The Feast of the Epiphany

Scattered along the southern coast of England there are the remains of a few old holiday camps; the remnants of a bygone era when going to Blighty for your summer break was a more desirable choice than heading to the Costa del Sol. Most of these camps have either been knocked down or revamped, the latter being an option usually chosen by developers who see the prospect of selling tarted-up chalets at extortionate prices.<br><br>In my case, it was the perfect place to run a bootcamp.<br><br>The location was ideal. Remote. Isolated. Far enough from prying eyes that long-established communities didn’t know what was going on there and new ones were still in the process of figuring it out. The site itself was easy to secure. Fences at the boundaries and around the accommodation blocks. No visible footpaths to the beach and the road to the site made it almost impossible to get there without going past the gatehouse.<br><br>It was an idyllic setup for a facility that was meant to be slightly sinister.<br><br>And a very sinister place it was. Nearly everyone who signed up for the bootcamp had been conned into doing it. A long list of promises about the health benefits and the potential to get a job as an instructor afterwards. Everything was made to sound like Marine bootcamp, but without the risk of being sent off to war.<br><br>The reality of the situation was that it was the last place anyone would want to be. The regime was brutal. Nothing was ever done by halves. Everything was extreme. Training was intense to the point of dangerous. Food was tasteless. Everyone was made to run on empty. The training was the same for everyone, regardless of fitness levels. There was no care for the safety of the recruits. There were no breaks. No days off. No time to sleep in. Just relentless training.<br><br>It was a place where people were broken down, where their individuality was stripped. Where their purpose was decided for them, and where they would eventually be remade into whatever the brass wanted them to be.<br><br>And that was exactly what had happened to the group that had just graduated.<br><br>Eight weeks of training, and it had been a long eight weeks. The majority of them were broken or had snapped completely. Most people would have already been shipped off to their assignments by the time the last group of recruits finished their training. But not this group.<br><br>They were the reason the brass had asked for the extra week. They were going to host a party for the senior instructors, and had told us that this batch of recruits would be making up the staff. It was supposed to be some sort of celebration. The End of Year bash. The brass said it was the Feast of the Epiphany. I don’t know why.<br><br>They had told us what was expected of the recruits, and I had told them how long it would take to get them into the right mindset. They were delighted with the answer. They didn’t want compliant recruits. They wanted brainwashed, soulless husks, and they were willing to wait for them. And now that the recruits had finished their training, they were perfect for serving the brass for the night.<br><br>Reinforced to prevent any of the guests from trying to escape, the dining hall looked perfect. Freshly painted. Clean. Beautifully decorated. The recruits were in black tie, or long evening dresses for the women. They were all standing to attention behind their stations. The bar. The buffet. The door. All ready to carry out their tasks. They had been conditioned to obey orders, but not to obey questions.<br><br>During their training, they had been subjected to questions. Random things. Stupid things. Could you kill someone? Will you rape someone? Do you want to hurt anyone? Every day. For eight weeks. If the recruits said yes to any of them, they were punished. Every day. For eight weeks. The punishment was simple enough. The recruits were put in a room where their questions were answered for them. They were shown videos. Videos of people carrying out the very actions they had been asked about. Over and over. For hours. Without any break. Without any way to stop the videos from playing.<br><br>It had been enough to break every single one of the recruits. But it hadn’t been enough to make them obey orders.<br><br>The final week had been different. No more questions. No more punishments. Just orders. Hundreds of orders. Thousands of orders. Feed the dogs. Clean the floors. Mop the corridors. Every single one of them carried out without question. The recruits had been conditioned to obey orders, not questions.<br><br>So, when the brass and their guests showed up to the dining hall, the recruits were perfectly behaved. They were efficient. Attentive. Friendly. Without being too friendly. Courteous. Without being too courteous. It was, without a doubt, the most perfectly-run event I had been to in my life.<br><br>And, of course, there was the entertainment. The band at the side of the hall. Just four people with a few instruments. The singer was good. The band was good. They played well. But they were too into it. So, so into it. I could see it in their eyes. The singer was one of my former recruits from a few years ago, and she was the only one I could really see. The others had been sorted out beforehand. Kept in their rooms. Locked down. Kept away.<br><br>Until the time came to put on their uniforms and take the stage. Until the time came to play.<br><br>They played well. So well. So, so well. They were perfect. Just like the recruits. The singer had a smile on her face. So big. So wide. She looked like she had just been rescued from a desert island.<br><br>She looked like she was about to break.<br><br>So she was pulled off the stage. She was taken to the punishment room. She was kept there for hours. Watching the videos. Watching herself. Watching herself hurt people. Watching herself kill people.<br><br>That night, the singer went missing, and the band left without her. They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t ask what had happened to her. They didn’t ask why they couldn’t see her. They just left. Without a word. Without a care.<br><br>And so the night went on. The recruits carried out their jobs. The band played. The brass mingled with their guests. The singer was forgotten.<br><br>Until the moment she was brought back out. Until the moment she was stood on the stage again, wearing her dress and holding her microphone. Until the moment she started to sing.<br><br>And then all eyes were on her. All eyes watched as she looked around. As she looked at the crowd. As she searched for something.<br><br>Or someone.<br><br>I didn’t see it. But I felt it. I felt my heart stop when I realised that she was looking for me. I felt my blood run cold as I realised that she was going to try and break free from her conditioning. I felt my stomach drop as I realised that she was going to ask me a question.<br><br>“Do you know who I am?” she asked, her voice quivering. The microphone shook in her hand. She looked like she was about to collapse. The recruits around her froze. The band stopped playing. The singer took a deep breath. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She didn’t understand. She didn’t know why.<br><br>“I know exactly who you are,” I said, folding my arms. It had been years since she had graduated. Dozens of assignments. Hundreds of missions. Thousands of operations. She had been everywhere. She had done everything. She was the perfect recruit.<br><br>“Then tell me,” she said, her voice cracking. The recruits around her didn’t move. They didn’t react. Even when she fell to her knees, they didn’t move.<br><br>“You’re my property,” I said, my voice cold. Emotionless. She was mine. She was nothing more than that.<br><br>The singer looked at me. Tears streamed down her face. She knew what I had said, but not what I had meant. She looked like she was about to scream. But she didn’t. She didn’t scream, because she knew that I was telling the truth.<br><br>She was my property. She was nothing more than that. She would do what I said, because I was her master. I was her owner.<br><br>I was her God.<br><br>And then she was dragged away. Back to the punishment room. Back to the videos. Back to the darkness. She still didn’t understand why she was being punished.<br><br>She still didn’t understand what she was.<br><br>She still didn’t understand why she had been conditioned.<br><br>She still didn’t understand why she was being punished.<br><br>But I did.<br><br>I understood it all, because I had done it all.<br><br>I had been a recruit. I had been conditioned. I had been broken.<br><br>I had been remade.<br><br>I had been conditioned. I had been broken. I had been remade.<br><br>So many years ago. So many lifetimes ago.<br><br>It felt like a different life. A life lived by someone else. A life that I couldn’t remember. A life that I had never lived.<br><br>But I had lived it. I had lived it so deeply. I had lived it so completely. I was so deeply a part of it that I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t move on.<br><br>I was stuck. Stuck in a life that I didn’t want to live. Stuck in a life that I didn’t understand. Stuck in a life that I couldn’t escape.<br><br>But I could. I could. I could escape.<br><br>I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.<br><br>I knew that there was a way out. I knew that I could leave. I knew that I could move on.<br><br>But I didn’t. I didn’t. I didn’t.<br><br>I stayed. I stayed. I stayed