《Trees don't have leaves》


 Uncertain hope

    It is in the sterilization of failure, and not in the selection of successes for breeding, that the possibility of an improvement of the human stock lies. ¨C H. G. Wells


    The promenade surrounding the circular lake led away from the gray mass in the lake and up to the entrance of a towering, rectangular and white building. No signs displayed the name of this department, but as always a gigantic eye was clearly displayed on each side of the building. The eye was simplistic and etched with the regulatory contrast color to the surface beneath. In this case the eye matched the color of tar.


    On the 21<sup>st</sup> floor of the building, a despondent middle-aged man looked at a new batch of Sectorian offspring. His nameplate read ¡°Dr. Livstrade.¡± Their efforts to increase the success rate of the incubation hadn¡¯t borne fruit. The issues had started 20 years ago, but they had never seemed as real as they did today. This batch had been his final chance, and their failure meant that his replacement was set in stone. He shuddered as he thought back to the fate of Dr. Johnson and Parson. His superiors had been great sources of inspiration for Livstrade when he began as a junior Sectorian birth-rate analyst. He would share in their fate if he didn¡¯t act first.


    The issues with the Sectorian incubation rate had only worsened over time. Even increasing the mandatory donations to once a month didn¡¯t seem to help. This increase should in theory allow his department to have a surplus of Sectorian offspring. Despite the vast number of eggs and sperm donated, the success rate of successful incubation had turned from 85% to 49% over 20 years. An annual decrease averaging 1.8% had seemed manageable the first decade. The at first subtle collective anxiety within the department had soon turned into desperation as the anticipated increase in productivity never came. This batch had been incubating for only a single month, but the failure of the yield had already gone over the estimated 49% the last 10 yields had averaged. The Eye¡¯s patience had already run thin, so there would be no second chances. Why had he allowed his ego to declare that an increase in yield was eminent¡­? His plans couldn¡¯t come into fruition yet. He needed more time than he could bargain for, but he could think of no way to gain it. He had been living on borrowed time for months, but the abhorrent failure of this newest batch would mean his doom.


    On the level below Livstrade¡¯s window, a dozen people wearing air-filtration masks and white overalls were shuttling back and forth between different stations. The emblems of tar eyes splashed on both sides of the white cloth stood out on the otherwise drab clothes. The different stations consisted of many clusters of clear plastic incubators. Each incubator contained an embryo surrounded by artificial amniotic fluid. If any individual incubator flashed with a red light, one of the shuttling people would divert to this location, separate the incubator from its incoming tube, and then throw the failure into the nearest automatic cart. The cart would take it from there and dispose of the waste.


    The original 300.000 embryos had already turned into 146.867. Failure after the first month of incubation became increasingly rare, but Livstrade had estimated that an additional 5-10 thousand failures was likely. Such numbers were inexcusable to the high echelon of the Eye. He had already registered the current numbers of embryo failure, so all he could do was wait. Trying to withhold information or lie would only make his fate far worse. There was no withholding information from The Eye. An itch had formed on the back of his left hand, which he soothed with a gentle scratching.


    The call came as he had expected, albeit sooner than usual. A crisp woman¡¯s voice seemed to manifest inside Livstrade¡¯s head through the Eye¡¯s implemented communication and surveillance chip, ¡°You have disappointed Us for the last time doctor. Doctor Sinclaire will take your place as the head of the Department of Reproduction Biology in the Ministry of Genetic engineering. The Eye relieves you of all responsibilities effective immediately. Furthermore, you will stand trial before the council of the Eye tomorrow morning at 08.00. Ensure you leave all equipment, instruments, as well as research data and notes, intact for your successor and exit the Ministry of Genetic engineering alongside any non-research based personal belongings. You may not speak to anyone until you have stood trial before Us. Dismissed.¡±


    Livstrade had been listening with such an exerted effort that the sudden cut-off startled him. His breath heaved as he attempted to regain a semblance of clarity and focus. It felt as though his heart forced its way out through his chest while stuffing his throat with glass shards. He heaved again and broke into a coughing fit. The Eye¡¯s statements had forged an unbreakable stranglehold on his throat.


    His normally perfect hair had turned into a wild chaos, while three buttons on his lab-coat were ripped off during his attempt to regain his breath. Livstrade had spent his entire life to shape The Eye¡¯s perception of him as a loyal servant. Despite his fervent loyalty he had still been thrown out of his own department with a single statement. It didn¡¯t matter to The Eye that the consensus among his researchers were that the current failure of the Reproduction department was linked to the decline in quality of donations. Livstrade never expected more from The Eye, but experiencing the expulsion made it settle in as fact. There was no possibility of getting another chance at this point. In history there had never been a case in which the person summoned to stand trial before the council was heard from again. Was there even a point to standing trial before a jury who in reality had already ordered ones¡¯ execution?The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Livstrade¡¯s heart and spirit wavered as he ruminated on the nature of his role in this, as well as on the possibilities ahead. Anyone presenting themselves to the Eye would lay their being bare. To place the full control on their lives in the hands of the Eye to judge ones perceived flaws or mistakes didn¡¯t seem very appealing. Running away was not an option either. The walls of the Eye would be impossible to surmount, and the possibility of living under the radar of the Eye itself seemed laughable. No one could hide from the Eye. That was its purpose after all ¨C to observe and know all. No, that would prolong the inevitable and make his punishment far worse. Except submitting to the will of the Eye, which would assume his guilt even if there was none, there was only one option available to him. Livstrade loosened his tie, having already made up his mind but still only tentatively accepting the idea his unconsciousness had already accepted.


    A while later, a short woman with long, flowing, dark hair took in the facilities of the Department of Reproduction Biology while considering her new task. The nametag on her new, white uniform read ¡°Dr. Sinclaire.¡± She already wished herself back in her navy-blue uniform. The design was the same, but she found the white color too pale on her already light skin. The clacking of her monotonous steps echoed through empty hallways and various unoccupied offices. Increasing the yield of Sectorians would be an insurmountable task. There was no certainty of success even if they employed desperate measures.


    Dr. Livstrade had been deposed and would soon be put on trial for his shortcomings. Was this a fate they would share, or would she be able to achieve any progress with her new position? Her mind was racing with uncertainty, anxiety and fear. A stubborn determination was hiding beneath her angst. She wouldn¡¯t have accepted her position without question if she didn¡¯t have a mentality which sought success even in impossible situations. She would do her best no matter how hopeless it was. The uniform white walls and duplicated interior design flowed by. She made her way to her through this intricate maze of offices, laboratories, and testing rooms to her new office. Sinclaire initiated a conversation with all members of the Department she could get a hold of to assess the state of the current batch and any hopeful design or methods which could increase their yield. None of the responses inspired confidence in the project. This somewhat dampened her determination, but she still continued toward her assigned office. It used to be Livstrade¡¯s office, but now it was hers.


    Sinclaire pulled her hair back into a ponytail and adjusted her glasses. She couldn¡¯t stall forever. When she arrived at the elevator which would take her up to her new office, she pressed the arrow pointing upward without allowing her hesitancy room to grow. A soft mechanism could be heard activating as the elevator descended. With a thud the elevator stopped, and its doors unfurled to reveal an uninspired blank interior which matched the surrounding simplistic environment. Sinclaire stepped into the elevator and pressed the button indicating the 21<sup>st</sup> level of the Department.


    The elevator arrived quickly, but the time inside the elevator itself seemed to extend. While she was caught in a reverie, a soft ping alerted her to her arriving at her destination. This was the decisive moment. How screwed was, would be determined by whatever documents, research, findings, and projections awaited her in her new glorified prison-cell. For the next year she would likely have to spend more than 80% of her time within the confines of an 8x8m rectangular office with a single un-reclinable chair bolted down too far from the desk to be comfortable for her smaller than average physical stature. No matter the position, all government research offices were identical. Her mind was into the swirl of numbers and data she expected. This swirl formed crimson chains around her so as to keep her locked safely away. She now had the job of five regular Department researchers as well as additional administrative work and responsibility.


    The white door to her new office swung open as she pressed it. A dangling leg hit her left arm as she entered the room, and when she looked up all she could see was two blood-shot eyes laying the foundation for an unquenchable desperate desire for rebellion within her. The body enveloping the eyes seemed irrelevant in comparison to the intensity of the gaze of the dead man. He seemed to beg her to take fate into her own hands to avoid sharing in his. The notion that he would rather die than submit to the judgement of the Eye was invigorating. Following the feeling of invigoration, a feeling of instinctual revulsion at herself for sympathizing with Livstrade and his defiance of the Eye rose up in her. What resistance could there be to The Eye? In any case, there was work to be done and no one would do it but her.


    Sinclaire brushed past the dangling eyes connected to a lifeless thing with a shudder and sat down in the chair which was too far from the desk to be comfortable. She ignored the pain of a protrusion in the back of the chair digging into her spine while pouring over the documents strewn around like discarded drafts. She delved into the research. Her left leg shook as she tried suppressing the desire to allow her eyes to wander back to the limp man still hanging in the room with her.

 Mandate #1: Trees don’t have leaves.

