[ 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 .

It was another day. Wake up to the smell of breakfast and with the sun poking it's head through my blinds, greeting me for another day. Another pointless day, dictated by this goddamn number above my head. 42. 
 
 Being in the top 1000 was a blessing by general standards. Everyone adored you, wanted to be you. This was the top tier of our society, a social position that many wanted. I was born at 598. Not many are born in the top 1000, most get here by the time they are past there prime. After waiting for those men greater to fall and parish. I was the first since our current 1 who was born in the top 1000. 
 
 As I woke and dressed my self in the classy suit that is expected of someone of my caliber. I headed down the grand staircase, ate breakfast as usual, had my servant 701,375 clean up. I have no idea what we name is, I guess I'm not supposed to. Not the name of someone with such a low number. But, it's still a good number compared to the bottom tier, the 7bil+ people. Iv never seen any, I do n't even know where they are. Many say in a mine or wasting away in a sewer. 
 
 I sit in my study going over the next fiscal budget for my ruling land. Everyone from 11-69 have a designated region of which they control. 2-10 rule even larger districts composed of several regions. I serve 7 directly. Then we all serve 1. But, as I go over the budget making sure 237 did n't hoard money as he did the year prior, I look up and proceed to gaze out my window. I looked out over my region. A rather flat grassy area, formally known as the great Rift Valley, now know as sector 42. As I absorb the beauty of my region, I am haunted by the fact that I did n't earn this kingdom. It's not mine, just under my supervision until someone else dies. I was just put here In charge of it for no reason that I can think of, other then the fact that the number on my badge says 42. 
 
 I am abruptly interrupted by 894,365 that my plane is ready for departure and that we are behind schedule. You see, all of us top tier people meet up once a year to discuss global issues and celebrate the fact that we are born lucky. 
 
 I board the plane and go to my private room and lay down, quickly falling asleep, but not from a hard days work. Sometime later, I'm not sure how long, we land in the Capital. Now the Capital was a great place, as long as you had the right number on your badge. I get in my limo and am escorted to the great hall. It was a magnificent place, any food you could desire, and memorabilia from and the sections. I look around at everyone and the food ad spoils of top tier life and ca n't help but think what did I do I deserve this? Why me? Why was I born into this life? 
 
 The dinner goes as usual. I took my seat at the long table with chairs with our numbers on it. Conversed with those numbers around me, the usual drab talking, bragging, about their life in their sector. How many people they had, how much many was made on the backs of those numbers. Not once did I hear anyone refer to anybody in their sector as a person. Just a fucking number. 
 
 Next thing I know everything is white, and all I hear is a ringing. I do n't know what is going on, all I know is I am moving and I am moving quickly. I'm transported back to my childhood in sector 76, with it deep woods and giant snow capped mountains. Where I would run, play, and enjoy myself. Long before the troubles of running a section was under my jurisdiction. My mother was their, number 134 at the time. People loved her, she was kind and giving. Made the numbers feel like people... Treated them like people. She died in a car `` accident'' when I was younger, to the happiness of those just below her in number. 
 
 I'm cold, it's dark, load. I hear screaming and the smell of gas and burning. I open my eyes and realize it was a dream. I look around and see the people running around, and body parts, there was a lot of blood. I loo up and see number 87 looking down at me, he begins dragging me. He was my friend 87, or Harold as I knew him. We were childhood friends. He yells down to me what my number is I say 42. I ask what happened. He does n't know. I drift back into my previous unconscious state. Waking in a hospital bed. I look around and see smoke in distance, then see Harold to my right. 
 `` What happened'' 
 
 `` They say it was a gas leak are you ok?'' 
 
 `` Seems like it'' 
 I get up and go to the window. I look at the smoke where the great hall once stood. 
 
 `` There all dead'' he said 
 
 `` Who?'' 
 
 `` 1-41'' 
 
 I look at the badge on my dirty, torn suit. It's a nice gold badge now, it says 1. 
 
 `` Am I?'' 
 
 `` Yes, lucky you'' 
 
 He informs me that I need to make an address to the world soon, as I am their new leader. They would be looking to me to lead them. Me, of all people! Who was I to be so lucky to be the new ruler of the world? What the fuck did I do to deserve this burden. Was I just born in the right time at the right place. I never worked a hard days labour in my life. Now. Now, I have the dream job of the world. 
 
 I go to address my people, my numbers. They look at me like I'm some god, because I survived, because i was born at the right number. I looked out into the crowd, put the gun to my head and pulled the goddamn trigger. 
 
 Everyone wanted to be number 1 and for my sins, they let me.
