The reddish-brown dust had a metallic taste, like blood mixed with disappointment. It covered everything in Sector 9.
Imagine the bare bones of buildings poking at the always-cloudy sky. Picture beat-up flying cars struggling through streets full of trash. Even the flavorless food I was forcing myself to eat was covered in that gritty dust.
"Cheer up, Morgan," Liz chirped, her voice a jarring contrast to the grim surroundings. She was fiddling with her old data-pad, its screen glitching with static. "Found anything good?"
I swallowed the paste, which felt like swallowing sand. "Another derelict warehouse. Probably picked clean years ago."
"Hey, you never know," Liz shrugged, her optimism infuriating and, secretly, comforting. Liz, with her bright pink hair and a smile that could melt a glacier, was the only splash of color in our monochrome world.
We were scavengers, scraping by in Sector 9, the forgotten armpit of what was once a sprawling mega-city.
The Collapse, they called it. The environmental disaster that choked the planet and wiped out most of the population. Now, the survivors were divided. Us, the dust eaters in the outer sectors, and them.
Them. The residents of Sector 1. The gleaming, self-contained city built after the Collapse, powered by technology scavenged, stolen, or just plain denied to the rest of us. They lived in luxury, breathing filtered air, feasting on real food, bathed in sunlight simulated by colossal holographic projectors. While we choked in the dust, they lived a life we could only dream of.
I hated them. We all did. It was practically a religion in Sector 9. They built their paradise on our misery, consuming the resources that could have saved us. It was easy to hate them, to see them as monsters in shining armor, as parasites sucking the life out of what was left of the world.
"Speaking of monsters," Liz said, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. "Heard anything more about the 'Cleaner'?"
The Cleaner. Another whisper in the underbelly of Sector 9. A phantom killer targeting gang leaders and black marketeers, leaving behind only sanitized, bloodless corpses. Some said it was a government conspiracy, Sector 1 cleaning up the riff-raff of the outer sectors. Others claimed it was a vigilante, a twisted hero delivering justice. The thought sent a chill down my spine. Justice? In this world?
We spent the day sifting through the ruins of the warehouse, finding nothing but rusted pipes and rat droppings. As the dust deepened into a bruised purple, we headed back to our cramped, shared apartment, a converted storage container that leaked when it rained, which, thankfully, wasn't often.
That night, the news channels, crackling with interference, broadcast a special report. Sector 1 was holding a celebration, a festival of rebirth, showcasing their latest technological advancements. The screen displayed images of pristine white towers, smiling, well-fed faces, and artificial waterfalls cascading into crystal-clear pools. My stomach churned with a mixture of envy and rage.
"Look at them," I spat, clenching my fists. "Dancing on our graves."
Liz, however, just stared at the screen, a strange look in her eyes. "They look… happy," she said softly.
Happy. The word felt alien, a relic from a forgotten age. How could they be happy, knowing what was happening outside their ornate cage?
The next morning, Liz was gone. I found a note pinned to my cot, scrawled in her shaky handwriting.
Morgan, I had to go. I can't live like this anymore. I'm going to Sector 1.
Going to Sector 1? Had she lost her mind? It was suicide! Nobody just walked into Sector 1. They had walls, checkpoints, drones.
I was furious, betrayed. Had our friendship meant nothing? Had she been secretly harboring these feelings, this…hope? Hope was a dangerous thing in Sector 9. It withered and died, leaving only bitter disappointment.
I spent the next few weeks consumed by anger and a consuming fear for Liz's safety. Then, I heard the news.
Sector 1 had opened its gates.
They were offering sanctuary to a limited number of Sector 9 residents, selected through a lottery system. The official reason was humanitarianism, a gesture of goodwill. But everyone knew the truth. They needed skilled workers, people to maintain their technology, to fill the roles their pampered citizens couldn't or wouldn't do.
Abruptly, I understood. Liz hadn't abandoned me. She had taken a chance. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.
I registered for the lottery.
The day of the drawing arrived, and the announcement was broadcast across the sector. My name wasn't called. Nor was it the next day. Or the next, until it ended. Until there were no names left. And Sector 1 gates were closed again. I was stuck in Sector 9, still hating them.
Weeks turned into months. The dust storms raged, the food rations dwindled, and the whispers about the Cleaner grew louder. I had all but given up hope of ever seeing Liz again.
Until one day, a message gleamed across my data-pad. A single word.
Meet.
Followed by coordinates. Coordinates within Sector 1.
I stared at the message, my heart pounding. Liz. She had pulled some miracle, somehow managed to get me a meeting inside their paradise.
I spent the next few days meticulously preparing. I bartered for a clean set of clothes, scrubbed the dust from my skin, and tried to tame my unruly hair.
I even managed to scrounge up a small gift for Liz, a crudely fashioned metal flower, a symbol of the beauty that still clung to life in our desolate world.
The day of the meeting arrived, and I crossed the checkpoints with a mixture of fear and determination. The guards, clad in pristine white armor, eyed me with suspicion, but eventually, they let me pass.
As I stepped into Sector 1, I was almost blinded by the light. It was everything I had imagined and more. Sparkling towers, lush green parks, and the smell of fresh flowers. It was a different world, a world that felt impossibly, cruelly distant from the one I knew.
I found the meeting place, a secluded garden filled with fragrant blooms. And there she was.
Liz.
But she was different. Her pink hair was gone, replaced by a sleek, silver bob. She wore a spotless white uniform, and her eyes, once so bright and full of hope, were now cold and calculating.
"Liz?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
She turned, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Morgan. I'm glad you could make it."
"I… I don't understand," I stammered. "What happened to you?"
"I adapted," she said simply. "I survived."
Then, the smile vanished. Her eyes hardened.
"You know about the Cleaner, right?"
I nodded, a shiver running down my spine.
"I am the Cleaner," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "Sector 1 needed someone to clean up the trash. Someone ruthless, someone who understood the darkness of the outer sectors. And I was perfect for the job."
"But… why?" I stammered, unable to comprehend.
"Because," she said stepping closer, her voice a cold whisper, "the only way to build something good is to destroy what's rotten. And Sector 9 is rotten at its core."
I was overcome with a feeling of nausea. I thought I knew Liz, but I had been wrong. So horribly wrong.
"I brought you here for a reason, Morgan," she continued, her voice dangerously low. "Sector 1 needs you too."
"For what?" I asked, dread coiling in my stomach.
She smiled, a chilling, predatory smile. "To replace me."
I was paralyzed, unable to move, unable to scream. The truth crashed down upon me, heavier than the dust I had spent my life breathing.
Liz didn't hate the other side. She had become the other side. And she wanted me to follow in her footsteps.
The sun beat down on me, warm and unforgiving. I didn't know what to do.
The lottery for Sector 9, was also a plan for Sector 1.
I closed my eyes.