With my mind decided but with my soul hauling me away, I hesitated a second before opening the door that stood in front of me, the door that meant the Chairman had won, that they had won. That four months of famine and thirst inside the barbed-wire gates that enclosed Tenement Number 3 and segregated us from the rest of our nation’s capital had undone the seven years I’d spent fighting in the Rebirth School and gutted my prideful boasts about how I’d never succumb. God must have meant it to be a lesson of sorts. That or a humbling trial I was supposed to pass, but I felt I’d failed Him. This wasn’t how things were supposed to have gone. And yet…

A clump of human waste, dead pests, and assorted putrescent substances crashed into my shoes, and I could feel the slimy streams of wastewater that flowed beneath our crumbling, cratered streets oozing into my socks, dampening my feet with a stench I was already used to. It seriously made me wonder whether I’d done the right thing by drinking the little smuggled water we could get ahold of instead of showering. Then again, at this point, fetid fumes and skin rashes were the least of my problems.

Seven years. My mind kept obsessing on that number. Hammering my brain until I turned back and returned to my family’s room, a claustrophobic living space shared with fifteen other souls in a lightless communal apartment the size of a shoebox that two hundred people called home, where everyone had to answer nature’s call in common buckets and march down the stairs to hurl their contents into the forever-drenched streets we walked on. I usually disposed of my family’s waste by throwing it directly into the noxious sewers beneath us, if only to prevent an outbreak of cholera or dysentery. The Enhanceds thought themselves too clean to ever be infected with poor-people diseases. But diseases didn’t care about fences. Nature didn’t care about death gates.

Only we did.

Besides, for my job, I needed the Enhanceds alive, even if they thought of me as nothing but a Natural they occasionally needed, an inferior being who didn’t want to inject himself with the poison they called Eugenex, a viscous, synthetic substance derived from an extinct mineral that granted people telekinesis and the ability to survive without food and water for years, depending on the grade purchased. It had helped millions survive the food shortages that ensued after Yellowstone erupted and the tremors devasted nuclear plants in the Midwest, which brought about radiation clouds all across the Great Plains and America’s most fertile lands.

The catch, though, was that Eugenex made people lose their faith. Affected the part of your brain linked to religious beliefs. I had seen it happen to my classmates at the Rebirth School, which was more an indoctrination center than anything, for refugees from Europe’s subjugation, Eudora Sinclair’s vision of a world united under her rule. The purpose of the school was to learn the virtues of Ríceablæd, or the People’s Spirit, the USN’s guiding ideology, and become Enhanceds, proper citizens of the nation that ensured progress and justice for all.

The Rebirth School I studied in had a multi-religious chapel of sorts that everyone used at the beginning, but once pupils started taking Eugenex, people stopped going, until only three of us attended, and the Chairman decided to close it down, to force us to take Eugenex, to force us to become slaves to his drug. Because once you took it, you couldn’t stop taking your monthly dose. If you did, eventually you’d die.

And here I was, about to take my first shot of that poison. I stood in front of the Zielkkenhom Foundation’s tenement office, the only building that looked hospitable and clean and had windows, running water, and electricity. I could feel the comforting air conditioner from outside. All the other crammed buildings still not fully repaired from the war served as nothing but blank canvases for terrorist graffiti from a growing rebel movement. As nothing but decrepit pillars whose paint was peeling off, whose leaks and fissures made it rain inside and kept everyone clustered in staircases without handrails, where the pouring rainwater mixed with acid smoke from Eugenex’s manufacturing process wouldn’t singe their skin. Where the huddled masses waited for a hope that I wasn’t sure would come, for a liberator who would grant them the quality of life they deserved.

And short of influential Achroites—those at the top of the USN’s class system, those with the purest grade of Eugenex snaking through their veins—demanding change, that liberator would have to be either Eugenex or a violent revolution.

I wanted to believe in a third way, in achieving reform through peace, but after four months of no paid job requests, I had no other choice. I placed my hand on the office’s entrance door.

I was a bridger, someone with a genetic mutation that allowed me to freely travel through the Bridge, an ethereal space between the real world and the online world. My job consisted of saving people who got trapped in the Bridge, those either going to or returning from VirtuaNet, a popular online game, because if someone stayed in the Bridge for over five minutes, they’d become a data packet and be forever stuck in a dark void as something that wasn’t dead but not alive either. A fate that made death seem a sweet reprieve.

I was a Class D bridger with a success rate of ninety-five percent, one of the highest for all bridgers, top of my class when I graduated from the Rebirth School. But because I was a Natural, the monied Enhanceds, the Achroites and Fenglas, didn’t want to hire me because they trusted their own kind more. The Wyrhtan, a mid-class that separated the low and high classes, were too focused on arts and psychedelic drugs to play virtual games, so they weren’t a source of income either. I only got hired by relatively poor or working-class Enhanceds, the Impures and Esneas mostly.

