Partition

2 ▶ Y U R A

◀ Y U R A ▶

Name: Neura Kate Agustin
Location: Cebu City

The sky above me is almost clear blue, where orange streaks of sunlight stain its cottony clouds. Seems like the only place in the world that is left almost untouched, because all you can see beneath are colossal skyscrapers with screens flashing advertisements and reminders of our division. I can safely think that our country has badly improved when it comes to its system一the Intelligence-Based System specifically.

Nasty.

People bustle around streets with WristLock faintly glowing on one of their wrists, except for those they called Youngsters, whose age is below eighteen as I for females and twenty-one for males. When you're a Youngster, it feels like no one will cease you from doing pretty much of everything but legal.

I stop jogging when I spot one of the two Phyrivoxes, equipped with GT3 gun, snatch a guitar from a boy whose WristLock tells me by its color—green—that he's a Belvyur. Undoubtedly, this boy had been fiddling that instrument when he's a Youngster until his Intelligence Body ceased him to.

"No, stop!" the boy pleads as the other Phyrivox drags him away from the snatcher. His face is red一almost red as the WristLock the Phyrivoxes are wearing. Who would not turn into a shade of red when all eyes are on them? And I think these two kleptomaniac Phyrivoxes enjoy stealing people's attention. No one would stir them, because we think their IB is more dominant than the others. To them, we are a bunch of rubes just so they carry with them a weapon that's unfairly legal to their IB.

The girl nearby them remains glued on her wheelchair, looking surprised and helpless. She's also a Belvyur. Probably, she's the boy's girlfriend, sweetly singing like lovebirds until these Phyrivoxes showed up.

"They shouldn't be doing that in public," my imaginary friend says. I call her Niloria.

I agree in both two points: one, the boy should've played his guitar in private; two, the Phyrivoxes should not treat people this way, especially in public.

The Phyrivox points the guitar skyward, then hammers it against the pavement with all his strength. Upon first contact, the thing cracks; on second,  splinters become visible; and third, the thing breaks off into shatters.

Meanwhile, one resounding "NO" soars out the boy's mouth whilst hysterically trying to break free from the soldier's grasps until a serum stabbed on his neck sleeps him. The girl, on the other hand, covers her face, crying.

Some spectators gasp. Few of the most show impassiveness, others look disgusted either on the Phrivoxes or on the couple.

With heavy breaths, I jog away from the Phyrivoxes, avoiding an interface with them. Tomorrow will be my eighteenth birthday, and I'm nervous because it means that I'll be classified. I hate it.Surely I'll become unfree. I will be constrained by an Intelligence Body. The WristLock will be my handcuffs. I'll become a prisoner of this sickening system.

After taking jogs around the local park, I return home and head towards the clangs from the kitchen.

"I'm home," I inform, opening the fridge to take something to drink while mom is cooking for breakfast.

"As usual," she says while grinning on the cohos she's chopping. "Got something for you for tomorrow. It's in your room."

I gulp half a bottle of cool water, draining down some of the heat in my body.

"Thanks, mom," I say, returning back the unfinished bottle in the fridge.

I prop myself on the edge of the dining table and spend a few time curiosly looking at her WristLock glowing yellow. She's a Zyrgoth. I wonder if the thing is beating along with her heartbeats.