    Ten identical sectors surrounded the central Eye. Each sector had three separate rings. There were four education centers within ring three, two education centers in ring two and a single education center in ring one. The education centers maintained and improved the bodies and minds of the Sectorians. From birth to the age of fifteen, the Sectorians had to live within an education center within ring three. Only after turning fifteen did they have a chance to graduate to ring two. If their performance was less than satisfactory, they had to remain within ring three for the rest of their lives. The only exception was if The Eye required assigned them to a different ring or sector.


    Beyond a few other simple amenities, the Sectorians had the protection of the Wardens who enforced The Eye¡¯s mandates. The Wardens lived in towers spread around the entire sector. There was one tower every five hundred meters from the wall of ring three to the outer wall of the Eye as well as interspersed on each street which spanned the width of the rings. Trying to count the exact number of towers was ill advised. Doing so wouldn¡¯t be in direct violation of any of the Mandates, but the Wardens use any means to assure you never repeated such a mistake.


    Another factor which made the Wardens an imposing force was their lack of individual characteristics. From what the Sectorians could tell, the Wardens were all the exact same height and of the exact same build. This build seemed to be a powerful male physique with an average height far greater than any Sectorian. Despite their imposing nature, even these giants obeyed the Mandates unquestioningly.


    Each of the ten major streets running all the way from the Eye¡¯s outer wall to the outer wall of ring three were lined with transparent houses made out of tempered glass. This glass was slightly tinted to only allow a general shape to be visible when looking into others¡¯ homes. In each block of houses, there were five floors of living quarters which were each divided into twelve individual residences. The Wardens wore glasses which were rumored to give them the ability to see a clear image through the tinted glass, but this was pure speculation among Sectorians. The only obstructions to their intruding vision, if the rumors turned out to be true, were the bathrooms made out of glass lined with dark cloth.


    Between the front-porch of the blocks and the street, there was an avenue of Linden trees which was made up of two straight rows of trees on each side of a footpath stretching all the way from the outer wall of ring three to the Eye¡¯s outer wall. A patch of grass surrounded the row of trees all the way. The splash of green from the trees¡¯ trimmed canopy was a welcome change from the otherwise gray or tar of any buildings not for personal habitation. One of the buildings in question was a gigantic Education center which houses almost ten thousand children ranging from ages between zero and fifteen. This particular day was the last in a string of days which made up Trim and Lyn¡¯s last year of education in ring three within sector seven.


    Their test-results would come in and their future would officially be set in stone. Anyone who scored in the 70<sup>th</sup> percentile or higher would be moved from ring three to ring two, and another education center would be responsible for their education up to the age of eighteen. After this, the last process of education ¨C if one passed the final testing in ring two ¨C would give the student the opportunity to move on to ring one.


    This lengthy process of education was for the sole sake of gaining entrance into the Eye and for the ultimate dream of becoming a Significant. The symbol of the Eye was prominently displayed throughout the education center Trim and Lyn were attending. Even the entrance to the education center itself was shaped like a gigantic oval eye.


    When they walked into the eye-shaped entrance of this particular education center for the last time, there seemed to be a hymn or chant, though nearly imperceptible, which echoed through their minds. Trim raised his head with great confidence, while Lyn cocked her head at him and squared her shoulders. This moment in time was definitively the most significant moment of their relatively brief fifteen years of age, but it was equally critical as the beginning of their magnificent rise.


    ¡°Trim, this is it. We are going to graduate to ring two and advance to become true scientists! I almost can¡¯t believe this is actually happening!¡± Only a small fluctuation in Lyn¡¯s voice revealed a tinge of anxiety, but her energetic statements forcefully overpowered any uncertainty. ¡°¡­Yes. We will become great scientists together! No matter what happens, we cannot lose our dream.¡± Trim¡¯s initial uncertainty culminated in an attempt to present a staunch statement of fact, but it lacked the final bit of conviction which normally carried such grandiose statements.


    The massive courtyard they entered was cobbled with white marble and was interspersed with oases of neatly trimmed grass with massive trees sectioning off areas in a cool shade contrasting how the overhead sun¡¯s piercing rays were reflected off of the surface of not only the cobbled ground but also the surrounding circumference of looming black walls which greatly contrasted the freeing openness of the courtyard itself.


    Trim and Lyn¡¯s hearts palpitated with a mixture of intense excitement and abject horror. Their previous optimism evaporated along with their walk through the massive courtyard. Other students their age discussed in hushed voices as they also traversed the courtyard towards the Hall of Announcements. Their looks were occasionally met, and the tension between the different cliques was palpable. They were all fully aware that only the top thirty percent of students would gain immediate entrance to ring two. The other seventy percent would have to settle within ring three for life unless they somehow got special permission to ascend to ring two. Questions of who would rise above the rest sang out while simultaneously being unvoiced.


    Trim attempted to look at Lyn reassuringly, ¡°We are far smarter than these fools. I¡¯m sure they didn¡¯t even work half as hard as the two of us.¡±


    ¡°Right, right.¡± Lyn nodded, this time completely nonchalantly, as though their entrance to ring two was guaranteed.


    Soon, the dispersed students had formed a dense crowd of people shuttling forward carefully. They all knew someone who had accidentally broken Mandate #7, so although a crowd had formed they still retained at least half a meter of space between themselves and others on all sides.


    Trim¡¯s mind returned to the familiar pattern of names which floated up from his subconscious every time he thought of Mandate #7. Lisa, Orange, McConnel, Danny, Cera, and Malton. Those used to be people he knew. They had studied biology together, and math. And he remembered actually seeing Danny breach Mandate #7. His initial reaction had been one of a guttural rejection. He had almost thrown up, but barely managed to keep it in.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Not only had Danny breached a Mandate, but the way he had done it was both spectacular and horrifying. He had actually hit someone. Danny had only been ten, and he had never seen anyone hit anyone before, not to mention actually hitting anyone, so the punch landed like a wet towel on the towering figure of instructor Gale ¨C our physical work and exercise instructor.


    When looking back at the reason for the punch, Trim nearly cried out. It wasn¡¯t worth it. Danny had thrown the punch for the stupid, idiotic, and moronic reason of being upset at Gale hurling insults at him while he was attempting ¨C and failing miserably ¨C to lift a weight far too heavy for him.


    After that event, Danny had simply vanished. There was no goodbye. There was no pleading. No excuses. The next day, Trim had arrived at the education center to an empty desk right behind him. His interactions with Cole and Jones had whittled down to almost none after that, despite being close with them. It didn¡¯t seem worth it to forge strong bonds of friendship when the people you cared about could be ripped from you without warning. Lyn was the only exception Trim had made. She had always been there it seemed. He couldn¡¯t simply abandon her even if he worried every single day that one day she might be wrested away from him. Then he would really be alone.


    Trim was awoken from his daydreaming when Lyn made a clicking noise and gestured for him to sit down. He had been holding back the people walking behind him by stopping in the middle of aisle of seats separated by a good half meter from the next one over for good measure. He nodded to Lyn to express a silent ¡®thank you¡¯ while he sat down to her left.


    The students now rushing past to make up for the lost time being stuck behind a statue for ten seconds shot Trim one condemning look after another. A couple of them also made the eye-breaker gesture by forming an oval with their index and thumb on one hand and using a finger from their other hand to break the oval. He had just been lost in his thoughts for a few seconds, why were they all so vindictive¡­? Then he remembered. Of course they were vindictive. This would be the most pivotal moment of their lives, and any impediment to that would be met with hostility.


    The efficiency of the students rushing into the hall while also perfectly maintaining Mandate #7 astonished even Trim. This was both exciting and terrifying, because the energy of others could perhaps indicate confidence ¨C and others being confident was not good for anyone. The scores might be higher than usual, which would make it even more difficult to enter the elite thirty percent moving to ring two.


    The Hall of Announcements soon settled down from the soft noise of students whispering among themselves. They all desperately wanted to know the outcome of their tests, and no proud Instructor would deign to lecture at all when there was even a single whisper among the students.


    The moment the hall had quieted down, a man wearing a black suit to contrast the white stage and gray walls stepped out from a side-door and stood behind the podium while languidly leaning his hip on it.


    ¡°Dear students of sector seven¡¯s absolute best education center, I do hope you have enjoyed your time here and that you will make progress in whichever field you are placed in by the power of the All-seeing Eye. You¡¯re already familiar with your student numbers. These will be read up with an additional letter ranging from A to I. To my left there is a corridor with nine different rooms each marked with one of the letters. When I read your student number followed by the letter, walk quietly down from your seat, into the corridor, and into the door marked with your designated letter.¡±


    The tirade of student numbers following Principal Rin was spewed out with a practiced ease. His 17 years as Principal had given him plenty of experience with making his public speaking flow without stop.


    Trim and Lyn were both intensely listening to make sure they noticed their own numbers being read. ¡°304-D, 305-A, 306-I¡­¡± Trim was student number 407, while Lyn was 390. They had to get the same number. They had to stick together. If Trim didn¡¯t have anyone he was familiar with, he didn¡¯t know how he would be able to hold up in tough times. Would he be able to manage? He didn¡¯t even want to find out.


