It is an anniversary, in a way, I thought as I sat in the immaculate back seat of a black car. I stared at the muted shade that covered my surroundings including the windows and upholstery while I went through the speech I would be making in a matter of minutes. Every year I gave the same lecture at the Military Center on the outskirts of Metra. However, even without the carefully manicured phrases, I knew the story well.

It began on December 18, 1960, during the First Genesis. The day anarchists took over. They killed almost every trace of US government and tore down borders that marked Canada and Mexico. People flooded in, feeding the fire, while officials who had survived hid below the country, waiting for a chance to reemerge. This chance came six days later, on December 24th, the end of what we began to call the Dark Days and the beginning of the second Genesis, a second chance for humanity. This day was referred to as the Day of Rebirth. The government was recreated, and it seized what it could of the decimated nation. The new, much smaller country was renamed Metra.

However, the surrounding, chaotic areas soon began to align with each other, creating new countries, as well. They then declared war on Metra for its support of the old government, and those wars never ended.

Riding closer to Metra's main military base, I heard the distant sound of exploding artillery, a shadow of the wars. That wasn't my main concern, though. I just had to give a speech. It wasn't like the soldiers didn't already know what I was going to say, either. They all were given superior memories by the Genetic Engineers, the individuals responsible for creating every person in Metra.

After Metra was created, it was decided that genetic engineering should be used to regulate all citizens. Every person begins life in a pod and is released at the exact point in their life at which they are ready to begin either the job or training they were bred for: Soldiers at 13 years of age to begin training, Entertainers at 6 years of age to take on smaller roles, Mechanics at 15 years of age to start an internship, ect.

I was the only naturally born person in the country. Because my father was President, he was able to maintain a family if he wanted to. That was why I was allowed to be the next President after his death. I was, literally, a born leader. However, I had no family. When I died, an election would be held. The choice to not have children was one I had made at the beginning of my life-long term. One of my living advisers would be chosen by the people. It had to be that way, in my opinion. It had to be based on popular vote.

I thought of my Advisers, unsure of which I would choose for leadership, if given the opportunity. I was interrupted, though, as my door was opened, and a blinding light flooded in. As I stepped out, I was immediately surrounded by security while I walked to the Main Auditorium.

Looking around the underground bunker that housed our entire elite military, I stared down the perfectly made concrete walls. The entire Military Center was constructed of them because of their strength, yet they seemed impossibly thin when I considered the extremely large body of soldiers on the other side. Though I knew they were there, they were impossible to detect, silent and strangely still. Stability. Reliable. Capable of finishing whatever task was given to them. Those were effects of their specially-chosen DNA. No errors were allowed, so every person was, in every sense of the word, perfect.

2: You Never Hear the Bullet 1

"Today, we remember the end of an uprising and the beginning of a new era." President Suzanne Carter stood in front of the auditorium, staring straight at the back wall as she spoke. To the officers that stood at attention in the front of the room, it probably looked as if she was addressing us, the training soldiers, standing in the last few rows. However, she always stared that way. I noticed it on every Day of Rebirth. She always gave the same speech about the end of the First Genesis, and most people I knew could probably recite it themselves if they wanted to. I did so in my head while she continued to speak robotically.

Only when the part describing Metra's entrance into war arrived did I actually listen. As she described the necessity of a flawless military, I thought about the other Soldiers who surrounded me. We were bred to be fearless and to maintain premium physical condition. From the moment we are awakened in the military base, we are assigned places to be and various tasks. Our first day of consciousness is our first time away from the lab where we were raised in a sort of coma. On that day, you become a Training A. With experience, Soldiers move up until they reach Training D. Every year on January 1st, the Annual is held, during which all Training soldiers move up one letter. However, you become a Class 1 Grade A Soldier as you're dropped into a war zone. This is the beginning of service as an active soldier.

During the Annual, active Soldiers move up one class per year of service. Also, a Soldier can earn a higher grade by 'showing an outstanding ability to serve', as it is worded by the Grade E soldiers, the few, painstakingly selected leaders of the Military base. They control the entire rank system, mostly because they are masters of it. A small badge is given to everyone involved in the military. This displays their Class and then their Grade along with their last name. At the moment, though, mine only read 'Training D: Nolan Peters'.

The highest Class that existed was Class 42, Soldiers who were 60 years of age. However, at that age, a person has lost their ability to perform tasks well. An injection of Calinine, a drug that kills instantly and painlessly, is given at the Annual to soldiers that graduate on from Class 42. Back in the First Genesis, people would suffer for years before they would finally die, but Metra took that pain away. At 60 years old people have no more use, yet they're not into the worst stages of aging. It's a sign of mercy to save them from what could happen as they get older. It is considered an honor at the ceremony to end a respectable life.

Everyone from the Training As to the small number of Grade E soldiers of various classes are housed in the Bunker when they're off duty. All training and specialty courses are held there. A soldier can advance his or her career by taking Specialty Courses, like Advanced Sniper, after becoming an Active Soldier. This shows personal responsibility for enhancement of skills.

