Writing Prompt

It’s the year 2050 and the world could not be more in need of a savior. When you walk outside it’s almost as if the sun’s bulb has been dimmed, or it’s on the verge of going out. The atmosphere was dark and eerie. All of nature seemed to be almost dead, only the remaining roots and trunks stood tall. The streets were empty, not a hovercraft in sight. When a decade ago, shoot even five years ago the streets were packed with citizens. Now it’s as barren as the void within. When the new kings took their reign, they took more than just that crown. They took our will. King Devases believes that the only way to turn this world back around is through a new “program” where all children are summoned to his lands to be what he calls the “reset”. Of course the parents were opposed to this, but his second-hand, aka his general, Devasa ordered his troops to do whatever means necessary to obtain the children. King Devases believes that children have polluted this world. Becoming somewhat lazy and corrupted. So his plan is to turn them into his most successful and fruitful assassins. King Devases sees it as a blessing to the children. “Children are like sponges, ready to absorb any and everything around them. But unfortunately over the years they have been weakened and nurtured to death. In the first seven years of their lives is when they are the spongiest. So I will be their guide, teaching them all the fundamentals and strengths to fight anything that may cross our paths”, said King Devases to his masses. King Devases was abandoned as a child. His father killed in war and his mother became mentally disturbed because of this. The pain was to unbearable for her. She then developed a new perspective of life, it only being within two feet of her. So of course that left King Devases alone and helpless. He held anger for a majority of his life. He channeled all that anger into his training to become one of the greatest fighters Tropica has ever seen. But his inner-child still remained inside, buried under the mask of power. He really is just envious of the children, how they have both parents to coddle them. He would be on the hovercraft and see children rolling around in the grass with their families. He turned his head rolling his eyes, feeling an inner yuck sensation. King Devases was really King Parasite. Living and feeding off of those around him, benefiting himself only while the hosts slowly suffer and deteriorate.

The constant chatter. It was in front of me, beside me, above me, below me. All the rumors of the new government laws, but I simply didn’t believe they could be true. With all the deafening buzz it was easier to tune it all out. The rumors we were hearing were that of a tyrannical government, but that’s not our truth. That’s not our democracy.

At least, that’s what I thought. My husband lays on the hospital floor— sedated. My baby, my sweet newborn baby, that I didn’t even get to hold. All I could do was watch from the hospital bed as the midwife walked away with my child.

All I’ve wanted is a family. Now, that my moment has finally arrived, it’s been ripped my arms before I could even hold them. Know their gender. See if they have my blue eyes, or my husband’s dark curly hair.

“PLEASE!” I cried, trying to reach out to my midwife. But she was clear out of reach, and my body was stuck to the blasted bed.

Once the government announced that a family could give their child to them to be exclusively raised by government staff, there was chatter that it was only the beginning. That soon enough, the government would take our children by force. I used to laugh off the sentiment. Now, I wish I had done something. Believe them? Drink more alcohol? Start a protest?

Maybe I wouldn’t have had this baby at all.

Any alternative would be better than seeing my midwife’s sweat stained back walk out of the pristine white hospital room. Than hearing the aggressive beep beep of the heart monitor.

My legs, bloody and shaking, wouldn’t move. I put my arms on either side of the creaky bed to hoist myself up and out so I could get my baby back. I just spent the last 34 hours of my life pushing it out of me, I deserve more than two second of watching someone holding my hard work.

Two nurses hold me down, I can barely see a third coming back with a needle. My vision is so blurry from hot, salty tears that stream down my face like a waterfall.

“HELP,” I try again, there must be some humanity in these nurses.

A fourth nurse I couldn’t see before begins to caress my hair, slowly shushing me like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “It’s alright sweetheart,” she says iba sickly sweet voice, “you’ll be alright.”

I try to fight back, attempting to flail my arms, kick my legs.

“GIVE ME MY BABY BACK!”

But I am too weak, and the nurses’ grips are too strong.

One little pinch, and my world goes to black.

