Weasel lost consciousness as the transport began to slow, returning to its halt-bounce-jolt rhythm on the city streets. They were out of no-man’s land, and back inside the city limits. Garth didn’t waste a moment before lurching up to pull over the doors, gently dumping Weasel into Riley’s lap, before the transport traversed much farther into the city.

     “Is she still breathing?” Ferrin whispered. He could no longer see the slight depression of the ruptured mask. His hands were clammy inside his gloves, his neck covered in a cold sweat. If Weasel didn’t make it through this- he stopped the thought before it could coalesce.

     Riley nodded; “Just barely.”

     Ferrin reached forward to feel for a pulse on her neck. It was there, but so disturbingly weak. For a girl so sprite it was that more disarming to see her laying in such stagnant condition.

     The bot lurked forward and then stopped, halted from continuing its path back to the interior of the city and it’s docking spot.

     “Get her out!” Garth’s yelled from outside the transport.

     Ferrin jumped off the small platform and extended his arms out for Weasel, holding her tight to his chest while Riley jumped from the bot. Ferrin gritted against her weight but held her until Riley reached out for her again. He deposited her as gently as possible against the bucking of the transport, careful of her limp and swinging limbs.

     Garth was holding the transport somewhat motionless, as he had before, though this time one arm was grasping the lip of the railing and one keeping the sliding door jammed open. He looked strained, ever ounce of mental and physical strength running ragged against his nerves. Ferrin tried not to think of what would happen if they didn’t get inside somewhere in time.

     Ferrin jumped out the door as Garth released his grip. The transport shuddered back into normalcy and continued its path down the street, unperturbed by the momentary interruption to its pre-programmed route. Weasel was sagging in Riley’s arms; Garth picked her up tenderly, cradling her like a child. She looked so small in his massive arms, so impossibly weak.

     The city was lifeless around them, though it was a different aura than Woodlands. Ferrin could feel the presence of human life instead of being numbingly aware of its absence. But at the moment, that didn’t matter how alive Singapore felt, because civilization was holed up for the night, awaiting the falsified morning light, a signal that they could crawl from their hovels and begin the day with a breath of recycled air. Which wouldn’t be, Ferrin glanced at his watch, for another two hours.

     Riley was looking around them desperately, down the street and up at the windows of the slumbering apartment buildings, searching for somewhere to go, someone to help. Most apartment living quarters had intense security, against what Ferrin didn’t really know, that would have any intruder shocked into submission before he even had a chance to toss a rock through a window. Not that a rock would even make a scratch, every surface that was meant to keep oxygen tightly inside after curfew was triply enforced and virtually indestructible.

     Garth took off at a sprint down the street. A light flashed down, roughly ten meters away, and his jog turned into a sprint. The light expanded at the end of Ferrin’s vision, illuminating Garth’s galloping form. Ferrin didn’t need the customary siren call of the security patrol to jump-start his recognition; he was familiar enough with the dispatch schedules. Ferrin breathes a shaky sigh of relief: it was a security bot. Garth was going to allow himself to be caught by a security bot and Weasel was going to be okay. It was the only choice. They didn’t have time to make it back to Ferrin’s where his mother would be able to help, and the rest of their districts were much too far. They couldn’t give Weasel one of their own masks because they were one time use; they wouldn’t reattach without a replacement seal. Ferrin kicked himself for not bringing a back up, and kicked off the pavement to follow Garth.  

     The light was swelling, turning from a pale green to neon with increased proximity. Garth was leagues ahead of him, screaming. His words were unintelligible; half swallowed by his mask and half by the distance, but Ferrin could hear the urgency and the raw terror saturating his tone.

     The light seemed to hesitate for a moment, dim, and then refocus; hovering in front Garth, observing him. Then the bot curved around his body and continued down the street, away from the crew. Garth turned to chase after it, Weasel bouncing lifelessly in his arms, but the patrol ignored him, sweeping it’s light to and fro across the darkened landscape.

