Page 1 of The Order

Katiana

Themutedcolorsofthe medical wing blend together in perfect, insufferable unity. The space around me feels smaller, as if every drag of the clock's hand pulls the walls closer together. The annual Expulsion Tests have never been something I look forward to. Sometimes, covering the calendar and pretending the testing has already passed makes it easier to face it all at the end of every year. The Expulsion Tests are just one of the many responsibilities I took when I accepted the head position of New Haven's medical department.

No matter how much I prepare myself to begin administrational procedures, watching the Testing date draw near never gets easier.

My heels click against the cool tile floor in quick jolts, the noise it creates bouncing off the wall, only to be drowned out by the sounds of the machinery behind me eagerly buzzing with life. It's hard not to cover my head and bury it in this hell hole of a sweater clinging to my throat. Initially, on a brisk morning, it seemed like a good idea to wear such a thick piece of clothing. Now, every part of it itches along my skin, its coarse material rubbing against the bump of my stomach, accentuating a feature I am only now getting used to.

Gently, I run my hands along my stomach's smooth surface, feeling her small kicks hit against my palm with each press to my belly button with my fingers, my mouth curling into a smile at the slight sign of life. No one prepares you for the admiration you gain for life once you create one. The very morals I have chosen to follow no longer pertain to just me. That may be why I continue to allow myself to officiate the Expulsions. Somehow, I feel I am contributing to creating a better life for her and Kaiden.

Pulling away from my computer's screen, my cheeks flare with crimson heat, the countless mind-numbing minutes spent staring at each child's profile making the time pass that much slower. Waving my hand over the computer's surface, I let the heat it gives off warm my chill hands. The second to last profile of the day flashes along the screen, my silent wait finally ending. With three swift clicks, the file opens, sprawling out the four-year-old's life story in front of me, like she is merely just a number in a pool of thousands that New Haven houses.

The child has ringlets of blonde that frame her face perfectly, her eyes as blue as the ocean. Staring at the camera, her flushed, pink cheeks light up her beautiful smile, her skin void of any imperfections. Each part of her is perfect by design. I wouldn't be surprised if her parents predetermined her genetic structure before birth. Given her mother's brown hair and her father's brown eyes, her features are no doubt by design. They all hold each other happily in the photo, each one radiating perfection in their own individual way.

Scrolling through her profile, I let my eyes finally land on her class.

"Untouchable … figures," I whisper under my breath, taking into account her perfectly ironed clothes and un-calloused hands.

Glancing behind me at the camera overlooking the room with a slow, blinking, red light, my fingers tap my desk in an attempt to let myself relax. Thankfully, the mics didn't pick up on my snide remark. With a quick scan, I look over the child's medical information. Never does an Untouchable child have any form of a health crisis after the strides my team made in our medical unit.

Around three years ago, while I was still interning to fortify any skills my Judgment Day tasks could no longer provide for me, I had forced myself into as many sleepless nights in the lab as I could, running on a theory that some of our most traditional herbs we often looked past could be used for something much more significant than what we once thought.

Initially, the solution I created could only ease infection. Now, it can repair major tears without leaving any trace of damage. We add to the original formula each year, growing the product's versatility for Untouchables across our sector.

At times, I wish that I had never invented the Cure-All so I'd actually have my work cut out for me regardingourside of society.

Continuing my scrolling, my eyes land on the girl's name.

"Lily Evermoore," I say, tapping the large screen.

Kicking my legs to slide the wheels of my stool across the floor, my hands work along the perfectly labeled cabinet that consumes most of the testing space. Dragging open the nearest drawer, I allow my hands to free a new neuro chip from its package, the emblem of our district staining the front of the small cloth package. Pulling on clean gloves, my head turns away to avoid the lingering pungent smell of latex that wafts near my nose. A small churn rises in my stomach.

Doing my best, I shove down my most unwanted pregnancy aversion in a place where I can never escape the smell I hate most.

"I know, angel. I know you hate it," I whisper, rubbing my stomach. With shallow breaths through my mouth, I grab a sterilized scalpel and some bandages, placing them flat on the surface of my medical tray.

My eyes gravitate to the small mask slung over the patient's chair, the toxic canister of Halloway Gas resting behind it. Five seconds with that mask over anyone's mouth and they are gone, as if there was never any life to begin with.

There may be more than one thing I regret creating for the greater good of New Haven.

"Mrs. Blackburn?" one of the nurse's quiet voices utters. Pulling my head away from my med tray, I let my empty thoughts fall before finally looking back at the clock mounted on the wall. Only fifteen minutes have passed since I pulled up Lily's profile.

"We're just waiting for your okay. The patient’s mom and dad are eager to get home to celebrate dad's 'new placement' with his family," the nurse speaks, holding up her fingers in quotations.

I don't recognize her. Her badge is glossed with a new coat of plastic. She's a first year who most likely got placed here after her Judgment Day. She can't be any older than twenty-one. Her skin radiates a certain perfection but an utter lack of individuality, not that she can control the regulations set before one is even born.

The sky was filled with ash for months after the first and only Great War. I can't say anyone was surprised to learn how long it took our founders to rebuild our society after what was left.

Or should I say, who was left?

Humans have always been naive; some might even say they could not find true peace before the government we call Sanctum took over. Women had gone infertile and countless men had gone sterile. The human race as we knew it was a mere few months away from its demise. A few months after the ash had settled, some survivors created a safe space in the Pacific Northwest, a place we used to call North America. The very genetic makeup of the human race had been forever altered by man's selfish need to absolve conflict with violence.

Nearly thirty years of countless deaths and back-breaking labor ensued before the ward came up. Society rebuilt from the bottom up, all thanks to the advancements in technology our government had provided. After New Haven's ward came up, genetic testing followed shortly after. Blemishes became nonexistent. Individuality ceased to exist. Diseases were eradicated within the womb. A new era of divine innovation created the first generation of children unaffected by the nuclear fallout. Soon after, we implemented the Great Divide before turning to the neurostimulation chips to hold the peace. No longer would there be chaos, panic, and fear of how the human race would survive.

In many ways, that's why we do the Expulsions.

Without the Expulsion Tests, we wouldn’t be able to control those who cannot conform to the unity and order needed within our society. Sanctum keeps us safe and upholds this society's virtues.

Let one slip through the crack, and the perfect order around us falters.

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