    ¡°321-C, 322-A, 324-B, 325-G¡­¡± Trim froze. His throat constricted. Principal Rin had skipped 323. 323 was¡­that was Orange. There had been rumors going around about Orange¡¯s disappearance, but the general consensus was that he had been Mandate #7¡¯nd. Some talked about how Orange had attempted to climb the outer wall of ring three, but that sounded far too ridiculous to be believable. Mandate #7 was far more likely, at least in Trim¡¯s mind. Many others also thought so. There were still some people who insisted that they had seen Orange trying to climb the massive wall keeping them safe from threats in the Realm Beyond.


    A shudder went through his body as even the thought of the Realm Beyond entered into Trim¡¯s mind. Nothing was as horrifying as that place. They were lucky to live in peace within the bosom of the Eye, and not have to endure the horror of ¨C a concept he had recently learned in a class on politics ¨C anarchy. There was only murder, hunger, theft, blazing flames, toxic poison clouds, and constant warfare between a myriad of local warlords beyond the safety of their walls. They were lucky.


    ¡°376-I, 377-F, 380-A, 381¡­¡± Trim turned to Lyn, who had already been looking unblinkingly into the side of his head. Their gazes held for too long, before the announcing principal called her number, ¡°390-I.¡± Her sentence had been delivered. Her fate was waiting for her.


    Lyn arose wordlessly from her seat and made her way down the rows of seats. She had flashed Trim a smile in an attempt to assure him of her success before she had begun walking. Trim was now desperately hoping that his number would also be in the ¡°I¡± category. His dream of becoming a scientist hinged on achieving it together with Lyn. If they couldn¡¯t do that together, then he would rather just do anything else together with her. As long as they weren¡¯t separated, Trim was sure that their lives would at least have glimpses of joy. They would have so much fun! Definitely. He knew he was going to be assigned to the same letter. He had to be. Otherwise, life wouldn¡¯t make sense. Nothing would. They deserved to be together. The Eye would surely take that into consideration, right? Right.


    Lyn walked down the aisle in a state of disassociation from her own body. It was as though her body moved without direction and she walked without intent. She strode down the small steps and soon found herself at the bottom of the Hall. Then she turned into the corridor as instructed.


    The gray corridor was brightly lit with fixtures in both the floor and the roof. It gave Lyn a sensation of walking into her own future. Her steps only halted when she had arrived in front of the door which had a perfect ¡°I¡± engraved on it. Despite all of the information the students had received regarding the final testing, none of them had any clue which door would lead to which future. All Lyn knew was that the different occupations and lifepaths never remained behind the door of the same letter two times in a row. For all she knew, the fate that awaited her was becoming an artist or a doctor.


    A doctor was a kind of scientist, right? She tried not digging deeper into this line of questions and instead pressed down the door handle. It felt like she was touching a stick of ice with how its cold shot through her arm and settled in her spine.


    While this thought of lingering cold was still present in her mind, she had already opened the door and entered. Her future had already been written. What met her initially was nothing like she had expected. A blinding white light flashed her to the point of forcing her to shut them in agonizing pain. Her head throbbed. She had felt as though she had been staring into the literal sun for five seconds too long.


    After the blinding sun had made her fall on her ass and throw her hands up defensively in front of her clenched shut eyes, she felt something prick her right shoulder and then the intensity of the white light turned black. Her anxious rapid breath smoothed out as her heart slowed. The last sensation she remembered before passing out was a faint smell of ammonia. Then, her grasp on reality loosened and slipped out of the hands she had wrapped around her eyes.

 Future

    Trim was left alone in the grand Hall of Announcement because Lyn had been assigned before himself. He gripped both armrests. Hard. The resistance of the hard armrests reassured him that he had both feet firmly planted in reality. He couldn¡¯t stop listening to the principal reading up numbers.


    ¡°400-I, 401-A, 402-C¡­¡± 407-I, 407-I, 407-I, 407-I. Trim wasn¡¯t even looking at the principal now, only internally chanting his own student number combined with the letter Lyn had been assigned while listening to the number he knew would be spoken in just a couple of seconds.


    ¡°405-F, 407-A¡­¡± Trim didn¡¯t hear a single thing after ¡®407¡¯ and ¡®A.¡¯ This was a mistake, right? Principal Rin skipped 406. Maybe 406 was supposed to be assigned to group A. Surely¡­ Despite desperately wanting to retort or simply leave, Trim knew that any deviation from the structure set out by the Education center would not be much better than breaching Mandate #7.


    He had to obey first, enter the assigned group A door, and then maybe he could ask the supervisor in that location if he was truly assigned to group A while Lyn¡­ was not.


    His steps followed the path Lyn had calmly tread just a minute ago, but he was far more unsteady compared to the practically always-composed Lyn. He knew Lyn was strong. At least, she would be able to handle herself. He was more worried about himself, but he was also anxious for Lyn.


    She would be fine no matter what. She would do amazing, in fact. A waft of unease hit him, but he didn¡¯t slow his steps. He would show her that he could handle himself if this truly was reality. His rise would be meteoric, no doubt.


    Trim soon entered the same corridor Lyn had previously gone through, but he was too concerned with his own considerations to make any real observations. The only things on his mind were ¡®Lyn¡¯ and ¡®Door.¡¯ The door marked ¡®A¡¯ was the first one on the left.


    After brazing himself to whatever reality would meet him on the other side, he pushed down the door handle and entered in one continuous motion. This was it.


    What met Trim was simultaneously expected and unexpected at the same time. There was a line of young students and a single instructor overseeing them. The line was rapidly diminishing as they stepped into the waiting rail-shuttle.


    The shuttle seemed spacious, but that would soon change when the rest of the students had been assigned. Trim looked to the middle-aged man with a virtual list with all the names and student ID numbers of the arriving students.


    When Trim stepped up to the entrance of the shuttle he shot a questioning glance at the instructor and opened his mouth almost imperceptibly to ask the critical question of whether or not he really belonged here. The instructor noticed his glance and the unspoken question, and did the regular two-point-shake all instructors would do to signal that speaking would lead to punishment.


    The instructor was really saying ¡®If you dare speak up, you will be dragged out and receive the justice of the Eye. Shut your mouth and move along.¡¯ At least this is the implied meaning Trim gathered from the man¡¯s shake and glance.


    Trim didn¡¯t dare to even sigh externally. He simply moved his glance to an empty seat in the shuttle and strode in that direction. Taking a seat again after the nerve-wracking walk down here immediately relaxed Trim¡¯s unconsciously tensed muscles.


    On the outside, Trim looked to be in a state of perfect calm, but in reality he was absolutely freaking out inside. Firstly, he had no clue whether or not he was going to be permitted to enter ring two. Secondly, he had no clue whether or not the potential field of research he could have been assigned if he was going to enter ring two was even something he was remotely interested in. Thirdly, where was Lyn? Or why is Lyn not here specifically¡­ They had promised to stay together in their research. Did the Eye not care about their promise? Surely the Eye would realize its mistake at any minute and reunite them. Right. That was it.


    Trim¡¯s delusions continued growing grander and more intricate the more he desperately needed to deny the reality of being separated from Lyn. Likely for life. The shuttle had begun moving at some point, but Trim was still obsessively thinking about any possibility which would let him be reunited with Lyn.


    Could he possibly escape from ring two and find Lyn? The problem with that was not only the inherent difficulty of escaping, but more so the impossibility of actually finding Lyn. Information on the different life-paths assigned to students after ring three was sparse. There were no actual records of anything about it. Not that there were any records about anything available for Sectorians in ring three. Mandate #3 took care of that.


    The shuttle¡¯s sudden stop shook the sleep out of Trim. He rubbed his face and gently slapped himself on both cheeks to wake himself up. Because the shuttle had stopped, he knew that he had to follow the flow of people out of the now-opening shuttle doors.


    When Trim finally stepped out of the shuttle, he set foot on a raised platform connected to a government building. Well, technically all buildings were owned by the Eye, but only the buildings etched with the Eye were official government buildings. Other buildings might be granted to individuals or used as common buildings, but these also ultimately belonged to the Eye. There wasn¡¯t anything the Eye didn¡¯t own as far as Trim was concerned.


    The crowd of young students were herded into four distinct hallways by a couple of instructors present. Trim discovered one particular face which stood out to him among the crowd herded into corridor three along with himself. It was Cole.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Trim hadn¡¯t had a real conversation with Cole for months now. Maybe it had been a year. He couldn¡¯t keep track. The sting of not seeing Lyn¡¯s face didn¡¯t lessen because of seeing a familiar face, but at least he would have someone he knew around.


    Cole would forgive him if they spoke, he was sure of it. They could get reassurance from each other¡¯s presence. Trim shot a smile at Cole, but when Cole noticed the friendly gesture he seemed almost frightened and ducked his head down. Then Cole clicked at a girl next to him which Trim recognized as Alice. They seemed to share a brief conversation, but Trim was too far away to catch any details.


