"Six, twelve, eighteen, twenty four, thirty, thirty six, forty two, forty eight, fifty four, sixty, sixty six, seventy two."
The class recites.

"Good. Keep on going if you can." Ms Rathe says. Ms Rathe is our other teacher, and she's loads nicer than Ms Redden. Together they teach all the primary care nursery students, ranging from the fives and six year olds that can barely form their alphabets to the eights and nine year olds that are being taught half of their time on the importance of a stabilised mind, and the problems you are going to have to face in your life.

"Seventy eight, eighty four, ninety, ninety six, one hundred and two," slowly, more of the class trail off, until eventually it is just Drew Broke still counting. Since I have become friends with Electra, I have barely spoken a word to Drew. I used to be friends with Praia Dole, one of the girls who I shared a room with, but then she became friends with Drew, a she devil who I wished had never been born into the dome. Drew tried to kick me out of Praia's friend group, and, in the end, she succeeded because I found Electra.

Drew is still counting.

"Thank you Drew, you can stop now." Ms Rathe says, trying to hide her bitterness. Ms Rathe doesn't like Drew, for who knows what reason.

"Okay Miss." Drew replies, completely ignorant to the teachers dislike.

Ms Rathe smiles at us all. "Good job everyone. You all managed to make it to above your ten times tables. Well done! Now, could you pull out your history books and lets do a quick quiz. If you need to consult your books, that is fine, just make sure to try without first."

My ears perk up at this. History is one of the few subjects that interest me, mainly because I get to see what life was like before the complex occasionally, when we learn about the early 21st century.

"Okay class, first question. Who... was the first president of the Complex."

I lift my hand and Ms Rathe smiles at me. "Gemma?"

"The first president of the Complex was Gordon Trey, previous ruler of the American states." I tell her proudly.

She smiles warmly at me. "Correct Gemma. Next question. In what year..." she pauses, thinking, "Ah, yes. In what year did our current president step up to the podium and how is she related to Gordon Trey."

A boy in the class raises his hand, surprising me. The boys usually never offered to say anything in class, they just sat at the back and made a nuisance of themselves. As I examine him, I notice this boy is different than the others. He sits with straight posture, not hunched over or slumped on the chairs like the boys at the back. He has quiet skittish grey eyes, and skin so pale he looks almost like a ghost. He has a shock of jet black hair atop his head that spikes up towards the back.

"Yes Ben?" Ms Rathe says, clearly surprised by his interest as well.

Ben clears his throat, and in a small voice he says, "Aril Trey stepped up to president 11 years ago, shortly before her father and mother died. Her great grandfather was Gordon Trey, and she was 22 years old when she became the president of the Complex. As president, she sees over all the government facilities, such as the nursery, the hospitals, the blacks and the farms outside the dome."

Ms Rathe smiles. "Correct Ben, but I really only wanted you to answer the question."

Ben blushes.

"Anyways, next question is... How did the war begin?" Ms Rathe is met by silence.

We all know this. We all know exactly how the war started. We all know how the complex was established. But this knowledge is not supposed to be repeated. This is the things the teachers avoid. Ms Rathe doesn't seem to know that.

"How about you Praia." Ms Rathe smiles. Praia takes a shaky breath, glances around the room at everyone then looks at Ms Rathe.

"I don't know."

Ms Rathe nods at this, as if it is to be expected, and then looks at the rest of the class. "Does anyone else know?"

No one replies. Ms Rathe sighs, and I get ready for her to move onto the next question. She surprises me.

"The war began because of the poor countries, like Afghanistan and some of Africa." Ms starts. We all listen, holding our breath. This was the information we shouldn't learn. This was rebellion. "They were led by Fillipe Noreen, and they weren't taken seriously because all the other countries didn't think a girl was able to start a war." Ms Rathe pauses to check we are all listening. We all are.
"Of course, this was there mistake. Thinking that men were less stable than women. They were wrong. We are all the same, all unstable." These words echo through my ears. Weren't we supposed to be stable? That was what the complex was about wasn't it? No colour to keep us stable. Yet the teacher had used are not were, implying that we still are unstable.
"So Fillipe managed to successfully start a war. At that point in time, America was bursting at the seams, and overpopulation was causing too many problems to handle. Not enough food, not enough space, too many tourists, pollution. We spent too much of our time trying to find a solution to even notice the war brewing in the other countries."
She pauses and we all look at her with expressions of awe and horror on our faces. I think she is going to stop here, but she continues.
"Fillipe attacked Britain first. She had gathered so many troops, Britain barely had a chance. Britain requested help from the union countries, America, Australia etc, but America was too caught up in their own problems to help, and without them, sadly, it was a lost war. Fillipe and the troops managed to take hold of England, that by that point, was really just a wreck of rubble and dead bodies."
She shouldn't be telling us this. She shouldn't be teaching us about this, certainly not in this much detail.
"With Britain captured, the British Union collapsed, sending many countries off the rail, easily captured by more troops. Of course, by this point, America was fully involved, but they had come in too late. It was a lost cause. Fillipe bombed New York, LA, Washington and San Francisco first. After these cities had fallen, the others weren't far behind. The only winning move that America had was evacuating the president secretly, and building the dome. Industrial glass, so strong it could hold through a nuclear bomb. The president, his wife and their daughter were the first into the dome, and after that were people that had been evacuated from the cities before they had been ruined. But safety comes with a cost. With no one ruling the country, Fillipe managed to overrule the country."
She pauses, and a heavy silence lays on the room.

