Chapter 1: Chemical Beginning

"Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning."

-Winston Churchill

The air burns my lungs as I take a deep breath. From this high above the city the factory fumes are even stronger than usual. Everything in Manhattan seems to now be surrounded by the toxic air and coated in a layer of soot from the factories.

A slight breeze runs across the rooftop, snatching at my long dark hair and blowing the black strands up and into my face. I don't pay attention to the fumes or the hair that sticks to my face as I'm too busy watching something else; the free world.

It's beautiful, with tall glistening glass towers and shining streets. While the buildings on this side of the water are crumbling and the streets are utterly filthy. New York is the name of the city on the other side of the water, the pristine and beautiful one. I've heard Manhattan used to be a part of it, but now the two couldn't be further apart. Maybe not physically, but in the eyes of the people, we are two different worlds.

My eyes wander back to the streets of my world, the rotting one, the wretched, disgusting one. The streets run like veins below me, from so high up seeing the body that is my city is amazing. The Numbers flow through the streets like blood through veins and the factories, the heart of Manhattan, stand still in the smog filled air. The city is alive and buzzing with fear.

Numbers in their grimy, once-white clothing hurry through the streets, almost resembling worker bees in a hive as they tried their hardest to get as much done as they possibly can on the one day of the week they get off from the factories. That one day off also just so happens to be the day of the weekly executions.

The Court House, where the executions take place, is less than a block from the building I just so happens to be where I'm currently seated. It's easy to pick out when it's the only building not falling to pieces.

I can see it perfectly from here; grand white columns supporting a steep roof and polished marble steps leading up to the large, wooden door. There won't be a trial, just an execution. The grandeur of the Court House is just for show.

The Monitors are probably hunting down the Numbers who hit zero today. They'll be lying unconscious on the floor somewhere with enough knock out drugs and Agent-10 to knock out an elephant pumping through they're veins. The two drugs come from the spot just below our tattoos, they're designed to release into our system as soon as our numbers hit zero. Then, once the Monitors find them, they'll haul them back to the court house and put a bullet in the back of their heads, or something like that, for all I know they drown them or electrocute.

I guess I should say us. They kill us. I am one of them. It will be me one day, being dragged to the Court House, completely unaware of my inevitable death. Their will be the sound of fabric against ground as a Monitor pulls me towards the extravagant building, as I've seen many times before. I'll be dead before I can even wake up and think, 'Crap! I'm about to die.'

The idea sends a shutter through my body. We all die eventually, it's just that most of the time you can't count down the days until you die.

I have over eleven years until my number reaches zero and that's only if I don't get caught doing something illegal. Being a thief always leaves the chance of being caught. My number could drop all the way from 29584 to 0 if I were to get caught.

A shout from the streets below pulls me out of my dangerous thoughts about Monitors and Numbers. When I look back to the street below me I can see the source of the shouting, a Monitor, dressed in all black, is holding a young boy by the front of his shirt.

The Monitor's shouting fills the toxic air, "You filthy street rat! You think you're better than us, eh?" He throws the poor kid on the ground and presses his foot hard against his chest so that he can't run. "I'll teach you to shove your superior."

The boy tries to wiggle out from the man's foot in attempt to free himself from the countdown, but stops when the Monitor reaches to his belt for his Counter. The Monitor pulls out a paper-thin device and holds it up to the boys neck. I can't see the details from here, but I know what's happening. The Monitor is dropping the boy's number, the boy doesn't dare to resist the Monitor, probably hoping he will show him some mercy and not drop his number to zero.

It's not like the Monitors have a problem with executing just one more Number.

It's painful to watch the boy, but in a place like Manhattan, so cut off from the civil world, watching is about the only thing you can do. Every day I watch and cross my fingers that I don't accidentally run into a Monitor. Living in fear is the only way I know how to live.

The skin on the boy's neck grows red as the number on his neck rapidly drops. I know that burning feeling, it comes every week after the executions and it'll come tomorrow morning after today's executions.

Tears trickle down the boy's dirt stained face, making little trails through the filth. The Monitor finally lifts from the boy, who immediately scrambles to his feet. He didn't pass out, so the Monitor must not have dropped his number all the way to the zero mark.