In the past, people were brought up by their parents, people who loved them, cared for them, had waited for months, even years to have them. Now, we all grew up in a government funded facility where they had complete control over our lives and everything they taught us. Growing up in a government facility was extra strange, because they were constantly contradicting what they taught us. It’s as if different people all shaped a cover story that they taught us for part of our education without figuring out what the others were teaching. History was the worst, it was a discombobulated mess that even instructors were confused over.

There was perfect uniformity too, hair was cut the same length, we wore the same clothes, and no matter how old you were, you had the same curfew. It’s not as if curfew was late either, starting at 8 PM and ending at 7 AM. I think this sort of schedule was similar to something they had in place for prisons 20ish years ago. Wake up at 7, role call at 7:10, breakfast at 7:20, first class at 8, lunch at 1, then more classes until 5, then chores, then dinner at 7, and finally lights out at 8.

People who broke the rules were sent to separate classes with even stricter rules. They weren’t allowed to decide what to eat, there was absolutely no flexibility in schedule, they weren’t allowed to talk, and even more rules, on and on and on.

When we got older people got sorted into these “higher education” departments and when they graduated they’d get sent to a different facility to become whatever the government told them to become. A few people had managed to escape in the transfer, but most weren’t able to. I was getting sorted later this year, my last year at this hellhole. They said they wanted me in “reasearch” but everyone knew that’s where all the useless people went. Hire people to be eternal lab assistants and they’ll stay out of the way. The labs never discovered anything anyways because we apparently “already knew all we needed to know.” It was stupid and everyone knew it but thats the way it was. The way it still is.

The week of our assignments i was packing my things and preparing for a life of eternal boredom and tedium. It went just the way i expected, they assigned me to research and said i would be spending 4 years getting a degree in becoming whatever type lab assistant they wanted me to be and then moving to my permanent assignment.

There wasn’t a lot of anticipation to get out really, but i wanted to know what the outside world was like, so i waited. There was nothing left to do here anyways, no one had any friends, and no one had ever been brave enough to want any. So we all waited patiently until the end of the week and then we got on our buses and that was that. I went on something that used to be called a subway, i think it used to be for public use, but now it was just transport for new graduates heading to their assigned jobs or colleges.

The only thing graduation did was make me eager for my next assignment so i could finally live in peace. There was only one major assignment left after this, and that was getting an arranged marriage. It didn’t mean much though, and marriages were never really romantic. Any kids you had would be taken to the education facilities and you would never see them again, and past that all you did was live in the same housing quarters. There was never any personal connection because, to put it bluntly, no one had enough freedom to get a personality.

I got off my train and walked out of the subway. And i was… shocked. This was the first time i had seen outside in real life, and it was so… dull. It was nothing like the vibrant pictures they had shown us from the 2020’s, everything looked dead, the plants all withered, everyone in a hurry to go somewhere. I walked quickly to my higher education facility and kept to myself, i did not want to draw any attention. This was fairly easy, as no one was giving me any anyways.

I got to my new facility, got my room key, and unpacked in my new room. I would have one roomate and i was curious to find out who it would be. I knew other lower education facilities had more freedom, and i was interested what someone from one would be like.

I didn’t have to wait very long though. After only about 30 minutes a girl showed up. She was pretty, with longer hair than i had ever been allowed to have, and she walked with a confidence i had never seen anyone have. Ever. When she saw me she smiled and stuck out a hand for me to shake, a traditional greeting from older times. I shook it and we introduced ourselves. What sort of facility had this girl come from? I had never imagined one so relaxed.

I slowly worked up my nerve to ask, because i was too intrigued to let this go. “So,” i said, as nonchalantly as i could, “ where are you from? What facility, i mean.” She laughed, “I didn’t grow up in a ‘facility’, i grew up at home, with my parents. I got to choose my assignment too.” “And you chose this one?” “Of course. This is the one with the most rebels, and i’m here to catch them in the act.”

She winked and walked away, and i wasn’t sure if she was serious or not. I hadn’t even known there were rebels, and now there were enough to need a secret spy? Part of me wanted to know more though. If i joined this antirebellion, would i get special privileges too? Only one thing was for sure though, she had me hooked. I was suddenly _dying _to find out.

