The putrid stench of burned flesh seemed to cling to every inch of the building, as though it had seeped into the bricks and mortar themselves. It saturated the air with its foul odour as the Prime Minister made her way through the halls and she had to stifle the urge to cover her mouth and breath through the thin fabric of her suit sleeve. Heedless of the bloodstains and charred patches of flooring that glared up at her under the harsh fluorescent lighting, she straightened her shoulders and stood a little taller, determined not to be cowed.

This was the third population control centre that the Prime Minister had been forced to visit in the last twenty-four hours, she should be used to the unwelcome sights and foul smells that surrounded her by now. Yet they still assaulted her senses as she followed her team of bodyguards up a set of concrete stairs. 

The leather of the Prime Minister's shoes chafed at her heels with every step that she took. A hiss escaped her teeth at the discomfort, followed quickly by a rush of shame as she remembered that far worse things had occurred in this building than the appearance of a few blisters. 

The Prime Minister had been advised that this particular centre, situated in a small town on the outskirts of her capital city, had come under heavy fire the night that it had been attacked. She had read countless reports and seen numerous photographs, but nothing had quite prepared her for the reality that now surrounded her. 

No doubt the building had been a cold, unfeeling place even before the rebels had descended upon it. The population control centres had never been designed to be anything more than functional and fit for purpose. After all, her government did not have the funds to waste sprucing up a place that would predominantly be inhabited for short periods by those about to lose their lives, but the shiver that crawled up her spine warned her that now, this place was little more than a graveyard. 

The Prime Minister could not help thinking, as she wandered the long stark hallways with their peeling plaster and their broken strip lights flashing periodically as they fought to stay lit, how very depressing it would be to know that these were the last sights you would ever see. A surge of pity settled in her breast for the people whose lives would be ended here, and she rubbed absentmindedly at the phantom ache in her sternum. 

No. That would not do, the Prime Minister internally scolded herself, whipping her hand back to its place by her side. She could not afford to show weakness, not today. Not when she had to give yet another speech to those that currently resided in this centre awaiting their execution. She could not afford for them to see her as anything other than strong and steady. Their determined and fearless leader, set on her course. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her waiver, nor would she allow any of her own doubts to slip into their minds in their last moments. 

The residents of the population control centre would not be the only ones with their eyes fixed firmly on her today. Due to the loud and insistent protestations of her cabinet, the Prime Minister's speech would also be filmed and later televised. Her distorted image was to be projected onto the side of buildings up and down the country for all to see, in a display of strength and resolve, designed to intimidate the rebel forces and show them that her government would not be deterred. They would not be cowed into straying from their plans, no matter how loud the Right to Life groups complaints became. 

The rebels' numbers were growing exponentially. Every day the Prime Minister received new reports of another branch of their group having been established. Another raid having been executed on a population control centre, or another supply run of the injections which were used to end the lives of the unfortunates whose names had been called up in the lottery having been destroyed. The rebels continued defiance steadily chipping away at the fragile control she and her government were struggling to maintain.  

She needed to regain the trust of her people, needed to show them that her faith in the culls was absolute. That, in her mind, they were still the best and only course of action to stabilise their economy and allow them to rebuild not only their country, but the world. It was imperative that the majority of the public remained on her side. 

Try as she might, the Prime Minister could not understand the motives of those in the Right to Life group, or those of the people who, even now, for some unknown reason believed that they could escape the cull. 

The sheer number of those who attempted to go on the run instead of surrendering themselves on their end-of-life date as instructed was baffling to her. Especially as the majority were soon dragged back within a matter of days, often kicking and screaming, by the Cull Enforcement agents tasked to retrieve them.

Did they not see? Could they not understand? Without the culls they were all doomed. 

If the Right to Life group really and truly believed that everyone had a ‘right to life’ as their mission statement so vehemently proclaimed, then why were they trying so hard to undermine her and ensure humanity's extinction? For that was most certainly where they were heading if the human race veered from her carefully set out path. 

