Security is Freedom

I woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains and the distant sound of the trains passing by. I stretched, yawned, feeling the familiar sensation of a hangover that you knew you were going to get. But it was worth it, it came with memories of a night well spent.

Miguel’s birthday, 34 years old. Oh boy, we are old already.

I smiled as fragments of the evening came back to me: the crowded pub, the terrible karaoke, everything was so much fun. Even the walk home through warm summer streets, was really nice, I really didn’t want the night to end. I remembered letting myself into the apartment, pouring one more drink, just one more before bed, and sinking into the couch with my phone in hand.

After that, nothing. I must have dozed off right there.

I walked to the kitchen, drank a glass of water, ate some toast, and made myself a coffee. I checked my phone and saw that Elena had texted me a heart emoji with an “LoL” sometime around midnight; I sent her one picture of the boys while we were still in the pub.

Then, I got it.

The notification appeared in bold red text. It was a government address, the kind that demanded acknowledgment before it would disappear.

KINGDOM CIVIL SECURITY DIVISION

Dear Mr. Antony Taylor,

You are hereby summoned to your local Civil Security Station (District BRV, Block NWR) regarding flagged activity associated with your citizen identification number 04021932. This is a mandatory appearance. Failure to present yourself within 48 hours will result in a formal warrant and potential escalation of charges.

Your recent activity has been flagged by our system.

Please bring valid identification.

This notice was generated automatically by the National Security Monitoring System (NSMS-7). Please do no reply to this message.

I set down my coffee with trembling hands and opened my social feed, scrolling back through last night’s posts. Likes, comments, nothing unusual it was just filled with Miguel’s party.

Then I found them. Timestamps between 2:47 AM and 3:22 AM. My own words, written in the fog between wakefulness and sleep.

Under a news article about the Prime Minister’s latest immigration policy:

“Ah yes, our glorious leader strikes again. Someone point this man to a dictionary so he can look up ‘nationalism’. Or a window. Fifth floor should do it.”

And on a satirical page I barely remembered following:

“The whole cabinet should be taken out back and put down like the sick dogs they are. Humane, really. Public service.”

My blood ran cold. Read out loud in the pub, my mates would have laughed. Written down in black and white, they don’t sound funny anymore.

I touched the small icon in the corner that showed my encryption status. The shield that should have been green was grey.

Subscription cancelled. Last payment failed 3 days ago. Account unprotected.

“No! No, no, no…”

Three days. Three days of everything being published with my name in the clear.

And then another thought, worse still: if they’d been watching for three days, they hadn’t just seen last night. They’d seen everything. Every message, every search, every idle scroll through feeds I’d rather not explain.

I sank into a kitchen chair and stared at nothing.

The coffee went cold.

The Civil Security Station was a squat grey building wedged between a pharmacy and one of those sad coffee houses. I’d walked past it hundreds of times without really seeing it, unremarkable and easy to ignore.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of disinfectant and human sweat. A waiting area stretched along one wall, filled with aluminium chairs bolted to the floor. About a dozen people sat there, each clutching a numbered ticket, each wearing the same expression of muted dread.

I took my number “84” and found an empty seat next to a woman who was crying silently into her hands. A bit cringy, really.

I waited.

The numbers climbed slowly: thirty-nine, forty, forty-one. A screen on the wall cycled through public service announcements. Report suspicious activity. Protect your community. Safety is everyone’s responsibility. A cartoon eagle with kind eyes reminded citizens that vigilance was the foundation of freedom.

Eighty-three. Eighty-four.

” Eighty-four.”

I stood up and walked toward the door marked PROCESSING.

The office beyond was small and aggressively ordinary: a desk, two chairs, a computer, a plant that might have been real or might have been plastic. Behind the desk sat a man in his fifties with thinning hair and a fat face. He looked a lot like a potato.

“Mr. Taylor,” he said, not looking up from his screen. “Please, sit.” I followed his instruction.

“I’m Officer Hendricks. I’ll be processing your case today.” He typed something, clicked something, frowned at whatever appeared on his monitor. “So. You’ve been flagged by the system. Do you know why you’re here?”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” I said. My voice came out squeakier than I felt. “I made some comments online. I admit they were stupid comments, but I was drunk! I didn’t mean any of it. It was just… pub talk. They were all jokes.”

“Mm.” Hendricks scrolled through something. “‘Fifth floor should do it.’ ‘Taken out back and put down.’ ‘Should be removed from office by any means necessary.'” He looked up. “These are your words?”

My stomach lurched. I don’t even remember writing that. But three days unencrypted… who knew what else was buried in my account now, what old posts and forgotten comments had been quietly catalogued and filed.