     The stark prospect of failure because to rise in Ferrin’s gut. His mind flashed through scenarios. Breaking into a house. Locating a reserve mask. Running her back to his house. Finding a phone and calling for help. Every possibility lurked just beyond the knowledge that it would all be too late. Weasel’s mask was barely flowing by now and she wouldn’t be able to survive without oxygen, at least her brain wouldn’t, for much longer.

     She could die, a small voice whispered in the back of Ferrin’s head. He gritted his teeth against the possibility and shook the sinister doubt from his mind. The pounded of his pulse turned to screeching. It took him a moment to realize that the noise wasn’t only a manifestation of his fears, but an emergency bot’s siren ripping down the street, which branched off to their left.

     Riley and Garth, a meter ahead of him, curled around Weasel protectively, turning along with Ferrin to stare at the vehicle that was approached their broken group at top velocity. The colors of its pulsing bulb - green-purple-green-purple – flashed along with the rise and fall of the siren. It pulled to the left and flung to a harsh stop just a meter before them. The side had Ambulance printed in fat white letters, which disappeared as the door it was written on slide open to reveal a young woman in a emergency response suit, which Ferrin recognized from his many trips to the hospital, crouched in the interior of the bot. She leapt out, her gaze rapidly assessing who was in dire need of medical help. Her eyes widened in shock at Weasel’s crumpled body. She looked up at Garth.

     “Get her inside now.”

     Garth didn’t hesitate, and pushed past her to jump up and inside the open vehicle. The woman didn’t spared Ferrin a reproachful look and followed Garth inside. Ferrin pulled himself inside the ambulance and Riley behind him. He doubted they were supposed to accompany Weasel to the hospital but there was no way he was going to stay back. Weasel’s life was in danger because of him, not only just as the provided of the tech, but as the crew leader, and as her friend. They all trusted him, and if anything happened to any one of them, it would forever rest on his shoulders.

     Garth lay Weasel down on the metal cot, which had been folded out from the wall of the car. The EMT pushed him aside gruffly, to which he acquiesced. Ferrin stepped up to the left of the woman as the ambulance doors slid closed behind them, just as Riley crossed the threshold. He leaned over to assess her procedure, his years as the son of a top-rated doctor clicking into place. The interior of the ambulance was oxygenated and the EMT yanked off the short burst O2 patch below her nose and tossed it to the floor.

     She peeled off Weasel’s mask, hesitating with it briefly in her hands, before tossing it to the side, where she noticed Ferrin glancing over her shoulder. She didn’t look up at him as she spoke.

     “You’re all idiots, you know that? Five more minutes and she would have be dead.”

     She felt for breath beneath Weasel’s nose and swore, then pressed a series of panels on the wall of the bot in front of her, which proceeded to extend two small tubes. The woman wound then delicately around her index finger and then rolled them up into Weasel’ nostrils. Ferrin nodded approvingly to himself, she had light and obviously well practiced hands. He trusted her skill regardless of what she thought of him.

     “And where the hell did you get those? They’re medical grade, and brand fucking new.”

     Ferrin didn’t respond, too focused on watching the weak rise and fall of Weasel’s chest, which was growing stronger by the second as fully filtered O2 trickled into her blood stream. The EMT pressed a delicate finger to Weasel’s neck, felt her pulse while checking the watch she had pressed into her left wrist, and then breathed a sigh of relief.

     She turned away from Ferrin to face Garth.

     “She’s going to be okay.”

     Garth nodded tightly, tension stretching his features so tight it seemed his skin might snap. Riley choked back a sob and ran a shaky hand across Garth’s hunched shoulders. Ferrin returned his gaze’s to Weasel’s slight frame, all the more tiny laying on the wide cot.

     “But just barely,” she added, her voice regaining some of its previous bite. “She’s what? 14? 15?  She could have died, do you three understand that?” She turned back to glare at Ferrin and then hooked a thumb over to Riley and Garth.

     “Go over there with them. We’ll be at the hospital soon and I want you three together. I saved your friends life, my parts over, so I have no say with what happens to you now, but it’s not going to be good.”

     “What’s your name?” Garth asked.

     “Grace.”

     “Thank you Grace.”

     She seemed to collapse into herself for a moment, quickly regaining composure. She rolled her shoulders back and returned to look down at Weasel, hands gripped tightly on the edge of the cot.

