[ WP ] In this world , everything is determined by the number floating over your head . Everything . And when numbers ahead of you die or get killed , yours moves closer to the coveted position of # 1 . You 're number 22 . For now .

Awaking from a sweet slumber Gerard rolled out of bed and slowly made his way to a large neat bathroom. He trudged past a mirror and proceeded to the shower. Something was n't right. He turned back to the mirror and gazed into it. After a long stare Gerard eventually found himself and realised how much time had just passed. 22. The coffee had finished and the morning program was on. 
 
 `` What happened?'' he implored. It is hard to believe the mysterious was 23 just last night. But as a man of 98 years that lousy number had lost its meaning to me long ago. Thinking back to a time of fascination for that enigmatic anomaly he recalled everything he knew about it. All of its studies, it never goes away, always there, its marketable exploits. A newborn starts out at about 7 billion or so, and decreases as those older than it die off. Quite depressing, the... 
 
 `` I'm stopping myself there, gave that nonsense up long ago.'' 
 
 No matter how much he resisted, however, his heart slowed and raced at the same time. He did n't know of anyone to have made it this far before and as to what happens when # 1 is achieved has never been recorded. 
 
 He looked down at his expensive medications. 
 `` I wo n't make it.'' 
 
 His dream crushed again, he made his way to the living room and sat to watch something on the television. He saw an advertisement for some kind of dsl or something; its like a telephone but it has a fancy glass that you touch. At the commercial's end the television went black and something new appeared on the screen. Gerard was n't interested in tv anymore. He turned it off and focused on the black screen. He put on his glasses. As the image came into view, he saw the reflection of himself: and a reversed # 22 above his head. With trembling fingers he took off the glasses then struggled to get up. He started for the shiny-new coffee maker but was interrupted by a knock on the door. 
 
 `` Who the hell could that be?'' he wondered. 
 
 A racing Gerard then hobbled over to the door, without thinking, and cracked the door open a few inches. Impatiently he blurted, 
 `` What do you want?'' 
 
 Two men, about equal height, stood at the intricate iron doorway. They wore suits, all black, with black skinny tie, black ray banners on and each an earpiece. Above their heads were the numbers: 56846116 and 56846117. With expressionless faces one asked in a forward tone, 
 `` Are you Gerard Bonsly, # 23?'' 
 
 Gerard understood. He opened the door fully ajar and let the number 22 show its gleam. 
 
 `` I see.'' Responded the same suited man. 
 The other requested, `` We need you to pack your things. You're coming with us.'' 
 
 Gerard would not argue. He knew. He receded back inside to gather belongings he felt were important. Unknowing Gerard walked a slow, lonesome walk- almost with pride- down his sidewalk to the pavement where an armored black Escalade sat idling. Another man in the same attire stood holding the Escalade's rear door open. 
 
 `` Right this way, Mr. Bonsly.'' He said in a smooth voice- without much differential from the others. 
 
 Gerard clumsily climbed into the Escalade without question. The man closed the car door behind him then lifted his to his earpiece and spoke coolly, 
 `` Package in tow.''
