Page 1

Bex

I memorized every face on that stage, knowing one of them would soon be dead. Someone had to remember them. Someone needed to remember who they were before they were reduced to another name on a list. For me, it was easy, I remembered everything. Every detail. Every second. Every breath. People called it a gift. My little brother, Jax, called it my superpower. But it wasn’t a gift… it was a burden. Because what people don’t get is that the bad things stick just as hard as the good. The screams, the blood, the moments you’d give anything to forget, they never fade. So I learned to use it. If I had to carry the memories anyway, I’d carry the ones no one else would. The ones that mattered. The ones that might otherwise be lost.

Every year, in the last few painful minutes before the vote, I studied the faces of the candidates, giving them a private eulogy of my own. It’s not supposed to be this way, of course. Nova Locksley, the polished puppet of Praxis, never fails to remind us that they’re not meant to die. But they almost always do. The truth is, no one from Canyon Collective ever survives the Reclamation Run. So, I make sure to memorize their fearful expressions, imprinting their faces in my mind. It’s the least I can do for them, after our people have condemned them to a death sentence they never stood a chance of escaping.

My feet sank into the dusty covered ground, wedged between sweaty bodies as we waited for the result of the vote. My brother’s good hand clung to mine. I looked down at him, smiling softly. He squinted up at me against the brightness. If he could, he would’ve raised his free hand to shield his eyes, but he lost the use of it months ago. Shifting my body, I leaned into the sun’s path, casting a shadow over him to offer a brief reprieve for his eyes.

“Who did you vote for, Bex?” Jax had asked me this morning, as we sat across from each other at the kitchen table. The table’s surface was worn and uneven, the legs wobbling drastically beneath it. We’d lost the lumber trial last year, so new furniture was a luxury the Canyon Collective wasn’t allowed. Not that I’d have enough money to pay for it even if we had.

I paused, considering his question. He asked it so casually, as if we weren’t sending someone to die to secure our survival. He was too young to fully understand, and his innocence made it all the more painful. I gave him a soft smile, my gaze drifting over his fragile form.

He held the spoon in his right hand, his grip wavering. His fingers trembled slightly, the joints of his hand stiffening with each movement, struggling to maintain their grip on the utensil. The tremors were subtle, but I could see them. The slow, steady progression of the illness that claimed him. It had started with his legs, making it harder for him to walk, to run. And now, it kept stealing more from him every single day.

“I voted for Rexen,” I said, lifting the cup to my lips, letting the warmth of the bone broth seep through me. Rexen was the oldest candidate and the only one with any real schooling under his belt, a reminder of the years when the Canyon Collective used to perform better in the education trials. He was the only one who might have a chance in the mental challenges this year.

I lowered the cup slowly, my fingers curling around the rough edges. “He’s got a shot at the medical trial,” I added quietly.

We had a few herbal remedies, simple, but effective against minor ailments. Still, there was only so much that we could do for Jax. His illness was beyond the reach of our limited resources, and I couldn’t ignore the weight of that fact any longer.

For years, I’d used my vote to try and send someone who could win the mental challenges. Someone who could think outside the box. But more often than not, my choice was overridden. They’d always pick some muscle-bound contender, hoping they could secure the physical resources. I understood the logic, even if it was flawed. Those Challengers were usually dead before the medical trial ever started. And I needed someone who could help Jax, someone who might stand a chance of saving him. For a brief time, I wondered if I could have done it. If I were one of the elected. Would I be able to secure what Jax needed?

But I’d never be one of the candidates. Not if I could help it.

“I voted for Ezra because I like his name!” Jax giggled, his eyes sparkling with an innocence that made my chest tighten. A wave of guilt rushed through me. Every member of the Collective could cast their vote for the Challenger, even if they didn’t truly understand what it meant, or what it cost. Even Jax, so young, had no real grasp of the consequences. I hadn’t done a good job of raising him to understand it either. Maybe I’d tried too hard to shield him, but I wasn’t exactly prepared to become a parent at twenty when our mother died giving birth to him. Seven years later, and I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

“By the will of the Praxis, you are welcome,” Nova’s screechy voice pulled my attention back to the stage.

“For the will of Praxis, we arrive,” the crowd murmured in unison, our voices flat. Nova’s eyes scanned us, disappointment flickered in her gaze at our lack of enthusiasm. She stood tall, draped in the signature color palate of Praxis, metallic silvers and golds. Her skin-tight jumpsuit clung to her, the fabric clearly unsuited for the desert heat. I felt sweat begin to bead on my skin just watching her.

