The Enclave: Part 1

In one of the society’s hidden zones lies a place called the enclave. Shrouded in mystery, its purpose is to put out sparks of conflict before they could give the society a bad name. When this doesn’t work and fires spark up anyways, the parties found guilty end up on the covers of carefully crafted statements sent out by the main bureau.

The enclave is not somewhere anyone could get into. Tightly guarded, this exclusive set of shadowed rooms is reserved primarily for A-listers and former ones with tight past connections. Access membership can be a mark of either extreme infamy or prestige depending on the situation. For me, it was the former.

I never envisioned myself ever having access to the enclave. Sure, I hung out with members of the larger society a lot and had private discussions over tea with some of them at times. I was also in a few spaces dedicated to certain casual society activities anyone could partake in if they wanted.

But I was never involved in the society’s most exclusive locations outside of the enclave. I barely knew the true formalities which full members did in detail and heaven forbid, only one person was really someone I’d consider a friend outside of fair weather at the time. The most I was aware of when it came to tension were the headlines on the periodic newsletters.

It was a mature older man exploiting my lack of knowledge about the formalities that forced me to use an access pass to the enclave.

There was an unspoken rule that no one below the society’s upper ranks was supposed to question what went on behind the scenes. What hid beneath the slippery masks of personality just about everyone wore - even if there were red flags of danger all over.

There were exceptions, of course, when it came to blindingly clear receipts. From these came the cover girls and boys of the public papers. Otherwise, everything was to stay hushed and untouched by those down under - like me.

In my optimistic foolishness, I couldn’t just leave things be. I questioned the plastic aura surrounding certain members of the society. While they could have always bailed out if they wanted to, sometimes I wondered too much. Needless to say, this did not go over well with anyone.

There are two types of passes to the enclave. There is the complete pass, which grants one the ability to enter every nook and cranny of the area. There’s also the partial pass - which only gives access to a select few rooms and a dreadful sense of immersion.

Somehow, I managed to get the complete pass. To this day, I’m not entirely sure why. I guess it’s because I was seen as a mere annoyance and not a threat like many of the poster people were. Regardless, what I saw changed my whole perception of the society - for better and worse.

As a then recently ostracized society informant, I had to take everything I could observe into account if I was going to make it out relatively unscathed.

This included the vast library of files documenting past situations which both did and didn’t make the bulletins. No one other than me really bothered to enter this section, as they had their own copies or were close to someone that did.

From the meticulously organized shelves of the enclave, I learned about many of the society’s darkest secrets. Friendships forlorn and torn, forbidden loves gained and lost. How a woman in a moderately crucial position fooled everyone - including me - outside of the society’s upper and middle ranks into thinking she was a man.

Digging through the papers, I discovered that my sole true friend in the society was secretly resented by many in both the higher and lower ranks. Meek in internal attitude yet bold in presentation, she had apparently gotten into trouble for not sufficiently obeying the society’s etiquette. This also extended to how she would defend me against the others’ accusations.

I briefly wondered if my proximity to her was what fuelled the suspicions of several society members. However, the latter seemed fine with the former on other days and publicly. Plus, I could find little else on my friend that was new. Ultimately, I decided to stop digging through the rusty cabinet.

Afterwards, I checked the Summer drawers. The files within were dedicated to the infamous summer incident earlier that year. One of the few enclave incidents made almost fully public, everyone who knew about the society had at least some knowledge when it came to the infamous disaster - including me.

What most people who weren’t in the society or keepers of enclave passes wouldn’t know were the exact details of the conversations which kept the incident going. Exact lines had good reasons to be edited for the press or cut out entirely. Many were too dreary, revealing, or plain irrelevant.

Continuing to finger through the paper stacks coming from the Summer drawers, I started to realize how strikingly reminiscent of her I was in certain aspects. There were our similar surface level physical traits, like pitch black hair, eyes of foreign twilight and fair skin. These were a stark contrast to the sea of light we were in.

But what struck me the most was her demeanor. Monotone and blank, she spoke straight to the point with little emotion shown. Content with lying, Summer would almost never let emotions take her over unless excessively pushed to the brink. Her affect was eerily neutral and plain.

Unlike Summer, I strongly believed honesty was the best policy in spite of what the society members thought about me at this point. That being said, I couldn’t help but see a little bit of herself in me personality-wise.

Like her, I was never a fan of having a distinct flair when speaking - especially during serious situations like the one I was in. My hesitance to open up to the right people also resembled hers in some manners - even if not to the extremes of hiding a sordid affair of whistleblower suppression and possible espionage.

I started to ponder whether it was my dark looks like Summer in a sea of light which helped end my good standing. Despite my suspicions, I could find nothing to confirm them anywhere in the drawer folders. So I kept on searching through other shelves, sifting and shifting papers until I came across a large wooden closet labelled “[Redacted] ARCHIVED.”

{To be finished with part 2…}

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