Delusions of Peace

 

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Dancer - 1

Dancer
 The only salvation a conduit of such nature can understand is a certain lack of mind. A curiosity can be seen as a base illness; hatred a curse. It is only through lack of thought that one finds true peace.
 
Nik had only ever felt this sensation during her moments asleep, with both eyes fastened shut as the deeper workings of a subconscious stared to create an illusion in front of her. The dream appeared real enough, lifelike in nature, but its jurisdiction was naught but an image. 
 She curved the paintbrush downwards, carving a slow narrow line down the center of the canvas; drawing the two halves separate. It gave her a tingling sensation, one that felt like ice falling unto naked skin; and so she did so again, watching with relief as the wet paint started to spread thicker. It spread over the canvas and started to leak over the edge, wet drops becoming a trickle that would splash against the ground; making a mess she would grow to regret. It was a relief to release so much upon the pale white sheet, even when the pain came in waves and threatened to force the brush away; she held it tight and drew another line.
 A scream was stifled shut as the brush went deeper than it was supposed to, ruining the architecture of a once ornate painting with a large blotch of crimson. She would have smiled at the touch if it didn’t leave her with a sudden stab of pain, one that forced her stop for even the slightest of seconds. Her hold over the brush started to falter as what remained of her strength started to seep through the canvas, leaving her sweating and gasping for air.
 Eventually her body knew what her mind knew not, taking charge and forcing her to collapse; exhaustion wearing its toll over her. The paintbrush’s coat of crimson started to spread into the sheets of the bed, its handle firmly clenched in the woman’s quivering hand. Nikola started to fall into unconsciousness, the pain seeping from her arm only serving to throttle her mind into another race of dreams. She started to struggle against the bonds of blanket and pain alike, her hold over the brush tightening; her every limb bending so furiously she believed they were beginning snap.
 Her mind was dreaming, a concept so alien and appropriate to the mysteries of the world that there were many who compared it to life after death itself. Those with the luxury of dreams remembered little of what their minds constructed, they understood even less; oblivious to the meanings of nightmares and memories flashing past their eyes. Perhaps it was for survival, perhaps for entertainment; perhaps for something they would have no hope to understand.
 What we do understand is that we wake up with at first a curiosity, there is a second of paralysis; where we know not where we are or what drives us.What we also know is that we wake with a hunger, some worse than others.
 As she dreamed the dancer could feel the paint trickling down her wrist, the sensation harassing and cruel; bringing her back to her world. The last thing she felt before awakening was the same sensation she had felt ever since she was a child, of bugs moving underneath her flesh; of a metallic snake within her muscles moving up her elbow and rattling into her back.
 Nik forced her eyes open, gleaning light from the overwhelming exhaustion of her paralysis. The dancer screamed out loud, her fingers only starting to respond to her will; some of them starting to twitch, others remaining stubborn. She gasped for air as if the blankets by her side had choked her, as if her own state had been drowning her and consciousness was the only chance at fresh air. It took her minutes of stunned silence before started to feel the agony seeping up from her arms; the canvas of her art.
 The kitchen knife lay in her right hand, its jagged edge coated in thick crimson blood from the wrist of her left arm. It had been clenched tightly, only dropped as her gaze turned to the thin cuts that ran from her elbow up to her wrist.
 She choked tears as she saw the blood there, the loss of such vitality over the paralysis of a mere dream; over the sensation she couldn’t stop feeling. Nikola locked eyes with the puddle of blood trickling down the side of the bed and quickly evaluated how much she had lost before making her move, lifting her arm and dragging herself out of the bed to collapse against the floor in a dull heap.
 The dancer’s teeth were chattering by the time she had found the elexo tape, placing the clear band aid around her dripping forearm and biting her tongue as the anti-bacterial liquid coating the tape burnt the first few millimeters of her skin.
 Now standing Nikola walked up to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, ignoring the posters upon the white cube of cold air and ripping out a blood bag from within. This she pumped into an injector and laced her wrist with, taking a few moments of breath and she sat down and watched the bag of her own replicated blood stream back into her body and replenish whatever was lost.
 Placing the parcel back when she was done Nikola checked how much she had left and cursed, there was only a bag and a half left; meaning she would have to replicate more soon.The process of replicating her blood wasn’t a difficult procedure for any willing to pay the many thousands of credits for it to be done legally, but it was increasingly more dangerous for her to break into the medical ward and replicate the blood without anyone noticing her. It wasn’t that she was stealing anything, the blood she brought was hers and all the machine required to replicate that blood required very little energy as stimulation; it was only the risk of being caught that was dangerous.
 If the Reform found her utilizing their technology without paying the due sum there would be a hefty fine waiting for her on the other side, one that no doubt would charge more than credit points. Nik sighed and closed the refrigerator, knowing that eventually she would need to steal from them again; and every time she did it the threat of getting caught grew larger and larger.
 “Great” She looked back to her bedroom and sighed, catching a glance of the feral stains of blood in the sheets and across the carpet floor. She would have to replace those bed sheets before her job’s tight hours summoned her again; giving her very little time. Standing up and grimacing before managing to walk to the door Nikola donned a jumper and drew the keycard from her necklace, slicing the door’s receptor and waiting for it to slide open before she excited the tenance.
 To her left and her right were almost twenty other buildings exactly the same as hers, a simple matter of brick and mortar keeping her from her neighbors. The surplus store that would have the very bed sheets she required were two districts down on her right; a long walk across a darkening road for a lone woman. It was almost late. What little patches of sunlight that managed to pierce the level above were already starting to dissipate, leaving a growing darkness in its wake.
 Nikola was one of the lucky few who had shifts outside of the designated hours of Sanctuary. Whilst most would attend their jobs from 7:30 AM until 5, hers started at 6 and ended at 2 AM; working throughout the night for the pleasure of all those relaxing after a hard day at work. She could see the building that would own her for the next seven years at least until she would be given the option to retrial, a large brick coated with posters and flags either sporting the love for the Reform or their merchandise; women.
 As a dancer for all the men who would come to the Gallery after work, Nik was reliant on others to pay her debts, her skill and appearance the only measurable quality for her job; a vocation that would take her from 6 to 2 every night. Hardly a dream job but it paid well, allowing her to claim both her pay rate as well as every tip her customers gave her; and after the third bottle during her shift she started to forget what it was she hated about dancing anyway.
 People were starting to walk around her, some of them she recognized some of them she didn’t; all of them walking back home after their 5 pm shift. The only means to get around in Sanctuary were the public tram’s that owned the railings, those and the security vans vigilantly operated by a pair of marshals.
 An automated voice spoke the second she walked through the grinder door, spanning from all around her in the same tone she had heard since she was a child, “Welcome to the Surplus Store, how may I assist?”
 “I need three new sheets and a blanket for a Dormer sized bed” Nik announced herself loudly, knowing the intelligence in the room was rustic and would ask again if she spoke too low. She itched at her wrist nervously, the sensation of movement underneath her skin returning already, “Get me a pillow as well”
 It took a few moments for the slow minded AI systems to completely register what it was she said, luckily it had been asked this before and could easily connect the recognition of her voice with the request; looking through its wares and searching for what she asked. The dancer waited impatiently, hoping to have enough time to change her sheets before the 6pm deadline came and she was forced to return home to a blood bathed house. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable in sleeping in blood, being struck with such violent insomnia for so long made it perfectly comfortable to lay in a sheet dripping in crimson; it was the suspicion that she knew would come in the morning.
 Every day at 3pm the apartments were cleaned by officials in cloth, they would use their own keycard and come in if the house was cleaned or not; and they would catalogue everything within the walls of every apartment. Nikola knew from experience to hide the bags of blood every day just before the visit, placing them underneath the tiling in her kitchen and returning them to the cold hearth of the refrigerator as soon as the cleaners closed the door behind themselves. If they saw the blood on the sheets they would catalogue it and soon questions would be asked; and attention would be drawn to her apartment.
 The machine quickly returned to her, sheets in both of its metallic hands all coded with the specific color, size, fabric and depth displayed across the screen.
 “They’ll do” She had memorized the numbers by now, Nik slid her keycard against the slot by the door and it opened for her; allowing her to leave the automated surplus store and begin her slow trek home; noticing how dark it was already starting to become. A tram thundered past her, following the rail until it hit the end the street and descended down the railing to the second tier of civilization living underneath them; the second level.