    Cole and Alice simultaneously looked up and glanced directly at Trim before they once again returned to a close whisper. Maybe he had become a butt of some joke Cole was telling Alice, or maybe Cole was explaining how I had abandoned him and Jones by solely hanging out with Lyn after the disappearance of Danny. It didn¡¯t much matter exactly what they were discussing. What actually mattered was that Cole didn¡¯t seem interested in any kind of connection with him.


    If he wanted to make it through his future studies with his sanity intact he would have to have someone to talk to. Cole was the best option, but maybe he would just have to make new friends. Trim combed his fingers through his hair. It had begun getting longer. Too long. He would have to get it cut soon.


    The corridor eventually led the group of equally anxious and curious students into a well-lit classroom. The desks were bigger than the desks Trim was used to. All the necessary resources were placed neatly on the desks, and each desk had a specific student ID number plastered on the upper right corner of the desk¡¯s surface.


    Seating arrangements were always ordered numerically, with ¨C from the perspective of students facing the large screen behind the instructor¡¯s desk and stand ¨C the lowest number being in the bottom left and the highest number being in the top right. Trim was seated barely to the left of the center of the classroom. He couldn¡¯t see Cole, but Alice was placed a couple of rows in front of him. Cole was probably somewhere behind him. Trim didn¡¯t remember the exact student ID number of Cole.


    The rest of the classroom was almost the same as the ones he was used to. However, the resources provided to them were far greater in number compared to the resources they had received in previous years. There was a tablet and a larger computer screen on each table. One was portable for use outside of the classroom, while the other was for classroom-usage only. The computer screen seemed to seamlessly extend from the desk itself.


    It seemed like each desk had the multi-purpose of being both a desk and a computer. A feeling of excitement arose in Trim¡¯s mind for the first time since hearing that his own letter differed from Lyn¡¯s. The design was so smooth and intricate. The desk simply looked like any other desk, but was actually a hidden computer. Or was the computer densely enough packed to only consist of the screen itself. That wouldn¡¯t make much sense because of its connection to the desk itself. Each individual desk-screen was slightly curved to allow for a larger display on each screen.


    Other than the two computer devices, there was a sealed oval container on the left side of the desk. Trim wondered what was inside the container, but he didn¡¯t dare to open it without prior instructions to do so. The last object on the desk looked like a plate with its edges raised a bit too much. There were also an interface displayed on its edge which currently was blank and he could see a port one could connect a computer to next to this interface.


    Trim stared intently at the device, attempting to will into existence an understanding of what the device did and why he was given this device at all. These must all be of vital importance for something, but what that something was he couldn¡¯t answer. Luckily for him, however, the answers would come soon enough.


    A firm woman¡¯s voice leapt out of the speakers concealed in the roof, walls, and floor. ¡°Greetings, students.¡± Following the powerful but flat voice, a figure arose from the floor behind the teacher¡¯s desk. The figure turned out to be a young woman with ear-length tar hair, wearing a white coat with an eye displayed clearly on her chest. Trim thought she might be ten years older than himself, or maybe a bit older than that, but nonetheless her soft features were contrasted with a completely neutral facial expression.


    Her slightly chubby chin offset the seriousness of her expression slightly in Trim¡¯s mind. Her frame was still not very large, however, and the steps she took to arrive behind the desk were swift and decisive. An echo of her raised shoes rung out in the otherwise dead-silent classroom. No one had the audacity to interrupt an instructor, much less someone capable of becoming an instructor at such a young age. Most of the instructors Trim was familiar with were at least in their fifties, but this woman didn¡¯t look like she had even turned thirty. She might even be a Significant who were only going to teach for a couple of years before turning her head to research and development.


    The only confirmed Significant Trim had ever seen was principal Rin, the one who delivered the fate separating himself and Lyn. He wondered what Lyn¡¯s experience was. Hopefully she had also advanced to ring two. Trim had no clue whether or not multiple of the groups selected advanced to ring two, but he knew that he had to currently be in ring two.


    If he was going to be transported to anywhere in ring three, the shuttle-ride would be far shorter. The technology present here also seemed to match the higher level of education Trim expected he would get in ring two.


    His shuttle of thought was broken by the instructor continuing her introduction. ¡°My name is Dalia Stoneward. You are to refer to me as instructor Stoneward henceforth. You have all been assigned to the life-path of becoming energy researchers and technicians. The classes I will be teaching are the basics of energy systems, and the foundation of energy research.¡±


    Instructor Stoneward touched a spot on her own display and an image appeared on the larger screen behind her. ¡°This,¡± she pointed up, ¡°is the basis of all of the Eye and the surrounding sectors¡¯ energy. It goes by many names, some of which include the pearl of the Eye, the Great Foundation, the Preston crystal and many more. We will use the scientific word for it. Energia lithum. It is a self-contained energy-circuit with an immense amount of energy compressed into the physical form you can see displayed.¡±


    She let her arm fall before considering the reactions her initial statements had garnered from the crowd of young faces. Hopefully she would be able to help improve the next generation of energy research by putting her all into teaching these young talents.


    ¡°Now,¡± for the first time she actually smiled, ¡°who can tell me about the core reason knowledge about Energia lithum is so critical?¡±


    A number of arms shot up, including Trim¡¯s. ¡°492.¡± 492 spoke up, and Trim could hear Cole¡¯s shaky voice ring out from somewhere behind him. His voice was amplified by the room¡¯s acoustics as well as the microphones which were naturally implemented into each desk. Trim put his arm back down and listened.

 Captain

    ¡°Michael you aren¡¯t listening.¡± Denis snapped his fingers in front of Michael¡¯s face to force him to pay attention. Michael stirred and straightened his hunched posture. His blank, pale face, however, remained concerned. ¡°I¡¯m listening. Something about sabotaging a transport heading into the inner city from the wall. Blow it up, the regular deal.¡± ¡°No, Michael. You. Are. Not. Listening.¡± Denis was firmer the second time around. He wouldn¡¯t repeat himself for a third time.


    His fingers on his right hand clenched. If this snot-nosed piece of shit didn¡¯t respond properly, he didn¡¯t know if he could hold himself back. The punch might be launched instinctively before he could even reconsider. For Michael¡¯s sake, he hoped that the kid would actually try to listen.


    Michael didn¡¯t seem fazed by the blatant threat present in Denis¡¯ tone, and simply stared straight into Denis¡¯ eyes. A blazing rage met a frozen lake. The lake remained unstirred while the flames continued its futile attempts at consuming its contents. Michael didn¡¯t flinch. Did Denis really think that he would take his shit? More than 70% of their agents had been swayed in recent years to view Michael as their leader despite his official position being one rung lower than the veteran Denis.


    Most of the agents honestly viewed Denis as an impediment to their progress. His ways were outdated, and his mind not as sharp as it perhaps used to be. Not that these young agents had any idea about Denis¡¯ accomplishments at his peak. Michael, however, they had seen in magnificent action. His calculated commands and his ability to remained collected in any situation had granted them massive victories even when the odds weren¡¯t exactly in their favor.


    How could their respect for a chubby traditionalist relic compare to the respect Michael had earned through feats they had witnessed themselves. Michael didn¡¯t think it was time to overthrow Denis just yet, but he wouldn¡¯t mind too much if the original plan was pushed forward by a couple of months.


    Michael took a decisive step forward, while still retaining his neutral expression, and gently grabbed each side of Denis¡¯ suit lapels. Denis¡¯ reaction was instinctive. His right fist was thrust into Michael¡¯s gut. Michael was prepared for this, however, and simply bore it. Only a slight smile on his face could act to hint about the instincts and emotions he was currently suppressing.


    Following the punch, Denis¡¯ fist trembled. Fuck, that had hurt. Was this kid wearing armor under his suit? His clenched fist trembled, but didn¡¯t move from its position of being lodged into Michael¡¯s gut. Michael¡¯s smile broadened.


    ¡°Denis. You¡¯re still useful. If you weren¡¯t, I¡¯d have gotten rid of you years ago. Be a good boy and remove your fist if you still want to have it attached to your body by the end of the day.¡± Michael gently slid his fingers up and down Denis¡¯ lapel to underline his point. Denis might have been the ¡°great commander¡± for twenty years, but this was his time.


    Denis almost fell backwards upon hearing Michael¡¯s statements. This kid had not only the audacity to question him, but to actually threaten him? Still, Michael wasn¡¯t a weakling. If he punched him again, he would have to hope that Michael didn¡¯t have a chance to resist. Otherwise, the retaliation might fracture their entire operation. Although Denis didn¡¯t know exactly how much sway Michael had with the younger soldiers, he could imagine that Michael would have at least 50% of the soldiers under his influence if he dared threaten even him.


    No. Any influence or sway Michael held would be absolutely irrelevant when Michael wasn¡¯t here to defend himself. Denis pulled his hand away slowly.


    Michael responded by cupping Denis¡¯ cheek with his left hand and then he gently patted him on the other side with his right, ¡°That¡¯s a good boy.¡±


    Denis¡¯ second punch was equally predictable. Michael could see his tense right shoulder, followed by the tension in the man¡¯s left shoulder, as Denis feinted with his already injured right arm and went for another gut-punch with his left.


