Chapter 0

The children lined up, wide-eyed and ecstatic, waiting to receive their faces—waiting to learn who they truly were.

Each child was unnervingly eager, fidgeting and twitching, lifted by the fumes that filled the factory’s air.

The other adolescents clawed at each other, trying to push their way to the front of the line, desperate to know who they were, who the Majors had made them to be.

But #24 just stood there, obedient, naïve. He was patient and ready to fit in. In his ninety-six hours of living, he looked up to the Majors. They were the model humans.

The sound of a trumpet came on over the speakers, and with it the sacred motto that should always be remembered: “The Majors are perfection.”

Like clockwork every thirty minutes, one of the Majors’ angelic voices would repeat that motto. It was something to live by—if you couldn’t reach perfection, then you could be scrapped.

A poster was neatly taped to one of the walls of the factory. It featured a picture of all five Majors, each shining with beauty, all of them dressed professionally and elegantly. At the bottom of the poster read a bold caption: “There’s no room for the weak!” Those words came from Major Artem, the sharpest tool within the cunning toolbox that was the Majors.

Other posters were hung up around the factory, each bearing a different quote from a different Major. The words of the Majors were words that should, and would, be welded into the children’s minds: “Success doesn’t come to those who rebel!”

That was the last caption #24 saw. Something about those words felt poisonous—like if he dared to disregard them, Major Tranquility herself would break free from the decrepit poster and strangle what little of a neck #24 had. He could almost imagine her face, hot with anger, her teeth clenched so hard they might shatter if they pressed together any harder.

The line started moving, and the first child was given their face.

#38 was given her pretty face—the blank void now filled with olive-green eyes, a small button nose, thin lips, and long dark-brown hair. She was even assigned a name: Isabel. Apparently, her favorite color was pink, and her favorite toy was her teddy bear.

But #24 knew the truth. Back in the waiting room, she had loved coloring with the blue crayon, used every color except pink, and hated that teddy bear—torturing it with scissors and running it over with toy cars. Yet there she was, Isabel now, with sweet rosy cheeks, hugging the teddy bear instead of pretending to strangle it to keep her pretend campsite safe.

The line moved again, and now #13 was up for a face.

#13 timidly walked forward, and the face he was given was very handsome—a crooked but charming smile, dark eyes that reminded #24 of outer space. #13 was now Alexander: sporty, outgoing, social, and funny. A little artsy in his spare time.

#24 sighed in relief. At least that wasn’t gone. Back in the waiting room, he had loved watching #13 draw amazing pictures with nothing but a pencil—dinosaurs, spaceships, whole worlds. He had been shy and never eager to play with anyone, but #24 enjoyed his presence. #24 was always so fascinated with him, adored by him might be a better term for it.

#24 watched in shock. With each child that was given a face, they felt farther and farther from who they used to be. #40 no longer loved tennis but was suddenly obsessed with baking pies and cakes. #11, who had hated wearing her dress, now adored fashion—especially the “girly” clothes she once despised. And #86, one of #24’s closest friends, had been boiled down to a cheap middle-school charmer—the kind of person who would grow up making money in all the wrong, deceitful ways.

#24 stood confused and afraid of what would happen to him. His mind spiraled around the fact that this whole operation was done by the Majors. How could they? They were everything and more. They were kind. They had given life to all these children. So why did it feel like a horrible curse to receive a face? Maybe because it meant erasing who his friends really were.

The line moved faster and faster. The children who had already been given their faces clustered around the pairing list.

"For every pretty girl, there’s always a handsome boy!” #24 read from the banner above it. He knew those words, but now, when he reread them, they felt wrong.

#24 squinted, trying to see who he had been paired with. He was with #28. He liked #28—thought she was funny, talented, and smart—but never in any romantic way. And what would her girlfriend think?
With that thought, he tried to find #56—now “Jessica”—but to his dismay, she was chatting with #02, her pair, a bright red blush on her cheeks. #24 made a foul face. What had they done to her? She now had a wide smile, curly blonde hair, and green bows that matched her dress.

#24 was almost at the front of the line—only two kids ahead of him. He wondered if he should just reject the face; surely the Majors would reward his obedience.

But that thought collapsed when he looked up to see, in bold letters:

“YOUR FACE IS YOUR PERFECTION, YOUR BEAUTY. THERE IS NO EMPATHY FOR THE UGLY.”

That's when #24 knew it. It was either reject the face and be terminated—or take the face and lose all sense of his identity. But at least he'd still be alive to see his friends flourish, especially Alexander.

#24 took small but somewhat sure steps. It was his time.