Chapter Text
The sky was an unbroken sheet of ash and the sun just a little more than a faint smear behind the smog. It was always like this, so Noah didn’t understand why the Sanctuary had clear windows at the top of the dome at all.
Like everyone else, he didn’t care about sky gazing. There was no sky to see due to obscurity caused by the ash, and he was always too tired to bother.
He had worked another twelve-hour shift at the factory, another day of standing in front of a conveyor belt, assembling machine parts he’d never see in use. His hands ached, fingers stiff from overuse, but the exhaustion sat deeper than his muscles. He’d never noticed the way his whole body trembled just from how tired he was walking to and from work everyday, however. At least, not until the aunties that he’d pass by on his way home every day, who would talk amongst themselves in secret over at their cute little front porch decorated with little potted plants—which was a rare sighting at the slums he had grown accustomed to—had one day called over to him and commented about him.
“You don’t look so good these days,” One of the aunties pointed out concernedly. “We hope you’re resting well back at home. We know how hard it is out there…”
“I’m okay,” Noah had responded back then. “I’ll be okay.”
Truthfully, he really wasn’t.
Noah kept his head down as he walked farther into his district, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. The streetlights overhead flickered in their rusted frames, buzzing intermittently. The familiar air of the slums always smelled like oil and decay–like something rotting beneath the surface. Government officials didn’t bother funding the place to fix it, and the people living there were too caught up with their own problems to do anything.
The ‘rain’ from earlier had turned the dirt roads into a disgusting mess of mud and stagnant puddles, reflecting distorted images of the Sanctuary dome walls above them. The ‘rain’ was nothing more than a synthetic shower dispensed by the dome’s water system, but Noah didn’t understand why they’d bother placing one above the slums. It just made his boots dirty with sticky muck, and a pain in the ass to clean.
His apartment building was a crumbling block of concrete wedged between two abandoned lots. It’s way past due for a renovation, but money was tight, so he couldn’t really do anything but suck up the reality he lived in.
The lights in the hallway barely functioned, which flicked erratically as he climbed the stairs. The walls were lined with peeling paint and half-scrubbed graffiti tags that could never be truly erased. He could hear the distant murmur of a radio from the room next door, playing what sounded like state-mandated broadcasts. To his annoyance, it was that same damn hollow voice repeating the same hollow promises, but all he could do was give out a scoff and move on.
Noah pushed open the door to his unit with the click of his keys, the rusted hinges groaning in the process. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old blankets and scent spray. He’d find Kris sitting on the couch–if the lumpy mess of cushions and torn fabric could be called that–hunched over a sketchpad, face nearly obscured by dark curls.
“You’re late,” Kris muttered, not looking up.
“I got held up.”
Noah kicked off his boots and placed it somewhere where it wouldn’t make a mess on the carpet. He sank into the chair across from his brother, body aching, but he ignored it.
Noah gave out a long exhale before he continued. “Did you eat?”
Kris shook his head, still not looking up. Noah would straighten up, feeling himself become concerned for his brother’s well-being.
“Why? You needa eat, you know.”
His brother would look up at him then, almost an unreadable expression. The only thing Noah could make of it was slight guilt in his eyes? But before Noah could place it, Kris gave him a small shrug.
“‘M not hungry.”
Noah studied him for a second longer, debating whether to push the issue. Kris had been off lately—but then again, so had everyone else. It wasn’t easy living like this, scraping by day after day, hoping enforcers wouldn’t come knocking down their door if they didn’t do what was necessary. He sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment.
“That’s not a good reason,” Noah finally mutters.
Kris doesn’t answer for a second. The scratch of his pencil against paper would halt to a stop, filling the room in silence. It was the awkward, unpleasant kind of silence, but Noah tried not to think much of it.
“I just figured…” Kris began, fidgeting his pencil in the process. “You and Ma need it more than me.”
Noah would open his eyes at this, concern flooding his mind.
“Dude. Of course you need it.”
He raises a finger to point at his brother, his voice stern. “We barely have enough meds as it is, Kris. You skipping meals is only going to make things worse.”
Kris sinks in his seat, like he’s done something horrible. It’s enough for Noah to feel bad and try to retract his words.
“Lil bro… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound angry, I’m just...” He’d scratch his head, fussing with his own curls as he did so. “When you’re here not eating when you need to, that’s obviously gonna make me worried. Think about what Ma might think if she finds out you’re not taking care of your health.”
Kris is still frowning, but it looks like he understands his frustration. “...yeah, I know. But you guys.”
Noah exhaled sharply, but his tone is a lot calmer now. “Me and Ma are gonna be okay. So, you don’t gotta worry about us. We’re just doing what we needa do.”