Fenglas, Wyrhtan, and Esneas were the proper plural forms of Fengel, Wyrhta, and Esne, respectively. All courtesy of Old English, the language the Chairman wanted to promote as a way to connect with our… his ancestral homeland in Britain. Ironically, few people spoke it fluently, only the highest of the Enhanceds and Rebirth School graduates. The former because they wanted to impress the Chairman and gain lucrative government contracts. The latter because new refugees needed to integrate into society’s most favored ideals.

Most did. At too high a cost.

The Impures I rarely charged because they tended to be somewhat poor and lived mainly on government subsidies, though they didn’t have to risk death like us Naturals. And the Esneas I never charged because that was the class tasked with police and military functions, so I wanted them on my side in case I ever needed their assistance.

But I couldn’t feed my family on pro-bono jobs. I couldn’t take care of my family on only one paid job request every four months. My mom, my wheelchair-bound sister, my older brother, they never said anything, but I knew they were hungry. I knew they were thirsty. And I didn’t want them risking dysentery because I couldn’t afford to buy black-market clean water bottles smuggled from outside the gates. And whatever income they could make was meager compared to what I could bring as a bridger to wealthy Achroites and upper-middle class Fenglas.

I took a deep breath, fully aware of the gravity of what I was about to do.

I gazed at the clouds, whose verdant hue brought about by the fumes of Eugenex production perennially dimmed the tenement’s sky and sometimes that of the entire capital. I asked God to forgive me for what I was about to do. Or better yet, that I could take Eugenex but suffer no side effects. That I wouldn’t lose my faith. But I had never seen that happen.

A fist of dread clouted my heart when I thought that. Smacked my soul when I opened the door, but a second before I stepped inside and sealed my fate for good, I saw someone attempting to smuggle energy bars and water bottles into the tenement. Someone I knew. And Esne guards who had never hired me incoming. Probably alerted by someone else. If you ratted out smugglers, you’d get a week’s worth of food and clean water without having to take Eugenex, so many in the tenement went that route. I didn’t.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

They’d soon catch the smuggler. And kill him. Smuggling was a crime punishable by death if caught in flagrante delicto, as if society itself forced you to take Eugenex. I guess that was the point. That the Chairman always won. That his worldview would triumph in the end. I didn’t want that to be true and wasn’t sure if it would happen, but I was certain of one thing.

Those Esneas would kill my brother.

I had to do something.

I shut the door and raced to him. Leaped past people drinking sewage water and forgotten cadavers that specked our streets and crashed into him. Sheer shock flared from his partner’s eyes. Someone I knew as well.

My older brother snatched his bag before it fell into the wastewater beneath us. “Careful with that, deartháir,” he said, kind of chuckling but with unmistakable terror in his eyes. “That’s our supply for today. We can’t go losing that because you can’t wait to see your deartháir now, can we?”

Deartháir. Irish for brother.

Four years older than me and a head taller, with jet-black hair he was trying to grow until it passed his neck. Naturally broad-shouldered, with well-built arms and with a sturdy physique, my brother Fearghal always managed to be among the first to get jobs when the Impures were on vacation. Usually in waste management and construction, since those were the jobs Impures were genetically predisposed to do, as their Eugenex enhanced their muscles so they’d grow at a faster rate than normal and wouldn’t tire as easily. But they still wanted vacations like the rest of the classes, so Naturals filled that void.

Now, however, was peak construction season, and the Chairman was building a tower to surpass all towers, and every Impure in the capital wanted to say they helped build it, as if that would make them look better in the eyes of the wealthy so they’d buy a higher-grade Eugenex for them. Though vapid and shallow, the Impures were the only ones who treated the Naturals with a semblance of respect, so I didn’t mind.

“Are you out of your mind, Fearghal?” I turned my head and signaled to the approaching Esneas. “Look over there.” I paused a second to compose my voice so it didn’t sound broken. “We haven’t seen Pa ever since the subjugation.” I prayed he was alive, and a part of me wanted to believe it, but my mind told me otherwise. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

Fearghal groaned. “So what are we supposed to do, then, Cael?” he said. “Starve? Die of cholera?” He remained silent for a moment. Trying to find the right words. “Bridging jobs have been scarce these past months…”

His fraternal way to put it, so I didn’t feel too bad about it. I appreciated that about him.

“I’m the big brother, deartháir,” he said. “I’m the one who has to protect you. I’m the one who has to put food on the table, not the other way around. Just focus on training to become a better bridger, so that despite being a Natural, the Achroites will hire you.”

My brother’s partner chuckled lightly. Usually I was the naïve one, but sometimes Fearghal took the spot. For now, at least. Before the incident that made him lose his joy.

“Is this how you’ve been acquiring the food we eat? The water we drink? For how long?”

“You’re not the only one who can smuggle things,” he said. He was kind of enraged but trying to sound as calm as possible, so I didn’t think he was mad at me.

“I have an understanding with some Esneas,” I whispered. “I bridge for them for free. They turn a blind eye when I smuggle things. But I don’t know if they’ll cut you some slack, especially since I don’t know the Esneas who are coming for you.”

Concern didn’t pound my brain when Fearghal’s partner heard about my arrangement with the guards, because I knew him. He was Dyse, a speech-impaired fellow with a thinning head of hair despite being in his early twenties. I had helped him escape from the Bridge once. For free, of course, so I knew he wouldn’t talk. He never went into VirtuaNet again.

