
✯ Raccoon Catcher ✯
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[/div][/div][div class=charaname]Charlie[/div][div class=text] [div class=tags]None[/div] [div class=tags][/div]
The In-Between
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“Who’s next?” Charlie inquired as she patrolled the In-Between with two armed guards at her side.
This was how she spent the majority of her days - interviewing, de-chipping, and escorting individuals to the Underground one by one. It was tedious and oftentimes heartbreaking, but it was the way things had to be done. There had to be a process. Otherwise, resources were wasted. Nothing could be spared for temporary stays and ill wills.
Admittedly, it wasn’t a perfect process. Some people were stuck in the In-Between for months. Others skipped through in a matter of hours. This, of course, led to the occasional conflict. But, what those people failed to understand is that the Underground has needs, too. The good of the whole was the priority.
Still, Charlie hated to see people scraping by like this, just barely surviving on the leftovers of days gone by and hoping for a chance that things might be better on the other side. They were better. Marginally. Once someone was granted access to the real Underground, they had an opportunity to create some semblance of a life for themselves. A pleasant return to societal structure. People often missed that.
Here, the Undergrounders were only their symbol. All sense of individuality and any identifying markers were covered up. For security’s sake. It was easier to sneak your way up into the Divisions when you couldn’t be identified as the poster child for impending rebellion. Considering the In-Between was open access, the Underground’s scrutiny was all the more important. Perhaps anonymity was divisive and somewhat unsettling. It was often used in the upper Divisions’ “them vs. us” propaganda as a tool to dehumanize the Underground. Again, like many things, this was a necessary evil.
“Sector F, plot twelve,” One of her colleagues responded, eyes skimming over a list visible only to him.
“How’s the intake today?” Charlie questioned, nervously tugging her hooded cowl further downward over her face. The In-Between was raucous between chatting adults, crying infants, naïve children running, shrieking, laughing. Still, their eyes stared into her soul and their ears hung onto her every word. Anyone that bore the symbol of the Underground was either a harbinger of joy or one of misery.
“Moderately high,” He answered shortly once again, eyes skimming statistics demographics.
“Catalysts?”
As her colleague started to respond, a man interrupted their patrol, practically tripping over his own feet as he ran to them. Or perhaps he was tripping over his shoes as the soles appeared to completely separate from the bottom of the shoe with each step he took before reconnecting as they were sandwiched between his feet and the earth.
“M-Ma’am,” He panted, his chest heaving. “You gotta… gotta let me in. My wife—She—and the kids—”
“Have you filled out the form?” Charlie interjected, somewhat exasperated, lifting a hand to silence the man.
“Babies—and… She… alone,” He objected through heavy breaths.
“You have to fill out the form. It’s just a basic questionnaire,” Charlie answered, regurgitating lines she repeated thousands of time in a day. She paused to virtually send the man the appropriate form. “After it’s completed, we can schedule you for de-chipping. Then we go into the screening process. In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay here. Uhh… Looks like… Sector C… Plot four. I suggest you take us up on that offer. The waitlist is admittedly long.”
Charlie’s sympathy was evident in her tone. Still, the gentleman didn’t take kindly to being told he’d have to wait.
Having now recollected himself, the man stood tall with chest puffed out, “You can’t be serious!”
“I’m sorry but you are subject to the same process as everyone here,” Charlie gestured to the expanse of people around them before her arms nestled into a crossed position over her chest
“I have a family in there!” He was raising his tone, drawing more attention now.
“So do a lot of people!” Charlie snapped back at him before composing herself with a sharp breath. She returned to a softer, sympathetic tone but her intensity remained.
“We can offer shelter, food, a modicum of time but there are no guarantees beyond that for anyone. You can take what we provide here or you can take your chances up there.”
The man was still evidently dissatisfied with Charlie’s response, but hearing the ultimatum seemed to quell his frustrations for the time being. In response to his now appropriate compliance, Charlie looked to her second colleague and nodded off in the direction of the man’s proposed residency.
“Would you show this gentleman to his tent, please and thank you?”
