Rage as One

By Angela Stanfield

Imagine a world where you are told:

Where to live.

Where to work.

What to say.

What to think.

Imagine a government that mandates:

Your knowledge.

Your lifespan.

Your healthcare.

Your family.

Your worth.

Your worship.

Imagine a game show:

Devised to entertain and manipulate a blood-thirsty population.

Designed to coerce allegiance to the government from those whose lives depend on the viewer’s mercy.

Feel the rage.

The rage of the oppressed.

The rage of the silenced.

The rage of the abused.

The rage of those alone.

The rage of those afraid.

They rage the only way they can: Inside their own minds, the only place that is still their own.

Welcome to the world of Addie Mitchell and Rian Gearheart.

Welcome to the Global United Regions.

Rage as One tells the story of Addie Mitchell, a feisty mocha-skinned beauty with a heart for others. Addie’s loyalty to the GUR, the oppressive monster government she has always known, is changing the more her eyes open to the injustice around her. Rian Gearheart shows up in her life, son of a prominent GUR representative, claiming to be an ally and a convert to that hateful, outlawed religion, biblical Christianity. Addie and those she loves must face the fact that they either give in to the GUR’s commands or take the risk of rebellion in the only way they can—running for their very lives and putting their trust in people who could turn out to be their worst enemies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638855569

Book preview

cover.jpg

Promise or Perish Series

Book 1: Rage as One

Angela Stanfield

ISBN 978-1-63885-555-2 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63885-556-9 (Digital)

Copyright © 2021 Angela Stanfield

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books, Inc.

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Acknowledgments

I thank the Lord Jesus Christ for His majesty, power, love, truth, and redemption in my life. Without Him, I am nothing.

I want to thank my family for their continued support and patience as I write these stories. I appreciate my BFF, Dee Dee, a great enthusiast, reviewer, and editor. Thank you, Julia Cristi, for using your art skills to create the book cover designs.

Chapter 1

Addie Mitchell drove her car to the last appointment she had for the day. Addie’s car was provided to her by the GUR at the time she’d begun working for them, after college. It was the same as 90 percent of cars on the roadways, gray in color, two doors, and powered by a battery that could be charged with either electric or solar energy. A raised solar panel that sat atop the roof of the car captured the sun’s rays then converted them to power the vehicle. The electric engine beeped and roared, running smooth for a few minutes and then dragging for a moment, only to pick up speed again. Addie didn’t like the sounds she heard or the erratic behavior of the vehicle. She believed the car was on its last legs, but knew she’d have to drive it for years yet to come. It was small, using less resources to build, with thin, uncushioned seating. The seats were not designed for a person weighing over 165 pounds. The car supplied no air-conditioning. If a person liked their heat in winter to be at morgue level, Addie supposed she’d have to admit the vehicle did feature this option. The allowed heat setting was, of course, set by the government for prime efficiency.

The city, designated simply as Grid 147 (G-147), passed outside her vehicle, as she drove from the busy downtown area toward her destination. The sky was dark and gloomy. No rain had fallen as yet, but moisture was heavy in the air. Basic tall structures, devoid of architectural enhancement, predominated the city. They were newer in construction, having been built within the last twenty years after the massive series of earthquakes and tornadoes that had brought serious destruction to many cities around the globe. Funding from the Global United Regions (GUR) had provided new construction of residential and commercial facilities, as well as roadways. The high-rises were constructed with as few dollars as possible and resources, many from recycled materials, including steel beams and glass. The structures were boxy and drab. The color of choice for the place Addie called home was institutional gray. It matched the skies above and Addie’s mood.

