Four days before the Selection

The elevator we got in is reserved for generals, so we're only able to use it because of Ryan. It is much smaller than the cargo elevators I typically use, and there is no wait time either. As the door closes, the metal box hums to life. Our descent begins.

Ryan leans against the wall as he crosses his arms and grins at us. "So, Ground Earth, huh? How are you two feeling? Anxious? Excited?"

A moment of awkwardness lingers. Sánchez's and my outfits are snug and casual, but our postures are far from relaxed. I'm nervous, and I can sense that Sánchez is as well. I've never seen them this tight-lipped and somber before.

"Fine, I guess," I mutter. "I mean, we're just going to find a mechanic for Sánchez. We're not looking for trouble or anything."

"You never know. Trouble might come looking for you instead. Speaking of that..." Ryan digs into his pocket and takes out two small devices with a button in the middle. "This is a tracker. I'll have to leave you during my mission, so keep this with you and I can find you after. If there's trouble, click this button and I will teleport to your location as soon as I can."

Sánchez and I grab a device each. It fits easily into my pocket.

"And you might already be feeling it now, but the air is going to be different as we go down." Ryan gestures around the elevator with his finger. I look around as if I can spot the changes in the air. Obviously, I cannot.

"As much as the Tower tries to regulate the circulating air," he continues, "there's still a big difference. So, unfortunately, you're going to suffer from what we call high-altitude de-acclimatization syndrome. The symptoms include fatigue and headache. Sánchez, you've encountered this when you first entered the Tower, right?"

Sánchez nods stiffly. Their head looks like it want to disappear into their black hoodie. "It took me about a month to get used to it."

One month? That explains their uneasiness. And now I'm even more worried about this trip to Ground Earth.

"You're physically stronger now, Sánchez, so it won't be as much of a problem this time. But if either of you are feeling terrible," —Ryan tosses a pill bottle to Sánchez— "take this. Acetazolamide. It can ease the symptoms. Now, I only have one bottle so you two need to get along and share, alright?"

My eyes meet Sánchez's, and I swiftly look away and clear my throat. "What other medications do we need to take?"

Ryan laughs. "You want to take more medication, Lara? Well, I personally find marijuana to be very helpful for any emotional distress you may get later on."

"Shut up, I meant like, for the radiation and stuff, you know..."

"Weren't you just saying that 'it can't be that bad on Ground Earth'?" Ryan makes air quotes with his fingers, raising his voice to mimic mine.

"Shut up. I don't know much about Ground Earth, okay?"

"Remind me again, what do you know?"

I think back to the history lessons I had to take. The bulk of my cadet education covered the history of the six space stations, the construction of the Tower, and the founding of the NovaTopian Board of Directors as a new global government. Ground Earth was only mentioned in relation to these topics, as if it was not relevant. As if it were a relic of the past.

"Um, so, about two hundred years ago," I recite, "over five thousand nuclear bombs—almost all the reserved stockpiles in the world—were set off during the Last World War. Because of that, Ground Earth is uninhabitable, and civilization has moved to either the Tower or the shuttles. That's... pretty much all I know."

"Uninhabitable, huh? Then why do we need NovaTopian soldiers for so-called 'peace maintenance' on Ground Earth if it's so uninhabitable?" Ryan counters.

"It's because... uh..." I stutter as I try to come up with an answer. "I mean, it has been two hundred years... And there must be a few people who didn't get to escape to the Tower or the shuttles during the war, so maybe they managed to survive the bombs and then repopulated Ground Earth after things got better or something?"

"Not a few." Ryan shakes his head. "Most people stayed on Ground Earth. The ones who escaped to the Tower or the shuttles are the few."

"Oh. How did they all survive the bombs?"

"They hid underground." He tilts his head. "Right, Sánchez?"

Sánchez shrugs. "I never lived underground."

"Past your time, then. It has been two hundred years."

I glance at Sánchez—who's particularly interested in the elevator floor—before rolling my eyes at Ryan. "You're lying. No way you know more than Sánchez about Ground Earth."

"Hey, I've been down there a lot. I could be an honorary Ground Earth dweller, you know."

"Yeah, right."

The elevator lets out a soft ding, and the screen above the door changes its display.

'Level: 2,000–3,000'

A soft gasp escapes my throat. I've never ventured below the 3,000th floor of the Tower, and seeing the numbers drop from '3,000–4,000' makes my heart plunge.

Ryan lets out a whistle. "We're finally out of the highest quarter of the Tower. By the way, Lara," —there is an amused glint in his eyes as he peers at me— "wanna take a guess as to what you'll see down there? First thing you see as you step out the Tower?"

"Uh, I don't know. More run-down buildings, maybe? More... destruction?" The image of the rubble after the blast yesterday returns to my mind. I quickly change the subject. "And General Caelum once told me there are lots of body anomalies because of all the radiation. So, I don't know, maybe I'll see some people with three arms or a third eye or something."

Ryan bursts into laughter. Sánchez is still not looking at me, but there's a small tilt in their lips.

"What?" Panic rises in me. "Did I say something very wrong?"