However, I was still in mandatory training, and that was where I was expected to be after the President's speech ended. Once she was off stage, I turned with the other Soldiers in my level of training, leaving the room quickly and efficiently.

3: Identities 1

I sat in front of one of the many mirrors lined up on the walls of the Pit, waiting for Annelise. I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught. Shakespeare. All's Well that Ends Well. Lines from the strange play ran through my head, yet that one repeated its self, flipping over several times as I mulled it over. The performance was fascinating, straddling the line between a tragedy and a comedy. The line was usually well drawn, yet the script created a grey area in which it resided. I thought this through, but began going through the history of the play, not deciphering any of the tougher lines. It was like giving myself a lecture on a subject I had mastered, yet I only cut myself off as the person who acted as my make-up artist walked in.

"Mia Lancaster?" She asked, and I only nodded in response. I knew she could recognize me because she was the only person I'd ever had to ready me for my performances, but she had to check. All Entertainers look the same, I suppose.

Annelise dressed plainly- hair in a tight bun, white suit pressed sharply. She appeared more plain than usual compared to the costume and make-up she carried, which were mostly in bright shades of green and pink. I could see her in the mirrors as she set up her supplies behind me. The Pit, where I was prepared by Annelise daily, was completely lined with the flawless surfaces, reflecting on to each other and creating an infinite space.

Also reflected infinitely was myself, perfectly white, sitting still on the small stool in the center of the room. Though I wore a thin robe, it seemed to blend in seamlessly with my complexion. It was the exact same shade- without pigment. That was how I was created. No color, hair, identity. I was by definition an actor, a canvas upon which to cast a character. That was why I had Annelise.

She knew what I was supposed to be, and she created an identity for me that reflected that. I had none of my own, which made her job easier. Once readied, I would act, sing, dance, or simply speak in front of whatever crowd was brought in. I was an Entertainer, created to occupy the time of whoever was idle. That used to be anyone, I was told, but that had to end. There was no space in most people's schedules for time to be inactive. Because of this, Entertainers were only kept and continuously bred to occupy the time of those who were forcefully kept idle- the Mutants.

Genetic Engineers were bound to make mistakes, and those mistakes were taken out of the equation and eliminated as variables. They were kept together in the Main City where they could be watched closely and kept busy with watching performances and playing games. Only they would be active in votes for political office once someone of importance died. This was because no one with a job could take time off to do so. Rumors had gone around that that was the only reason Mutants were kept alive and not drugged to death, but that wasn't the right explanation. There was none, and it didn't matter. I just had to keep them busy.

Without speaking, Annelise began to pain my face, creating high cheekbones and a high forehead. The top of my head was left white, waiting for the wig that I would wear. I closed my eyes, ignoring the cold brush on my face. Based on the costume, I would be dancing- probably something classical and light. I couldn't tell how long it had taken to ready me, but the other woman finally spoke as she finished. "Please stand," she said, "You may put on your costume."

I shed the robe silently, carefully stepping into my costume. Once I was dressed, Annelise walked out me of the room and towards the stage. The other girls who would be performing were standing in a line, ready to begin. I took my place, running in my head the steps of the dance I assumed we would be doing. Within seconds, the line began to move, and we populated the stage.

From the front row, I could see the faces of all the Mutants clearly. Some could pass as regular citizens while others were obviously mistakes of society. I mentally dropped the subject as music began to play, and I joined the other Entertainers as we danced, our movement carefully synchronized. From there, I didn't allow my mind to stray again until the end of our performance.

4: Common Understanding 1

Physically Flawed. Unable to Efficiently and/or Safely Perform Individual Tasks. That was all that was written on the simple metal bracelet that was fixed on my wrist. My eyes closed, I let the words ring in the silence around me, though I said nothing. The cameras in my small bedroom probably relayed what looked like me sleeping, so no Attendant was sent in to help me out of bed and get dressed for the day. I stayed like that, enjoying the closest thing I got to solitude before opening my eyes. My door immediately slid open as an Attendant was sent in.

"Good morning, Cain Rail. Do you feel healthy this morning?" He asked stiffly, and I nodded. I was as fine as I'd ever been. Without any additional comments, he pulled a wheelchair into the room, and I pulled myself up, supporting my weight on my arms. He wordlessly swung my legs over the edge of the bed and lifted me into the chair.

I was dressed in the usual white suit, flawlessly cleaned and starched. As the Attendant wheeled me out of the room, I rested my hands on my useless legs. They had never worked. I'd been told that no connection was made from them to the brain, so I was paralyzed. End of story. There was no way I could perform whatever task I was meant to, so I was labeled a Mutant and taken away with the other faulty people who couldn't survive on their own.