Her last visit of the workday was with Kyra Harris. Kyra had been assigned living quarters by the Global United Regions Corrections Department (GURCD) to the poorest and most dangerous area of G-147. It was better known as the Vile District. Kyra was a convicted criminal and had been ordered to go through Reformation Programming. Kyra, even if successful at reformation, would spend the rest of his days living in this district with meager allotment of food and the least amount of credits to live on. He would be assigned jobs that were the most physically intensive or the vilest, such as dead body removal. Addie’s job was to ensure Kyra followed the parameters of his Reformation programming as outlined by the GURCD, whom she worked for as a case manager. She would sign off on Kyra’s certificate of completion once he finished the program. He’d be free from her supervision at that point, but never out from under the label and consequences of a Vile.

Kyra Harris, born as Kyle Harris, had a life history Addie was very familiar with. It was a common story. He had grown up as a level 3, his father being assigned construction work and his mother as a food server. They lived in a fourplex, consisting of two-bedroom apartments, with a weed-infested front yard, often squishy with raw sewage, allotted to them by the GUR. It was located on a street lined with replicas of the same fourplex in a run-down part of the city, an area known for violence, substandard living arrangements, and poor GUR enforcement response. Kyle would receive punches from his father just for passing in front of the media screen during a football or baseball game. These physical corrections consisted of a closed fist, and with such force, he was sometimes knocked off his feet. Kyle often heard the phrase, How’d you like to get knocked? throughout his days as a child. Kyle was a skinny kid with clothes that didn’t fit well and had bruising on his face and arms that were more common than not, thanks to his father’s propensity for anger.

His mother was a server in a local restaurant. She worked as a dancer and prostitute on the side some nights. She claimed it was to earn extra food. And indeed, Kyle could remember the times she brought home a small beef roast or a pound of hamburger and then prepared it the next day. But most times when she spent the night out to dance or trade her body for goods, she came home with nothing other than dilated pupils and nonstop hypertalking.

His father and mother’s altercations were loud and oftentimes physical. Kyle learned early to crawl out of his bedroom window, and run, spending most of his life on the streets. His mandatory GUR assessment/placement testing, at the ages of five, twelve, and sixteen, had determined that Kyle scored above average in analytical thinking and engineering. But on two of his psychological evaluations, he had been determined to have a high inclination toward oppositional and defiant behaviors. As a result, he’d been leveled as a 3 and assigned construction work, just as his father before him.

Kyle had grown into a cynical man, trusting no one. He worked in construction and dabbled in black-market trading. He had been involved in small-time crime, such as rediverting credits. He’d been caught, more than once, dealing in illegal substances which included food, water, jewelry, clothes, and weapons.

Addie hated driving to this part of the city, but she was here often, as were the other case managers. She guessed that nearly half of the people on her caseload were convicted criminals and lived in this district. She was required to visit them at home at least twice per month to check on their status and progress. She wished the GURCD would allow escorts for the case managers, but they didn’t, due, of course, to cost efficiency. Case managers had been assaulted, raped, mutilated, and killed often enough to cause real concern every time she drove to this part of the city.

The car trudged along, guided by independent navigation. During work hours, the GUR controlled Addie’s personal vehicle through GPS. After work hours and on weekends, Addie was supposedly allowed to go where she wanted without tracking. Addie tried to update files utilizing the eight-inch screen in her dashboard as the car trudged along to Kyra’s address, but she couldn’t keep her mind on what she was doing. She looked around, instead, noting the change in scenery outside the car windows. The buildings in her area weren’t anything to write home about, but they were luxurious compared to these.

