I grasp with consternation that the day has passed at breakneck speed in the premises where we have been held. With one arm under Imane's shoulder, I want to speed up the pace so that we can quickly reach the small streets leading to Freetown, using the path which my brother uses most frequently. I feel that my sister does not desire to be near me; this closeness, she hates it. However, she clings with all her strength to my wrist when the sound of footsteps behind us seems to reach us, aware of a paranoid danger. At every street corner, every time we take a new avenue, I look up for the presence of hunters, for the slightest trace of Ho-Jin.

"We need to get to Freetown as soon as possible," I say, forgetting about Rachel's advice not to come close to that street. "If I still had my phone, I could have told Mohamed, and he could send someone to also look for him. Maybe he is already there. We do not really know; we cannot yet be sure that Inspector Nguyen was telling the truth."

"I am afraid that it is too late, Kanoa," my little sister bursts between sobs.

"If he is not in Freetown..."

"Ho-Jin must be dead."

I do not want to hear it; I do not want to hear that word. I do not stop, walking even faster, pushing her to force herself on her sore leg.

"Kanoa... The Masters-Avengers..." she sniffs. "The police did not look like..."

"How can you say that with so much... You cannot give up hope so easily! He is our brother! I do not recognize you; I do not understand you anymore. Really."

I keep quiet. She no longer tries to contain her anxiety and cries bitterly. I swallow back a nauseous wave and squint my eyes to hide my tears. I rub a sorry, somewhat comforting hand across her wrist.

Near the intersection that we must take next, Imane suddenly crouches down behind a dumpster, pulling my arm to her. A small group of Masters-Avengers, some armed with hammers and adjustable wrenches for others, cross the street to reach the main avenue. There are like little red circles on the sidewalk that they left. When the smell of blood hits me, I can no longer hold back the bile squeezed behind my teeth and dump it on the floor. As I get up, in the half-light, I have trouble distinguishing the tears running down my sister's cheeks, her forehead, and her nose. I blink and put my hand to my scalp, a sharp pain preventing me from speaking. I look at my hand; there is some blood that I am hiding from Imane. This must have been the aftermath of my covidic crisis at the police station. I make the decision that very morning not to betray my true feelings anymore, so a crisis of this magnitude had to happen. It is not for nothing that the slaves lie to themselves. It is less risky, less painful.

"Ho-Jin... certainly, they took it out on him... Those are the Masters-Avengers whom Inspector Nguyen told about and..."

"Imane, listen to me," I say, lifting her gently. "We are going to Freetown; we are going to get help. We will go around town a hundred times if we have to, in order to find him, do you hear me?"

I am not waiting for her response. We start walking again, gripped by an absurd sense of hope, fueled by the thought that we had not found my brother's body in the hands of the Masters-Avengers. Ho-Jin surely fled, he managed to avoid the traps which were set for him, and he will soon welcome us in Freetown... But maybe he was also forced to go by another path where the Masters-Avengers attacked him. Maybe he was found and then brought to Freetown... lifeless. Maybe they hold him back and send us his remains...

I drive away these dark ideas, so much more rational than our hope, as the entrance to Freetown presents itself to us. Cautiously, we reach the first buildings. There is a special atmosphere, light and more gloomy than usual. Something fundamental is missing, disturbing me.

We quickly pass the second row of houses. We only see a few slaves walking briskly, carefully avoiding meeting our gaze. The suffocating silence, so peculiar in these hours, as a lot of slaves whose Masters do not want them in their home for the nights come back to Freetown, dissipates as we approach the square in front of the orphanage. However, the crowd is not gathered around the circle where the Collection is held on Sundays. The bodies move frantically towards the dispensary.

"What...?" Imane begins to ask, pointing to the orphanage.

I suddenly understand what bothered me so much. The smell of the large dump, the rubbish piling up by the hundreds, charging all Freetown and its surroundings with its so detestable scent, they disappeared. In their place stand two, three, four huge garbage trucks which finish their disinfection maneuver. It has been years that my father fought with the city hall of New York so that we no longer live in this waste. However, most of us have simply given up the idea of ​​one day being able to find the old park that served as a carpet for trash. These garbage trucks are like a mirage, and their spectacle fascinates among the small troop in the square, a few dozen slaves. The others continue to rush, making round trips from the dispensary.

"What are you doing here? Are you okay, Imane? We've been trying to reach you for hours! You-you... the police... Ho-Jin..."

Karen rushes towards us, looking serious.

"Where is he? Is he okay? So he arrived in Freetown?" I hasten to ask.

