The Last Red

Chapter 1: Kayla

Kayla's P.O.V.

We all have secrets.

Hateful thoughts about the block, what we did to survive,

who we are.

My parents were murdered because of theirs when I was only 9. They were both rogues living in the Wilderness of our undeveloped planet.

But I'm not a rogue anymore. Now, I'm an inmate of KTL Block.

"Khh!" my chip implant awakes me at once.

I try to jump up-bolt, but only manage to hit my elbows against my sleep pod - the space isn't large enough.

"Good morning inmates," a black screen above my head lights up as a loud voice is transmitted via in-wall block's speakers. 

"It is day 7.295. Please be mindful of each other and respect the rules at all times," the same message echoes throughout our sleeping quarters every morning. 

"I wish you all a productive day at work and - to those having their free day of the month - a wonderfully relaxing time. Don't forget, your hard work will give yourselves a better tomorrow."

The Artificial Intelligence software running the entire Block is called Omnia. It's a state-of-the-art program that controls all inmates and our robot guards.

"Ugh," I rub my stinging elbows. "Open recents, Om."

Immediately, the screen presents five options: 

1 dispense hand sanitizer

2 open safety deposit box

3 lower pod to ground level

4 schedule a psychologist session

5 dispense purified oxygen mask

I tap the first two options, placing my hands below two little holes in the upper part of my capsule. Both are connected to the main control panel and serve to dispense either water or disinfectant.

Voices from other 250.000 sleep pods around me make for a horrific babble.

We all wake up at exactly the same time - a perk of having microchips under the skin of our wrists and necks.

Routinely, I rub the alcoholic liquid between my hands, then reach for the now opened safe on the right side of the pod. 

Out of it, I take my brown contact lenses and insert them into my eyes. My parents gave them to me when I was only a baby. I've been using them ever since.

"The capsule will be dispatched to ground level in one minute," Omnia announces. 

My capsule is stationed in the 55th row from the ground and 250th column of a sleeping cube accommodating 500 rows and 500 columns. 

There's one million of us living in this confined edifice. It's where we work, eat, train, and sleep. Not much else happens in between.

I swiftly run fingers over my bald head to check the status of my scalp.

Smooth - I don't have to wear my wig today.

I grab the two remaining things from the box - an eyebrow dye and a plastic container containing my homemade skin-darkening lotion - and tuck them into my pockets.

"Ground level lowering commencing," Omnia says.

My pod stirs as it's lifted off its reinforcement rods and is then sent forward to outside of my cube - into the hollow barred space made for lifting and lowering capsules.

"What up, Kayla?" Kevin, my left neighbor yells from his pod. "Heard you last night again."

"Just another nightmare," I shout back as our capsules travel down. "Sorry 'bout that."

I keep dreaming of rogues that killed my parents while I still lived in the Wild. But when I awaken from the nightmare, it's only to come to another - my life.

"I feel ya," he scratches his short dark hair. "This new project's been stressing us all out."

We both work in the IT Genetics Department, where we perform gene modification simulations.

"Right," I play along. "Deadline's nearing..."

Our capsules stop as they reach ground-level. There's a loud click as the upper halves open at an angle of 90 degrees and I jump out onto the grey cement floor.

The sleeping cubes are on the first level, so the ground-floor's a free movement zone. And it's always crowded.

I look around to see if I'll spot one of my friends, but it's mission impossible - there's too many of us in here and we all look similar. Centuries of original races mixing made us all one-raced: brown eyes, black hair, and medium-dark skin. We all even wear the same clothing - white tops and black cotton pants.

A million of us in here, yet we all feel lonely.

"You have one new notification," Omnia announces.

"Open it," I raise my wrist and a hologram appears - projected from the chip implant under my skin.

Your Ability Screening has been set on day 7.300 at 2 o'clock post meridiem.

My heart sinks to my feet at once as panic envelopes my entire body.

That's in five days.

"What is it? Head Office report?" Kevin's curious eyes pry into my projection.

I quickly shut the hologram, my arms now trembling. 

I swallow hard to collect myself. 

"I got scheduled for A.S.," I manage to say with a shaky voice.

Ability Screening is a thorough assessment of one's physical and mental competencies. But also, genetic predispositions.

I can't take that test.

"Woo-hoo!" Kevin cheers, clutching my shoulders, "Congrats, Kay!"

"You're not even 20 yet!"

No - I'm a month shy of it and most inmates don't get invited before turning 21.

"What's wrong?" his dark eyebrows furrow.

"Nothing," I mumble, shaking my head. "Just excited."

"Let's get moving," he nudges me. "Don't wanna have to work till midnight."

Our 12-hour work-shifts start whenever we scan our wrists at arrival.

"You go," I tap him. "I'll catch up."

"Don't delay for too long. You know we gotta hustle for a better tomorrow," he mocks Omnia's Orientation speech.