The concrete hallway was short, so I was in the large Dining Hall soon. Everyone was sorted in alphabetical order with a meal that was tailored especially for their needs. After being placed in my assigned spot, the Attendant walked away to take his spot at one of the posts around the room. On my right was a regular chair with a typical meal in front of it, meaning the person had no serious deficiency. Special seating arrangements, utensils, or food were typical indicators of a more serious mutation.

Only the day before, a smaller plate had been there along with space for an Attendant to feed the other Mutant and a second wheelchair for the person who had been created only partially. The same man had sat next to me for months, so I knew his story despite the fact that he rarely talked or even moved. At his time of release, he had been small and too frail to stand. Turns out he had been released too early, so he was a Mutant. I could see him one chair over, being fed her meager meal by a lanky Attendant while he starred at the plate, probably wondering if he could stomach it all. The man couldn't do anything on his own. He was constantly watched in case he managed to harm his fragile body. He made me feel normal until I would look down and see the useless appendages that hung off of my torso beneath me.

I looked away from him quickly to see at my own, average sized meal. Just as I began eating, the new Mutant sat down, unaided. He was about twenty years older than I was, making him about 45 or 50. His bracelet was new and just visible- Personality Flaw. Discovered Mid-Life. Easily Distracted. Looking back up at his face, I couldn't tell anything was wrong with him, but it was easy to be labeled as imperfect. He probably zoned out during work and made some mistake. Ergo, he wasn't up to the standard of society. He was a warped image of what he was supposed to be, just like the rest of us. It was interesting to see who was closer to the target than others. I was in the middle, I guess, but at least I had my own mind. All of the mentally flawed Mutants had never had that. I guess that made me one of the lucky ones.

5: Stitching 2

As I exited the large room, I could hear the soldiers begin to leave as well. By the time I was again outside, my car had pulled around. I was ushered in and was soon being driven towards the Center, which was considered our capital. It was the largest building in the country and acted as a focal point of law, politics, and strategic operations. The Presidential Family also lived there, though that had become only my mother and me.

I had also lived there as a child with both of my parents and my brother, Sean. On the way to the Center, I tried to remember when all four of us were there, but to little avail. After many years of not thinking about them, my memories had grown thin and morphed, only resembling what had actually occurred.

However, I still spent the rest of the ride trying to recreate these images until I was interrupted by the car coming to a stop. Again, I was ushered out, but I was only followed as far as the entrance to the large building. In the lobby I met up with one of the Office Workers. This specific one was a secretary, yet she was older than many of the workers in the front of the building. She quickly handed me my schedule for the rest of the day as well as notes on the subject of a conference I would later attend.

I nodded silently before heading for my office. There was about a 30 minute gap before my meeting, so I figured I could go through the latest Events Report or review the notes I had been given, but neither seemed to have any allure as I sat in my overly large desk chair. The topic of the meeting was military strategy, something I figured I would see all too much failure in if I read the report I had been given. That was all that was ever included- our status in the various wars that closed Metra off from the rest of the world. As long as those were being actively fought, no substantial progress could have been made.

I knew all that would be discussed in the meeting would be the upcoming Annual, meaning the switch of deployed Classes. During the year, two the lower 22 Classes served as immediate defense. Two new groups would move in on the day of the Annual. After so many years, it was the rising Class: 1 Soldiers that would be immediately deployed, and that was trie for the current year. The Class: 21 and 22 Soldiers from the past year would leave and the rising Class: 2 Soldiers would join the rising Class: 1s. They would all be promoted as they entered battle. They would return in a year after being replaced by the Class: 3 ans 4 Soldiers, and so on.

However, once past Class: 22, they worked in the Military Center in areas like training, administrative work, or did other necessary tasks, or they could leave the Military Center to act as security guards in various buildings. All of my security guards were Class: 27 Soldiers. Also, to be a Grade: E Soldier, you have to be too old to be deployed.

The Grade: E soldiers planned all of the routine switches throughout the year, so it always surprised me that they would allow us to interfere when the new Class: 1 Soldiers were involved. Luckily, the Class: 22s were the most experienced in this maneuver, so they could zero out the effect of the Class: 1s on the likelihood of an error.

Despite this, it could get difficult. Usually, only experienced Soldiers were involved, but it was one of the rare tears during which newly active Soldiers would be expected to fight. The Class: 21 and 22 soldiers that had to be at the Annual ceremony, meaning their transport had to be ridiculously quick. The switch was always quick, though. The troops would overlap for no more than 10 minutes before the older Soldiers would be evacuated and the Class: 1 and 2s would be left. This complex movement could easily be seen as a disadvantage by our enemies, but opposing troops were usually intimidated by the large amount of military in the area. This was true about every switch between Classes.

It was impressive that we had held our ground thus far. The war would hit its 100 year anniversary in exactly a year and three days, yet no peace could be reached. I'd had power for only ten years, though, so I had about 20 years left. In total, thirty years. My age when I took office. My dad's age when I was born. Those numbers always seemed to be reassuring and constant, yet as my years left dwindled, I felt more and more pressure to do something.

Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by a message popping up on my computer screen. It was time for my meeting. With long, quick paces, I made my way to the room adjacent to my office and sat at the head of the long, white table once inside the room. All ten of my advisers were already seated in their assigned spots, which were organized by age in a loop- the oldest member on my left and the youngest on my right.

"A week from today, the military Annual will occur, drawing in all troops except for those who will become Class: 1 and 2 Soldiers on that day. In order to make this as smooth of a transition as possible, the council of Grade: E Soldiers have sent their plans for us to review," The oldest member stated, adjusting his glasses. He was probably about to turn 60 years old on January 1st, the shared birthday of the nation. Because I was the last naturally-born citizen, I was the only one with a unique birthday. Because of this, I would have an individual ceremony when I turned 61 and was no longer of use, like the soon-to-be-60-year-old would be in a year's time. "Lifts will drop in positions Alpha, Eta, Mu, and Sigma and pick up at Delta, Kappa, Omicron, and Phi. Troops will travel in a clockwise pattern, and Class: 21 and 22 Soldiers will wait until the Class: 1 and 2 Soldiers have taken their spots before they move. Are there any suggestions for revisions?"

I knew we were just a second opinion to the leaders of the Military Center, and their plan was already highly analyzed and planned. They'd probably already started briefing higher level officers and preparing to follow through. It wasn't worth trying to improve because it was already up to our standards, flawless. "No comments?" The adviser asked. "Discussion closes, and the plan is finalized. The Military Center will be alerted immediately following this meeting. Our second point of interest was not in the briefing. It has only just happened, yet it requires our attention."

Sitting up slightly, I could tell he was trying to peak the group's interest. "Terrorist attacks have recently become more prominent, and we have been certain that an underground organization was behind these attacks. At 12:41 in the afternoon, Michael Wren was arrested at his security post in front of the Mutations Center. He will be convicted of crimes against his country and will, most likely, be sentenced to death. We have been sent various pieces of evidence to brief us about his trial where, due to the importance of this event, we will stand as his jury. This was confirmed by the Jurisdiction Council in the Law department," The same man said automatically, as if he was reading a script. However, the reactions around the table ranged from mild curiosity to nervously fidgeting. The idea of rebellion had been a touchy subject for most of the time I had held office.

We were each given a file that included Michael Wren's full history and records of that day's events. He was a Class: 25 Grade: B Soldier, so he hadn't risen far up in the ranks. However, he would have had access to many important places within the Military Center. He hadn't acted, though, nor had the Mutations Center, where he worked, been attacked. He was most likely just trying to draw attention away from himself, yet something still seemed off.

These 'attacks' had probably been over exaggerated as not one had been successful. Every weak homemade bomb was easily detonated. Despite the suspect's low Grade, he had been ranked highly while in training. This probably was the reason why he was soon promoted to a Grade: B. From there, his records showed a decline in his value as a Soldier. However, as a Class: 23 he had applied to become an external security guard. His age was probably a large reason for his placement outside of the Mutations Center. He needed to be flexible and agile if someone tried to get out, yet being at the front door made him only the first line of defense for something trying to get in.

He was taken into questioning after spotting a suspicious item in an alley way near the center of the Main City. During this session, he was asked why he was there in the first place, and he refused to respond. However, when asked whether he had any prior knowledge of the bomb, he had willingly replied yes. After that, he was arrested. When told that the bomb had been successfully defused and that no one would know the event had occurred, he had no reaction- positive of negative.

"Any immediate thoughts?"

"He's not too much of a threat," A female adviser on the younger side of the table stated firmly. "I suggest heavy interrogation to withdraw names of others who are involved before he is sentenced to anything. He is obviously an overseer and not directly involved, so he would know how to access this group's center." What she had decided was logical, yet there was still something missing. However, I said nothing. Externally, I probably appeared to be thinking this over and considering it, but I had no choice, in the end. It was a group decision.

Other advisers added their opinions, but all mirrored the first statement he was a piece in a game and, alone, was no threat. "He will be questioned before his trial," I decided. "This will be done to extract further evidence." The group before me nodded in unison. I took note of how little was said in the meeting, but dismissed the thought. We had only been talking about topics that we had little control over or that we didn't need to interfere with anyways.

"Are there any statements before the close of the meeting?" Silence. "Alright. Everyone is dismissed." I stood quickly and was one of the first out of the room. Once back in my office, I sat heavily, absentmindedly dropping the new file on my desk with the other papers I had been given.

I closed my eyes slowly, trying to relive the meeting. He's not too much of a threat. The comment echoed in my memory and stood out from the rest of what had been said. Something had to be wrong. He had access to some of the best explosives in existence, and he elects to use amateur devices that are easily deactivated. He was taken into questioning as a witness, and he confessed to the crime. Based on firsthand accounts, he was calm and fully aware of his actions. It was wrong.