These structures were old, built 150 or even 250 years before, Addie guessed, in a time she could only imagine. Speech and information about that time frame and history had been outlawed long ago. It was prohibited due to being detrimental to the global community’s safety and peace. But as Addie watched the scenery pass by, her romantic nature and imagination kicked into gear. The buildings were in ill repair. Bricks were crumbling and roofs sagged, threatening to collapse. Window glass had been broken out, leaving gaping black holes. Some windows were covered with cardboard or blankets to keep out rain, cold, or snow, indicating someone occupied the space inside. Despite the age and dilapidation of the structures, the architecture could not be denied. Facades of stucco, brick, stone, and wood were prevalent. Instead of exterior materials all being a shade of prison gray, Addie could see hues of red, beige, brown, gray, white, and remnants of brighter colors such as blue, yellow, and even pink. Ornamental trim still existed, providing detail and imagination. Some of the houses were large, multistoried, with turrets and steepled roofs. Addie imagined they must have been for the level 8s from the past. Remains of wrought iron gates and fences stood sentinel, marking bare, pebble-filled lawns. As Addie’s eyes moved over these familiar old houses, visions formed in her mind of the people who had lived here, long ago. She could see their faces, happy and smiling as they walked along the sidewalks, with no fear of being assaulted. She could see the houses in their prime painted bright colors, with lawns filled with green grass and flowers. She even dared to imagine that the skies were blue more often than gray.

A familiar structure loomed ahead, on her left, catching her gaze. She studied it intently as her car moved slowly toward it and passed by. It was built of stone, with remnants of white paint sticking to the gray surface. The now-damaged roof still revealed grand high pitches and black shingles. A majestic bell tower, to the left of the main entry, with a steepled roof, stood tall and silent. Stone steps on either side of the main entry led to three sets of carved wooden double doors, with arched entryways.

Addie glanced toward the top of the bell tower, noticing the cross that still stood there.

But it wasn’t this symbol that intrigued her. It was the stone artistry that rested above the arched doorways that always caught her attention.

Thirteen men had been carved into the stone, in intricate detail. The one in the middle appeared to be the highlight. They were all sitting at a long table. The one to the right of the man in the middle seemed to be leaning closer in toward him. Addie stared at the details of their faces, trying to make them out despite the age and wear of the stone.

Addie wasn’t sure how this structure had withstood the test of time and exposure so well. But there it was. Addie had been told by Kyra that this had been a church once for Christians, the kind that had been outlawed for years. The bad kind. As Addie stared at the building, she wondered what kind of horrible things they had done to people inside there years ago. It caused her to shiver. She had a secret desire to stop her car someday and go inside, just to see what it might look like. But she never did because she’d have to come back on one of her days off, when she wasn’t being tracked. She didn’t have the initiative to drive out here on those days. She had friends who were of the Christian persuasion of the Enlightenment Fellowship of Worshippers (EFW), but they were nothing, apparently, like the ones that used to be around in the dark days. Her friend Kelly secretly read the book that some said these old-time Christians had once read. This book had been banned as hate doctrine long before Addie had been born. But Kelly did not seem to be worse for reading it and praying to a god named Jesus. So Addie kept her mouth shut. Kelly, she surmised, must not be the same as the Christians from long ago. Addie, herself, believed in nothing. Not in that way. She believed in what she saw in front of her and of being kind and good to people. That’s what mattered to her. Kindness.

The roads in the Vile District were not cared for by the government. Addie’s vehicle lurched and jerked, hitting potholes and debris in the way, making turns here and there, going deeper into the district. The farther she travelled, the smaller the houses became and in as bad of shape as the rest of the area. The entire district looked as though a demolition crew would be a true blessing. It picked at Addie’s conscience that so many were assigned as level 1, having to live in this way. The dwellings were literally falling apart, the roads and streets barely passable. Levels 1 and 2 were also utilized for the sewage disposal and garbage dumps for the entire city. People of this district and level 2s often had to scavenge the garbage dumps to find what they needed to survive. She tried to tell herself this is what naturally happened when a person did things to bring this on themselves. This reasoning failed as it passed through Addie’s mind because she knew that some people were leveled at a 1 because of their cognitive or physical attributes, not because of criminal history. And watching the children play outside her car window in front of houses and in the streets forced her to have to acknowledge that the innocent also paid the price.