“I was being sarcastic. It’s obviously not…”

“The AI doesn’t parse sarcasm, Mr. Taylor.” He interrupted me. “It identifies threat language. And your accounts contained quite a lot of it.” Hendricks turned the monitor slightly so I could see rows and rows of flagged text, highlighted in yellow and red. “Going back several months, it seems to me that you are inciting violence.”

“That’s…” I trailed off. What was there to say? It does seem that way. I was just venting. Everyone did it. Everyone who wasn’t an idiot, at least, used encryption so none of it mattered. “I mean, I don’t hate my country, or the government. I just don’t like everything they do.”

“There’s more.” Hendricks clicked to a new screen. “Your financial records show that two months ago, you took a trip to Costa Serena with your partner, Elena Varga.”

I felt something cold settle in my chest. “We went to the beach. It was her birthday.”

“Ms. Varga is a refugee from the Eastern Republic, correct? And she’s currently employed by Meridian Logistics, which has documented business relationships with companies operating in restricted territories. She used the company credit card.”

“She’s a refugee,” I said, my voice rising. “She fled from there. She doesn’t have anything to do with… We built sandcastles, for god’s sake. We ate ice cream. That’s it.”

“I am not assigned to her case, just yours” Hendricks said in the most monotone way. “I’m simply noting that the combination of factors including your statements, your unprotected communications, your association with a foreign national connected to restricted entities. Everything points to a risk profile that exceeded acceptable thresholds.”

“This is insane.” I leaned forward, trying to find something human in the clerk’s face. “Look, I forgot to pay for my encryption, alright? My card expired. It happens. I’m sure you understand. I mean, you must have one too. Everyone does. It just slipped through the cracks and now”

Hendricks’ expression hardened. I feel like I am digging my own grave here.

“No, Mr. Taylor. I do not have an encryption subscription.” He said the word like he had heard this excuse hundreds of times before. “I don’t belong to that group of cowards hiding behind masks, pretending they’re not doing anything wrong while they sneak around in the dark. If you have nothing to hide, what does it matter if the government sees what you do?” He straightened in his chair. “I’m not a criminal. Unlike, apparently, you.”

I can’t believe what I am hearing. I slumped back, the fight draining out of me.

“I’m not a criminal,” I said quietly. “I was drunk. I was angry at the news. I didn’t do anything.”

“You made threats against government officials. Multiple times, over an extended period. Under current law, that’s sufficient.” Hendricks turned back to his screen, businesslike again. “The system exists to identify threats before they materialize. Sometimes that means catching people who would never have acted. But isn’t that better than missing someone who would?”

“So I’m guilty because I might have done something?”

“You’re guilty because you were flagged. The distinction you’re trying to make doesn’t really exist anymore.” Hendricks typed something, then slid a tablet across the desk. “Now. The good news is that your case is relatively minor. No evidence of actual conspiracy, no confirmed ties to extremist groups. You’re looking at a fifteen percent tax surcharge for the remainder of the fiscal year, mandatory monthly check-ins at this office, and elevated surveillance status for the next twenty-four months of course.”

“Monthly check-ins?”

“You will report here on the first Wednesday of each month to review your activity and confirm your continued compliance. Miss a check-in, and there will be consequences. Continue the kind of behaviour that brought you here…” He paused, letting the silence stretch. “Well. The courts are less understanding the second time around. Prison is not off the table for repeat offenders.”

I stared at him. The room felt smaller suddenly, I didn’t feel safe anymore.

“This isn’t fair,” I said. But the words came out hollow.

“Perhaps not.” Hendricks shrugged. “But fairness isn’t the point, is it? The point is safety. The point is protecting the majority from the actions of a few. And if a few innocent people get caught up in the process…” He spread his hands. “That’s an acceptable cost. Better to sacrifice a hundred like you than let one genuine threat slip through.”

I looked at the tablet. At the glowing line where my signature would go. At the wall behind Hendricks, where a framed poster showed the kingdom’s flag beneath the words SECURITY IS FREEDOM.

I signed. What else was there to do?

The sun was too bright when I stepped outside, it was still early afternoon but something had shifted. Some invisible wall had risen between me and the world I’d woken up this morning.

I felt exposed. Watched. Like I had lost something.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Elena. Just two lines:

I got summoned too. I could lose my job because of this.

Tony, what did you do?

I stood there on the sidewalk, people coming out of the same building I had just left, with the same face that I had. I read the message again. And again. The words didn’t change.

Everything is going to be alright. I didn’t do anything wrong.

Those were the only words I could muster to write, but I stopped before sending them.

Somewhere in the city, an algorithm was watching. Learning. Keeping everyone safe. But I don’t feel safe right now.

I deleted the last sentence, sent it, and put my phone in my pocket. The walk back home wasn’t as nice today.