As these thoughts raced around, I knew I would have to find out before his trial. I would have to question him myself. No one else could know that I had doubts. It was supposed to be a clear trial, yet I was about to get in the way. If I discovered nothing, no one would know. No one could know.

I began to type ferociously, and soon a note was formed to be sent to the head of the Jurisdiction Council. It was a formal interrogation request. If I got my way, I could get time to explore the dead ends I had discovered.

Doubts began to flood my mind when I considered the fact that what I was doing was something no one from a lab would do. It was too analytic and instinct based. It was difficult to decide whether I was the idiot or if instinct was needed. I was the only one left with any instinct, after all.

6: You Never Hear the Bullet 2

As I left the auditorium, I already knew we wouldn't be expected to do as many intense drills as usual. Once out of the large room, we were free to walk out of formation to wherever we needed to be. "Hey, Nolan," I heard Fain, another Training: D, call out to me from behind me. He was about average height, yet still taller than I was. Even though every Soldier was given the same DNA basis, some things were paid less attention- like eye and hair color as well as height. This was because some characteristics were unimportant, so they were worth the time necessary to regulate them.

Fain was also one of the few people I talked to regularly. I guess I could have been classified as 'quiet', but there was no reason to talk to most people. That was a shared opinion in the Military Center. However, Fain was probably as close to a friend as I needed to get. Beyond what was needed did not need to exist.

Turning around, I saw him with his hands in the pockets of his white uniform, his posture slouched as usual. "I heard we're doing moving targets at the range today," He grinned as he caught up with me. It was good that we wouldn't just have stationary targets to occupy us for hours on end. All that we were scheduled to do for the rest of the day was shoot, which meant about 7 hours at the range.

Shooting was one of Fain's favorite activities, mostly because he was good at it. I guess I was alright as well, but to me it was more of a stress reliever. He saw it differently, though. Your weapon was your life line in battle, and a bad shot meant a dead shooter. That was what we'd been told when we were first given rifles.

"I figured Drake would do something like that. If you aren't in good enough condition yet, that can't be fixed by tomorrow," I pointed out. We were all taking a final assessment the next day, which some people had become anxious about. No one had ever failed, though. Even if someone had, it wasn't reported, meaning it wasn't extremely important. Anyone that failed was automatically considered a Mutant and sent away. Anyone who wasn't the perfect Soldier couldn't be trusted in battle.

Class: 30 Grade: C Anakin Drake had been out trainer since our class was all Training: As. He was always realistic and rarely gave anyone the benefit of the doubt. In a way, he was the epitome of what was expected of all Soldiers, which was being fit for battle and having the ability to control his body and thoughts. He never showed weakness and seemed to be constantly in the right frame of mind for the situation.

"Yeah, it's a good thing he doesn't try to kid himself into thinking we'd enjoy any extra preparation," Fain laughed. "He knows it took everything we had to sit through the lecture we'd all heard twenty times over. Also, it gives us a chance to do some last minute practice." Shooting was one of the few things that one day could make a difference in when it came to the exam. I wasn't particularly concerned about it, and even if I was, a day could have given me a chance to rememorize my sight pictures or something.

I wasn't worried at all. If you were already afraid, you didn't need to be involved in the wars. Almost anyone's nervousness could be classified as part of the need for success we were all given. It was more like pressure than actually being afraid.

As we walked into the range, we each grabbed one of the rifles that were neatly lined up along the walls with ear plugs beside each one. Once the familiar weapon was in my hand, I checked to make sure it was my name that was printed on the barrel. It was necessary to look and verify that I had my own rifle. Everything had to be precise because everything was always carefully planned, including the care and upkeep of our weapons in relation to the specific shooter.

We took a lot of precautions to avoid events that had never occurred. Prevention- that was the point. If something did go wrong and no one noticed, the consequences could be crippling. Even if a rifle was simply misplaced, it would be off-schedule as far as cleaning, which could cause a serious malfunction. The affected shooters' accuracy would also be compromised. That's why there were no mistakes. Errors could mean the end of what was so hard to create.

As I stepped into place, I looked around the small cubicle out of which I would shoot into the range. A box of preloaded magazines sat on the ledge that blocked me from the area in which bullets would soon be flying. At the moment, though. We had to wait until we were given the signal to begin. In the mean time, I picked up one of the long, curved magazines. Twenty-five rounds. Once I began to hear the clicks of various shooters readying themselves, I slid the magazine into the weapon, pressing the button that would click it into place. With one round in the chamber, I waited until the noise stopped. After moving the butt of the gun to the pocket formed on the inside of my my shoulder, I waited.

The stance I took was tense. I leaned forward slightly so that I could better absorb the recoil, and my trigger finger rested on the side of the gun. I began to adjust my range of sight to only what was in my iron sights. My gun's scope rested beside the box of ammunition, but I most likely would not need it. Most of the shots we would do today would be some of the most difficult. This meant nothing would be magnified. It was like a practice test for the final exam.