 The city of Sanctuary was split into four levels, some of which were visible from below and from the top down, Nikola lived in the third highest of the levels of civilization; in the area known as District 89 within the green badge zone. Here resided the main population of the city, with fully automated systems and trams to cater for their every need, a constant vigil guard protecting them at all times and food delivered to the doors of their apartment buildings. The level below them was notorious for its poverty, for those who couldn’t achieve higher paying jobs and had to remain within the second tier of apartments and service. It was the level underneath the earth that was the worst, the industrial districts that would work any who didn’t have the proper academic educations within coal and cloth mines; the smoke from the furnaces deep under spewed out of the side of the city. Nikola remembered what it was like to work in the second level of Sanctuary, her first job as a dancer meaning she had to please the crowds in that dump before she become qualified enough to move up to the gallery. Dancing for the men at the third tier, she found wasn’t very different than those at the second; they still hollered at her the same, still grabbed at her the same; still made her feel the same about the acts she was doing. As Nik walked the final round to her house she couldn’t stop herself from looking upwards, to the level that resided at the top of Sanctuary; at the marvelous buildings upon the infrastructure of the city.
 It was the level of the Reform, the governmental protection and distribution to Sanctuary; it was at the top level that the gods and goddesses of the city would lie their heads down and sleep, high above them all.
 One day
 It was a dream all within the lines of the city shared, to gain access and a life to the level above them; they would look up with envy at the world they could be living up there, all at a price that their salaries would not allow. Nik threw the thought away like every other time she walked around that bend and saw the level hanging above her; walking onto her lawn of artificial grass and noticing that the door to her apartment was ajar.
 Not how she had left it.
 The dancer entered the house nervously, too afraid to say a word until the sounds of someone breathing inside forced her to make a move. She called out to the man, hoping that it was a thief and not a marshal, “Hello! Is anyone there!?”
 Suddenly there was movement, emerging from her bedroom was the torn image of her father; adorned in the suit he wore to work with tears running down his face. At her arrival the man broke down, running into her arms and collapsing there; stricken by the sight of her bedroom covered in blood and her absence.
 “Albert? What are you doing here?” She held the elderly man tight but quickly gave him his own space, she hadn’t called him dad in years. When it was clear he could not respond to that alone she comforted him, aligning his fingers with her own and speaking softly, “It was just a tremor, honestly I’m fine”
 But he didn’t look anymore relieved at what she had said and not for the reasons one would assume, her father was well acquainted with the tremors she had received as a kid and knew that she was capable of dealing with them; the look on his face suggested something else entirely. Finally he admitted it, “When I saw the blood I thought the worst, i thought…”
 “You didn’t call them did you? The marshals?” The hunter's gut sunk,  her fears labeling her sudden suspicion, not her wisdom or her foresight. The dancer could already feel her pulse rising, she immediately started to calculate how much time would have passed and how quickly they would be at her apartment.
 He responded aggressively, shaking his head as he protected himself, “Of course I did! Nikola I thought some low life had taken you!”
 “Fuck!” She shouted and ran to her kitchen, knowing that she only had so much time before the marshals would come knocking. Nik grabbed the last bags of blood and quickly opened up the tiles underneath the kitchen, throwing that in with the elexo tape and the blankets coated in blood. The dancer moved very quickly, throwing the new sheet over her bed and replacing the main mattress with the recently purchased linen.
 Her father watched as she worked, not saying a word until she had ripped the carpet edges out of the walls and flipped it in order to create a perfect bedroom once again. Then she turned on him, “What did you tell them exactly?”
 “That I came to your apartment” He spluttered the words, laying back against the couch as if shock had gripped him tight, “That I found your blood and that you were missing, I thought you were gone; I thought they had taken you”
 Suddenly there was a beep at the door, the sound of soon to be intrusion. Nikola quickly evaluated her situation, moving to the living room and speaking quietly, “And the blood? You told them about the bags!?”
 He shook his head, prompting her to rip the tiles out of the floor once more and spill a splash of the precious liquid against the kitchen bench. She threw the bag down once again and sighed in relief, taking in a few seconds of breath before the accusation came. It arrived with a shrill alarm, the same electric buzzer that each door along her district used; that each building inside her city used.
 Albert opened the door and started speaking to the officers on the other side, assuring them that he had made a mistake and that his daughter was only out to buy tape for her injury.
 “Step aside citizen” The marshals allowed themselves in, their white masks hiding the top half of their faces, their black uniform gleaming in the hallway and reflecting every active light within the house. The first checked the door for any sign of a break in whilst his partner walked into the kitchen, spotting Nikola immediately and stepping up to her. He evaluated the blood at the counter immediately and grabbed her hand, raising her wrist and pointing to it as if she was stupid, “What happened exactly?”
 “I cut myself making my dinner” The dancer donned the same voice she did with her customers, knowing that to take any sort of aggressive tone or stance would end with the depletion of her career and life as she knew it, “I went out to get some medical attention for the cut and my dad walked in; he assumed the worst and called you. It was just a mistake”
 The white visor of the guard was perfectly mirrored, reflecting the face of Nikola on the marshal’s own visor. She swore she could see her own sweat seeping down the side of her neck; she could only hope the officer didn’t notice how badly her hands were shaking. The marshal nodded once and continued searching the house, checking the fridge and the refrigerator just as she knew they would; but it was then that they did something they had never done before. The guard walked into her room and investigated it, a move that he had never done before; something completely out of the ordinary.
 Nik held her breath, not daring to move until the marshal returned, nodded to his partner and left the building without another word. Slowly the dancer started to breathe, noticing that subtle sounds were starting to return to the neighborhood around her. The dining family to her left started speaking to one another as soon as the marshal van left their district and allowed them to continue in peace, the washing machine to her right was started up again and life continued as they knew it. She grabbed a cloth and started wiping the bench down, hoping to clean the blood of before it stuck to the surface and stained the material underneath.
 As she worked her father walked back into the house, disapproval in his tone and his hands tucked into his hips, “You cut yourself again?”
 She nodded, washing her hands for the shortest of seconds; knowing that the cost of clean water wasn’t worth a thorough wash. Each second inside her tenance was spent in careful consideration, the debt hovering over her head ever eager to grow larger and larger.
 “You need to have that looked at” Albert pointed to her wrist, through the clear elexo tape you could see the red lines running up and down her forearm; a cruel pattern she would need to cover before she went to work, “Soon”
 “Yeah no shit” She caught the way he was glaring at her and rolled her eyes, returning to the scrubbing of the bench with a softer tone, “I’ll have a checkup tomorrow after the AM march”
 She was almost out of the previous tape and without it to conceal her wound, the dancer’s options grew thin. Nik would have to grab some rolls whilst she was there.
 “And the blood bags?” He raised his eyebrows at her as she kneeled down and removed them from the tiles underneath the kitchen floorboards, returning them to the cold incubation of the refrigerator where they could be used again.
 Nik stacked the bags underneath the rest of the frozen foods she had there, meals she would never eat but keep stored in order to protect her secret, “I’ll do those later”
 “Dammit” Her father sighed, placing his hands against his brow, “You don’t have to steal them, on your salary you could afford to…”
 At this the dancer slammed her refrigerator shut, “Those bags cost a thousand credits each, you want to add that on top of my debt?!”
 The procedure to replicate volumes of blood inside the Reform was an almost perfected one, cheap and efficient. But the cost for such a vital liquid had been raised to meet the needs of its citizens, and without competition or any counter the price would only raise higher. Supply and demand, that’s all it was.
 “You don’t know that” He tried to hush her, knowing that shouting out such things would do nothing but draw attention; unwanted attention, “Just…”
 She cut him off, glancing at the time and cursing at how much of it had been wasted. Nik walked into her bedroom and slammed the door shut, getting changed into the requirements of the gallery, “I’m fine, does this cover everything?”
 Albert remembered the stare on his daughter’s face, it was the same stare that had come with accusations; the glare of a trapped animal. “I just want to help. Have you tried IP Hillary up in the red badge districts? What he did for your mother was a miracle”
 She emerged from her room and grabbed her backpack from the floor, stuffing a change of clothes in and walking up to the door; time working against her, “I’ve seen the ads. It’s bullshit and you know it”
 “They got rid of this condition for Caroline, her mother before her” He stepped into the hallway leading outside first, but only to face her with narrowed eyes, “Who says it won’t work for you?" 
 But at that he pushed too far and she felt the requirement to push back, she stepped forwards and opened the door, forcing the man out of her house. The treatment had taken away much more than just her condition, “Are you done?”
 Albert hung his head and backed out the door, grabbing his briefcase a split second before he stopped her from slamming the wood shut, “I’m sorry about the marshals, I know you don’t need trouble”
 But that was where he was wrong, as the dancer shut the door and left for eight hours of a hard shift Nikola had no understanding that what her father had said was a complete lie. If anything was to blame for her quiet nature it would have been the luxury of remaining still, of avoiding trouble. She had no idea of what was to come, that in order to change what she thought was hell on earth was to invite the unorthodox.
 It was the only means for change.

