Hi. I'm going to try something completely different. I have never attempted writing in the first person before. Tell me what you think.

My name is Tracey Mayers . I never knew the real name my mother intended for me . I was told she was Resistance and she died giving birth to me at Western Medical . This may have been just another story older Rats tell the young ones to get them off to sleep . I'd like to believe it was true.

My earliest memory comes from when I was three years old. I placed a .223 Remmington tracer round into a lit stove . I'd seen older Rats put rounds into fires and run . The fire and explosions drew Metal to the heat source and by the time Metal showed up Rats would be long gone, in the opposite direction. I wanted to see the bright orange or green flash and I thought everyone would be overjoyed I'd learned a new skill. Instead the cooking tin hit the tunnel ceiling showering black oily gravy over older Rats .This was followed by much yelling, and slapping of my backside .

My Rat-name was a kind of a warning label that stuck. It is actually Tracer, but I later replaced the 'r' with a y. Mayers was the name printed in white lettering on the blue chemical tubs that came bobbing up to the surface in section 4.3 of the Eastern tunnels. Mayers sounded right for a surname, so at six years old I took it , reasoning a name couldn't belong to anyone to steal it from. Not that any of us cared who things belonged to, only that they wouldn't come after us if we thieved from them.

I grew up like all the other Rats, spending my first ten years underground learning thieving, trading , knowing the places to hide from hostile Metal and Militia. When I was eleven I took my turn in looking after younger Rats. It was then I began running provisions and munitions up to the front line Resistance soldiers in exchange for their protection and our share of MRE's. Rats were growing in numbers and it was well rewarded work.

I was captured at Serrano, incarcerated and finally liberated by Resistance from Century Workcamp. I survived because of my slight build and agility . My first role was cleaning and primary maintenance of the machinery under the incineration plant. Later, I was taken to Section 11 for 'Reassignment'. Like all of us , I grew up witnessing things I now know a child should not.

I was fourteen when The War ended . After Liberation I was transported. I was given a bed in The Base dorm and attended the first class of the first school that opened after The War . For months I could not settle in class, but gradually I began to learn to sit down for longer periods of time and began to read and write. In my second year I took to maths and engineering with a passion. Century-Metal had taught me the principles of mechanical engineering . Metal were harsh teachers, you simply learned things or they killed you , those were their rules. Unsurprisingly I excelled in these subjects in my second year of Base class.

At the age of seventeen I held the rank of sergeant and I became a teaching assistant in the school. It was then I began to study everything I could from records of Pre JD education . Once you know how to learn in one area , learning other things becomes easier. I could not believe the world that had passed. It came to me in my dreams, and in my dreams I heard the voices and saw the faces of the children in the videos I had watched .

My area of interest did not go unnoticed. The General approached me during my second term. He had a mission for me. I was to get to see that world.

August 1st 2007 6.30am

This morning I wake to find myself naked in a large bed and decide it is so warm and comfortable I never want to get out . These sheets are soft and I could lie in them all day. I pull the covers over my head and curl into a fetal position so can I doze in the darkness listening to the beat of my organic heart. Maybe this is what it was like waiting to be born.

Eventually I pull the covers back and open my eyes again . Though my open window I can hear downtown LA traffic on the move . It sounds like the constant roar of sea when it channeled up through the Western tunnels .

Sunlight is poring in through the gap in the curtains . They are creamy white with intense orange and pink floral patterns. The sky is blue. I have not yet decided if I prefer this blue to metallic gray. At the moment it feels unnatural the sky should be this color, or indeed that any color should be so vivid. I had been warned the air in 2007 LA is higher in oxygen than levels I am accustomed to, so perhaps this is making me feel lightheaded and my senses are heightened. Maybe everything isn't really this bright and it will settle down in a day or so.

There is the rich smell of food being prepared downstairs. It is meat-based but I can not recognize the animal being cooked. . Hunger is making my top lip twitch. This is a nervous tic I am going to have to work on, along with using the correct cutlery and not holding onto my plate during meal times .

I have the strong urge to pee and reluctantly get out of bed and dress in a long pink cotton gown . It has a cotton belt to fasten around it.

The carpeted floor absorbs my footfall. Again there are bright patterns on the walls and floor . I realize would be relatively easy to move undetected across a surface like this. This concerns me. For security purposes I may pull up the carpet outside my room later.

The toilet uses a vast amount of water. It is so clean you could drink from it. I flush twice and listen as the vortex swirls down the pan heading for the tunnel system where I grew up. Each flush is at least a days H ration. When I touch the toilet handle I feel 'rich'.

Vincent has prepared breakfast for me. There is now a green padded linoleum under my bare feet.

I slip into role "good morning 'dad'."

"Good morning Tracey" Vincent seamlessly picks up his role. He is stirring a pan of orange colored beans and heating slices of bread in a machine designed for this purpose. Burnt bread is called toast. The smell of it makes my top lip twitch again.

We sit down at the breakfast table and Vincent begins reading the LA Times . We discuss the contents of the newspaper as we eat. This is normal practice at the breakfast table. Apparently Coco Cola, a soft drinks manufacturer in the USA, has been collaborating with Colombian terrorists in order to ensure the safe distribution of their product in their country. We agree this is an excellent distributive strategy. Colombia produced outstanding Resistance operatives . Something puzzles us: It seems strange it should be 'broadcast' like this given the underlying security issues of such an operation. Surely those trying to disrupt these networks will be alerted?

Eating breakfast is not as easy as it looks. Baked beans are extremely hard to spear on the end of a narrow fork. I only learn later, fortunately towards the end of my school visit , I am currently legume intolerant . I will not be eating beans of any variety again for a long time. They taste delicious , but are not worth the consequences. I have expelled about a cubic meter of methane! Most of my diet will consist of cereal , babyfood and protein mix, and I will be gradually weened off it as my digestive system adapts to tolerate the rich variety of foods .

'Toast' is excellent, and becomes soggy in baked bean sauce.

We have an appointment with Principal Steinbeck at Campo de Cahuenga High School at 10.30. It is currently 'summer Break' and there are no students attending the high school.

Vincent has hacked out the relevant educational and medical systems we have flawless identities. No one was terminated in the process, which he announces enthusiastically, achieves the first part of his mission parameters. Vincent goes on to explain termination during identity fabrication can be messy and you are never sure its not going " come back and bite you on the ass at a later date". I have been bitten on my ass and upper leg by both mutated rodents and reptiles . I grasp the meaning of this phrase immediately, and politely steer the conversation away from termination protocal. I will allow him to discuss T-things later, because he has an obvious need to share , and I am interested in T-stuff like this as long as it doesn't get too detailed and obsessive.

I distract him and go over our cover stories .

"Mother died when I was born . Vincent is a single parent, my single parent. He is a computer programmer and his job requires him to move frequently. I am in remission from a long illness. I have missed large portions of my education. Vincent has a taken a long contract in LA so I can settle for a year."

None of this is untrue, except in this time , the reasons for my Leukemia and my complete remission from it are unique, to say the least. We are not going to mention those to Principal Steinbeck.

I will write up my school visit later tonight, if I can stay out of that bed .