"Soldiers ready," Drake shouted from behind us, making sure everyone could hear him through their earplugs. "Range is hot. Prepare for the first shot." I adjusted the way my gun sat slightly before it seemed to slide into place against my soldier in exactly the right spot.

For the upcoming twenty-five rounds, a clay target would be shot either towards us or away from us, and we would have one shot to hit in. At the end of the session, we would be graded on our accuracy throughout each set of twenty-five targets. I typically ended up somewhere near the top, yet not in the first slot. That spot was consistently Fain's.

"Ready. Fire," Drake commanded just as a clay disk was flung down from over my head. I tracked it as it went down a few feet, and then I shot. The clay shattered at eye level as hundreds of other shots rang out. Once the atmosphere stilled, Drake's voice broke the silence. "Ready. Fire." He announced the second shot, and this time it flew at us. There was no room to track, only to aim. I barely chipped the edge, but it broke.

This continued until everyone was holding an empty clip. Once the range was declared cold, we all quickly reloaded our weapons in unison, preparing for the second round. I had only missed two targets out of the first round, yet I felt a pang of guilt. Had one of those targets been an aircraft in battle, my failed shot could've cost several lives. Officers didn't typically reprimand poor performance because that is done by the Soldier. No one can provide better motivation that one's self.

In the second round, we would have twenty-five shots, again, yet the targets would fly in patterns of up to four per set. I raised my gun to show that I was ready to fire. "Soldiers ready," Drake called out, bringing me back to the present task. That was another trait of importance- the ability to separate yourself from your thoughts quickly. "Ready. Fire."

The next few hours flew by as my accuracy increased with practice. Drake walked around behind the firing line, probably watching for certain assets that could get you promoted right out of the gate. He always did that, but he was starting to watch more intensely with the Annual coming up quickly. We were constantly watched and monitored to make sure no genetic mutations were present.

No one was scared of being labeled as a Mutation. Ironically, being afraid of being reclassified was a mutation in its self. As Soldiers, we were not afraid. To anxious or to be very aware of something was different, yet there was a thin line. Everyone had to be careful, yet most chose to simply not care.

That was the main purpose of the next day's unusually in depth testing- to do a final check for mutations. "Range is cold!" our trainer called, and I set down the firearm beside the ammo box, which was empty apart from the used magazines. Our guns would later be cleaned by older Soldiers who would also refill the magazines.

We were soon dismissed to our assigned cafeteria where we each had a meal already set out. Most of the assigned portions were about the same size, and there was little variation. Once allowed to do so, I ate slowly. There was no point in rushing. After our meal, there would be a briefing of the day's progress, mostly in the wars. Class: 39 Grade: E MacFarren stood at the front of the room, waiting for every plate to be taken to the front.

I carried my empty plate to the bin nearest me and threw it into the sea of used dishes. Soon I had returned to my seat. Once everyone had done the same, MacFarren stepped forwards toward the center of the silent hall. He began to review how well various operations had been carried out as thousands of us stared at him. I could barely hear his voice, but it was unimportant. We wouldn't be given the plan for our first deployment until we had all completed the necessary tests, so there would be no briefing of our future operations.

Afterwards, we were released to our dorm. "Do you ever wonder if you've missed something during those?" Fain asked. "You would think they would remember ignoring them and decide those speeches are worthless." I shrugged, smiling slightly.

"Probably hoping our generation is an improvement. What a disappointment," I joked. "I guarantee Flanders remembers every one of those if you really want to know what you've missed." Flanders was another of the Soldiers in our generation, but he was on the lower end of the spectrum in tasks like shooting and most other physical tasks, but he could still function well. His mind, however, had about twice the power of the rest of ours. Many people thought he might do poorly the next day, but I thought that there would most likely be a mental challenge, in which he would blow us all out of the water.

"I'm not that curious," Fain replied. "Maybe I'll pay more attention once we're all active." I tried to hold back a laugh, but I ended up snorting in response. That was just bull. Even if he was a crack shot, Fain had the attention span of a squirrel. That was part of the active and battle-oriented mind set. "Oh, shut up, like you'll do any better."

"I know I'll never listen," I shrugged. If knowing past plans could help me in the field, I would care a lot more, but it wouldn't. It would just put images of failed defenses in my mind. It was unnecessary.

Just as we got to our room, Drake walked in. "Now, as you all know, tomorrow you will be tested. No one has ever failed, but always tell yourself you could be the first. Even the slightest hint of insanity or weakness could get you a one way ticket to the Mutations Center."This was a thought that had crossed every Soldier's mind. The tests were the last obstacle before we would be allowed to defend Metra.

Drake continued to talk, briefing us on where we would need to be the next morning. It wasn't the first time we had been told, and there was no reason I should forget it all tomorrow. However, I still listened. This information was something that could affect me in a large way, so I checked my memory. I had been correct in all of the details.

