The woman kneels next to the man’s side, back straight as she reaches toward his pocket. Two men a few feet away pull out their phones and start snapping photos before running off. Perhaps they’re nothing more than curious bystanders, but the deep frowns on their faces tell a different story. Lynell would bet her own Registration that they’re rebel vultures collecting gruesome images of any deaths they stumble across. Whatever remains of the revolutionists will flood the internet with photos of the worst completed Registrations to sway others to their cause. What they won’t show are the grateful faces of those who will be Registered so they won’t have to spend another day on a ventilator or suffering through chemo. They won’t show the heartbroken women Registering the unnamed fetuses they carry with debilitating illnesses, or the poor teens ending a pregnancy they could never afford. They won’t show people the government failed, like Lynell’s old teacher or Lynell herself, who now must seek justice themselves.

With the Sanitary Crew yet to be dispatched, no one touches or moves the body. Pedestrians simply avoid stepping in the blood, continuing with their day.

Lynell turns away from the sight and stares at the tall glass doors again.

She takes a deep breath. Not for the first time, she considers going home and taking advantage of her day off. She has most of her life to Register. After all, she’s always been told: “Never Register before you turn thirty. Chances are, you’ll need that Registration when you’re fifty more than you think you need it when you’re twenty.”

But Lynell is twenty-four and she’s been wanting to Register the same person for nearly two decades. She doesn’t think she’ll ever have a better use for this gift. And now, with the news that he’s getting married at the end of the year to a woman with three daughters, Lynell knows time is running out. She needs to do it soon, if not for her own sanity, then for the safety of those girls.

She could still wait until next quarter’s Registration, though.

Lynell looks at the scar on her arm. One of the oldest decorations to the canvas that is her body.

She pushes off the wall and walks across the street toward the glass doors. She’s thankful Eric Elysian requested measures to make picketing and protesting outside Registration offices illegal, and grateful the government enforces them. She’s not sure she would have been able to walk past a crowd of ignorant jerks calling her a murderer.

Without the Registration, chaos, violence, and homelessness would have consumed their world. Without it, they would never know true love or have anything to test it with. It’s the only thing that saved them after the devastating civil war that seemed to have no end. The entire country owes a lifelong debt to the Elysians for saving them. Lynell knows that.

The Registration is a product of the Elysians’ private business, but they work so closely with the government that it’s virtually an inalienable right. Well, an inalienable right that must be paid for. It’s protected by both the Elysian corporation and, when necessary, the government’s law enforcement. Eric Elysian, the current owner of the Registration, is practically one of the oligarchs himself.