[ WP ] Every person in the world undergoes a `` goodness '' test . It 's designed to give a score from 1 to 200 , where 1 is pure evil , and 200 is an angel in human body . Then the world is divided into 200 zones , where people can live among their own kind .

When Matt moved within the other zones, people scuttled out of the way when they saw the number stitched on his jacket. 
 
 It had taken more effort than usual to reach the zone he entered today. A lot of carefully constructed, believable reasons. Even more effort to ensure he could come alone. As the system grew more rigid, more entrenched in society, it was harder to get permission to leave your zone. Even for him. 
 
 The 10s ghosted back as he strode through their crowded, decayed city. He tightened the bandana he had tied around his mouth. Useful things: it prevented the higher numbers from breathing in the dirt and pollution of the lower zones. Guards - 150s, he noted - glared at the 10s as they trailed behind Matt. Okay, so he was not totally alone. But without another 195, which was the main victory. Those lower than him could be shaken easily. 
 
 `` I want to speak to him alone,'' Matt told the guards, not looking at them as he saw the house he wanted to enter. 
 
 `` Sir, that is highly dangerous-'' one began to protest. Matt held up a hand until the guard fell silent. 
 
 `` He will not harm me. He would not dare. Now leave me,'' Matt said, walking towards the crumbling brick building. It was covered in profane graffiti. 
 
 He pushed the door open and grinned at the man resting in an old armchair. 
 
 `` You look like hell,'' he told his twin. `` You do n't even look like me anymore!'' 
 
 Andrew grunted, and wiped his grimy hair out of his face. `` Time we get started cleaning me up then, huh? I waited for you to arrive. Got ta get a good look at what I'm supposed to look like.'' 
 
 He looked Matt up and down, and snorted. `` I hope you brought stuff to help this along.'' 
 
 Matt nodded to the backpack he was carrying. `` Everything's here, hidden in the lining. Razors, shaving cream, the works.'' 
 
 When they were done, the brothers switched jackets. Andrew made an effort to stand straighter, to fit the new haircut, his clean shaven face. You had to look the part. He carefully tied Matt's bandana around his mouth. They always wore it when travelling. A win-win: the higher ups were impressed by their efforts to prevent being infected by the dirt from the low zones. And they gained a nice layer of disguise. 
 
 `` We'll really be screwed if they start inking the numbers into our skin,'' Andrew sighed. `` That's their plan, right?'' 
 
 `` That's the plan,'' Matt nodded. `` Which is why we have to work faster. Get all the information we can. The others ca n't really do anything, trapped in their zones. We're the only ones who can actually get shit done and get information on what the upper zones are doing. We *can't* fail at this point.'' 
 
 `` Relax, I know,'' Andrew said as he worked on his twin's appearance, carefully dabbing dirt smudges on Matt's face. Just like any other 10. 
 
 `` I've also heard they mean to retest me,'' Matt said. `` Move me up, because of my stellar character.'' 
 
 The brothers shared an identical, evil grin. 
 
 `` Well, be good out there, Andy,'' Matt said as he settled into the armchair. `` Do n't do anything I would n't do. And do n't screw up if they do the retest on you.'' 
 
 `` Oh, get over yourself,'' Andrew rolled his eyes as he opened the door. `` You're not the only one who can fake test results.'' 
 
 Matt snorted with laughter and waved lazily as his brother left. He'd be alright. They always were. Hell, they'd managed to keep it this up for this long, had n't they? Who knew, maybe they could pull it off. Maybe they could actually kill the 200s. That would shake and rattle things up, alright. They had the advantage they needed: nobody even knew they were twins. The stark difference in appearance between the 10s and 195s came in handy there. 
 
 He closed his eyes for a little nap, and drifted off into the first contented sleep he'd had in months. He'd missed this old armchair. 
 
 It was good to be home again. 
 
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 You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
