Chapter Text
The best that can be said for most citizens of Steril City is that they tolerate. They work the jobs that they’re assigned, live in the accommodations that they’re afforded, and spend every hour of every day on their best behaviour. They eat decent food, practiced at ignoring the stale, artificial taste that lingers beneath every bite. They’re kind to their colleagues, loyal to their superiors, and appropriately polite to anyone else that they come across. Though very few of them are happy, they don’t complain. The citizens of Steril City tolerate, because above all, they are grateful to be alive.
That’s not to say that there aren’t, for many of them, moments of genuine joy. It’s highly encouraged that each individual finds what brings them that feeling. For some it’s a hobby to fill the time that they have to themselves. For others it’s a simple comfort– games, movies, and music are all great choices, distributed so cheaply that they may as well be free. But everyone knows that those pale in comparison to the feeling of finding the person who they want to share their lives with. Aside from work, it’s most people’s top priority. Not only is it necessary to give birth to the next generation, but those lucky enough to have a loved one to come home to have been proven over and over again to be the most productive members of society.
Daniel Howell used to know what made him happy. No matter how much time he spent nearly drowning in a never-ending onslaught of assignments and tests that might as well determine his worth as a human being, he never let himself go under. More accurately, his friends were always there to pull him up. It was like they could sense it when he was on that edge, peering down at oblivion, and so they’d invite him to hang out for a while, and for a moment everything was okay. Most of his memories of school have been reduced to a blur of stress and terror, but then there are those intermissions spent in unfamiliar living rooms, sitting on stained couches and laughing too loud as he’s killed for the millionth time in someone else’s favorite video game. In those moments, nothing else could touch him.
And then there was Jenna. They met at school, just like every other couple their age. They’d probably been in the same classes since they were kids, but he couldn’t have told you her name until one day in tenth year.
There was a big school-wide dance scheduled a week out. He wasn’t planning to go. There would be no point. He didn’t like dancing, and it would be too awkward to lean against a wall alone and watch while all of his friends were pulled away by their partners. He could always ask someone to go with him, but it would make him feel too guilty to invite a girl that he didn’t really like to go do something that he really didn’t want to do. So while his classmates buzzed with excitement, whispering to each other in the cafeteria about what they'd wear and snickering about unlikely pairings, he kept his head down and worked on his latest nerve-wracking history essay. He almost told her to fuck off when she tapped on his shoulder, expecting it to be an an acquaintance asking him to move so their friend group could file onto the empty bench that he was sat in the dead center of, but then he looked up and saw her.
She didn’t look put-off. There was no group of girls waiting behind her. Instead, she looked kind of terrified. Her hands were clasped behind her back, pulling her tense shoulder back too far. Her eyes were wide, and though her skin was nearly too dark to see it, he thought that she looked flushed. For a moment he simply stared at her, trying to shake the annoyance that must have been painted on his face.
“I’m sorry, uh–” she muttered finally, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. “You’re Daniel, right?”
He nodded slowly. “Usually I go by Dan.”
She kind of laughed, but it was forced and cut short, more of a burst of air. “Okay. Dan.”
He smiled at that, because he recognized himself in it. He was never good at talking to people, never sure of what exactly he was meant to do or say. She didn’t seem to know either, and when she just kept staring, he realized it was his turn to help her out. “Um… what’s up?”
She stuttered through an invitation to the dance, and he managed to suppress the fear that she was only nervous because she was being forced to do it on a dare long enough to say yes. It sucked, when the day came. They both dressed up way too much, wearing stiff, formal clothes, and standing out in the crowd of casual dresses and jeans, but it was nice to laugh at themselves together. Afterwards they hugged awkwardly on the pavement in front of the school, before Dan decided to suck it up and kiss her on the cheek. She giggled and wrung her hands before doing it back. It was sweet. Something felt off.
It took a long time for Dan to figure out what it was. They spent the next few weeks finding each other every time they had free time at school, commiserating about how terrible the whole place was, helping each other with annoying assignments and blushing every time their hands brushed. Soon enough they were following each other home at the end of the day, smiling too wide while they went through each other’s rooms and found that they had an almost improbable amount of interests in common. For the first time, Dan wasn’t forcing it. He wasn’t distracting himself with friends and video games. He wasn’t dreading the moment that he had to go home and wait for the next time he was invited over out of pity. He was just there, with her. He was just happy. And then she kissed him.
That’s when he got it. He kissed back, of course. Put his hand on her face like he knew he was supposed to, rolled on top of her and tangled his fingers in her dark curls while he ran his tongue over the warm metal of her front teeth. But it stung, somewhere deep inside of his chest, because he wanted it to go on like it had forever. He cared about her so much. He might have even loved her. He just didn’t like her. Not like that.
