"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 airbourne is humongous. Stepping inside is like stepping in a different world, one of rust and steel.
From the thin cracks of windows, shafts of light cascade down onto the room as softly as the sun onto the forest trees. It's like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The scenery from here leaves my mouth dry, and I don't even know why. Maybe because the thought of getting caught still lingers around, or maybe I'm just ecstatic to finally get the shit out of here.
As the ramp closes, I take a final glance at the bustling crowd which has been taking a sharp turn from being a feral beast into a tamed pride of lions. The guards have done a wonderful work in containing the situation. However, their security is poor, easy to breach.
Alynne slouches on the edge of our seat with Chester and I by her side. Meanwhile, Harvey and Morgana sit opposite to the three of us as they project calmness amidst the other passengers who have their emotions bursting out. At the far corner, a mother weeps in distraught tears. A shrill and a curse, interchangeable every other minute. She was constantly screaming how she regretted her decision to leave her children that even the guards couldn't keep her lips shut.
On the other side, a little girl bawls her eyes out. She keeps on murmuring words that must have been in a form of another language. She has no one with her, just herself and being only by herself paints the most pitiful picture of her face she could ever have.
Anyone can hold their emotions in no longer, but the tumult of emotions doesn't stop there. There is noise everywhere. Disorder. Hysteria.
"Hey, alynne. What 'ya up to?" Chester whispers, looking intently at Alynne who appears to be sneakily fiddling on her drone's control pad.
"I'm not leaving my sweetheart behind. I'll attach it on the roof for easy transport," she replies softly, careful not to let the others hear her words.
"These bastards are on high alert. Make it quick."
The thick, garbled atmosphere has been interrupted when a guard, standing just outside the threshold of the cockpit, yells.
"Buckle up, everyone!"
As if on a perfect cue, the airbourne starts wobbling sideways with a couple weird thumps on its exterior wings. I'm glad I've put the belt around my waist just before experiencing a sinking sensation that felt as though my body has been pinned onto my seat, like a heavy dumbell resting on my stomach. I can't sit upright. It's difficult to breathe and to move but the guards make it look like the vertigo kicking in is nothing but a tiny bite of a fiery red ant. They are composed, standing firmly even without their belts on. Harvey has a similar approach but has to put on his wimpy character to avoid attracting attention from anyone.
"It's getting hot in here." I say.
With a loud roaring of engine, the airbourne finally ascends with a slight rattling motion, and then, with the shortness of breath and heaviness pounding at the back of my head, like a wild beast crawling outside of its den after so many years of isolation, we launch into the sky.
