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July 31st, 2030, 9:45 am

The flickering light bulb above me buzzes and burns the top of my head. When I focus hard enough on the door, the concrete walls close in on me. I've been staring at that door for what seems like two hours, and no one has entered. The only movement in this room besides myself has been a security camera in the upper corner, panning the area slowly.

I woke up in this splintering, wooden chair out of breath, and a triangle of sweat on the neck of my t-shirt. My wrists are pinned to the arms of the chair by what looks like leather belts. They are really itchy, and there is nothing I can do about it. My legs are free to kick, although it would only waste my energy. I guess I could stand up, but where would I go? That door is probably locked.

I don't even remember what happened last night. All that comes to mind is me, at the Castle, glaring at a dead body when a couple of Imperial Guard guys ambushed me from behind. I don't know if I was the one who killed the body I was staring at, but that's what I think the two guards said as they handcuffed me. I'm surprised those guards didn't gun me down. They should have.
It's all over. The past four months of being on the run are done for.

The door clicks, and my attention turns right to the opening. Finally, someone has arrived. I've been waiting here forever.

A man enters with a clipboard in his left hand, and shuts the door behind him. He glances at me, and sighs. He adjusts his black tie over his white button-down shirt and walks past me for a moment. I hear the heels of a wooden chair being dragged across the floor, and the man reappears to my right side. He places the chair in front of me and sits, facing my way.

"I don't hear the name for nine years, and this is where it shows its face again. Here, in a Imperial Guard interrogation room, where only the worst are questioned." The man frowns and peers down at his clipboard. "I know you, Slater, but I can't believe that this is the man you've grown to become."

I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean, you know me?" I don't know anyone from the Imperial Guard. The only person that I've ever known that was a part of them was my dad. He's been "missing" for ten years, though. They claim to be looking for him, but I'll believe it when I see it.

The man smiles faintly. "Slater, son of Calvin Tross. I've known your father since the first day of basic training, when we were about your age. Wait, you're seventeen now?" His grin grows. "My God, time flies. Look, I get it if you don't remember me, it's been so long." He holds out his hand, probably not realizing that my wrists are strapped to this chair. "Does the last name Manchester ring a bell at all?"

Manchester? I've never heard that last name before, yet it pokes at my brain like a thorn. I have no idea where I could have heard that name. He even said that he hasn't seen me in nine years, so I don't remember how he knows me. He's friends with my dad, but he acts like I know exactly who he is when I don't.

He pulls his hand back to the arm of the chair. "No? That's fine. We should really be addressing the elephant in the room, and that would be you. It says here, on this criminal report for a "Slater J. Tross", that you have been charged with twelve counts of murder, fifteen times for robbery, three times for arson, and, it says here, stealing an Imperial Guard truck and setting it on fire in the middle of the West Forest. I can't tell if I'm impressed or disappointed."

"What the hell? I didn't do any of that!"

"Try telling that to the officers that arrested you last night, Slater. They caught you red-handed, bashing that guard's head in. Trust me, we have a couple hundred witnesses for every crime you have committed, and they know that it was you. You put yourself into some really deep shit, kid."

I sit here in silence for about a minute. He's right, and I know it. That kill last night though, that wasn't me. I wouldn't do something like that, but I did, I guess. I wasn't in my right mind. My head was in fight or flight, and I had to kill him, or else he was going to kill me first. I just... I don't know.

As I still realize that my life has gone to complete shit, I try to recognize the man who claims he knows me somehow. Manchester. He's in my memory somewhere, but it has to be so distant in the past. In ten years, he has definitely aged since I last saw him, so it might take a while to notice his face. He has a full beard, shaved short, which is something I can't pick out of memory.

He picks his head up from the clipboard and blinks. Through his dark eyes, I see a younger man in a black Imperial Guard uniform stepping out of his car and walking around to the sidewalk, where I'm doodling with chalk. The young man looks down at me and says hello, but not happily at all. He has a goatee and dark, short-cut hair on his head. I've seen this man a million times.

He proceeds up the front steps to my home and knocks on the door. My mom answers the door, calling the man by his first name, and no more than two minutes later, breaks down into tears. She collapses into his chest, and he tells her that everything would be all right, and that he would help her if she needed it.

"Brian Manchester." I mumble, but loud enough for him to hear. He glances up at me as a smile crawls across his face. So, I'm right? I'm looking into the face of a coward. A coward, who doesn't have the audacity to search for his best friend. Who told my mom that Dad was missing, and asked her if she needed him at all, but ended up never seeing her again. There is a reason I don't know this man.

"So, you do-"

"Don't fucking talk to me." I growl, curling my fingers under my palms. The name Manchester around my mother gives her serious angst and insecurity. It's a name full of false promises and lies. And, as fate would have it, he is likely to be the last person I speak to.

Manchester grins slightly. "Why the hate? I know this isn't exactly the reunion we wanted-"

"Who said I wanted a fucking reunion?" I say through my teeth. "You have no idea what you did, do you? That's why you aren't acting like anything is wrong. Well, there is."

