Sarah Matthews and the Forbidden Feelings

Morning in Equilibrium arrived with methodical precision. The lighting in Sarah's apartment gradually brightened to simulate dawn, and her comm device chimed with a gentle reminder: "Daily wellness supplement required before departure."

Sarah examined the small blue pill in her palm. After what she'd witnessed at the gala, there was no way she was taking another dose. She flushed it down the sink and watched the blue swirl disappear.

According to her itinerary, today she was scheduled for a tour of the "Museum of Emotional History," followed by an interview with a government historian. Perfect cover for asking questions.

"The Emotional Purge of 2049 was necessary for humanity's survival," droned the museum guide, gesturing to a wall of news footage showing riots, wars, and climate disasters. "Unregulated emotions led to our darkest hour—hatred caused genocide, greed destroyed economies, fear paralyzed governments."

Sarah studied the displays critically. Something felt off about the narrative—too neat, too convenient.

"And what happened to those who refused emotional regulation?" she asked.

The guide's expression remained placid. "There was initially resistance, of course. But when people saw the peace and prosperity Equilibrium brought, voluntary compliance reached 99.8%."

"And the other 0.2%?"

A slight pause. "They received additional support until they understood the benefits."

Support. Like the young server from last night, Sarah thought.

As the tour concluded, she noticed a custodian working nearby. The woman's movements were efficient like everyone else's, but she'd been lingering near their group for several displays.

When the guide moved ahead with the group, the custodian brushed past Sarah, slipping something into her pocket with such subtlety that Sarah almost missed it.

Back in her apartment, Sarah examined the small piece of paper: an address in Sector A, followed by "After curfew, tell them you feel."

Her heart raced—a sensation she was increasingly aware of as her first dose of Equilibrium continued to wear off. She should report this, follow protocol. That's what a compliant visitor would do.

Instead, she tucked the paper into her notebook.

That afternoon, Sarah "accidentally" got lost during her scheduled interview break. She found herself near the processing center where new arrivals received their first dose of Equilibrium. Through a window, she glimpsed rows of people sitting in medical chairs, vacant expressions settling over their faces as nurses administered injections.

"Are you lost, citizen?" A compliance officer approached, his hand resting on what looked like a scanner at his belt.

"Just turned down the wrong corridor," Sarah explained, forcing a calm she didn't feel. "I have an interview with Historical Preservation in ten minutes."

"Your supplement seems to be functioning sub-optimally," he observed, studying her face. "I recommend reporting to a wellness center for adjustment."

"I'll do that first thing tomorrow," she promised, maintaining eye contact despite her rising anxiety.

He nodded and directed her back toward the public areas, but Sarah could feel his eyes on her back as she walked away.

Night fell over Equilibrium like a switch being flipped, precise and programmed. Sarah waited until an hour after curfew, then slipped out wearing a maintenance uniform she'd swiped from a service closet.

Sector A was older than the gleaming central districts, with buildings dating back to before the Emotional Purge. The further she walked, the more small details she noticed—a plant growing through a crack in the perfect pavement, faded paint on a doorway, little imperfections that somehow felt like rebellion.

At the address from the note, Sarah found an ordinary apartment building. She knocked on apartment 3B, heart pounding.

A viewing slot opened, and eyes peered out.

"I'm looking for..." Sarah hesitated, then finished, "I feel."

The door opened just enough to let her slip inside.

The apartment was nothing like what she expected. While the exterior maintained Equilibrium's sterile appearance, inside was a riot of color—walls painted in vibrant hues, fabrics with patterns, plants growing in mismatched pots. And the people—about a dozen of them—had faces. Real, expressive faces.

A woman stepped forward, her dark hair streaked with blue—a style violation that would immediately identify her as non-compliant. "I'm Luna. And you're the journalist who's still feeling."

"How did you know?" Sarah asked.

"We have people everywhere," Luna explained. "Including the gala. You reacted when they took Emil away. Only someone feeling emotions would care."

The room had fallen silent, everyone watching Sarah with expressions ranging from curiosity to suspicion.

"What happens to people like Emil?" Sarah asked. "The ones who show emotion?"

Luna's expression darkened. "They call it 'recalibration.' Most come back with higher doses, personality wiped clean. Some don't come back at all."

An older man spoke up. "I worked in recalibration before I woke up. It's not just drugs—they use neural reprogramming. Painful stuff."

"Why aren't you all affected by Equilibrium?" Sarah asked.

"Some of us have natural resistance," Luna explained. "Others have found ways to neutralize it. And some never take it at all—living off-grid, using identities of the dead."

