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SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

REPUBLIC OF AMERICA

POPULATION: 24,646,320

OUT OF ALL THE DISGUISES I’VE WORN, THIS ONE ht be my favorite

Dark red hair, different enough from my usual white-blond, cut to just past my shoulders and pulled back into a tail Green contacts that look natural when layered over my blue eyes A crumpled, half-tucked collar shirt, its tiny silver buttons shining in the dark, a thin ray scarf wrapped around my neck, chin, and mouth A dark soldier cap is pulled low over my forehead, and a crimson, painted tattoo stretches all over the left half ofme into someone unfamiliar Aside from this, I wear an ever-present earpiece and mike The Republic insists on it

In et even oddy tattoo—not exactly a subtle ht in with the others The first thing I noticed when Eden and Ipeople painting black or red patterns on their faces, some small and delicate, like Republic seals on their teiant patterns of the Republic’s land shape I chose a pretty generic tattoo tonight, because I’ht on my face Leave that to June Instead, I have stylized flah

My inso alone through a sector called Marina, which as far as I can tell is the hillier, Frisco equivalent of LA’s Lake sector The night’s cool and pretty quiet, and a light drizzle is blowing in fro wet, and riddled with potholes, and the buildings that rise up on both sides— clouds—are eclectic, painted with fading red and gold and black, their sides fortified with enorh every couple of h sit on every other block, blaring the usual barrage of Republic news The air smells salty and bitter, like smoke and industrial waste mixed with seawater, and somewhere in there, a faint whiff of fried fish Sometimes, when I turn down a corner, I’ll suddenly end up close enough to the water’s edge to get ht into the bay and hundreds of buildings poke out half subet a view of the bay, I can also see the Golden Gate Ruins, the twisted re the other side of the shore A handful of people jostle past me now and then, but for the ht alleyways, gathering spots for the sector’s street folks It’s not that different from Lake

Well—I guess there are some differences now The San Francisco Trial Stadium, for one, which sits empty and unlit off in the distance Fewer street police in the poor sectors The city’s graffiti You can always get an idea of how the people are feeling by looking at the recent graffiti A lot of the es I’ve seen lately actually support the Republic’s new Elector He is our hope, says oneAnother painted on the street reads: The Elector will guide us out of the darkness A little too optins Anden ht And yet Every now and then, I’ll also see es that say, The Elector’s a hoax, or Brainwashed, or The Day we knew is dead

I don’t know Sometimes this new trust between Anden and the people feels like a stringand I araffiti’s fake, painted by propaganda officers Why not?

You never knoith the Republic

Eden and I, of course, have a Frisco apartment in a rich sector called Pacifica, where we stay with our caretaker, Lucy The Republic’s gotta take care of its sixteen-year-old most-wanted-criminal-turned-national-hero, doesn’t it? I remember how much I distrusted Lucy—a stern, stout, fifty-two-year-old lady dressed in classic Republic colors—when she first showed up at our door in Denver “The Republic has assigned me to assist you boys,” she told me as she bustled in to our apartment Her eyes had settled immediately on Eden “Especially the little one”

Yeah That didn’t sit ith me First of all, it’d taken ht We ate side by side; we slept side by side; he was never alone I’d gone as far as standing outside his bathroom door, as if Republic soldiers would soh a vent, take him back to a lab, and hook him up to a bunch of machines

“Eden doesn’t need you,” I’d snapped at Lucy “He’s got me I take care of him”

Butafter those first couple of months Some days I felt fine; other days, I’d be stuck in bed with a crippling headache On those bad days, Lucy would take over—and after a few shoutingroutine She does make pretty awesome meat pies And e uides Eden She es my medications

When I’ht out of Marina and into a wealthier neighboring district I stop in front of a club with THE OBSIDIAN LOUNGE scored into a ainst the wall into a sitting position,onis ice-cold through the fabric of raffiti scrawled in red reads, Day = Traitor I sigh, take a silver tin froer across the SAN FRANCISCO CENTRAL HOSPITAL text iarettes Doctor’s orders, yeah? I put it to ht it up Close eyes Take a puff Gradually I losefor the sweet, hallucinogenic effects to wash over me