I raise my hand and Ms Rathe nods at me. "Yes Gemma?"

"I was just wondering Ms Rathe... Does that mean there are still people out there?"

She shakes her head solemnly.

"Shortly after the dome was sealed, planes spread across the whole world. A total of over a thousand bombs were dropped, and 5 nuclear. I doubt that anyone survived."

The quiet settles on the room again. This time another girl raises her hand. Before waiting to be addressed, she says loudly, "But Miss, what about Fillipe? Surely she would have gotten somewhere safe."

"No, she didn't. In her haste, she miscalculated the days, and ended up getting caught in a bomb herself. She, and so many others, died." She pauses, and takes a breath, as if thinking whether to tell us this or not, then she continues. "Well, they say that she miscalculated."

This comment is met by gasps around the room, as the students realise what she means.

"Are you saying that the bombs weren't by her?" someone blurts out, somewhere near the back of the room.

"No. The rumor is that our president sent the bombs to eliminate-" she is cut off by two burly men wearing black barging through the door. Behind them follows a grey haired man with a crew cut, wearing a business suit. The two blacks storm to Ms Rathe and grab her arms. She doesn't bat an eyelid, nor say a word as they handcuff her arms behind her back.

The person who actually says anything is a member of the class, a girl at the front with long black hair done up in piggy tails. "What's going on?" her voice is scared and high. The grey haired officer turns to us.

"I am sorry children for this interruption but it appears that your teacher has committed a serious offence."

"What did she do?" the same girl asks.

Ms Rathe replies this time, in an agitated but even voice. "I told the truth."

The grey haired guy gives her a glare, then turns back to us. "You are excused from school for the rest of the day. You may return to your living quarters."

And with that, the three men and the teacher that just told us that everything we know might not be real, leave.

Sated whispers fill the room, no one making any move to return to the dormitories. I hear snippets of conversations, like 'black' and 'what grade will she be?' Eventually I turn to Electra, who's eyes are far away.

"Who'll be our teacher if Ms Rathe is a black?" I ask her. She turns to me and shakes her head.

"They aren't making her a black." She says simply.

"Then what's she gonna be?"

A single look at her expression gives me my answer.

