HUNTING SEASON.

Two more days to go. Only two days!

Monthy lifted his head toward the peaks of the towering skyscrapers. The Civil Affairs Building, gleaming in the sun, particularly caught his eye. Here, he was about to receive the plaque that would elevate him to the fifth category of citizen. He'd been waiting for this for almost a year.

He was angry with the officials who, in his opinion, had unnecessarily prolonged the entire procedure, which, unfortunately, meant he'd received his nomination two days before the Season opened. This created a whole host of additional problems and put him at a significant disadvantage with the upcoming Big Day.

He gritted his teeth and glanced back. The black cloud from the city center indicated that the first wave was already leaving. He had to hurry if he didn't intend to spend the next few hours waiting in line for a sweaty official. After all, he hadn't "sneaked out" of his last few classes to now find himself queuing for a kilometer.

His gaze wandered once again up the yellowish skyscraper housing the Office of Civil Affairs. Again, black spots of anger stained his mind.

He had always dreamed of this promotion. A fifth-class citizen. Few people his age could boast such a title. And now...

He reflexively spat at his feet. And, as always, he hit someone's feet. In such a crowd, it was impossible not to.

The shrill voice of a young woman with an eighth-class badge chased him through the elevator doors. He crouched, burrowing deep into the corner. The woman waved a clenched fist under his nose.

"I'll meet you at the hunt!" she shouted before the elevator doors closed with a dull smack.

"You're not going to wait, commoner!" he snapped through gritted teeth.

And that was his mistake. One glance was enough to assess the situation. There was practically no one else in the elevator below seven.

How he'd managed to escape their grasp remained a secret.

But when he stumbled out onto the one hundred and fifty floor, he was barely alive.

"Good training!" a man in a guard's uniform with a large zero on his chest was leaning over him. "You'll need it in Season!"

Monthy chose not to respond to this obvious taunt, which could unnecessarily add to his troubles, and in a low voice asked for the V-Class Citizens' Department.

"But you're a 'six,'" the guard said in surprise.

"I'm about to receive a reassignment," he replied proudly, heading in the indicated direction.

"Now?" a grimace of disbelief crossed the man's face. "Isn't it too late?" Monthy didn't deign to answer, standing tall and proudly as he walked down the middle of the corridor.

The official was a balding blond man, for whom he immediately felt an unwarranted fondness. It was probably because of the blushing under his thick neck. It was nice to have such a high-ranking official attend to him.

"Please, Mr..." the official glanced at the holo-viewer, searching for his details. "Mr. Monthy. A rare surname. After my mother, perhaps?

" "Yes!" the man replied curtly, somewhat ashamed of his Anglo-Saxon roots. "But I don't think my surname has anything to do with it.

" "Don't get upset," the official made a reassuring gesture with his hand. "Of course, your surname has no bearing on the fact that, as of today, you are a fifth-class citizen. Congratulations, Mr. Monthy." The official stood and held out a sky-blue disc with a number affixed to it.

This was what he had dreamed of practically from the moment he was handed the pink badge that gave him the status of a "six." He had dedicated all these years to crossing the threshold. And now the moment had arrived!

"Do you know," the official paused, "what a promotion to 'five' entails? Are you prepared for the changes?" A nod. "And will you have time to prepare for the Season Opening? It's only two days!

" "Could we postpone the promotion day?" Monthy asked, though he knew the answer perfectly well.

"Of course!" the official laughed, revealing a row of manicured teeth. "Just sign the resignation and wait until the next appointment! Are you resigning?" The hand with the nametag retracted.

Monthy lunged forward and almost snatched the blue object.

"It's mine!" he shouted shrilly. "You have no right to hold up my promotion.

" "I have no intention of doing so!" the official laughed again. "Please calm down! I'm just asking.

" ...

"So when are we moving to the new section?" Kitty's face quivered with emotion. Monthy cast an unseeing glance at his daughter. At her age, he didn't have such expectations. It's all because they didn't decide to have a second child at some point, the thought flashed through his mind. But back then, he could only dream of a "five."