Kris nodded in understanding. Noah would let himself relax into the seat then, taking in the comfortable air that lingered in their home. Every time he’d come back home, the familiar scent would hit him in the face and he’d realize just how much he missed it.
There’s a beat of silence before Kris goes back to his doodling. But he decides to speak his mind as he did so.
“They shouldn’t have laid you off.”
“Huh?” Noah raises his head to look at him. “Whatchu talkin’ bout?”
“You know,” Kris said. “The militia.”
Noah blinks at him. “Where’d that come from?”
Kris shrugged, but he continued. “Just thinking, if they didn’t lay you off then you wouldn't be working so hard right now.”
Noah sighed, shaking his head as he straightened up from his seat once again. “Kris. I was working just as hard back then. There’s a lotta shit that happens there… taking families away and sending them to who knows where. It was hard.”
Kris’ gaze landed somewhere distant. “I didn’t know you had to do that.”
“You weren’t supposed to know that before, but it was definitely more than just a security job.” Noah sighed. He wanted to brush off the new conversation just as quickly as it was brought up. “Well, now you know. But it’s whatever. Just gotta focus on the present, now.”
But truthfully, Noah was never laid off. He was the one who chose to quit to find someplace else to work. Although the pay was just a tad bit higher, and the fact that they gave Kris more medical benefits than he has now, he couldn’t bear witness of what he had to do to keep peace around the Sanctuary.
He didn’t get why they had to be so strict with rules. But Noah feels horrible. Selfish.
Selfish that he’d think of his own feelings over Kris’ health.
He’d beat himself up and he’d stay up days on end feeling so guilty. But it was done, and he knew he had to take matters in his own hands now.
He looked out the window behind Kris, the lights of the dome walls dimming as evening times passed. He’d get out of his seat to make his way to the cabinet, which usually housed Kris’ boxes of hydroxyurea capsules provided by the government before. But now there's only one box remaining, with a singular aluminum packet almost halfway run through. Around it were miscellaneous medicine that probably wouldn’t help with Kris’ illness, and were probably past due its time.
“Did you take your medication today?” Noah asked as he closed the cabinet door. Kris would mutter a sound ‘mhm’ from across the room.
Noah started to make his way to the doorway, putting on his cleaner pair of shoes. It’s nearly worn-out, but it was much better than the boots he was wearing before, which now has dried mud covering its soles and underside.
Kris’ attention peaked at his movements. “Where’re you headed?”
“Going to get more medicine,” Noah answered quickly.
“Right now? Are you gonna steal again?”
Noah scoffs. “No! Of course not…”
Kris only deadpans at him. Damn did the kid read him better than he’d expected.
“...fine, I am. But I’ll be quick, I promise.”
“But what if you get in trouble?!” Kris’ voice heightens as he runs over to Noah.
“I’ll stay outta trouble, promise.” Noah shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Just, uh, don’t tell Ma where I’m at if she gets home before me. Tell her I had overtime or somethin’.”
Kris is reluctant at first, and Noah considers saying a quick bye and leaving before he’s stopped. But a second later, Kris is hugging him.
“Keep that promise,” he says. “Thanks for doing all this for me, bro.”
Noah was taken aback, but his hand instinctively found solace in ruffling Kris’ curls as he pulled him into a light embrace. “Just doing what I need to do, kid.”
They stay like that for a few seconds before Noah is out the door once again.
–
Noah admits, making a habit out of stealing medicine was something he was not proud of.
He’d been doing this every couple of months now, so he doesn’t do it a lot. But having to resort to a decision like this in the first place? It makes him feel like a criminal. Like trash.
But he needed to do what was necessary. He repeated that same phrase in his head over and over again in an attempt to make himself feel better. Sometimes, it worked. At others, not. He was yet to find that out on today’s trip.
Noah moved through the city’s back alleys, keeping to the shadows where the dim glow of malfunctioning streetlights couldn’t touch him. The middle-class district was much quieter at this hour; the district had streets lined with well-maintained buildings. They weren’t as fancy as the bright, futuristic-looking skyscrapers in the city center, but it looked better compared to the crumbling structures back in the slums. Even the air smelled cleaner–something sanitized, much like everything else in these neighborhoods, instead of the oil and stagnant water he was used to back home.
The medical facility he targeted wasn’t heavily guarded by security. It didn’t need to be. People here had the luxury of affording medicine legally. Noah knew from previous scouting that expired or surplus medications were often discarded, most of which were unused. Such a waste, considering people like him had to ration every pill like it was gold.
As he slipped through the facility’s side alley, he spotted the service door. It was locked, like it usually was, but the vents above were loose, most likely from lazy maintenance. With a grunt, Noah hoisted himself up, wincing as his already sore muscles screamed in protest.
