There now exists a world where the colour of your blood defines you; and there certainly isn't much room for different in the year 2138.
Suki Kione has known for a long time now that there's a clock on her life, one that runs a lot quicker than that...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
The bus hovers to a stop at the Erudition Centre, one of 180 and I can't help feeling like my chest powered down along with it. It empties, pairs of feet following dutifully after one another, each one of them having never stopped long enough to have even a fraction of a conversation with me in the past.
An army of black floods the scene like usual, obscuring the view of the predominantly glass walls belonging to the building looming over our heads. As my path crosses with that of many others, I'm able to catch a few snippets of conversation. The pale faces of my fellow Water Kru members look paper white as agonising worry toys with their features. A feeling mirrored by the erratic beating in my chest.
Everyone is just that ... scared, and yet I know that the majority of these people aren't facing an impending death sentence by the day's end. The bell rings shortly after my arrival and by the time I've effectively schooled my countenance I'm already huddled into the main hall filled with other persons from my year, barred into my seat by two classmates.
There's about twelve Watchers stationed at different corners of the room. Their attire alone serves as a formidable deterrent to bad behaviour. The black guns nestled comfortably in their hip holsters seem more like over-kill to me.
That's twelve ways to go down painfully. Running is not an option.
I take note of a small scuffle near the front of the room when a pale, dark-haired woman emerges from another gaggle of white boots that's entered the hall. Silence befalls us as her slim figure strides to the front of the space and an undeniable veil of dominance sweeps past us as she advances. A plain white dress clings desperately onto her hips and all that can be heard is the lazy clip-clop of her heels. She's managed to steal all life in the room in a matter of seconds.
Her green-eyed gaze spans across the auditorium as if it were snuffing out the fire in everyone's eyes. She stands behind the glass podium, her ink covered hands clasped together when a small smile licks at the corner of her pink lips. It ripples her sheet of smooth, pale skin, an action mirrored by the large screen hovering above her head, and yet no warmth claws passed her brims.
She's relatively young, no older than my own mother – thirty-eight at most – she's beautiful, she's cold and she's the embodiment of the one fault in a government like ours. People like her.
"My name is Juniper Dassin, leader of Air Kru," she begins, "But most of you know that already."
Why would she choose to come here out of 180 different schools?
She hasn't said much and yet I can feel the favour of the room leaning towards whatever she's about to say. All these people clasp onto everything she speaks so carelessly, like it's a life line. They almost believe that she can never do anything wrong. They fail to plan for the possibility that she may not be as good and innocent as they all think.
