The Day Earth Died

18. Oh, Runner

I started walking at a brisk pace. Bathrooms are recorded, halls are recorded, cafeterias are recorded. It didn't leave me with much. Our dorm it is then. All I needed to do was pretend I was going in there for a good reason. I rubbed my bare arms with my calloused palms. There was my reason. Once in the dorm, I locked the door. I have about 7 minutes before this becomes suspicious. I sat at the desk and snatched the smartphone out of my pocket. I began a voice recording.

"Malory Keïta's first report on—uhh—Tuesday December 12 3095 at... 1:03 PM. Yeah. I saw three Governors today: Pagé, Vargas and—oh—who was the other? Shit, I forgot to look at his file. Well, a blond guy, pretty old. Anyway, I'll make sure to gather info about them all. And figure... things out. I need to rid myself of distractions and disturbances. Maybe learn to read/write too, that'd be helpful. End of the report... I guess."

Glorious, I thought. It's as good as it's going to get for now. I need to record everything that happens from now on, in case I even forget anything. I changed my sleeveless top for my (only) shirt and put on my vest. I slipped out after unlocking the door, on the sly, as if I wasn't planning potential murders. The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it got. Me, who has never gotten into a true fight, killing off the highest ranking people in our current hierarchy? And even with the governors gone, what will keep this micro-society from collapsing? Who's in power when nobody truly is? Nobody? Or everybody? This plan sucks, I concluded, with every intention of following through with it nonetheless. It wasn't my problem if everything went wrong afterwards. I wouldn't be here to see it, or so I convinced myself.

My watch read 1:12 PM the moment I stepped back into the theatre. The play came to an end soon after. Lights slowly faded back on. The governors left in a heartbeat. Amell wailed, wilted into his seat next to me.

"Never again!" he bawled.

"Tragedies tend to be like that..." Cygne tried to soothe him.

I softly sighed into a smile. What a character.

"That's why a boxing match makes a way better show. You're not the one crying at the end," Neith said and snickered at himself.

We all looked at him without saying anything; even Amell ceased crying to give him a partly concerned, partly distributed stare. He visibly and soundly swallowed the joke—and unease—away before declaring:

"Mal really likes boxing too."

"Yeah?" Neith said.

I confirmed the affirmation with a loose nod.

"We should go see a match then, there's one next Monday if I remember well."

It didn't matter much to me. I didn't know boxing was a form of mass entertainment until then, I hadn't even considered it. It sounded absurd. Cygne's cheeks dimpled into an uncomfortable smile.

"If Malory wants to go, then I'll come too," she said, somewhat concealing her discomfort.

"Count me in," Amell added.

"So, you're interested?" Neith asked me.

By then, all the eyes were on me, zealous anticipation weighty on my shoulders.

"Yeah, sure."

∗ ∗ ∗

Captivated, I watched the two beefy fighters strike each other with bloodied gloves. Around the ring, the clamorous crowd went berserk with each hit. It was thrilling to watch; the technique, the energy, the stakes of bets placed by the most daring officers. The stakes were always about shifts; if I win, you take my shift (or shifts) and vice-versa. I hadn't bet on anyone, though I had settled my prediction the moment I had walked in.