She says nothing; she, too, avoids my gaze. I let go of Imane and take Karen by the shoulders. She grabs my wrist and that of my sister and leads us through the crowd. The main corridor of the dispensary is drowned in faces and words that I cannot recognize. I meet several familiar looks. Expressions of anger, sadness, and disgust are presented to me. There is a great silence when someone whispers our names, breaking down our identity, introducing us to everyone. In front of the door at the end of the corridor, Mayor Nguyen and Caregiver Troy apologize. I do not listen to those sentences that seem like condolences to me and enter without further ado the small bedroom.

Mohamed is leaning over a figure, holding a bandaged wrist in his hand. I walk cautiously, dizzy. The dressings continue up to the shoulder; around the neck, there are bandages of a different color. The arm, which is closer to me, is also covered with white fabric. The rest of the body lies under a thick, once white blanket, at this time, covered with maroon spots. As I notice the fabric slowly lifting, I rush to grab my brother's hand. What a terror it is to me when in a movement of disgust, I try to walk away as he painfully turns his face in my direction. Imane's screams seem to pull my father out of his trance. His wheelchair creaks as he barks at Karen to help him get my sister out. I remain alone with Ho-Jin. I gather all the cowardice which I have left to confront that face... that barbarity, that atrocity. The bed cracks, but Ho-Jin does not seem to have moved. He is almost completely incapacitated; it was my knee that slid the old infusion stand near the headboard. I bustle around the mattress, complaining about my awkwardness while recognizing that I am not allowed to do this to Ho-Jin. I do not have the right to run away from him, no matter what his condition is. Neither to treat him cautiously nor to show him false attentions. He would have hated that.

"You... I, I am so... so sorry," I say, bursting into tears. "These monsters, these monsters, they had no right!"

It is pathetic, but that is all I can think of to say to him. I still cannot look at him. I do not even know if he can hear me, understand me, see me, or feel me by his side. Everything on his face is destroyed. His chest continues to lift under the blanket, so I hold on tight to that faint sign of life. I have to grieve for who he was.

In a way, Ho-Jin died.

"That Nguyen... the inspector, who came to bring him to us in an ambulance. The garbage trucks arrived at the same time as him. He claims that you know each other well and that you will be able to explain to our community what this announcement made by the Mayor of New York means."

Mohamed hands me a crumpled paper over the bed. I have the reflex to place it at my feet, reaching out my hands to him, like a criminal who wants to forgive himself.

"I assure you, I did not know, it happened so quickly when they arrested me, Ho-Jin..."

"Read it!" my father shouts.

"I am sorry..."

"Kanoa, read."

I wipe my nose; my tears fall on the piece of paper. I can hardly decipher the words, still suffering from headaches. The first few sentences are inaccessible to me, then my vision adjusting, I discover with dismay the role that Inspector Nguyen has promised me to play in his big hunting trip. I am no longer the pasture but bait for a more prestigious, more important prey: Freetown, in its entirety, right down to its foundations. Because of the terrorist threat, criminal organizations, gangs, health danger, the American government, represented by the City Hall of New York, opposes us to Article III, Amendment XVI, the Purgation Act. It is the law under which the 2001 and Trump's recent embargoes were put in place. As a slave, it is difficult to find, at the individual level, a punishment of as great a scale as that of taking this life, which does not really belong to us, ultimately. We are the property of the United States of America, and it is counterproductive to destroy your merchandise, your hard-won cattle.

The animals that are least receptive to the whip, those that are not afraid of dying, one must make an example of them. Otherwise, they infect others with a virus of rebellion that cannot be controlled like COVID-19. The healing, the vaccine must then come from within. In other words, what the New York City Hall proposes, is a hunt for immoral slaves by model slaves. If Freetown manages to get rid of its vermin, it will be absolved of all its sins, reclassified among the areas of American citizenship, and all its inhabitants will be attributed to the quality of "true American." As a sign of goodwill, the garbage trucks were called out.

However, if the slaves must continue to drown in their filth, that they persevere in compromising the security of the territory of the United States of America, by terrorist acts and attacks, all its inhabitants will be confined. They will be quarantined if necessary. They will not have access to the enfranchisement process, whether by grace, the Lottery or scholarships, and this for an indefinite period. In the entire history of America, this procedure has only been used on infrequent occasions to make the most reluctant Freetown, of which we have always been a part, cede.

As the New Yorker Freetown, this is not the first time we have received this threat, and so far, members of the FreeRush movement brandish the menacing of the Purgation Act with some pride, using it as a recruiting argument. What is different about the current situation is the trucks that managed to sow doubt with the slaves, explaining all the hustle. There is also the nursing of Ho-Jin, "attacked during an unfortunate altercation with these evil Masters-Avengers." An ambulance unearthed to heal a slave does not happen, ever. The tone of the letter, for this excerpt, is intentionally infantilizing, insulting, ironic, and this is the part that is intended for me.

