It’s 2135 and we are stuck in what’s left of Pittsburgh. We aren’t allowed to speak. Or laugh, or cry, or scream. We aren’t allowed to write, and we have nothing to listen to. Every time I cough or sneeze I hold my breath because I fear one day they will outlaw that too. They have taken our books and our music and our screens. Seven years ago they took our lives.
Charlie Clipper is going to die. In 9,513 days, he will be shot twice through the heart and once through the skull. He has known this since he was seven.