Book Name: The Legend Trilogy
Writer: Marie Lu
Clearly, I’m not dead, however, it’s more secure for her to think so. At least two times per month, I see my Wanted banner flashed on the
JumboTronsscattered all through midtown Los Angeles. It watches strange up there. Most of the photos on the screens are of glad things: grinning
youngsters standing under a brilliant blue sky, travelers presenting before the Golden Gate Ruins, Republiccommercials in neon hues. There’s likewise
enemies of Colonies publicity. “TheColonies need our property,” the promotions proclaim. “They need what they don’t have. Don’t let them
vanquish your homes! Bolster the cause!”Then there’s my criminal report. It illuminates the JumboTrons in all its multi-colored glory: WANTED BY THE
REPUBLICFILE NO: WANTED FOR ASSAULT, ARSON, THEFT, DESTRUCTION OF MILITARY PROPERTY, AND HINDERING THE WAR EFFORT 200,000
REPUBLIC NOTES FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO ARRESTThey consistently have an alternate photograph running close by the report.
Once it was a kid with glasses and a head loaded with thick copper twists. Some other time it was a kid with bruised eyes and no hair by any stretch of
the imagination. Once in a while, I’m dark, here and there white, sometimes olive or earthy colored or yellow or red or whatever else they can think of.
In different words, the Republic has no clue about what I resemble. They don’t appear to know quite a bit of anything about me, then again, actually
I’m youthful and that when they run fingerprints they don’t discover a match in their databases. That is the reason they hate me, why I’m not the
riskiest criminal in the nation, however, the most-wanted. I make them look terrible.
It’s initial night, yet it’s as of now completely dark outside, and the JumboTrons’reflections are obvious in the road’s puddles. I sit on a crushing
window ledge three stories up, escaped see behind rusted steel bars. This used to be an apartment complex, however, it’s fallen into deterioration.
Broken lights and glass shards litter the floor of this room, and paint is stripping from each divider. In one corner, an old representation of the
Elector Primo falsehoods faceup on the ground. I wonder who used to live here—nobody’s split enough to let their picture of the selector sit disposed
of on the floor like that.My hair, of course, is tucked inside an old newsy top. My eyes are fixed on a little one-story house over the street. My hands
mess with the pendant tied around my neck.Tess inclines toward the room’s other window, watching me intently. I’m restless tonight and, as usual, she
can detect it.The plague has hit the Lake area hard. In the gleam of the JumboTrons, Tess and I can see the officers toward the finish of the road as
they assess each home, their black capes sparkly and worn free in the warmth. Every one of them wears a gas mask.Sometimes when they rise,
they mark a house by painting a major red X on the front entryway. Nobody enters or leaves the home after that—at any rate, not when anyone’s
looking.”Still don’t see them?” Tess murmurs. Shadows disguise her expression.In an endeavor to occupy myself, I’m sorting out a stopgap
slingshot out of old PVC pipes. “They haven’t had supper. They haven’t plunked somewhere around the table in hours.” I move and loosen up my
awful knee.”Maybe they’re not home?”I shoot Tess an aggravated look. She’s attempting to reassure me, however, I’m not in the mood. “A light’s lit. Take
a gander at those candles. Mother could never squander candles if no one was home.”Tess draws nearer. “We should leave the city for a long time,
better believe it?” She tried to keep her voice quiet, yet the dread is there. “Before long the plague will have blown through, and you can return to
visit. We have more than enough money for two train tickets.”I shake my head. “One night seven days, recall? Simply let me determine the status of
them one night a week.”Yeah. You’ve been coming here consistently this week.”I simply need to ensure they’re okay.”What in the event that you get sick?”I’ll take my risks. What’s more, you didn’t need to accompany me. You could’ve waited for me back in Alta.”Tess shrugs. “Someone needs to watch out for you.” Two years more youthful than
me—albeit once in a while she sounds mature enough to be my caretaker.We look on peacefully as the troopers move nearer to my family’s home. Every time they stop at a home, one trooper beats on the entryway while a second stands next to him with his firearm drawn. In the event that nobody opens the entryway within ten seconds, the first fighter kicks it in. I can’t see them once they surge inside, yet I know the drill: a trooper will draw a blood test from every relative, at that point plug into a handheld peruser and check for the plague.
The entire procedure takes ten minutes.I check the houses between where the warriors are currently and where my family lives. I’ll need to hold up one more hour before I realize their fate.A yell echoed from the opposite finish of the road. My eyes dart toward the sound and my hand whips to the blade sheathed at my belt. Tess sucks in her breath.It’s a plague casualty. She must’ve been weakening for a considerable length of time, in light of the fact that her skin is broken and draining all over the place, and I wind up thinking about how the soldiers could have missed this one during the past investigations. She stumbles around for some time, muddled, at that point charges forward, just to outing and tumble to her knees. I look back toward the fighters. They see her now.
The officer with drawn weapons draws near, while the eleven others stay where they are and look on. One plague casualty isn’t a very remarkable danger. The warrior lifts his weapon and aims.A volley of sparkles overwhelms the contaminated woman.She breakdown, at that point, goes still. The fighter rejoins his comrades.I wish we could get our hands on one of the warriors’ weapons. A pretty weaponlike that doesn’t cost many available—480 Notes, not exactly an oven. Like all guns, it has exactness, guided by magnets and electric flows, and can accurately shoot an objective three streets away. It’s tech taken from the Colonies, Dad once stated, in spite of the fact that obviously, the Republic could never reveal to you that.
Tess and I could purchase five of them in the event that we needed. . . . Throughout the years we’ve learned to stockpile the additional cash we take and reserve it away for crises. In any case, the real issue with having a firearm isn’t the cost. It’s that it’s so natural to traceback to you. Each weapon has a sensor on it that reports its client’s hand shape, thumbprints, and area. On the off chance that that didn’t part with me, nothing would. So I’m left with my handcrafted weapons, PVC pipe slingshots, and other trinkets.”They found another,” Tess says. She squints to show signs of improvement look.I look down and see the fighters spill from another house. One of them shakes a container of splash paint and draws a mammoth red X on the entryway.
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