Most important, nevertheless, there is this promise of enfranchisement. An aberration, a trap certainly.

The last thing is the list of names on the back of the letter. First, in bold, the term "Activist," followed by the names of Mohamed Doe, Isaac and Rachel Doe, Karen Doe, Imane Doe, Ho-Jin Doe, and Kanoa Doe. The list does not end with my name, ten more slaves are mentioned, but I do not read any further.

"Unfortunately, the letter has already circulated, and everyone can see the trucks. The fact that they do not kick in that door immediately is because of your brother's situation. Mayor Nguyen has announced that she wants to give the slaves on this list their last 24 hours of respite, in honor of the Sunday Collections, which they will not be attending anymore, to go to her office, where the police will be contacted to deal with the slaves. It was Shin who intervened on our behalf to get this from her, "to leave us time to say our goodbyes." Mayor Nguyen does not guarantee the safety of these people during those 24 hours and beyond this period, encourages all slaves to do justice to our community."

"The government will never allow the release of hundreds of slaves."

"I would not have taken the risk either," Mohamed says coldly. "I understand it, I understand them. Those who have nothing to be ashamed of deserve to believe in this chance. We were part of them until recently, but my fault..."

Although I cannot really hear them, I greet these reproaches like torrential rain in a barren desert. I refuse that they are for him. All this guilt, this cowardice is all that I have left.

"Neither your brother nor your sister will ever be able to walk as before. You who were so afraid of ending up like me..." he quips. "You, on the other hand, you will always be able to run, flee, go elsewhere, I do not know where," he adds, taking his head in his hands. "Maybe we can save some time pleading for our situation with Ho-Jin and Imane."

"I will not let you."

"The Grinbergs left earlier. They and Salvi were quick to go after learning about the letter."

I stand up abruptly, quitting the room. The hallway is empty; there is only Caregiver Troy, who tries a sympathetic smile for me. He is dealing with Imane, supported by Karen, not far from the room where Ho-Jin was placed. In the square, the atmosphere has changed again. It is more akin to the enthusiasm that grips the hearts of the slaves on Sunday, but there is still more. An eerie feeling of relief, as if to warn me that they have all already decided. As I walk by, the spaces tighten, the hands and expressions become threatening, until I reach the center of the square, where the Symphonizer usually stands to preside over the Collection.

"You know that it is not fair, Mayor Nguyen," I apostrophize in a random direction.

I stop suddenly, to find myself facing all those reluctant faces. A sensation of dizziness takes me. Still, I must do honor to Ho-Jin, whose dream that I stole.

"You all understand that this is not fair!"

"Everyone knows what you did, murderers! You and your family, if you had nothing to hide, you wouldn't be here," Mayor Nguyen replies, standing out from the first semi-circle formed by the crowd around me.

"I wanted... we just wanted to be free," I say pitifully.

"You should have learned from your parents. They also wanted to be free."

I clench my fists, feeling the hostility draw closer to me in the form of insults and projectiles raining in my direction. Trying to find a crack in the body wall opposing me, I am surprised to feel a supporting hand on my shoulder.

"It was agreed that in honor of Ho-Jin's belonging to our clan, no harm would be done to his adoptive family until the 24 hours have elapsed," Shin punctuates. "They have to say goodbye."

He clears a path to the dispensary, pushing me through the hall. The slaves give him dirty looks, spelling racist and discriminating insults at Asian slaves. He takes me by the collar.

"Nothing is free; you're lucky that your brother was so far-sighted. But in view of the situation, you are going to have to pay for his debt since no other member of your family can."

"What are you talking about?" I fidget.

"In case your getaway with the Grinbergs and your deal with Salvi fell through, Ho-Jin wanted to make arrangements so that you could get away. I was to take you to Canada, and in return, he agreed to go back to North Korea. We were actually discussing the details of our contract, earlier, on his way to Freetown, when he was attacked."

"But he would have remained a slave in this scenario!"

"And you would have been free."

I shake my head in disbelief. All this time that I blamed him for spending with Shin...

"You have to take his place now. This is the only way to save yourself, and anyway, a deal is a deal. I had already prepared everything for his repatriation. If you had to refuse, I myself would have to take your life and his, in this place, leaving the rest of your family to the anger of the other slaves of Freetown."

His tone is not threatening, but his demeanor is determined. He should not feel it necessary to scare me, just to want to explain the issues to me clearly. This man whose methods I found as repulsive as possible, whom I judged before joining him to the criminals' side, offers me the illusion of salvation. An inestimable chance, almost too good, surreal given the situation. And I owe all this to my brother, who brings me hope and life, although I have only been able for my part, to bring him death.