He raises an eyebrow. "So, what? Do you want me to respond, or are you going to interrupt me again? Besides, it doesn't matter. Whatever you're upset about is irrelevant right now. We're talking about how you're probably going to be executed, but hey, let's talk about me, right? No. I'll go back to what I said earlier, about how you said you don't know how you could've killed those twelve people. You did, and there is no denying that fact."

He writes something on his clipboard, probably about how I'm being a piece of shit. Well, I'm not, and I have nothing to say to him about my crimes that I didn't even commit. If I don't remember them, then how can they prove I did it? I choose to stay silent and watch him as he awaits a response. I have nothing to say to him.

"Okay," Manchester presses down on the clip, sticks the pen under it and shuts it down. He places the clipboard on the ground beside him. "I'm not going to sit here and watch you act like a child, Slater. You are a murderer and a thief, and you think that you can just stay silent about this when you can't. You did this to yourself." He pauses and sighs. "Say something."

"What's to say? Just because I'm seen as the most wanted criminal in the Empire doesn't mean I did anything wrong."

He rolls his eyes and rubs his chin. "Look, Slater, I don't know what to say, either. I have no clue how you don't remember killing anyone or committing any of those crimes. I'm just as confused as you are, trust me. For all I know, you could be lying and trying to convince me that someone else is the murderer and not you. Those witnesses know that what they saw was Slater Tross beating in someone's head unprovoked. Here," Manchester reaches down to grab the clipboard again. He flips one page, and then another. "One witness says that they saw "a teenage boy whacking a man with a metal baseball bat", which was on your person when we found you, by the way, and that you "turned to them for a second and they recognized your face." Remotely, but they could see "that boy in the paper last year from that baseball championship." How they remember your face is far beyond my knowledge."

I am shaking, and my mind is racing. I don't remember killing anyone. What the hell is he talking about? "Who told you that? Who is that witness? What is their name?"

"Nobody told me anything. And that information is entirely confidential. Speaking of which, I have seven pages here of just witness reports about you. Would you like me to refresh your memory about some of the people you've killed? How about this one, which is actually a robbery instead of a murder. What about the jewelry store on Acadia Boulevard that you robbed and then burned down? Seriously, Slater, the list goes on and on." He smirks and takes the pen out from under the clip. "Honestly, you are one lousy criminal."

Right before Manchester writes anything on the front page of the police report, he points to my forearm with the pen. "I assume that burn is from that incident, huh?" Burn?

I peer down at my left arm to see what he's talking about. I don't remember getting burned at all during these few months, if I can remember anything. Close to my wrist, there is a pink layer of rough skin that looks like someone etched the letter M into my arm. It doesn't even hurt, and I don't even know where I got this. I didn't have it last night when I was running through the Castle. It's weird. How did it get there?

"No, I don't know where I got this," I answer, staring deep into the scar, mesmerized. "I didn't even have it last night."

He stops writing and glances up. "Let me see it." I hold my arm out, flipped to the scar on the lighter side. "An M, huh? I don't remember branding that into your arm." He looks back down to his paperwork and smiles. "I'm only kidding. That's pretty strange though."

I shake my head. "I'm just so confused. I don't even know what I did to be in here. I know there were blood stains on the bat, but I don't know how they got there. I know what you said about that one person seeing me kill that guy and recognizing me, but I have no clue what you're talking about. Now, there's this burn that I don't even remember getting. It doesn't even hurt, and I don't know why." Tears well up in my eyes and overflow down my face. "I'm scared, Brian. What the hell is happening to me?"

He puts a period on what he's writing and leans forward with the clipboard grasped in his hands. "Look, truth is, whether you think you committed these crimes or not doesn't change if you actually did them. You're guilty, and you have zero evidence to show that you aren't. So, right now, I have no idea what to tell you, other than you better pray for your life. There isn't a doubt in my mind that you're going to prison for as long as you live. There is nothing that I can tell you that could lighten the situation. I'm sorry, kid, but that's how it is."

"Thanks. That really helped me out," I sniff, rubbing my nose on my shoulder. I'm not sure what it is, but I've completely forgotten that Manchester is still a dick. He betrayed my mom's trust, and-

Mom. Oh God, what does she think about me? I wouldn't be surprised if she hates my guts right now. I haven't seen her in four months, and she knows just as well as Manchester that I'm going to either get a bullet to the head or live the rest of my life in jail. I really hope someone told her that I'm here and not a fugitive anymore.

"Did you tell my mom that I'm with you guys? She's probably been worrying herself to death about me. Please tell me someone spoke to her."

"I did, this morning," Manchester nods, but not with much confidence. "She... didn't want to see you. At all. She said that she was worried sick about you only to find out you were a criminal. Your mother seemed disappointed, to say the least." He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms with the clipboard on his lap. "I guess I was lucky to get that much out of her before she slammed the front door in my face."

"Do you even know what you did?"

He looks at me, confused. "What do you mean, what I did?"

I grip the ends of the chair arms and I can feel my blood heat up. "You said you would help her after my dad went missing, but you didn't. She would call you over the next couple of weeks and you would either say that you're busy or not pick up at all. She gave up on you, and I did, too."

