Pace switches his phone to silent and puts it back into his pocket. He returns to his desk, logs in to the computer and pulls up anything he can access concerning the People of Choice case.

He gets to work, waiting for Paulson to waddle his fat arse in.

Within minutes, one word has popped out of the files more than any other.

Levant.

108

Nothing important did happen today.

There is no news of another People of Choice incident from any corner of the globe. It’s governmental who-can-piss-highest-up-the-wall hogwash. It’s a European footballer scoring a hat-trick in the quarter finals. It’s an annual televised charity telethon. A celebrity break-up. A reality star punch-up. Another storm on the way.

The number of followers on the People of Choice social media page has stagnated. For every person that joins, another will leave.

Some actor that made a decent film a couple of decades ago has died and everybody seems terribly upset about it, though they haven’t thought about him once in the last five years. A million statuses say RIP like he’s logged straight onto the Internet from whatever lies beyond this mortal realm.

People are too afraid to just think, Oh, that’s a bit sad. I remember him in that film when I was a kid. They have to be devastated. And they have to let everybody know how overcome they feel. So they can be part of the club.

Everything is amplified.

You think your child was sweet as a singing tree in the school play? Not on social media, you don’t. You are the proudest parents ever. (Attach humble-faced smiling emoticon.)

You’re wondering what the hell is going on in parliament and how it is going to affect you? Not on social media. You’re this is a fucking shitstorm. The NHS is fucked. The trade channels are fucked. We’re all fucked.

You’re feeling incredibly lost. You lack confidence. You can’t stick at anything. You hate your job. Your kids are driving you mad. Not on social media. You’re quoting Martin Luther King and rambling about love and positivity.

This is commonplace.

Everything is back to normal.

Apathy resumed.

And that is just where The People of Choice want you.

The last twenty letters have been sent and will be opened in the morning.

PART THREE

LEGACY

109

236–255

We wait.

We don’t have to count down from three.

Or say go.

We just need the teacher.

We are the last People of Choice. The ones now with courage. That’s what brought us here.

We paid our eight pounds to go through the turnstile. We rode in the lift to the top. We laughed at the same joke told by the same man, who presses the same buttons all day long. We squeezed up the stairs while the guard was distracted and pushed our way outside to the roof of the walkways.