"Right after the Season ends!" he replied dryly. "I've already arranged everything, but this damn season is starting, and we can't change the quarter.

" "Will you at least show us where it will be?" Kitty demanded, nervously rubbing her hairless head. "In Kozłówek, right?"

Monthy nodded, eliciting a cry of joy from his daughter. Sara looked at him with obvious amusement. She had always been reluctant to think of his promotion. She herself had never had any greater desires than the "seven" she had long ago earned. Sometimes he regretted ever getting involved with her. And he had so many other options. For example, the dark-eyed Tsu, whose family connections, given his abilities, would have allowed for an even faster promotion. With her...

He glanced at his other half with a quick glance, immediately erasing the image of slant-eyed Tsu from his mind.

"Do you know what you're doing?" she said, stretching lazily on the sofa. As usual, she spent the day in bed, taking points away from herself.

"Don't worry about me," he said over his shoulder, trying to find a comfortable enough spot in their twenty-square-meter apartment unit, to which he was entitled as a sixth-class citizen.

Now, as a "fifth-class citizen," he was entitled to at least half the square footage. And he had already found a suitable apartment unit in the "Chinese District" in Kozłówek, near Wuthering Heights. If Sarah were to get moving sometimes and earn a few points, they could consider the apartment unit in Piasek. But looking at the woman sprawled on the sofa, her entire attention already focused on the small screen of her personal unit, he could nip such a dream in the bud.

Slightly nervous, he began searching his personal locker for a few items he'd planned to take with him.

"Are you getting ready for the start of the Season?" Sara suddenly asked. "Have you chosen a Sanctuary yet?

" "And you plan to go hunting?" he asked, flicking his fingers across the disappearer, which he couldn't take with him. Not as a "five"!

"Just go!" the woman snapped, staring back at the images her personal unit was sending.

"It'll eat your brains out someday!" he growled.

But Sara was already far away.

...

"You're off sick today too!" the director smiled maliciously.

Monthy looked contemptuously at his portly figure with the green "six." He instinctively puffed out his chest so that his "five" wouldn't escape the notice of several colleagues who were watching them from afar. He smiled condescendingly.

"You know I could practically stay away until the end of the term!" he snapped, his expression unchanged. He couldn't stand this buffoon, who for some unknown reason believed he was after his shabby position. He, on the other hand, dreamed of something entirely different, and the "A" he received was the first step towards a cushy position in Grzegórzki, where the local education department was located.

He blended in with dignity among the crowd of fourth-graders waiting for their classes in the auditorium.

"So, are you finally staying, or not?" the principal's shrill treble chant pursued him.

He didn't stoop to answer, though. Let him worry! What?!

He was still smirking outside the classroom when, in the distance, he spotted old Wax, whom the principal had probably sent to replace him. Suddenly, the thought of turning to the old toady and thumbing his nose at him flashed through his mind. But he nipped the thought in the bud. That would be unbecoming of a man belonging to the social elite.

There were significant gaps in attendance in the class. It always happened this way whenever the Season approached. Most of the students were usually old enough to hold the lowest civic classification, which entitled them to actively participate in the hunt. True, they were only allowed to use the simplest of melee weapons, but practically none of them wouldn't try their hand at it even under such circumstances. After all, it was their first time!

Monthy was sure most of the absentees were feverishly preparing for tomorrow. And him?

Suddenly, he felt a thick layer of sweat beading his forehead. Oh yes! It was tomorrow! Tomorrow, any idiot with a black 12 on his chest would be able to target him with the double-barreled shotgun he'd inherited from his great-grandparents. How many times had he relieved his stress this way? How many times had he felt an incomparable trembling permeating his entire body as he took his Vanisher in one hand and his favorite AK-47 in the other and set out to "deal." And there was hardly a Season that didn't go by without him returning from a hunt with a trophy.

And now it was his turn. His plaque could have been hanging above the bed of some damned "seven" or "nine."

He didn't make it to the end of class.

The headmaster's spasmodic laughter chased him down the hallway. Or maybe he was just imagining it.