"If you're lucky to have the finest of genes, then you're perfect."
Paragon is known to be the haven of perfection. A society built on walls, dividing different cities for people with different genetic levels.
Perfect citizens will be automatically...
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"Don't do anything stupid if you still want your skull intact."
Treading with caution, the group of guards swarms around my position with their weapons directly inclined at me. Everyone's wearing their uniform, a carmine red button-downs layered with the usual black suit over light body armor, its color blazes like a flame. The outfit they wear has been the insignia of death to the majority of citizens here at Scarville. Their appearance alone poses a dreadful ambience to those they encounter, basically giving people the idea that something terrible is going to happen.
And today, that idea turns into reality.
"Kneel on the ground, sir, and put both of your hands at the back of your head."
I dubiously kneel on the ground, fully intimidated by their bloodshot eyes. It's not like I have any choice other than impelling to their instructions, right? Even though hesitant, obedience is a must when your life is at the edge of a knife. I must comply.
Bits of gravel prick the thin layers of my pants, these small stones nearly rip it off. My body is quivering again, this time, it's pretty much worse. It becomes uncontrollable and overstated, everyone's noticing it. They proceed to grope my body in search for the pod. How I wish they did it gently because the way they did it, is a bit aggressive than the word 'aggressive' itself.
What am I gonna do? I can't run anymore. That's it, this is gonna be the end of all things. My life is finished once they see the pod. I'm actually surprised that I've managed to reach this far, like wow, I definitely have the guts. Look where my decisions have escorted me now? To my own deathbed obviously.
"Guys...uh...can we talk about this?" I say in hardly audible volume. If they listened carefully they'll hear a faint hint of fear in my voice. "Why are you arresting me? I'm not-"
"You're a suspect for theft. I think you're aware of that," his icy, stern voice dismisses my words without even allowing me to finish my drama. When they haven't found anything under my clothes, they order me to do the very thing that can get me in a more dangerous situation. "I command you to remove your backpack, sir, and kick it away. Failure to comply is a direct shot to your head whether you're guilty or not."
I look at them, tears setting off. A thousand piercing eyes is giving me a crippling anxiety. It pierces the thinnest sheets of my skin, burning the slightest hair on the back of my neck. My mind suggests that their scowling faces represent an extrapolating demeanor, completely judging me by my mere appearance and not the complete story. I don't like this. I don't like where this is going.
"Do it now!" the guard shouts loudly it has lacerated the pent-up frustration inside my head. I instinctively cower away. Stepping back, eyes aga.
