The Last Hope

By Kenzie Lee

About the Book
Their whole world is a lie. Hope and her sister, Celeste, have spent their lives believing that Mistbrooke was the last city with life on Earth. At least, that’s what the Agency, Mistbrooke’s ruling body, told its citizens.The Agency claimed that after a brutal contagion plagued the planet, Mistbrooke was the only city that adapted to the infection fast enough. Nobody had any reason to doubt the Agency’s word. Until now.
It all started when a strange man rampaged the streets after curfew, screaming of corruption and misdeeds he had uncovered. Of course, the Agency shut this down quickly. The event was thought of as nothing more than a mistaken civilian shouting nonsense. But, after a strange encounter, Hope realized there may have been some truth in what the man had said. Now, Hope and Celeste must team up with an unlikely group of allies to uncover the sinister secrets of the Agency, and, along the way, reveal the hidden mysteries of their own past. But in a world built on lies, it costs a high price to find the truth.

About the Author
Kenzie Lee spent her life growing up in the Midwest. In her free time she enjoys gaming, watching movies, and playing and coaching volleyball. She has a passion for dogs, photography, and of course, writing. Since she was in elementary school, she has been creating works of fiction to entertain people. She has always been drawn to more intense genres such as thrillers, dystopias, and mysteries. Kenzi’s goal is to create engaging worlds that take readers on unforgettable adventures, as if they were right alongside the characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: RoseDog Books
• Release date: Sep 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798889258148

Book preview

Chapter 1

A Corrupt City

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For a fleeting moment, everything was perfect. The stars above twinkled elegantly against the night sky, putting on a performance for our city below. Even the tips of the stakes lining the city’s border glistened gracefully under the pale moonlight, as if trying to be stars themselves. There is an irony about how something so isolating and demeaning can blend in with something so natural and free. There was no way anything in this corrupt, depressing city had anything remotely in common with something as ethereal and transcendent as the stars. But nonetheless, the sight was still beautiful.

For a fleeting moment, everything was peaceful. The crisp night chill cut through the humidity of the air, gently caressing everything it touched. The smell of freshly fallen rain, still unabated from earlier that day, cleansed the senses. Closing my eyes once more, I listened. I was expecting to hear the rhythmic footsteps of the occasional passerby or the faint din of a nearby conversation. But all I heard was the faint sound of my own breathing.

I realized that I had never heard Mistbrooke this quiet before. . . probably because it never was. My heart dropped to my stomach as I shot up from the table outside our sector’s designated cafeteria where I was stargazing.

Our city was divided into neighborhoods, referred to as Sectors A-I, each one with their own designated areas such as cafeteria, schools, The Store, etc. Citizens here did not travel between neighborhoods because everything of need was either already in your own sector or transported from another.

The sector that I resided in was called Sector I. Each neighborhood had certain shared characteristics, but they were divided based on their unique role in the city.

SECTOR DESIGNATIONS

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Sector A: location of the city’s steel mills.

Sector B: head of the water purification plant, which was where all water sources ran through to receive filtering and sterilization before consumption. It also harvested rainwater from the outside and spearheaded the irrigation/rain system on the inside.

Sector C: healthcare and the farming of medicine and herbs.

Sector D: manufacturing and factory sector, harboring buildings with machinery to produce products found at the Store.

Sector E: the designated space for creating solar and electric energy.

Sector F: mining, which included materials such as lead, copper, and iron.

Sector G: the farming for cotton and wool to make the fabrics for our given uniforms. This sector also supposedly produced our revolting food.

Sector H: the chosen area for lumber and wood creation.

Sector I, our sector: contributed to helium production, providing a reliable cooling system and temperature regulation.

Mistbrooke was encased in a dome because of the potential dangers of what lay outside. A deadly spore caused us to be enclosed with an air and water purification system as well as climate control. To resemble the actual seasons, the temperatures were set to around thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit in the months of December through February, around seventy degrees Fahrenheit in the months of March through May, around eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit in the months of June through August, and around fifty degrees Fahrenheit in the months of September through November.