GOVS world took years to develop into the well oiled machine it is today. A productivity’s perfectionist’s dream. Everyone is tightly scheduled into their role and there is no deviation.

As the sun crests the eastern mountain it sparks life into the military academy below. The valley erupts with the customary bugles and trumpets the cadets have grown oh so familiar with. It has been seven months since Vira’s parents had begrudgingly sent her to the conscripted school of Galloway. Morning after morning she awoke to the blaring bugles, but it never got any easier this routine. Despite these many rude awakenings she still found herself slugging her way off the bed and onto the floor. She slowly picked herself off the floor and began making her bed, sheet flat, blanket tucked in over the sides and foot of the bed, pillow at the head of the bed with the blanket tucked around it. She basked in her speed, despite her nickname Slugger, for both the slug like flow of her movement and her right hook, she was the quickest to make her bed every morning. Again she wondered to herself “How can people move with such fervor yet still move so slowly?” As she started putting her slacks and shirt on she reflected upon what the commander had said yesterday, “Panic and hurry are the enemies of composure and efficiency” now she could see why the old man always droned on sounding more like a veteran philosopher than a veteran soldier. Hidden behind the rugged exterior and unflinching authority there was a man who had grown and learned what it would take to be successful in this world. His actions AND his words spoke for him, something few people did in this country, perhaps in the world as well.

Mira clicked the door to her dorm closed. this might be the last time she sleeps in this room… in this building, if everything goes according to plan.

These past few months have been all about her future- the beginning of her life. she knew how lucky she was to have her all instructors leading her towards her purpose. she didn’t know where she would be without all the guidance and training she had received in all of her 16 years here.

well, 15 years and 11 months. and 29 days.

Kids didn’t used to be this fortunate. they were given no time to prepare for their future until it was right upon them, and society suffered because it’s members were irresponsible. immature. unfocused. they weren’t ready to face the real world.

back then, they believed schools were enough. students didn’t graduate until they were 18, and some even went back to school after that. their classes were exclusively on math, science, history, and language. they didn’t decide their careers until they graduated, and some even later. students went back to a house away from campus and were allowed to live the whole early stage of their life away from structure. Mira couldn’t imagine what their world was like- so directionless, with no one driven to commit to the betterment of society.

She set her pamphlet down on the dresser and let out a shaky exhale. it was supposed to explain to her what the next steps were, as it she hadn’t been preparing for tomorrow for her whole life so far. She didn’t need to be anxious, she reminded herself. this was going to be everything she ever wanted- they would let her know that all her training paid off tomorrow morning as soon as the morning alarms went off. that she was allowed to start her life and fufill her purpose.

She had known since her sixth year that she wanted to be an engineer. She had been building and designing with any objects she could get her hands on for as far back as she could remember. slowly, that had morphed into a devotion to mathematics, physics, and professional design skills to cultivate her talents. she could still see the smile on her instructor’s face when she passed her final exams that year- the ones that determined she was finally ready to commit to a path.

she was not going to let it all go to waste.

Mira laid down on her bed, tying up her hair on top of her head the same way she did every night. normally, she was able to ignore the empty bunk above her. but tonight, her mind was working against her.

she had gotten over it quickly after it happened. and why wouldn’t she? there was a perfectly reasonable explanation. the exams had been wrong- Echo wasn’t ready to commit. They were confused. They were unmotivated. They needed a type of training that this facility couldn’t provide, and so they got moved. That’s what happens to people who can’t find their purpose- they aren’t allowed to participate in society like everyone else. She had grown up knowing that, and so had Echo.

there was no reason for their absence to haunt her like it did tonight.

Her hands found their way up to her chest, resting over her heart. she could feel it rattling inside, taking up all the space in her lungs that was supposed to be for breathing. she drew in a deep breath, just like she had been taught to do when this happens. she had to force air back into her lungs. sometimes, your body works against you. sometimes, you will feel like you are trapped. lost. alone. but you aren’t. you are smarter than your body. you need to override.

override. override.

