The free and the favored

Those who couldn’t tolerate being born under the flag of the Protectorate escape to the Crushlands, said to humble the unprepared. But for some, the dangers beyond the wall are the only real choice.

I survey the Protectorate’s cityscape, both beautiful and menacing. I clench my jaw, my chest full of pain, knowing it may be the last time I’ll be in the only home I’ve never known. [This place never changes.] I open my palm and look at the numeric code on my palm, then look at my mechanical watch. I nervously shake my wrist a bit to recharge its coils. [If this is real, I’m not sure I can ever show my face here again. But if it’s not real, well…] I imagine the work camps that await me, rumored to task prisoners with loading offworld shipping containers. I shudder. Just then, a shadow swallows the sun in front of me. A woman with a long trenchcoat, tight black clothing underneath, and a face obscured with a mask and sunglasses steps into view. Even without seeing her face, I can tell how sure she is of herself. I look up and without a word, I show you the number on my palm.

I look down at you and show you the same code on my palm. I offer you a mask. You shake your head, no, but I jab it into your hand and wait for you to put it on. When you finally pull it on, I wave you along. We turn a corner and I unlock a door to a stairwell. Before stepping inside, without a word, I nod subtly to the cameras overhead. Let’s get out of here. I know somewhere downtown that you’ll like. We begin jogging down the stairs. Thanks for coming all the way over here. I know it’s a little out of the way but… it’s got the best “restaurants” in the area. We keep jogging down the stairs for what seems like an impossibly long climb down. At some point the cameras seem to disappear. We arrive at a gaping hole in the wall. It seems just barely wide enough for a person to crawl through. I take off my mask and turn to you. You sure you want to do this? Once you leave, there’s no going back.