But she liked him, and that was what mattered. So he waited. And waited. For something inside of him to change, for a switch to flip, for his heart to swell and burst with the right kind of love.
She still made him feel safe and warm and happy. He still dreaded time without her, so much that he arrived at classes late just to walk with her for a few more minutes, and his parents started to pretend to complain about having to make an extra serving of dinner every night. But sometimes he couldn't help but dread time with her, too. As soon as dinner was over, and they were walking back to his room, and he was closing the door behind him and following her to his bed, he would start to feel that twinge in his chest. That nagging thought that he was lying to her. That he should be doing better, doing something. He never figured out what it was.
–
By twelfth year he’d convinced himself that he could live forever like that. He could build a life with her, get a good job and a nice house in the A Sector, get married and have kids and grow old and die with his favorite person right next to him. It didn’t matter how he felt. She was in love with him. He loved her, there was no question about it. And he’d never let it slip that he only went along with it when she wanted to have sex, because afterwards he got to hold her and watch his favorite movies with the person that he loved, and that was enough for him.
And then half of their last year of school had passed, and suddenly all anyone was talking about was their Designations. He knew that it was coming. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it. He couldn’t keep his mind off of it if he tried. Even Jenna was preoccupied, spending so much time panicking about the prospect of failing her exams that Dan had to implement a rule that they weren’t allowed to talk about it when they weren’t at school. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand. He only hated seeing her so worked up, and if he was honest, she was starting to rub off on him.
It was much different for him, though. She was so certain about what she wanted to do with her life. She was gonna be the next school counselor, helping kids like her make it through the hell that they were finally about to escape. The current counselor was almost fifty, and she was set to retire in just three years. It was almost too perfect. She’d graduate, take her exam, spend two years learning everything that she needed to know to do the job, and then wait patiently until she was allowed to take over.
And Dan? Dan had no fucking idea what would happen after he graduated. He’d never had a single aspiration. While the other kids were charting their live’s courses, Dan had spent years avoiding every thought of his future. Avoiding most thought, really. From the moment that he met Jenna, he decided that he wasn’t allowed to think anymore. He wasn’t allowed to teeter on the edge, and he sure as hell wasn’t allowed to look down, because all he’d see was that same darkness that he’d grown so familiar with. The absence of everything. There was no future down there. No light. No warmth. And if he got too close, Jenna would have to pull him back. She didn’t deserve that. So he stuffed it down and shut it somewhere that she would never see it.
But its casing was a flimsy thing, and every time she spoke about their upcoming exams, or asked him what Designation he was hoping for, or even what color he wanted to paint the walls in their home, it would jostle just a bit too hard. It would splinter. And then she’d kiss him, and the cracks would bloom, long and deep, and she’d say she loved him, and he’d nod back.
–
He felt it when it finally shattered. It was a normal Friday. They were in Jenna’s room, sitting on a chair meant for one person, but they made it work. When they’d got home from school she reached into her bag and pulled a pamphlet out, smiling sheepishly and asking him not to get mad. He promised he wouldn’t. And he didn’t. He only went numb, staring ahead at the Student Sector’s cramped floorplans with a vague recognition that she was speaking. She noticed, of course. Put it away quickly, climbed into his lap and looked down at him like she was sorry. He couldn’t help but think that she should look beautiful like that– hair hanging around her face, glowing in the golden light filtering in through her window. But she didn’t. She just looked like Jenna. She asked him what he needed, and he said he was fine, so she laughed and put on a new album that she liked before she went back to sit half on top of him and lean her head on his shoulder in silence.
He was beginning to come back to himself, already feeling ridiculous for how he’d acted and getting ready to apologize, when she mumbled something over the gentle synth pouring out of her cheap speaker.
“I want a baby girl someday.”
That was all it took. He tried to stop himself, reasoning with the part of his brain that was chastising him just a moment ago, but it was no use. He pushed gently on her shoulder, stood up, and walked home without a word. She didn’t try to stop him.
–
When he stepped through his front door, his parents realized that something was off immediately. They asked him what was wrong, if something happened with Jenna. He shook his head. He was about to keep walking, go shut himself in his room and curl up in a ball so he could sleep until the weekend was over, before he stopped in his tracks. He was on the edge. He was looking down. There was no use in waiting until a better moment just to send himself right back. So he shuffled into the living room and sat down on the floor in front of the couch. They looked down at him, exchanging looks that he couldn’t decipher.
“What should I do?” he asked, staring down at the matted carpet.
“What do you mean, bear?” his mom asked. She hadn’t called him that since he was a child. It stung.
“My Designation.”
