Chapter Text
-Boss?
A second after knocking on the door, a woman walked into the office hesitantly and walked to the man sitting with his back to the door with her head down.
-Yes, Fifty-eight? Did they stop the fumes on Zone Thirteen?
-Yes, sir, -the woman replied with a quivering voice. -But this is far more urgent. There's something- someone waiting for you on the lobby.
The man behind the desk spun his chair around and, his rock solid neutral expression never leaving his face, and followed Fifty-eight out of the office. Her heels clicked on the wooden floors and it echoed through the empty hallways, which announced their entrance to the hall before they arrived. The assistant pushed the heavy wooden doors open: on the bottom of a staircase, right next to the entrance door, was a blonde woman in a suit sitting on a velvet chair, clutching a notepad to her chest. On the chair next to her was something black and plastic, which Fifty-eight described to the boss as a government-issued baby chair.
As the man walked closer to the contraption, he saw inside two small children. One of them was a baby, not very old. The kid was wrapped in a blanket and had a white hat with the corporation logo on. The other was a boy who looked about three, sleeping. He was dressed with corp made brown pants and shirt. The child's hair, much like the boss's, was dark ebony brown, and he was constantly clutching his small hands into fists in his sleep.
-They were found on the civil center, sir, -explained the blonde woman with a robotic monotone voice, never taking her eyes off the pad on her arm. -There was a note stuck on the chair. It read your name and address.
She handed the man a paper with scrawny writing on it, which he crumpled and shoved into the box again.
-Send them away. I can't have them.
-But- sir- they can't- we don't have anyone-
-I don't care. Fifty-eight, make sure this woman goes away and takes the children with her. Find them a family. I don't care if you have to pay someone to take them. I- will not- have- them.
He was up the staircase and out the hall door the second he enounced the final word.
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Winter was devastating for the Zones. The air would go drier than throughout the whole year, the few corn crops left would die out and the population would have to feed on previously stored canned food and dried meat, or die. The death rate was higher during the winter than during the whole other three seasons. There was a lot in mind for the government, keeping the exterminator tropes alive being a priority before feeding the rest to the civilians. Overpopulation was an issue after all, and this year more than any. Less people had died off in the past year than in the previous, as the effect of x24 was fading out and only the strongest and least affected remained alive, which left the Corp many more mouths to feed.
There was a closed-door meeting happening almost constantly in the parliament building. Mail between departments was constant and videocommunication was practically permanent. Hard times tight-knot the government, and political enemies were to be found collaborating to carry on with the well-oiled machine that was the regulation of the Zones. Hardly did the Boss get any rest since he was ascended to presidency, and as soon as he got one free minute in his office he was called back to work.
On an exceptionally quiet Sunday evening, the President was sitting on his office chair looking out of the window at the dry corn fields. No one dared disrupt him when he locked himself in his office alone: the man was intimidating and his workers feared him to the point they would look down while talking to him.
He rested his head on his hands as the door pushed open and the mail lady walked in and silently left on his desk a small black pouch, printed with the Corp logo. He counted the letters inside: three from Security, reminding him of the pending meeting; over ten reclaims from civilians about bad distribution of water, malfunctioning of the heating system and lack of medicaments. The President tossed those into the garbage without looking twice, and looked into the remaining two envelopes.
One of them read CIVIL SERVICE in typewriter letters. It was not long, but the several adjacent papers were what had made the envelope heavy. It contained several pictures besides the main body of ext, pictures of two children, apparently a weekly follow-up.
The letter reported a follow-up on the guard of two children, one named Arthur, aged four, and one named Michael, aged one. They'd been given for adoption two months prior and no family had taken them for over a week except for one, from whom they were removed when the family mother died of pneumonia. Looking at the pictures, the President realized they were the two children he had turned away before.
The second envelope was marked as URGENT, though it had been issued three months prior. It seemed to have been written, wrapped and sent in a hurry or by weak hands: the handwriting was shaky and the envelope didn't completely stick. There wasn't a signature on the bottom of the page. The boss took the paper out of the envelope, careful not to break it or smudge the writing, and his eyes widened as he read.
“Dear Brother:
I've heard that you might ascend to presidency. I hope you do, I really do. I know how good you are at getting your way.
My husband and I are dying. There is no other way to put it. The fumes from the plague control got too far in in our system before we even found out. We're rotting. And our children have nowhere to go. I beg you desperately, take care of them. We have one drop of hope and that's you. I'll be sending the last of my thoughts their way, as they have been taken from us when we were hospitalized.
