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[Jamasia]

Hi. My first post here with perhaps not my best piece. Set in the future but I haven't decided how far. My style isn't shown a lot in this piece but some of my other writing is mainly influenced by Bill Bryson, Douglas Adams, and Terry Pratchett. Anyway, please comment.

(After prologue)
Rohan stared at his hands one more time after the surgery, not believing these hands were his own. Only four days ago had he decided on his path and already he was too far along it to turn back. The squalid room he was recovering in was more proof as to his situation. The man he was assured was a doctor walked in through the space where one would normally expect a door.
“How are you feeling, Comrade? Good? Well the Scrub seems to have worked well enough. There is no turning back now. Welcome.” The last sentence was said with actual warmth as if this man had known him all his life. Rohan looked up into his smile.
“You’re right. To go back is to return to nothing.” he intoned, sadness heavy in his voice.
“Correct” The doctor turned away. “The Fuhrer wants to see you in person this evening. You must be something special – don’t disappoint him.”
Rohan just lay there in silence, on a stolen gurney, somewhere in the old part of town, waiting to meet the leader of the revolution. With his second hand clothes, no fingerprints and new face, he shakily stood up, awaiting the moment of his acceptance into the army of the republic.

Several minutes later he was standing in a room identical to all the other rooms he had seen. This room did have several differences though. No other room was lined with armed guards, had a large polished oak desk and the Fuhrer of the Peoples Army sitting in an armchair behind it. Rohan stood in the centre of the room looking at the floor. The light shining at him from the desk was blinding, so he could only make out a silhouette in the dark. It leaned forward.
“I do not know who you are. Our doctor does not know who you are. Keyes, do you know who he is?” A guard at the side of the room said that he did not. “It seems none of us here know who you are. Do you know who you are?”
Rohan felt he was being tested. Of course they knew who he was – they whispered when he was brought in – but they wanted to know why he was here rather than whom he was. They could find out his history but not his thoughts.
“I am Rohan Velloca, second class, former Enforcer for the Federation and loyal member of the Revolution. Together we can remove the Federation and replace it with the glory of the People’s Republic.”
“Excellent. But now no longer a member of the Federation, you are an outlaw whose aim is to remove the corrupt and establish a new leadership far from this totalitarianism.”
“But what am I to do?”
“I believe the question is what am I to do with you? You have a talent, young man. I don’t plan to let it waste away” The shadow sank back into the upholstered shadows.
Rohan felt a hand on his shoulder meaning it was time to go. As he left the Fuhrer said something to him, inaudible to anyone else.
“You did good kid, the men have already taken a shine to you. Keep it up. They’re counting on you”

Sitting in the bunker he was assigned, he thought about the fearsome leader of the revolution who killed innocents and destroyed homes. The man who executed people who got in his way, the man who just told him that he was impressed with him. He now believed more than ever that he was lied to all of his life. He’d seen the cruelty of his government and only ever heard of the damage by the revolution.
He grasped his head as a sharp pain gripped his skull. He could see their faces and his men running away. He could see the timer counting down and his hand so close to stopping it all.
And it was gone, leaving him with a cold sweat and his face in his hands. He would soon be joined by two others, also recently recruited, so he had to clean himself up.