“override,” she whispered to herself. she was smarter than this. she had been taught better than this. she wouldn’t be able to be productive tomorrow if she didn’t get over this and go to sleep.

but the pounding in her chest just grew faster, and the more frustrated with herself she became, the louder it sounded in her head.

what was wrong with her? why was she acting like Echo? nothing was wrong. everything she had ever wanted was at her doorstep. her life was about to begin.

but what if it’s not enough?

_don’t be ridiculous, Echo, _she had responded. this is what we were made for. what else is there?

_ I don’t know. _they whispered. that’s why i’m afraid. __ __ But she wasn’t like them. No, she wasn’t. she had tried to tell them, and it wasn’t her fault they didn’t listen.

She had a purpose- they all did. living it out would be the only thing she ever needed, and nothing more. she did not need a fancy house, or lots of money, or a huge family, and she did not need Echo. She didn’t need them there with her then, with gentle hands, reminding her how to breathe. She did not need to hide her face in their arms and pretend for a moment that it was just the two of them. because there was nothing to hide. there was no reason to pretend. she knew what she wanted. she knew who she was.

she was an engineer. she was an adult. she was useful. she was satisfied.

_did you know, Mira, that children used to celebrate the day they were born, not the day they started their training? _ __ did you know they used to have have a time to play outside in schools? __ did you know there used to be a holiday where children wore costumes and collected candy in the streets? __ _that sounds made up. _she had said. why would they do that?

for fun, they said. no one around her knows how to have fun. not even you.

what? I know how to have fun! she frowned.

a grin snuck into their face. that look was one she knew well. prove it, then. let’s have our own costume holiday. __ __ The candy that they stole from the main office wasn’t even good. it had stuck to the wrapper and to both of their teeth, and got the taste of wax in their mouths. but it was something about the way Echo had giggled the whole time they hid under the stairs that made it worth it. it was something about the way she could see the excitement make their eyes sparkle even in the dim light.

Can I tell you a secret, Echo? The words had fallen out of her mouth in a whisper.

yeah?

I don’t think I want to be an engineer. __ why not? I thought you loved building things. __ …I do. I did… I think. I liked all those building kits we used to get in the third year room. but the classes… it’s different. it’s hard. we are just learning about math. I don’t… I don’t really like it. __ __ Echo didn’t say anything. the two of them looked up at the cracks and chipped paint of the stairwell above them.__ __ well… maybe you can just stay here, then… with me. forever. __ __ Mira remembered that a smile creeped onto her face.__ __ _I’d like that… _she had whispered.

If only that were how things worked.

A loud buzzing sound rattles my eardrums and I begrudgingly slump out of bed. I look at my alarm clock. I slept over four hours past schedule. Dang, I must have been _tired. _I look above my door and to my surprise, (and a bit of delight), the never-red siren is as crimson as ever, and bright as emergency lights flash from inside.

    This is new. I shiver in exhilaration. _Nothing _new happens around here. It’s always the same old routine over and over again, everyday like a never-ending calendar. Though you might as well scratch off the names of each month, because it wouldn’t matter anyway. This makes me—along with the other 7000 children and teenagers of City 118–long for the day when we finally be reunited with our birth parents when we hit 18. Of course by then we won’t need them anymore, but we can then be dropped off into the outside world to make a name for ourselves and strengthen the world. Kids get deposited all over _from_ all over, which is exciting.
    
     Almost as exciting as me and some of the other kids knowing the exact date of our deposit. We (somewhat accidentally) managed to hear a snippet of a conversation from one of the principals of our school while he was reviewing some of our birth records. Now we know the exact date of when we turn 18, and the best part about it is that I should be hitting 18 in two weeks. But judging from the crazy wake-up alarm, maybe…not.