Manchester laughs in disbelief. "Is that what she told you? I never helped her, not even once? Well, let me set the record straight; when she asked for me, I did go over to your house and help you and her out. In fact, when your mother got a new job, she asked me to take care of you when I wasn't working, and I did. One day, something happened with you, and she got pissed off at me, so she basically kicked me out of your house. And for the times that I couldn't help, I had problems with my own family that I had to deal with."

"She wouldn't lie to me like that, though. She's my mom," I reply with my mind racing. Is he telling the truth?

"It wouldn't be the first time she's lied to you," He picks up the clipboard from his lap and starts skimming the back few pages. He takes note of something.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, trying to get his attention with my free feet. "What else has she lied about, Brian?"

He lays the clipboard on his lap and shakes his head at me. "You know, I'm inclined to tell you to call me Captain Manchester, my official Imperial Guard title." He leans closer to me, and whispers, "There could be people listening to this conversation. I don't want them to think that I'm trying to make you out to be innocent or something because you're talking to me like a friend."

"Fine, whatever, Captain," I mock as he sits back in his chair. "That doesn't change my question, though."

"It doesn't matter, really. You have the rest of your life in solitary confinement to conjure up some theory, anyway." Manchester flips the police report to the final page and doesn't even look at what it says. "What is written on this page will determine how the rest of your life will continue. In other words, it says execution or life sentence in prison. The five Imperial Guard Colonels wrote their decision and their verdict right here."

I'm praying the decision is to shoot me in the head. I just want to end this.

Manchester's face goes completely pale, and his eyes do not move from the paper. The grip on the clipboard loosens, and it slips out of his hand and onto the floor, face-up. Even as he drops the papers, his stare remains. Whatever the Colonels wrote on that report must be mortifying.

"He can't be fucking serious," he grumbles, burying his face into his hands. "He has to be joking. There is no way anyone, in their right mind, would say that. Fucking idiot!" Manchester picks up the clipboard and flips back to the last page. "That's so goddamn embarrassing."

"Is everything okay, Captain?" I ask. What is he talking about? What did they say?

He shakes his head in disbelief. "You have got to be the luckiest kid in the world. See for yourself." He unclips the last page and holds it in front of my face. There are five boxes at the top, and one of them is circled, with the letters OLC in bold letters in it. What does that mean?

"Colonel MacTavish of the City faction voted OLC, and no matter what the other four vote, OLC always trumps the rest." Manchester pulls the paper back to him and clips it back behind the other papers.

"Well, what's OLC, and why are you so pissed off about it?"

"It stands for One Last Chance, and I'm pissed off about it because it's an enormous risk we're taking, and we're going to get shit on because of this. I'm going to talk to James about this later. He's such an idiot." He drops the clipboard on the ground and crosses his arms again. He sighs. "One Last Chance means we're keeping you alive. You're staying alive, but you're joining the Imperial Guard in August. If you don't change by the time that rolls around, which is, well, tomorrow, you're going to prison."

I didn't expect to be kept alive. All this talk about "you'll either die or wait till you die" just got flushed out in an instant. The only problem is that I don't want to join the Imperial Guard, after what happened to my dad. My mom even said that I can't join because of him. Do I get to choose, or do I just let it happen?

I snort. "I'm not joining the Imperial Guard. Not in a million years."

He picks the papers back up and observes the last page. Why did he drop it in the first place? "Oh, look, he wrote his verdict, too. He said, "Tross is young and impressionable. With training in our ways, he can prove to be an important asset to us." Right, and it's not like he's a delusional murderer either, James. Smart."

"Did he really say that?"

Manchester laughs in suppressed anger and widens his eyes. "He also added, at the bottom, and I quote, "Tross will report to Captain Manchester for training until August 12th, when all recruits report to the headquarters for ranking." This is not a joke, Slater, I am reading Colonel MacTavish's writing in fine print, right here."

As if this all couldn't get any worse, I get stuck with this asshole for the next two weeks. The same asshole that I was led to hate my whole life. The same one that my mom cannot even stand to be around or talk to at all. It's not like I can just run away, either. That would only make matters worse for myself.

"Hey, if it makes it sound any better, the first and last time the Imperial Guard implemented the OLC was forty years ago, when a kid like you got himself into trouble like you have. That kid is now the General of the Imperial Guard. I'm not saying you will definitely be the General, but you can always change your ways, even if you have no idea what you did wrong." Manchester leans forward and looks right through me. "I will do what it takes to make sure that the Colonel's decision is not the wrong one, Slater, okay?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm not going with you." I spit out my last word, clenching my teeth. "My mom said I can't join the Imperial Guard, and I'm not going against her word."

"Sorry, Slater, but I don't make the rules around here. If it was up to me, I'd let you choose for yourself. However, this decision has been approved by the General himself, and I can't go against it." He stands up and walks towards the door behind him. "I'm going to go speak to Colonel MacTavish about his choice. I'll be back in an hour to get you out of here and take you to my house, all right?"

Before he exits the concrete box, he looks back at me. "You hate the Imperial Guard now. In a couple weeks, you'll understand what it's really like here. I promise you."

I hope I'm right. But I hope he is, too.