The Harmony Program

There are no families in New Halcyon.

There are Units.

Each child is assigned at birth to a Unit of four—two caregivers, two peers. Units live in glass towers with identical rooms and identical schedules. The State monitors for "emotional spikes," adjusts medication, and updates programming as needed.

Love is considered a chemical imbalance.

Connection is monitored and corrected.

---

My designation is Unit 12-B: Nea.

I was an ideal subject—high compliance, low deviation, above-average scores in Cooperation and Task Loyalty. My peers were Mav and Leen. My caregivers were functional, kind, distant.

Then a new peer was transferred in.

Their name was Sol.

---

Sol didn’t match.

They asked questions that weren’t efficient.
They drew pictures during Quiet Mind sessions.
They didn’t sleep at the regulated 2200 hour mark.

They looked at me like I was more than an outcome.

I tried to report the feeling.
I didn’t know the word for it.

So I wrote it down instead:

"Sol makes my chest feel... unassigned."

---

We began meeting in the Observation Room after hours. The cameras rotated every 17 minutes—Sol timed it. We sat in silence at first. Then we talked in coded phrases.

Sol: "Do you ever dream things not on the schedule?"
Me: "Yes. But I wake up and delete them."
Sol: "I keep mine."

They showed me a drawing: a sky with two suns and figures holding hands.

"That’s illegal," I said.
"Only if someone sees it."

---

Emotion spikes increased. I was pulled in for recalibration. The Director smiled.

"You're valuable, Nea. But you must remember: Harmony over Hunger. Order over Feeling."

I nodded. Took the pills. Hid them in my sleeve.

I was learning how to lie.

---

Sol talked about escape.

Not a physical one. An inner migration.

"What if we built a language they can’t decode?"

We did. In blinks. In touches. In breaths.

---

Then came the Audits.

Units were restructured. Sol was reassigned. Our Observation Room was sealed.

I didn’t cry. But something inside me folded.

That night, I found a message under my sleeping mat:

"Harmony is a cage that sings. Will you still fly?"

It was Sol’s drawing. The sky. The hands.

And a real feather.

---

I ran.

Not through doors—but within.

I stopped taking the pills. I stopped obeying the rhythm.
I painted the sky on my Unit wall.
I whispered Sol’s name into the air.

They came for me.

But I was already gone.

---

Now I live in the Margins, where the program doesn’t reach.

I teach others how to breathe in silence, how to find their inner color.

I haven’t seen Sol again.
But sometimes, I wake up with feathers in my hands.

My name is Nea.
I was Unit 12-B.

Now I am more than assigned.

Now I choose.