    I tentatively walk towards my door, and pry it open a tad. Nothing. Nobody’s out there, but alarms keep blaring on, loud as ever. 
     Where is everybody?
     “Hello?”
    No reply. I throw on a hoodie and walk outside. The screens beside everyone’s doors catches my eye. Usually the schedule for the day is on them, but today is something different. 
    “**If you’re reading this, then you’re just as doomed as I am**.”
    What the…?!
    I cup my hands over my mouth. “IS ANYONE THERE?!”
   As soon as I scream this, the screen goes pitch black, and the sirens stop blaring. New words fill the screen in front of me. 
    “**Yes. But I’m not who you’re expecting.” **

** “**I wasn’t really expecting a person to be behind this in the first place.” “……Fair.” ** “**WELL. WHO ARE YOU?!” “Sensitive, for starters. You can lower your voice.” ** **I blush and lower my voice. “Okay, then. Well, who are you? And if you say that I can’t know-“ “**Well, you can’t.” ** ** “**Why not?” “They’ll get me if you tell anyone who I am.” ** **“….Who’ll get you?” “ I can’t tell you who, but I’m going to send you something to make sure _you’re _not one of them.” ** **I run my hands through my hair and take a shaky breath. “Alright.” A short, simple message fills the entire screen in large font. “Cats and Spam.” ** “**Cats and…..spam? What is this supposed to mean?” “That you and everybody else here might be the only safe ones on the planet.”

I woke up to the sound of an alarm. I stood up and ran to my door to see what was happening. Looking out of the window I saw panic. I opened the door to the sight of the other kids packing what little they had. I ran over to my friend Jeremy and asked what was going on. He gave a look that I had never seen before. A look that showed fear and doubt. “It’s over, it’s all over” he said while shoving the last things he had left in his room. “We don’t have time. They are coming! Grab your stuff!” He yelled. I dashed back into my room and threw my things into a bag and went to the hallway to meet Jeremy. I soon came to realize what was going on. The Creed finally fought back against the government. The base is under attack and the guards are coming to secure us so we can’t leave. This is our last chance to escape. Jeremy soon leads me through the winding hallways that remind me of a maze, checking around every corner to make sure the coast is clear. Running through the hallways we heard screams; saw people on the ground dying, begging for our help. We couldn’t help them, we had to keep going. Breaking through the gates and sneaking past the guards led us out into the wild. A wasteland of little to no green. Jeremy told me that he heard tale of a Creed stronghold, underground just a few miles from us. So we made the trek. The outside was inconspicuous. It looked like a normal waterfall. However the waterfall held secrets behind it. Secrets that may be our only chance of survival.

In the year 2050, individual families are a relic of the past. All children are brought up in state-run institutions known as “Nurseries,” where they are raised to serve society. The concept of “family” has been erased, replaced by collective upbringing under the watchful eye of the government. Every child, including Axel, is just another number in the system, groomed to follow a predetermined path. Axel, like every other child, has never known a mother, a father, or even a home outside the sterile walls of the Nursery.

Axel, 16, has always been different. Where others mindlessly follow their daily schedules, never questioning their purpose, Axel’s mind wanders. He dreams of a life outside the institution. He questions why he is there and who decided his fate. Every night, he lies in his dormitory bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining a world where he can make choices for himself, where he’s not just another cog in the machine.

Axel’s life changes one night when he stumbles upon something extraordinary. While sneaking out of his dormitory to explore restricted areas of the Nursery, he discovers an old terminal buried deep within the lower levels of the building. The screen flickers to life as if waiting for him. The interface is different from anything Axel has seen before—old, archaic, and clunky, unlike the sleek devices they are used to.

As Axel fiddles with the terminal, it reveals a series of encrypted messages. The words flash on the screen: “The truth is out there. Seek the Orphan Code.”

Axel’s heart races. The “Orphan Code” is something whispered in legends among the more rebellious children—an old conspiracy that suggests the government hides the origins of the Nursery children. It’s said that some children were not born in the artificial wombs the government claims to use but were taken from real families, people who still exist somewhere outside the walls.

Determined to uncover the truth, Axel recruits his closest friend, Lina, a tech prodigy. Together, they begin to hack into the Nursery’s deeply protected systems. What they find is chilling: files upon files of “unclassified children,” including Axel and Lina, listed as “adopted” rather than born. Their parents, their families, had been erased from existence. The children were taken as infants, their real histories wiped clean, replaced by the government’s narrative.

Axel’s world crumbles, but a burning anger ignites within him. He vows to find his true origins and, more importantly, expose the lie that holds millions of children captive. Axel and Lina uncover more secrets about the Nursery—a massive social experiment meant to create perfect citizens by severing all ties to personal identity. The government believed that by raising children in a controlled environment, they could eliminate chaos and dissent from society.