Dead.

~~~

I slowly make my way up toward the quadrangle. We had the whole day off school, so I may as well go somewhere. Elle tags behind me, lost in thought. Any other 8 year old would be terrified to walk through the streets of the complex without an adult, but it's not all that bad. Today, I saw my favourite teacher being dragged away to her death. Nothing really scares me.

The black spiked fences of the quad appear up ahead. The quadrangle, the center of the complex, a fences in square in which, in the centre, lies the platform, the rope overhanging it.

The rope that has one purpose and one purpose only.

Public execution.

I can see the picture all to clearly. Ms Rathe's lifeless body, her dark red hair the colour of blood in my mind.

I shake away the sight and reach the quad and stop in my tracks. A tear falls down my face. Elle sees what I see and she reaches for my hand. I let her take it, and together, we stand in horror and silence.

Ahead, hanging from a rope, is the teacher that for years onwards would haunt my dreams.

Because it exactly like it was in my head. Only worse. Because this wasn't in my head.

This was real.

-*-*-*-

I wake with an intense burning feeling all over my back. Not only that but all my bones ache, and my heart shudders with the task of keeping my body alive.

I am in a medical room. I establish that the second I open my eyes. A steady series of beeps fill my ears, and I am on my side looking at an ajar cabinet that hangs open at an odd angle, showing a collection of bottles of alcohol and pills, and other assorted drugs.

I go to roll over but find I can't. Thick straps hold down my arms, my legs, and three are across my chest. My stomach is facing down, and my head is on it's side.

I hear a hiss as a door in the corner of the room slides open. I see a young woman in her twenties or so walk towards me, her face straight. Behind her walks Grief, wearing an agitated look of longing.

"Come on babe, just a few minutes." He says in a low whisper, his voice calm and seducing.

"Not now Grief. Maybe later." She replies. Through her voice I can't tell whether she is angry or apologetic. She takes a look at me, links eyes and then walks past me. I twist my head and watch as she walks towards two other tables exactly like the one I am situated on, that have two other bodies on them.

On one I can make out Tala's features. Her olive skin, shortly cropped brown-almost-black hair and slightly rounded head.

On the bed next to her is Calix. He is shirtless, revealing a pale chest riddled with bruises and red marks. His sandy hair falls over closed eyes that have bags underneath, and his chin falls open slightly, filling the room with sounds of shallow breath.

The woman checks a whole heap of screens, looks over Calix's body and apply some sort of salve to the bruises, then moves to Tala. She rolls Tala over to show an open back, covered in long parallel scars that cross hatch over the pale skin, red from anaesthetics. I see Tala's body twitch in reaction, and am reminded by my own body of the scars on my own back, as the burning spreads to my sides.

"Why is it always later babe? It's never now it always later. Loosen up Meghan." Grief says, moving behind 'Meghan' and wrapping his arms around her waist. She just carefully peels his arms away and starts to dab a liquid onto Tala's scars.

"I can't loosen up Otis. If I do, these people will die. The people who are down here to be punished by you. And you aren't supposed to kill them, only scare them. Understand me Grief?"

He seems genuinely ruffled by this final comment. "Don't call me that." He tells Meghan, his voice agitated.

Meghan turns and frowns at Grief, her face serious. "Oh, so you want me to call you Curtis? You want me to call you your white name? Well, news flash. I'm not going to, because you are no longer white. You don't even have the ability to go above ground and see a white. You aren't Curtis, you are Grief the E. If you say anything else you're just kidding yourself." As she spits her words out, Grief's face slowly gets angrier. I feel like I am intruding, but it's not as if I can go anywhere, I am strapped to a table, my body aching.

I watch as Grief lifts a hand. Meghan flinches as Grief's hand moves, but he stops it, his face a mask of rage. Slowly, he starts to smile, Meghan frowning. Grief lowers his hand and cocks his head back and laughs.
"My dear, always remember your place. You are here simply because I requested you as the nurse. All I need to do is make a call and they will kill you. Kill. So I suggest you stick on my good side babe, and do what I say."

I see Meghan physically swallow, undoubtedly trying to get the fear out of her throat.

"Okay. Let's go to your room. Just let me check the other girl over first." She tells Grief, gesturing to me. Grief glances at me, links eyes, and slowly nods, seeming to ignore the hatred I can feel in my eyes as I look at him.

"Fine, but make it quick."

Meghan checks more screens and then moves to my actual body. I feel a needle prick my arm, and feel fluid start to pulse through my blood stream.

"What's that?" Grief asks, in a genuinely interested tone.

I can't see Meghan as she responds, but I feel her hands tape the needle to my arm, as the fluid continues to pulse through my bloodstream.

"It's Dionyde. It is made up of samples from the outside. A certain type of snake venom and also some alcohol. It slows the system and numbs the body, inside and out."

"In english?"

Meghan sighs. "In approximately one minute, she won't be able to feel anything or move anything."

Fear rushes into my mind at these words.

"Isn't that a bit harsh?" Grief asks.

I can almost see Meghan's eyes roll. "It isn't a punishment. It's just to stop her from screaming or wriggling. Gives the body a chance to heal itself faster."

Even as she says these words I feel my eyes start to close, and slowly lose control of my body.

"How long are you going to take?" I hear Grief ask, but his voice is fuzzy, as if my ears are covered.

"Not another minute if all goes well. But I have to come back and check on them in half an hour." Meghan's voice replies.

"Half an hour? That's all I have with you? I need more of you."

"I'm not a possession Grief. You can't just take me and play with me whenever you feel like it. That's not how love works." Meghan snaps.

Grief laughs, a sound that I can barely make out as my vision fades and I slowly fall into a heavy drug induced sleep.

When I'm already half indulged in nightmares, Grief's reply reaches my ears.

"Why my dear. Since when was this called love?"

As he says these words, I am acutely aware of an intense pulse in my shoulder. It throbs for a millisecond, then it is gone. But I still notice it.

I notice it, because I can't feel anything else. Not my fingers or my toes or my pain stricken back.

Just this one pulse of pain in my shoulder.