It was his dad’s turn, reaching out to rub Dan’s shoulder gently until he looked up. He refused to cry. They were looking at him like they did when they used to pick him up from his first year with scraped knees and red eyes, blubbering about how none of the other kids would play with him. “What do you want to do?”
“Everyone keeps asking that. I don’t know. I have no idea.”
They exchanged a look again. A silent conversation. His mother was asking a question that he wasn’t privy to.
“Well…” she said finally, like she wasn’t quite sure if she planned to continue.
“Do you know what a deliberator is?” his dad asked.
Dan nodded.
His mother was worrying her lip between her teeth, looking down at him with her brows furrowed in concern. “Well, your father wanted to be one when he was your age, but he didn’t pass his exam.”
“Oh.”
“It pays well,” his dad chimed in, like he was trying to be the one example of composure in the room. “And it’s an easy job, when it comes down to it. You don’t have to memorize the law, you just have to be able to use your judgement, and I know you’re a smart kid. I think you’d be good at it.”
“Okay,” Dan mumbled, looking between them like he was lost. “I’ll think about it.”
–
He didn’t see Jenna for the rest of the weekend. It was the longest they’d been apart since they met. It should have said something to Dan– that he was too clingy, too dependent. That he was using her as a distraction from all of the nothingness that was waiting for him when he looked too far into his own head. But he wasn’t thinking about her, really. He was curled into himself, wrapped up in a bundle of misery and uncertainty and plush blankets that were starting to smell muggy with his sweat.
He wasn’t lying to his parents. He did think about it, more than he could ever remember thinking about anything past graduation. He thought about his exams. He thought about being a smart kid. He couldn’t argue with that. He always got good grades. He had what it took to cross-reference rules with sentences, to break people down and measure their worth by numbers. He wished that it could end there.
But every time he actually closed his eyes and pictured himself– older, worn-down, sitting at a desk in HQ with stubble on his chin and an ugly blue suit hanging off of his shoulders– he started to feel sick. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do that to people.
And, really, why not? If it wasn’t him, it would be someone else. Someone with any number of chips on their shoulder, taking the position so that they could dole out the harshest punishments possible because they didn’t get enough love as a child, or something. At least he would have the peace of mind, knowing that there was one less corporate dickhead with no conscience in the building. Because really, who else would take the job?
Someone who wanted to make sure that things were done right. That was the answer. Someone who wanted to keep people from having their lives ruined by stupid mistakes.
So, by Sunday evening, it was settled. In five months he would be handed his first round of exams, and instead of filling in the scorned “undecided” bubble, he would swallow down his own bile and scratch himself in for consideration.
–
That night he called his old best friend, Anthony. They hadn’t seen each other outside of the one class that they had together since the semester started. He was too exhausted to feel any worse about himself for it. He just mumbled into the tiny microphone that he was feeling like shit, and Anthony took the hint immediately. Yes, Dan wanted to come over tomorrow. Yes, he would be okay for the night. No, he didn’t break up with Jenna. It made sense that it was everyone’s first guess. That didn’t stop him from hating it.
He avoided her at school the next day the best that he could. It was easy enough for the first few hours. They didn’t have any classes together, and he was always the one waiting for her in the halls to walk with her during passing periods. It was the first time that he questioned it. Why was he the one doing all the work? But he batted the thought away, because it was ridiculous. He was upset at himself, not her.
It wasn’t until lunch that she slammed down her tray in front of him, dropping her backpack on the ground and staring down at him with her weight resting on her hands. “Why are you hiding from me?”
“‘m not,” he mumbled, avoiding her eyes by jamming another bite of barely-edible spaghetti onto his fork.
“But you are. Please don’t lie.”
A moment passed before he sighed to himself. “Yeah, sorry,” he said, finally putting his fork down and crossing his arms against the table so he could look up at her properly. “I’m just being a twat. I promise it’s not about you.”
“Well, good.”
She sat down, mirroring him by crossing her arms and hunching her shoulders forward. Her eyebrows were raised like she expected more as she drummed her fingers against her forearm. “So?”
He knew what she meant. Instead of answering, he let his eyes flit off to somewhere behind her head so he wouldn’t have to watch her react to what he was about to say.
“I’m gonna be a deliberator.”
“No you’re not.”
“What?”
“No the fuck you’re not.”
When their eyes met again she was seething. Dan just stared, with the same empty look that he’d worn for the past four days. “I thought you wanted me to figure out what I was gonna do with my life. It’ll pay well. We’ll actually be able to afford a house.”
“Maybe you will. I’m not living with a fucking deliberator.”
He did his best not to react. “It’s a job. If I don’t do it someone else will.”
