POV: Surviving Citizen – Number 33,921
Location: Outer Circle, Zone Grey, Blackwood Empire
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The ground beneath my feet had long forgotten softness. It was cracked, dry… like the spirit of those who lived here.
My name was once Elian. But that's gone. Now, I'm 33,921. Just a number. A Surviving Citizen.
The only thing lower than us are those not born yet.
The Dominion Festival painted the sky with lights I would never touch. Fireworks for the rich, music for the ranked. We, the unmentioned, watched from screens powered by rusted generators and dreams too expensive to keep alive.
I watched as number 5i took her seat as heiress. Draped in violet chrome and riding a procession of sixty silent tanks. People clapped. Not us.
We were rationed out one minute of joy—then silence.
Then came the auction.
Numbers for sale.
Not food.
Not water.
Not medicine.
Just numbers.
> "Number 10 sold for 8.6 billion Blackwood Credits to Lord Vendale. Net Worth: 40 billion BC. Income: Interstellar Mining & Lunar Steel."
"11 to Lady Verrah – 7.2 billion BC. Source: Genomic Patents."
I stopped watching after 21. It was too painful.
What's the price of a name?
What's the cost of dignity?
They say we'll be allowed to bid for numbers below 30,000 soon.
I did the math.
Even if I sold my organs, my children's hope, and borrowed the breath of my neighbors—I wouldn't make it to 32,000.
We were born into mud, trained to smile while being buried in it.
But still… I dream.
Sometimes I wonder if Blackwood 1 remembers us. Or if he even thinks we're real.
Sometimes I hope someone in that palace… maybe that girl, 5i—maybe she'll see us not as dirt, but as people.
And if not?
Then may the dirt grow roots.
Because when it rises—it will rise as a forest.
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