Jason Luthor - Floor 21

He nodded. “Now tell me. To what degree does the Creep infest the lower levels?”

“Well, not too much. I mean, enough to be disgusting, but not enough to, like, cause trouble.”

“And you’ve never thought that perhaps it’s the number of people in an area that causes a reaction from the Creep?”

I start munching on my lip again. What’s he implying? “I guess not.”

“Indeed, it is the very presence of large numbers of people that might anger the Creep. It is one of the primary reasons that we prohibit any dwellings lower than Floor 21. It is not the only reason, but the others are none of your concern. The larger point is that we cannot afford to introduce too many people into the Creep at once. If we do, well, such action is quite likely to provoke it. And provoking it can lead to incidents such as the one you must remember from last year.”

The court goes silent, everyone from Prosecutor Davis to the people all around me. It’s pretty surreal to be sitting there in a glaringly white room while a bunch of white-suited people stare at you, a light brighter than any sun you’ve seen staring down on you while guards watch you from the doors. The worst part? The silence. Nobody says anything while they wait for me. For one of the few times in my life, I don’t have a snappy response.

Finally I manage to start talking, but my throat’s breaking, and my lips feel like they’re coated in grit and sand. I cough and try to get my words out. “So, uh… so… you’re saying that when that event happened… on my birthday… we might have caused it? That we sent down too many people?”

“It is not the purpose of this court to say.”

“But you’re practically telling me that the reason we can’t leave is because if we send too many people below Floor 21, we’ll get the Creep angry. So why can’t we just send a few at a time? You know, try and, like, get people out in bursts?”

“It is not the purpose of this court to say.”

Damn. “Okay, so, fine. We just stay up here our whole lives. I go back to wondering how we got up here in the first place. And the worst part is nothing ever changes.”

Prosecutor Davis looks over to the judge, who nods. Reaver takes his seat again, breathing in deeply. “Something will change. Change is inevitable, even if it is not the change you might have sought. Change is necessary, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I have reached my verdict.” He lowers his head, his fingers wrapping around the edges of his chair like a king on his throne. “I cannot hold you guilty for a Violation of Movement in the Highest Degree, which would require that we determine with certainty that you have indeed violated the prohibition of coming onto Floor 1. However, we know it is likely that you have circumvented Security by using the vents, so I hold you guilty for a lower degree. I cannot hold you guilty for a Violation of Speech in the Highest Degree because, indeed, I can see you attempted to refrain from telling others about nonsense such as Angels. However, if anyone had heard your recording, then they, too, might have thought the existence of Angels possible. So, I hold you guilty in a lower degree.”

What sort of penalty does being guilty in a lower degree get you? I don’t have time to think about it much as Judge Reaver continues.

“However, for a Violation of Thought in the Highest Degree, I unfortunately have no other choice but to hold you guilty for the crime of considering concerted effort against Tower Authority and its enforcement arm of Security. You would not have been guilty of this for the use of the vents as a means of movement alone, but combined with your outbursts today, it is clear that you have contemplated life outside the Tower. Perhaps you thought you might do this by exploring beneath Floor 21 on your own, or that you might sway others to resist Authority by convincing them of your views. While we cannot be certain of the degree to which you would choose to resist, there is no charge of Violation of Thought in any lower degree. Either you believe and support Tower Authority in its attempts to secure the safety of the people, or you do not. And unfortunately, it is clear that you do not. Perhaps there may have been alternatives for you if you’d simply violated a movement rule or part of the Speech Code, but for such a flagrant violation, among the worst that a person can commit in our community, we have no other choice but to sentence you to Reinforcement. The degree of Reinforcement is to last for five years, which will require annual return to Security so that the Reinforcement penalty may be reapplied. It is the hope of this court that through Reinforcement, you will come to learn and embrace the safety that Tower Authority provides for you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I start to protest as Security surges into the corner of my eye. “Listen, I don’t want to start trouble, okay? I just wanted to know what’s down below the lower floors! Like any Scavenger does. That’s all I ever wanted to be was a Scavenger! Just, how about that, huh?” I gasp as two grizzly hands grab me by the arms and start to tug at me. A scream comes out of my mouth, and my panicked eyes go to Judge Reaver, but he just sits there. All around the room, everyone is starting to turn their backs to me, ignoring me while these two beasts start dragging me away. “Judge Reaver, please!” I scream one more time as they’re taking me to the door. “Just make me a Scavenger, and I’ll be happy! All I want to do is know more! Why is that wrong?”

Then they force me through the courtroom doors. I’m done.

So, this is gonna be my last recording.

They told me they’re going to come for me in about an hour. I’ve seen what Reinforcement does. I know what it looked like when they injected that guy full of it, and how much Stella didn’t want Reinforcement to happen to her. I know what Danny was like after he got out.

And apparently they’re going to be shooting me up with Creep for five years.

They said they’re going to take my stuff once they’re done. Why let me keep it—am I right? If I listen to my recordings later, then I’ll get suspicious again. Start asking questions. Then this whole mess will start over.

I think they just let me keep the recorder so I wouldn’t go nuts while I’m in here. Honestly, I think the room’s just a refurbished Cleanup closet. It makes me wonder who exactly does the Cleanup in a place like Floor 1.

I guess, before the end, I want to summarize my thoughts.

I can’t say it for sure, but I think Mom’s been having something like Voluptas. She goes through those crazy, manic phases and then depression. I could be wrong, just, her behavior is so like some of what I’ve seen here. I don’t know that she gets to have it regularly, but I know she’s also worked as a chemist, so if anyone could make the stuff, it’d probably be her. Someone’s got to make it, right?

Dad. I never got to see him again. What he does, where he went… I dunno. Suddenly I care again. I mean, I never really stopped caring. I just wanted him to be like the dad I remembered, but… right now I’d take any version of him. Doesn’t matter. I won’t be able to think about it in an hour.

Uh, so, I’m really not sure where I’d rather live. The lower floors get less food, cheaper clothes, worse conditions. Still, at least we don’t have to take that stuff. Voluptas. I already hate being told what to do and not to question anything. Can you imagine being given a pill that’s supposed to just make you… happy, somehow? Like you can just forget every terrible thing you’ve seen? And is it worth forgetting the bad things if you forget the good things, too?

God. That’s depressing. Because I’d rather know and be depressed than not know and be happy.