
A loud bang tore through the Delta District of the 7th Home. At first, everyone assumed it was just an early firework-a harmless detonation before the inauguration of the 3rd Sectoral Leader of the 12th District. But as the echo faded, an uneasy silence settled over the crowd. People exchanged nervous glances. No one said it aloud, but the anxiety in the air was unmistakable.
We were all waiting for the man of the day-Mr. Kratts-who had somehow decided to be late for his own inauguration. He had dreamed of this moment for as long as I had known him. He often told me so during our countless head-on collisions he called conversations.
My father, who had been Mr. Kratts' friend for as long as I could remember, would never have missed such an event. Yet he was nowhere to be seen. Earlier that morning, he insisted I leave home ahead of him, saying he had a few matters to handle before the ceremony.
"Go on to Delta District," he told me. "I'll be there in an hour."
That hour had stretched into three. Whatever held him back was something only God could explain.
The tension in the district thickened by the minute. All eyes remained fixed on Mr. Kratts' balcony, as if sheer hope could summon him to appear and deliver the long-awaited speech he had promised his soon-to-be district. The murmurs, the shifting feet, the held breaths-they all blended into one restless hum.
I was lost in thought when a frail-looking old man tapped gently on my back. His touch was light, yet urgent, as though he fought against the weight of his own bones to get my attention. I bent down to hear him more clearly.
The words he whispered next made my spine tingle with fear.
The man motioned for me to lean closer, his gesture quiet but urgent, as though he carried something heavy on his chest. When I did, he asked if I knew what the sound from Mr. Kratts' house had been. I replied with the same assumption the crowd had made-that it was a firework, probably one ignited too early for the inauguration.
He stared at me with an intensity that made me uneasy.
"The World Unity may control our future and our freedom," he said, "but never our origin."
He paused, then added, "My daddy used to have one of those. I'd know that sound even if I were deaf."
I looked at him, confusion written all over my face. He didn't seem to notice. Instead, he kept talking, describing some strange object I had never heard of.
"My daddy used to use those for eliminating intruders during the warring ages," he continued.
I interrupted him, telling him I didn't understand what he was talking about. He simply smiled.
"You wouldn't know it. They banned its production many years before you lads were born."
"Who are they?" I asked.
"Who else has such authority besides the World Unity?" he replied. "They stopped the production of guns years ago."
His words made my stomach twist. "What does any of this have to do with Mr. Kratts not showing up?"
He gave me a long, almost pitying stare.
"You're not exactly the brightest, are you?" he said, gesturing vaguely at me.
Then he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"That sound you heard earlier wasn't a misfired firework. It was the action of a Glock-19. A gun from back in my days."
In that moment, I wasn't just confused.
I was completely lost.