“Well, it’s your fault really, deartháir.” Fearghal chuckled. “While you were in Rebirth School, you got us accustomed to fine meats and running water, to air-conditioning and fancy vegetables. I don’t like hearing my stomach growl.”

The reward for indoctrination. That your family was taken care of. An offer no refugee could refuse.

Dyse turned to my brother. “Is this a game to you?” he said in sign language.

Fearghal winced, as did I, surprised at the reaction.

“We have to fight them,” Dyse added. “We’re not crap. They have no right to treat us like that.”

“I know, Dyse, I know,” I said. Tranquil. Trying to diffuse the ire that seemed to be building in his face. “But if they immobilize us with their telekinesis, we’re done. We shouldn’t head into a fight we know we’re going to lose.”

Dyse stomped on the street. He knew I was right. My brother knew as well.

“So let’s—”

A mix of wrath and fear mantled Fearghal’s face as he pushed Dyse and me into an alleyway beside a building. A bullet pinged the barbed-wire gate as well as an air blast. The telekinesis Eugenex granted you could help you compact air particles around you until you formed a solidified wind blast of sorts. As deadly as any bullet. Blood seeped from my brother’s arm.

“You two stay here,” he said. “I’ll stall.”

For a second there I thought of escaping with Dyse as my brother rushed to his certain death, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. If I died, I probably had better chance of going to Heaven than him, or at least Purgatory. Fearghal wasn’t exactly aspiring for holiness. So I dashed away and snatched the smuggled goods bags from him and tossed them into the air.

“It is I, Bridger Extraordinaire Cael Cavanaugh,” I hollered, as haughtily as I could. “Smuggling goods into the tenement.”

Fearghal clenched his fists. “Damn you, Cael! Trying to get yourself killed? If you’re gone I—”

“I’m faster than you,” I said. “Besides, if it gets too dangerous, I can bridge. You can’t.”

My brother didn’t want me to take the fall for his actions, but no time remained, so he just hugged me and added, “Come home.”

He and Dyse scurried away in different directions as I awaited the bullets and air blasts, but none struck me. Not even by accident. Something was up. They wouldn’t let someone off the hook for smuggling so easily. Especially not someone who had taunted them. I skulked past the maze of alleys between the buildings and saw why.

They were beating up Dyse. Maybe he’d tripped? His blood dyed the wastewaters crimson. Then they forced a clump of waste into his mouth. That was it. “Pummeling someone who can’t escape is the sign of pathetic weaklings who don’t deserve to be called human beings,” I said. “Or even animals, for that matter. Why don’t you take it up with someone who can defeat you?”

I took a deep breath so fear wouldn’t overwhelm me. So they thought I had gotten Enhanced or something like that. And could defeat them.

The Esneas spit on Dyse and approached me, both lean and athletic, immobilizing and lifting me in the air from afar. Dyse stood up and remained still, but I signaled him to dash away now that I had distracted them. Dyse remained still for three seconds, then hobbled away, though not before sending a text through his smartwatch. I hoped to my brother.

One of the Esneas punched my chest, and I coughed up blood. “Well, well, if it isn’t a bridger in the flesh.”

“People with disabilities and powerless Naturals. Your victims,” I said. “You’re a disgrace to this nation.”

The other Esne elbowed my temple. Blood stained my shirt red. A ringing invaded my ear, growing in pitch, and I lost consciousness for two seconds.

“One of you idiots couldn’t save my girlfriend from the Bridge,” the Esne said. “Said he couldn’t find her.” He kneed my stomach.

I didn’t grunt. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

“They couldn’t save my kid brother, either,” the other Esne said. He then snatched a cluster of dead vermin and smashed it into my face. Broke my nose. Blood and other stuff I pretended wasn’t there dripped into my mouth and down my chin.

“No words? Asshole!” One of the Esneas pounded my chest again. A crack resonated. I ran out of breath.

The next one would go for the kill. Was this the end? At least I had died taking care of my friends and family. That should help me in my trial, right?

The Esne pressed his hand on my forehead, ready to burst my head open and blow up my brains, very literally, but a second before he could, footsteps resounded. But not my brother’s.

“In the name of Aisha Lexington, daughter of Lawrence Lexington, CEO of Lexington Bank and Trust, I command you,” a voice stated. Solemn. Stately. “Leave this young man alone!” Two air blasts pierced the skulls of the Esneas. They plummeted to the streets like the pests they were.

I crashed down as well, pressing one of my hands against a roach. I swiped it away with a soft yelp. I might have been used to the stench of the tenement, but not to vermin carcasses on my hand.

“Medium complexion, wavy nut-brown hair of mid length, and forest-green eyes,” I heard Aisha Lexington say to herself before stepping toward me, a veil around her head. She extended her arm to help me stand up, despite me being a Natural and she being one of the highest Achroites in the nation. Despite my grimy hands.

“Bridger Cael Cavanaugh,” she said, “your world is about to change.”