“Congratulations, Bootcamp 6.1 graduates,” she beamed. “You are now ready for civilian reintegration. You will not be violent. You will not hoard. You will not disrupt. You will be happy.”
The loading screen flickered, a sickly green against the perfect white of the clinic’s walls. Jonas stared at the progress bar: It was the final block. The one that would make him safe .
His hands stayed folded in his lap.
But Bootcamp 6.1 was different. It didn’t burn your muscles; it rewired your soul.
He glanced sideways at the woman next to him, Recruit 47, whose name he’d never learned. She was crying. Silent, perfect tears rolling down her cheeks. But her mouth was smiling. The cap on her head glowed a serene blue. bootcamp 6.1
Jonas’s lips moved with the others. Fifty men and women in grey jumpsuits, sitting on sterile metal chairs, their heads fitted with damp electrode caps.
Outside, the sun was setting over the newly pacified city. No one honked their horns. No one raised their voice. No one owned anything worth fighting for. “Congratulations, Bootcamp 6
Bootcamp 6.1 had been a success.