     “It’s just my job.” 

Ferrin stepped around her silently, the emotion rolling off of her in near-palpable waves. Riley and Garth had already peeled the masks from their chins, the thin red line the only mark remaining to prove the events of the night. Ferrin reluctantly removed his own as well.

     Grace sat next to Weasel’s cot, gently holding her hand, and didn’t glance at them again for the rest of their journey. Her intense animosity was not unfounded though it was somewhat surprising. Ferrin had met quite a few people who disapproved of the thrill-seeker crews around the city, but it usually wasn’t with such vigor. He wondered if she had a friend that someone didn’t reach in time, there had been cases.

     The ambulance decelerated swiftly and docked with a slight shudder. The door which they’d come through reopened with a sigh, revealing a white washed hallway lined with touch panel interfaces and a couple of concerned doctors in polished white coats. The night staff didn’t see much action, only those injuries born of misfortune or stupidity. Ferrin imagined Weasel fell into both categories. The three didn’t stray an inch from their spots as the EMT detached the cot from the wall, along with the oxygen supply that was feeding Weasel’s lungs, and pushed her out the door to the waiting medical team. Weasel’s chest was rising and falling a steady rhythm now, though she had yet to wake.

     Grace handed her off with a short exchange and turned back to face them. Garth stepped forward to follow his sister but she crossed her arms across her chest and stepped in front of him, not that she could physically do anything to restrain him, but he stumbled at the gesture.

     “She’s in good hands now. You three need to follow me, I have to bring you down to the lobby.”

     “I’m her brother.” Garth stammered, his voice weak with exhaustion.

     The woman’s expression softened momentarily.

     “You let your baby sister do this?” Grace spat.

     Garth turned his gaze to the floor, washing his hands across his face.      

     “You can go with her, tell them you’re family.”

     Garth took off at a jog down the hallway, seeming a giant against the squat dome of the ceiling. Ferrin considered running after him, he couldn’t imagine they’d put up much of a fight if they all wanted to stay, but Riley had already turned to follow Grace down the intersecting hallway.

     Ferrin quickened to catch up with them both. Riley’s shoulders were slumped forward, her arms wrapped tightly about herself and her face sunken with defeat. Ferrin looked away, he felt enough guilt for the both of them. What was supposed to be the most epic night had turned into a brush with death and most likely the disbanding of the O2 Crew.

     Grace turned to face Ferrin before continuing through a large glass door that separated the lobby from the rest of the hospital. He’d crossed this threshold countless times visiting his mother at work.

     “Ferrin Reikvin right? Your mom works here?” She paused to check his expression, and then continued. “Here’s some advice. If it comes down to it say you stole the masks. You’re all young; you won’t get too much heat for this, but your mom, she’d get fired and blacklisted so fast and I just... just do the right thing for once tonight.”

     Ferrin didn’t know what to say so he nodded. Grace was obviously young, younger than most on staff at the hospital, probably new. The heart wrenching sadness in her eyes didn’t match with her youthful features. She shouldered past them, leaving Ferrin and Riley to enter the lobby alone.

Ferrin had expected a police escort or even a discipline officer to be waiting for them. At the end of the list of possibilities, along with one of the seven Magistrates, was his father. But there he was, in all his disapproving glory.

     Gammon was not one for hijinx, unlike his mother his dad was a man of the law, and he’d been trying to instill rigid values and codes, which Gammon himself found such great solace in, in Ferrin since birth. He had with Lu, but Ferrin had always been a thorn in his side, taking after his wife instead of his younger self.

     Gammon’s face was placid, but Ferrin recognized the rage suspended just beneath his gaze. Riley’s face blush bright pink beside him, taking a sallow glow under the yellow of the lobby lights. There was no one else but the three of them in the waiting area.

     “Riley,” he nodded at the girl apathetically, “there’s a taxi waiting for you outside. Take it home.”

     She opened her mouth to reply but Ferrin’s father raised a hand to silence her.  

     “Go.”

     Riley glowering at him, shot a sympathetic look to Ferrin, and then hurried towards the exit. She didn’t look back at them, but her shoulders sagged as she passed through the threshold towards the waiting taxi.

