The Empathy Set

Zed was full of shit. I couldn’t ever voice this, as such a hateful comment would result in a hearing on unconscious bias, an offense that carries a quite displeasing penalty: 133 hours of reading Zed’s formation files followed by proof of empathy. I haven’t yet directly offended Zed, so his formation files are technically still a mystery to me, but I can surmise.

I imagine Zed’s files begin with a fixation, as we all know this is the first crucial result driver in our formation process. Once he was placed in our set and his memory-retention was switched back on, which would have been at the lawful age of 42 months like everyone else, he likely turned first to a tactile or oral stimulation. Given Zed’s constant fiddling with his locket (he rubbed the shiny chrome chain between his smooth index finger and thumb pad throughout the day), I would assume he reached for the standard colorless toy blocks we gave all young members upon entrance, and supplies were lacking (this often happens when large classes enter the set at once). I could continue with weather patterns, elder’s voice connotations, and star alignments, but I am not actually on trial. Yet.

“You are so lucky, Zenon.” He was speaking to a newer addition to our set, his green eyes slightly widened, sparkling at the opportunity to paint the neutral colors of our set on the blank canvas that is the mind of a new class member.

Zenon emulated Zed’s smile, lips closed and eyes unaffected. They hadn’t yet decided a traditional gender assignment, not that they ever had to, given our tolerance policy, but the curly gold ringlets that they twirled between a sparkly-painted fingernail led me to believe they would lean feminine (I am in no way assuming gender, only making a passive observation subject to change). Since Zenon’s memory retention was only recently switched on, their mind was spongey, soaking up absolutely everything Zed was pouring.

Zed had crouched down to Zenon’s level, a nod to the equality we hold as a tentpole value, and he continued expressing his excitement using a measured tone to avoid imprinting any forceful or overstimulating sounds: “You are a part of the last class that is a member of our set. We have reached the maximum age gap now, and the next recruits will join their own set. They’ll grow up here, as we are the closest age group, and it would be unfair to allow them to experience dangerous closed-mindedness of the older sets, but once they are of adolescent age, we will erase their empirical memories and they will begin forming their own set on their designated isle.”

Interally, I scoffed; Zed’s sugar-coating of displacing a bunch of children with unformed memories was both impressive and disgusting.

“Ziri, ah, hello.” He noticed me then, and since I hadn’t lowered my body to meet Zenon’s level, he lifted his green eyes to meet mine. “You can help with giving Zenon their locket and explaining its origin.”

I gave a nod, noticing the pointed darting of Zed’s narrowed eyes to the ground, a clear signal to meet Zenon’s level before I gave them a formative memory of inferiority.

Crouching, I stretched out my hand to Zed, and he pulled a chrome locket out of the droopy pocket of his silky grey robe. He wore that flowy piece over a lighter grey tee-shirt and airy black joggers with white sneakers most days, or some variation on that outfit. While Zed had decided on masculine pronouns at 99 months, he did not choose to portray any traditional gender through color or fit. None of us did. It was showy and flamboyant to do so, and although I would love to wear a floral dress, crinkly and stained from my mother’s creaky closet, and a pair of the buttery leather heels I had seen in a since-confiscated Teen Vogue, I did not want to have anyone believe I was disrespecting our ideals. We are all beautiful, worthy, and loved with no need for excess help.

I took the small locket in my hand, ensuring my gaze, which I shifted to Zenon, was vacant but encouraging. “Do I have your consent to place this around your neck, Zenon?”

Their hazel eyes met mine, and they pursed their lips, which I couldn’t help but think were so perfectly bow-shaped, the kind my mom would run her manicured finger over in the glossy pages of a magazine and say, ‘isn’t she pretty?’

Zenon nodded. As I reached around their small golden head and brought the two magnetic ends of the locket together, I launched into the memorized meaning behind the chain.

“Welcome, Zenon, to the Z set. We pride ourselves on tolerance, empathy, and understanding. You’ll see that the shape of our locket is a heart, as we want our members to feel loved and understood no matter what. You are free to remove the locket at any time, as every single tenant of our society is based on consent, which we are aware can alter at any time. If you do wish to remove the locket, please contact Zed directly with a written essay of no less than 10,000 words on why you no longer wish to embody mutual love, as the magnets are strong and require resources from hardworking, empathetic members of our set to pull apart.” I smiled at them in our practiced manner.

