In a nightmare world ravaged by misery, the Imperium offers utopia to a select few. When Arya and Everett are recruited into this elite society, they choose to leave their homes against their families' wishes.
Naive and young, Arya and Everett are...
Back inside the auditorium, all forty of us are made to sit in four rows of ten. Sitting cross-legged between Everett and Lorelai, I tap my misshapen fingernails on the glossy floor and try not to think about the people that are murmuring about Everett and me being here.
Finally, Lorelai gathers the courage to ask me in a conspicuous tone, "Arya? Didn't your father say that you—"
"Yes, but we changed our minds," I interject hastily, the rhythm of my fingernails against the floor growing more frantic. To distract myself, I look around and find Mick weeping in the last row, the skin around his eyes red and his shirt wet with tears.
"Oh, good for you. What your father is doing is utterly disgusting," Lorelai grimaces as though any mention of the Resistance puts a foul taste in her mouth. She shakes her head and demands in a brighter tone, "So . . . when did you and Everett get together?"
"A while ago," I mutter vaguely, my indignation flaring at Lorelai's words about my father. Despite all our differences, I'm tempted by the urge to defend him, but I bite my tongue.
"Wow! My friends said you must be together, but I never believed it . . ." Lorelai muses, peering at my face in search of a lie.
"Well, now you know — it's true," Everett interrupts curtly before hooking his finger under my chin and turning me to face him. He seals his mouth over mine as I shut my eyes, effectively ending the painful conversation.
After what has felt like an eternity of secret meetings and covert exchanges, the feeling of being able to kiss Everett without fear of being seen causes my heart to somersault inside my chest.
This is our life now. We can finally be together.
Everett smiles against my mouth like he has read my mind. I grin at him before knotting my fingers through his.
Suddenly, the same female voice that announced the recruits from behind the screen speaks up, causing us all to straighten in anticipation.
"The Imperium welcomes you to your new life," the voice booms, causing goosebumps to erupt all along my arms. As the voice falls silent, the only sound in the auditorium is that of Mick's faint sniffles.
"You will be escorted out of this auditorium and transported to the Imperium shortly where you will undergo preliminary and final decontamination, followed by your orientation."
Several of us exchange glances at the sound of these unfamiliar, disconcerting words. But we turn our attention back to the screen when it lights up to reveal beautiful visuals of people in pale blue clothes, smiling and chattering as they walk down a pristine pathway dotted with white buildings that appear to be even taller than the mill's clock. A man and woman smile at one another lovingly, and as their faces come into clearer view, I notice a hollow golden pyramid — identical to the Imperium's symbol — shimmering just underneath the skin of their temples.
"We understand that you may be in despair about having to say goodbye to your loved ones," the voice says soothingly. "But we assure you that when you start living your new lives, your past will be long forgotten. Because only life at the Imperium is truly worth living."
As the room falls silent again, I hear the rustling of clothes and glance behind me just as Mick shakily pushes himself to a stand, scrubbing the back of his palm across his nose.
"I-I can't do this," he says feebly, staggering away from the group. He turns to one of the armed women. "I can't leave my brother, James, to d-die alone h-here."
Lorelai and several other recruits gasp in shock when Mick raises his voice and demands, "Let me out! Let me go!"
The official talks to him in a hushed tone with her hand outstretched, but Mick only gets more agitated. He cries out in frustration and starts sprinting towards the exit.
I watch in stunned silence as the woman reaches for a black tool tucked into her belt before walking to where Mick is standing, pounding his fists against the closed door to no avail. Two other officers follow close behind and surround Mick, partially concealing my view of him.
Suddenly, a strange ping echoes through the vast hall and I watch — through the small gaps in the formation of the three officials — as Mick crumples to the floor with a sickening thud, his body a lifeless heap.
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