Snapping back to reality, I turned to the watch on my arm, expecting the screen to light up and enlighten me with what time it was. However, once again, my device seemed to be broken. A lump formed in my throat as I assumed the worst – curfew had already passed.

VE002, do you have the time? I had been so engrossed in the beautiful night that I had not noticed everyone else surrounding the cafeteria table had left. The earthy smell of dinner, a bland and ice-cold hunk of meat and nutrients from unknown origins, still lingered in the air, overtaking the pleasant aroma of the day’s rain.

My sister lay in a slumber as deep as my hatred for everything in this damned city. It seemed callous to wake her, she looked so peaceful with her head laying gently in the cup of her tanned arms. But it was dark, and it must have been around the time we usually began walking home. I just hoped that it was not too late. Unwillingly, I shook her body, jostling her awake. As she lifted her head, strands of her crimson red hair framed her face. She wiped the rogue whisps away from her eyes and blinked vigorously, her long lashes fluttered as she struggled to wake.

VE002, the time? I asked, my voice growing more panicked with every word.

Did I fall asleep again? Five more minutes, I was in the middle of a dream She whispered, her glazed but still piercing hazel eyes staring in my icy blue ones.

Look around! I raised my voice, which suddenly evolved into a shrill, panicked squeak.

Okay, okay, calm down. It can’t be too late; it seems that Free Period barely started she rolled her eyes and gave me a soft grin. She always had a way to calm me down when I began to panic, though I could still detect a hint of uncertainty in her tone. But. . . surely, she was right, everyone just left early today. As much as I would have liked to believe it, a feeling of discomfort still flowed through my body.

Just check your watch, she gestured to my wrist and began messing with the watch on hers, hurriedly trying to find the power button.

I would, but the battery is dead, no use, I tapped the blank screen of the machine.

VE002 fumbled around with the small device, her breathing growing more rampant as her nerves began to grow.

Hurry up!

I’m trying! VE002’s shaking hand finally found the power command. The watch’s screen lit up, and to compensate, she covered her eyes from the blinding light for a moment. After she readjusted to the newfound glow and her eyes focused on the time, her mouth dropped open, as if pulled on by a string.

What!? I asked, grabbing her wrist to see the time for myself.

I-it-t-t’s umm. Uh. 9. 9, 50, she swallowed. It’s, oh gosh. 9:58. We’re screwed. So screwed. And it’s my fault! I fell asleep again! Her hands flew to her now glassy eyes, slowly leaking on the cement below us.

I froze. The doors to all the houses in the city automatically lock at curfew of 10:00PM. After you hear the click, you cannot go in or out. And nobody wants to be caught outside after curfew.

Look, we can make it if we hurry, come on! I grabbed VE002’s wrist and bolted towards our house, running faster than I ever had before.

Images of the exact same houses ripped past us as we raced down the street. The sharp, precise breathing of VE002 echoed behind me as she tried to stop sobbing over her self-blame.

Come on breathe in, breathe out, don’t pass out! We definitely won’t make it if I have to carry you! I peered back behind me.

9:58:58, 9:58:59, 9:59:00, 9:59:01

Her red hair lashed about in the night, occasionally sticking to her damp face from the aftermath of her tears that lingered behind. Our house was barely visible in the distance now, it was the nineteenth one on our street. So close. So close yet so far.

9:59:17, 9:59:18

VE002’s shoe, which was keeping such a rhythmic sequence against the road, dragged its tip on the newly paved path. Her head was dropping at a tremendous speed towards the cement, but right before her nose encountered the ground, she outstretched her arms, sacrificing them when she fell. She slid for eons, her skin slowly peeling against the jagged grains of the street, leaving behind small remnants of it scattered on the road.

9:59:25, 9:59:26, 9:59:27

VE002! I stopped abruptly and backtracked a couple of feet to help her up.