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[/div][/div][div class=charaname]Charlie[/div][div class=text] [div class=tags]None[/div] [div class=tags][/div]The In-Between
Anyone that bore the symbol of the Underground was either a harbinger of joy or one of misery.
[/div][/div][div class=005][div class=006][div class=007][div class=text]
“Who’s next?” Charlie inquired as she patrolled the In-Between with two armed guards at her side.
This was how she spent the majority of her days - interviewing, de-chipping, and escorting individuals to the Underground one by one. It was tedious and oftentimes heartbreaking, but it was the way things had to be done. There had to be a process. Otherwise, resources were wasted. Nothing could be spared for temporary stays and ill wills.
Admittedly, it wasn’t a perfect process. Some people were stuck in the In-Between for months. Others skipped through in a matter of hours. This, of course, led to the occasional conflict. But, what those people failed to understand is that the Underground has needs, too. The good of the whole was the priority.
Still, Charlie hated to see people scraping by like this, just barely surviving on the leftovers of days gone by and hoping for a chance that things might be better on the other side. They were better. Marginally. Once someone was granted access to the real Underground, they had an opportunity to create some semblance of a life for themselves. A pleasant return to societal structure. People often missed that.
Here, the Undergrounders were only their symbol. All sense of individuality and any identifying markers were covered up. For security’s sake. It was easier to sneak your way up into the Divisions when you couldn’t be identified as the poster child for impending rebellion. Considering the In-Between was open access, the Underground’s scrutiny was all the more important. Perhaps anonymity was divisive and somewhat unsettling. It was often used in the upper Divisions’ “them vs. us” propaganda as a tool to dehumanize the Underground. Again, like many things, this was a necessary evil.
“Sector F, plot twelve,” One of her colleagues responded, eyes skimming over a list visible only to him.
“How’s the intake today?” Charlie questioned, nervously tugging her hooded cowl further downward over her face. The In-Between was raucous between chatting adults, crying infants, naïve children running, shrieking, laughing. Still, their eyes stared into her soul and their ears hung onto her every word. Anyone that bore the symbol of the Underground was either a harbinger of joy or one of misery.
“Moderately high,” He answered shortly once again, eyes skimming statistics demographics.
“Catalysts?”
As her colleague started to respond, a man interrupted their patrol, practically tripping over his own feet as he ran to them. Or perhaps he was tripping over his shoes as the soles appeared to completely separate from the bottom of the shoe with each step he took before reconnecting as they were sandwiched between his feet and the earth.
“M-Ma’am,” He panted, his chest heaving. “You gotta… gotta let me in. My wife—She—and the kids—”
“Have you filled out the form?” Charlie interjected, somewhat exasperated, lifting a hand to silence the man.
“Babies—and… She… alone,” He objected through heavy breaths.
“You have to fill out the form. It’s just a basic questionnaire,” Charlie answered, regurgitating lines she repeated thousands of time in a day. She paused to virtually send the man the appropriate form. “After it’s completed, we can schedule you for de-chipping. Then we go into the screening process. In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay here. Uhh… Looks like… Sector C… Plot four. I suggest you take us up on that offer. The waitlist is admittedly long.”
Charlie’s sympathy was evident in her tone. Still, the gentleman didn’t take kindly to being told he’d have to wait.
Having now recollected himself, the man stood tall with chest puffed out, “You can’t be serious!”
“I’m sorry but you are subject to the same process as everyone here,” Charlie gestured to the expanse of people around them before her arms nestled into a crossed position over her chest
“I have a family in there!” He was raising his tone, drawing more attention now.
“So do a lot of people!” Charlie snapped back at him before composing herself with a sharp breath. She returned to a softer, sympathetic tone but her intensity remained.
“We can offer shelter, food, a modicum of time but there are no guarantees beyond that for anyone. You can take what we provide here or you can take your chances up there.”
The man was still evidently dissatisfied with Charlie’s response, but hearing the ultimatum seemed to quell his frustrations for the time being. In response to his now appropriate compliance, Charlie looked to her second colleague and nodded off in the direction of the man’s proposed residency.
“Would you show this gentleman to his tent, please and thank you?”
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