     Ferrin met his father’s glare listlessly. “Hey dad.”

     He noticed his dad’s hand curl into a fist that he kept pressed tightly to his side.

     “You’re in a load of shit. Do you know what this looks like for me?”

     “Look I’m sorry but I-”

     Gammon reached forward and grabbed the lapels of his son’s shirt and dragged his face up close to his own. Ferrin was taller and stronger than Gammon, but the anger coursing through his veins was power all on it’s own. Ferrin didn’t flinch back, but he also didn’t have the energy, completely depleted from the events of the night, to pull away.

     “Sorry doesn't mean shit. You’re lucky you’re mother is so convincing or I would’ve left you both to reformation.”

     Ferrin didn’t drop his dad’s gaze, nor did he respond. Se was the best response when Gammon flew into such a rage, of which Ferrin was always on the receiving end. It was best to let the anger burn off. Gammon wasn’t a violent man, but his honor meant more to him than anything else, and Ferrin’s disobedience was always taken as a personal attack, an attempt to tarnish his reputation. Ferrin couldn’t take solace in the fact that his actions would not only damage him, but his father, though Gammon’s bad temper overshadowed any pity he might have felt.

Gammon hunted his gaze for repentance and, finding none, turned from Ferrin with a sigh and slogged towards the exit, which Riley had left through minutes before. Ferrin wanted to stay behind and check on Weasel but he knew that if he didn’t follow his father out from the hospital now, he wouldn’t get another chance to leave without his wrists bound behind his back.

     Their family car was hovering at one of the docks, air locked into the exit hallway. Gammon stepped in first, Ferrin behind. The car slid its door shut and detached from the lock then turned down the main road that led into Bukit Batok. Any scenery that could’ve been seen was almost invisible in the darkness. The ride home was short and silent. The car docked into their garage and the door slid open to reveal his mother, her heart-shaped face pulled tight with anxiety.

     “Is Jeanie okay?”

     “She’s fine.” Gammon cut in gruffly, pulling himself from the car and disappearing into the house.

     Ferrin exited after his father had gone and pulled his mother into a hug.

     “The EMT said she’d be okay, though she still hadn’t come to by the time we got to the hospital.”

     “Oh thank god. I’ll check in on her at work tomorrow.”

     Jeni smiled sadly at him, and Ferrin could just about read the source of her concern. She hated when Gammon and Ferrin would argue, though she knew it was inevitable, and worried it would one-day cause Ferrin to resent his own father. Ferrin sometimes worried he would, but he gave his mother a reassuring grin.

     “He’ll get over it.”

     “I’m just happy you’re okay Ferbear.”

     Ferrin rolled his eyes at the nickname, relieved that his mother didn’t harbor any ill will towards him for the severe mishap. The concern melted into guilt, etched across her features. The grin fell from his face and he rubbed a hand across his mother’s shoulder.

     “It wasn’t your fault mom, Weasel was just being stupid and she fell and it ripped. I didn’t see it happen though I was-” He hesitated a moment, the loop of the faint message he’d heard drifting through his mind “-in the bathroom.”

     “I know. You should go to bed, it’s almost sunrise.”

     “Yeah sure.” He kissed her on the cheek lightly and left her in the hall, heading into the depths of the house.

     Dome 45...do you read...Dome 45…

     The loop filled his thoughts, the calm voice ebbing and flowing like waves on the shore. He was sure the decision to keep it the truth locked inside himself was the right one, at least for the moment. After the chaos of the night he couldn’t even be sure of what he’s heard. With repetition the voice was beginning to warp, first the tone of the voice, then the accent.  By the time Ferrin reached his bedroom he was starting to lose a grip on the message. He knew, in his core, that he had heard something, but his rational mind was fighting against him, reminding him that he’d been on drugs, that the Banshee had still been coursing through his system. Alongside the Banshee, his adrenaline provides another distortion lens, like looking through the curve of a glass. Could he really trust some garbled sound he’d heard from a crack in the dome? Maybe it wasn’t even a seam to a door, maybe he’d only seen what he’d desperately wanted to see, taking advantage of the high and the solitude to weave together a story as he used to when he was younger.