 

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2

Nikola’s morning started far earlier than most, she would return home after eight hours of work at 2:30 and enjoy close to four hours of sleep. During this time her body would naturally dispose of the pre-oxidants and caffeine pills conscripted to her during her shift; allowing her to wake relatively sober as the regulation AM alarm would wake every single citizen from their sleep. It was a tradition that had existed for as long as Sanctuary had, that at 7 every morning the AM march would call every citizen from their flat in order to exercise and prepare themselves for their day. Nik had done it every morning for her life, only ever missing out on it once and finding the consequences far too extreme to ever consider sleeping in again. Not that she could, much like the rest of Sanctuary; her body clock had adjusted to wake at that precise moment just like the rest of them, drawn out of her apartment in order to join the rest of her district in marching up and down her street until the reprisal of 7:30 allowed them to return to their homes and back to work.
For the dancer however this was time to return back to sleep, her body clock shifted from the rest of them after having adjusted to falling asleep during the day and working during the night. She allowed herself eight hours of sleep before her alarm woke her once more; warning her to hide the bags of blood back underneath the tiles in the kitchen before the cleaners appeared at her house.
"I cleared up the bench, leaving only the floor-mats" Giving them room to work Nik stepped outside, already feeling the cool touch of the afternoon press against her. 
The cleaners didn’t respond, the dark grey badges by their side not giving them clearance to speak on the second district level. They were here to clean and observe only. 
Nik closed the door, sending the same silent prayer she always did; hoping that they found no stain or proof of her condition. Turning her attention to the road ahead, Nik caught a full front of sunlight; a rare occurrence that blinded her temporarily.  It was only as the gap in the district above was filled once again with a moving tram that the dancer could see again, stepping into the comfort of the shade eagerly. 
Avoiding eye contact the dancer made her way across the track, hesitating as a tram shook across the railings and continued on its way. Dividing entire streets from one another, the public vehicles were the only means to capable transport throughout Sanctuary’s extensive ecosystem. Not only were they capable of transporting goods and personal from residential to economical, but they could transport licensed personal to the levels underneath.
Being built on a four leveled system, Sanctuary had been assured to keep its citizen’s monitored via the badge system. Nikola’s own green badge labeled her as a rudimentary civilian of the second level, allowing her access to both levels underneath; but denying her means to that which lay above.
She walked to the clinic of her district and waited in line there for close to an hour before she was allowed to see the man. Having been prescribed with his care ever since her condition had become a problem, waiting for Mr Griet’s attention was an ordeal she had gotten used to.
He wasn’t a doctor, or even a surgeon for that matter. Most referred to him as an IP, or as Mr Griet the man tasked with medicines and patient supervision. He was ensured with the responsibility of public hygiene and health, a role he had worn without badge or certificate; one that had granted him knowledge through experience as well as study. Two marshals waited outside his door, automatic rifles strung by their sides and flares issued in their pockets; rudimentary components to any medical examination.
Nik waited impatiently for the results, the skin painted tape around her arm checked, wound cleaned and elexo replaced. She could hardly sit still at one moment, finding the notion of waiting nothing less then infuriating. There was so much that she had to do, she had a job to get too and a life that required frequent maintenance, “Let me guess, you found nothing”
“Nothing they can use against you” Mr Griet stared up into the document through the dim light before addressing her directly, “You got out of this one clean, whether you like it or not”
The patient closed her eyes, finding comfort in the dark, “Lucky me”
“You know you can always speak freely here” The IP turned to the windows, cracking his knuckles over the strong frame twice and pointing to the guards; pointing out how they had not responded to what they could not hear or detect in any way,  “They won’t be able to listen to a thing you say through this glass; they have no right to bring to council anything they heard at a meeting with my silence on the matter”
There was no one else to speak to, no one else that offered his silence on the matter. No man or woman underneath the Reform could technically hold their tongue against the truth, but they could try at least. Nikola hardly trusted this man, but she trusted him more than most she knew; she trusted him more than most she loved. So the dancer replied as she had been taught, blatantly letting the IP know that she wasn’t going to play the game of trust just yet, “I’ve got nothing to say” 
The IP drew forth a glass of smooth dark liquid, placing it upon the bench, “And the muscle relaxants?” 
“Nothing” She ran one finger over the smooth skin of her right hand, and then another down the stitched remains of her left wrist. What was once an arm no longer appeared to hold the same shade of skin, deformity already mutilating its side. A few rounds of cloth would help calm the blood loss and hide any attempt of infection, but the pain remained.
He tried again, this time with something he wasn’t as confident with, “I’ve looked into everything we have stored in the databases”
“What is it?” Her excitement suddenly grew, anything was better than nothing; even if it was a one in a million shot, she was ready to take it.
Even a man of such stature was permitted to be stumped in place, Griet looked over the document one last time before hiding it from view; burrowing his temple into the grit of his palms, “A regular dosage of tricyclic antidepressant called TA, or clomipramine. I’ve heard its treatment works well with cases concerning self-harm, depression and sleep paralysis. I’ll request it with the next shipment heralding from the Lobby but I don’t know if the quarantine will allow it through. They’re getting stricter every day with these pharmaceuticals, some shipments are being canceled all together”
“For now?” A request like that could take months to go through; or worse could be rejected. Nikola had been told by the same doctor that another sleep paralysis might kill her a few weeks ago; if she had already lost her last straw then how long did she have? The dancer was running out of time, she needed her regular sleeping agent if she was going to stay alive tonight, “What about the Intolerant? I need something for tonight”
Mr Griet didn’t respond.
“What?” She asked him, preparing for the worst of it.
“I’m afraid the pill you’re asking me for isn’t in the database anymore” The caretaker frowned, checking the monitor one last time before shaking his head, “We used to receive regular shipments of Intolerant B as well as other pharmaceuticals through the express line leading from the Lobby. But I’m afraid those express lines are closed; they’re no longer trading their goods for our wares. The last batch of this brand of Intolerant B was run dry two days ago”