Brother, this is a cry for help. I hope you find enough humanity in your heart to listen.
I wish you the best of luck in your run for presidency.”
The boss picked up the phone on his desk and took it to his ear.
-Twenty-nine? Put civil services on the line, please. It's urgent.
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On the other side, people were dying, they were killing themselves…and killing each other. Chaos was on the streets, no one was safe on their own.
But the government had a plan. Every child under 5 was going to spend their life in permanent training for exterminator duty. They need more people fighting against the rebels and innocent kids were perfect to raise in the way they wanted to.
They lived in the same old house, as they always had. Despite the humble place and the lack of necessary goods, they were still happy. A little kid was running outside, laughing while his dog was trying to catch the fuzzy green ball.
-Honey, please come back. It’s getting cold.
She was taking care of him as much as she could but the situation was only getting worse. With the current problematic, the chaos in the city was unstoppable. A great portion of the place was in quarantine because of the air contamination but most of the people living near that zone were dying.
When the states had been divided into zones, the official reason was that they needed to improve the control- but everyone knew the toxic air was quickly spreading.
-Mom, I’m thirsty! I want some water. Can we make it rain? -He looked at his mother with his big hazel eyes- please, I think I will die! I can’t even feel my tongue. Can you feel your tongue?
-Frank, remember what I told you about saying those things? You’re not dying and you’re not going to die –She gulped the guilt in her words.
He nodded, looking at his tiny dirty hands. Of course, he didn’t understand the situation: he was a three year old kid who thought that people dying was normal.
And later that same morning, as the young woman faked a smile trying to play with her son, a government agent knocked on the door three times.
Her husband looked through a glassless window and stared at the government’s agent uniform. He thought maybe it was his lucky day.
-Good Morning, Sir, –He said when the tall men walked into the house looking around- Want to take a seat?
-No, thanks. I assume you are aware of the situation, correct?
-Yes, Sir.
The young and hopeless woman entered the room, carefully holding her son in her arms. She looked surprised at the presence of the government stranger in the house.
-Morning. –She said. There was no longer “good morning". -What brings you to such a humble zone? Another quarantine, maybe?
-Well… -The tall man said, looking at the kid’s parents in a sorrowfully way- maybe you want to take a seat yourselves.
Frank was sleeping, looking peaceful in his mothers arm. He had been crying because he hadn't been able to make rain fall with his dance, but his mother picked him up from the dirty ground and with soft words, calmed him down. He fell asleep instantly.
-Please, talk –Her voice sounded in a whisper, full of fear.
-I’m here to talk about your son, Frank? Kids from all around the zone are being listed for government special treatment. They’re the future of this country and we need them to be safe. There’s a special school inside the government’s protected area: this is a mandatory statement, which means you can’t refuse, but I’m sure you’re not going to, as we guarantee he’ll be better there.
-Can we talk with him before he has to leave? –The mother asked, tears welling in her eyes.
The tall man nodded, walking outside to wait for the last boy on the list.
-Frank, sweetie it’s time to wake up.
The little kid opened his eyes, smiling sleepily. He wanted to get back to his precious sleep but the tears running down his mom’s cheeks made him know that something wasn’t okay.
-Mommy, are you hurt? Why are you crying? –He said, wiping her tears with his sleeve.
-Frank, we need to talk about something.
He looked at his father curiously, and then his gaze met the tall man outside his house. Frank shut his eyes squishing his face into his mother chest.
-I don’t want to go away like Tommy’s sister did!
-Frank, you’re not going away! Who told you that? –His father lied.
-Tommy! His sister goed away, she leaved him alone! I don’t want to leave my baby brother alone…mommy please, you love me right?
His mom’s heart broke at those words. She did love him, of course. But she couldn't take care of him in this poor situation.
-You’re not leaving him. He’ll wait for you right here, okay? We will wait for you.
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The tall man looked down to check on the little kid walking next to him. He was still crying, whispering things he couldn’t hear.
-How old are you, Frank? - He asked, trying to find a way to make him stop crying.
-I’m almost five –The boy replied in a sad tone, showing his little hand- but I’ll wait.
-You’ll wait for what?
-My brother. He’s in mommy’s tummy. I’ll take care of him like mommy did with me- he paused his walk, looking up the gray sky, the place was completely silent- where are we going?
-You’re going home, kid.