The Prime Minister did not relish the cull process as she knew some in her cabinet did. She did not rejoice in the daily reports she was sent, detailing the number of civilians

 who had been executed up and down the country that she loved and served. Nor did she enjoy sending out orders for those rebels that had been captured to be hanged in the streets for all to see. She was merely doing what was necessary, like her counterparts all over the world, to try to give those who remained a chance at having a future. No matter how harsh the means might seem, she was certain that they justified the ends. 

 

The dormitory fell unnervingly silent as she entered, and the Prime Minister imagined that she could hear her own blood pumping in her ears, each beat a harsh reminder of the tension thickening the stagnant air. Forcing herself to keep her pace measured and steady, she approached the podium that had been set up for her at the far end of the room.

A large Union Jack had been attached to the wall behind the podium and a single camera operator stood before it, his shot framed so that the public to whom his images would be shown, would only be able to see this tiny pre-prepared area. 

The last thing that they needed was images of the dilapidation inside the centres to get out into the world. Let the population outside these walls believe that the condemned were held in comfort before their deaths. Let them believe that the government was taking every care to ensure that those whose names had been called in the lottery were treated as humanely as possible before a needle was shoved into their veins. She did not want them to see the truth. She could not allow them to. 

Clearing her throat, the Prime Minister focused her gaze directly down the lens of the camera as she stood, shoulders back, chin raised, and began to repeat the carefully prepared speech that played from the almost invisible earbud tucked beneath her greying hair. 

“Ladies and Gentleman, thank you. Thank you for your sacrifice.” She said solemnly, not meeting the eyes of a single person in the room despite feeling their piercing gazes, full of anger and disdain, boring into her from every direction. 

“I promise you that your adherence with the cull process will not be in vain. That I, your Prime Minister, will ensure that in relinquishing your lives you are helping to sustain your country and ensuring that the human race lives on.” She took a deep breath. 

“You will be pleased to hear that despite the rebels relentless attempts to disrupt the culls, we are running to schedule. As you can see, even those centres that the so-called ‘Right to Life group’ have heinously attacked, are back up and running at full capacity.” She added, her voice steady even as she swallowed down the bitter lie.

In reality, several centres across the country were now little more than smoldering ruins of ash and rubble. To claim that they were ‘running to schedule’ was no more than a bold-faced lie. One that turned her stomach to force herself to say, but it was imperative to their cause. If the rebels were made aware of just how much disruption their actions had already caused, it would only embolden them to increase the severity and frequency of their attacks.

“Standing here before you, I am filled with a sense of pride at the courage and fortitude of the people of Great Britain. Who, as requested, have stepped up bravely to assist us in our task to restore our once mighty island to its former glory. To those who have chosen, for reasons I cannot begin to fathom, to ignore their summons, I say only this; When your children are starving, sleeping on the streets and dying from diseases that we once had enough medicine to treat, what will you say to them? How will you quieten their sobs when you know in your heart that if you had followed the laws so carefully set out in the Indiscriminate Agreements, that their circumstances would have significantly improved?” 

“How will you look them in the eye as they lay dying in your arms, knowing that it should have been you in their place? Knowing that your sacrifice would have ensured a better world for them, and for all the children to come?” 

“Today I stand here not as your leader, but as a woman. A mother. A sister. A wife. Desperately trying to save her country for those that will follow us, and I ask you all to think very carefully before you refuse to do the same. To those in this room, I once again offer my heartfelt gratitude. As you slip from this world I ask you to remember my words, remember why you are here, and pass peacefully into whatever awaits you. Thank you.” 

The Prime Minister gave a curt nod to the camera, forcing her face to remain stoic until the telltale red light flickered off, signalling the end of the recording. 

Without so much as a second glance at the condemned who still stood eviscerating her with their eyes in silence, she strode from the room, her footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. 

Let them despise her. Let them curse her until the moment their lives ended. She would gladly shoulder the burden of their hatred if it meant that the future of the human race was secure.