I watched the time pass for about an hour as the seconds ticked by. It was about 21:30 by the time he left- Half an hour before curfew. As I sat on my lower bunk, Fain climbed the ladder into the bed above mine. For a second I began to think that this could be anyone's last night in the Military Center, but I mentally shook myself. I would not think about the testing too much. I was ready, and even if I wasn't, there was no way to change that now.

Instead of thinking about anything, I stared at the concrete ceiling, still illuminated by the florescent lights that hung in a thin line along the center of the room and would stay lit until curfew. At exactly 22:00, the Bunker went black.

7: Identities 2

As we exited the stage, another group rushed to take our place, to keep the Mutants constantly occupied. I, however, walked back to the Pit, barely noticing the music that had begun to play over the speakers. It was all part of the variety show that constantly played in a loop. In those words, it sounds monotonous, and maybe it was, but no one ever said anything.

I began to take off the dance costume as I waited for Annelise to return and to strip my face and arms of the paint that had made up the dancer. The artist soon entered carrying less than before. "Mia Lancaster?" I again nodded, not looking to start any conversation.

She unceremoniously kicked the already worn outfit aside and stood in front of me, wiping my face to reveal the blank canvas beneath, it took no more than ten minutes to return me to my original state. Then, she stopped.

Confused, I looked up at Annelise. She was obviously deep in thought. Usually she would never pause when working with me, always sure of the path she would take to reach the appearance she had chosen for me. This was different, though. She didn't seem to have a distinct idea for what she wanted to do. Maybe she hadn't been given as concrete of instructions.

Slowly, she began to darken my skin until it nearly matched her own. My arms and legs soon followed, making me look strangely like those outside of the group of Entertainers. Annelise then handed me a pair of simple denim shorts and a fitted, white T-shirt. Nothing special. Once I put them on, though, I appeared differently than before. I wore no make-up outside of that disguising my skin tone, yet I looked so painted. To me I looked plastic, but I knew that was how my normal appearance could be described by normal people. Only with the costume did I look like them. As I took in the image in front of me, reflected in the mirror, Annelise finished, using a plain, brown wig to cover my baldness. I was no longer an Entertainer. I was a shadow of a person. Not a character, a real person. One whose name had been forgotten and who was most likely killed at the end of the First Genesis, but a person.

"What will I be doing?" I asked, confused by this costume. I didn't know any script that I looked to be part of, and I wasn't dressed up enough to be doing any kind of physical performance, like dance.

"You'll be briefed before you are to perform," Annelise responded quickly, packing her things away. For the first time I noticed how her voice seemed like a whisper compared to my own. She didn't sound weak, just like she lived at a lower volume setting than the rest of the world. I was given an abnormally loud voice so that I could project my voice upon an audience, though, so I really couldn't judge. "Meet the Coordinator in the Cue." And she left. I paused before realizing that I needed to follow.

After hurrying to catch up with her, I approached just as she reached where I always waited before doing a performance and where the Coordinator was waiting. She continued walking as I stopped to join the others- three boys and two other girls, all dressed in the same style as me. I was the last to arrive, so the Coordinator began immediately to explain.

"Today, we're going to try something completely new. You all won't be acting or doing anything, really, other than reacting. Basically, you do a series of tasks to the best of your ability, and it will be decided who did the best. Questions?" He seemed rushed and as if he didn't want to fully disclose what we were doing, but I said nothing.

One of the other girls spoke up from beside me. "Will this be reoccurring? If so, what will it be called?" She asked quickly, clipping the ends of her sentences as she spoke.

The Coordinator thought for a moment before slowly beginning to answer. "I don't know yet, but it is called Reality. It's from the First Genesis. Now, if there are no more questions, each of you needs to stand behind a podium and begin to follow the instructions the Host will give." With that, we all filed on stage, taking in the set around us.

Six podiums of different colors were arranged in a semi-circle inside of which there was an empty space. Between the two center podiums was a slightly raised platform on which another normal-looking person stood. He was dressed less casually and wore a suit, I noticed. The Host. I took the podium directly to his left and waited for the man beside me to begin giving us instructions.

It was strange to be watched with no idea of direction. I was used to having what I had to do immediately come to mind with a single cue, but this didn't happen. Instead, the Host began to speak. "Welcome all to the newest addition to the Entertainment Center- An act in which the Entertainers compete instead of reenact. There are no characters, only the competition." No characters. That wasn't true. It couldn't be. Who was I if not in character? The only answer I had was that I was irrelevant. The Host had to be acting.

"Our contestants will rise to our challenges and you- the Audience –will decide who has the best grasp on Reality." So this was a Physically Flawed crowd. No one would have the Mentally Flawed make any decisions. I wasn't sure why the audience had to vote- it would be obvious whether we succeeded or not, but I didn't care. I didn't have to. I just had to play along, to react.