Finally, the vehicle turned to the right, slowing to a crawl into a parking lot burdened with trash, crumbling asphalt, and tall, dead weeds. Addie guided the car into a parking space, bringing it to a complete stop. Addie looked out and around the parking lot through the glass in her car. She didn’t see anyone. She rubbed her right hand and wrist without thinking, which was home to the Personal Identifier (PI) that was implanted between her right thumb and index finger. The PI was produced by Bio-Intel, a company that engineered and produced biotechnology devices and labored exclusively for the GUR. The PI inside Addie’s flesh held information of Addie’s entire existence. Stored inside this tiny chip was Addie’s name, address, and birthdate; all of her health and educational information, including the scores of the assessments required by the GUR as she’d grown up; her job assignment following college and all of her job evaluations since she began work; all purchase records since she was old enough to buy something on her own, encompassing everything from a bag of candy, clothes or food to entertainment and personal items and books. The chip was also an active GPS and stored every address or location Addie had ever been to or would go to in her life. As though this was not enough information for the GUR to be satisfied with, the chip stored every e-mail, text message, audio conversation, and photo that Addie received or sent. As a result, the GUR knew every person Addie was connected with. Addie’s PI number, 1654318JK, was used to access the locks to her car and apartment. It was used for her to access the doors to the GURCD so she could go to work and then to access the computer and technology she had to have to perform her job duties.

Everything a person needed to live, work, and survive in their world was stored there. Money had been discarded before Addie was born. Credits were allotted to a person based on their essential level, determined by their assessments as children and teens, mandated by the GUR. Addie simply had to flick her hand at a scanner, some so tiny they could not be seen, and credits were deleted for any type of purchases at whatever store she was at. Once a month, the GUR fiscal department uploaded Addie’s allotted credits, based on her assigned essential level (EL), to her chip. Because of this, case managers and others, such as utility workers, were sometimes victims of handswap. Criminals would assault a victim and cut off their right hand, above the wrist, stealing the person’s PI. The credits could then be transferred to another person’s account via black-market technology and untraceable back to the original victim. Most assailants chose not to use the PI for any other purpose. The risk of getting caught by using someone else’s vehicle or apartment or even making purchases in a store was too high. Only the most foolish of people even tried. Victims died, often, for a meager amount of credits, sometimes not enough to buy one serving of rice. It was a source of serious stomach ulcers for police detectives that still had a heart.

Addie thought of all of this as her eyes moved over the area, searching for signs of danger. It wasn’t raining yet, but the threat looked imminent. She had forgotten an umbrella. She had left her apartment upset that morning. She briefly thought about the argument she’d had with her live-in boyfriend, Tyler, and quickly pushed it away. Addie opened the driver’s door and climbed out, trying to stay alert. She kept a hunting knife hidden in a coat pocket. It was serrated, sharp, and deadly. It was completely against the law. But Kyra had given it to her the first time they visited and demanded she keep it on her at all times when coming to see him. She was now very thankful for it and had not told anyone she had it. Not even Tyler or her best friend Gracie. Not even Lucia, her best friend at work.

She walked quickly to the main entrance of Kyra’s assigned residence. It was a very old three-story apartment complex, comprised of red brick with crumbling gray mortar and a covered wood porch that had been repaired and patched many times over across the front. The roof covering the porch was collapsing, and the rails along the concrete steps were deteriorated, providing no support for those climbing to the porch floor. Addie looked up at the ceiling as she stepped onto the porch, noting the mold and rot, half-afraid it could come crashing down at any time. Crossing her fingers, she glanced nervously around her. She opened the door to the building, pushing hard. It squeaked and moaned with loud complaint as it stubbornly moved inward.

She stepped inside onto a softening aged wooden floor, with remnants of yellow specks of vinyl. The foyer was small, with halls to either side, leading to apartments located on the first floor. A staircase in front of Addie led to the upper floors. The foyer was as it always had been since Addie had been coming to this address. The odor was noxious, causing her to automatically hold her breath, but she gagged, regardless, at the stench of human excrement. Her eyes unwillingly moved to the corners where she saw the piles of human waste, appearing fresh. She looked around fearfully for signs of danger. Pieces of cardboard, newspaper, discarded clothes, torn shoes, needles and syringes, broken electronics, and empty food containers littered the floor.