"No, you're not completely wrong." Ryan is still chuckling as he shakes his head. "But you know whatever that person says to you is exaggerated, right?"

I frown and lower my head. "I know she's biased, so, yeah, I kinda suspected that already."

Ryan nods. "I was hesitant at first, but now I'm so excited for you to get out of the Tower and finally experience a different place. Expand your horizons a little, you know? It's good for you."

"Whatever. I'll expand my horizons anyway once I win the Selection and go to NovaTopia."

"Not if I win," Sánchez quips.

"Not if I beat you."

"Fat chance."

"Shut up, Sánchez, I will beat you—"

"Speaking of beating each other," Ryan cuts into our argument, "did the both of you bring any weapons?"

I lift my sweatshirt. Under the loose pink cotton, a black strap with two handguns and two daggers wraps around my waist.

It seems that Sánchez has the same idea. They've also pulled up their hoodie to reveal a strap around a toned, ebony midriff—and it also holds two handguns and two daggers.

Ryan raises his brows. "Very nice. Did you two coordinate this?"

"No," we blurt at the same time before exchanging an awkward glance.

"I just brought what made sense," I say.

"It's not like we can hide a rifle or something," Sánchez adds.

"Geez, alright, no need to get this defensive. You two are so cute."

My cheeks burn. "Shut up, Ryan. Don't call me cute."

"Okay, okay," Ryan says with a small, wistful smile. I recognize this smile. It was the smile he gave me when he promised to be there for my cadet initiation. Or when he promised to not miss my birthday again.

It's the smile he always gives when he does not mean what he says.

I turn my head away from him, and our conversation ends.

For the rest of the ride, Ryan hums to himself and taps his fingers on the wall. Meanwhile, Sánchez still looks like they are trying to drill a hole in the metal box with their eyes. I wonder why they look so nervous. Is it just because of the weird syndrome that Ryan mentioned? But we already have medication for it if it gets bad. Sánchez was born and raised on Ground Earth, so I thought returning home would be more exciting for them. Instead, Ryan is the only cheerful person here.

The elevator dings two more times before it reaches the ground floor.

The door opens to a similar white and pristine vibe of the Tower. However, instead of the hallways that lead to training rooms and living units, the ground floor is a spacious hall that seems to have no end in sight.

Multiple rows of X-ray machines and body scanners fill the place. There are hundreds of civilians in line for the machines, emptying their bags and getting themselves scanned, while an equal amount of NovaTopian soldiers march around with rifles in hand. I've never seen this many soldiers in one place before. Like the courtroom, rifles are mounted all over the ceiling.

A few soldiers stand at attention when they spot Ryan in the elevator. Ryan waves them off.

As we step out of the elevator, a pang of nausea hits me, and the room spins. I stumble forward, but Sánchez grabs onto me.

"You okay, Lorensky?" they ask.

"You're de-acclimatizing," Ryan explains. "Give her the medicine I gave you, Sánchez."

They let go of me to take the bottle from their hood, but by the time they hand it to me, the room stops spinning and my mind is clear and refreshed.

"Oh, never mind. I'm feeling much better now," I say.

"You sure?" Sánchez asks.

"Yeah."

They stare at me for a few long seconds before popping the bottle open and swallowing some pills.

"We're still in the Tower, by the way," Ryan points out, gesturing around at the scene. "We'll have to go through all this security when we get back, but going out into Ground Earth is a simple walk out the door. Come on."

We follow Ryan halfway across the hall to a nondescript door. A bright red sign, 'Exit to Ground Earth', hangs above it—the only splash of color along the plain, white walls. A dozen NovaTopian soldiers are guarding the exit, but they merely part from the door and salute as we approach them. It really is that simple to leave the Tower.

Ryan pushes open the door, and my jaw drops.

The pristine whiteness dissolves into an explosion of colors. Neon signs pepper the dim skyscape, overcast with the shadows of the Tower, while graffiti drawings decorate the decrepit architecture. There is not a single white space left on any surface anywhere. Even the ground, so grimy and littered, is dyed with a variety of colors that I never thought could go well together.

The buildings are short—each of them no taller than ten or so stories—and jam-packed dangerously close together. A lot of the buildings also stack on top of one another, as though it was the Ground Earth dwellers' haphazard attempt to create taller buildings. But next to the Tower, they are ants under a giant's feet.

And the Ground Earth dwellers—the crowd of people walking about the narrow streets—are nothing like I predicted. No third eye or an extra arm. Instead, they look... just like me, and yet nothing like me. There are varying shades of skin color, varying amounts of cyberlimbs attached, and varying types of fashion styles. Among the sea of heterogeneity, I no longer feel out of place with my outfit.

I can hear Ryan asking me questions, but his voice fades into the background. Instead, all I hear are the children darting along the busy street, the group of older teenagers laughing and sharing a smoke, and the men competing in a cyberarm-wrestling match on the side.

This is far, far from what I imagined Ground Earth to be. Far from what I can imagine a place to be.

"Wow, this is..." I trail off.

"Different?" Sánchez offers.

I take my first step out of the Tower. A jolt of excitement shoots through me, and it feels both thrilling and queasy.

"Beautiful," I say. "This is beautiful."