    This time, however, Michael had decided that the game was over. No matter how this would be ¡°resolved,¡± Denis would do everything in his power to have him killed. He couldn¡¯t let that happen. At least, not until he had finished the mission he had hidden in his own heart.


    Michael was already backstepping before the second punch was fully wound up, and avoiding it was almost laughably simple. Did this fossil really think his physical prowess could match his? While backstepping, Michael moved his hands down from Denis¡¯ face to instead grab hold of both of Denis¡¯ arms. He ripped them downwards, forcing Denis¡¯ already forward-moving momentum to increase. Denis would smash his face on the stone-floor below. On the way down towards the floor, however, a perfectly positioned knee stuck Denis¡¯ chin and dropped him limply on the floor. The old man¡¯s lower jaw had shifted from its position to instead protrude a decent chunk on the left side. The skin which wasn¡¯t broken or breached, was twisted or bloody. Michael whistled two short bursts, which caused four of his own men to come jogging into the office with their weapons drawn.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Denis assaulted me and attempted to kill me to silence me when I spoke up against a plan which was going to get too many good men killed. I defended myself and knocked him out. Drag him to holding cell #7 and have two of our own watch over him at all times. Don¡¯t hesitate to shoot or maim anyone attempting to break him out. Spread the word that I have officially taken charge due to not only Denis¡¯ actions but also due to his general incompetence.¡± Michael spat the orders in short bursts.


    The highest-ranking officer, a younger man called Oakland, saluted with a smile, ¡°Affirmative, thank you for standing up against poor leadership sir¡± and dragged Denis¡¯ body out of his sight. Michael sighed. It seemed like he had no choice but to move the plan up to achieve the intended effect.


    They might be ready, but he still wasn¡¯t completely convinced. He could assure their success if they had another six months, but it was too sudden. The agents bringing the next shipment might need to be detained depending on their willingness to cooperate.


    After settling the matter of Denis being detained, Michael was finally left alone in his large office. He sighed and finally allowed himself to slink down into the comfort of the chair. He dropped his regal air like a mask and expressed the pain he had been suppressing during the short interval between being punched in the stomach and dismissing Oakland.


    Michael gritted his teeth as he keeled over and hit his head on the desk. He was too occupied by massaging his stomach to catch the chair¡¯s arms on the way down. The sting of his face smashing into the desk paled in comparison to the building tension in his chest. His throat constricted. Air. The intensity of the pain made him alternatively heave and wheeze. Air. More air. AIR.


    The fact that almost all the air had been knocked out of his lungs was almost impossible to hide even in the few seconds Oakland and his fellow officers were in the office, but the effort to hide his weakness had made the ensuring pain all the more intolerable.


    Michael opened his shirt to inspect the damage and noticed two points of skin-tear which were weeping thin lines of nearly black blood. The old fucker¡¯s rings had poked holes in him. The old man didn¡¯t even have a chance, but he still had to ruin a perfectly fine shirt with blood and some small tears. Another bout of tension was released through a simple strike on the chair¡¯s right armrest. He would have to have these wounds disinfected, but first he needed a drink to dull the pain. His abdomen was still aching with pain, but it slowly dulled. Michael opened one of the cabinets behind the desk and grabbed the first full bottle he found. Its contents were emptied with great gusto and after every sip Michael felt just a bit better. He chuckled. What a way to celebrate his takeover. The next few days might be very challenging, but at least he could enjoy the moment.


    ¡°Captain Michael, there is an emergency report you need to take a look at!¡± The sounds of three firm knocks followed after the urgent voice.


    ¡°You may enter.¡± The alcohol hadn¡¯t gone to his head quite yet. Or, at least, Michael didn¡¯t think it had. Thomson¡¯s eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of his mighty commander having his chest exposed with two lines of blood running down his bare chest. Michael put the half-empty bottle on the table with a clang, and Thomson reacted by beginning to explain the emergency report.


    ¡°Sir, because of the recent upheavals we have uncovered in the Eye¡¯s eugenics department they sorely need new blood to aid their research. A transport-shuttle which reportedly is going to contain a dozen rising talents within the field is scheduled to pass through the Damaskus region on its way from sector three to the iris of the Eye. Additionally, security expert Significant Omar is going to be escorting them. If we are able to set up in the mountains of Damaskus before they pass through, we could ambush their shuttle. Both eliminating the shuttle and kidnapping the researchers and Significant are viable options.¡±


    ¡°How much c4 is left?¡± This was a great opportunity for their venture. A Significant security expert would be able to provide excellent intelligence. And maybe the researchers would give them a chance to dismantle the inhumanity of the Eye¡¯s mass-production of slave-labor.


    ¡°Approximately 200 kg, sir.¡±


    ¡°That would be enough for another 4-10 operations based on our targets. We can afford to use a portion of it in this mission. Pick 20 of our elites for this mission. There is no discounting the possibility of this being a trap. Take great care to ensure that they have no escape. I want the Security expert alive, and as long as a couple of the researchers still live I don¡¯t care what happens to the rest of them. If any other high-profile targets are detected, try keeping them alive unless you have no other option. Put it into action immediately.¡± Michael waved his hand to dismiss the sergeant and then leaned back to enjoy another burst of flaming liquid quenching the cold pain still lingering in his stomach.


    A low hum escaped Michael¡¯s mouth as he gently whispered that lullaby once again. ¡°Who can sail without wind, who can row without oars, who can part with their friend without shedding tears¡­¡± The gentle humming eventually turned into a wordless melody when Michael¡¯s head fell back in his chair and he finally nodded off. His blood-stained chest, and the intense red mark clearly displaying the indentation of a fist, starkly contrasted his confident expression and the indentation of tried tears staining his chins.

 Red Room

    Tar covering a canvas. Drops hesitating on the edge of the jump into the abyss below. They had journeyed far. All the way from the top of the canvas. Their downward momentum didn¡¯t disrupt their final rest. Drops swelled into pools as more drops made the journey. Then they descended into the void. As the pools grew, the canvas below was revealed. They couldn¡¯t stick to it the way they desired, for the canvas rejected their essence. Another destination, another form of existence, awaited them in the direction of down. That was the best way to describe it. It felt like down, but there was no true direction. More of the canvas was revealed below the thick substance continuously flowing. When the final drop took the plunge, a groan filled the void with a rising crescendo. The now blank canvas begun flowing with color. The grays, whites, and tars, all dripped away to give way for a burning crimson red. Soon the canvas had transformed from being static to instead engulf the entirety of this seemingly infinite space in an ocean of blood and fire.


    A heaving breath sounded out as Lyn was hurled into a state of wakefulness. The inferno of blood slithering like serpentine flames seeking oxygen remained a vibrant image in her mind. She coughed in a seemingly instinctual attempt at shaking the anxiousness and unrest out of her weary frame.


    The cold floor slipped away from her during the shaky attempt at pulling herself to her feet and she crashed down again, smashing her forehead into the cherry red oak wood-panels she had been writhing on just a moment ago.


    Her eyes filled with tears. The pain was horrible. A mind-rending pulsing pain had at some point taken root in the back of her neck, and it was currently growing. FUCK. Lyn used her own fists to relentlessly pound the back of her head over and over. Again. LEAVE. Again. GO AWAY. Again¡­


    The pain dulled slightly after the sixth strike, and dissipated completely after the twelfth. Her own pounding fists now ached, and the back of her head was numb, but this feeling was like heaven compared to the uncontrollably spreading pain which was unmatched in intensity to anything else she had ever experienced.


    Her breath steadied as she turned over and lay on her back. The cool floor helped counteract her boiling fury. Where was she. Who had taken her. What the fuck was she doing here. And, most egregiously, what or who caused the intense burning pain she had just now barely survived?


    So many questions. She might not be able to find all the answers right now, but at least she could orient herself. Before bothering to stand up and consider her surroundings, she breathed deeply in through her nose. The air seemed to enter her lungs far too easily. As though she had previously been breathing through a cloth film and the film was finally lifted. Her eyes widened. Was this air still the air of the three rings? She had lived in ring three for all of her life up to this point, so that air was all she knew, but she also knew that both ring two and ring one¡¯s atmospheres were shared with ring three. There might be an advanced air-filtration and cleaning system in this place, or maybe this place was somewhere beyond the rings¡­ The Eye? Or someplace else?


    Lyn didn¡¯t even dare to consider the possibility of having been taken outside of the rings. That couldn¡¯t be the case. Right? Right. The faint hope of finding herself in the Eye, the place she had dreamed of entering since she was four, was immediately extinguished when she once again considered the circumstances under which she had been taken to wherever this was. If this really was the Eye, and this was the treatment she received, then where was the paradise she had always known the Eye to be? This being the Eye was far too farfetched. The Eye could contend with heaven itself in its magnificence and in its utopian society. This being the Eye was impossible.


    Other than an air-quality Lyn had previously thought mythic, she smelled a clearly unfamiliar detergent. She looked down on herself to discover that her outfit was wildly different from the regulation Education center clothes she had previously been outfitted with. She ran a hand over the fabric. It was far smoother than the coarse fabric used for the uniforms she used to wear. More than the fabric, however, it was the intensity of colors which really stood out.