Her arms were smeared with dirt and bright crimson blood. Rough, irregular cuts traveled up her forearm to just below her elbow.

Dammit, stupid shoe! she decided not to take the time to retie it and instead just took it off, continuing our sprint in one shoe and a sock.

The small rocks scattered about the concrete street below us were surely ripping up her sock and cutting her foot, but with missing curfew on the line she likely did not feel the pain.

9:59:38, 9:59:39, 9:59:40

Our eyes began to water more profusely now, VE002’s tears a conglomeration of frustration, pain, and fear. The brisk air blew back our hair and irritated our eyes. The vision in front of me began to blur, and my heartbeat traveled to my ears...pulsating...pounding.

9:59:47, 9:59:48, 9:59:49

I could barely hear myself think now, the only audio coming from the shrill screaming emanating from inside my head. Hurry, it said. What kind of sister are you if you let VE002 get caught outside after curfew? Move faster, faster, FASTER.

9:59:52, 9:59:53

Almost! I yelled when I spotted our house along the horizon, but all I could hear was the voice inside my head. Time is ticking. Think about the anguish your sister will go through if you fail to make it. Move, move, MOVE.

9:59:55, 9:59:56

I shoved the house key in the lock of the door and jiggled it around, trying to hurry it open.

Hurry! VE002 yelled.

Does it look like I’m stalling?!

With the click of the lock opening, the heartbeat in my ears stopped and made its way back to my chest where it belonged.

9:59:58, 9:59:59

VE002 dove in the door of the house after I opened it. I followed close behind, slamming the door behind me and leaning my back against it. We were both breathing hard, our bodies overwhelmed with adrenaline.

10:00:00

The automatic lock clicked behind me, sealing our door shut. The alarm then sounded, warning that if you were not inside, punishment would ensue. It was a loud, sharp sound that sliced through the eardrum. We locked eyes for a split second, reading each other’s thoughts.

Never, An inhale. Talk, an exhale. About this, an inhale. Again? an exhale. VE002 inquired.

Deal, I nodded, now finally able to crack a smile.

VE002 returned the grin, now able to breathe.

After this quick, verbal constitution, we rushed upstairs to our room’s window.

Chapter 2

Mystery Man

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Do you think there’s anyone that didn’t make it tonight? VE002 asked in a worried tone, wiping her arms on a now blood-stained gray towel.

I shrugged.

I’m just glad it wasn’t us.

I gripped the silky texture of the curtains and pulled them open, revealing the neighborhood below. VE002 hurried next to me, and we stood side by side, as if our heads were glued together, to get an ideal line of sight. Every house in the sector had their curtains open. Some had one, some two, and a few even three people to a window. Watchful eyes lined the streets like moths to an illuminated light. Gray, brown, hazel, green, and blue. Each one fixated on the street in morbid curiosity.

Look! VE002 pointed towards our left. A figure emerged from the night and was rushing down the road.

The eyes in the windows followed his every movement until he got to his destination, a house across the street and diagonal from ours. He looked as though he was in his late teens or early twenties. His black hair was ragged and hung haphazardly around his chiseled face. His uniform, the standard short-sleeved gray jumpsuit with his identification on the front breast pocket, was slightly torn, as if he had run through some trees on the way there. The house’s doors would not unlock for anyone, not even him. Once ten o’clock hit, it was no use. Still, he tried. His fists banging harshly against the door of the house while muffled screams escaped his lips. Desperately, he shoved his key into the lock, but it was no use, for when ten o’clock strikes, the system locks everyone out . . . and in until morning.

Does he have any? VE002 whispered.

I can’t tell.

The mystery teen fell to his knees in defeat. His back leaned against the unforgiving door, and he threw his face in his hands, refusing to gaze at his enthralled audience.

There! I see one, I gasped.

