Anyway, I thought about telling Allison about what I saw. But what would I say? I’d be putting her life in danger. So, for now, I’m just keeping this to myself. Poor Danny, though. I mean, if he had to go through that.
That’s probably the part I regret most about everything. The fact that I saw a guy get injected and didn’t do anything. I dunno, it’s just… damn. I felt helpless. You always kinda think back on what you could’ve done, but really, if I’d tried to help, then Security would have put me down. That wouldn’t have helped anyone.
Maybe there’s some way I can tell other people about this, though. Let them know what’s going on up there. Who knows? Maybe I can even go back sometime. Find some new dirt on what’s happening on Floor 1. Do you know how pissed everyone would be to find out how nice they’re living up there? Not to mention the whole, you know, injecting people full of Creep thing. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll head back up there next week and get some new dirt on this whole mess. Then I’ll find a way of telling people without getting myself taken into Reinforcement. Hm. Yeah, that’s it. Maybe I can put out a newsletter or something.
God. That’s a pathetic idea. I need something that would really get people’s attention.
Hold on. Somebody’s knocking at my door. Probably Mom. Or, hopefully, Dad. Suddenly I don’t care how weird they are. I just want them to be okay.
Recording Thirty-Five
I watched as two men from Security came into my room. They didn’t even wait for me to open the door.
Anyway, that’s how I ended up here, back on Floor 1. This time I walked through the front door. Strange thing about it is, the golden number “1” on the doorway in the stairwell looks so cheap in comparison to the hallways inside.
Even if I’m about to get my mind wiped, at least I got to see the inside of the halls this time. They’re a lot more gorgeous when you actually get to walk through them, and I saw things I didn’t get a chance to when I was trying to work my way through the vents. Like, the paintings. We don’t have many of those on my floor, or anywhere else. Floor 1’s got them on every wall. Fun fact? The paintings change images. At least some of them do, anyway. I saw it happen when they were marching me to my cell.
Can I just talk about that real quick? Why do they make prisoners come to a dingy cell after walking through this hallway that looks like paradise? Are they purposely trying to depress you before they shoot you up full of Creep?
I dunno. It sucks, though. Sucks that the only time in your life that you get to see this place is right before they do… whatever it is that happens when you get Creep shot to the brain.
God. Of course, this would happen to me.
The worst part of it was being watched like I was an animal. There were people in the halls, and they just pointed and talked about me like this was just another day in paradise. I mean, come on, people! You’ve got a seventeen-year-old girl getting led to a brainwashing. Isn’t anyone going to help?
That’s rhetorical, by the way. The answer is no.
Whatever.
They let me keep my recorder, so, that’s something. Although I get the impression I’m not going to want to use it much once I get Reinforced.
If it sounds like I’m pretty relaxed about this whole situation, well, that’s because I’m desperately trying to keep myself from crying. Cavalier is my default under pressure, but this is a lot even for me.
This sucks.
The cell sucks, too. Once you get hauled through this gorgeous, white-painted hallway, they throw you into this small, cramped room. No windows, all gray walls. I’m persistently disagreeing with my surroundings as I look around. It’s like living in an apartment on Floor 15.
I kid. Not really.
One of the guys from Security mentioned that I’d get a trial before I was Reinforced. Uh, thanks, bud. What’s the point of a trial if everyone knows you’re going to be pronounced guilty anyway? Maybe it makes them feel better about what they do. I dunno.
All I know is that my hands are like slick oil spills, my voice feels like a dehydrated apple, and my eyes are burning as if someone jammed hot peppers in them. It’s been a long time since I just wanted to be at home with Mom and Dad.
Recording Thirty-Six
The courtroom is surprisingly impressive. I watch as this guy takes a seat on an elevated chair in front of me. He looks kinda like a wizard, like, he’s got this white beard that drops down to his chest. I almost laugh at his squirrelish eyebrows—then I remember my life’s on the line. That’s enough to make anyone shut up.
So we don’t really do trials in the Tower. At least, not on any of the other floors. All crimes are handled by Security, and any serious violation gets a person taken to Reinforcement. You can probably imagine that most people try really, really hard not to do anything that’ll get them taken in. Well, most people try not. Apparently I actively do attempt to get into trouble.
This is the culmination of a life committed to being a misfit, though, I guess. What is it that people say? Curiosity kills the cat?
Yeah, well, my nine lives are up.
There’s a row of Security behind me, this wizard guy in a white suit in front of me, and a couple of older, white-clothed men and women on either side of me. The room’s big enough that I’m not claustrophobic, but small enough that I can make out the pores on their skin. It’s like they wanted to give you enough room to breathe but still make you feel intimidated.
It works.
They’re talking among themselves as Mr. Big Shot gets himself comfortable in his chair. For the first time, I notice the sign hanging behind him. It’s this big, brass plaque, lined around its edge with a ring of stars. Inside that ring is a series of towers, and written in a language I don’t understand are the words E Pluribus Unum. Well, that’s pretty mysterious.
One of the Security guys yanks me up out of the chair. He’s way too strong for me to resist, I mean, he practically lifts me up single-handedly. He looks around to everyone and almost shouts, “All rise for his highest honor, Judge Reaver.”
Everyone gets up to this, bowing their heads for a second as the old guy in the single chair stands up, bowing to both sides of the room. Then everyone sits down all at once. The Security guy holding me up practically throws me back into the chair. Jerk. I scowl at him as he walks away, but notice that the old guy… So, he’s the one I should call judge?… the judge looks at me, those wrinkled hands of his running through his beard as he talks.
“We begin this session on Tower Date 515.14.21. May the Builders smile upon us and this honorable court.”
“Here, here,” everyone else says in agreement. Not me, though. Obviously.
“Young woman, you stand before this court accused of some of the most egregious violations possible within the Tower. As of this date, you are charged with a Violation of Movement in the Highest Degree, a Violation of Speech in the Highest Degree, and a Violation of Thought in the Highest Degree. To all these charges listed, what say you?”
I look around, like… are you serious? For real? “Obviously, Your Honor, I plead, ‘I don’t know what the hell is going on.’ I don’t know what these charges mean, so don’t I get at least, like, an explanation?”
“Ignorantia legis neminem excusat,” the court says all at once, and I just look around, like, do these people rehearse this on their free time? I almost want to laugh. They’re actually serious. So what am I supposed to say?