I wore a much more lightweight garment, fit to protect my skin from the sun’s harsh rays, but cool enough to keep my body temperature from spiking to dangerous levels. Nova was going to pass out in ten minutes if she didn’t get out of this sun. I’d be lying if I said that wouldn’t be entertaining to see.

Nova smiled warmly at the camera, her face instantly flooding the massive screens towering behind her. Overnight, the barren desert outside our Hub had been transformed into a vibrant, overblown and chromatic spectacle. We hadn’t won a technology trial in over two decades, so there was no infrastructure here, no equipment to stage their little show. At least not to their standards. Not like Steelheart, where screens lined every street corner from what I’ve seen on my outdated screen. Outside of Praxis, they were the next biggest purveyors of entertainment and technology.

Most of our Collective still watched the Reclamation Run on ancient, half-broken screens, some flickered, colors warped and distorted, with audio that crackled like it was underwater. Praxis a few years ago, despite our pathetic performance in past technology trials, donated a few screens for common spaces. Out of the goodness of their hearts, they claimed. But we all knew better. They just wanted to make sure we could watch our Challenger win or die in vivid, unflinching detail.

“Who do you think is gonna win?” Jax whispered up at me, leaning his tiny body into mine for support. I tried to get him to stay home, this much excitement and walking was bound to prove too much for him, but he insisted and I can’t say no to him.

“I don’t know, sprout,” I replied quietly. But what I wanted to say was ‘Nobody ever wins.’

I sensed someone approaching and turned to find the familiar grey eyes of my best friend.

“Ava,” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips.

She returned it with one of her own, steady and warm, as her crutches pressed into the sand with each step. The soft crunch of their weight was rhythmic, almost comforting.

When we were kids, she lost her leg to a relentless infection, one that would’ve taken her life if it hadn’t been for the rare luck of having medical personnel in our Collective that year. One of the last years we were granted that kind of grace.

She survived, scarred, altered, but unbroken. Down a leg, yes, but she never let that slow her down. Ava never let the loss affect her. If anything, it seemed to make her fiercer. Stronger.

“Morning,” she said, reaching around me to smile at my brother, and rub her knuckles along his scalp. “How’s it going today, little dude?”

“Hi Ava!” He beamed brightly at her, swatting her hand away from his dusty blonde hair with a chuckle. “I’m great! It’s election day.” Ava tensed beside me and I offered her hand a soft comforting squeeze.

Her older brother was our elected Challenger when we were girls, and the pain of his death still lingered for her. It did for me, too. That was the year I understood what the Reclamation Run really was.

“Sure is, buddy,” she replied softly, doing her best to hide the haunted echoes in her eyes.

“You doing okay?” I whispered to her.

She nodded a few times, but I could see the faint sheen of unshed tears in her eyes, and I knew it had nothing to do with the stinging sand that whipped across our skin in the wind. I squeezed her hand gently, my fingers drifting to the inside of her wrist where the small moth tattoo rested. She’d gotten it after her brother died, her way of keeping a part of him with her, a permanent mark of mourning and memory inked into her skin.

Before I could probe further, the discordant and familiar anthem of Nexum began to play. Too loud for anyone to think or speak. As the music died, Nova took her place at center stage, the five faces I’ve memorized stood in line behind her.

“Please join me in giving our candidates a round of well-deserved applause!” Nova exclaimed, her voice dripping with over-the-top theatrics. The crowd clapped, half-heartedly, but I saw the way her smile tightened, frustration flickering behind it. We weren’t giving her the energy she craved. They’d probably just replace our lackluster cheers in editing anyway. I remembered a few years ago, when they dubbed over the video of our election, layering on what sounded like thousands of screaming fans. It felt hollow, wrong, but then again, so did everything Praxis did.

“These five candidates have proven themselves to you, campaigned long and hard for the opportunity to represent the Canyon Collective at this year’s Reclamation Run!” Nova gestured to each of the individual's standing on the stage beside her.

‘Campaigned’ was a generous term, and it didn’t even come close to describing what the five people up there actually did to earn one of those ‘prestigious’ spots. Five people must make up the ballot each year, and those spots can be voted on in a primary election, or filled by candidates volunteering. In some Collectives, they carefully cultivate their candidates, prepping them to compete in the Run for most of their lives, but in Canyon?

Our five candidates are criminals. People our Collective viewed as expendable. Leadership in Canyon has come to use this election as a way to punish them. That might be why we never win any of the trials.

