Cyanide

One

The city skyline was beautiful at night. The noise of the day was gone and all that was left was silence. The Patrollers couldn't appreciate it though, walking around as they were with their holo-guns strapped to their waists. Everyone else was inside in the brightly lit warmth of the metal buildings. The President of the City stood behind the one-way glass doors, her young face scarred by the constant poisoning she endured. A ping sounding from the door-screen made her turn from the glass doors to the door. An image of her secretary's face flashed onto the screen.
"Madam President?" The secretary's nervous voice filled the room. "The Head of the Operational Experimentals is here."
The President sighed, walking to her closet-screen and swiping across until a black hooded robe came out. She threw it on over her gear, strapping a holo-gun to her waist. You could never be too careful when you had power that others wanted. The President swiped her door-screen and it opened, revealing her secretary standing nervously outside.
"He's in the Meeting Room, Ma'am," The secretary said.
The President, not acknowledging her secretary in any way, walked past the woman and down the hall towards the Meeting Room.

The President leaned back in her chair, mind racing. The head of the OEs had just told her something incredibly disturbing and potentially disastrous to the fragile balance of the City.
"This is sound information, Carleston?" The President demanded of the Head.
"Of course, Madam President."
He sounded offended, irritated. The President felt a flash of annoyance cross her face beneath the hood before she calmed herself.
"Before we discuss this, take some aEpinephrine. You sound like you need it." The President drawled.
Carleston's face went red. He'd wanted to keep calm speaking to the President, but he wasn't used to having his operation results questioned. Cursing himself silently, he pulled out a small red case, popping the lid to reveal five aEpinephrine pills. Pills that suppressed anger, made you devoid of that emotion for a short time.
"There's water if you need it," the President said. She sounded perfectly neutral, impassive. Emotionless, the way Carleston had told himself to be. He felt a brief surge of irritation and tipped three aEpinephrines down his throat. The President waited until he'd swallowed before leaning forward.
"Now we talk."

It was late. The Reproductive Experimentals had no way of knowing the time with their personal screens switched off but Diane Woods knew that it was late. She'd been filing eMails for what felt like her whole workday and had had to take several aSeratonins, anti-sadness pills, as she'd declined some applications. Swiping open yet another application eMail, she gasped silently as she recognised the name. The Birchalls had sent in an application for twins. Diane, keeping her face and body language carefully neutral, walked over to the Head of their Experimental department.
"Sir." She spoke quietly, but knowing everyone was straining to hear her. "I've just had an application sent through from the Birchalls. They're willing to pay a lot to get their request approved immediately."
The Head's face changed. He looked, Diane realised with a shock, panicked. This wasn't normal, of course, usually the most powerful family in the City didn't simply send an application, but Diane had never seen the Head show so much emotion.
"What's the application for?" The Head asked, evidently trying to keep calm.
Diane took her hand-screen out of her pocket and quickly brought up the eMail.
"They've asked for twins, sir," Diane said. "They're willing to come tomorrow before their shifts start."
The Head couldn't keep a neutral expression any more.
"Mrs Woods, eMail the Birchalls back telling them that we will try our hardest to get their request approved."
Diane turned to go back to her work-screen, her mind heavy with the knowledge of her own application that would be at the bottom of the inbox and wouldn't get seen to for months.

Maria Birchall was as close to excited as she could get. She knew she should probably take a few aDopamines, anti-happy pills, to lower her heart rate. Any higher and her home-screen would alert the President. Thinking about suppressants, she should probably take some aPhenylethlamines, anti-love pills, before her husband came home. It wouldn't do to be a giggling mess when Jacob returned. Maria felt horrified just at the thought. It would be so embarrassing. The Deputy Head of the Keepers reduced to a fool over a baby of all things. Maria took a deep breath, taking her pill holder out of her pocket and tipping three down her throat.

The Birchalls' application had been approved by the President an hour after they'd sent it. The next morning they'd called in to the Genetic Room and given a small amount of their genes to the RE on duty. The bottles of genetic liquid had been taken to the Producing Room and combined in a complicated process that turned the genes into a two half-grown babies. Four months on and the babies, a girl and a boy, were fully grown and ready for their first Test Injection. The girl had cried loudly but the boy had had no reaction whatsoever. That had caused many raised eyebrows and suspicious whispers. A Birchall child having a high immune system? That almost never happened.

Three months after the children had had their first Tests, Diane was the one to give them over to Maria and Jacob Birchall. Diane's own application had gone through a month after the Birchalls and her daughter, Astoria, had seemed to have a fondness for the Birchall girl. Astoria's own Test hadn't gone as well as Diane could have hoped. She'd had no reaction to the toxin that had been injected into her. Diane didn't think she could bear it if Astoria was eventually Assigned to be a Rat. Not just the shame, though that would be near-crippling, but the fact that Diane loved her daughter. She shouldn't, she knew. It was dangerous, so dangerous. She could be put on a Watch if they suspected anything. Being Watched could lead to be being executed. Then Astoria would have no mother. That was what Diane told herself when she brought Astoria home. That was what she told herself as the bitter chemical taste of the aPhenylethlamines burnt her throat. Better Astoria had a mother who didn't love her than a mother who was dead.