Addie recognized crumpled-up empty metallic silver packages of Syn-Nour. The logo on the front was iconic, depicting a cartoon image of a child, smiling, surrounded by healthy vegetables and fruits and chunks of mouthwatering chocolate. This was the primary food source for the poor. Even she and Tyler had to eat Syn-Nour a few times per month. It was mass-produced for all the global regions. It was promoted as a nutrition breakthrough thereby eradicating famine and deaths from hunger. Addie supposed that for those who had to eat it, it was better than dying. Syn-Nour may advertise it somehow could be compared to or was even made with fresh fruits and vegetables, but the population knew better. They all suspected it was made of some type of synthetic, digestible material and then injected with vitamins. It came in dark brown squares, about the size of a small slice of bread. Syn-Nour was nearly tasteless upon the first few bites, but then produced an aftertaste that was medicinal. The texture was hard and crunchy, making it difficult to eat for those who had teeth or gum issues. Addie guessed that the brown color, which the producer tried to amp up to the public as mimicking chocolate, was really that shade of color to hide whatever it was that needed to be hidden. She and Tyler often chose not to eat, when their food rations ran out. They honestly feared what it might be doing to their bodies in the long run. More expensive brands had popped up, with better texture and taste. She doubted these were available to the Viles. She and Tyler had decided not to splurge credits on the more expensive brands, believing they were not produced much better than Syn-Nour.

She looked up the stairs and pushed her feet to go as quickly as they could, to the third, and top, floor. The stairwell was in no better condition than the foyer, and the treads were soft in places and bare of floor covering. The aroma of neglect and abuse was overpowering. She held on tightly to the knife that Kyra had given her inside the pocket of the coat she was wearing. Finally, she stood in front of Kyra’s front door and knocked loudly.

A deep, strong male voice yelled roughly through the door, I’ve got a nine aimed at your head! Get away from the door! Cursing laced his language.

Fright caused Addie’s heart to jump and she moved to the side of the door and leaned against the wall. It’s me, Kyra! It’s me! Addie! she yelled back.

The door opened and Kyra poked his head out, glaring toward Addie with menace. Upon seeing her, his expression changed just slightly. Get in here. Now, he said roughly, standing back, grabbing Addie’s arm, and pulling her inside. He slammed the door as she stumbled into the kitchen, then locked the door with several contraptions.

Addie stood back, scowling at him as he squeezed nonchalantly past her, setting the gun down on the kitchen counter. He lowered his tall frame down into a badly repaired kitchen chair at a small table meant for two. He squinted up at her with intense green eyes as he lit a cigarette. Have a seat, Mocha Delicious. Always good to see a woman as tasty as you. He smiled at her in a seductive way, leaning back as much as he dared in the chair. His eyes took her in as though she were a dessert in a fine restaurant. He appreciated the natural beauty of her. Her face was distinctly feminine with contoured cheekbones and a classic jawline. Thickly lashed deep brown eyes were currently giving him attitude. Her skin was the color of milk chocolate and was smooth and nearly flawless. His eyes kept going back to one of her strongest features, her lips. They were light brown in color, bare of lipstick or gloss, as Addie wore little makeup, naturally full and sensual, enticing those who saw them. She was wearing a brown coat and a knit hat to match on her head. Beneath the hat, her thick hair hung to midchest level in natural long black curls that spiraled. Kyle very much would have liked to kiss her lips and touch her hair, but he said nothing as he stared at her. His thoughts were apparent in his eyes.

Addie held on to her purse, glaring at him as she stood there, her chin and bottom lip jutted out. She smarted off to him, cursing, Where did you get that gun, Kyra? That is strictly prohibited! She continued to glower at him, looking him over. You can’t use gender speech. It’s been outlawed for years. It’s insulting! Where are the clothes your therapist provided to you? Addie’s head moved on her neck, and she put one hand on her hip, over the thick coat. And you’re smoking cigarettes! I don’t have to guess those are the real ones. Do you have any idea what they put in those things?

