[ 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 .

I did n't ask to be number 44. Neither did my parents. Maybe if I had been born in the billions like everyone else, this would n't have happened. I would n't have chosen this lifestyle. I would n't have chosen to advance my rank artificially; killing those with lower numbers than me. People say I'm sick for doing it but how could I not? I started so close to the peak, how could I not make that short climb to the top? Someday I will be number 1, and I wo n't have to hide anymore 
 
 
 I remember my first victim, number 22, who had sought out to find the me. Since number 45 never advanced when the old 44 passed away, he knew I was out there somewhere. My parents conceived me in perfect sync with 44's death, and tried to hide me in the early years of my life. I was ten years old when soldiers stormed the house, killed my parents who fought back to protect me, and I watched number 22 step over my mothers body, crouch down to meet my height and smile at me. That sick smile. I stabbed him 13 times while he slept, and jumped out the window. 
 
 
 Now I am number 22. Number 10 lay dead before me, her thin body sprawled out on the floor. Number three trillion, fifty-five something was outside the door, doing a bad job of guarding her. His number was so long, it was clipping through the closed door. I did n't plan on an exit strategy, I just waited in her room, not thinking she had a guard. The window was an option, but I was on the sixth floor. I ended up climbing from the balcony into the suite below me. A woman sang in the shower as a man shaved in front of the bathroom mirror. I plucked the champagne from their bucket as I passed. The only thing they heard was me open and close the door to leave their room. I took a drink from the open bottle. *To number 10. * I thought to myself. 
 
 
 Upon reaching the lobby, people instantly recognised me. How could they not. I was the infamous `` countdown.'' The lowest number to commit homicide. The one who was breaking the system. The first to artificially advance his rank. That one I have a hard time believing. Of all the people born as number 44, number 22, number 10, you're saying nobody ever thought they could do better? You're going to tell me that number 2 never shot number 1 in the back of the head? I know thats what I would do. I know that's what I will do. I do n't care about the order, just as long as the number above your head is below mine, but when number one, he is one that I'm saving for last. When I'm number two, I'm gon na do just that. I'm gon na blow his brains out in that great throne room of his, and sit my tush in that big comfy chair of his. 
 
 
 Anyway, people kept their distance as I left the hotel. Nobody ever really knows how to react when they see me. Some give a grumpy bow, treating me as the high ranking man I am, but still recognising that I am a killer. Some grab their kids and walk the other way, pretending I do n't exist. Sometimes foolish men confront me, challenge me to combat, or tell me that they're taking me to the police. I laugh every time. I've killed 24 people, three of them died doing just that. Trying to be the big man who stopped the Countdown. 
 
 
 I made my way to town hall, where I knew the Top 10 were having a council meeting. Security had been beefed up due to my habits, but I had number 10's ID batch, and the automated door let me right in. The coathanger near the entrance had a heavy trenchcoat and rimmed hat on it. I put them on. With the collar popped and the hat tilted down, may face was well enough hidden. Nobody knew number 10 was dead yet, so I would n't have to worry about my number being recognised. Security was looking for number 23, and the former 22 is luckily almost identical to my body size. I stopped in the bathroom to take inventory. Two five-shot, double action revolvers. One fully loaded, the other with four shots. I had used the missing shot on number 10, the poor woman was so young and beautiful, but in my way, and the hotel pillows did a great job of suppressing the gunshot. I put the fully loaded gun in my left pocket, and the other in my right pocket. I left the bathroom with a plan and an empty badder. I made my way to the great throne room, where the meeting was supposed to have started, if not for the absence of number 10. 
 
 
 I could hear the Top 10 chatting away while they waited for the meeting to start. Some were old and wrinkly, others so full of youth and ambition. Number 2 was a teenager. A spoiled teenage girl who was born number into the Top 10 and given all she wanted from that point on. When I entered the throne room, the chatter stopped. 
 
 `` Allen!'' Number 6 said to me from my left. He was mistaking me for the former 22. `` Do tell, do you have any news on what is holding up Jessica? We can not start without our number 10.'' 
 
 I examined the throne room. The ceiling was high and a golden chandelier hung from it. Crimson curtains blocked the windows, and paintings of previous world leaders peppered the back wall. The room was square with the seats arranged in a circle. Numbers 1 and 2 were across from me in their big chairs. The rest sat in counterclockwise numeric order. Numbers 3, 4, 5, and 6 sat on my left, and 7, 8, 9 on my right with an empty seat for number 10. 
 
 `` I've never been in here before.'' I said, looking up at the high ceiling. The Top 10 all stared at me perplexed. Number 8, this 33 year old man with two good working legs that walked with a silver cane, was the first to recognise me. He got out a `` wait a second'' before I drew my guns in each hand, and shot numbers 6 and 7 on either side of me. The next to go was number 2. Her screaming pierced my eardrums and annoyed me. I shot her with my left hand gun and got her right in the mouth. Number 9 was also screaming, but not as loudly and highly pitched. I shot her with my right hand gun. Number 3 did that stupid thing where when you are in immediate danger you freeze and watch in horror everything happen. I never understood why anyone would do that, but I took the opportunity to shoot him in the chest with my left hand gun. By this time, numbers 4 and 5 were bolting for the exit. I managed to hit them both with one bullet from my left hand gun. They fell to the floor in sync. Next was number 8 who had climbed over the desk and stood in the center of the circle. Turns out that silver cane of his was a sword, because he drew it and stood in the center of the circle in a fencing stance. 
 
 `` You barbarian!'' He declared with a fire in his eyes. `` Duel me!'' 
 
 I laughed and shot him between the eyes. 
 
 I had one bullet left in each gun. Number 4 had n't died yet, however at this point he was number 2 since everyone else had been shot. He continued to crawl to the exit as I walked over and put an end to his labored breathing. That was the end of my left hand gun. I dropped it on the floor and let out a sigh. 
 
 `` Get out here, your highness.'' I said. `` I've got something for you.'' I was referring to number 1, whose whimpering I could hear while he cowered behind his big, comfy chair. 
 
 `` Now.'' I demanded. He creeped out slowly on his hands an knees, but upon seeing me and the bodies, returned to his futile hiding spot. I grew impatient and ended up dragging him from behind the throne and dropping him ontop of number eight. I put his wrinkled face in my sights. He begged and whined and cried as I sat there and decided whether or not to kill him. 
 
 *One shot. * I thought. *One shot and I'm that much closer to the peak. That much closer to the top. * 
 The old man sat and continued to sob. It was sickening to watch. 
 
 `` No.'' I said, lowering the gun. Number 1's face was a mess of emotions. I fixed my jacket, my collar, and my hat, and started toward the exit. 
 
 
 `` Not yet.'' I said aloud to myself.