The Monitor spits on the boy before sauntering off, probably to go harass some more Numbers. The boy remains in the street and leans his back against one of the walls with tears coating his face. I start to feel guilty for not interfering, but my punishment would be just as bad, if not worse, than the boy's if I had done anything about it.

The kid just stands there cowering with his hand pressed to his neck as if he's trying to keep in the few remaining digits he has left. There is nothing fair about the Numbers System, but then again it is meant to slowly exterminate the Numbers' population, while getting free labor out of it.

This just further reinforces the severity of punishment around here. If I get caught stealing not only will they drop my number to zero, but they probably won't even wait to drag me to the Court House to shoot me.

The breeze that had simply blown my hair earlier has picked up speed and I know it's time for me to get off of the roof. I'd come back to life if the wind, by some chance, blew me off. But, that's not something I want to go through again. Coming back to life doesn't hurt, but it does change you. Every time a Number dies they come back a little less human and a little more violent. I've only died once and it was enough for me.

My legs swing over the side of the roof and my toes reach for the window sill of the eleventh floor of the apartment below me. The window sill brushes the tips of my white tennis shoes and I lower my feet all the way down. I wrap my fingers around the edge of this sill and lower myself down to the next. In just a few minutes I've reached the window of the fifth floor apartment where I live with my sister, Adrian.

The apartment is disgusting despite our attempts to keep it clean, but we've managed to keep out the rats and cockroaches that invade other apartments. Adrian stands in the tiny kitchen, smearing soot from a cardboard box across her mandatory white clothing. We have a burglary tonight and the dirtier your clothes are, the better you blend into the night.

The burglary reminds me of the boy I just saw get robbed of part of his life and I can feel the fear rising in my throat. If I get caught, I die. It's not like I haven't done this dozens of times before. I've been a thief almost my entire time here in Manhattan, it's just that each time I do a robbery I'm reminded of the risk that I'm taking and the danger that I'm putting Adrian in.

"You going to hurry up?" Adrian asks me as she sees me standing by the window.

She's in the kitchen with the cardboard box full of soot. A pair of the standard white clothes lay across her tan arms as she continues to smear soot into them. Some of the soot sticks to her face and I can't help but think about how pretty she'd be considered in the free world; tan skin, blue eyes, thick black hair. I have the same tan skin and thick black hair as she does, but that's where the similarities stop. My eyes are a bright green that are more intimidating than pretty and everything about Adrian screams beauty and elegance, while I feel like I have a more sly and cunning look.

"Um, yea," I say as I break out of my haze of thought. "Just let me go get my usual clothes."

Adrian is always so antsy, it's like she can't stand to be in any one place for long, yet she can't bear to go most places without me. It's always been like that; Adrian attached to me like a lost dog, eager to stay close to me and protect me if she has to. I love spending time with Adrian, but I hate the idea of her having to protect me. I'm supposed to protect her, yet it makes sense, since I'm basically the only family she's ever known because we came here when she was only six.

I go to the side room that Adrian and I use for a bedroom and pull out the clothes I usually use for robberies. They're covered in dirt and soot, but I'll have to put more on just to make sure I'm cloaked. When I walk out of the side room Adrian is ready and I have to hurry so that we won't be late.

Instead of going out the front door we climb out the window and into the alley behind our apartment building; you never know if one of your neighbors is going to snitch on you for breaking curfew.

The alleys are virtually empty; no one is willing to throw anything out. How can anyone even think about wasting even the smallest scrap of cloth when they have so little? I bet the alleys in New York are full of perfectly good scraps of clothing and morsels of food that to them seem like nothing, but to us would be a feast.

The sun is already falling below the horizon sending glorious shades of red across the broken city. Soon it will be night and we will be able to easily move through the city without being caught.

The only light besides that of the setting sun comes from the Ring. Though, it is technically illegal, the Monitors never interfere with the Ring mostly because the people that run it pay them off. The people that run the Ring are Numbers like everyone else, but they make a huge profit from the gambling that occurs there. The Monitors will even excuse curfew for those heading to or leaving the Ring because of how much they get paid.

