The nighttime air embraces me as I rock back and forth in the frozen world of Daskanalasć.

Around me, scraps and discarded items in the junkyard rise to the sky like Sector One's skyscrapers.

I've been residing in the junkyard ever since my mother's--Réiltín Slavín--mysterious disappearance when I was nine. I've never known my father.

I'm fifteen now.... A year away. A year away from learning my fate.

I'll admit it. I do think about what will happen at my Ceremony of Sixteen. I worry about where I'll live. I worry about my future occupation. And most of all, I worry about my spouse.

There's another fear that plagues me about it though.

It's what the kids at my school call 'Gabriel Vladimirov Syndrome'; they've called it that since quite a few months ago when he had done something never once seen before in a Ceremony of Sixteen.

He earned no job. No home. No spouse.

They said he was trouble.

I know Gabriel was different. I know he wasn't born a boy--he was born a girl... Then, he broke the barrier into the blue--manhood.

He's like me... I'm just like him.

I wasn't always Sorin Slavín... I used to be Camelia Slavín.

But, Camelia's dead and buried and I've never felt happier to be me.

I sit down on the hood of an old, beat-up, rundown car. I inhale. I hold it. Then I exhale. I lean back into so I'm laying down; my hands are positioned behind me so they're cushioning the back of my head. I exhale again.

Before the Ceremony of Sixteen, they test you.

I don't know exactly what the tests entails.

The only thing I do know for sure is they ask people if they identify as part of the LGBTQ community.

Most who are part of the community lie on those questions--they force themselves back into the closet just for safety and security. They're in fear of their lives.

But, then there's Gabriel Vladimirov...

He didn't hide.

He didn't change himself.

I'm highly sure he answered truthfully on the test.

He told Daskanalasć's government exactly who he was.

I envy that about him.

I wish I had enough pride to do that--I wish I had the confidence.

I run a hand over my chest.

It's not flat.

I wish it was.

I wonder where Gabriel is, I think to myself.

"In Sector One's prison," I respond to myself. "...Or...maybe..." I trail off. I swallow. "...dead."

The cruel, harsh, terrifying reality of those who are LGBTQ is heartbreaking.

Often, I find myself suffocating on my own hyperventilation.

Maximoff's task force goes on a witch-hunt for those who are part of the community.

I hide.

Maximoff's task force captures them, taking them to the prison.

I press myself down to make myself as small as I can... So I'm not noticed.

Maximoff tortures them.

I cry myself to sleep.

Maximoff condemns them to death.

I want to take my own life.

It's a malicious circle which always brings me back to wanting to be lifeless.

Or maybe I want Maximoff dead.

Maybe I want him dead for all he's done.

I want him to suffer. I want him to scream in pain. I want his death to be as long, terrifying, agonizing as he's done to each of his victims.

Yeah... That's about right.

Every person he's sentenced to death... Everyone he's killed indirectly with his actions... They're all his victims.

And they need justice.

My face contorts to a snarl. "Wherever you are, Gabriel Vladimirov... I hope you're plotting to make Joseph Maximoff suffer... Just like he made us."