Red

Every single one of us in this room was a criminal. With varying severity, we had each broken the law, some with tiny fractures, others shattering it into hundreds of pieces. I played Cat's Cradle with an arms dealer in the corner. Funny, but it was always the petty criminals that fought. A thief had an embezzler in a chokehold. Marcus, the treasonous clerk, raised an eyebrow at me. I could have stopped them if I wanted to. There was a knife at the small of my back.

Those of us that knew violence knew it was pointless in here. In here, an elaborate murder didn't save your sister, and it didn't give your country the upper hand. It didn't stop another killer and it didn't prevent a dangerous disease from spreading. The only thing murder did in here was murder. They'd fill up the dead man's spot in a day or two, anyway.



I shrugged one slender shoulder back at Marcus and pointed my chin at the thief. If either of them died, he would be it. I found him irritating and the veterans in here listened to me because they thought I was much smarter than I let on, not to mention bat shit crazy with no regard for personal safety.

The veterans were rather perceptive.

The more I thought about it, the more annoying I found the boisterous thief. He had stolen some sort of government computer program and seemed to think it impressive that he'd gotten through some agency's security system. I never bothered to point out that he might have been halfway impressive if he hadn't gotten caught. There were maybe three impressive people in here, and I was one of them. Those impressive three had wanted to get caught.

I wasn't going to kill him, though. I didn't want to have to bang on the wall to have someone come get the body.

I liked this system much better than the old jails. We lived and died by our own rules in here. Your talents placed you in the hierarchy and your ability kept you there. Brilliant and lethal, I was at the top. In the first weeks of the new system, I'd written the government a congratulatory letter on a job well done. They had turned me from killer to king, legally, economically. I adored this new America.

Marcus elbowed the man next to him, Paul. I liked Paul. He had hardened since coming here, had lost his stutter. I smoothed my skirt and tugged the red scarf around my neck. Paul gave me a pleased, grateful smile. Marcus was my regime's watchdog. Paul played fetch.

The idiot thief never even saw it coming. He was laughing to one of his buddies as the embezzler struggled and squirmed and gasped for the little breaths the thief was allowing. They didn't yet understand the protocol for killing in here, and wanted to get out soon. Paul snapped his neck in seconds, before much of anyone saw anything happen. I coolly won the game of Cat's Cradle as the embezzler dropped to his knees, gasping, fear in his eyes. He scuttled over to one of the blank, bare walls. We all sat against walls. Only newcomers ever stayed in the center, huddling against the cold glares of hardened criminals.

Paul sat back down and a temporary, one of few who might have lived long enough to finish their month-long sentence, began to cry. Marcus pounded on the wall, and almost instantly three workers and an official entered. The workers dragged the body away. The official stayed.

"Who did this?" he demanded with a sternness he didn't feel. Paul and Marcus looked at me and I nodded. Paul stood, beaming. The sergeant, with his creased and lined face and handlebar mustache, cracked a craggy smile. "Well done, lad," he congratulated. "You know the reward. Extra rations for you tonight."