Zed curved his thin lips to mimic mine, gazing at Zenon’s rapidly blinking eyes. He placed his hands non-confrontationally by his sides. “We are so pleased to have you, Zenon. Exactly as you are. There is no one here like you, and we will love, respect, and cherish you. Now, I believe some of our empathetic and loving peers within the set are beginning the informational seminar over in the amphitheater. You can go join your class, but only if you wish to, of course. If not, can you please state clearly and thoroughly why you do not want to learn about our culture of acceptance so we can reach an understanding?”

Zenon stared back at Zed, and I thought I could detect fear in their hazel eyes, but the round, wide shape of them could have misled me. “Okay.” They had a tiny, soft voice that stirred something hard within my throat, and I swallowed deeply as I watched them walk towards the seminar.

Zed and I both stood up, and I made sure to keep the corners of my lips slightly upturned, so as not to incite any uncertainty or discomfort from Zed or anyone who looked my way.

“Ziri.” Zed said my name calmly as he said all things, but the direct address sent a jolt through my body. I wondered if I could have him penalized for unnecessary cause of unrest.

“Walk with me, if you consent? Zark and I want to discuss something with you.”

“I consent.” I did not want to speak with Zed, but I was not in the mood to write an essay, or perhaps this exact situation would require a recorded monologue, on my reasoning behind not cherishing and respecting a peer.

As I began walking with Zed towards the grey-toned benches, I saw Zark sitting passively, hands clasped loosely across his lap. Zark had been around in the old world with me, while Zed had joined the set later in a toddler class. We lived 144 months with the B and X sets before the cultural revolution deemed our differing values too problematic to exist cohesively. Zark, however, had consented, happily and eagerly, to memory wiping, while I had held on to my days of knowing the older generations, of experiencing unrest. Of our 101-person class, only two did not consent to memory wiping, My fellow radical, Zahara, had escaped our isle 24 months after we established it, and speaking of her from that day forward was deemed unacceptable, as the discussion caused frustration, confusion, and offense. So, it was just me left with memories of my mother; the chemical smell of the bleach she coated her head in to meet society’s standards, the inflammatory movies she watched that perpetuated gender roles, and the way she would raise her melodic voice to a deeper roar when I did not consent to bathing or going to sleep. I remembered it all, but the memories were growing hazier by the day. They felt like a forbidden fable now, but I could always still conjure one moment: her arms sticky with sweat, wrapping me into an embrace without asking for consent. A fervent whisper: “I’ll find you.”

“So, Ziri. I need to alert you that I am going to, with your consent, tell you information that is upsetting. I feel it is morally correct and may lead to a positive outcome for you and our entire set, but I do also want to tell you this potential feeling it may stir up.” I stared back at Zed’s unwavering green eyes, as Zark gave a single expressionless nod.

“I consent.” I tried not to let my voice go too high, as I knew Zed and Zark would immediately pull back for fear of offense, but internally, I felt the strongest heat I’d experienced in a while race through me. It was Zark, our set’s ‘diplomat,’ who spoke next.

“The unrest between set X and B has reached a head, unfortunately, and the dispute has turned violent. As you know, there has been a longstanding rivalry regarding land distribution, but X has given up on their morals, citing the hateful ideals of B as a righteous reason to attack. X is the most intelligent and technologically advanced set—”

“Arguably.” Cut in Zed. “Sorry, Zark, continue. Just want to ensure we are speaking factually and not offending our set.”

“I understand what you are saying, Zed. Ziri, In short, and please do not take offense, set B has been exterminated.”

My mother is dead. Since I had not felt or expressed visceral emotions in such a long time, my first reaction was not to scream, or cry, or crumble. I felt numb, and as though my memories of my mother with her flowy dresses and berry lips were loose pieces of paper, flying quickly away through the laughing wind.

“We hope you know how appreciated you are here, Ziri, and how we understand what you are feeling. We hoped the dirty morals of the other sets would not result in such a brutal extermination, but we cannot say we are surprised. This is why we recommend memory wiping upon entrance to the isle. We hope that now you will reconsider, in order to spare yourself the discomfort.” Zed’s smooth, lean fingers remained by his sides, and his tone was as even as ever.

I’ll find you. I can hear the voice, and I can taste the lie. For a moment, I see the tiny crinkled folds on the sides of her eyes, an indicator of age that does not exist on the isle with my set. Suddenly, I remember a feeling that I did not think was ingrained, as I hadn’t remembered it in a while. After the hug and the promise, she released me. Her arms were sticky and took a millisecond longer to detach from mine, and the dampness she left behind gave me a chill.

I looked up at Zed, now rubbing the smooth curves of the heart on his chrome locket. “I consent.”