My name is Dustin. But because of the population laws, I shouldn't exist. I should be executed. Those were my miserable thoughts until I met up with Luke and Trey and the other guys. And girls.

They all say that they used to go to a privet school called Harlow's. We go to school in North Dakota, where we thought the population laws were a bit thinner. God, where we wrong…

Dustin pushed Luke ahead of him, into the gym. The girl named Nina stalled, probably frozen with fear. He scooped her up and carried her in a fireman's carry into the gym. A second volley of bullets flew by and a single bullet whizzed into Dustin's arm. It was a graze, really. The bullet only hit the fat of the arm. But it hit some muscle, too, multiplying the pain.

He dropped Nina, who sprinted into the gym. Dusting just lay there, breathing deeply, hyperventilating. He felt dizzy. He turned his head to the side and retched. He spat and tried to get the sour, acidic flavor out of his mouth, but it stayed there.

The Population Police caught up with him. They had put there guns away and stared down at him, eyes filled with hate.

He did something stupid, yet it saved his life. Dustin kicked, causing all four men to fall on their backs with sickening thuds. Ignoring the pain in his arm, he grabbed a nine millimeters from the holster of one man and shot out all of the men's kneecaps. They would forever be handicapped. Quickly, he pulled the others guns away and tuck two of them in the waist band of his jeans, carrying the other two in his hands.

Finally, he reached the gym door and entered. The others were huddled together, whispering nervously about the close ordeal.

Dusting cleared his throat and said, "Bastards. Couldn't one of you tried to help me back there?"

And he passed out.