Nikola cursed, for the last few months less and less of the Lobby’s wares were being allowed through the strict quarantine of Sanctuary’s walls. She remembered when citizens of the Lobby were allowed to stay in their sister city before all were asked to leave back to where they came from, the dancer wondered how long it would take for people to forget that it was the Lobby that got their great city started. They were once sister cities, trading minerals and valuable ores mined from deep underneath sanctuary for food, supplies and technological advances that coastal city of the Lobby had created. She shook her head and moved forward, there had to be another way to get what she needed; even if Intolerant B tablets were no longer an option, “Is there anything else you can give me for this? If I don’t get some sort of medication to help me sleep, I don’t know what will happen”
“Can I prescribe you some Absorbent 6T?” He looked into his drawers and found the tablets, checking their label before he placed it on the counter, “Many of our patients use it and find their sleeps very relaxing, I’m sure I could…”
“No” She knew all about that pharmaceutical, it was the same drug she took during her shifts at work in order to numb down her mind and to make her dance perfectly. Taking them before sleep was a no go, that much energy and restriction of brain power only left her with a headache and a frenzy to remove the itching underneath her skin. Nikola needed the Intolerant B, that or another branch of pharmaceutical that would knock her out; but she would never take Absorbent before bed again; not unless she wanted her new sheets to change from silver to red.  She tried again, hoping that there was something the IP was missing, “Is there any other brand of Intolerant that I could try? The newer models are…”
“Nothing here” The IP looked back over the database one last time before giving up, tossing the keyboard aside and shaking his head, “All the Intolerant brands of pharmaceuticals are being detached by quarantine groups and not permitted within the city. The Lobby is no longer permitted to medical or structural assistance. If you can find yourself in transportation work you might be allowed to enter the fortified..”
“Yeah right” She snorted abruptly, it was near impossible for her to leave the green badge sector of her level; she could only imagine the paperwork required in order to leave the city that had confined her entire life.
Mr Griet sighed, offering her the jar filled with tablets marked with Absorbent 6T, “In the meantime I want you to focus on rest, you’re going to need a good eight hours at least during the night. I don’t want you drinking, smoking or injecting anything into your system; nothing that can disrupt your mind. And no anitiser’s, if you’re going to sweat out your dreams then I want you to sweat them out”
“Whatever you say” It was the same advice she had been given the last time, and all the times before that. She accepted the bottle and hid it within the soft of her pocket, hoping perhaps it would be enough to let her get through her next shift at work.
The surgeon handed her a cast of white foam, tightening it around her left arm and placing a sticker upon it. He wrote with a dark marker, signing the cast with his initials and number, “Keep that hidden, who knows how the common mass will react to a cut you can hardly explain. If anyone asks then it was a kitchen placed accident, not far from the truth”
“What if they find out the truth?” She looked back to the guards, breathing deeper and deeper until she had to force herself to stop, “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to wear a cast”
He too looked to his side, signing the receipt quickly, “If anyone smart enough questions you for the right reason than a simple test will dictate infection, for the wrong reasons and they will start to blame you for overuse on council property and allocated resources. The people of this city can get very dangerous when it comes to materials, you saw what they did the Vincent after discovering his morphine addiction.”
“And if they catch me?” Nik knew she shouldn’t have asked but she couldn’t help herself, this was a man that knew more than she ever would; that was as least what she thought of herself as she sat in the IP’s waiting room and listening to his spill.
“It won’t be good for you” He looked down to the documents in his hand, frowning at the previous owner’s words and calibrating them with his own, “The Reform could burn you for your symptoms, they could say anything they wanted if they think you’re wasting resources; or worse if they think you’re stealing it. Three accounts of rabid expulsion, violent behavior and irregular sleeping patterns. Frothing at the mouth, anti-social behavior and two centimeter incisions at the left wrist complimentary to depression enforced cutting. Damage to tenant property and abuse of council resources; all of which qualifies you for confinement. They could throw you away this time; and save irrefutable resources for the rest of the populace”
Nikola shook her head, she doubted that the government would even care about what she purchased in her spare time, “The Reform doesn’t care about the waste of resources, they only care if you didn’t buy it from them”
“They might not, but your neighbors will” Griet frowned uncomfortably, watching as she slotted in to pay for the elexo tape and hid the rolls in her backpack, “As far as this city is concerned we are still in a crisis, there are many here that live in poverty due to the thin spread of resources; if someone finds you with this much supply of elexo tape they’re going to call you a hoarder”
Nikola flinched unintentionally, she had heard what happened to Vincent after his neighbors brandished him a hoarder for the entire city to hear. He had stolen the morphine illegally, but it wasn’t the Reform that got him in the end; it was the citizens of the lower levels that came for him during the night and ripped him apart. Hoarding was a crime in Sanctuary and justice would be dealt to any who believed they were above that unwritten and unspoken law. The dancer nodded and accepted the receipt, standing up from the chair and nodding again, “Thank you doctor”
“I’m just an IP Nik” He stood to let her out, opening the door and showing her the hallway that lead to the outside, “You know there’s no such thing as a doctor anymore”
He was right of course, doctors were described and defined as those with medical certificates, qualifications and the expertise deeming them appropriate to diagnose and cure people of illness, injury or manifestation. There wasn’t a man or woman on the earth that could do what a doctor was famous for; there were only surgeons and IP’s.
Walking past the guards meant her ID had to be scanned, and the tape around her cut checked twice; the signature looked over and confirmed before she was allowed to continue. The guards escorted her through the corridor before shoving her out with the crank of their rifles; ensuring no danger to the staff, facility or the depended resources there.
The chief stared through the scope of his firearm through the street before he dictated a lack of threat, he lowered the weapon and spoke, “Stay clear of the runway tonight citizen, the boys have a training route and you don’t want to be caught in the middle of it”
“Yes sir”
He cracked his fingers around the shoulder of his companion, speaking with a sly smile, “You need an escort home? Tom’s off for the night”
“I’ll be fine” Nik sighed, throwing the rugsack over her shoulder with her one good arm with her first step back to the district she called home. Walking in the cold was cruel enough but the snows of winter had started to fall and soon enough she found that her step was delayed by a thick layer of white. Not only would that serve to cut at her unprotected ankles, but they would offer a straight line of footprints to any who wished to tail her.
So began the walk back to the tenance she knew to be home; a stroll interrupted only with her looking back with slow dread and a nervous breath at any shadow that would interrupt the drop of snow.
