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mistakes.”
    “It does too, and you know it.” She is vehement, still fixing me with her eyes.
    My heart rate begins to climb. I’m almost frantic. I look around the room full of people. Did anyone hear us? But no. They are all staring at their screens, almost lifeless. B269 is waiting for his food. I confirm the program’s selection.
    “Why?” I whisper in D523’s direction.
    “It’s called rebellion,” she whispers back, conspiratorially.
    It takes my breath away. Rebellion means danger. Means war. Laws are there to be followed. They protect us.
    Disturbed, I shake my head. “Please don’t do that. It’s wrong.”
    She lays a hand on my arm. What’s she doing that for? We’re not supposed to touch each other. “The Legion is wrong. They’re deceiving us. What they say—it’s not true.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “They don’t let us be human. We can’t make our own decisions. We’re not allowed to think or feel.”
    “That’s not true!” I don’t want her to say such awful things about the people who keep us alive.
    “Really? Why were you rebellious, then?”
    Completely bewildered, I stare at her wide-eyed. “I wasn’t! I would never!”
    I was too loud. D375 turns in his first-row seat and eyes us suspiciously. Quickly we both yank our attention back to the screens in front of us. I confirm the program’s selection without even looking at it.
    My heart’s racing. How can she even say such a thing? I’m not a rebel. I would never do anything against the Legion. The safety zone is my home. The only safe place in this world. I’m glad to be here.
    “You didn’t shoot at me. You disobeyed their order because you knew it was wrong. That’s the only reason you’re here. People like you and me...they want us on ice.”
    I hold my breath and in my head, the scene in the arena plays over. My reluctance to shoot at D523 is just as strong as it was then. It wasn’t the first time I resisted an order. It started when I was little, with the nightshirt. I didn’t mean any harm by it. And in the end, I did shoot her. I’m not a troublemaker, but D523 is still right. We have something in common—and we’re both here.
    Today is my first time on morning shift. The first time I’m getting up at 2200 hours instead of going to sleep. The first time my usual schedule is disrupted.
    At night, the Atrium and the corridors are almost dead. There are no pretty pictures on the Atrium’s walls. It is just as high, but now just as grey and cold as most other rooms. It’s lost its magic.
    When I enter the nutrition distribution room, D523 is already in her seat. Like everyone else, she doesn’t even look up when I enter. But I know she’s noticed me. Strangely, I’m still happy to see her. Most of the time I’m scared to be with her. Scared to be caught doing something, although I never do anything wrong—I just catch her at it. I should probably report her to a supervisor, but after I shot her in the Arena, I feel like I owe her something.
    I slide into my seat beside her, and it squeaks. My fingerprint starts the computer and the program appears. I look at my list of names and find F701. One familiar face, at least. I call up the profiles one after another and look for peculiarities in them.
    Some time later I turn to look at D523. She’s surprisingly quiet today. Basically she’s behaving exactly like anyone would expect of her. But that’s the strange thing. She always starts talking to me after ten minutes or so. Sometimes she even touches me deliberately with her elbow and points to a colleague who might be falling asleep or scratching his nose. Then she starts laughing, so quietly that only I can hear it. I like it when she laughs. It’s like music, it makes me feel warm on the inside. Mostly I start laughing too. The air that flows in through my mouth, it tickles my palate and sinks to my belly. When that happens, I feel happier than any other time. D523 is strange, probably so strange