Now, on the run, Axel and Lina must navigate a world where freedom is an illusion, where every move is monitored, and the concept of family is forbidden. Armed with only fragments of the Orphan Code and a handful of allies, they fight to reclaim their stolen pasts and to tear down the system that holds their future captive.

As the story unfolds, Axel faces difficult choices. Not only must he confront the truth about his identity, but he must also question the very nature of freedom. If the government falls, will chaos replace order? Or is there a way to balance personal freedom with societal harmony?

In his journey to find the Orphan Code, Axel learns that not all those in power are corrupt, and not all rebellions are righteous. The truth lies in the balance, and it is up to him to determine what kind of world he wants to live in.

From the perspective of 324 because why not?

Is it truly believable that when, in the name of equality, if all humans are raised the same, dressed the same, fed the same, given the same items, taught the same subjects, given the same opportunities, and spoon-fed the same brainwashing slop there can still be a rise?

Someone who allows the gears in their brain to rotate just a tad, a small little click that sends a shock wave of energy so powerful for the first time in your life you feel awake?

I believe it.

I’ve lived it.

I’ve been sitting in a cafeteria, shoulder to shoulder with people my same height and shape, black helmets and masks covering their faces, the only outward difference being a three-digit number, a mere patch on their jacket, and realized, for a moment, _at least one other person thinking the same thing as me: How did we ever get here? _

The government has been perfectly content with telling me that when I die, someone else will take my number, and by living a life of perfect, unscathed equality, by spending every second working and learning to fall in line, will pave the way for a greater good.

What is the greater good?

I believe I have that simple yet powerful answer: there is no greater good. There is only the ruining of the strait-laced government that can bring me some affordable form of happiness.

But when this Revolution I’ve molded my life for, this Outlash, this Change, lists reasons to their fellow Changers about the core of the why, they always speak of a greater good, a utopia, a heaven that can one day be achieved if we just keep fighting.

“So the generation after us may have a better chance of having a sense of what good living could be.”

Screw the greater good. All I care about is watching these higher- ups, these ones who earned their right to have their name be something other than a number, have their skulls driven into the ground.

Undesirable.

Ha. Of course. Sometimes it seems I’m the only one who can form my own thoughts. How ironic that a person who is conscious of their own abilities has been doomed to hold the lowest rank society can ever hold. An Undesirable.

Of course, at the end of our 18th year, when handing out Archetectual internships, medical training, technology support, and many other jobs , they could come up with nothing better for me than nothing itself.

That is what fueled me for resistance. That is what makes me smile at Council Head Cordovon Palt, staring at me with their little gold helmet secured tightly around their face in an attempt to look intimidating. What a name, am I right? What privilege it is to have a name.

“Are you going to answer the question, 324? Or should I ask you again?” Cordovon tilts their head at me in a condescending way, as if I’m a 5-year-old who has skinned my knee doing something I shouldn’t have.

I say nothing. Boy, do I love these masks. They can’t see me grinning ear to ear.

Cordovon tries pacing the room a bit, which is difficult because the room is so small. I shift in my chair, as much as I can, to take a deep breath. My arms are handcuffed on both sides, and my legs are strapped to the metal legrests.

Cordovon pauses their pointless pacing. “We’ve seen the footage. We know exactly what you’ve done. Will you deny it?”

I say nothing.

“Will you deny it?”

I say nothing.

Cordovon goes to the tray of miscellaneous torture weapons meant to intimidate me, glazing their fingers over each and every one in a teasing manner.

I grit my teeth.

Cordovon finally decides on a large syringe, bringing it up and twisting it in the migraine- inducing light ostentatiously so I can get a full view.

“Will you deny it?” they ask again.

“I will not.”

Cordovon nears me slyly, holding the syringe in the air. “Numbers are replaceable. Easily, easily replaceable.”

“That’s good news for you, isn’t it?” I say through gritted teeth.

Cordovon says crassly, “It makes no difference to me,” before their tone takes a suddenly dark drop. “Where is it?”