A sudden twinge of pain arcing from her wrist would force the woman to snarl, but she did not allow herself to stop moving. A house with shattered windows, a broken door frame and the smell of a recent bloodshed was all that was required to motivate her momentum. Nik remembered the tenants well, a family of two married couples sharing a double suite and a dark secret that would condemn them. They were known as the Robertson’s and the Clarke’s, and their biggest crime was the child they had attempted to hide from the eyes of the governance themselves. For another hungry mouth to simply appear in a world of limited supplies without proper license or registration was itself a treason; but for an unemployed and unmarketable family to bring up such a child was a threat to the entire Reform. At the cries of a child the governance had been called, and the authorities had come to deal with the situation; taking the babe away and demanding the tenants get self-sustaining as well as public assistive work before they would get the child back. Again it was then the rage of the neighbors that became action, and the next morning the house itself had been ransacked and the occupants slaughtered; branded as lust filled and traitors to the needs of the common people.
No one knew who had committed the murder, many saw it as an act of providence and not aggression; that the intruders had acted with the wellbeing of the people at heart. The act itself was reason not to move against the wishes of the governance, for it was not their wrath one should fear; it was the blade of ones neighbor.
Her own door could not be inviting enough, the rusted handle and sheltered window enough for her to release the breath she had been hoarding in fear. She must have released it too soon, for quick as a flash a voice came for her; from the front yard of her neighbor just returning from a day at work. It was the same man that left his washing machine on all night, no doubt hiding whatever he did alone with the sound of the revolving device.
“Are you alright?” He walked over to her fast, trying to catch her in the proper light with a stern curious eye.
Nik swore and picked up her dropped keys, fumbling them into the cache in the door as furiously as she could. They dropped again, delaying her escape point by at least five seconds. Eventually she was forced to answer, dictated by the social normality that to remain silent was to plead guilty, “Yeah, I’m good…I’m fine”
“Another roll of tape?” The neighbor picked up on the shiver in her voice and the fumbling of her fingers, sourcing it back to the white tape that coated her left arm. He frowned, stepping closer and closer with an ever curious eye.
Nikola froze in place, her fingers unwilling to move themselves from the door handle. She forced herself to look over, at the suspicious stare of her next door neighbor. Finally she forced herself to answer, speaking softly in a hope that she would not be heard, “Yes”
“That’s an awful lot of elexo tape you’re using isn’t it” Now he loomed over to her, walking up the steps to her apartment, he like many others knew that the land surrounding a building was owned by the Reform; and that one could stand outside ones window without fear of prosecution, “I mean that’s another roll out the window”
She did not dare to move, not dare to act irrational, strange or even worse; act dangerous in any way to such a man, “Yes”
“Sanctuary is going to shit neighbor, don’t waste that tape alright?” He grabbed her by her right arm and helped ease the key into the lock, breathing down her neck until it was clicked free, “You don’t want people to start thinking that you’re a hoarder do you?”
Nik shivered, nodding feverishly, “Of course not, it won’t happen again”
“Then you take care next time” He smiled, allowing her to pass with a friendly pat on the back, “I don’t think I could handle the thought of you being taken away by the Marshalls for this; or worse, by the citizens of the lower levels. They hate hoarders, you know that don’t you?”
He shrugged his shoulders together as if it was just a thought that had come to his head, but his eyes stared her down with certain vigor; it was a threat and they both knew it.  Niki nodded slowly, biting her lip as she creaked the door open and retreated inside; only managing to breathe when the door slammed behind her. She threw her ransack away and checked the timer on her good wrist, its hours counting down when her next shift demanded her presence. Two hours she would be forced to wait, enough time perhaps for a quick lie in; enough time for another paralysis if she didn’t manage her sleep right.
I’ll stay up.
After returning the blood bags to the refrigerator Nikola prepared herself some dinner before her night shift at 6pm would claim her entire night once again. Clipping at a few stale vegetables she couldn’t help but notice the one extended knife in the holder that remained cleaned and perfectly stationary, the one blade she never used on fruit or meat; the one she would always wake up with. Three of the holes in the holder remained gaping open, the blades stolen a long time ago by the previous occupants of the tenance. She found it was smarter to have fewer daggers in the house then it was to replace them, such expenses costing more than her budget allowed; less knives meant less tools she could stab herself with at night.
Nik wiped the blade clean with a dry dishcloth, staining the dark material foul before returning it to its rightful place. She sighed as the cold shower hit her skin, the warm water leaking in the back of her house, it was an easy fix she could do herself but the fines that came with the ‘Abuse of Reform Property’ were too much for her paycheck. All that tap needed was a few screws tightened and a pipe replaced, but to issue such a request of the cleaners demanded a week long wait and a forfeit of her dwindling credits. And to go against the wishes of the Reform and touch one’s own property without its consent was a crime in itself, something she had learnt with cruel experience to not even attempt.
A sudden beep at her wrist alerted her of the narrowing gap between her freedom and her shift, cutting her shower short and prompting her into moving hurriedly. The public bus came by every three hours, but its time junction worked not with her; meaning she would have to walk the way down. She worked swiftly, grabbing as much as she could from her room and cramming them into the work issued ransack. Nikola rammed her uniform into the small pinched ransack, knowing that her heels wouldn’t fit in the regulation bag. She wore the stilettos instead, throwing aside her worn dusters and slipping on the black boots that would get her whistled and insulted at alike.
As she threw the bag over her back she could feel the strap rip away, its weakened hold already starting to falter. Nikola cursed, starting her walk as briskly as she could through the sudden beat of wind and hailstorm of cruel snow. To walk upon the streets of the Reform with a strapless backpack was itself an insult to the producers; the backpack was a privilege and to abuse its design was an act that would draw the attention of marshals if she wasn’t careful.
It was said that you could recognize a whore by the shoes on her feet; Nikola glanced down self-consciously as soon as she heard the men hooting behind her; calling out names and walking up to place their arms around her. She sighed and continued walking, ignoring everything they said as she started to count the steps remaining before she would enter the doors of the gallery.
The irony was that these men were either going to take her as they wanted or pay to watch her later; either outcome sending shivers down Nikola’s spine.

