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...
I open my eyes and am confronted by the floor-to-ceiling screens, narrow mattress, and bulky white door that are becoming all too familiar. With an audible groan, I gather my strength to climb off the bed. It feels like my limbs are being held down by weights, my chest struggling to accommodate even the slightest of movements.
A dizzy spell causes me to nearly fall over when I finally stand. I throw my hand out and grab the soft, cool edge of the bed for balance. As soon as my vision steadies, I notice Everett sprawled across the second bed in the room, a few paces behind me.
Ignoring the dull throbs of pain along my spine, I hobble over to his sleeping form. At first, I find momentary comfort in the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. None of his injuries are bleeding, but the smattering of marks left behind on his skin is an inescapable memory of the citizens' nightmarish attack.
Tender bruises along his arms, a large welt on his neck that disappears into the collar of his suit, and his face . . . I tear up at the sight of the black-and-blue wounds around his eyes, his jaw, and his forehead.
And yet, amid deep sleep, Everett is still beautiful. I reach out and touch his softly parted lips, careful not to press the angry-looking mark at the edge of his mouth.
Suddenly, the door swings open, and the Foreman strides inside, his light-toned blue suit as flawless as ever. I rush to wipe away my tears, my tender skin throbbing at the touch.
"F930," he says, walking further into the room while fiddling with the sleek remote hanging from his belt. "I see M929 hasn't recovered and woken yet."
"How long will it take?" I ask in a low voice, crossing my arms before standing in front of Everett's bed.
"A while," the Foreman says vaguely, his reedy tone causing my skin to prickle with irritation. He turns to the bright boxes on the screens in front of me and adds, "His injuries were more severe than yours. Nothing that we cannot repair, however."
"You sound disappointed," I mutter, carefully sitting on the edge of Everett's bed when my sore legs protest from holding my weight for too long.
The Foreman chuckles — a short, low sound that, much to my surprise, almost sounds genuine.
"Hardly," he says, fixing me with his steely gaze. "I anticipated an altercation at the botanical garden today, considering the announcement of the canceled rewards."
"You . . . You knew they'd attack us?" My voice rises several octaves, the effort causing my throat to burn with fresh stabs of pain. "Why the fuck didn't you get us out sooner?"
"Mind your language when you address me," the Foreman says so severely that I flinch involuntarily. Instead of answering my question, he says, mostly to himself, "I did not realize you were foolish enough to attack the citizens when they got ahold of you."
"Wh-what—" I stop short, fumbling to get my rising anger under control. Drawing a long, shaky breath of the cool, sterile air in the room, I shake my head. "They grabbed me from behind. What were we supposed to do?"
"You should have apologized immediately after the announcement," the Foreman says with a slight shrug, "to placate them."
"Apologize?!" I sound hysterical to my own ears. "They weren't going to listen if we apologized. It was like . . . something snapped in them. They wanted to kill us!"
With no response, the Foreman silently ponders my words as I turn to check on Everett once more, my chest constricting with fresh horror at the sight of his battered body as though I'm seeing his wounds for the first time.
"I must say, I expected better behavior from you," the Foreman muses suddenly, "considering you had stumbled across the archives the other day."
"What? What 'archives'?"
"The day you injured your hand at the botanical garden," he says with an exasperated sigh, his stony facade slipping ever-so-slightly. "The records that M929 was looking at when I caught you in the Wellness Hub."
The Foreman's words spark a flurry of images in my mind. Following Lorelai's sister through the Wellness Hub, a corridor with strangely-shaped blue ceiling lights, winding stairs leading to a room with a tall stack of black boxes.
"These are . . . Records of us," Everett had said to me while he rifled through the contents of one of the black squares.
And then he had seen something — something that caused his spine to stiffen as he cursed aloud. But my consciousness slipped away just seconds later, and we never talked about it again.
When I remain silent, the Foreman quirks a dark, thin eyebrow and prompts me, "Knowing the fate of the previous recruits with failed Chips, I expected you to be more mindful of your actions."
Previous recruits? What previous recruits?
I bristle at the thought of looking even more helpless in front of the Foreman, but my face betrays my confusion. It comes as no surprise when the slim, sharp-faced man takes delight in my vulnerability at this moment.
The Foreman speaks slowly, causing a knot of frustration to swell in my stomach, as he says, "The records contain information of the previous years' recruits whose Chips had also failed . . . Did M929 not tell you that they are all dead?"
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Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading! I'm sorry again about the late update, but I'm trying my best to get the chapters ready as fast as I can.
Please remember to stay safe and take care of yourselves, both physically and mentally. ♡