Kyra smiled at her, winking with his squinted eyes. "Let’s get this straight between us. I always like to be honest with my friends, my sweet Mocha Dream. My name is Kyle. Kyle Harris. Say it out loud. I am a man. M-a-n. You are a woman. W-o-m-a-n. And a very, very fine one at that. But because I am a man, I wear men’s clothes." Kyle’s smile continued as his green eyes narrowed further at her. He exhaled smoke and it rose it front of his face. His dark blond hair had been cut short and lay to one side, messily.

Addie sighed, frustrated, as she took in Kyle’s dirty white T-shirt and loose sweatpants. Men’s athletic shoes were on his feet with no socks. She couldn’t help but think he must be cold. She could feel the draft even with her coat on. She hated to admit it, but Kyle was a good-looking man. His face was well-made, and his intense green eyes made her uncomfortable. He was tall, thin, but muscle-toned. His face and arms bore the tan of being exposed to the sun and weather. His fingernails were permanently stained from years of working as a laborer.

And what about the clothes? Addie asked again.

Kyle winked again and swiped at his hair. Gave them to a young woman, down the way. She loves them.

Addie made a noise in her throat and stomped to the table, sitting in the empty chair across from Kyle. She leaned toward him, frowning. This is not funny, Kyra. You—

Kyle. My name is Kyle, he interjected, staring her down. His green eyes were alert, sparkling even.

Addie leaned back in the rickety chair, studying him. Something about him was bothering her. She looked him over and then it struck her as her eyes moved over his T-shirt again. Oh, my sweet jam and butter! She let out more than a few curse words, causing Kyle to laugh out loud. She gave him a wide-eyed stare. Your chest is flat as a pancake! No, not a pancake, a crepe! What have you done? Addie asked him in the deep, sexy tone of voice and attitude that was unique to her.

This delighted Kyle to no end, and he laughed until he was bent over, hugging his chest tight as the movement of his laughing also caused sharp pain. When he calmed down, he answered her. Had them removed as you can see. Donated them to a girl in the district. The good old gov decided to force her to be a guy as part of her programming. You know how that goes. They removed her real ones. I know a doc who doesn’t agree with the Global United Regions Corrections Department, the wonderful GURCD. Lucky for us he does this sort of thing for us Viles.

Addie felt uncomfortable hearing Kyle’s confession. I don’t want to know this, Kyra.

If you won’t call me by my birth name, Miss Mitchell, then please leave my premises as pitiful as they are, Kyle told her, half joking, but half serious. He studied her, seeing conflict cross her features. "I’m not going to tell on you. You have enough on me, just in the five minutes you’ve been here to have me condemned to death and by the worst of the execution methods. Come on, Addie, you could refer me to Promise or Perish or worse Busted! I’m at your mercy, and we both know it. But I’m going to be myself, Mocha Beauty, even to death. So either turn me in or get on with the visit. I’m not complying with the GURCD Reformation Programming to try and turn me into some sort of hybrid woman. I’m just lucky they left me alone below the waist."

Addie sat back thinking, looking around the apartment. Her eyes stayed on the living room ceiling light fixture, noticing what was hanging from it. She frowned, sighing, focusing her mind on the rest of Kyle’s apartment. It was pitiful. The government claimed that homelessness had been eradicated since the global socialized system had been implemented. She guessed Kyle could say he wasn’t homeless. He was enclosed in a structure. The hardwood floors sagged, and there were obvious soft spots. Someone had painted Xs on the floor to mark the worst spots. Pieces of carpet still clung to parts of the aged floor in an ugly olive-green color. The walls were filthy and damaged with nicks and holes from years of tenets’ abuse and no repairs.