It is used for Numbers to gamble on fights. There are fighters at the Ring who get a cut of the money if they by chance win. Being a fighter can get you a lot of money, but not just anyone can be a fighter. Before a person can become a fighter they must be picked by an actual fighter and become a prodigy. The fighter trains the prodigy, who also fights, but for less money, until the fighter's number is picked. When that happens the prodigy takes their place and picks their own prodigy.

I probably could have become a fighter, I'm certainly fast and strong enough to be one, but the band of thieves I work with offered me a job and money before any of the fighters. Besides, the risk may be greater for thieves, but so are the rewards.

Adrian and I go far around the Ring to avoid being caught in its lights. It takes another few minutes of sneaking through empty alleys for us to reach the abandoned factory we're looking for. It looks exactly like any other rundown factory, but inside waits the band of thieves we work with. The doors are boarded up and the only way in is through a grate that leads into the factory's basement.

Adrian pulls the grate open and jumps into the darkness with me not far behind. She lands with a thud below and then quickly moves out of the way so I don't land on top of her. The basement is just like it has been since I started working with these thieves; walls covered in rough sketches of different warehouses in factories we've broken into in the past and filled and with the various foods and clothing we've stolen in the past.

"Indie, Adrian. Glad you're here," says a tall woman with a nearly clean shaven head that has just a short amount of blonde hair growing out of it and a scar that stretches from behind her left ear to her left collar bone.

I look around the room and realize we're the last ones to arrive, again.

"Um, sorry we're late, Maura. Won't happen again," I say hastily.

"Don't worry about it," she says with a slight smile. Maura may look like one of the most intimidating people I've ever met, and she sometimes is, but she's generally pretty nice and lenient.

Adrian and I take a seat at a table along with the other five thieves in our group: Brelis, Mallery, Kresum, Ross, and Casprie. There are two drawings laid out on the table, one of a factory and another of a warehouse. Our targets for tonight.

"You gotta teach me how you get Maura to be so nice to you," Ross whispers to me from my right.

Before I can say anything Casprie, who is sitting to my left, laughs, "It's 'cause she's Maura's favorite."

It's true that Maura likes me a lot, not because I've been in the group the longest, but because I'm the only hacker in our band of thieves and possibly the best in Manhattan. Maura used to be a hacker before she took over the leadership role and I think that's why she likes me so much. Ross and Casprie, the only two people I'd even mildly consider to be my friends, love to give me crap about being the favorite.

Ross and Casprie have a little laughing fit before Maura motions for them to be quiet and begins speaking.

"As you already know from the last meeting we are breaking into a food warehouse and a clothing factory. The warehouse will have less security since it's only storing food supplies for Numbers, but the factory makes clothes for the rest of the Dynasty, meaning it will have a lot more security," she stops and looks at all of us to make sure we understand what she's saying.

"Indie, Ross, Mallery, and Casprie will be in charge of breaking into the factory and I want Brelis, Kresum, and Adrian on the warehouse. I'll be here waiting for Indie to hack into the surveillance in the factory, so I can monitor what's happening. And you guys already know how to contact me."

We all nod our heads because we've heard this speech a dozen times before and Maura sighs and dismisses us. I head to one of the supply closets to get a few things I'll need for hacking, while Ross, Casprie, and Mallery wait for me. Ross and Casprie shove each other playfully while Mallery just stands there quietly. Mallery is the kind of girl you'd expect to see on the cover of a magazine: big blue eyes, long blonde hair, and the perfect smile always plastered on her face. Yet, she never smiles and barely ever speaks. She's good at her job and I guess that's all that matters.

When I've put all of my supplies in a small, black backpack we climb up through the grate and make our way towards the factory. It's dark enough now that we can walk just about anywhere and not be seen, but we stick to the shadows of the buildings anyways.

We reach the factory relatively quickly and crouch in the shadows, watching the building. Each of us is taking in as much information about the building as possible- where the exits are, how many security cameras are on the outside of the building, and much more. The night is completely still as we watch several Monitors patrol the inside of the building through the windows. This is going to be harder than I thought it'd be.