On his wrist were three red x’s, one freshly tattooed on his skin, still swollen from the procedure. With the amount of puffiness that surrounded the last mark, it looked as if it was made as recently as yesterday. Luckily, it looked as if he only had three that were engraved in his flesh...so far.

Just three? VE002 asked with a worried tone.

I nodded, not daring to take my eyes off the spectacle.

VE002 exhaled in relief, then piped up again. I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere.

An x represents what the government believes is a felony. Whenever one is committed, the citizen who executed this act is forcefully escorted to receive a mark in the form of an x or strike. Anyone with a strike does not like to talk about it much if at all, in fact when you bring it up, they quickly change the subject. Even if they try to start a conversation about it, a nearby agent will give them a deadly stare, which shuts them up in their tracks.

If you have not gotten a strike, all you can do is observe the aftermath. When someone gets their first x, they come back physically normal, but some look as if they have just seen a ghost. After a second, third, and fourth strike is received, the victim gets extremely ill and are in extreme pain for a couple of weeks. The symptoms get more severe as the number of strikes grows. Vomiting, diarrhea, coughing, stomach aches, headaches, fever, chills, dizziness, and fatigue are just some of the symptoms that are apparent for the weeks after getting marked. The fifth strike’s havoc cannot be analyzed, because anyone who gets pricked with the needle for the fifth time is taken by the city’s rulers, the Agency, and never seen again. There is always a buzz that overcomes the city after anyone is taken for the fifth and last time. Rumors constantly fly through neighborhoods on what could happen, but all of them end in termination.

The symbols are always categorized by color. The man we saw outside the window had three red marks, meaning his previous felonies were hiding unregulated objects. These objects could be anything as ridiculous as crudely made jewelry to try and promote self-expression to extreme cases like a machine gun somehow stolen from the Agency.

They were:

Strike Specification Listings:

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i. White=not getting an educational grade of 60-95%

ii. Green=not getting back to your house before curfew

iii. Blue=wearing anything except or any alteration of the given uniforms

iv. Black=the purposeful murder/harm to another

v. Purple=trying to escape the boundary of the city

vi. Red=hiding unregulated objects

vii. Yellow=protesting rules/the Agency

viii. Pink=theft/vandalism

ix. Orange=not being present at a required event.

x. Brown=being affectionate with anyone except one’s assigned mate.

xi. Gray= any act not on the list that the Agency deems inappropriate and in violation of common standards

The mystery man glanced to his right. A perfectly synchronized line of five government workers, which called themselves Agents filed down the road, dressed in their signature red bodysuits and black work boots. The agent in front wore a black sash around his waist, assumingly to show authority. I recognized him. He was the same agent that would go on patrol each night to find anyone who neglected the curfew. The people of the neighborhood referred to him as The Watchman because of this, but his real identification was GA590. The Watchman was in his late forties, old enough to be experienced in his field but young enough to still pack a punch when he needed to. Since his hair was graying, it gave him a wiser demeanor, he has been an agent in the field since he was twenty. His face was always stuck in a permanent scowl, nobody has seen him show any emotion other than his textbook irritableness.

 I could tell the teenager wanted to run, but he was intensely terrified to do so, afraid of what other punishments might ensue. The left side of his body twitched constantly, as if trying to detach and dash hurriedly down the road. But his right side acted the opposite way, it was unmoving, slumped down in defeat. The decision visually caused him great agony, but he eventually made one. He decided on a third option, the most dangerous one of them all.

The agents closed in on him slowly and cautiously, forming a tight-knit circle around the male. I strained my ears to try and hear any of the words that were being exchanged, but it was no use, visuals were all I had.

The unknown man waited patiently until one of the agents was close enough and struck them in the face. The agent, which happened to be the Watchman, stumbled back in confusion, and timidly reached his gloved hand to his certainly broken nose. After a couple of seconds, the blood started to flow, coating his black gloves in the thick, crimson liquid. The fracture was severely large, for the fluid continued to discharge through his gloves and waterfall onto the road’s new pavement.