Numbers began to appear on the fronts of the barriers we stood behind. 4. My identity. Maybe this was my character. The girl who stood in the center and who wasn't sure how to react. React. My only instructions. Was I reacting by not knowing what to do? Was that how I was supposed to appear? I didn't have time to consider this. "Alright, this is how you will identify the contestant for which you want to vote. Now that we have everyone in line, shall we begin?" He grinned as the crowd applauded, cheering for what was to come. "Alright, then let's start off easy. How about some trivia?" More cheering as the Host moved to the boy on the far left of the stage- 1.

"Hello. This is how it will work. I'm just going to ask you a general knowledge question with multiple answers, and you will give me one answer. We will continue until every answer has been said. Okay first question- Name a Center that exists in every City." it was easy. I rattled them off in my mind- Dietary. Medical. Mutations. Entertainment. Mechanics. Sanitation. Genetic Laboratory. Scholar Laboratory. Easy. The first two were quickly given, applause greeting each correct answer. Then, it was the second boy's turn.

"Law Center." No, I immediately thought. Law is in the Center. It's just a part of a Center. The same applies to Economic, Command, and Populous. It's also only in the Central City.

"Incorrect." The Hosts words were perfectly synchronized with the sudden crack of electricity. The Contestant hunched over, twitching slightly. His eyes were clenched shut, shoved back into his skull. He didn't make a sound. Shocked for an incorrect answer. It was the game. A motive. "I suggest you try harder to provide a correct response." I wasn't sure if the Mutants could tell what had happened- I barely could from about two yards away. The other contestant was breathing heavily, looking up at the Host who had already begun to approach me. I tried to ignore what I had seen, to focus, but I could still see the bent figure in my peripheral vision trying to straighten himself.

"Alright, Contestant 4, what is another Center that exists in all Cities?" I already had an answer, but I began to second guess myself. Was a lack of confidence part of my character? It was a reaction. However, with another movement from the person next to me, I stopped hesitating.

"Mutations Center," I answered firmly, looking into the bright lights than shone on me instead of the audience or anyone on stage. I heard the beep that signaled a correct answer as the Host moved on, and I could tell that I had visibly relaxed. I had also relaxed internally, but that didn't matter. All that was relevant was my contribution to the production. This thought pushed me to grin at whoever was speaking on stage. The rest of the answers were given and counted as correct until it was again my turn.

The Host again approached me. "And that is the end of our first question. No how about some individual questions?" The crowd applauded. "Alright then! Contestant 4, what is the total population of Metra?" As the question was given voice, my mind went blank. I had never been nervous on stage, but in the moment I wanted to run, or to vomit. With so many eyes on me and my inability to answer, I couldn't come up with the number I used to know so easily.

Suddenly, I wasn't the character. I was on stage as myself. Maybe that was why I suddenly realized the position I was in. Words barely fell from my mouth as I braced myself. "760, 000," I guessed, not bothering to think any further into the elusive number.

"Incorrect." A jolt of fire raced up from my feet, pulling me down. It left a singed taste in my mouth and every muscle in my body cramped. I fought the urge to run from the platform and the pain, but I gritted my teeth. My character didn't think it was that bad. I had to play that. "And so the question passes to the next contestant. Contestant 5, do you have an answer for me?"

"460, 692 people." Correct. I didn't want to hate him, but it was difficult. Why had he not frozen? Couldn't I have been given the opportunity to survive? I suddenly wanted to be voted out so badly that I could barely concentrate. If the Mutations could just decide I wasn't worth their time, I would be so lucky. I would be done with Reality.

The questions continued, and I managed to answer the rest correctly. Some others weren't as lucky. Contestant 3 was shocked two more times, the final time nearly knocking him to the ground. I didn't dare let myself watch him for too long or I might begin to feel the pain again. My chest still tingled an hour after the original shock, but I tried to just focus on the questions I had been asked.

Soon, it was over. "Alright, beautiful job everyone!" The Host's smile was still plastered on his face, but his eyes were dead and shadowed. I was certain he could hear my heart leaping out of my chest from his position beside me. "It's now time for the audience to vote! On the panel in front of you, tap the number of your favorite contestant." It seemed idiotic to ask complete strangers to pick a favorite person. All they knew about us was our ability to answer trivia questions. That was how we were valued.

The whole process could never have been described as quick, but it seemed to come to an end too soon. "I will now announce the Contestant who received the least votes. They will be eliminated. The least popular after this round is Contestant 3." There was silence in the room before I heard the surge of electricity. The Contestant dropped to the ground, thrashing. The flow was continuous instead of quick. After he fell out of the audience's view, there was applause. To me, it seemed dulled as I watched the man on the ground, his eyes blown wide though he made no noise. He had to be acting. We were never in real pain. Part of me remembered my own shock, but that was so quick. This was drawn out, torturous. It had to be fake. The podium he was caught behind slowly moved off of the stage, leaving the remaining 5 Contestants.

"Shall we continue to Round 2?" The Host asked the audience to thunderous applause. I closed my eyes briefly, preparing the character. I was still a character, right?