She gestured around the room. "We're the Feeling Collective. We believe emotions aren't the problem—it's what people do with them that matters. We teach people to feel safely, to process emotions instead of being controlled by them."

"That's what the Purge was really about," added a man near the window. "Control, not salvation."

Luna studied Sarah intently. "Why are you here, journalist? To expose us?"

Sarah thought about the young server's face, about the museum's too-perfect narrative, about the compliance officer's suspicious gaze.

"I came for a story about the anniversary," she said slowly. "But I think there's a different story that needs telling."

Luna smiled—a real smile, not the practiced approximation Sarah had seen on officials' faces. "Then let's show you what feeling really means."

Over the next two days, Sarah lived a double life. By day, she attended her scheduled interviews and tours, asking innocuous questions and pretending to take her supplement while secretly flushing each dose.

By night, she slipped away to the Feeling Collective, where Luna and others taught her about emotions—how to identify them, process them, channel them constructively. They showed her art created in secret, music played softly enough to avoid detection, poetry written and memorized rather than recorded.

"Tonight, something special," Luna told her on the third evening. "But you have to truly commit. No more supplements, not even for show. They're scanning for traces in the blood now."

It was one thing to flush a pill, another to deliberately fail a potential scan. If caught, Sarah would certainly face "recalibration." But the journalist in her, the human in her, needed to know more.

"I'm in," she said.

Luna led her deeper into Sector A, through maintenance tunnels and forgotten corridors, until they reached what appeared to be an abandoned subway station. Inside, hundreds of people had gathered—far more than Sarah had imagined possible.

Some wore compliance officer uniforms. Others had the polished look of government workers. All wore the same expression that had been missing in Equilibrium: aliveness.

"Who are all these people?" Sarah whispered.

"Teachers, engineers, even some from Emotional Compliance," Luna explained. "People waking up. Finding their way back to feeling."

A hush fell over the crowd as an elderly man with wire-rimmed glasses took center stage. Even before he spoke, Sarah sensed his importance from the reverent looks directed his way.

"That's Dr. Wei," Luna whispered. "He created the original Equilibrium drug."

Sarah stared in shock. "The architect of emotional suppression is part of your resistance?"

Luna's expression grew complex—sadness mixed with compassion. "The original drug was meant to help people through the real trauma of the climate wars. A temporary measure. What they've done with his work... it haunts him."

Dr. Wei began speaking, his voice surprisingly strong. "My friends, I've analyzed the new formula they're planning to unveil at the anniversary celebration. It's not just more potent—it's permanent. One dose, and the emotional centers of the brain are permanently altered."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"But I've found something else," he continued, holding up a data crystal. "Records proving the Emotional Purge was manufactured. The government exacerbated conflicts, withheld disaster relief, all to create the crisis they needed to implement control."

Sarah felt her breath catch. This was bigger than a story—this was history-changing.

But as Dr. Wei continued, alarm bells suddenly blared through the station. Red lights flashed, and panic—real, undrugged panic—erupted.

"Raid!" someone shouted.

Luna grabbed Sarah's arm. "We have extraction routes. You need to go now."

"The data," Sarah insisted, pointing toward Dr. Wei, who was being hustled away by supporters. "I need to see it, to verify—"

"There's no time," Luna urged, pulling her toward an exit. "They've been tracking us for weeks, but we didn't think they'd find this place so soon."

Compliance officers in tactical gear were flooding in from multiple entrances. People scattered in all directions, some fighting back, others simply running.

"Get to Sector D, building 27," Luna instructed, pressing a key into Sarah's hand. "Apartment 5C. There's someone there you need to meet." She pushed Sarah toward a narrow maintenance shaft. "Go!"

Sarah hesitated. "What about you?"

Luna's smile was fierce. "I've escaped them before." She touched Sarah's face briefly. "Find the truth, journalist. Make it matter."

Then she turned and ran back into the chaos, drawing officers away from Sarah's escape route.

As Sarah crawled through the maintenance shaft, she heard the distinctive sound of stun weapons and shouts behind her. By the time she emerged several blocks away, sirens filled the night air of Equilibrium.

In her pocket, her comm device vibrated with an emergency alert: "Attention all citizens. Report any signs of emotional contamination immediately. Your compliance ensures community safety."

Sarah leaned against a wall, heart pounding, emotions she was only beginning to understand swirling through her—fear, anger, determination, and something else. Something that felt suspiciously like purpose.

The truth about Equilibrium was uglier than she'd imagined, but for the first time since arriving, Sarah felt fully alive. And she knew with absolute certainty that she would not rest until she had uncovered everything—no matter the cost.