It’s a lie! The young man began to shout. Don’t believe them! He turned to look at the eyes in the windows, stretching his arms out beside him. It’s all an illusion!

The rest of the agents emphatically gripped the felon’s arms so tightly they started to turn purple, cutting the circulation. He tried to escape, flailing his entire body left and right with a determined gusto about it. His leg lifted and stomped onto one of his holder’s feet. In response, the man gripping him let out a shrill, high-pitched scream. With three of the agents still restraining the man, The Watchman took the opportunity to raise his arm and slap the unknown prisoner across the face. That sound echoed throughout the street; some say that they heard it clear on the other side of the block. The captive, stunned, momentarily stopped thrashing about and looked into the agent’s eyes.

Someone will find out! You can’t keep it a secret forever! The prisoner cried, trying to hold back the stinging pain from the hit to the face.

People have said some crazy things when being chased down by the agents. However, they were usually trying to improve their chances of being let off the hook (which never happened). This guy was just seeming to piss them off even more. I glanced at VE002 and she shrugged, indicating that she had no idea what the man was talking about either. Those who were watching from the windows began to rustle about as well, probably whispering about what this man could mean.

The prisoner reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out what looked like a shard of glass. He hurled forward at his captors, but one of the agents grabbed his arm and twisted it, causing the captive to drop the unregulated object.

Taking a moment, the bleeding agent once again checked his nose, still viciously pouring crimson, and waved one hand around in a circle above him. The rest of the agents nodded, and the one with the injured foot reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe with a five-inch needle. The agent used his mouth to pull the cap off the tip, the silver point glinting in the night. The circumference of the mystery man’s eyes grew larger than the full moon shining intermittently through the passing clouds.

What is that?! VE002 whispered, watching the scene closely.

I have no idea.

This had never happened before. Nobody had ever tried to fight back against the agents, not once in my 17, almost 18 years of watching many get escorted out.

He’s not coming back, is he? That was violence and hiding an unregulated object. Three plus two equals death after all, VE002 sighed and shook her head.

The agent lifted the syringe above him and stabbed it forcefully into the shoulder of the squirming man. He then hoisted his hand in the air and nodded to his awaiting entourage, who released the prisoner immediately. After wobbling a few steps, their victim stopped dead in his tracks and fell to the ground, unmoving and unconscious.

What on Earth is he talking about VE001? Lies? Illusions? VE002 rhetorically inquired.

The agents don’t seem to be happy about it.

After a nod from the agent with the sash, all his personnel crowded around the sprawled man and raised him from the ground, propping his arms up onto their shoulders for better leverage. They lugged him towards the tower in the center of the city, dragging the tips of his shoes along the pavement as they did so.

The tower they were taking him to was what the citizens referred to as The Eye, but the government called The Glass Tower. We called it The Eye because that specific building is always watching us. It is by far the tallest building in the city and is made entirely of glass that doubles as a bullet proof, one-way mirror. They can see everything around them and we cannot see in. The building was rimmed with cameras and the sides broadcasted our daily schedule on large TV screens, along with the occasional propaganda announcement. That is where the agents take anyone who committed a felony, and when they come back, they are marked with an x. Unless it is their fifth, then they do not come back at all.

Yeah! I remember now. His name is HR129, he sits by me at school, VE002 said. He mutters under his breath a lot. The only reason I remember his name specifically is because the teachers would reprimand him for murmuring.

"Well, his name was HR129," I responded, not realizing the harshness of my remark until after it escaped my lips.

Another group of agents were filing in behind the ones carrying the unconscious man. They were escorting a girl of about seven. I assumed that she was heading there for the same reason. Her arm had one x, orange. Behind them was the last group, walking with an elder woman, whose canvas was blank for now.

Hey look, VE002. It’s LR168, I pointed out to her.

What?! She looked where my finger was pointing.

