CHAPTER II : A-402

  The sky above Sector 4 was the color of a bruise: a mix of industrial purples and polluted grays. In her cramped room, its walls papered with certificates of excellence pinned up like dead butterflies, Althea adjusted her gsses. 07:00 AM.

  She wasn't a girl. She was serial number A-402. A "Merit Schor." Here, at the Unified General High School, geography was simple. There was no north or south. There were Those from Above and Those from Below. Old money and sweat. Perfume and motor oil.

  Althea grabbed her backpack, heavy with textbooks too advanced for her age. She knew her intelligence was her only emergency exit, her only weapon to avoid ending up at the sorting factory like her mother. She stepped out into the cold street, joining the river of hunched backs marching toward the high school.

  She observed everything. She noted everything. It was her way of surviving: understanding the machine so she wouldn't get crushed by its gears. She knew who was sleeping with whom for a dose of stims, who cheated on their exams, and most importantly, who held the leash.

  And in this high school, the leash was held by a single hand.