“Cool. Is that supposed to change something?”
He wasn’t looking at her anymore. He couldn’t. Anywhere else. His tray. The waste bin in the corner. The people who he used to call his friends, laughing a few tables over about something that he’d never hear. He had an overwhelming urge to stand up and join them.
“You know how I feel about HQ. I thought we were on the same page, Dan. If you really don’t see a problem with working for them, then I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.”
He was being ridiculous. He was, and he had been since Friday. Longer than that, even. But that didn’t stop him from looking back at her like it was a challenge. “Yeah? And whose school are you dying to work at?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“I’m not dedicating my life to killing people, Dan! Have you got a screw loose?” She was almost shouting. He knew that she would be if they weren’t surrounded by people who’d watched them walk around fused at the hip for years.
He refused to match her energy. He refused to make this any worse than it already was. Or maybe he just needed to feel like he was being the rational one. “Neither am I. I can keep people from getting a harsher sentence than they deserve. Steril needs that.”
“I need you, Dan. You. Not whatever this apathetic bullshit is that you’ve got going on.”
There was no choice but to react to that, even if it was only a flinch. This apathetic bullshit, the thing that he’d hidden away from her for years. The thing that was a part of him, that he knew he couldn’t let her see, because he knew that she wouldn’t understand. That settled it, then.
“Well, thanks for the talk, Jen,” he mumbled, drenched in as much sarcasm as the words would hold. He was standing up, holding his tray and halfway through swinging his bag over his shoulder when she spoke.
“I’m done.”
He froze. “What?”
“You heard me. I’m done. I don’t want to see you until you’re thinking straight.”
–
That night he sat in Anthony’s living room playing his vintage copy of Mario Kart. He said it was pre-bug. Dan just laughed and told him he got scammed. Everyone claimed to have shit from the old world, and they were all lying. It felt like nothing had changed, even though he couldn’t actually remember the last time he was there, when he really thought about it. So he didn’t. He ignored it, and he laughed and shouted too loud when Anthony hit him with a turtle shell right as he was about to win, because that’s what friends were for.
They stood in the kitchen and ate strange, rubbery microwave pizza. Dan punched Anthony’s arm playfully when he made a comment about how shit he looked, and Anthony punched back too hard. It was nice. He’d missed it.
He waited until the very end of the night to break the news. They were standing at the door, and Anthony was about to reach for the handle to let Dan out before he stopped him.
“I did actually break up with Jenna. Today. At lunch.”
“Oh fuck,” Anthony said, leaning his back against the wall and studying Dan with a pained look in his eye.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Oh,” Dan mumbled, looking down to watch his fingers worry the hem of his black tee shirt. “I, uh– Anthony?”
“Dan.”
“I know we haven't been that close lately, but can you like. Can you promise you're not gonna start hating me?” He felt like a child. He was acting like a child.
Anthony adjusted his stance like he was uncomfortable, shifting his weight to the other foot and arching his back before he settled back down. “I mean, probably. But if it's really bad–”
“I’m gonna be a deliberator. She didn't like that. I know you don't like that. I just–”
“Yeah, no. I don't.” He didn't look happy. He didn't look angry, not like Jenna had. But he had no reason to, really. What difference did it make to him what Dan did? What would it really change, if they stopped speaking forever?
“Okay,” is all Dan said. He couldn't think of anything else. He felt small, reduced to one decision and the feeling of Anthony’s eyes on his chest.
“Well, good luck with that.” Anthony was standing up, reaching for the doorknob before Dan could come up with a response.
Neither of them spoke again before Dan was outside, staring at Anthony's front door for what he was sure was the last time. There was nothing to say.
–
That May, Dan was filed into the gym along with every other shaking twelfth year student, handed a packet of glossy paper, and sent off to sit at one of the hundreds of shielded desks lined up throughout the room.
It took everything in him to get that one word down.
In two more months he would be called to HQ, stood up on a stage in front of a team of polished people dressed in spotless blue suits, and asked to do a set of personalized tasks. He would do them perfectly. He'd had nothing else to focus on for months, he had no excuse to get anything wrong.
A month after that, he would be sent a letter saying that he'd been hired. He would start his training in September.
He should have been happy. Success is one of Steril’s main pillars of fulfilment, after all. And he tried. He tried to look forward to his future. The one he'd spend in and out of an office, looking out of a wall of windows from one of the highest floors in the city. The one where he'd have enough money to modestly call himself comfortable. Where he'd come home every day to parents who were truly proud of him, where he'd move them out of the D Sector, leaving their shitty flat with the stench of trash in the air to fade into a distant memory.
He really tried.
–
Daniel Howell used to know what made him happy. That was a long time ago.