This is a short story based off the world of Dystopia Rising.
Jeanie sighed and threw her pen onto the table. She stared down at the pages from the library that were scattered around the table. Her familiar black notebook was open in front of her, the page, disgustingly blank of any notes or research. There was nothing here. Nothing to further her own search right now.
She sighed and pulled the fingerless gloves off her hands. On her left hand was the scarred indentation marking her ownership to the Confederacy. Okay, depending on who you spoke to it marked her ownership. According to Rothchild it marked his ownership of her. According to Hayven it was just an inconvenience that did not at all nullify her citizenship papers. However the train tracks and diamond ring on her hand were still a glaring reminder of the way most of the world thought of her.
Luckily, it would be removed. That was guaranteed. The town was scrambling to remove the brands that were given to towns members. It would be removed.
Her tattoo on the other hand?
At least with the brand, she could run her fingers over her skin and feel its existence. It was hard to forget the brand was there. It was easy to remember that the brand needed to be removed. And she could hide it underneath her gloves and since she didn’t fight much, no one would know if it was never removed. She could make it seem like it was never there and everyone would believe her. Well, almost everyone. Maybe not Jimmy. Or Red, if she was still alive. There were a few who would never believe her. But most people could easily believe it if she said it didn’t exist.
Her tattoo on the other hand? It had healed well when she received it. She could run her fingers over her cheek and never feel it or even remember its existence. She could sometimes forget that she was marked with a designation number. But no one else would forget. It would stare at everyone and the world would know who she was. And if they had any knowledge of what designation numbers meant, they might even figure out who had once owned her.
And her research to remove it was going nowhere.
Jeanie sighed and dropped her head on the desk.
Hopefully she would get some answers soon. That way, for a little bit before she joined the horde, she could be nothing more than just Jeanie. No marks of ownership. No marks of enslavement. No designation numbers.