"Same old, same old..."

He leaves towards the corridors along with the big crowd, whereas I push into the back - I need to find Keet.

I keep close to the Wall, not to be overpowered by most people walking in the opposite direction. 

When I reach the space under the 31st column, I stop. Keet's sleep pod's all the way up in the 500th row, so he's always lowered in the last batch.

Our block keeps a ranking of inmates as we train daily and work in our departments. Keet's a brilliant Chemist, but performing badly in almost every other field, which makes him one of the lowest ranking inmates. That's why he's assigned a sleep pod so high up. Having one close to the ground is a perk only top-ranking inmates enjoy.

Keet Thompson's been my best friend for almost ten years. We met at Base 0 - a huge autonomous neighborhood that accepts all children under 16 years of age. I joined the Base a year after my parents died - the Wild wasn't a safe place for a 10-year-old girl without a tribe.

We all have varied backgrounds, but most kids there had lower-class parents who couldn't care for them.

Base Zero provided us with food, accommodation, and education. In turn, we had to take an exam at age 16 that determined which Block we'd be transferred to. Base 0 funds itself by these transfers and blocks that receive inmates use us as a workforce.

"Keet!" I yell as he gets out of his capsule, fixing his ear-length dark hair that's always gelled the hell out.

"What're you doing here, girl?" is the first thing he says when he turns. "Shoo, we work hard, then we play hard..."

"No more playing," I pull him aside, squeezing us next to the wall. "We've got a problem."

He squints, tilting his head. 

"I just got my invitation," I pant.

His eyes grow big as watermelons as he makes a dramatic "oh" with his mouth. "When is it?"

"We need to leave in five days," I whisper.

Because of his low-ranking, Keet believes he'll fail his A.S. and then be downgraded to a block worse than this one. And there are far worse blocks. That's why he wants to break out with me.

He doesn't know the reason I'm escaping, though - I never shared my secret with anyone. Not even Omnia. It's the only thing I keep from her.

"s**t," he says.

"I know. We still haven't figured out who's gonna change that code for us."

There's three of us escaping - Keet, myself, and Kory - another low-ranking inmate.

But we need an inside man in the Solar Department to delay the robot guards' reboot code. Because when we break out, they'll send them after us - we're KTL's property.

Keet narrows his round dark eyes.

"Actually," he waves his index finger theatrically, "I might know how to get Kriss on the team..."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Ever since he injured his knee at training, the boy's been addicted to morphine like you're addicted to shaving ya head."

Working in the Chemical Department, Keet has access to many drugs and chemicals. In fact, he's the one who's going to mix an explosive solution to foster our escape.

I chuckle. "Okay, genius. So, you're just gonna steal some drugs to buy him off?"

He purses his full lips. "Got any better ideas?"

I clench my jaw, knowing he's right. I've thought about it a million times.

"No," I finally say. "We're running out of time."

"Besides," he leans in, "I ain't gonna tell him what I need it for. He just needs to make a small 'mistake'. No one's gonna kill him for it."

That much is true.

"High congestion detected," Omnia's elegant voice announces through the speakers. "Please keep the space clear for upcoming lifts."

"Free movement zone my a*s," Keet bitterly declares as we're pushed by seemingly a couple of thousand people towards hallways leading to various IT departments and Public Areas of the block.

"Grab my elbow," I instruct my friend, so that we don't get separated in the mass.

Keet does as told. "Can't believe we're really doing this. Oof, I'm gonna miss our nutrient pills..."

"I'll teach you how to catch phigees," I say then quickly correct myself when he throws a shocked look at me. "What I meant was I'll catch them for you. You just have to chew and swallow. Better?" 

"Ugh, weird nutrients I can make my peace with," he makes a grimace, "but are there really no showers?"

I laugh. Block life's all Keet's ever known - he's used to its comforts. There are no pills out there, no sleep pods. Only rough wind, red sand, and big rocks.

The pushing mass breaks our arm grip. "Keet!" I reach out to him, but the marching crowd's too much to go against, and we're pushed apart, losing each other in thousands of other similar faces.

"Find me after work!" I yell.

"Aight! Keep your head bald and I might," he winks at me with a big smile.

But I don't smile back. The reason I wear my head shaved isn't in an attempt to stand out from a sea of almost clones. It's exactly the opposite - so that I would fit in.

In this one-raced world, most inmates yearn to stand out. They cut and style their hair, get weird tattoos, and experiment with scarring. All with one wish - to be different.

Ironically, I spent all my life trying to blend in. To avoid getting noticed for anything unusual. But I can't hide at the Ability Screening - they analyze our DNA.

The problem is - beneath the darkening lotion I religiously apply, my skin's as pale as day. The brown contact lenses hide my bright green eyes. I shave my head every third morning out of fear someone might pull my black wig off.

All because - I'm not mixed like the rest of the inmates. 

I am a pure Ginger.