The entry door into the apartment, from the outside hall, led into the kitchen. It consisted of an ancient stove and oven, a sink, and two feet of counter space at the most. An equally aged refrigerator stood next to the counter, open and useless, stained yellow and dark red from who knew what. The eating area and living room were one. A couch, sagging in the middle, was covered in fabric that had once been yellow with a blue flower print. It was now faded to near white and the blue was barely noticeable. The material was threadbare, ripped, and stained. The couch was situated just behind Addie’s chair and faced the one window in the entire living space. The window still retained the glass, a miracle in and of itself. Kyle had repaired the cracks in the glass with duct tape, hoping to preserve his view to the outside though cold air could be felt, seeping through around the windowsill. On the far side of the living room was a white door, filthy with black dirt, grease, and obvious fingerprints, that led to the only bedroom and bathroom. Addie turned her attention back to the kitchen, noticing drips of water coming from the sink faucet, telling her the water supply was still intact. There was no electricity; therefore all the appliances were useless to him. Lanterns and homemade candles with burned wicks sat about. Piles of old books, car parts, tools, clothes, and other items were heaped, precariously, on top of the stove. Inside the oven, bricks were arranged with kindling underneath, burned into near ashes. A small pot sat on top of the bricks. Addie knew, from being in many residences in the vile district, this was often the method of heating water to purify it before drinking or for cooking dried rice or beans.

Kyle ate the prepackaged Syn-Nour that many now called their main source of food. Several packages sat on a counter against the wall, unopened. She saw one bag of opened rice, twisted at the top and tied with a string to keep it safe from spilling or getting contaminated. It was rare for anyone but the rich to afford fresh salad greens, vegetables, or fruit. On occasion, Addie and Tyler might have a real apple, banana, or tomato. She wondered when Kyle had eaten such treasure. If ever. Addie and Tyler survived on dried rice, beans, and peanut butter. Eggs, milk, and cheese were distributed only monthly and always ran out within two weeks. Freeze-dried fruit and veggies were distributed sparsely to people of her essential level. Addie saw no bags of beans, freeze-dried fruits or vegetables, or peanut butter. Kyle had nowhere to store eggs or cheese. If he did obtain them, he’d have to eat them quickly. They would not last long sitting out on the counter, unrefrigerated, especially in the hotter months. Addie felt guilty as she realized, yet again, that people in the Vile District were denied the proper food to eat.

Addie was about to respond to Kyle’s last statement, concerning he be addressed by his birth name, when the floor began to quiver under her feet. Then her chair began to move, and she held on as the room shook, causing the pile of belongings on top of the stove to fall to the floor. She could hear things striking the floor throughout his apartment. Dust from the ceiling rained down on them both in white particles, very apparent in Addie’s dark hair and the top of her brown hat. A small piece of ceiling plaster dropped to the couch below. She held on to her chair, waiting. Kyle didn’t even blink an eye. After a moment or two, the tremor stopped.

Not too bad, she told him when it was over. Not as bad as the one the other day.

Kyle studied her, continuing to inhale and exhale smoke from the cigarette. No. You know, this area used to not be prone to quakes at all.

Global warming at its finest. All the more reasons we need to work together and sacrifice luxuries and save resources, Addie told him.

Kyle shook his head, making noises with his teeth. My poor Mocha Dream. You mean well, Addie. That’s why I like you despite the fact that you work for GURCD. But you are a fool. You are not going to save this planet. Solar flares. That’s my guess on why Earth is warming. The sun. We’ve destroyed the planet with pollution, I’ll give you that. Our oceans are so full of garbage from our ancestors we’ll never be able to clean it up. Not in a million years. And how, Mocha, do we clean up poison toxins in our waters? Hundreds of thousands of gallons of it? Man has certainly abused this planet. But the climate change is due to the sun. Trust me.

And how, pray tell, does scientist Harris, who has a doctorate in bull crap, know all of this? she smarted off.

