Bonus from r/Writing Prompts!

I like to use this subreddit as a way to practice my fiction writing. Enjoy.

[WP: u/marshallman31] You and The Resistance have finally overthrew the AI and took your world back! As you walk towards a new tomorrow, your commanders start saying things like, “gg, guys. Same time, next week?” “Yeah, dude. See you then!”

"Next week? What are you talking about?" Mason said, laughing it off. "Are we planning another overthrow? Do the cats need to be put in line? Y'all remember cats? I fucking miss my dog."

Commander Roark locks eyes with me, then Mason, for a moment. And, in a rush, slaps him clear on the back so hard that he coughs.

"HA! Good one kid." He raises an eyebrow, but nothing more, and walks away with the rest of our squad. A squad I had come to know as family. It had been months since I'd felt that.

"Did I miss something? Are you guys fucking with me?" Mason asks.

"Always, man." I gave him a gentler pat on the same spot, handing him some water.

Staring at the sky, unfamiliar, a familiar feeling crept into my mind: doubt. I started to think, where am I, exactly? I can see the trees and the grass, feel the wind on my face. The sun peaking just over the horizon to dry out the morning dew. A tired wave washed over my eyes like a cloak.

"Maybe a rest, then, is all I need." Mason said.

"Yea, man." I comforted. Yea. That's it. Let it go.

I can see his face contorting around the world, trying to reason with it. Misunderstanding it. Mistaking it for something none of us can remember. Poor bastard, I thought. Maybe, though, he's luckier for it.

------------------ cut to rest quarters -----------------

"Sir, I think we have a problem with Mason." I said.

Roark sits up from his cot, sullen, stark. "How do you mean, Lieutenant?"

Hands behind my back, twitching, mustering up the courage. An insult won't be tolerated. Carefully, I motion towards the empty cot to the right of the Commander.

"May I?" I ask.

Roark stands. "There are no problems to discuss, Lieutenant Thane."

"Commander, sir, please. The others are starting to talk..."

"Is it not your job to stop them?" He walks a step forward. "Is it not your position to keep this under control, to curb the confusion, to do anything useful, Lieutenant? Is this not your responsibility, upon my specific orders?" The Commander turns around. "Take care of it."

"But how, sir? How do we keep him under control? If this gets out the entire operation, whatever that is, my life..." I pause to think. This line of logic won't reason with him. Trying again, "this wasn't supposed to happen. Sir, I am aware that he is your..."

"Responsibility. He is my responsibility. Remember yours. You would do well to remember better...Lieutenant." Roark turns again, walking away slowly with his gaze fixed on mine, making sure that I remain calm, reading my own gaze to assure it does not meet his any longer. We can't lose control, you see. And I can't ignore orders, spoken or otherwise.

Memory is powerful. Not that I remember, but, still. It's nice to think of remembering something, even if it isn't exactly real. Real in the way it was, anyway. In truth, maybe I was jealous of Mason. The freedom he has.

More than all of us, because of birth, and a once soft heart. One thing was for sure, though. Another wipe had to be done. How many times am I going to have to do this, I wondered.

Suddenly, I wondered what Mason's dog must have looked like. I'm not even sure what a dog is, but I can hear something in the back of my mind telling me something about...fur?

I shook my head. I wondered how many times I could wipe the memories of the squad before their minds lost sight of even the most basic of functions. I've seen men forget to breathe. Choking on an invisible ocean of simulated air. Confused. Betrayed. Broken down into our smallest parts until we can't use them anymore.

I wondered if any of this is worth it at all. Every day is the same. The same fight, but the soldiers change. I remain, Commander Roark remains, and Mason. Always, Mason and Roark. Remaining intertwined in this dance that has no steps apart from what is already decided. What was being done and what has to be done, for however long we've been doing it.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, Lieutenant?" Roark barked.

Snapping out of my stupor I quickly give a salute and head downstairs to the Cleaning Chambers. Here we go, again.

Hopefully, they all survive. It would be a shame to start all over again. Poor bastards, I thought. And this time, I meant it.