Amy rose up on her tiptoes, trying to see how much longer she'd have to stand in this line. It stretched out ahead of her, trailing toward the large, prefabricated building set up close to the Biodome. It had been years since she had been this close to the Biodome; its transparent dome arced up into the sky, the material reflecting bits of light as it covered the broad area of one of the last cities.

Sighing, she dropped back down onto her feet, the thick soles of her boots crunching in the snow. She'd have to wait a lot longer before reaching the building and getting to see her file. Wrapping her arms around her waist, Amy hugged her thick parka closer to her. Barely noticing the cold wind dusting her cheeks with the fresh powder from last night, she stared at the hooded head in front of her and wished the line would go faster.

Today was the day, the biggest day so far of Amy's life. Of all of their lives, really. This was the day they were admitted to the Biodome, leaving the youth camp behind forever.

Amy shifted, exhaling. Her breath clouded in the cold air but she barely noticed. What is it like, in a city where there is no cold? The youth camp was all she had ever known. To not have to bundle up every time you stepped out of the lodge or dormitory – that would be a new and welcome experience. To have easy access to heat, instead of having to barter for it.

Slowly, the line moved forward and Amy sighed, grateful just to move a little bit. Although she had grown used to the cold after living in it for the past eighteen years of her life, it still wasn't advisable to stand still for very long. Frostbite still did happen, more often than people liked to believe since everyone had grown accustomed to living in the frozen wasteland of North America.

Wiggling her fingers in her thick gloves, Amy took a deep breath, ignoring the cold air scraping down her throat. I wonder what will be in my file. I wonder what kind of life I'll get to lead inside the Biodome. I wonder what Kismet has determined for me.

I wonder if I'll remember living in the camp at all.

The line continued to move slowly, seeming to take longer and longer the closer Amy got to the building. But it was still moving, which was a good thing.

Will I remember any of this? Will I remember standing in this line, being processed? I know I won't remember my file. But will I remember anything else?

Finally, Amy was at the front of the line and the official at the door was gesturing her in.

"Fingerprint," he requested, and Amy placed her index finger on the scanner. Amy – Female 1545 appeared on the screen, next to the most recent picture of her, wavy reddish brown hair hanging around her shoulders, brown eyes firm and serious. "Retinal scan."

Amy stepped up to the reader, staring straight ahead as the device scanned her eye. Again, the identification from before showed up, confirming she was who she claimed to be. Then she was ushered forward into a booth and a pair of headphones was placed over her ears, the chips in the earpieces sliding into her ear canals.

Amy could never get used to the chips entering her ears. She'd had to wear visual-auditory headphones before, but it was always uncomfortable for the pieces protruding into her head. After a moment of fidgeting and shifting the headphones on her head, Amy stood still, eyes closed, and the voice began, images appearing on the dark of her eyelids.

"Hello, and welcome to the Future Draft. Today is a most momentous day in your young life. Today you are admitted to the Biodome to start your adult life as a productive and rational member of society. Up until now, you have been raised in the youth camp, but now you will be prepared responsibly to enter society.

"As a part of the Future Draft, you are privileged to view the file that Kismet has prepared for you. This file contains your entire future, every step, every record, every move you will ever make once you enter the Biodome. Before you undergo the Wiping, you will be allowed to peruse your file and get a glimpse at what the Writers of Kismet have planned for you, to know, if only for a second, what is in store for your life, what you have been deemed worthy of.

"After the time allotted for you to read your file, you shall proceed to the Wiping Chamber, where you will be processed for entrance into the Biodome."

Processed – what a neutral word when its reality meant being memory wiped. Amy had listened to enough stories and eavesdropped on enough conversations within the camp to know that entrants into the Biodome were wiped of their previous memories and fitted with some type of chip, which, according to the rumors, did everything from upload an AI algorithm into your brain to make you dance in public streets whenever music started playing.

The info sessions skipped that part, however.

"Welcome to your new life."

The audio clicked off and the visuals vanished as Amy carefully removed the headphones from her ears, the visual accompaniment chips retracting out of her ear canals to coil back up inside the muffs of the headphones. She placed them down carefully and was directed to move towards another station.

A large metal desk sat before a huge wall of filing cabinets. In front of Amy, a young man was receiving a thick file from the older man behind the desk. That file would contain every piece of information about that boy's life, and by the time he entered the Biodome, he wouldn't remember any of it.

