[ WP ] The year is 2170 . The air is no longer safe to breathe , courtesy of hundreds of genetically engineered CRISPR viruses all capable of altering human DNA within seconds . A cult of clean air worshippers decides to venture out into the open and remove all their masks at once

**My first time posting. Please be kind. Wrote this while I was `` working'' and left plenty of areas where the readers imagination can take over for what they think happened. Though, I do have some ideas in mind but wanted to keep it short and mysterious. Please enjoy! ** 
 
 My alarm is going off, time to wake up. The lights in my windowless room power on to simulate sunlight. Mornings were never my favorite but this one is exciting. Like Christmas morning I ’ m excited for what is in store today. It ’ s not often brother Michael takes us outside of the dormitory, but he promises something special for the day. 
 
 The group of us in building C were picked to go on our retreat second after those in building H. I ’ m not sure how they picked who got to go first. In fact, I ’ m not sure of a lot of things around here. Not only do the directors hold back information from us, no one speaks. Ever. The clean air is meant for nourishing our inner energies not for frivolous waste like carrying our undeserving voices. 
 
 I grab my robe and leave my bunk to proceed to the showers, like any other morning. The line isn ’ t too long today, I suppose the others are sleeping in. My memories seem hazier every day but I remember when I was new to the complex. Sleeping in is a luxury you don ’ t get on the streets. Uncomfortable containment suits and constantly seeking new shelter leads to an unpleasant life. Some would steal air tanks and sneak inside of garages. The wealthy wouldn ’ t take too kindly to this. In fact it became sort of a stain on their otherwise carefree lives. 
 
 Shelters were built for vagabonds like myself, but they couldn ’ t support us for long. Luckily the directors found us. It feels like life before them was a bad dream. Now look at me. In a shower with warm water raining down from above. Every morning I get to do this. Well I think it ’ s morning. I haven ’ t been able to keep up with the time. The lights go on so I shower and get to work, and when they go off and I go to bed. I ’ m happy. No suit to wear, great food, peace and quiet. I ’ ve even stayed out of the hole lately, the directors seem to be pleased with my improved behavior. Heck I don ’ t even have a commute to work, it ’ s just across the hall! As I look down at myself naked I must admit that I have put on a few pounds, but so goes the life of luxury. This tattoo on the inside of my bicep “ V17 ” always gave me a bad vibe, couldn ’ t quite place when I got it. 
 
 Sure luxury is defined in different ways. We don ’ t have fancy windows or even mirrors in the bathrooms. But we are alive and nourished. Outside isn ’ t much to look at anyway, plant life is scarce outside of the greenhouses. Building C was taught to butcher so that ’ s how I spend my days. We don ’ t eat much meat ourselves but the work is the least we can do for the services we are provided with. We all must contribute. The directors are very kind. 
 
 I finish my shower, throw a clean robe on and step outside to see Brother Michael standing there. The group is all ready. Today is the day. 
 
 We venture down the hall, longer than I remember first coming to the complex through. I wonder if this will be a long trip as my muscles are used to my new found life of relaxation. Brother Michael stops us in a room full of suits, it ’ s really happening. I can ’ t get my gear on fast enough. The ventilation turns on as the room seals before opening to the outside. 
 
 The front door opens right on cue as we finish suiting up. We file out of the building looking like a bunch of spacemen. I turn to look back at the building as the door shuts behind us. I can see a group of directors peering out through a window a few floors above. The directors are very kind to allow us some time outside. Some feel undeserving, but the directors are very forgiving of our failures of the past. 
 
 We are walking around the side of the complex, I can hear the wind as it blows dust against my helmet. The dust comes in waves and at times I can barely see Brother Michael as he is at the front of the group, so I just follow along behind the person in front of me. There is another building not too far away I think but it ’ s hard to see. I suppose this is where the directors have something special to show us. 
 
 The walk becomes arduous. My bones feel weak, I am not looking forward to the walk back. The building is not far now though so my will keeps me going. What a kind surprise the directors have assembled for us. 
 
 The building is strange, there are open windows in the front and a larger building attached to the back. We walk through the front and the room is rather baron. There ’ s a few push carts but nothing else. Brother Michael puts his hands above his head then folds them and looks down. We all look down as well so as to follow his cue. After a moment I glance up to see if we are all still looking down. I get a clear look at one of the push carts and notice it has a dark stain down the side. It must be recent as it looks like whatever stained it wiped some of the dust away off of part of a logo painted on it. I ’ m now looking intently at it trying to make out what it says. I ’ ve seen this logo but I can ’ t quite place where. Suddenly I realize and my heart sinks. My breath has escaped me. 
 
 I ’ ve seen this logo at work. 
 
 I look up at Brother Michael. He presses a button on the wall and at once all our helmets spring open, except Brother Michael ’ s. I hold my breath as long as I can, the air is not safe I know it. My eyes blur as I look around panicked. Some fall to their knees and accept their fate, others struggle. Blood is leaking from mouths and eyes, I gasp. I ’ m filled with this toxic air and finally succumb and fall to my knees then to my side. The others have all fallen still, but I ’ m breathing heavily lying on the floor. 
 
 Brother Michael walks over to me, suit still completely closed. He kneels in front of me and looks me right in the eyes. I look around and see men in suits emerge, putting the others ’ motionless bodies on the push carts. I look back at Brother Michael. He smiles, tilts his head, and speaks for the first time, “ It worked ”. I ’ m teary eyed from the shock of his voice. The light above shines just right that I see my own reflection in his helmet. I realize now that I have forgotten what I look like. But I can see it now, plain as day: 
 
 I look just like Brother Michael. 
 
 
 
 

