"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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The night is a portrait of pure somber. Curtains of dark clouds veil the moon's weak illumination, making it darker than the previous nights and more ominous than it has ever been. However, the shadows won't stop us from patrolling the city.
Two weeks have passed after joining the other defectives and a lot has happened already. We always exchange stories whenever we have the time, both for fun and for familiarity. No longer than a week, they have finally revealed their tabulated plan as to how can we get pass the borders and all the other details in tow of it. On this year's mass genetic inspection, the plan shall be carried out. For now, I must set this thought aside. I have to focus solely on patrolling especially that this is my first night being paired with Harvey. I usually patrol with Chester but he figured out it's better to have a rotation so I can interact with the others more often.
"Want some, kid?" Harvey, sitting on a shabby stool, pulls out a flask from his denim vest and holds out his hand. The strong, acrid smell of home brew drifts out from his mouth which indicates that he isn't that far from being too inebriated. Staring hardly at me, he soon demands for an answer by shaking his flask, liquor sloshing inside the container.
"You sayin' anything?" I say. "Oh sorry, dude. I must be tired but sure, I'll take a shot," I quickly grab it and shoot a huge load down into my throat. The liquid smoothly slides its way and my face didn't flinch at the taste of it. To tell the truth, I actually dig it.
"You must be a heavy drinker," he says.
"Used to be."
Ideally, no one should really be bringing any kind of alcoholic beverages in times of patrolling but Harvey is one stubborn guy. It's to help the poor, that's his excuse. The meager old man who lives two blocks away from my old house sells home-made beers and is frequently visited by the people who are willing to spend a considerable amount of coppers just for a caress of intoxication. Harvey is one of them...obviously.
"You seeing anything?" I ask.
"Nothing," he says quietly, almost like a whisper. "for now..."
Tonight, we're spending our time on the sundeck of an abandoned, rickety shack, towering over the bland sight below us. Lining in a fairly measured distance beside the wall are the guard stations. With that being said, we both need to be very careful. One wrong move and it's gonna be over for the both of us.
"Are you sure they're transporting goodies tonight? Trusting your drunk memories isn't reliable, you know."
A grimace creeps on his face but his eyes remain rooted at the distance, "I know myself, kid. I'm at my best when dressed with alcohol."
"Fine, if you insist," I silently crouch towards the edge of the roof and pop my head up to have a peek at the stations. So far, there's an absence of any kind of activities or movements. They all seem to be stationary in whatever spot they are in–which is utterly strange. The way this routine of ours work, night patrol–like how we call it, is mostly sitting on a roof and securing the perimeter to keep track of the things that happen when the city's asleep. It's weird that we haven't detected anything just yet.