 

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3

During day she hid.
It was during night that she scraped her living, using what parts of her that remained to satisfy the Reform’s hunger. Shining the brightest of all buildings within Sanctuary’s second level, the central galleria showcased a great array of skills. The foremost in these were the dances, where the audience would drink and pay for more; their debt to the great city only growing sour as time within the Galleria grew from minutes to hours.
After her dance Nikola bowed, allowing them to scream out whatever they wanted of her before she backed off stage and changed into more appropriate clothing. Working at the gallery meant she had many tasks to complete, the completion of her dance only giving her a few hours of relaxing as a waitress before the stage would call her back again. The gallery was a building separated into various sections, some of which would allow a restaurant service whilst others would promote a bar and a stage for the dancing girls. Donning the white mask of the waitress over her face, none would recognize her as the girl on stage; ignoring her as she delivered their meals and poured them their drinks.
Within the primary observation platform drinks were expected to be poured every half hour for free, those that had bought their seats there expected to be very drunk by the time the dancing girls would emerge again. It was Nik’s job to ensure they made as many terrible decisions as possible, spending more and more of their money on the drink many of the dancing girls specialized in.
Some customers here was familiar faces but very few wore friendly faces, smiles were one of the many expressions reserved by the white badges of Sanctuary’s highest biding citizens. Nik could see a group of them stationed in the higher viewer podiums, separated from the mass of blue and green badges by two marshals donned in reflective visor’s and armed even indoors.
“You’re staring” A voice spoke out from the piece embedded in her left ear, the familiar voice of a fellow dancer speaking defensively, “You know what Michael said about staring”
Nik turned her gaze away and focused on the bench at hand, muttering in acknowledgment as she accepted the threat. It was not sin to stare but there were a great many of the first level echelon that did not believe in lingering gazes.
The voice returned, cutting of any possibilities before they could fester, “Rochelle’s already tagged the drinker”
“Of course she has” Any member of the higher echelon class of living would prove themselves a generous tipper, they were the only ones that actually held any money.
To any citizen underneath the white bar, life was a little more complicated. Nikola, like all from the second level downwards had been born with debt to her name, a sum of credits owed to the Reform. Each meal, each drink and each day of protection slowly pushed at that number, it’s mass only turning lighter during hours spent in labor. The dancer worked each night as per contract, in hope that she would lighten the burden not only for her; but for any child she may bear.
But the debt owed wouldn’t lighten merely by hours of labor; she needed something a little more direct than that. So she walked up to the table of white, adopting a smile as she sidestepped the gleaming authority of the marshal and spoke to each client directly, “Any refreshments for tonight?”
“You know what we need, three plunders for the man of privilege”
He swiped his keycard against the receiver and allowed one hundred and fifty credits to be recognized and entered wirelessly; ninety of which Nikola would accept directly as a tip. Unlike her other customers who would watch their debt grow larger with each purchase, this nobleman had the luxury of watching his assets slowly dwindle; but remain in the clear.
“I’ll be right back” She smiled for them.
 This drink was off the books, a rare commodity known as the ‘Plunder’, basically a mix of the strongest straight whiskey they could find and a tablet of Absorbent 6T. Taking 20 credits for the gallery and 30 for themselves, it was an illegal transaction that had started off as a dangerous idea; but quickly had started to get the dancers a salary far greater than what legal dancing would have gotten them.
Stepping to the back of the bar Nikola moved quickly, pouring the straight whiskey into three glasses and filled them to the brim with soda water. Then she inserted the tablets, swirling them into the liquid with a spoon until the white fragments were completely dissolved. Placing the drinks on the tray the dancer made her way out to the customer’s table and handed the drinks over.
Returning to her duties the dancer started collecting empty glasses and stacking them up once again by the cafeteria so they could be cleaned before use again. At the wave of the bartender she approached the front counter and accepted the task of delivering more drinks, her job meaning that there was very little time for breaks; a non-stop repetition of different tasks at high speed and high pay from the second she walked through the door until the second she was allowed to leave.
“Your favorite is back” The bartender smirked as she started organizing her drinks in specific bundles upon the tray, nodding over her shoulder at something beyond her field of vision.
The dancer didn’t bother looking, concentrating on the placement of the glasses upon the tray in order to stabilize her hold over the metal and minimize any chances of her knocking them all over. She spoke as she worked, humoring the bartender, “Yeah? Which one’s that”
“The man that refuses to drink, the one in the coat”
Nikola dropped the drinks across the table and glanced backwards, screwing her eyes together as the flicker of green light made it difficult for her to see. She caught sight of the man as soon as the colors started changing over to blue, drowning the stranger’s coat in a bright turquoise. With a dark visor hiding his eyes and no drink in his hand she could only wonder what he was doing in such a club; until she noticed that he was staring at her.
“I always get the creeps” She sighed, picking the tray of drinks back up from the counter and walking back up to the observatory deck. Nik walked slowly, holding the tray in her hand and glancing at the reflective silver of the glasses; watching the man in the coat all the while as she walked up to the dancing floor.
Nikola walked into the room quietly, glancing at the stage and noticing that no one was dancing upon the top. She walked up to the several tables filled with couples and singles alike surrounding the catwalk and started handing out drinks, nodding at their thanks and doing her best to don a smile, “Have a good night”
One of the men at the table of singles grabbed her wrist and glanced up at her, his grip was tightening around her wound but he didn’t seem to notice; the alcohol on his breath made it obvious his state of awareness and the intentions behind his far from poetic words, “How much will it cost me to have a really good night?”
“One hundred credits for a dancer, two hundred and you get three” She responded as she had been taught to, a forced smile on her face and the memorized words already on her lips. Nikola removed her wrist from the man’s touch, forcing it out of his hands and nursing the bruised sides with a grimace; not a move he seemed to appreciate. Luckily the buzzing red light on her hip saved her from the customer, allowing her to smile apologetically and back away, “I’m sorry, they’re calling me”
He wasn’t smiling, “I’ll find you later”
The dancer removed herself from the proximity and field of vision of the customer, shaking her head in exhaustion as she imagined what would happen if he did manage to find her later during the night. The trio that had rustled her on her way to work were also waiting for her by the stage, having promised her a few hundred credits for her time. It wasn’t something she looked forward to nor something she took pleasure in, taking a tablet before the service helped but the memories still remained; it was something she did for the money and the money alone, something she wished she didn’t have to do.
Walking around the amassing crowd that had started to gather at the sight of a new girl upon the stage, Nikola made her way to the back of the gallery; where the blinking icon on her hip was ordering her to go. She walked through the backdoors and past the generator rooms for the building, all the way to the office where her boss was waiting for her.
“Michael, you asked for me?” She found the man sitting in his booth watching the camera’s with a thick pair of headphones around his ears. Nikola referred to the man with his first name only because he had insisted on it, trying to create some sort of friendship between his position as manager and the dancing girls he had hired.
He removed the thick headphones and turned to her on the swivel chair, the mix of excitement and worry blotching his face as an opportunity came forward, “I just received a heads up that the supervisor for this district is coming down to the gallery, if we can make his stay the best it can be then I’m sure his rating of this business is going to go sky high. For that I need you and Cathy watching him, making sure he’s getting all the drinks he needs and all the dancers he wants. This man is a priority one customer, he doesn’t have to pay and he doesn’t have to wait in line; is that understood?”