“You could be more specific.”

That earns me a kick to the gut with the heel of their boot, and I bite down on my tongue to resist from making any more noise than I already have. Cordovon seems satisfied. “Don’t play smart with me. The things you stole.”

“I’ve stolen many things,” I grunt out weakly. My mind goes to 717, and regret immediately fills my body like murky water. Did I really trust 717 that much? How could I be so careless?

Cordovon heaves a great sigh. “Alright. I’ll tell you how things are going to go since you’ve been acting slow. If you won’t tell me where it is, then I will not hesitate to inject this into your arm. This formula is…” Cordovon rotates the syringe to stare at the label. “#008473. Do you understand what it does? Us neither. This will be our first time using it on a person.”

“How exciting,” I mumble dryly.

“Yes, very exciting.” Cordovon is done with this banter, I can tell. “But, if you will give us the location where you’ve hidden all the items you have wrongly stolen from our institution, then you may be…” Cordovon lowers their arm holding the syringe. “Upgraded.”

I say nothing. Cordovon takes this as a sign to describe further. “As you know, being ranked an Undesirable is typically a permanent situation. But in your case, if you tell us where those items are, I can arrange for you to be removed from your rank as Undesirable, and reconsidered for something more useful. There’s no doubt that you are a shifty fellow, perhaps we could use you.”

Now, had 324 considered these things carefully and taken Cordovon’s latter proposal and spilled the beans, Cordovon would’ve sprung into action, ordering that 324 be taken away and secured immediately. 324, dragged away by soldiers, would be overwhelmed with shame and regret as Cordovon arranged groups to locate the stolen items and kill everyone in sight. Many would have died as a result, 717 for example, who would awake one night to find soldiers rummaging their room and one aiming a gun at their forehead.

324 would spend many nights wallowing in their cell, full of guilt and anger, cursing themselves over and over again for giving in to such senseless temptation when they should’ve remembered that all the government does is lie.

324 would lay on their backs on the bare floor, staring at the ceiling but not seeing it, instead seeing Cordovon’s head being smashed into the wall over and over and over…

324 would’ve refused food and drink and sleep, all the while having half, fever-ridden dreams of killing soldiers any way possible, repeatedly, until there were no soldiers left to kill.

This dream would’ve been fulfilled when, one day, the doctor would try forcing a pill into 324’s mouth to keep them alive. 324 would’ve shoved the doctor into the wall, grabbed their keycard and gun, and dashed down the halls, not to escape, but to kill.

324 would’ve partly succeeded in their task, killing five soldiers and wounding one, before taking a bullet to the head.

As a result of the kill, the guard on floor 3 that shot 324 would’ve been upgraded to the name 54 instead of 548, a two-digit name meaning a move in the ranks, a prestigious promotion.

But none of that happens, because 324 closes their eyes and mulls over Cordovon’s deceitful options, weighing each consequence. 324 can’t be sure of anything except that the government lies, quite frequently, to get what they want.

Ever since 324 joined the Resistance, they never imagined themselves dying of old age. No, 324’s idyllic death consisted of dying in the heat of a battle with bursts of flames and gunshots ringing in their ears while they took out countless enemy soldiers. 324 craved a death of sacrifice and valor, a death of significance. That was how 324 wanted to die, not quietly in a metal room where no one was there to witness except for the killers themselves.

324 shakes their head. “No.”

Cordovon heaves a sigh, knowing that this seemingly interminable game of back-and-forth banter will come to an end.

Cordovon injects the serum, and 324 dies within the next five minutes, slowly, faintly, painfully, like a setting sun.

When 324 breathes their last, Cordovon promptly orders the removal of their body and sets the syringe in a disposable bin dispassionately, as if tossing away a tissue. But in their heart, Cordovon knows this means trouble for them.

Somewhere in a dark secluded room crowded with boxes, warm bodies, and a sense of fight, the most ignorant of them all asks casually, “Where’s 324?” but the question hangs in the air, unanswered, frozen, as someone bitterly shakes their head.

And somewhere in the government’s most secure prison, the guard on floor 3 is still one kill away from being promoted.