Amy had often wondered what the point was of allowing the incoming citizens to view their files before being memory wiped and implanted with their chips. Her best friend Dana had speculated that it was because the Writers liked to see their reactions to their inevitable futures.

"See, it's like authors and books," Dana had said, brushing a clump of snow off her laces with the toe of her other boot. They had been standing in a stand of iced over trees, the trunks grey and bare, the branches broken from the snow and desolate of any life. "An author writes some such rubbish and then wants other people to read it, to see their expressions at the hard bits and their rejoicing at the cheerful bits. I guess the Future Writers feel the same way. They like to see how people react to their futures, being burdened with that knowledge of what's going to happen, if only for a moment." Dana had frowned then. "So perhaps it's more like spoilers."

Amy wondered where Dana was right now. A year older than Amy, she had been admitted to the Biodome a year ago. Did she remember Amy and the youth camp? From everything Amy had heard about the admission process, Dana would have had her memory wiped, at least erasing the time of the Future Draft so she wouldn't remember her file. But what else was erased? Had Dana forgotten about Amy and their other friend Jeffrey, as well as the others from the youth camp?

Would Amy forget Dana and Jeffrey too? She hoped not. She didn't want to forget her friends, all the good times they had had together, the promises they had made to look each other up once inside the Biodome, no matter what was done to them before entering. For the past year, she and Jeffrey had talked about tracking down Dana once inside, who they firmly believed, despite the corrosive doubt, would be trying to find them. Dana and Jeffrey were the only people Amy could rely on in life, and the thought of having them completely erased to the point that she wouldn't even know she was missing them was horrifying.

Cautiously, Amy approached the file desk, pressing her finger to the scanner and going through the retinal scan again. Once her identity had been confirmed, the man handed her a thin, manila file marked Amy – Female 1545.

Amy frowned. The file was awfully thin to contain her entire future. It didn't even look like there was anything in it. She glanced at the file belonging to the boy walking away from the desk, which was thick with information, full of information regarding his future. Then she looked back at hers, frowning.

"Uh, sir?" she asked, glancing at the man behind the desk. "I think you gave me the wrong file. This one's kinda small."

The man frowned, glancing at the number across the front of her file. "You Amy 1545?" he asked. When Amy nodded, he gestured dismissively. "That's your file, then. Go on, now. Move along."

Amy gave the guy a strange look and moved on, glancing around for Jeffrey. He had been sorted into line ahead of her and should already have his file by now. And she didn't want to open this by herself.

It took a minute of searching but she finally found Jeffrey, sitting on a bench tucked up against one of the prefab walls. He glanced up as she slid down onto the seat next to him, brushing his dark hair out of his green eyes. His own manila file sat on his lap, much larger than Amy's. "Hey, Fifteen," he said, his voice contemplative. "Got your file?"

Amy held up the thin file. "Yeah, Sixteen, but it's too thin. It can't be mine."

Jeffrey frowned, then glanced down at his own thick file. Jeffrey – Male 1645 had been stamped on the cover. "That's strange. It should be thicker, right? I mean, this tells us our entire life."

Amy nodded. "I know! How can they tell me my entire life in such a thin folder?" She slumped down onto the bench beside him, shaking her braid over her shoulder. "Anything good in yours?"

"Just that I'll get married to a girl I meet after university, have two kids with her, and have a career in the police force," Jeffrey said with a shrug, his gaze growing distant. "I die of a heart attack after seeing my oldest have three grandchildren and my youngest get engaged. Not like I'll ever see the kids, anyway, once they get carted off to the youth camp." He frowned at his file. "That's the important bits to me, anyway. I get promoted a couple times – I'll get shot, too, but I live. Hope I love my wife. The pictures look great but you never know." He glanced at Amy's file, giving a grim laugh. "Let's see what yours says. Maybe there's an explanation for why it's so short. Perhaps a note from the Writer, asking for an extension." His tone had a strained lightness to it. Despite his jokes, Amy knew Jeffrey was worried about what was in her file.

Carefully, Amy opened her file, her eyes falling on the bold words scrawled across the top. It was a police report, with an unsmiling picture of Amy herself on the side of the page.

Amy Trenton – Murder Victim.