Free At Last

In the centre of the wall, a single red light flickered on. The small,
black speaker below it crackled into life, and a cold, metallic voice
filled the room. "“GOOD MORNING RESIDENTS.”" There was no reply. “"GOOD
MORNING RESIDENTS."” Again there was silence. An almost inaudible hiss came
from the speaker, followed by a high pitched whine which pierced the ears.
"“GOOD MOR-"”. There was a groan, and a bleary eyed man with black tousled
hair entered the room. Staggering over to the speaker, Chris leant against
the wall, and croaked "“Morning. What time is it?"” The red light blinked,
and the robotic voice blared out, “"TODAY IS THE 29TH OF JUNE 2021. THE
TEMPERATURE IS SIX DEGREES CELSIUS, AND THERE IS A CHANCE OF RAIN."” Chris
groaned again, then stepped backwards and collapsed onto the sofa. Blinking
hard and yawning widely, he gazed around him at the far too familiar room.
Bleached white walls hung with shimmering blue squares, a lush, emerald
green carpet, the pine and mahogany breakfast bar, and of course, the
light. That tiny red light, with its little speaker, that machine that had
controlled Chris’' life for god knows how long. Chris despised that light.
Every morning, it woke him up, told him the weather, and what was for
breakfast. However, there was one piece of information that it never told
him...

Pushing himself up off the sofa, Chris nodded at the light. The light
flickered. "“YES, RESIDENT? WHAT IS IT THAT YOU REQUIRE?”"

Chris looked at the light, and asked, “"How long have I been here?"” A
whirring sound came from the speaker, and it replied, "FOUR HUNDRED AND
SIXTY-THREE DAYS.”"
"“Right, and when can I leave? Everybody else has gone!"

There was no response. Chris tried again, and this time the speaker hissed,
crackled, and droned "“THAT INFORMATION IS CLASSIFIED.”" Chris was shocked.
Since when did it say that? Usually the reply was "“PLEASE REPEAT THE
QUESTION”." Something was wrong.

Turning round, Chris headed to the bedroom to get dressed. Emerging five
minutes later wearing a soft pastel blue jersey and blue denim jeans, he
made his way over to the breakfast bar. Chris picked up the kettle, and
poured hot water into a mug. There was no need to boil it first; that was
done for you. Lowering himself onto the sofa, Chris sipped his tea, and
gazed at the light. What was the light hiding? As if to answer his
question, the speaker hissed. “"CONGRATULATIONS CHRIS. YOU HAVE WON.”" Chris
laughed. "“I knew that over six months ago! Now, when-”". He froze. Had the
light just called him Chris? It never did that! It was supposed to call him
‘resident’. Feeling slightly uneasy, Chris stood up, the mug of tea in his
hand. His bare feet brushing against the soft fibres of the carpet, Chris
walked towards the light. Frowning, he examined the smooth glass bulb for
any splits, any sign of damage. There was nothing. Chris stroked it with
his hand, feeling for hairline cracks. Then to his surprise, the bulb
turned in his hand. There was a soft ‘pop’ behind him, and Chris turned to
see a gap in the wall where there hadn’t been one before. Feeling
increasingly on edge, Chris headed for the gap and gingerly put his head
through. It was pitch black; he couldn’t see anything. One hand in front of
him, the other still clutching the mug of tea, Chris slowly edged forwards.
The floor began to slope upwards, and Chris could just make out a reddish
tinge at the end of the room. Reaching the other end, he discovered it was
another light, this one also red. The light blinked twice, and swung away
on a door, revealing a landscape that took Chris’s breath away.

"“CONGRATULATIONS CHRIS,”" boomed the voice. "“YOU HAVE WON. PLEASE LEAVE.
NOW."” But Chris didn’t move. The barren earth, dusty and brown, was lit by
a blood-red sky. A thin, grey smog hung in the air, and strewn across the
land were hundreds of mutilated corpses. Turning back to the place he
called home, Chris asked, "“What is this place?"” The red light flickered,
and the speaker crackled for the last time. “"THIS IS YOUR PLANET CHRIS. OR
RATHER, WHAT IS LEFT OF IT. YOU WERE MEANT TO SURVIVE THE WAR, BUT YOU
CHOSE FREEDOM. WELL, ENJOY IT CHRIS. TRY NOT TO DIE."” Chris blinked
heavily, and breathed in the toxic fumes. He began to feel weak. Coughing,
Chris folded, and ended up lying on his back. The mug of tea crashed to the
floor, shards of porcelain scattered around his limp body. “"Free at last..”."
Smiling, Chris closed his eyes.