5 Kills

I am old enough to remember the days before the 5 Kills Protocol was implemented. Life was hard and food was scarce, but we had no idea the stress that was to come. Seven years ago, as the human population expanded far past the Earth’s ability to support us, the governments of the world held a month-long summit to determine what to do. One idea after another was rejected until they finally settled on out-and-out murder.

The 5 Kills Protocol was implemented by the brainiacs at this summit. It allows for every human to kill a minimum 5 people during their lifetime for no reason at all. I say minimum because when you kill someone, you assume their unused kills. Humans had evolved to be social creatures, but this put us right back to our pre-civilization days. The governments of the world decided the best way to reduce the population was to have every human themselves participate in thinning the herd, cleverly keeping the blood off their own hands.

The mechanics of the Protocol are convoluted, but essentially every human is fitted with wrist technology called Monitors that cannot be removed. The Monitors track when a kill is made and interfaces with the dead human’s Monitor to determine if extra kills are added. If you are thinking about the children, worry not. Children were placed off limits until their 15th birthday. On that day, they are fitted with a Monitor, provided a weapon of their choosing, and it is game on.

Today you find me on a very special day. It is my 15th birthday and I just received my “present”. The Monitor feels heavy and foreign on my wrist. The technician assures me that it does not matter because I am not likely to live long enough for it to really annoy me. As if my trepidation could not be any higher.

I move from the Monitor installation room into a giant warehouse. This is the Armory and it contains many versions of every weapon humans could conceive of. The next 3 minutes of my life would be the most important for my future. Which do I choose? The rules are simple. You can only get a new weapon every 4 years. If the weapon has ammo, it comes with 5 pieces. Just enough to make your kills.

I look around, trying to envision myself using every weapon. Spectacular whirling beheadings with a scythe or perfect throws that pierce the heart with a javelin. I cannot believe this is my world now. In the end, I just grab the nearest handgun. “Our most popular choice”, the Armorer tells me.

Now that I have my Monitor and my gun, it is time to step into my new reality. I know life is going to be different, but I do not know how.As I approach the door to the street, the teachings of my community come flooding back to me. Since the implementation of the 5 Day Protocol, humans have associated together loosely into Tribes. We are still overseen by various governments, but the Tribes are the source of learning and community of sorts. Basically, it is a group of people that have agreed to not kill each other so they can continue to exist. The Tribes band together to house, clothe and feed everyone. Children are taught lessons like mathematics and science, but mostly about their future in the world after their 15th birthday. It is one of these latter lessons that charges to the front of my mind as my hand touches the door handle.

The building that houses the Armory is protected by a one block no-kill zone. Any breach of this results in the killer’s Monitor blowing them up on the spot. One step outside of the zone and you are free game. And it is here that the Spawners lurk. Spawners are humans that are low on kills and want to top up or just genuinely insane and have a bloodlust. They lurk just past the no-kill zone, waiting for newbies to emerge so they can eliminate them and earn 5 fresh kills.

To combat Spawners, Tribes usually send a group of their best fighters with their birthday folk to ensure a safe return. Firefights often ensue. There are no statistics given to the public, but the general thought is that only about half of newbies make it back to the Tribe’s grounds. As luck would have it, my birthday is smack in the middle of the harvest. My Tribe can barely spare four folks for protection. Happy birthday to me, huh.

As I walk down the street towards my protection party, I notice my body is shivering all over and I am sweating, despite the temperature being cool. When I join up with my protectors, they nod at me silently and set off in the direction of our Tribe’s grounds. We walk in formation, with two in front of me and two behind me. Their heads are on a swivel. So is mine. I see shadows moving everywhere. I have no idea if they exist or not. An electricity runs through me that I have never felt before. It feels as though my whole body is buzzing. Time is barely moving. This is torture. This is my new life.

Finally, one of the moving shadows behind a dumpster in the alley to my left materializes. It is a girl, not much older than me. She is covered in filth and looks as though she has not eaten in days. There is a wild look in her eyes. My protectors seem to ignore her, as if she is a mongrel but not a threat. But I cannot take my eyes off her. And that is when I see her arm elevate towards me. The gun in her hand catches a glint of the late day sun. As if by instinct, my arm raises my gun directly at her as well. We stare in each other’s eyes, searching.

BANG!