The air inside was cold and sterile, with the faint hum of machinery filling the space around him. The hallways were dimly lit, security cameras perched in the corners, but Noah knew how to get around. He kept his hood low, moving swiftly toward the storage room.
To his luck, the door was unlocked. Someone had probably been here recently, and had either been forgotten or they were simply coming back. Noah quickly entered to avoid being seen if it were the latter.
Shelves lined the space inside with neatly organized pill bottles, syringes, and vials of several types of medicines he couldn’t pronounce. Noah’s eyes scanned the labels, fingers trembling slightly as he found what he needed–hydroxyurea. A whole case of it, too. It was more than enough to last Kris months.
He stuffed as many packs as he could into his bag. His eyes flicked to a nearby shelf, and he grabbed a few packs of folic acid supplements while he was at it. He figured Kris needed all the help he could get.
Just as he was about to turn away, his gaze drifted to a nearby waste bin. As he peered inside, he would find rows of unopened boxes, still perfectly sealed, tossed away simply because they were nearing expiration.
Noah’s jaw clenched. Doctors were seriously throwing medicine away like it was nothing, instead of giving it away to people who actually needed them.
He was about to take his leave when he’d suddenly hear voices outside.
Noah’s heart began hammering in his chest as he ducked behind a shelving unit. Two voices—muffled, but close enough to be worried about—drifted from the hallway. One of them, a woman, sounded authoritative. The other voice, a man, was lower and more hesitant.
“—no use in keeping around much longer. Their productivity rates are going down.”
“But the camps are already at capacity,” the man responded. “If we start purging more, we’ll need alternative sites.”
Noah’s brows furrowed.
‘Purging’?
He knew about the labor camps and how the people sent there never came back. He himself has experienced this process first hand, as he’d detain people 'worth sending' to the camps in his past job. But the way they spoke about it—so casual, so indifferent —made his skin crawl.
He could hear the woman audibly sigh, clearly irritated. “Then we’ll start transferring subjects to off-world sites sooner than expected.”
Noah stiffened. Off-world? What the hell did that mean?
The man hesitated. “You’re certain they are willing to take more?”
“They demand it,” the woman corrected. “We’ve already delayed the next shipment longer than we should have. If we don’t cooperate, we become disposable.”
Noah’s blood ran cold.
The way she said it. Disposable. It sent a chill down his spine. He wasn’t sure what shipment they were talking about, but the way they spoke made it clear that refusal wasn’t an option.
And then there was that word. They.
Who were they?
Did they mean the elites? Or was there something more than what was being led on?
And the way the voices talked about the people being sent to those labor camps. He knew that he himself could be at risk of being sent himself, but the way they referred to his own people… Subjects. There was something unnatural about how the woman referred to them. Were they nothing but livestock, used for the sole purpose of working to death? Was that why almost no one returned back, as they were subjected to harsh treatment and death?
Noah took an unconscious step backward as a million thoughts ran through his head. His foot would nudge something in the process, which would send a metal tray on a shelf behind him tumbling down with a sharp clang.
The voices outside stopped. The silence was so deafening Noah could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.
Then—
“Who’s there?”
Noah didn’t wait to get caught. He immediately bolted, weaving through the shelves as a loud alarm suddenly blared through the facility.
He shoved through the door, sprinting down the hallway as he could hear heavy boots pounding on the floor in pursuit of him a few moments later.
“Hey! Stop!”
Not a chance in hell!
He shoved through the door and tore down the hallway, breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. The cold, sterile air burned in his lungs as he ran. Boots pounded after him, getting closer by the minute. He snapped his head back, which was a bad idea, as he lost focus from the sudden movement. His foot snagged against the slick floor because of it, and he barely caught himself before he shoved himself off the wall to keep moving.
A burst of gunfire cracked behind him. A warning shot. His stomach lurched, but he pushed forward, skidding around a corner. A dead end—no, a supply cart! He shoved it down in an attempt to distract them, sending medical trays clattering to the floor. The guards cursed as they tripped over the mess.
Noah seized the chance, sprinting faster as the exit came into clear view. He was so close. Just a few more steps—
His thoughts are suddenly interrupted with a harsh crack of an electric baton against his ribs. Pain exploded in his side, and his vision blurred as his legs gave out beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground.
He could see another military personnel come into his peripheral view, seemingly coming from another hallway connected to the one he was running through.
He groaned as rough hands grabbed his arms and yanked them behind his back. His hood was ripped away from his face, which exposed his face.
“Well, well,” a voice sneered. “A filthy slummer sneaking where he doesn’t belong.”
Noah thrashed, but the military personnel tightened their grip. His heart pounded as he realized the truth.
He’d stolen medicine before. And he’s gotten away with it before. But this time, they knew he’d stolen information.
And now, he knew they weren’t just going to let him go so easily.