     He pulled his thoughts from the loop, which was already dimming in his thoughts. He didn’t trust his memory now, he couldn’t. He considered speaking to Riley about it tomorrow but she hadn’t seen anything, she wouldn’t be able to confirm or deny any of the possibility that were flinging around within his skull. The only way he would know whether or not he had fabricated the experience would be to return to Woodlands, but that was impossible. He was under virtual house arrest, as a graduated high-level.

     It was ridiculous.

     Now, with this on his record, even if he didn’t have to report for reformation, he wouldn’t be allowed to move out and into one of the low-level work apartments, even after he tested into a career placement. He’d been locked down in his house under his father’s watchful eye and Lu’s juvenile taunts.

     Ferrin considered grabbing one of the extra masks he had hidden under his bed and leaving again before whatever punishment would be afflicted upon him and his friends on the morrow, but instead exhaustion won out over his frustrations and he collapsed onto his bed, asleep within seconds.

~~~

     Dome 45...dome 45...do you read…dome 45…dome 45…are you there…this is control...dome 45...the experiment is over...dome 45…

     Staccato flashes of light from the flittering mag-cams zip in half-orchestrated pathways, capturing every second of the reveal, as the section of the northern dome peels away, revealing millions of people standing in wait. Natural light shines into the dome and the citizens cheer as Ferrin leads them out into the light. The millions of waiting citizens, seeing their brothers and sisters freed from their prison join their shouts to the wind.

     Ferrin runs out into the sun, breathing in air fresher than he ever could have imagined. The fiery pulsing giant in the sky warms his skin, his heart, and his soul. He looks behind him at his citizens; his people. They cheer his name: the savior. He brought light to the world they did not know was dark.

     The crowd awaiting them joins the shout, lifting him up with their soft, tanned hands, passing him along the surging waves of endless bodies. Jostling him and tossing him, all while chanting his name. The savior of Dome 45, the savior of humanity.

     “Ferrin. Ferrin. Ferrin.”

~~~

Ferrin woke with a start, still decked out in his trip clothes, black and fully covered over expanse of his light brown skin. The chant of the masses faded from his mind, evaporated by the artificial light penetrating the blinds on his window. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the white ceiling of his room.

He scrunched his toes, still encased within his stealth shoes, formed to the curves of his feet. He rolled up from the bed and pulled them off, one by one, expanding into flimsy pockets as he peeled them from his clammy flesh and then tossed them beneath his bed. He dropped his head to his hands and shut his eyes, the landscape of his dream still imprinted on the back of his eyelids. He grasped at the emotion that his dream incarnation had invoked, endeavoring to hold onto the elation with a slippery mental grasp. It faded along with the chant.

Dome 45...can you read...Dome 45…

The faint voice drifted through his thoughts, calling to him from a distance both near and far. In the light of day it seemed much less plausible that he’d imagined anything from the night before, so strikingly clear was his recollection, though he did make a silent pact with himself that he wouldn’t speak of it to anyone, not even Riley, not yet.

Along with the solemn vow of secrecy, three other facts cemented themselves in his mind, whether by the intensity of his dream or by the revealing light of day.

Firstly, he was going to break curfew again and he was going to do it tonight. Secondly he was going to travel to the Woodlands district alone. Thirdly, he was going to break through the door of the dome and discover the source of the voice, regardless of what it would take.

Confident in his choices and his resolve he pulled out a tablet to make a quick list of the supplies he would need, labeling what he didn’t possess with a jagged underline. He had half of the items already - oxygen mask and backup, light goggles, recorder - but he still needed to get a laser blade, a wedge, and steel cable.

Riley had the blade, which he would have to convince her to hand over without explaining why, and he could buy the rest. Ferrin changed into less conspicuous clothing, stuffed his stealth suit and the items he already possessed into his bag, and slipped on a clean pair of stealth shoes. They contracted to fit with a soft puff, sealing his feet into soft plastic shells, just as he climbed out of his window and onto the roof. 

Next Chapter: Chapter 4