    Lyn had never before worn anything not consisting of the government colors: white, gray and tar. This was¡­ purple? She had heard about this color which wasn¡¯t exactly red, and distinguished itself from blue, so it now seemed almost instinctual to call this color purple. Or was this shade supposed to be called a different color? She had no clue. Her outfit consisted of a purple fabric wrapping her neck, shoulders, the upper part of her chest, and her arms, with a white collar sprouting up from the fabric wrapping her neck. There were also a white section at the end of each sleeve which wrapped all the way around her wrists. A white apron was interlaced on top of the purple fabric on her chest. It seemed to attempt to accentuate her non-existent breasts. The apron was sowed into the dress further down, only leaving some frills at its bottom free. The purple fabric reappeared below the frills for a decent section, before a final white section followed under and below this layer.


    The top of the apron also had some frills which culminated in the middle of her chest in a strip of frills which laced the fabric downwards, splitting her chest into a right and left section. A tiny strip of purple fabric further sectioned off the top part of her chest further.


    A rush of various emotions welled up in Lyn as she considered her new dress. She had never owned a proper dress before. She had seen some old pictures from history class about dresses, and some Significants were shown to have worn dresses, but a Sectorian needed efficient clothing and thus everyone wore the same outfit which included coarse black or gray pants and a long-sleeved shirt. If someone deviated from that standard, that person would become beyond miserable. Expulsion was the least of ones worries. If one is expelled from a mandatory education, then one has truly outlived ones usefulness.


    On one hand, this dress was the cutest thing she had worn in her entire life. On the other hand, it was far too close-fitting and she felt squeamish at    the notion of being seen in such a taboo outfit. Was she really allowed to wear it? And why were her legs so exposed? A chill ran up her spine as her bare legs touched the wooden floor. Was this real wood? Floors made out of real wood are far too extravagant. This couldn¡¯t be her room.


    Before allowing herself to consider the extravagance she realized that she might not have the luxury to take her sweet time taking it all in. Spatial orientation had to take priority. Questions of comfort couldn¡¯t compare to the perhaps life-threatening situation she had found herself in. Everything is new. Nothing is safe. Don¡¯t get comfortable, miss.


    Looking around the room, the hazy visual impression she had garnered subconsciously while focusing on herself became clearer. The walls had a slightly lighter red hue compared to the floor, but their color was still intense. Wood-panels, wooden floors. She couldn¡¯t imagine how expensive this entire building would have been to make.


    A small window let in a stream of sunlight which hit the wall in front of her. The window was far too small for even her to get through, not to mention that it was likely around three meters from the floor. There was absolutely no way she could reach it even if she stood on the bed below it. The bed was not made out of wood, which was a first in this room.


    Lyn walked over and touched the material. Some sort of plastic it seemed. It was incredibly hard. She rapt it with her knuckles, but the clear sound it gave out            asserted its density. This wasn¡¯t something she could break unless she had some sort of tool or massive leverage.


    Other than the bed, the only other furniture in the room were a desk and chair. Both looked metallic, and both were bolted to the floor. The distance from the chair to the desk, however, was surprisingly perfect for her current stature. Odd. Bolted desks and chairs were usually further apart due to the average person being far larger than herself. This might have been designed specifically for her, or at least it had to be designed for someone around her own size.


    She further considered the walls. Some spots on the walls there were lighter squares or circles, clearly indicating that some ornament or painting was missing. There were no screws or nails left in the walls either. At least not as far as she could tell.


    After running her hand over the walls, she became even more thoughtful. These walls seemed too smooth. There were no real notches in the wood, and no splinters were loose. Was there anything else she needed to consider?Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    The only light source except for the tiny window was a chandelier no further down than the window. It looked like it was glass, but there was no way to reach it. Even standing on the bed and jumping at it would leave her meters from her target.


    She hadn¡¯t checked, but the bed was surely bolted down as well. This wasn¡¯t really a bedroom after all. It was a cell. What kind of cell, with such nice walls and large bed, she had no clue, but without testing either of the room¡¯s two doors she already knew that she wouldn¡¯t be able to leave through either of them even if she wanted to.


    She had to check all options, so she still walked up to each door ¨C which seemed completely integrated with the rest of the wall in color ¨C and tried using the handle. The first door didn¡¯t budge no matter which direction she pulled or pushed.


    The second door, however, actually moved. Did they forget to lock it? Surely not. These people were thorough. They had assured that no escape was available as well as assuring that no sharp objects or anything to hang herself from when she wanted to escape this cell was viable.


    They weren¡¯t thorough enough, however. It wouldn¡¯t be difficult to create a noose out of either her own clothes or the bedsheets, and a doorhandle could be used as leverage if the impromptu rope was slung over the doorframe and hanging down on the other side. If she really wanted to end it, she still had that option. When realizing this, she was relieved. At least she wouldn¡¯t have to withstand any torture without being able to take back her freedom and her own life with one final choice.


    The door opened to a small bathroom with a single toilet, sink, mirror, and a cleanser. There were no toiletries present. Those could have been used to shape blades or other weapons and thus it was logical that they weren¡¯t provided.


    After staring closely at the mirror, Lyn realized that it wasn¡¯t a true mirror. Its edges were rounded and curved inwards into the wall. The surface of the mirror was less reflective than normal mirrors. She used a knuckle to knock on it. It had to be some sort of polished metal. Something which couldn¡¯t be smashed and form sharp shards.


    She was already there, so she decided to relieve herself. When she was washing her hands afterwards, she observed herself for a moment in the mirror. Her skin was a dreary white color. It was as though any color had been sucked out of her face. Her sunken cheeks from a lack of good eating habits were even more pronounced due to her almost translucent skin.


    She leaned in closer. Her deep hazel eyes were slightly bloodshot. When shifting her gaze downwards she considered for a moment her broken bottom lip and how the old, dried blood was mixing with the fresh. No clue when that happened. She touched the broken lip with her tongue and tasted the familiar taste of salt and iron.


    There were no other marks or real blemishes on her face, but a small patch of skin on the right side of her neck had turned a shade darker. Had she been handled roughly while passed out? She stared herself straight into the eyes, and saw tears welling up in them. A small sob escaped her broken lip. She was all alone here. Her future was bleak. She had been able to remain relatively balanced because she had to properly assess her surroundings and ensure her survival, but for the first time she had the opportunity to really consider the implications of her being here.


    She wondered where Trim was. Was he also in some red room like this, or was he accepted by a completely different department? She desperately hoped Trim was safe. He had to be. And he might also be one of her last hopes. If she couldn¡¯t save herself, she needed Trim to do so. He would find a way to find her. He would take her away from all of this. She gestured frustratedly to her surroundings while continuing her inner monologue.


    Her black curls fell down in front of her face as she continued attempting to suppress sobs. Whoever had captured her might have a way to observe her. She couldn¡¯t allow herself to be broken so easily. That would make it impossible to resist.


    The worries about being observed seemed like a self-fulfilling prophecy as a click rang out from a mechanism in the door leading out from the bedroom. It was subsequently pushed open, the tallest woman Lyn had ever seen strode in. Her outfit was similar to her own, but instead of white mixed with purple, this lady had purple mixed with gold.


    The woman carried herself with an arrogance Lyn had never observed in a Sectorian. Lyn was still facing the mirror and only observing the woman¡¯s reflection. After quickly wiping away her tears she took some water and splashed her face to disguise any signs of weakness. Then she shook her hands and turned around with both hands clasped behind her back.


    Lyn stepped out of the bathroom and stopped two meters from the tall lady. The woman was smiling and raised her eyebrows to pressure Lyn to breach the growing uneasy silence which had enveloped the room.


    After Lyn had decided to assert her control of the situation, she relaxed her arms. The woman who still maintained her posture broadened her smile. She thought she had won their little confrontation. Then Lyn turned to her left and strode over to her bed. Finally, she jumped into the bed on her stomach and supported her head with her arms.


    ¡°The fuck do you want?¡± Significant or not, this woman had to be a part of the group which kidnapped her and were currently holding her as a prisoner. All courtesy was out the window in Lyn¡¯s mind.


    The woman didn¡¯t answer for the longest time. Lyn assumed her abrasive behavior put her off. She likely wasn¡¯t used to being disobeyed.


    ¡°We have to correct this behavior of yours. If you want to keep your life I¡¯d suggest being a good little Sectorian.¡± She spat the last word with disgust. This woman was really not a Sectorian. A true Significant then.


    ¡°Remember the ten minutes of absolute agony you felt earlier? I¡¯m sure you had to be writhing on the floor while wanting to die during that. That came from an implant made especially for misbehaving Sectorians such as yourself. I¡¯ll be back in another ten minutes to give you time to consider your future behavior.¡±


    Lyn perked up at that, but made sure the lady didn¡¯t see her facial expression. She was supposed to have experienced that agony for a full ten minutes, but she only experienced for what couldn¡¯t have been more than thirty seconds. Had she been able to somehow disable or damage it with her furious punches? She hoped so. Experiencing that pain for thirty seconds was enough for her to want to die, much less ten minutes.