The little girl who the neighborhood called Rosy due to her rosy cheeks, but whose real identification was LR168 never said much. She would sit by herself at the end of the table at mealtime. We had tried to approach the little one many of times. Each time she would put her head down and turn away from us. She was not always like this. I remembered back when she was about five, she was the happiest kid in the entire city. Never had a face without a smile, and never disrespectful to a soul in the world. Of course, this was when her arm was not marked. After that day she was short to anyone that talked to her or even attempted to speak to her, as if she were afraid to say something The Eye deemed incorrect. She would mutter to herself constantly no matter where she was or who was watching.

As for the elder woman, I had not seen her around much. VE002 and I would see her wrinkled face and archaic figure walking to her house with her husband each morning, night, and afternoon. The couple was the staple of government perfection in the city. This was her first strike. Her husband, at around 78 years old, still had the ideal zero. I hoped that even after this strike she would still have that sweet smile she would give me when I glanced her way. It was that smile that inspired the civilians to call her just that, Smile. The few encounters that I have had with Smile were joyous. Her soft grin and long, gray hair calmed me. In fact, it calmed everyone. People would sit next to her at breakfast time and have deep conversations with her and her husband every day. Each time the conversation ended with a hug and a bright smile.

Are they done yet? VE002 asked in an almost inaudible, hushed tone.

She started to make her way to the bathroom door, as if she already knew the answer.

I think so, I reached up and pulled the string on the curtains to close them. But everyone is still watching.

VE002 ran back over to the window, scanning the houses along the street for wandering eyes. Usually after the agents walk toward the tower, everyone goes about their business and closes their drapes. However, the man’s befuddling words coerced many citizens to linger a bit longer. As I looked in various windows, I noticed that there were many shocked faces and side conversations occurring.

Nothing to see here! Everyone will resume regular schedules! The Watchman boomed.

I closed the curtains and turned away from the window.

That never gets easier to watch, does it VE001? She crossed her arms and looked at her feet.

Never does, and never will. I responded. But maybe that’s a good thing, the empathy reminds us that we’re human.

VE002 laughed. I suppose you could put it that way. She proceeded to make her way to the bathroom.

I followed her in and brushed my teeth and slipped into my pajamas. They were much like the uniforms we must wear during the day, except the pajamas were a slicker material and were separates rather than a jumpsuit. They both had the wearer’s identification embroidered on the front pocket in white. Those were the only two outfits that we could wear. The only other piece of clothing allowed was a jacket to wear over the uniform in cooler weather. But the jacket issued has clear sleeves, so one’s wrists could still be seen easily.

VE002, come on, I whispered as I climbed in my bed, cuddling up under the thin, single sheet that laid above the lumpy mattress. The mattress was only about an inch thick and barely had more give than a slab of wood. Sometimes I wondered why they just didn’t have us sleep on the floor. It surely could not be any less comfortable.

Coming, She half-jogged over to her bed, which was located a few feet to the right of mine.

Hey, lights! I gestured over to the wall and watched her flip off the light switch, engulfing the room in complete darkness.

Lamp please, I can’t see a thing.

Hold on, I reached over to the table between our beds and felt around for the small switch under the bulky lampshade.

Hurry up! If our parents come in here, I don’t want to be out of bed, you know they want us in bed by eleven my sister huffed at me.

Got it! Calm down VE002, I flipped on the light, and the area was drowned in a soft, off-white glow.

She ran over to the bed, stubbing her toe in full force against the foot of the mattress frame. Her face turned a bright pink, and she pursed her lips to the point it looked like they disappeared.

Use the pillow, I suggested in a careful tone.

She did as I proposed, screaming into the cushion, letting out all the anger and pain bottled up inside of her.

Finally, she stopped and reemerged from the white padding, slightly sweating and her face still red. I turned off the lamp and glanced at VE002’s watch, the time glowing in the dark so it could always be seen, no matter the time of night. She noticed me trying to peek and instead told me.

Seconds ‘til eleven.

