Breathe

The first time I broke the law, I swore never to do it again.

The second time I broke the law, I realized that it deserved to be shattered.

The third time I broke the law, I started burning things.

“Name?”

“Wyatt Ashton.”

“Age?”

“Nineteen.”

“Cause for imprisonment?”

“Doing what’s right.”

Agent Maria stops shuffling my file papers and glances up at me, icy blue eyes flashing a warning. Her dark hair is pulled back tightly from her forehead, allowing me to clearly view the small tattoo of the letter “o” neatly carved into her right temple. The marking tells me everything I need to know about her. Maria does not care about me. Maria is not sympathetic.

No matter how much the government insists otherwise, Maria is not my friend.

She slowly stretches her heavily padded shoulders, drawing her powerful arms over her head. Her bulletproof vest rustles loudly under the flourescent lights. I blink when I realize what she’s doing. The movement’s subtle, but I get the message. For a moment, I briefly glimpse the weaponry slung at her hip and across her chest. She’s threatening me.

Some friend. Ha.

Her voice is smooth and emotionless, and her frosty eyes are unblinking. I notice that one of her arms has a metallic sheen to it, and I wonder how many android upgrades she has partaken in.

“It does not say here that you were arrested for ‘doing what is right’,” she sniffs, tapping the papers on the table between us. I sigh and twist my sore wrists in the handcuffs behind my back. How long have I been in this chair?

I only woke up a few minutes ago, and unfortunately, my filter is not at its best.

Maria drones on. “In fact, you were arrested for counts that are often considered far from ‘right’. It says here that ‘Wyatt Ashton came before court to plead guilty to several counts of robbery and receipt of stolen goods, three counts of assault, and multiple counts of arson.’ Shall I go on?”

“No, ma’am,” I drawl sarcastically. I loll my head back casually and try to get a better look at the room around me.

There’s one reflective wall, probably a one-way window for observers. Cinder block walls everywhere else, and a camera tucked in the corner behind my head, recording my every move. Metal door, metal chair, metal handcuffs. No escape, no assistance. Bummer.

Maria’s voice increases in volume by the tiniest fraction.

“Please look at me, Mr. Ashton.”

I smirk as I slowly straighten, rolling my shoulders forward to try and shake out the stiffness.

“So demanding, mm?”

I pull my head up just in time to be punched in the jaw.

And at the metallic clang at the collision of bone on machinery, I immediately realize that my theory about her android arm is correct.

My neck snaps back as I hear, rather than feel, a tooth break loose. Knives shoot up my spine as my back slams into the metal chair bolted to the floor. The pain in my jaw is relatively slow to come on, but soon it hits my mouth and skull full-force. Clamping my mouth closed over the low cry threatening to come out, my tongue probes frantically in my mouth until I find the broken fragment of one of my canines. I wince as I touch the sharp remains stuck in my gums.

With a low groan, I lift my head to glance across the table to see Maria calmly shuffling her papers again. I nearly bite my tongue as the jagged pain lances through my cranium. Blood slowly trickles down my chin and stains my stark white prison uniform.

“You will respect your superiors,” Maria instructs coolly, not even bothering to look at me.

I grimace and fight to pull my head up through the pain, scolding myself for not believing she’d follow through with her threats. Maria is a Pure, for heaven’s sake. She isn’t going to take any disrespect from a CO2 like me.

“You don’t need another mark against you, Ashton. You’re balancing on the edge as it is. You’re this close to--”

I cough violently and spit out a tooth fragment. A spray of blood spatters the pristine steel table and some of Maria’s papers. Maria snaps a bemused look at me. Repressing a bitter smile at her disgust, I focus on what she had said. I struggle to speak through the pain.

“Close to what?”

Maria flashes a cold smile, although her eyes remain emotionless.

“Execution, of course.”

My heart plummets and cracks on the floor. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

I’m just Wyatt, a teenager from Alabama. They couldn’t possibly kill me. I must have heard her wrong.

But I know I didn’t. To Maria, to the Pure government, I am nothing. I’m simply a CO2, not a citizen, no rights. I have little doubt in my mind about it. They’re going to kill me.

I’m going to die, and no one will remember me.

Maria drones on, her thin lips twitching in obvious enjoyment.

“Wyatt, please. You should have expected this much, surely. With the record you have, and with your inferior kind--”

“CO2s are not inferior.” I snap without thinking, then recoil, cursing myself.

Maria grins and spreads her hands in mock sympathy, one of her knuckles smeared with my blood.

“No one who breathes carbon dioxide instead of oxygen can be human. Your kind is a disease. You’re an invasive species. Weeds.”

I flinch at the slur, something I’ve heard far too often on the streets. A Weed. A CO2 breather. A plant. Far from normal oxygen-breathers. Those who are pure.

Not human.

I’m breathing too hard, the adrenaline in my veins completely useless in my bound state. I can feel the familiar rage welling up in my chest.

“I committed those crimes to protect people,” I snarl, the metallic taste of blood still sharp in my mouth. Maria leans forward and folds her hands under her chin, an arrogant smile still on her lips.

My filter fails me, my voice growing louder as I remember all the things I have done to try and fix something, anything, and for what? For this government agent to smile at me like I’m a stupid dog in need of a kick.

“I used to think that the law was meant to protect people. I used to think that it didn’t matter that some kids had ‘o’s’ on their temples and I had a messy ‘W’ along my wrist. I used to believe that people had moral obligations, not self-centered ambitions. I used to think that all men had rights, and that I was counted among them.”

I pause to swallow, scowling at the ache in my jaw. Maria’s smile had faded slightly, like she hadn’t expected me to be so eloquent. To be educated. To be so passionate.

“Well, the first time my mom was fired by a Pure when they found out what kind of air she breathed, that was when I knew I’d never think of the law the same way again. When my friend abandoned me because I thrived on a different element, I knew it was the beginning of the end. I swore that I would fight for equality. I swore that I would bring justice!”

I’m almost screaming now, my heart racing in my chest. Maria is no longer smiling. Her icy blue eyes are locked onto my own as I work myself up further. How dare she be unresponsive? She represented all the oppression I had fought so hard against. These were my people. This was my life!

“I burned down a neighborhood to get your attention! Are you listening now, Pure? How long are you going to fight us? How many are you going to kill?”

Maria shoots a glance at the reflective wall behind me, a flash of something like fear sparking in her eyes. Her hand inches up to a gun holster on her chest.

My voice drops to an intense whisper. If everything else I’ve said is forgotten, I want her to hear this.

“You were right about us, Agent Maria. No matter how many CO2s you get rid of, more of us will take their place. No matter how many you kill, there will always be more to fight. We will not be silenced. We will not be denied.”

Maria draws her weapon out and points it at my forehead, frosty eyes narrowed in determination. I’m shaking, the pain and anger in my skull roaring into a wildfire.

“We are Weeds. Because we will keep growing back.”

Maria stares at me over the barrel of the gun, no emotions evident in her features. I lift my chin and glare defiantly back, my chest heaving from my rant.

Silence stretches between us. A sliver of hope worms its way into my mind. Did I actually convince her?

When she finally speaks, her voice is softer than before.

“Wyatt Ashton. You are different than other Weeds I’ve met.”

Before I can respond, the radio in her ear crackles loudly.

“Agent, you are clear to take the shot.”

Any wisp of emotion I may have seen in Maria’s eyes is wiped away, and her robotic index finger tightens on the trigger. My heart deflates. She's just like the others, after all.

“Roger that.”

I take a deep breath of carbon dioxide.

And then I stop breathing altogether.