    She listened intently to make sure she didn¡¯t miss any auditory clues as to when the implant was supposed to be triggered. If her behavior didn¡¯t match up to someone in horrific pain, then her lack of pain might be found out. She¡¯d rather not have them discover that.


    At least this woman had confirmed that they had no surveillance inside of the room itself, because if they had then they would surely have reacted to her lack of reaction after the supposedly initial ten minutes of pain had been cut short.


    The woman¡¯s clacking heels disappeared slowly and the thud of a door being closed confirmed that she was once again alone. Lyn let out a large breath of relief. She hadn¡¯t realized that she had stopped breathing for a time before the tension of that woman¡¯s presence was released.


    She continued listening, and as she had hoped there was a slight indication of the implant being activated. It wasn¡¯t a sound, but more like a gentle touch in the nape of her neck. Luckily, despite the device receiving its orders, nothing further happened. The challenging part would be when the lady re-entered, however. She had to convince her that she had just been through ten minutes of hellish torture. Her acting skills had always been better than Trim¡¯s, but she hadn¡¯t had much practice. Not that she had any choice while being stuck here in this prison of red. Of blood.


    After Lyn was sure that the tall woman had left, she turned around and sat on the edge of the bed. Then she took her hair into her hands and ruffled it. It transformed from a relatively orderly curly mess to a far more chaotic curly mess.


    She lowered her head, and finally allowed herself to cry. She might as well put on a bit of a show to not anger that woman too much. It wouldn¡¯t be good if she seemed completely unaffected by the torture.


    While waiting for that lady to come back, she looked curiously down at her hands as though they were very interesting.


    The woman returned around fifteen minutes later, with a smug smile on full display. She looked at Lyn¡¯s pathetic state and seemed proud of herself for putting a little girl in her place.


    ¡°Lyn, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll behave from now on won¡¯t you?¡± She continued holding the frame Lyn had made extra tiny in her direct vision. Lyn shifted uncomfortably, stroked her left arm with her right, and looked up at the lady with tearful eyes. Lyn nodded almost imperceptibly, but the lady seemed happy.


    ¡°Use your words to express yourself. You need to become a great conversationalist if you are to get a good master.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll behave. Master? What do you mean?¡± Lyn¡¯s previous play at discomfort now turned into true discomfort. The hair on her arms rose in protest. She would never belong to anyone. Or maybe¡­ Maybe she would be okay if it was Trim. Trim was her oldest friend, but did she want him to be more? Not that it mattered, because Sectorians weren¡¯t allowed to have romantic relationships or even touch each other.


    ¡°All will be explained at the gathering tonight. From now on you will call me Instructor Maya. I know this situation must be strange and scary, but know that you¡¯re in a safe place and you are serving the Eye. Never doubt that. Additionally, if you make it through the next three years, you will be made a Partial Significant. You will also have the possibility of becoming a full Significant if your master takes a fancy to you and you either carry his child or he marries you. Those matters are for the distant future, however. I originally came to explain this before you threw a fit. Well, ensure you gather yourself and look your best for tonight. It¡¯s currently¡± she checked an antique pocket watch ¡°4 pm. You will be summoned at 6 pm. I¡¯ll take my leave for now. I hope you will enjoy your new home and that you will get along with your sisters and brothers whom you will be introduced to soon.¡±


    After delivering the statement, Instructor Maya slipped her pocket watch back into the single pocket finely embroidered onto the beautiful dress, and then she strutted out without looking back even once. It was as though Lyn had become a robot that wasn¡¯t given the consideration given to genuine human beings.

 Research

    The shaking in her left leg had gotten worse during her first two weeks as head of the Department of Reproduction Biology. It had started out as an anxious tic. Dr. Sinclaire¡¯s workload had been far too great for even her, which manifested in one instance through this shaking. She had no problems with walking or standing, but when she sat down, no matter how she attempted to put her foot-sole flat to the floor, it still managed to find a way to move. If it wasn¡¯t up and down, then sideways. If not sideways, then the muscles would keep contracting uncomfortably until she allowed it space to move.


    Sinclaire¡¯s initial takeover as head of the Department was still in process. She hadn¡¯t fully transitioned. However, she had gotten up to speed on Dr. Livstrade¡¯s private research as well as gotten a good overview of the different avenues of research they needed to pursue.


    When she had first taken over the office she had sat down while Dr. Livstrade¡¯s body was still dangling. Still warm. She hadn¡¯t exactly touched his body, but she had felt his radiance. And his radiance was fiery even when dead. How could she possibly live up to such a genius researcher? The answer was that she really couldn¡¯t. At least, she wouldn¡¯t be able to go further than Dr. Livstrade if she followed his footsteps. The only option for forward momentum on the reproduction of Sectorians was to take a drastically different path than Dr. Livstrade had done. A path he hadn¡¯t dared to take.


    ¡°System, call Administrator Wu.¡± A neutral voice responded, ¡°Calling Administrator Wu.¡±


    The voice which answered the call was much less partial to politeness, ¡°Yes? This better be important.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Wu, do you really despise my calls so?¡± A hint of coquettishness laced Dr. Sinclaire¡¯s voice as she stretched the final ¡®s¡¯ out just a little too long to be comfortable.


    ¡°Ah, Department-head Sinclaire. I apologize for my earlier standoffishness. I do sincerely hope you can forgive me. What ever can I help you with?¡± He spoke with a tone which suggested surprise at Sinclaire¡¯s call, but she knew perfectly well that Wu never missed a thing. He was likely one of the most well-informed and intelligent men within the entire Administration department. Only two people had more influence within the Administration department: Department Head Siz Rakkan, and Council Administrator Ben Ortega. Those weren¡¯t people who could be casually contacted and thus Sinclaire¡¯s choice was obvious.


    ¡°I need some test subjects. Five adult Sectorians, five female. And five grown Wardens. Have them delivered to testing floor 1 in my Department of Reproduction Biology. The sooner, the better.¡±


    ¡°The Sectorians aren¡¯t an issue, but Wardens? I would need permission from my Department Head to supply you with them.¡±


    ¡°I thought you had some pull within your Department. Curious.¡± A long pause followed.


    ¡°Give me five minutes.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± He hung up the call and Sinclaire was left in a state of calm anticipation. She knew her request would be granted. It would signify to the Eye that she had found a new alley of research and that there were some hope for the future yield of Sectorians.


    The only reason Wu would hesitate when it came to the Wardens was because of their role as the attack-dogs of the Eye. All wardens only obeyed the Eye, though not always directly. Some were assigned to the various clans or houses. Others as security details for critical people or researchers. Some were even granted as gifts. Despite this, it was well known that the Eye¡¯s orders would always supersede the orders of anyone who were allowed Wardens as retainers. Thus, in a sense, the Wardens solely belonged to the Eye despite appearances.


    The Department of Cloning handled the generations of Wardens, but due to the limit of their cloning technology they were unable to develop the Wardens with both high intelligence, high physical prowess, as well as loyalty to the Eye. Due to this lack of ability, the cloned Wardens were loyal but simple brutes.


    As far as Sinclaire knew, every attempt at cloning a Warden with high intelligence had led to an eventual betrayal despite any initial loyalty. This had made cloning Wardens with high intelligence heavily restricted. It was only allowed for research purposes unless the Eye itself was involved. If a horde of intelligent Wardens were released, Sinclaire could imagine how they would strategically tear down the Eye. Their minds had transformed to practically become human super-computers, but this had made their growth far too rapid and their intelligence shot past any measurable metrics of the Eye. This intelligence would also be their downfall, unless they had an army, because it generally led to an inflated ego and a view of themselves as gods.


    She had no wish to tangle with hyper-intelligent Wardens. What she wanted were the brutes. Their DNA was nearly identical, but both of their DNA was quite different compared to Sectorians. If she could find a way to fuse a Warden and a Sectorian, then that might solve the issue of virility. It would forge the foundation of another two hundred years of power for the Eye.


    Brutes such as Wardens were perfect in war and as attack dogs, but they couldn¡¯t accomplish any task which required fine-tuned sensibilities or anything beyond using a simple firearm or blade. To most people, that was actually a comfort. If somehow these brutes were able to do complex physical or mental labor in addition to their gigantic size, then their entire existence might become obsolete. Especially Sectorians.


    A grating voice interrupted Sinclaire¡¯s musings. ¡°You can have three Wardens. No more. And none of the dangerous ones.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s acceptable. For now. When can I expect them?¡±


    ¡°Your shipment will be there in approximately 37 minutes.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Administrator Wu. One last thing. If you dare feign ignorance as to who is calling you next time, see if I won¡¯t ask for you to experiment on. Surely your administrative skills are quite valuable and would be a prime target for cloning.¡±


    ¡°Ah, Department-head Sinclaire. I meant no disrespect. It was only my way of congratulating you on your new role. You wouldn¡¯t have the heart to actually hurt me, would you? No matter, I am far too valuable within the Administration Department to be risked. I¡¯ll see you next time then.¡± He let his derisive comments hang in the air by hanging up without waiting for a reply, worried that she might insist on some limited experimentation that didn¡¯t endanger his life.