Alright, thanks. I reached over and flipped the lamp off, once again coating the room in blackness.

There was not a sound outside. Agents did not need to patrol the streets after the people who missed curfew were taken to The Eye because of the automatic locks. It seemed that even the crickets were afraid of disturbing the peace after curfew.

Not again, VE002 whispered in curious disgust.

Ugggghhhhhh. What? I’m trying to sleep, I flipped over to face her.

The door.

So what? It’s like that every night.

I know, it is just weird. What could there possibly be to talk about?

Trust me I want to know what they’re talking about too, but they’ll never tell us. Especially if we just walk out there after they ordered us to be in bed.

Every night when the lights are supposed to be completely off, there is always one little illuminated section of our house, coming from our parents’ room. Suspicious whispers ooze into our room while we are trying to drift to sleep, but they are so muffled my sister and I could never translate them. We had asked them before if they had been talking into the wee hours of the night, but they would always deny it, claiming they simply forgot to turn the light off. We did not want to push it anymore, even though we knew they were lying through their teeth. VE002 and I always watch the light and listen closely to the voices before we succumb to the urge to slumber. It never changes. They had something secretive to talk about each night and my sister and I were itching to know what it was.

What do you think they’re talking about? She asked in an apprehensive tone.

I have no clue.

For the next several minutes, she and I were fixated on the ray of light shining through the bottom crack of the door, the slim figures of our parents’ shadows elegantly flowing about, creating gaps in the pale-yellow beam. It seemed that the figures were traveling in the same pattern, a sort of pacing sequence.

That’s different, VE002 rolled herself up tight in her blanket.

The shadows began to grow closer and more menacing. After a while, we could make out the tones of the muffled whispers on the other side. They were worried, panicked even. I crawled to the end of the bed and began to swing my feet over the side.

What are you doing?! VE002’s whispering tone was harsh and worrisome. Don’t you dare! They’re right outside the door!

They’ve never been this close before, maybe we can finally hear! I whined.

But, as curious as I was, I knew that she was right. So, reluctantly, I listened and curled back up under the blanket.

The voices began to grow closer, yet still not clear enough to decipher the exact words from our beds. Now it sounded like they were directly outside of our door. My suspicion was soon confirmed, as the knob began to slowly turn.

Act like you’re asleep! VE002 panicked as she flung herself over on her side and tried to regulate her breathing.

I did the same, closing my eyes gently and trying to breathe in even intervals, attempting to seem relaxed enough to enter in a REM stage of slumber. My body relaxed as much as it could, considering the situation, and I did my best to seem limp and unaware.

The knob soon continued its journey and finally clicked, as if to warn us of an unwanted guest. It was our parents all right, we could tell by their voices.

Well, they’re both behaving themselves as usual, I don’t see what you’re worried about, but you’re very lucky they’re asleep our father’s husky voice boomed, it even sounded loud in a whisper. It was exactly the voice you would expect a tall gray-haired man with an intimidating demeanor to have.

Though I could not see either of them, I could feel their eyes studying each concise, careful, syncopated breath.

Oh, fine you were right NR127. I just thought I’d heard something. Go ahead and report no new developments our mother responded with her cute, high-pitched voice, fitting with her petite figure, short cocoa-brown hair, and gentle, light green eyes. After what happened tonight, I want to make sure they don’t fall astray. This has gone so well I don’t want them to blow it now.

The door opened again; this time used as an exit instead of an entrance. I peeked one eye open in a slight slit, just enough to see our father’s towering figure slowly close the door behind him.

What the heck does that mean? VE002 shot up and whispered as soon as the door closed.

I’m not sure. My mind raced with a variety of explanations. Sure, the whole sector saw what happened tonight, but what did that have to do with us? Why would our reaction be any different than the rest of the citizens?

Why do they get out of bed every night and act all suspicious but act like we’re the ones who need monitoring. Hypocrites. She muttered.

I don’t know.

Well, you’re no help at all are you?