Kyle laughed. I love our visits, Mocha Dream. They are quite enjoyable. I know, like I’ve told you before, because of the library. All kinds of interesting finds. I’ve tried to get you to come with me to show you what we’ve found. All kinds of goodies the GUR doesn’t know still exists. You’d be surprised how many scientists in the old days were quite on target with their projections on what was going to happen to us today. No one listened to them back then, either. But at least they weren’t executed in front of a gleeful audience for having a different opinion than the gov. You should come with me sometime. Offer is still open.

Addie stared at him, aggravated because of the mixed emotions she had when working face-to-face with real people. She wanted him to obey the parameters of his Reformation Programming, but she also felt compassion for him. Fine! Kyle, she told him, caving to his request to call him by his birth name and acknowledging the fact that he was a man. He smiled and winked, relishing this win. I can see you are not complying with Corrections whatsoever. You are not adjusting in the slightest to the Reformation Programming. Do I need to remind you what you were convicted of? Sexual assault and rape? Hate-mongering? These are serious offenses, Kyle. Hate-mongering can be a capital offense. I don’t want to turn you in. What you are doing is open rebellion! Taking the breast implants out, refusing to wear the clothing assigned. And I can just bet, without asking, that you are not taking the feminization drugs. Your stubble is an inch thick. Smoking cigarettes. And that library is going to get you pulled apart, limb from limb, on global broadcasting. You know what could happen to you. Don’t you care at all? She pleaded with him, her eyes burning.

Kyle’s smile finally faded and his expression became serious. He studied Addie’s striking face. Her nose was just slightly too big and flat for her face, but did not detract from her beauty at all. He knew also she had an attractive figure underneath the coat she was wearing. She was small busted, naturally, with a small waist and a full rounded bottom. Kyle had been attracted to her immediately the moment he had seen her. Her warmth and true desire to help him had caused him to be friendlier with her than he was with most people. He knew she was a bleeding heart and possibly intelligent but extremely naïve and stubborn about changing her mind about facts even when they were presented right in front of her.

He thought back on the crimes he had supposedly committed and the punishment. He had been convicted of rape and assault of a person with a womb and terroristic threatening/hate mongering for verbally abusing a person with the ability to produce sperm. Kyle had been convicted of a third crime, consisting of utilizing gender terminology, also classified as hate-mongering, under the discrimination laws.

All gender speech was currently against the laws of the GUR. As a result, terms such as he/she, mother/father, him/her, sister/brother, and girl/boy were considered as hate speech. These mandates had caused mass confusion and insanity when trying to communicate with others. It had also caused outrage among women and men who were proud to be who they were. Not only among natural-born males and females, but also, surprisingly, from the transgender community. After going through the difficult process of transitioning, they were then forced to deny their transitioned gender.

As a result, gender speech had reemerged into the global culture. It had gotten to the point that Kyle rarely heard anyone trying to use gender neutral terms. Yet he had been convicted of hate- mongering for utilizing it himself.

As a result of his convictions, Kyle had been ordered through the GURCD to undergo Reformation Programming. Since he had used, supposedly, hate speech toward a same-sex-attracted man, and had apparently raped a woman, he was sentenced to one of the harshest programs, Therapeutic Feminization Transition, meaning Kyle would undergo surgical modifications to feminize. Surgeons, working for the GURCD, implanted synthetic breasts into Kyle’s chest cavity, and placed him on feminization therapy drugs to reduce his male, natural-born, attributes. He was to wear female clothing, have his hair in a female style, and basically live his life as Kyra Harris, a woman. The irony of living in a genderless society and then being forced to live as a specific gender did not get missed by him or millions of others, including physicians that worked underground to undo what the government was doing.

He studied Addie as he lit another cigarette. "That’s a load of manure, Addie. And you know it. I approached a beautiful woman, obviously higher up on the food chain by more than a few links, at Encounter. It was the one over on Fourth and Main. She was diving. Deep. She’s known. She seeks out men, like me, who are much lower on the chain. She sought me out quickly as soon as our eyes locked. We danced, drank, and had animalistic carnal