    Administrator Wu knew the limits of the old Dr. Livstrade, but he had no clue of the limits Sinclaire would go to in her search for results. Their previous interactions had been limited. He would have to read up on her.


    Sinclaire sighed with relief, despite fully anticipating getting permission to experiment on Wardens. If her conjecture was truly right, then she might be able to solve the issue. Or she might instead create a host of new issues. However, her initial risk assessment had concluded that these issues were unlikely to be worse than the continually decreasing yield of Sectorians.


    The shipment was delivered on time. Sinclaire received it personally in her department¡¯s testing floor 1 and shuttled them into their new chambers. Two of her senior assistants, Jenkins and Port, helped unload the shipment in separated chambers. The entire shipment had been sedated, seemingly inviting her aching curiosity to experiment on them.


    There was something so eerie about experimenting on these humanoid creatures. They looked no different from herself, but they were also foreign. Unfamiliar. Odd. She couldn¡¯t put her finger on exactly what, but she felt what she believed to be an instinctive aversion to a race alien from her own. The Sectorians seemed to be different from herself on a purely physical level, but was there something hidden underneath?This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The Wardens, on the other hand, looked human, but their enormous size and replicated muscle structure, physique, facial features, and even fingerprints and brain tissue, made each and every one of them an exact copy of the next one. Sinclaire was reminded of the old androids which used to be commonplace before the fracture had happened. Every community for themselves. Creation and shipments of such technology became unsustainable and eventually impossible with the continuously greater intensity and range of destruction.


    The Eye was a very successful community, at least in Sinclaire¡¯s eyes. Sinclaire had never heard news about foreign powers except for the general notion the Eye explained which suggested that the Eye required more Sectorians and Wardens due to a brewing conflict. With whom she had no idea.


    If the conflict wasn¡¯t already initiated, it would likely be soon if their potential enemies had gathered intelligence on their decreased Sectorian yield.


    For a moment she imagined a dangerous ¨C super-intelligent ¨C Warden infiltrating their enemies. That might just assure their victory. Those things were more machine than human in her eyes. Almost akin to androids wearing human flesh. They would be deadly killers and insidious schemers. Their aim would be true, and their sabotage would cripple the enemy irreparably.


    She sighed. It was unfortunate that given such a high level of intelligence, even the most loyal dog would turn on its master. Why wait for the master to feed oneself when one can simply snatch the food out from under the master¡¯s nose, and take their hand too? No wonder those things had always turned rogue.


    Her mind continued to wander as she hooked up each of her subjects to an extensive life-support system. They wouldn¡¯t need to even wake up before her experiments were finished. She probably wouldn¡¯t need to harm them at all beyond some very simple blood and tissue samples.


    Sinclaire had experimented upon a dozen Sectorians throughout her career, but never a Warden. Her clearance was never high enough. But now it was. Maybe this would lead to the breakthrough she desperately needed right now.


    The needle pierced the Warden¡¯s arm, albeit with some difficulty. The Wardens were monstrous beings who were more muscle than anything else. Their skin had been hardened through genetic modification, and their muscle density was far beyond that of even Significants. Their physical prowess was almost on the level of the silverback gorillas she had read about in history books. Powerful creatures.


    After finishing the samples required from one specimen, she moved on to the next two. The research she had seen revealed that the Wardens had identical DNA, but she wanted to see it for herself. She moved over to the Sectorians to continue sampling.


    All of the samples had been gathered. Because of the variety of tests she wanted to do, Sinclaire had decided to begin by simply using a microscope and then attempting to alter the blood sample and check again later. While Sinclaire was observing the blood samples, four senior doctors working for her helped categorize and measure each sample¡¯s levels.


    The first two days of research were grueling, but Sinclaire and her team had gained a good understanding of the genetic makeup of both Sectorians and Wardens. Most of them had similarly worked with Sectorians before, but they needed more time to properly analyze the Wardens.


    After the initial two days, they began experimenting with possible ways of altering the DNA of the Sectorians by taking inspiration from the Wardens. There had been no way one could clone intelligent Sectorians up to this point. Naturally, it had been attempted, but the resources such projects received were not nearly enough to make actual progress. The core of the matter was that the Eye considered resources spent on cloning more Wardens would be more beneficial compared to also cloning Sectorians. The cost required for the production of clones, and amplifying their growth rate, was not exactly low.


    No theories seemed to pan out for Sinclaire and her team, however. Failure after failure. Sinclaire ordered another round of samples and testing. Then another. Then another. This continued for nearly two months. At that point, Sinclaire felt as though she had tried everything both inside and outside of the book. No matter what, when they took Sectorian DNA as the basis of alteration, the result was a disentanglement of said DNA.


    She had been sitting with her head resting on her hands in the chair previously occupied by Dr. Livstrade himself when her heavy eyelids forced themselves shut. Her hands gave way, and her head smacked the table. Hard. Pain shot into her head as the cold, hard table unflinchingly met flesh and bone. No cracks could be heard, but the entire room looked like it was toppling over and tumbling with her bolted down to the floor. She spun with it. The pain and headache combined, and she couldn¡¯t hold it any longer.


    Sinclaire leaned over to her left, gagged, and then the acidic pre-taste of vomit filled the back of her throat and her nostrils with that putrid taste she was unfortunate enough to be relatively familiar with. At the peak of feeling disgusted at the nausea and acidic taste, her earlier meal came back up again and landed in the trashcan she had been eyeing since the uncomfortable feeling first hit her.


    Luckily for her, there wasn¡¯t a second barrage. When she was about to lean back into her chair, however, she noticed a tiny strip of paper nudged into a crevice underneath her desk. She had no recollection of ever putting it there. Maybe it was something Livstrade had put there¡­


    The note could wait. First she had to get herself cleaned up. She called up one of her assistants and told her to take care of the trash, as well as any potential spillage, before she went into an adjoining room filled with all sorts of necessities. It was originally a bathroom with a cojoined storage room, but she had put up a small camping cot to sleep on while she was preforming her experiments.


    After she had gotten the nasty taste out of her mouth and made sure she was perfectly clean, she drank some more water before once again returning to her prison cell so deceptively called an ¡°office.¡±


    The moment she touched the note secreted into the underside of her desk, an intense fear and rage rose up in her simultaneously. At first she had only considered whether or not this was a valuable document Dr. Livstrade had decided to hide, but when her fingers brushed the smooth paper she reconsidered and imagined the note to be a rejection of the Eye. That would not only be horrific, but treacherous. Dr. Livstrade had been dead for more than two months now, but the influence of a great mind wouldn¡¯t stop upon their death. It would only stop when the world which remained after their death forgets their work, their name, their legacy, their very existence.


    Sinclaire had not forgotten. She had not forgotten the intense fury she had experienced when first seeing the despairing embers, the violent inciting incident which spurred her mind to consider what could be if she ¨C like Livstrade ¨C chose to oppose the Eye. And further, this preponderance on possibilities lent itself to considering her own actions and inactions.


    Despite not forgetting the feeling, she hadn¡¯t digested it. She hadn¡¯t overcome her innate revulsion of it. Her disdain at such weakness, and at the audacity of betraying the Eye. Would opening this note and reading a secret she wouldn¡¯t be able to confess she knew to the Eye, be a betrayal? Would the simple state of knowing the unknowable make her a target? There was no way to know definitively.


    The mandates asserted control without giving many rules or laws, but even if one was in perfect alignment with the mandates one can still never be safe from the whims of the Eye and their enforcers. The Wardens she herself was experimenting on. Not to mention the administrative department, their extensive intelligence network, as well as the possibility of being exposed by her subordinates.


    It truly wasn¡¯t worth the risk. Her fingers pinched the note and slowly dragged it out of its hiding place. It resisted her desperately, seemingly knowing the secrets it contained wasn¡¯t for her eyes. Maybe it was something as simple as an apology for his sudden death, or a critical piece of information which she could use to fuel her own research. She would be required to read it, to assure whether or not its contents could potentially be helpful. Right. The Eye could not possibly blame her for this.


    She unfurled the note completely while it was still underneath the desk. It seemed to be half of a normal page. It had been ripped away from the second half. She wondered where that half had gone. Did that half contain the real damning information? Or was it left blank? There was no way to tell.


    Her breathing had already halted ten seconds earlier, but she was still holding the paper without moving. Only her left leg was shaking almost imperceptibly. Then she pulled the paper out and stared down at it with great expectation.


    To the next Department Head. Your life is threatened in the same way mine was. Never doubt that. You are expendable. Your life means nothing to the Eye. Don¡¯t let my mistakes define your impression of me. I only want to give you ¨C all of you ¨C a chance. The Eye has grown complacent, arrogant. They believe themselves infallible, but I have seen what they are up against. They will lose. My contingency plan was not complete. You need to complete it before the Eye does irreparable damage to our entire society. You will find what you need in the back-left of containment room 138-C. Put your hand on the wall, and you will understand. -L