“His name?” Nikola didn’t bat an eyelid, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for such a request to be made; although this was the first time a man would be given special treatment because of his status and not for the credits he would be spending on the business.
“Senior Augustus” The watcher placed his headphones back over his ears and gave her a white earpiece, in which he could directly commune with her wherever she was in the building. As she put it into her ear his voice returned, coming out of the earpiece, “You do everything you can to make the supervisor’s night a heaven on earth and I’ll do everything I can to make sure you follow him back home to the top level of Sanctuary. This can be a game changer for the gallery if this is done right, if you play your part right”
She nodded, accepting the responsibility even if she felt uneasy about it. This was one of the many steps she would need to make if she was to move forward; if she was going to achieve what all within Sanctuary wanted and to advance to the top level of the city, “Just tell me when he’s in the building”
As Nikola returned to the gallery the voice of her manager projected from the ear piece lodged in the side of her head, distracting her momentarily from the work at hand, “You’re a good girl, don’t mess this up. I’ll be in touch”
Having the earpiece lodged across her face made it difficult for her to accept requests of plunder, the most requested drink the boys at the observatory deck would ask for. She made sure to avoid the creepy man in the coat and he who had grabbed her at the stage before, knowing that as soon as the supervisor showed up she wouldn’t’ have time speak to either of them; she was already the pre-owned property of another.
Luckily the drunk that had vowed to find her was very bad at it, if he was ever actively searching for her he was looking in the wrong places and wouldn’t have recognized her if she was standing in front of him; his stench and demeanor prompting guards to escort him out of the building before 10 PM. Nik heard the commotion the drunk made, refusing to leave the premises on his own accord; forced to surrender by a pair of marshals.
They knocked him to the floor and tightened bands around his wrist, the electric charge forcing him to drool saliva into the carpet before they carried him free. His face bruised and bloodied, they confiscated his ID and his keycard; for where they were about to take him, he wouldn’t need them anymore.
Nik watched them carry him out, his muffled roar stifled only by the constant stream of energy binding his muscles in place. She had seen it happen before, a vanishing act here got no applause from its audience; only sullen silence until the marshals cleared the building. The lights would reactivate and the music would return, drowning the galleria’s customers with more than enough reasons to forget the nameless drunk and keep drinking themselves.
The man in the coat was a different story, no matter where her tasks took her she could always sense him staring at the back of her hair; writing notes in a notepad and refusing to buy a single drink. Nikola waited for one of the guards to escort the man out of the building for his lack of purchasing a single thing for hours on end, but it was if they did not see him; as if they knew better then to try and move the quiet and composed.
“He’s in!” Her earpiece came alive during her five minute break, forcing her to abandon her dinner and return to the job at hand, “Augustus just walked through the western entrance of the building, wearing a dark grey suit and a lapel by his side. Go and work your magic”
She spotted her target immediately, it was hard not to notice the plump official in his suit amongst a club of people in casual attire. Nik made sure she was the first to walk up to him, faking the best smile she could muster and lighting her tone, “Good evening Senior, are there are drinks I can help you with tonight?”
The supervisor didn’t say a word; he glanced up at her as if she was an interruption; when desire motivated him he pounced. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her forward, his stench reeking through the creak in his crooked teeth. He sniffed her ears and growled like an animal; pushing the limits of what it meant to be a dancer for her with his ambitious touch and aggressive nature. When he was done he released her, frowning at the cut down her arm and snorting, “Get me a pinget and another dancer”
She nodded and left to do his bidding at once, tapping the backup dancer on the shoulder and pointing her into the direction of the businessman. Cathy nodded and slapped a smile on her face, walking up to the supervisor in an attempt to distract him from the stress of reality. Nikola had her own way to change the mind of the greedy pig, she poured his pinget and prepared it for him carefully; placing two tablets of Augment 6T and smoothing it over with a splash of soda water.
Handing him the drink Nikola slipped a smile and took a tablet herself, knowing the night would go that much faster if her consciousness was slowly peeled from reality. The rest of her shift would slowly become a blur, her attachment with the supervisor allowing her to sit at his desk and drink alongside him as if she was another customer. When she was called up for another dance another tablet was dropped down her throat, allowing her to entertain the entire crowd without even remembering her own name. Nothing mattered when she danced, not her pay nor the interests of the audience; all that mattered was the movement of her body, and she danced well.
When she returned to her seat next to the supervisor she could see drool pouring out of the side of his mouth, the signs of a man who was recovering from his first pills. She smiled and poured him another drink, spilling more grey powder into the liquid and watching as it transformed a respective member of the Reform into a lustful man in a sweating suit cackling at every comment and demanding more drinks with every passing second.
Everything the supervisor was saying could be picked up from Nikola’s receiver, all of which was being heard by the manager. If the man hinted a dislike for the music it would be changed, if he exclaimed at the specific choice of drink then Michael would ensure that more would be poured for him; creating a perfect atmosphere for the man. Soon it became eventually clear that Augustus couldn’t drink anymore, after throwing up in the corner of the gallery he started to long for him home; demanding that the two dancer girls accompany him.
As they dragged him out to the personal tram that had appeared for him, Nikola and Cathy’s earpieces activated and their orders came through, “You’ve got him exactly where you want him, go with him and finish his night. I’ve got all I need for the rest of this shift, enjoy yourselves girls”
“On it” Cathy helped drag the man into the tram and sat in with him, promising to fulfill whatever desires he so wished as soon as they got back to his residence. Nikola hung back and picked up their bags, everything they would need for the night and pinched a few drinks. She checked the clock and smiled as it revealed it was only 12 am. As soon as the supervisor went home he would collapse in his bed, allowing the dancers to end their shifts early.
The tram that took them to the first level was empty, privileged to move only by the presence of the senior’s white badge. From there it drove along its track across the grubby darkened second city, breaching up for air as the tracks dangled upwards.
Revealing the first level.
Nikola had seen it only once before, it was the level that allowed the light of the sun to pass over its loyal subject. Here the buildings were kept clean and the gardens allowed for an oxygen rich environment, marshals were more prominent here; driving in trams of their own across the multiple of tracks. She could see the glimmer of a thousand lights hovering above them, restricted only by the concrete walls that surrounded the city several hundred meters above. These walls were present for every level of Sanctuary, but it was this level alone that did not suffer under a roof.
“We’re here” A marshal barked by their side as soon as the tram came to a halt, prompting both dancers to pick up the sleeping remains of the senior and drag him forwards. Every step inside the first echelon was a privilege for them and Cathy could not resist a smile on her face, her eyes flickering down the gaps between tram railroads; the only spots that any on the second level would be able to witness sun or moonlight.
They handed the senior over to personal marked in grey badges, the personal servants of senior Augustus and all who shared his roof. Nik watched as they took him to bed before packing her own gear back up again; a movement that caught her partner’s attention, “You’re leaving?”
“He’s out cold, I’m calling it a night” The dancer slung her bag over a shoulder, already sick of the constant glares of the two marshal guards, “You coming?”