I know as much as you do. Let’s just try and fall asleep. Wondering about it tonight isn’t going to do anything. It’s not like we’ll get any answers. I responded, though I knew it would be hard for me to follow my own advice.

She sighed and I could hear her adjust in her bed.

And with that I closed my eyes, my mind racing with suspicions until the unrelenting grasp of slumber seized me.

Chapter 3

Typical School Day

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Awaken! Awaken! Awaken! The alarm sounded on all watches throughout the city, beckoning everyone from their slumber. It was seven in the morning, meaning that it was time to get up. Like every morning, my sister and I got up, brushed our teeth, and headed downstairs to listen to the morning announcements, which began at 7:15AM.

Good morning Mistbrooke! A woman from the Eye with short, blonde hair and striking gray eyes filled the TV screen in our living room, enthusiastically shouting the city’s events for the week. As always, be sure to be at your area’s cafeteria for breakfast no later than eight o’clock. At nine, all students will head to school and all adults to their jobs. Lunch will be provided at whatever lodging you attend. After five o’clock dismissal, free time is granted until seven o’clock dinner. Remember, acceptable free time activities are as follows. The woman read each bullet point as the acceptable activities popped on screen. Spending monthly credits at stores, receiving your monthly haircut, taking a walk on approved trails, cleaning your home, studying, or asking any agents who are stationed near your location any questions you may have. The woman continued with the rest of the day’s schedule. Dinner will be served at your area’s cafeteria starting at seven and will end at eight. Take these last two hours until curfew to finish any unresolved errands or get some last-minute studying in. The schedule is always illuminated on the side of our building if you need a reminder. Be sure to have a wonderful day! And remember, the Agency is always watching. The woman faded out of the TV and was replaced with an image of a wide-open eye.

After getting ready for the day, my sister and I headed over to our sector’s cafeteria for breakfast time before school began. Each citizen in the sector was required to be there by 8AM sharp, and attendance was taken to ensure it. The food was always the same for each meal: a lump of dark green food that was infused with all the nutrients needed for the body. But what it looked like was a mound of steaming feces. And considering how it tasted, I sometimes wondered if that was the secret ingredient.

This stuff tastes worse every time you eat it, VE002 pushed her nutrient mound around on her plate with her fork in disgust.

You better finish that! I whispered in her direction, watching her haphazardly make craters in her food to entertain herself.

She did not seem to take my obviously advantageous proposal, for she continued to make perfectly executed cavities in her breakfast.

The agents were circling around the table holding their loaded rifles, hands itching to have a reason to use them. They peered over everyone’s shoulder to get a preferred view of their plates, varying in food amounts. However, VE002’s was obviously the most abundant in the zestless mash. That did not go unnoticed. As one of the agents was making their rounds, he marched over to VE002 and contorted his face into a precarious scowl.

Eat. His voice was deep and intimidating, resembling a short crack of thunder.

She stiffened a bit, and took a drink of her water, attempting to demolish the lump that suddenly formed in her throat.

I said eat it! You’re lucky that we even take the time to feed you imbeciles, the agent leaned in unsettlingly close to her ear. That wasn’t a request! It was a direct order.

He turned around his gun and shoved the butt of the weapon into the side of her spine with a fusillade of power. She suddenly spurt forward in disbelief and her face grew uncharacteristically wan. Glares shifted from citizen’s own dishes to VE002, who was trying her best not to lock eyes with any of the inquisitive bystanders. With a newfound motivation, she scooped up a mountain of mush and shoved it into her mouth without a second thought. The agent then continued his route, repeating the process he just completed on VE002 to the occasional citizen who was finding it difficult to finish their plate.

This process never used to be implemented in the past. But a few years ago, there was a teenage girl who was so sick and exhausted by this world, that she refused to eat even a crumb off her plate. This routine was repeated for a few weeks before she finally succeeded in her suicide by starvation, which was not taken kindly. Since then, agents made sure that every plate