My eyes trailed to Rexen. He was up there because he created a poison that couldn’t be identified, smelled, or tasted. By the time you knew you’d ingested it, you were already dead. He was a murderer, but he was also a genius. He had at least a small chance against the brainiacs they typically send from other Collectives.

That’s why he had my vote.

Next to him stood Ezra, the one Jax had voted for. He was the youngest on the stage by a mile, maybe a few years older than me. I wasn’t even sure what his crime was. His trial had been quick, quiet, over before anyone really had a chance to talk about it.

Not that it stopped the rumors. They spread like wildfire, each one more outlandish than the last. Smuggling contraband. Theft. Murder. Conspiracy against Praxis. Some even claimed he caused the mining collapse that killed a bunch of people a few months back. Whatever it was, it had to be bad enough to land him up there .

He was probably Rexen’s biggest competition for the vote. Young. Fit. And there was that air of mystery, the kind that makes people lean closer to their screens. If he got in front of the camera, maybe they’d finally find out who he really was. He was also handsome enough to warrant garnering a fan base. Something I’m sure the producers would be excited about.

“As you all know, the Reclamation Run is the method Praxis uses to provide for the Collectives of Nexum,” Nova began, her voice smooth and practiced. “One hundred years ago, the world as we knew it was collapsing, resources were dwindling, people were starving, and it led to a war that changed everything. Praxis emerged from the ruins of a broken society, bringing order to the chaos.” She delivered the same tired rhetoric she spouted every year. A story of desperation, war, and the monstrous acts people committed when survival was at stake. It was easy enough to swallow, though, since I’ve seen first hand what happens when humanity is stripped away. Of course, I wouldn’t claim that the people of Canyon aren’t suffering, we are, but Praxis offers us just enough hope to stave off the worst of it.

“Now, please stand by for a message from our Archon, Evanora Veritas,” Nova exclaimed, turning her back to us to watch the screens behind her.

The image on the screen shifted before focusing on a woman who seemed almost too perfect. Her dark brown hair was slicked back into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were framed by just enough makeup to still be considered subtle. She wore a sharp, golden blazer, its lapels gleaming as if they had never known a stain. I was never good at discerning ages just by looking at someone, because in my experience, the more suffering life has dealt you, the more it shows in the lines of your face. Her unblemished and unwrinkled skin could mean anything in Praxis, but I’d be willing to bet she’d lived a fortunate life.

“Good afternoon, Collectives,” she spoke, and her silken voice echoed in the empty desert. “And allow me to welcome you to the first day of the 90th annual Reclamation Run.”

Nova broke out into applause, and the crowd meekly followed suit.

“Our Earth has a finite amount of precious resources, resources that our ancestors took for granted. They were used and abused until the world we inherited was unrecognizable. Now, Praxis understands the necessity of rationing, of making deliberate, thoughtful decisions to preserve what we have. For the sake of both our present and our future.”

I scanned the crowd, taking in the faces around me. Hungry, desperate people. Last year, we finished dead last in eleven out of twenty-one trials. And in this challenge, last place gets you nothing. No resources. No seeds to grow food, no electricity, no lumber, no water filtration. That was just the beginning. You’d think we’d finally try sending someone with a real shot at winning. But maybe we’ve just accepted this life of constant scarcity, where survival means learning how to live with less.

I looked down at Jax. His little face was twisted in pain, and I knew his legs were straining under the pressure of holding him up. I never should have let him come, I cursed myself.

“Come up here, sprout, so you can see.” I said, leaning down to let him hop onto my back. He did, with a little extra strain that cracked my heart wide open. I settled him onto my back, holding him tightly.

“The Reclamation Run was created as a fair and honest way to divide our resources amongst the Collectives,” Archon Veritas continued. “Because of this practice of preservation, Praxis has been able to provide for all the citizens of Nexum.”

Fair and honest weren’t words I typically associated with Praxis, but I didn’t dare say that aloud. No one would if they wanted to keep breathing.

“In celebration of our 90th year, and in show of Praxis’ commitment to building a stronger future for everyone, especially those who may otherwise remain unseen, we are amending the rules of this year’s run.” Murmurs of interest and confusion rippled through the crowd.

“In addition to each Collective’s elected Challenger, we’re excited to announce a new addition. A lottery to randomly select a second participant to represent your Collective in the Reclamation!” She delivered the words like it was some kind of gift, as if she wasn’t just sending another person to their death. “This generosity is to remind you that everyone has the chance to benefit from the goodwill of Praxis, not just the most popular among you.”