She shook her head, still captivated underneath the grace of the Reform; of the first echelon. It became clear that she intended to cherish every minute on top of the world, an opportunity so many within Sanctuary would beg for.
But Nikola wasn’t interested, “Get some sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow”
She caught the tram home at 12:15 am that morning, paying the automated system with her keycard before retreating into her room for a good six hour sleep before the call of the AM march came back for her. As she slammed the door behind herself she couldn’t help but don a smile on her face, the shift went past so much quicker then she had expected and the after effects of her tablets were still to wear off. She prepared herself another late night dinner and sat at the couch in the living room, reaching for the remote and switching the monitor across the room on.
The entertainment within Sanctuary all came from the information outlet maintained and managed by the Reform, emergency broadcasts and news channels would dominate the few channels that she had access to whilst reality television shows and advertisements seemed to populate the entertainment portion of their education systems. Nikola watched the ads as she ate her meal, her eyes already drooping as the after effects of dancing and moving frequently for several hours started to take their toll on her.
She collapsed in the couch after a few minutes, her meal half eaten and the cutlery still in her white palms. The television continued to broadcast the same messages it had ever since she had been born, trying to sell her a new set of furniture and a far too expensive restaurant in the Reform district. But as she slept the sounds were almost deafening, the tingling sensation of metal clicking underneath her flesh sending her into a state of distress.
As she started to dream it only got worse, gleaning visions of worms moving up from her wrists and up to her elbows; traveling around her bones and into the muscular form of her body. She could see it behind her eyes, feel it within her body; a bad combination for a woman suffering exhaustion and holding cutlery in her hands. Her grip over the knife tightened without her knowledge of it, her fear and frustration as the sensation grew worse driving her to snarl; stabbing the knife into her wrist in an attempt to rip the worms out.
“Augh!” The dancer growled, her entire body starting to shiver as if a cold had taken her over despite the warmth within the well-insulated room. She drew the knife down until it met the cut running across her forearm; creating a twin incision much like it. Nikola could feel the worms escaping out of her arm, released from their earthly tether and finally allowed to spill onto the ground into a puddle. It was progress that excited her, prompting her to slash again; harder and deeper this time.
She woke up too late, the pain in her throbbing forearm forcing her to stir from her unconsciousness and swear at the puddle of blood on the ground. Reaching over to her plate she grabbed a cloth and wrapped it around her forearm to stop the slow seep of blood there. Discarding the knife Nikola moved quickly to recover from the damage she had done to herself, breathing in heavily to promote recovery as she taped her arm up with a new roll of elexo tape and pumped a small sliver of blood back into her system. The cut hadn’t been as bad as many previous but it had still installed its own level of fear in her, if such incisions were to become a regular occurrence then she would need a lot more blood; and a lot more tolerance.
Nikola removed the cutlery and the ruined meal, cleaning them both and putting them back in the cabinet in order to make them as difficult to reach as possible for when she returned to sleep. Hiding her knives somewhere high made it hard for her to reach without waking from her state of sleep walking, a precaution she would have to take every night from then on. The dancer grabbed the pillows and carpet stained with blood and took them to the bins out the side of her street; discarding them completely before returning home and attempting to return to sleep.
It was 4 am when she managed to fall back to sleep, her fear and apprehension keeping her awake for another half hour until exhaustion kicked in and sent her into a peaceful slumber. Nikola collapsed frustrated and wounded, aware that she had to wake in three hours for physical exercise and maddened that her own weakness would cripple what would have been a good sleep once again.
She didn’t know how long she slept for, or how close she really was to standing upright and walking to the kitchens without conscious thought or demand; but she knew it was the noise that woke her from slumber. She was pulled from the deep somber and towards the sound of her door being rung by the delivery boys, but by the time she had risen and gulped down the pills of the governance she found that her front porch was bare.
Her breakfast had been stolen.
 The parcel had been taken away, its contents removed; leaving behind only a spare block of concrete for her to stare aimlessly at. There had been a time where this would send confusion to the mind of the woman, but Nikola was far too experienced with the common thief to not understand who had taken her delivered breakfast. She looked to her side immediately, to the man that lived in poverty and would wake up early to steal what he considered to be his.
Lazy bastard, she ground her teeth together and placed her ear against the wall that separated her and the apartment to her right; listening intently for the proof. Even through the wooden beams she could hear the sound of the soup being devoured; the sound of a hungry man taking as much as he could as quickly as he could.
The option to ring up the proper authorities and share the crime for what it was to the right ears was always there for her, one phone call away hung justice; of a sort. Outweighing the need for vengeance was the knowledge that if she called the marshals onto her neighbor then she would never see him again. Apartment raids weren’t a common sight in her level of the district but they weren’t unheard of either; strategized hit and claim tactics leaving front doors destroyed and victims badly electrocuted. Nikola wasn’t appreciative of the theft, but she wasn’t that angry.
As she prepared a snack for her morning instead of the full-fledged meal she had paid for, Nikola made a promise to herself that she would call the authorities if it happened again; giving her neighbor one chance to make right with his actions.
It was her body clock that had woken her up in preparation for the blaring alarm that would run throughout every level of the city and wake the residents of Sanctuary, a jarring noise impossible to ignore or get used to that would repeat itself five times just before the tick of 7 am.
“All Citizens awake for the AM march, all citizens respond to your streets corresponder with ID and keycard” There came a blaring voice from the outside of her house, the same female voice she had heard in the phone systems. It would vibrate over every street within the sanctuary, alerting and waking all up to the mandatory march.
The morning horn was called in the peak hours of the AM, prompting all citizens of the districts out of their tenance and into the courtyards that surrounded the streets. There stood two individuals adorned in the grey suit of the governance, one would call out names in an attendance report; another would blow the horn and announce the beginning of the march from the first house of the street, across to the main road until they reached the western front of the city; and then back again. It was a march that took half an hour to complete in total, a vigorous exercise that would prompt the unfit to get fit very quickly and would minimize inefficient behavior within the city.
As her own name was called out, Nikola felt as if another set of eyes had turned to stare at her. It wasn’t a natural feeling, nor was it something she could explain in any other term then ‘instinct’ itself. Soon enough the glare became far too noticeable and she had to return it; glancing behind herself and doubling back as she recognized the man.  It was the creep from the bar, the one that refused to buy drinks or to wear anything but a coat overall; he had found where she had lived and joined in the AM march. For her part she returned the stare, infuriated that he would even possess the audacity to frighten her so; refusing to appear intimidated.
The fear of what that stranger would bring would come much later, not in any form that she would see coming. It was at this point that the dancer would first start to pay full attention to the man that would change her life, and not for the better. 

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Runner - 12

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Soldier - 32

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Hunter - 66

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Tribune - 104

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Acknowledgements

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~

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