Mindwalker by AJ Steiger

father’s death. I remember lying in the darkness, encased in that metal tube. It’s a soothing experience, if you don’t fight it—the low hum in your head, the sense of floating, the pain and tension ebbing out of you. But there’s also something oppressive about it. A heaviness, a vague feeling of defilement, like dirty fingers touching you.
    â€œOr maybe they’ll send him to a Mindwalker,” Ian adds. His voice has dropped to a low, almost inaudible mutter. “You never know.”
    â€œWithout his consent? Certainly not.” Involuntary memory modifications are rare, almost unheard of.
    He shrugs. “Yeah, you’re right. Probably.”
    The guards shepherd us back toward the school. We walk through the open doors, down the hallway, following the other students toward the gymnasium, where we file into the bleachers. Greenborough’s plump, matronly superintendent makes an appearance and delivers a short speech. It’s the usual. There was a threat, but the threat has been dealt with. A Type Four has been identified and will be given the appropriate treatments. And a collar, no doubt.
    My hands curl into fists in my lap.
    Later, after school, Ian and I walk across the parking lot together. “Do you think it’s right?” I blurt out.
    â€œIs what right?”
    â€œThis. Everything.”
    He walks stiffly, hands shoved into his pockets. “You’ve seen the documentaries, right? About the way things were before?”
    We’ve all seen documentaries detailing the rise of domestic terrorism. Images flash across my brain—explosions, stampedingcrowds, debris flying through the air, bodies riddled with bullets from mass shootings. A war with no single enemy, just lots of angry people with sick minds. Of course, all that happened decades before I was born.
    Back then, IFEN was simply a research institution focused on the budding field of neurotechnology—mostly mind mapping and mind imaging, at that point. Mindwalkers didn’t even exist yet. But as the terrorist attacks escalated, scientists began sharing data with the government to create the National Registry of Mental Health—the database that is now a central pillar of our society—so potential threats could be identified and watched. The Typing system was established, active video monitoring became commonplace, and for a while, the authorities managed to keep the violence under control. But some people began to mutter that we’d become a totalitarian state, and social unrest grew.
    Then came the Blackcoats, a semiorganized group of hackers and political radicals who declared war against the government. Another wave of terrorism, even worse than the first, swept the country. The fighting raged on and on—the police and military against soldiers of a hidden army who attacked from the shadows and disappeared without a trace, with innocent people caught in the cross fire.
    I shudder.
    Father lived through that nightmare. He only talked about it a few times, but those few times were vivid enough. When the dust finally settled and the Blackcoat leaders had all been hunted down, people were desperate for the violence to end. Who could blame them?
    Over the next few years, the government held a series ofconferences in which scientists and politicians debated what sort of system would best prevent another war. IFEN proposed a pragmatic, utilitarian approach focused on maintaining psychological welfare. No outdated constitutions holding us back with dusty ideas about inalienable rights. No pointless divisions between states. Under the new government, the laws would all be made by ethical committees, with input from psychiatrists and other experts, and every change would be enacted with an eye toward the greater public good. Maintaining peace and order would be the top priority.
    So the United States was reformed as the United Republic. Some parts of our government—like the